#I have 6 dances rattling around in my head and only 4 of them are for this show

[gods-favorite-autistic]

Dress rehearsals are literally my 3 favorite things about dance combined (dressing pretty actually dancing and watching dances) so idk why I complain about them every time I have them

[yiga-hellhole]

TWILIGHT FOREST, TWILIGHT KING: CHAPTER 15

AND IT'S OUT! i've been going ravenous with writing. you lot aren't rid of me yet!! with he siege on Death Mountain now behind them, two co-lieutenants struggle with the consequences of their failures. trust shatters, foundations wobble, and fond memories are under threat. should the campaign move forward, petty distractions must be done away with.

or, you know, you can dance with your boy.

again thank you to @bulgariansumo for proofreading. this chapter is best enjoyed with a bit of moody piano music, but i took a liking to this playlist personally so you can listen along while you read, if you like! 8.6k-ish under the cut! iiiit's a fun one!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

ao3 mirror

Their gathering was grim. Sounds of celebration rang from the tents outside, but in the war room, there was nothing but silence. Two co-lieutenants stood at the center of it all, the eyes of their generals upon them. Anxiety, dread, and ultimatum. The Demon King had summoned them for a reason.

“For one so eager to win my praise, you certainly are adamant to disappoint me. It seems I must set an example for you.”

Ghirahim stood stock-still as Ganondorf stepped towards him, his massive frame towering over him like the very Mountain he’d failed him on. He flinched but did not step away as he snatched his wrist and wrenched it above his head. A groan escaped him when he was lifted off his feet, all of his weight dangling from this one arm. He hung mere inches from his face. The Demon King’s eyes were blazing with rage, his tusks bared with the snarling curl of his lip. He was frozen yet scorched by those burning yellow irises, drawn into the gold that swirled within.

“Such sickening submission. You wish to be a blade? Very well. Let me show you where the mercy of my hands will take you.”

The hand at his wrist squeezed firmly, hard enough to crack his false skin, but he didn’t have long enough to dwell on the feeling. From that very gauntlet, a searing pain burst out and soon spread throughout his entire body. Shocks of electrocution ricocheted inside him, persistent and thorough in their surging quest to tear him to pieces. Every joint he had tightened. His fingers contorted into claws and his head threw back, mouth agape in a soundless scream — though, if he had screamed, he never would have heard it. It was an untold pain, of being struck with a thousand whips that would not cease. His skin shed, or rather, burst apart before his very eyes. Soon after, his vision went white, whether from pain alone or complete system failure. Something cracked ominously in his chest. Like it was trying to jump out and abandon him, leaving nothing but a husk to be beaten. He was shattering, he knew it, not in his core but in the shell forged around it. One last zap, one crackle, and a deafening drone, and he came undone. 

At once, he folded in on himself, and the world went black.

—

When Ghirahim awoke, he was limbless. Even if he could not so much as crane his head or twitch his fingers, the feeling comforted him more than it shocked him. Indeed, he had gotten his wish, but not in the way he’d wanted it. Master Ganondorf had reverted him to his sword. Not pulled him free from his chest, as his predecessor had always done, but tore apart the scabbard around him and forced it inside. 

His gem blinked weakly, chimed inquiringly. Where was he? It was pitch dark around him, but his confinement couldn’t be all too large. He found himself in what he concluded could only be some kind of storage box, locked away in some secluded room who-knows-where. It was dead silent — wherever he lay hidden away, with his steel tucked in straw and creaky wood, not even servants lingered.

But before he could sink himself into gloom, a spark of panic lit up in him. Soon, it billowed out enough to rattle him in his hilt. Had he been retired? Discarded from his position, or worse, sold to whoever would take a cursed blade off his hands? 

Were he to leave this coffin, would he find himself buried six feet deep?

His false skin materialized back around his blade before he realized it, and began frantically kicking at the lid of this accursed box. Wood groaned, nails wrenched free, and soon, he could press his palms to the ceiling and throw it out his way.

He shot up and took in his surroundings. Circling his container were various other crates, of which none fortunately barred his exit. Perhaps his awakening and subsequent escape were accounted for and his way was left clear for that very reason. 

Only then did he notice himself panting. Knees pressed to his chest, he stared down into his casket. His hands found the center of his chest. He hadn’t been shattered, nor did he feel like anything impaired him. By all means, he could count his blessings. Despite disobeying orders, despite failing at their mission, Master Ganondorf had permitted him to continue his duty. All he’d done was set an example, as he promised.

But then, what was it that shook his hands so? What filled him with such hollow melancholy?

Tiring of this drab, dust-covered storage room, he swung one leg over the edge of the crate and clambered his way down. Now that he’d awakened, he at least had to find out where the transport had carried him. He stumbled toward the door — to find it unlocked — and promptly left that storage hole behind him.

His feet landed on a checkered floor, its tiles cracked in various locations but caulked back in place. The walls were in a similar state; opulent in their make, but damaged throughout various sieges. Various, indeed. It didn’t take much to find out where he was. He has walked these halls as both ally and foe. As he padded on through them once again, he took some time to note the differences since his last visit. Here and there, signs of scuffle were cracked into the stone, and dust-free rectangles upon the walls hinted that paintings once hung here. The dreary, yet tastefully ominous dark purple light of the place was all too iconic, as were the rogue rose branches that persisted through the windows. They had taken him to the Temple of Souls, better known as Cia’s private home and former base of operations.

Yes, he remembered dwelling here. With some luck, his old room was still in place as he’d left it. Back then, Cia had bribed him with all sorts of knick-knacks and luxuries in the hope of appeasing him, and it had worked. He wondered if the vices of his materialism would still appeal to him now. 

He continued onward, making his way through the puzzling architecture. There wasn’t a particular goal in mind as to where he was heading. Some manner of purpose, a duty to attend to, or an idea as to how long he’d been slumbering in that box at the least. A heavy wooden door opened to a porch outside, clung to a tower with a spiral staircase down. He idly pondered the oddity of the lack of servants he’d encountered as he made his way down. Had the Master sent him there in solitude? Such abandonment was an unbearable thought. No matter if he’d left him the world in silks and marbles, he wouldn’t be left alone. Wouldn’t be left without purpose. He continued down the path, trudging its petal-strewn floors. The air was pink with sundown and roses, rich and floral with scented dew, but he paid it no mind.

Out chimed a familiar, lilting voice, coming from outside the colonnade. “Ghirahim!”

Shaken from a daze, he looked to his left, eyes still hooded over. There stood Yuga, decked in corset and frills with a bonnet covering his curls, a watering can in hand. “You’ve awoken at last! Oh, how relieved I am to see you.”

Ghirahim simply stared back, mind empty of any response. What was he supposed to say? There stood a man who had witnessed him at his weakest, who had seen how easily he’d shattered to pieces. It astounded Ghirahim that after all that, he still hailed him, expecting mere smalltalk. At least he wasn’t alone. Ganondorf wouldn’t retire Yuga after a successful campaign. He took momentary solace in the possibility of a simple relocation. Yet, the fondness he once felt for that foppish sorcerer remained abstract in his mind and passed right through him like an arrow through fog.

When it dawned on Yuga that he had no intention of approaching him, a stiff, worried frown tightened his brows, sucked in his lips. 

What was that look for? 

Front of his skirt bunched in his sheer gloved hand, Yuga trotted on towards him. Up the stairs, and into the colonnade, he hooked his arm around his. Ghirahim looked down at the contact he’d pulled him in, a touch puzzled, but he didn’t find the need to shove him off. Yuga tugged on him a bit, as if trying to shake him out of a dream, and began to babble of sorts. “We’ve been worried sick, you know. We tried to look for you, but… The servants wouldn’t tell us where they’d hidden you. If it weren’t for the annoyance it would bring to our Ganondorf, we’d have turned the entire Temple upside-down. He’s already peeved enough with Zant as is. You understand.”

He didn’t. He didn’t understand the search, the risk, the worry. What he could only assume Yuga alluded to, though, he did understand. If there was any proof out there of the consequences of Ganondorf’s wrath, it was daintily being clutched by the man beside him.

At the continued lack of response, Yuga’s expression darkened further. Ghirahim came to the infuriating realization that he was being pitied. The Lorian’s eyes darted out into the sights before them. “Come on,” he quickly posited. “Let’s take a walk, shall we? Stretching your legs will do you good.”

Before he could give even an inch of a vocal response, Yuga already tugged him along. Arm in arm, they left the dark and murky sheltering of the temple and stepped out into the garden. Ghirahim gave a bit of a sigh as they waded into the overgrown labyrinth, crushing petals under their soles as they went. At this time of year, there were more roses scattered on the paths than still hung blooming on the bushes. Even so, this didn’t seem to deter Yuga from pampering the entire floral expanse as he saw fit. The beauty-obsessed sorcerer was stretching out the lives of this garden, basking in its scarlets, pinks, whites, and oranges until the wind would finally scatter all of its flowers and wither it into a maze of thorns. It was an empty husk already, robbed of its owner. All her precious statues, except where every few corners one remained, had been removed from their pedestals. Knowing what stood in their places once, he couldn’t exactly say he minded. 

In one ear, out the other, Yuga had been yammering on for some time now. Frankly, he’d have had more luck talking to the statues in passing, for they would have given him more ear than he could muster. An odd feeling, right on the thin thread between interest and irritation, emerged in him when he realized just what all this fussing was for. Yuga must have thought to try and comfort him. The last they saw each other, after all, was when he was in the hands of…

“Yuga.”

The sorcerer in question perked up immediately at the first sounds of his voice, a bright smile barely masking his concern. “Yes?”

Ghirahim saw Yuga trying to meet his eye, but he refused it, keeping his gaze out in front of him. “What brings us to Cia’s dwelling?” 

Yuga exclaimed softly at the query. “Master Ganondorf thought it impudent to seek an outpost worthy of housing both Himself and his lieutenants. One closer to Hyrule Castle, you see. You’ve… Missed, the briefings, but in due time we will prepare a siege on Hyrule Field to claim the remaining pieces of the Triforce. The Temple was closest, is all.”

Ghirahim hummed. As he’d feared, his importance was being undermined. “And how long have I been sleeping through my duties?”

“Oh, it’s not so drastic, we,” Yuga started, but was soon forced into reconsidering his words by a dark scowl burning into his peripheral vision. “… A little over a week, Milord.”

A week… Heaving a sigh, his head dropped. In all that time, no one had thought to wake him. Their army had held up just fine without him, fine enough for their commanders to play dress-up and trot about in the greenery. A bitterness he couldn’t place nestled in him, for this feeling was entirely unknown to him. He had been rejected, he had been left behind, but never before had he not been needed. 

A gust of wind coursed through the garden, knocking the petals off some of the roses behind them. In the nook of his elbow, Yuga shuddered just a bit but knew better than to tuck himself closer to the cold frame of his companion. For the first time since awakening, Ghirahim craned his head up, ever-so-gently lifting himself from the downtrodden drone-like solemnity that kept his eyes on the ground before him. The pinks and oranges of the sky were gradually turning to purple. East of them, framing the Temple like a lifted bridal veil, the first stars speckled the darkening sky. It must have been getting chilly for such a frail man. 

They continued walking. He didn’t want to drag this little get-together out longer than he had to. If Yuga was going out of his way to put himself in a state of discomfort, it was better spent on someone capable of actually appreciating such an effort. The pink-speckled path swirled on and on; though he wasn’t as familiar with its layout anymore, he knew it wouldn’t be long until they came out the other end, and he could finally retreat to a better spending of his time.

A stone-hewn shape to his left completely stopped him in his tracks. It ripped his eyelids fully open and yanked Yuga nearly out of balance with how harshly he came to a halt. 

There he stood. Serene yet with stubborn mischief hidden behind the subtlest crinkle of his eyes, marble fingers caressing the false golden strings of a harp. Ghirahim knew that face anywhere. He couldn’t believe Yuga would have been able to see into him so deeply as to copy that smile with such clarity when it had taken him months to do as much as evoke it. Before him stood not just any carnation of the Hero, it was the one he’d known.

Yuga let out a bit of an embarrassed laugh as he noticed him staring at the statue. “It’s quite dreadful, isn’t it? To have depictions of one’s arch nemesis in their dwelling. I can’t stand the boy myself, but… They’re still my work, you know?” He began to babble, a hand brought to his cheek. “No matter if it depicts such a distasteful subject, there are other aspects one can admire, I would say. It took quite a bit of begging to get Master Ganondorf to let me keep at least a few… No doubt he’ll put me to work to fill in the empty pedestals, though. If I don’t do so of my own accord, that is!”

It was a masterful depiction, one that parted his lips in a painful, smothered awe. Past the marble, he could almost see that russet-blond hair and the deep, ocean-blue eyes. As if any second its exterior could chip, and the boy within would break free. And how he’d seize that brat with his own hands, tear the blood-soaked thread that bound them in his lifetime to shreds with nothing but his teeth. Link had been one of the first smudges on his soul, one that tainted his resolve and made him so disgustingly frivolous. Every last star in the skies above would have to snuff out before he’d forgive him for it.

Yes, he’d had guilty pleasures before. He’d toyed, he’d teased, and he’d indulged in what he shouldn’t have. They had all been shaken off easily with no room for tears to shed. Each and every one of them had gotten in the way of his goal, and every time he’d drawn close to that great life’s light, petty distractions had to be done away with. See now, how clinging to such a selfish desire had strayed him so far from his purpose, far enough to be punished. It was below him to allow such foolishness to continue for this long. He’d cut those ties before, burned bridges till their ashes shaped back into objects of rivalrous disdain.

This one would be just as easy to sever.

He narrowed his eyes, clarity at once clearing the fog of his judgment. What lay behind it was frustration. Knives that didn’t belong there drove into his core with every pulse. It smothered him, tightening his chest and hitching his voice. “… You mentioned Zant. Is he also here?”

“He is, indeed,” Yuga nodded, looking instantly a little brighter. There was no point in shattering that little glimmer, at least not right then. “He’s been holed up in that library since… Well, since we arrived here, really. You ought to go see him now that you’re awake. Surely he’ll be glad to see you.”

Ghirahim fought against a bitter laugh building up in his throat but decided to let it slip. “Surely.”

—

The library was tricky to find, but easy enough for a demon. The hallways winded on and on, the nonsensical architecture of the Temple of Souls making navigation difficult for any regular man, but second nature to a being of darkness. Besides, the pitiful meeting with their second-newest recruit was a bit too fresh in his mind to forget the steps he’d traced. Corridors overlapped with each other as if clipped in at different angles, and if you’d asked him, he may have walked onto a separate plane of gravity about three times now. Within good time, though, he stood before tall, twin ornate doors. Gold filigree swirled into purple paneling, jutting out into claw-like doorknobs at shoulder height. Ghirahim seized both in his hands and pushed, stepping into the shadowy room beyond.

It was as if a horde of wild animals had ravaged it. Books lay strewn across the floor, sheets of paper tying them all together like a makeshift map. Not a single candle lit the library. Were it not for the cold beams of dusk light that entered through the tall windows above, it would have been pitch dark. Entire shelves had been emptied, either onto the floor or stacked into wobbly towers on the reading desks, sending centuries upon centuries of dust flying in the air above them like gnats in a swamp. In the center of it all, hunched over a spread of books with shoulders shaking and his back heaving with his breath, stood Zant. 

At the sound of the doors creaking open, he whipped around, a ravenous look contorted his face into a snarl. Something so desperate and territorial he’d only ever seen before in the eyes of beasts, standing over the carcass of fresh kill and daring anything that surrounded it to try and take its rightful meal. The glare that aimed at him, glowing and orange in the shadow-consumed room, zoned in on him like a grave keeper’s lantern.

Yet, when a spark of recognition lit in those burning orbs, in an instant, that crazed expression was gone. Instead, something of a solemn relief softened his face. His voice shook a little as he spoke, just barely above a whisper.

“Oh, Ghirahim…”

At once, he took to the air. Feather-light he bounded over the carpet of books that covered the floor, seemingly uncaring of how many pages turned, or how many sheets of paper he whisked away in his advance. His robes fluttered behind him, before he came to a halt before him, only the slightest sigh of wind puffing out below him in his landing. 

“You’ve returned to us.”

Were there any apprehension in Zant from the distance he’d wedged between them, not a shred of it was visible. Those lanky fingers — cold, even through the gloves — reached out for him instantly to take his hands. His head cocked, eyes wide-set and overshadowed by a worried frown, as he tried to lean into his eye contact. Ghirahim could see it in his periphery as he scowled down at the ground, that insistence to meet his eye. Yet it wasn’t the suffocating, pulse-quickening gaze he was so used to being snared into. Those eyes only looked at him with concern, with heartsickness. Even as he stood there, exuding nothing but coldness and avoidance, Zant kept making those odd little squeaks and hums as if they were sitting cheek to cheek at their bedside.

… How was he making this so difficult?

He hadn’t even shaken off those hands, that now started gently rubbing their thumbs over his knuckles. Every little stroke of his withered thumbs sent sparks beneath his skin. They snaked his way in tingles down his arms, before they swelled into his chest with apprehension. What was intended as a comforting gesture only made him anxious. One more nudge and he would be past that threshold again, tumbling into his arms and robbing him of all clarity. Such weakness was unbecoming of him; rather, it went against his entire being, to be so easily swayed into being charmed by a man he couldn’t trust. He had to chase those questions that swarmed in his mind before he could once again be distracted from them. 

Ghirahim flicked his hands off, folding his arms to prevent Zant from stealing him away again. “You owe me an explanation. Several, in fact.”

Zant withdrew his hands, hovering in their sleeves before his chest. The mournful worry that spread its gray hues across his face soon shattered. His eyes widened, lacing themselves with the resigned fear of a cornered animal. “What do you wish to know?”

He wondered where to begin. Any other time he would prefer to be subtle, to tease out what he wanted and kick his adversary while they’re down for good measure. Zant owed him his secrecy for having strung him along with such anxiety, but he didn’t feel the mood to collect his dues. He simply wanted his questions answered, and the door shut behind him. 

So he did away with all his filters, and let it all bubble forth. “Your behavior during our siege… It defied everything I’ve known of you. You are tense with some sort of burden you won’t divulge, and it’s made you erratic in ways you’ve never been before. But perhaps you have been this cryptic, and it simply took me too long to realize.”

Dourness quickly boiled over to fury. Ghirahim paced as he talked, gesturing wildly as he let himself get sucked into his venting anger. “To ask you of- of any sense, in that labyrinthine head of yours may be as impossible to you as it is to me, but Zant, as it stands, I cannot have faith in any of our cooperation if you remain so,” he paused, his hands clawing in his hair with building frustration. “So… Impossible! Perplexing and intangible!”

He whipped around at once, sweeping his arm in emphasis. “So I demand you now to explain yourself, before…”

Silence fell. He couldn’t think of a way to finish that question. Before, what, exactly? Before he’d lose trust in him? There wasn’t much more of that which he could lose. Before he’d leave him? He was already planning on cutting those amicable ties, but as tied together by their duty as they were, he could never flee from him fully. There was simply no point in making promises he couldn’t keep. So he stayed silent.

It appeared to have been enough to convey his point. Zant’s expression had fallen further.

Zant sighed through his nose, tightening his mouth to a thin line. “You are right in your assessment, Ghirahim. I was careless,” he responded, fidgeting with one of his tassels as his eyes darted wildly for some safe place to rest his gaze. Ghirahim’s furious magnetism won the battle over his avoidance, he noted in petty self-satisfaction, as soon that lanky fool couldn’t help but look at him.

Ghirahim stood firm, chin tipped as he glared up at him, even when Zant so meekly stepped forward to loom closer to him. His voice was more hushed now. Ghirahim couldn’t recall any other time he sounded so timid. “I tell you this in confidence, now, Ghirahim, for I do not wish to give the impression that I distrust our Master’s actions, much less let such a rumor spread through our forces.” 

His brow bones furrowed and his expression turned grave. “Truthfully, I had known from the start that any attack on Death Mountain could only lead to an ambush. Yet, I could not sway our Master into reconsidering our approach. I could not keep those frustrations from leaking into my performance in battle, for truly, I was convinced that day would be my last.”

“Not to mention, I,” he started, but there was regret in his eyes for having turned his mind to the page he now was to dictate. His hands fidgeted uneasily in his sleeves, reaching for him just the slightest bit before retreating into their fabric shells. “I have felt a certain… Distance — between us, ever since our latest trek to the Faron Woods. I am uncertain what has come to pass since then, but the lack of our shared company agonized me.”

A gradual blush crept on his cheeks, ever-more prominent over the thin, whitened scars of his face. “Yet, in my desperation when waiting for the sounding of my death knell, wishing for you so, my actions only endangered you. Never did I wish to cast you in Ganondorf’s ire, and I can only feel responsible for the punishment he chose to give you.”

Zant huffed weakly. All his strength then seemed to gather in his eyes, peering at him in pleading and guilt. Though Ghirahim had shaken him off and tucked his hands beyond his reach, somehow Zant had slipped them free and insistently clasped them in his own. “I do not expect you to forgive me, but my remorse is true.”

Ghirahim looked up at him, for a moment at a loss for words. Once again, Zant had struck an incomprehensible chord, leaving him tongue-tied. If he didn’t so stubbornly cling to it, the anger he’d entered this room with almost would have faded. And even if it had, a new source of annoyance quickly took its place. Such frivolous sentimentality! At least the previous times, Zant had the decency to keep it concealed.

He couldn’t believe that such simple fears had been what cracked Zant’s composure. In fact, he didn’t believe it. The man he’d shared nights with, cradling his shivering body in his arms as night terrors consumed him, dreaded far more than such simple matters. No matter how erratically he behaved on the battlefield, he was far beyond the lowly realm of beasts. Mortal he may have been, but Ghirahim knew all too well that his Master wouldn’t waste energy on someone so dispensable.

Perhaps they had been the actions of a man with nothing to lose, after all. Nothing he’d said, however, shed even a single light on that secretive, elusive string he’d always keep him on.

But he didn’t want to upset him any further, not when he’d gotten him a semblance of loose-lipped. Were he to shut him down now, he might never get the opportunity again. 

Zant was still holding his hands. Ghirahim sucked in a breath when he realized he’d stopped noticing it, how used he’d grown to being touched by him. He gave the man one last look, before casting his eyes down with a sigh. Slipping his hands out of his grip got him a little whimper in response, and Zant’s eyes trailed him wetly and sadly as he walked past him. 

He scanned the room again. Books. Always with the books. The Twili was completely addicted to gathering knowledge of this realm, to the point he may as well derive sustenance from it. It was this ceaseless digging into this alternate world’s past that had sparked his first bout of madness, of conspiracy. Maybe the answers to his questions were hidden there.

And so, he looked over his shoulder, addressing him in their usual banter. “This place was not so ravaged last I saw it.”

Zant perked up, hesitantly so. He seemed to be taking the extension of their conversation as a sign of forgiveness. He would be wrong, but Ghirahim was planning on tolerating his company, for the time being. Zant trailed after him, looming in a shadow at his back. “Indeed. I have let my enthusiasm get the better of me, it seems.”

“It seems, he says…” Ghirahim clicked his tongue, browsing the sea of paper before him. “Even you wouldn’t be this chaotic without good reason. What are you obsessing over this time?”

A far less uncertain smile split Zant’s lips, his pointed teeth glittering in the dim light. “I think it better to show you. Come.”

Zant extended his hand, palm raised. He was testing his luck, certainly, but Ghirahim would let him, if only for the sake of his curiosity. So, he shot the man a warning glance and accepted. Instead of their usual warp, Zant instead grabbed on tightly and tugged the both of them backward. He jumped, pulling Ghirahim — suddenly a hundred pounds lighter and kicking his feet with a yelp — into the air with him. They floated past the trail of books that scattered across the library floor, only to land right at an empty space at its very center. The second they landed, Ghirahim yanked his hand free and sourly dusted himself off. Oh, yes. He really was testing his patience.

Face still soft and pink, Zant’s anxiety took a turn for his more zealous side. He quickly turned his attention to the fruits of his labor. “I have taken the liberty of combing through the Sorceress’ magical tomes in search for something we ourselves could master, and found something truly promising.”

Sleeves spread out, he continued his sermon. “The grimoire she carries is outside of my reach, but a grimoire, too, is nothing more than a summary of knowledge. I believe I have found the pathway to unlocking her arcane secrets, Ghirahim,” he began to giggle, at once hunching down to arrange his spread of paper and leather. “Does this look familiar?”

Ghirahim squinted. In this dark, finding familiarity in anything at all was a chore, but one he would have to commit to. With great determination, Zant continued to arrange the books and papers. It was all just scribbles to him. Before he could comment on the irony of the bookish girl’s scrawly handwriting, his disdain for the texts revealed something new. Rather than the texts themselves, something was hidden behind them — a circular print, in light, grey dye, joining one page to the next. And within those prints, one symbol was scrawled on each opened book. 

Ghirahim frowned, now turning his gaze to the creature squatted on the floor. “That is… Those are the runes to..?”

Zant rose, more papers tightly clutched to his chest, and nodded with scheming satisfaction. “Indeed. These very pages hold the secrets to her time gates. With some study… I may yet figure them out for our own use.”

Finally, the pieces clicked. Ghirahim had come to him seeking sense and he’d found it, wrapped in layers upon layers of pipe dreams. Their field trips, his toiling studies, his obsession with finding context clues in the landscape… It had to all have been building to this. As true to his character as it could ever be, the Twilight King came here searching for a way to claim the power of Gods for himself and had now found it. If he couldn’t have it in one world, he would have it in the next. The prospect of what Zant would use such power for, continued to worry him… But just this knowledge would suffice, for now. At last, he felt like he had an idea of just what went on in that enigmatic chaos that called itself a ‘mind’. He could follow that wavelength.

For the first time since arriving at the library, he smiled. He laughed, even, his hand brought to his face. “You truly are a madman.”

The sight of Ghirahim’s smile visibly delighted Zant. Then it emboldened him, bursting into a cackle. “I would not be the first to admit that the boundary between madmen and scholars is, and shall forever remain, very thin.”

And so, Ghirahim found himself once again at the Twilight King’s side, perusing the various notes and books he’d ripped through. Perhaps he’d curse himself give or take a few days, but being on Zant’s trail for a change invigorated him. He’d managed to somewhat level the playing field. Whether he would win this duel remained to be seen, but now at least he had an idea of where the man hid his spare daggers. Standing across the field of honor, his hands itched to lunge for him and pluck them out himself. 

Zant, too, appeared contented. His fingers glided past the papers he’d accumulated, rambling on and on about his discoveries, and the potentials of summoning more and more obscure beasts from beyond time. 

At last, their company appeared to return to old fondness, until Zant’s words faded. His tone turned grave as he turned to him. “… Ghirahim.”

Ghirahim sighed, combing his hair to the left side of his face with his fingers. “What is it this time?”

Zant blinked, mulling over his words blank-faced. “Are you afraid of me?”

The words shot into him like a burning arrow, igniting his temper in an instant. “Afraid..?” he scoffed. “What a ridiculous notion. You would do better to watch your tongue.”

Zant’s eyes narrowed. Ghirahim couldn’t place the intent of his question. It could only have been a taunt, an insult, but he spied none of the playful sadism that should accompany such bullying. “I have given you my answers without riddles. I wish for you to extend me that same grace,” Zant demanded.

And so, Ghirahim considered it, even if every instinct blared with annoyance and a desire to throw the notion straight in his mental garbage bin. Did he fear Zant? One would think he didn’t, for the man was impulsive, childish, and frightfully easy to wrap around his finger. Yet, that very same fool had coaxed him into vulnerability and, at the end of the day, could very well mangle him to shards if he so desired. The thought frightened, embarrassed, and disgusted him all the same. He stood, arms folded, avoiding his gaze but knowing it wouldn’t avoid him until he answered. His annoyance won over his ego. 

He cleared his throat and chose the practical path. “… It’s only expected to hold some fear for those more powerful than you, no? Do you not fear our Master?”

That same look Zant had worn on his face when he first met his eyes today, returned. The initial shock of his answer faded, soon turning glum. It wasn’t piteous like the way Yuga looked at him. In those glossy amber eyes, he saw nothing but grief and recognition. Slowly, Zant began to shake his head and soon drew him into a wordless embrace. 

Ghirahim froze. Had he answered wrong? There was no such thing. Strength meant to control those lacking that power. How else did one demand respect, but through the competing of abilities? To outmatch, to terrorize? To break down every lesser being at the knee, so all they could do was to look upon you in awe and worship? That was how he’d functioned, on either side of the spectrum. It was the simple order of life, and he’d relished in it. Demise had forged him for it, after all, and he would sooner shatter than deny himself this privileged terror.

Then, Ghirahim came to the baffling conclusion that Zant did not want him to fear him. He couldn’t begin to fathom why. Neither did he understand why his body grew slack, and why his arms shakily found their way loosely around Zant’s waist.

The Twili let out more of those little hums, nuzzling his face into his hair. Lanky arms pulled him in closer as the first subtle drops of tears trickled onto the crown of his head. “Truly, you have kept me from you for too long…”

It was all entirely alien. Both Zant’s reactions and the pounding they stirred inside his core. But, by Demise, he didn’t want to let go.

“You vex me, vile and dark thing,” Ghirahim murmured finally, burying his face in the pillowing of deep black robes. “Fork-tongued, baleful, infuriating wretch,” he hissed, though the venom in his voice thinned, till at long last it dripped with philter. A hand with uneven digits found his cheek and before he knew he leaned into it. Whatever protests, pleas for self-control, and shunning his mind cried out, his body ignored completely. His head tipped back to a sigh, baring his face to the mercy of his kisses. “You must have cursed me, to draw me to you like this. I find no other reason to time and time again return to your arms.”

With those lips so close to his ear, Zant laughed, its smoky tones sending an involuntary shiver down his neck. “Forgive me, for such magic could only ever be a blessing in my eyes.”

They embraced there for what seemed like ages. Stubborn cries in his mind called him a coward, spineless for his inability to push him away. Those, too, faded with the deafening buzz of this affectionate comfort. Cotton filled his head until it may as well have been coming out of his ears. Whatever thoughts would come to haunt him could dig their claws back into him some other time. He was too mystified by this odd creature that cooed and whispered and kissed, to make space for anything else. 

Soon, Zant broke that precious silence with more of his perplexing words. “… I cannot help but notice, Ghirahim. Even after your slumber, you remain ill.” He leaned back, once again fiddling with his hair with those spindly fingers. “If you will let me, I can be of assistance to you again.”

A chill ran down his back the instant he realized just where his curiosity had led him. Instantly, Ghirahim jerked back, a hand protectively over his chest. He had given the Twili an inch, and already, he was seeking to pry him open and-

Zant picked up on his shock and quickly attempted to calm him. “Ah- No, I will not force you into such an intimate act, especially not given our earlier talk. But I may have an idea.”

Still apprehensive, but no longer as tightly wound, Ghirahim frowned at him. “… Go on.”

Once again Zant grew a touch shy. He chewed on his lip as he sought for words. “Your magic is channeled through dance, is it not? As with your counterpart, you cast your spells most effectively through somatic channeling. I could assist you and combine our energies, so you could dispel the curse on your own.”

Ghirahim stood perplexed. At first, his frustratingly verbose wording confused him, until he realized what he meant. His smile returned to him against his will, but he took the liberty of adding a snarky spin. “… Twilight King… Once again, your attempts at courtship are laughable. Are you asking me for a dance?”

A grin spread across Zant’s face, finally casting that bothersome gloom aside. “Only if you will have me, Demon Lord.”

Deciding he’d already agreed to enough unbecoming nonsense for the night, Ghirahim didn’t see the harm in one more. He accepted and watched curiously as Zant gleefully trotted off someplace else.

“Just a moment,” he echoed into some cabinet, “I’ve found quite the intriguing little implement earlier. If only I could- Ah!”

Ghirahim tilted his head to look over his shoulder. He sneered a laugh when he saw just what Zant had fetched and held up so proudly. “A music box? You think me some sniveling babe, in need of a lullaby?”

But the Twili refused even a shred of embarrassment, standing firm in his choice. “Perhaps it is a touch juvenile, but I found it carries a fine tune. Besides, would you rather our privacy be interrupted by an orchestra?”

Ghirahim shrugged, admitting defeat. “No, I suppose not.”

Finally, Zant reached for his hand. Upon taking it, he was dragged into his magic by surprise, and the pair promptly appeared on the upper floor of the library. The doors to the balcony stood open, the evening breeze brushing through the heavy drapes. They swayed and beckoned, inviting the pair outside like ghostly chaperones. Bronze slippers clacked on stone as Zant led them out, setting their musical implements on the balcony balusters. 

Ghirahim shook his head in amusement, watching with his hands at his sides as Zant giddily began winding up the little box until the spring simply wouldn’t give any more. The sword spirit chewed his lip with a smile. He wondered if this inelegant being even knew how to dance, despite his invitation. Much less how it would look. 

A pleasant surprise reared its head but did not quite escape its hiding when Zant approached him in a straight posture. He confidently took his hand in his and placed the other at his hip. “Might I request to lead? It’s how I’ve been trained, after all.”

The mere suggestion made Ghirahim laugh. “Oh, so you were trained? Such interesting things you try to sell me on.”

Zant’s lips pursed into a smug, defiant smile, his hand not moving from his waist. “Will I get an answer before that box runs out of spins, I wonder.”

Ghirahim rolled his eyes with a laugh, finally conceding, and reaching up to place his hand on his shoulder. “Sweep me away, Twilight King. See if you keep my toes intact.”

Pleasant surprise turned to astonishment when it turned out Zant was, indeed, a halfway-decent dancer. It took the both of them a few clumsy bumps, affronted toes, and curses but mostly laughs, to get used to each others’ rhythms and lengths of strides. Before long, though, Zant took up on his challenge and swept the both of them through the balcony in a waltz. 

Yet, one thing still irked him. Doubtlessly, Zant’s mop of hair was no glorious sight to behold, but Ghirahim certainly preferred it over that hideous leather coif. So, he clicked his tongue, breaking their hold to reach for his face. “Must you be wearing that old thing as we dance?”

“Ah,” Zant exclaimed, flinching away from the fingers that slipped beneath his coif. “I would prefer to, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Ghirahim frowned a little but decided to let it slide. The fading scars on Zant’s cheeks reminded him enough about his tendency to hide himself. For the time being, he supposed he could shrug it off. Whatever he kept concealed there could only be a minor secret compared to the ones he’d wrenched from him just earlier. He’d let these fade with the sun, which sank ever further away with each step of their feet. Pink turned to blue, turned to pitch black, finally shedding them in the chandelier light of the starry veil above. Ghirahim’s blooming magic, leaving glowing white footprints behind them, poured from him as easily as he could sigh a breath. Once again, that nosy Twilight busy-body had found a way to intertwine the two of them. All he had to do was dance.

—

The plucky chiming of the music box had long ceased, but neither of them paid it any mind. Their feet rhythmically continued gliding past the stone floors. Zant’s metal clogs left their characteristic clink-clink-clink, and Ghirahim’s soles trailed with glittering diamonds, leaving a sound like wind passing through a grand chandelier. Those specks of magic rang and jingled, themselves producing a tune, casting the pair in fracturing light as if they’d been dancing miles below the sea. 

Fog of exhaustion began to drain from him, sapped from his fingertips — he clutched Zant just a little tighter, — his feet — his dance stepped just a little lighter, — and the back of his mind — the stars in his eyes shone just a little brighter, — until he could hardly feel its influence anymore. It gathered at his core, before being shed from it in yet more gentle puffs of diamond magic. Those very gems were infused, or rather, tainted with something else, something living and dark. Yet, now, as the little cloud of them swirled into the sky like a snake wading through the desert sands, it could harm him no longer.

The point of his ear glowed softly red when amidst the gentle sounds of their dance, Zant’s persistent giggling had turned into a hum. Soon, Ghirahim found himself laughing along. There the pair swayed singing across the balcony, dancing into the night in mutual serenade. Rewinding that old toy would have been too much of a bother, either way. With every step, he felt lighter, more whole, and with the arms that led him through their steps, he couldn’t help but feel like Zant had his hand in reforming him. Even when simply being by his side while he reforged himself, their intimacy alone molded him into such a whimsical being. 

He did not have enough lead in his steel to be this weak and malleable. But oh, damn it all. Those eyes adored him so.

But how could they? Ghirahim could treat him coldly, he could avoid him, he could waltz into this very room with the intent to berate and abandon him, and still he welcomed him with open arms. So tragically he beheld him and so desperately he’d pleaded for him to consider forgiveness. They were tearing each other to the ground, he knew it, and he was certain now that Zant knew it, too. Yet, somehow, when it kept his sleepless mind buzzing with a hive’s worth of conflict, that strange man chased after it like his life knew no greater purpose. 

He couldn’t hope to sway him from that obsession, nor from attempting to drag him down with him. But he could try. 

“You’re certain you wish to spend your time with such frivolous things, Twilight King?” he said, coaxing glowing amber into his own vast black. “Even if I continue to doubt you so?”

Zant chuckled, some puzzling silence in his face. “Even now, you question me? For months now, we have laid together in both passion and slumber. I’ve allowed you to hold me, to comfort me when my mind would reject me, until we have spent more nights together than apart.” He spoke, keeping the pair moving and shrouded in glitter. “Were those hours we’ve spent together in leisure, in discourse and intrigue, not meaningful to you? Had you not the slightest inkling of the way I look at you, how the world pales in importance when we occupy the same space?”

There was the first true crack, picking at a wall he didn’t know he had. He expected, no, demanded to be admired. Desirability was as true to his nature as his cruelty and by all means, he had to be used to it. He couldn’t fathom why this would feel different, and why against all logic, it did.

Zant spun him, holding him closer as he pulled him back in. “Ghirahim, truly, could I have made myself any clearer? Flippant feelings alone can not keep me from you, for they are what make us alive. With all that we’ve shared, how could I come to feel anything for you, but my deepest, truest affections?”

Another hair fracture, zig-zagging and weaving together like a web. With every turn of their waltz, the stars spun around them. Bright specks swirled around till all blended together in a glowing spiral. It was like the little pixies had seen their swaying below, and promptly broke into their own dance, having unanimously decided it looked fun. His core pulsed, thrummed, widening his eyes and sending roaring fire to his chest. Below him, his magic spoke for him, and welcomed the starry sky above to join their not-so-private ball. Scattering into the sky in sparks, or really, more like bubbles in a boiling kettle, diamonds rose from the pool of pure white magic that gathered at his feet.

Something in him pounded at the wall, and the fracture cleaved ever deeper. The hand holding his’ slipped out from their loose joining, trailing its way down his arm and toward his cheek. “Surely, some of it must have registered, for even after our time apart, you continue to bear my gift to you,” Zant said, his eyes now glued to his earring.

Zant sucked in a gasp, for just a moment tripping over his words. Their eyes met again, and the Twili fell silent. He stared at him as if he had committed to counting every star that reflected in the black of his pupils, and would still be there to count them when new ones were born. He brought the two of them to a halt, looking as infatuated as he was troubled. Ghirahim grew cold with anticipation, all while Zant kept him trapped and entranced. “The truth is, Ghirahim, I…”

Rushing forth from some corner of himself, this geode he once thought hollow, a battering ram whacked at his crumbling line of defenses. Desperately it slammed against the wall to meet whatever had called it, to see what nighttide lover was knocking at its balcony window and sweep it off its feet. So desperate it was, starving for a feeling it had never dared to dream be reciprocated, that it tore a gaping hole in him at first strike. 

That little hidden shard of his now flew free, gazing out into the world he’d hidden it from with awe and splendor. For just one second, the stars around them seemed to glow, the hand on his cheek felt warmer, and his core felt infinitely lighter. Little dagger, so eagerly it flung around the shoulders of the one waiting for it outside its imprisonment, that it hadn’t even noticed that every other inch of Ghirahim had kept its thousands of hands firmly at its hilt. They ripped it back inside. It went back with them cheering and giggling, a little tatter of the object of its affection clutched firmly in its hands. 

He could not sever this. Not if he let it continue.

And so, he ran. He broke himself away from the golden eyes that looked at him so longingly by clenching his own shut. By the time he opened them again, his hands were empty and cold, and his back was pressed against one of the columns that left this very library standing. The room was dark.

He was hoping that tearing himself from him would bring him a measure of relief, of closure. To avoid the words about to be spoken was to avoid opening a door he had only dared to peep through and hold it ajar, lured in by the tranquilizing sweetness of his curiosity. It was a world not meant for him, not with this man. He’d slam the stop-gap keeping it open to splinters if he had to.

Yet, as he stood there, drowning in the deathly silence of the library, he couldn’t bring himself to. There was not a shred of relief to be found in the ache that buckled his knees. That door to what-could-be remained open. After he’d shattered it, it could never close again. In the paralysis that kept him clinging to that pillar like a lifeline, he heard a shred from that great unknown. Above him, from the balcony, a wet, ragged breath ripped itself through the Twili’s throat in a heaving sob.

A crash, a shatter, the sound of little gears and mechanisms scattering across the stone floor assaulted his ears. Though he fled from them, the ringing and clattering haunted Ghirahim in echoes as he made his solemn stride to his chambers.

[author-a-holmes]

10 Songs Tag

Thank you @red-pen-ally for the Tag.

Tagging forward, with no pressure, to @acertainmoshke, @sleepyowlwrites, @afoolandathief, @minamoroz and @faelanvance. Also anyone else who wants to play.

There's no rules attached to this game, that I could see, so I've just shuffled my currently playlist and put down the first 10 songs that popped up <3

1. Satellite by Nickeback

Let's lock the door behind us They won't find us Make the whole world wait

While we dance around this bedroom Like we've only got tonight Not about to let you Go until the morning light

2. You're Not Sorry by Taylor Swift

You don't have to call anymore, I won't pick up the phone, This is the last straw, Don't wanna hurt anymore, And you can tell me that you're sorry, But I don't believe you baby, Like I did before, You're not sorry, no, no...

3. Cannonball by Avril Lavigne

You did me dirty, now I'm gone, I'm living life without you, I just wrote a song, it goes, "I don't give a fuck about ya"! And I'll be happy if we never speak again, I just deleted every memory from inside of my head!

4. Take Me or Leave Me by Glee (Rent/Idina Menzel Cover)

That's it! The straw that breaks my back I quit, unless you take it back Women, what is it about them? Can't live with them or without them!

5. Confident by Demi Lovato

I used to hold my freak back Now I'm letting go I make my own choice Bitch, I run this show So leave the lights on No, you can't make me behave

6. Rock Show by Halestorm

Little girl, you like it loud Come alive in the middle of a crowd You wanna scream, you wanna shout Get excited when the lights go down

At the rock show You'll be right in the front row Heart and soul, they both know It's where you gotta be

7. So Yesterday by Hilary Duff

If it's over let it go and Come tomorrow it will seem so yesterday, so yesterday I'm just a bird that's already flown away

Laugh it off and let it go and When you wake up it will seem so yesterday, so yesterday Haven't you heard that I'm gonna be okay?

8. Since U Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson

How can I put it? You put me on I even fell for that stupid love song Yeah, yeah Since you been gone How come I'd never hear you say, "I just wanna be with you"? Guess you never felt that way

But since you been gone I can breathe for the first time[...]

9. All About That Bass by Meghan Trainor

Yeah, it's pretty clear, I ain't no size two But I can shake it, shake it, like I'm supposed to do 'Cause I got that boom boom that all the boys chase And all the right junk in all the right places

10. Death of Me by Daughtry

We're all under pressure Can't stand the weather For the worst and not for the better Please, this ain't the way to live Something's got to give We forgive but don't forget it, no

Another day, another battle We all have a cage to rattle This just might be the death of me Might be the death of me

[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!

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“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.”

[wishesunderthestars]

Eunoia // Ch. 12

eunoia (noun): beautiful thinking, the possession of a well-balanced mind, which exhibits goodwill and kindness

Pairings: Hybrid! BTS x reader

Summary: You are a world famous director and you have dedicated your life to your job.You have everything you could ever dream of; wealth, recognition, talent, your friends and family. But loneliness ins’t cured by success. So what happens when you somehow rescue seven hybrids? Can they fill the void?

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, eventual smut

Word Count: 18.1k+

Warnings: Abuse and violence, mentions of past sexual abuse, mentions of putting down hybrids, discussion of insomnia caused by a traumatic event, panic attacks, derogetory language

Masterlist

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11

Phew, that was long one. Please comment and reblog it really motivates me to keep writing. And I always love receiving asks so don’t be shy ;)

"I can't believe this is happening! Why can't I receive good news for once?" After the initial shock, you were fuming. "Work of months has been destroyed and for what? Because someone decided not to take the proper safety measures to save some money. People could have been hurt in there! Seriously hurt. And it would have been on our heads!"  

Namjoon was holding your phone, the email you had received opened on the screen. "You didn't know they hadn't taken the necessary precautions. It wouldn't have been on your head."  

"Can you imagine what would have happened if we had been filming? If the actors and the crew were inside and the building collapsed on us?" The chair scraped against the floor as you raised to your feet. You couldn't stay sitting anymore. "I don't even want to think about that. How many people... If we would even get out of there alive. And it isn't only us. What if the earthquake hadn't hit at night? And the workers were still inside? What then? This is wrong on so many levels I can't even begin to count."  

Five point six Richter. That was the magnitude of the earthquake that had hit Virginia. It had been felt in Washington. They said it had affected a radius of two hundred kilometers around the center of the earthquake. No one had expected it and no one had been prepared. In the email there was a detailed description of how the earthquake had caused the sets for The Raven Cycle to collapse in on themselves, because the respective protection measures hadn't been taken. The earthquake had hit at night, waking up everyone in the area and causing panic as people flooded the streets. They had discovered the ruined sets in the morning.  

Protection measures were of utmost important in every environment and you were baffled that a film studio with such prestige would disregard them so easily. You had half a mind to storm into the building you had just returned from and make a scene in front of everyone. They had put everyone in danger, not only the actors and the crew and all the people working there but also the passersby who could have had metal rods falling on their heads.  

How could they allow this? How could they be so careless? It wasn't a building made for only a couple of days of use with light materials. Filming would take place there for the better part of the summer. In a few months you would have been there. You could have been there.  

"And now you have to leave?" Namjoon asked, jaw tense. "Can't you wait a few days and go later?" You knew what he was thinking. You didn't want to leave either. It was the worst time possible for you to leave. The two hybrids in the guestroom, the injuries you had to tend to, Jimin and Jungkook, Jimin's past. But it wasn't your decision to make.  

"I can't, they have already planned the whole trip. It isn't like I have a choice. The message is clear, I will be flying to Virginia in two days. As the director and showrunner, I have to be there. They have called everyone important in the project and I am one of the lucky ones. And it isn't like I can refuse unless I have a very important reason. And I can't exactly tell them I am nursing to health a stray hybrid until he and his friend can live on their own again, instead of reporting them to the hybrid services."  

Namjoon's face scrunched up at the mention of the services. They were anything but kind to hybrids. They thought they could do anything to them if they were strays before they had to give them to a center. The times he and his small pack had to run away from them weren't few. It disgusted you, the way some people behaved.  

You landed back on your chair with a huff, tired of pacing. Namjoon must have got a headache from the way his eyes were following you. "This is just what I didn't need. I thought we wouldn't have to go to Virginia until summer!"  

You felt like banging your head on the wall but you settled for laying you head on the desk. It collided with a dull thud.  

It wasn't only the destroyed set and what that meant for the show. Slowing down of the production, a larger budget needed (oh, the irony) and the bad press you would get if it got out.

People in the area must have suffered. Flashes of collapsed buildings, shattered windows and  cracks in the streets ran through your mind. No, it couldn't be that bad. You prayed it wasn't that bad.  

Namjoon frowned. "What are you supposed to do there? You aren't going to help rebuild the sets. What do they need you for?" You could see the worry in his eyes. His instincts calling him to protect you, to not let you leave. You appreciated the fact he was fighting it.  

With your cheek squished against the desk you said, "No, I'm not going to rebuild the sets, but they need me there nonetheless. There is a legal part of this whole thing I have to be there for. And me being there might help the ones doing the rebuilding."  

Namjoon sighed, giving up on trying to keep you here. "Will John come with you?"  

"Most likely," you said, raising your head from the desk and sitting back on the chair. Your back hurt from the awkward angle you had bent your body in. "I will ask him but I'm pretty sure he will say yes. He always comes with me when I'm working out of California. He has toured half of the world being my bodyguard. And this time.... This time I don't think he would let me go without him."  

 "It seems you do tend to travel a lot," Namjoon noted. There wasn't any judgment or disdain in his voice, he was simply stating a fact. If anything he looked at the cream and gold world globe on your desk with longing. He had told you he had never left California, created and bred in Los Angeles. You didn't like how he said "created" but you couldn't correct him. "It must be nice seeing all those places."  

 The gold of the globe caught the light, distorted figures moving on the polished surface. "It's nice when it's properly planned and when I actually want to go. And there aren't any natural disasters involved. I can't say that's true this time. It's the furthest it could be from the truth." You groaned. "What am I going to do now? I can't leave like this. There are so many things going on."  

 Namjoon was too close to what he looked like talking to you about the ending of the Book Thief. "How long will you be gone?"  

 "A week?" The email didn't specify. A week was how long most work trips that didn't include filming lasted, but this wasn't a normal work trip. This had never happened to you or to anyone you knew before. You had heard of disasters but nothing like this.  

 Your fingers had subconsciously started drumming a tune on the desk. A tune that had comforted you once. A tune he used to hum long before he turned it into a song. You stilled your hand.  

 An earthquake. Five point six Richter. Shaking buildings, rattling shelves, trembling chandeliers, cupboards opening and dishes and glasses falling to the floor. The kind of thing you see on the TV. The kind of thing you don't ever expect to witness. No one expects a disaster like that to strike out of the blue, but that's the way it is. There is no one to warn you, no one who can.  

 You didn't go to dinner. You told Namjoon not to wait for you, you would eat later. Climbing down the stairs, you stopped in front of the door and knocked. The reply was the same and Yoongi opened the door like every time.  

Every room had a medical kit in the bathroom, the one in this had to be restocked twice in the past few days.  

 Hoseok gave you a small smile and extended his broken arm. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you started telling him of the time you had spent in the Caribbean Sea. You had stayed there for a few months and had spent most of that time in Jamaica and Puerto Rico. The sandy beaches, the endless turquoise sea and the colorful houses didn't fail to bring a smile to your face. The people had been welcoming and kind, eager to help with any problems production faced. They invited you to nights full of dancing and music and included you in everything like you belonged there.  

 The movie you had filmed wasn't one of your biggest hits. It wasn't nominated for an Oscar and although it did earn much recognition and was played at multiple international film festivals, it wasn't as successful as your other films. But it was the most fun you had had filming. The actors were incredible both at their job and out of it. You had spent some of the best nights of your life there.  

 As you fastened the splint in place around Hoseok's arm, you told him of the night they had lit large bonfires along the beach and all the people in the area had gathered around to have a few drinks and dance. Your mind, however, wasn't on the story. A fractured arm and a rib wasn't something you should be treating at home. It didn't matter how many first aid classes you had attended, a lot of things could go wrong. But it was either this or nothing. When you had suggested taking Hoseok to the hospital, Yoongi had almost bitten your head off.  

Hoseok was laying back against the pillows with his eyes clothes when you were done. He was doing better. Having regular meals and being able to wash made the improvement more evident. He didn't complain when you were treating him but you could see his eyes clenching shut when you were applying salve to the most tender spots. The stories helped. They distracted him and you could work easier. He rarely spoke but lately he had been brave enough to voice any questions he had and you had readily answered him. Progress. Progress you hoped wouldn't halt now.  

"This is it for today," you said, rubbing your hands together and getting up. "In a few days you won't have any trouble moving around on your own. Not anything too strenuous, though, no running or jumping around."  

"Thank you." Hoseok spoke softly, like being any louder would break an unspoken rule. Like it would get him punished.  

Yoongi was sitting on the chaise lounge by the glass wall, facing away from you. The fire pits were lit all the way along the balconies, flames licking up the darkness of the night. He didn't look at you while you were there, only stealing glances when he thought you weren't looking. When his eyes met yours he would scowl and look away.  

"There is something I wanted to tell you," you started. You didn't know how else to say it so you jumped in head first. "I was called to Virginia for work. I'll be leaving the day after tomorrow." Yoongi's back stiffened, his tail stilling in the air. Hoseok's eyes turned impossibly wide. "I don't know yet how long I will stay there but it will be some time before I can come back. I thought you should know because I won't be able to treat you."  

Yoongi huffed. "Who will be our caretaker then?"  

You paused by the door. "Do you think you need one?"  

"Is this a joke?" Yoongi's fists clenched. There was no blood on them anymore.  

It wasn’t a secret that hybrids were treated like pets, that included having someone babysit them when the owner was gone. You had been through it before when you had left for New York shortly after you had adopted Namjoon, Jimin and Jungkook. Everyone had expected you to ask someone to take care of them. You hadn’t. They could take care of themselves and each other just fine.

It was the same now.

“If you think you need a caretaker I can hire one for you, but I doubt you do,” you said. “I think you can survive in the Castle without me for a few days. If I’m gone for longer than a week, Helen my housekeeper will come over to do some cleaning. She usually comes over a few times a week. And the gardener comes by quite often. ”  

Yoongi looked stunned but schooled his features quickly. Hoseok’s ears were pinned against his head. You closed the door behind you.

Why did your work’s timing had to always be that bad?

An earthquake. A fucking earthquake.

In the kitchen, the table was served. The mouthwatering smell of the food drifted in the air. Jimin, Namjoon and Jin were sitting around the table, Jungkook absent once again. No one had touched their plates.  

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” you said taking your seat. Your plate was filled with a generous slice of meat pie and fresh salad. Your stomach grumbled. You hadn’t noticed you were that hungry.

“We wanted to wait for you.” Jimin’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, it hadn’t since the day he had come running to you, begging you to take him with you to work. Jungkook spent most of his time at the atelier and he slept in Jin’s room at night. Every time he didn’t show up for meals, the light in Jimin’s eyes dimmed further.

You picked up your fork and knife and cut into the pie. The taste was heavenly, not that you had expected anything else from Jin. You told him so and delighted in the way he got flushed and tried to cover it by a terrible joke he must have come up with on the spot. While you ate, you didn’t speak much, thinking about the best way to bring up the news crawling up your throat. Namjoon squeezed your hand under the table.

When your plates were empty and Jimin was laying his head on Jin’s shoulder, you decided it was time. You put your fork aside. You started by the email, the email that had looked so inconspicuous at first because you received emails like that all the time. An email labeled “important” was often not as important as the people sending it thought it was. You couldn’t have guessed what it contained inside. You hadn’t been prepared.

Your leg was moving up and down on the metal foothold of the stool, mimicking your racing heartbeat. An earthquake had struck Virginia at night. You repeated the dry words of the email, of someone who hadn’t felt the terror of the earth shaking underneath their feet. Five point six Richter, strong enough to knock down the sets they had been building for months. You were required to be there in two days.  

Jimin’s bottom lip was trembling. “How long will you stay?”

You shook your head. It was the same question you were asking and had no answers for. Even if you called someone in the company they wouldn’t have anything but speculations for you. “I hope no more than a week.”

“Isn’t it dangerous?” Jin asked. “What if there are aftershocks, or if it was a warning for a larger one coming?”

Jin’s question brought an dreadful shine to Jimin’s eyes. You had thought of that as well but your mind was troubled already as it was. Questions of your safety would take this too far. For once, you didn’t trust the company you were working with to keep you safe. You would have to do research before you left and take all the necessary precautions. You wouldn’t risk it like they had.

Namjoon wrapped his hand around his glass but didn’t bring it to his lips. “John will be with her. They will be alright.” It didn’t calm down Jimin who hugged himself tightly, dropping his head to his chest.

You couldn’t watch him suffering anymore. Getting up, you walked to him and hugged his from behind, prying his hands away so they were over yours instead. “I promise I’ll call you every day and we will text. It’s like when I was in New York and you texted me every day about what you got up to and what you were thinking. Your texts made me forget all about work and how tired I was.” Jimin sniffled but his cheeks remained dry. “It’s only a few days. They’ll be over soon. You won’t be alone here.”

Jin ruffled Jimin’s hair and the cat hybrid wrapped one arm around the oldest, pulling him into the hug. You placed a kiss on both their head, making Jin flush again. He wasn’t used to physical attention the way Jimin was but he craved it too and you were trying to make sure he felt as loved as he was.  

Namjoon held Jimin while you and Jin cleaned the table. He grabbed Jimin’s thighs lifting him up and carried him to the living room. The younger laughed all the way there, telling him to put him down. His tight hold around Namjoon’s neck told him a very different thing.

But you weren’t done yet. You had one more person to tell.

The atelier’s door was half open. You knocked once on the wood before opening it all the way. The room could be described as an organized mess. Two canvases were set up in the middle of the room and three half-finished ones stood against the cabinets. The floor was covered in newspapers splattered with all the colors of the rainbow and paint tubes were lined on the tables in no particular order.  

“I finished dinner, you can take it,” he said, gesturing to the tray on one of the tables with the hand not holding a brush.

“That isn’t why I’m here.” One of his ears perked up as you walked closer. The canvas he was working on now was a blend of shades of purple, orange and yellow with no definitive details. “What are you painting.”

He shrugged. “Don’t know yet.” Moving forward with no destination. You knew how that felt.

Jungkook hadn’t distanced himself just from Jimin but from everyone. He didn’t run to you to hug you and scent you when you came back like he used to do. He didn’t come up to the living room to watch TV and talk until you were too exhausted to keep your eyes open. He didn’t show you his progress on the paintings. He didn’t annoy Jin while he cooked (the oldest liked it even if complained). He didn’t come to meals. Meals were family time.

Being in the atelier now was different to any other time. It was the stifling feeling of an empty page, which used to be ecstasy. It was wrong, something missing.

“I have to leave for Virginia the day after tomorrow,” you said, ripping the band-aid off. The times you had said it today were too many. Surprised doe eyes turned to you. You explained the story once again and waited.

Jungkook seemed to be bracing himself for something. “Can you take me with you?”

“Take you with me?” you repeated, dumbfounded.  

He nodded. The brush he had been holding had fallen to the floor at some point painting the newspapers in a shock of deep purple. Neither of you had noticed. “I won’t bother you. I’ll listen to everything you say. You can leave me at the hotel. I won’t cause any trouble, no one will know I’m there.” He lowered his head. “I need to be away from here.”  

“Jungkook…” Your hand touched his cheek and you felt the way he clenched his jaw under the touch. “If this is-”

“Don’t,” he begged, pulling away. A pained desperation coloring his voice. “You don’t know what I did. If you did-” He took a sharp breath. “Can I come with you? Please.”

Stifling. You hadn’t considered taking any of the hybrids with you now. You had planned on inviting them along when you would go there for filming, a much more fun part of your job. This would be a busy trip and most likely far from enjoyable. It could be dangerous. But Jungkook’s eyes were begging you. He was fading away locked up in the atelier avoiding everyone.  

“Okay. If you really want to, you can come with me. I’ll help you pack the essentials,” you said. Jungkook visibly relaxed. Maybe you should have pressed more. Insisted on him speaking with Jimin before you left or after you came back. But you were exhausted and a headache was brewing behind your temples.  

Jungkook glanced at a canvas covered with a white sheet at a corner. You’d let it go for now.

When Jimin sneaked into your room late into the night, you didn’t say anything pulling up the covers in a silent invitation. Jimin crawled underneath and hid in your arms. Against every expectation you fell asleep. Orange bottle untouched in the bathroom cabinet.

The days leading up to your departure were every kind of hectic. Panic had taken over the studios and the atmosphere was tense in every meeting. No one wanted to admit the colossal mistake that could have cost the lives of so many people. The press was another matter entirely. The project could get a bad reputation before it was aired. It was emotionally exhausting, your brain working in overdrive, coming up with solutions to problems that may or may not arise. You had to be prepared for the worst.

At home it wasn’t much better. You had started packing for the weird end-of-spring weather in Virginia. The Raven Cycle books and a little research had provided you with enough information about what to expect. Dry, warm and with a possibility of thunderstorms. It could also get cold at night so you made sure to pack a few sweatshirts.  

You helped Jungkook pack his things in a similar way. He had a habit of wearing long sleeves even when it was hot so you packed a few more sweatshirts and hoodies for him. He continued not talking much but he looked calmer now that you were leaving. All you wanted to do was hug him and tell him everything was going to be alright. But you didn’t think that would be welcome.

Jimin had timidly offered to take care of Hoseok’s injuries while you were gone. You hesitated at first. While they had been here Jimin and Yoongi hadn’t interacted much. You had expected they would talk, figure out the strange tension between them, but they had kept to themselves. You gave in in the end. The worst had come and passed and you trusted Jimin to provide the basic care Hoseok needed.  

He came with you to their room before dinner and you explained to him what you were doing. Hoseok was a little more withdrawn than usual but  he didn’t protest, smiling at Jimin.

You had a long talk with Namjoon in your office the night before the day you were scheduled to leave. There were a lot of things to talk about and you tried to get everything out. All your worries and all the things you thought he should know. When you were spent and his reassurances were buried deep in your chest, he brought you close to him, rubbing his face in your neck. He places light kissed on your skin, his lips trailing up until they were touching yours.

The house was silent. You opened your eyes blearily, staring at your phone. The ringing of the alarm had stopped, leaving large numbers reading the time on the screen. The blinds were closed hiding the morning from you.  

There was a weight on your chest. You looked down to find tired eyes staring up at you. Jimin made a small sound in the back of his throat and nuzzled against you. His blond hair was soft against your fingers as you combed through it. A loud purr escaped him as you scratched the base of his cat ears. He held on to you tighter but the alarm was clear, you needed to get up and get ready. You had a flight to catch.

“No, don’t go,” Jimin whined.

You massaged his head down to his neck. “I have to get up. I’ll miss the plane if I’m late.”

In the shadows of the room you could see the pout on his full lips. “What if you miss it?”

“If I miss it, I’ll get in trouble. And I’d rather not get in trouble.” Jimin snuggled closer to you and you could smell the vanilla shampoo he loved. Mia had said in the early days that she had smelt vanilla and muffins on you and you had guessed that was Jimin’s scent. The shampoo must serve to accentuate his natural scent.  

His cat ears lowered as his tail wrapped around your bare leg. You suppressed a shudder at the feeling of the soft fur against your skin. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“I know, that’s why I have to go.” You untangled yourself from the hybrid and pressed the button for the blinds to retreat. The morning light spilled into the room. It caught on Jimin’s curls painting them golden. You had an urge to capture the moment with your camera, the way he looked so soft, hair mussed and eyes still dreaming. Carving the image in your memory, you walked to the bathroom to take a shower and get ready for the day.

Getting dressed for a flight was different than getting dressed for any other work day. You liked to wear something comfortable that wouldn’t look too bad on camera. You weren’t the kind of celebrity to get mobbed every time you went out but sometimes paparazzi could get wind of where you were going and show up at the airport. When you were traveling for premieres or events, fans and paparazzi would fill the place.  

The previous night you had set aside a pair of loose black pants and a red top. You would also take your leather jacket with you because it could get chilly on the plane.  

Jimin, wearing his stripped white and blue pajamas with the little pink hearts, clung to you like a koala all the way to breakfast. He only let go of you when you placed your large black bag on the floor and took a seat at the kitchen island. Jin was finishing up with cooking, taking the pots off the stove. Breakfast was almost ready.

John would be coming later to drive you to the airport. The black SUV had turned into a sign you would be traveling. Because of the sheer volume of the luggage you always ended up with, a large car was needed to drive you to and from the airport. This time you had packed two suitcases and your handbag. You had been tempted to fill a sac-voyage as well but you quickly abandoned the thought.  

Namjoon arrived, looking wide awake. The opposite of Jimin and his drooping eyes. Only one was missing. And you weren’t compromising today.

“Jungkook?” you asked. The others exchanged a glance. It told you enough. “I’m going to go get him. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Their gazes followed you as you left. They probably didn’t believe you could get him to come up. And any other day that could have been the case.  

The door of the atelier was closed but you were sure Jungkook was inside. The amount of time he had been spending in there was unhealthy but you were the last person who could judge him, having spent the majority of your so called break in your office. You knocked three times before opening the door.

Jungkook was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, lost in a place that used to scream comfort. Did it still? You couldn’t feel it anymore. The canvases were all in their places and the paints and brushes had been tidied up. Sitting on the paint splattered newspapers in his completely black clothes, Jungkook looked lost.

“We’re having breakfast upstairs,” you said.

Jungkook’s eyes cleared, just enough for most of the fog to disappear. One bunny ear drooped down and he swiped it away from his face. “Can’t Jin bring it to me?”

You shook your head. “Jin isn’t bringing anything to you. You will be coming to breakfast and eat with us like you used to.”

He lowered his head, both ears falling in his face. “I can’t.”

“You very much can and you will.” You tried to be gentle but you were firm on this. “You will come up and we will all eat breakfast together. We are leaving in a few hours for the other side of the United States and I have no idea when we will be back. You aren’t doing anything here and everyone wants to see you and spend some time together.”

“Not everyone.” It was so low he probably hadn’t meant for you to hear.

“Everyone,” you said, kneeling by his side. “Everyone wants to see you.” You brushed his bangs off his face, petting his ears in the process. He didn’t relax the way he usually did, melting in your hands, but he did lean into the touch. “One breakfast. That’s all I’m asking for. You said you’d listen to me if I took you with me to Virginia.”

He couldn’t disagree with that and when you offered him your hand he took it.  

Jungkook and Jimin had had a special bond. That first night you had seen it in the way Jimin cried begging you to help Jungkook, to heal him. You had seen it in the way Jungkook, beat up and having trouble breathing, was asking Jimin if he was injured, if he needed to be treated first and Jimin had cried every time Jungkook flinched but smiled and squeezed his hand to ease the pain. Nothing had changed the longer you spent with them, the way they loved and cared for each other only becoming more apparent.

Jungkook had gone to Namjoon crying, saying he had hurt Jimin but you couldn’t imagine him doing anything but loving him. Misunderstandings preyed on everyone and they were hungry for those who loved each other. They would get through it, you assured yourself. They were strong and they cared too much to continue hurting each other like this. You cared too much too, you wouldn’t let this get out of hand.

They needed a break, that’s what it was. Jungkook had been right, the trip would help put some distance between them to think clearer. You would make sure when you returned they would be ready to face whatever had happened between them.

Jimin lit up at seeing Jungkook but the light dimmed when the younger didn’t even glance his way. You sighed into your orange juice.

After breakfast Jungkook carried up his suitcase while you went to another room. Three knocks and a question of who it was. It had become routine. Hoseok smiled at you, he had been doing that more and more.  

You sat down at the side of the bed, Yoongi watching you from the chaise lounge, his ears standing alert. “I’m just here to check on you one last time before I go. Jimin will take over after this.”

Hoseok was sitting with his back against the headboard. He hadn’t been able to do that without hurting the first days. “When will you be leaving?”

Touching his arm to inspect it, you said, “John will be here in about thirty minutes but the flight isn’t for another two hours. We have to be early at the airport because the process to get on the plane takes a long time. Do you want to hear about the first time I got on a plane? That’s a funny story.”

Hoseok nodded enthusiastically so you started recounting the time you were sixteen and you had to take a plane to get to the film festival that was held in France. The short film you had directed would be played there. The only problem was that you had never been on a plane before and the prospect of flying wasn’t appealing to you in the least. It just happened that the flight was far from calm.

The check up was finished halfway through the story but Hoseok touched your arm, wordlessly asking you to finish it. At your arrival in France Hoseok’s smile dissolved.  

“I have to get going, John will be here soon,” you said getting up. Hoseok had met John only after you had told him of the time both of you had gotten lost in London. John had been insisting he knew what he was doing leading you deeper into the maze of streets. Because of that a few more stories the bodyguard had guest-starred in, the fox hybrid hadn’t looked as terrified as some people did at the side of the giant of a bodyguard.

“Thank you for,” he gestured to himself “this. And the stories. Thank you for the stories.”

You stopped by the door. “It was my pleasure.”

John was at the Castle right on time, parking the SUV close to the front door. He helped you carry everything to the car, which meant he carried the three suitcases while Jungkook insisted he could help. The bunny hybrid did help but only because John took pity on him and let him help with putting the suitcases in the trunk.  

You lowered your sunglasses. No wind and no cloud in sight. You would have a calm trip.  

You hugged all the hybrids, letting them scent you. Jimin’s eyes were growing misty and you hugged him extra hard assuring him you would be back soon. You rubbed your forehead against Jin’s and kissed his cheek in goodbye, his skin warming up under your lips. Goodbyes were hard and you’d thought you’d gotten used to them. Saying goodbye to Taylor and Zayn before tours, to your aunt the rare times you could visit her, to your friends, to the actors and the crew.  

And yet your chest was tight.

Namjoon was talking with John by the car and you heard him asking John to take care of you and Jungkook. John replied he would protect you with his life. John was your bodyguard but this had been more than a job to him for a long time.

From the corner of your eye you saw Jimin approach Jungkook. He reached to touch him, hug him. Jungkook flinched. Jimin’s hand hovered in the air before going limp. He backed away, his chin dropping to his chest and jaw trembling.  

You bit the inside of your cheek. A hand landed on your shoulder and you turned to find Namjoon standing next to you. You weren’t the only one who had watched the youngests’ exchange. You hid in his arms, forgetting about the world for a moment. The two hybrids who loved each other too much, the trip you had to take, production being halted, that godforsaken earthquake. He nosed along your neck, his warm breath tingling your skin.  

Jungkook got into the car first, an escape, and you followed soon after, a necessity. The house got smaller and smaller behind you as the car drove away. The Castle fading in the distance. Another trip. Different reasons, a different disaster, but familiar territory. Once you used to be excited about these trips, exploring a new place and living new experiences. Where had that part of yourself gone?  

But you weren’t alone this time. Jungkook was looking out of the window, his head laying against the glass. You would take him to that yogurt shop you had liked so much and you would show him the park you wanted to film at and take him to that endearing small cinema. Yeah, you would do that.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

The hotel towered over the rest of the buildings in the area. It wasn’t the same one you had stayed on your first visit last year, more grand and definitely more expensive. The company had gone all out. An admirable attempt to quell your anger, yet it continued simmering underbeath your skin. A young man was waiting for you outside, taking the suitcases from the car and leading you to the lobby.  

Jungkook looked around with wide eyes and an open mouth. There was so much glass and marble, almost everything was made using these two materials.  

The receptionist smiled at you wide, her teeth white and straight like her uniform. She welcomed you to the hotel and handed you two key cards, white with a gold line on front and the room numbers in cursive. Two cards.

“I was sure I’d forgotten something,” you muttered.

The receptionist’s smile faltered. “Is something not to your liking, miss?”  

Two cards. One for your room and one for John’s. You had notified the company about Jungkook accompanying you but you hadn’t requested another room. Granted, you had thought they would come to the conclusion on their own. One more room would have cost them a lot, though. Easy way out. But you couldn’t exactly blame them. At hotels, owners rarely bothered to spend money on a room for their hybrids.

You held the cards like a magician ready to do a trick, showing them to John.  

“Shouldn’t there be one more?” he asked.

The woman behind the desk blinked a few times. “More? Two rooms were booked in the name Y/N Y/L/N. Is there a problem?”

You sighed. “No, I guess there isn’t. Or there wasn’t supposed to be.” Jungkook watched the exchange shifting from foot to foot. His black hoodie was a size too big and he was drowning in it. “Do you have any available rooms in the same floor.”

“I’m afraid we don’t, miss. The rooms on the top floor are all booked for the night.”

“Great.” You couldn’t think of another solution, you would have to make do. “Thank you. We’ll be going now.”

“Have a nice stay,” the receptionist said.

The elevator was as luxurious as the lobby, a glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling. John had your black bag slung over his shoulder. The man with your suitcases was already gone, you would find them in your rooms when you arrived. There was a mirror to your left and leaning your back against the wall your gazed at your reflection. With your black circles hidden with concealer and carefully applied makeup, you looked just a little tired from the flight. You had brushed your hair on the plane and it fell in waves over your shoulders, curling at the tips.

Jungkook hadn’t been to a hotel before and it showed as he tried to take everything in. The lights that were on even in the afternoon, the golds and whites, the mirrors and glass and the velvet seats. It was wonderful but still it wasn’t the best hotel you had stayed at.

The elevator’s doors opened with a ding and you walked into the well-lit corridors. Doors were on either side with a sitting area at the front. You had stayed in many hotels over the years but they were nothing more than a place for rest. Sleep and shower, that’s all you did in your room. And sometimes breakfast or dinner if you didn’t feel like going out.  

Stopping in front of a white door, you checked the numbers on the cards again. The two rooms were very close, only a few meters distance from each other.

Two rooms. Right.

You handed John his key card. “So, we’ve got two rooms…” Jungkook looked at you curiously. “I hope you don’t mind staying in my room with me for now. Unless you would prefer staying with John and his snoring.”

John pointed a finger at you. “Hey, I don’t snore.”

You hummed. “Sure you don’t. What I have been hearing all those years must be the pigs outside.”  

Jungkook was trying to hide his laughter behind his hand and doing a poor job of it.

John dropped your bag by your feet. “Do you hear her? No respect for me. That’s what I get for listening to your every whim for years. I’ll go to my room now and snore in peace.”

You giggled as John struggled to swipe the key card right. With an ‘aha’, he managed to open the door and get inside. You swiped your own card, the door clicking open at the first try. Both of you had been doing it for years but John was more of a fan of traditional keys.  

The company had booked a suite for you, which you guessed was one of the best in the hotel. The door opened to a grand living room with white velvet couches and armchairs and a 75 inch TV. You took off your sneakers before stepping on the wool carpet, it was white with veins of gold running through it.

You fell on the couch, taking off your backpack and placing it on the floor. “I’m sorry for this, I thought they would book three rooms for us.”

Jungkook looked at you from where he was still standing by the door, his hands pulling at the straps of his backpack. “Why would they book three rooms?” There was a gap here. Hybrids stayed with their owners, that was the norm. You realized that was what he had expected.

“We are three people. I thought you would want your own room. I told them you would be coming with me for the tickets but they didn’t change the rooms they had booked.” You threw your head back and closed your eyes. “Everything is going so well already.”

There a shuffling of feet from the door. “I thought… I can stay with John if he doesn’t mind or… I can…”

You opened your eyes. Jungkook was looking at the floor, his ears drooped at the sides of his head. “What are you talking about?”

Jungkook hugged himself. “I don’t want to bother you.”

And it clicked. You got up from the couch. “Oh, bunny. You aren’t bothering me. I only wanted one more room because I thought that’s what you wanted, that you wanted your own space.” You didn’t touch him, remembering him flinching and pulling away, but you stayed close to show him you were there for him.  

“Oh, I-” He flushed, not knowing what to say. You had been past that stage and it was unfortunate to see the shyness and hesitance come back.

“Come on, take off your shoes,” you said, motioning for him to come further into the room. “I desperately need a shower. Then we can rest. I don’t have to do anything until late tonight. Do you want to go in first?”

Jungkook sat down gingerly on the couch. “No, no, you can go in first. I think I’ll sleep a little.”

You stopped him before he could lay down. “Here?”

Confused, he looked around at the furniture. “Should I take the smaller couch?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you said. “But there is a huge bed in the bedroom. If you feel uncomfortable though, I could take the couch.”

Jungkook shot up at that. “No, no way. You have work, you should sleep in the bed.” The redness creeped into his cheeks again. “I would like… I would like to share, if that’s alright.”

You gave him a smile. “That’s more than alright. Come in, then.”

You were planning to make the most out of this trip.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

Jimin had memorized everything you had said about checking and treating Hoseok’s injuries. He had memorized the pills he was taking, the salves you used and the times you checked on him during the day. Before you left, he had even looked up all the injuries Hoseok had on Google and read all the information he could find. You had told him Hoseok was well on his way to recovery and he didn’t have to worry much. But he was worried. He was very worried.

He had thought he had been ready, that he could do this. But standing outside their door, second thoughts were smothering him.

What if he did something wrong and he hurt him? What if he made everything worse? If he pressed too hard, if he used the wrong cream, if he wrapped the bandages wrong…  

Seokjin would have been much better at this. He took care of them like a parent, he would have been a better choice than Jimin. But Seokjin was the one to cook all their meals, he had enough on his plate. Yoongi could have done it but… He had only glared at you and sneered something that sounded very much like a refusal.

Yoongi…

He hadn’t talked to him since the day he had chased him to the alleyway. The older didn’t leave the room he shared with Hoseok unless it was absolutely necessary. Jimin didn’t know what he had expected, but it wasn’t this… This stasis they were trapped in. He had expected someone yelling, accusing. Sharp words, that didn’t match the soft voice he had been used to. There had been none of that. Nothing at all. He wasn’t sure what he preferred.

Hoseok smiled a little at him when he walked into the room. He was sitting up in his bed with his reddish tail in his lap. Yoongi, laying in his own bed, didn’t acknowledge him but his dark eyes were burning Jimin’s skin when he wasn’t looking.  

Hoseok patted the bed with the hand that wasn’t in a cast. His smile was smaller than it had been in the morning. Your absence wasn’t affecting only them. Jimin had heard you telling stories to Hoseok, you had done the same with Jungkook. But he had no stories to tell, nothing worth sharing. He hadn’t traveled the world, he didn’t have interesting and famous friends, he didn’t have a job or childhood memories by the beach.  

Silence spread, only broken by his apologies every time Hoseok winced. He was holding back for his sake and it made his stomach clench. He left the room like there were hell-hounds on his heels.  

The second day you were gone everyone woke up early in the morning, like all the days they had to be up early to see you before leaving for work. You might not be there but his body demanded he wake up and drag his feet upstairs for breakfast. A book was laying cover up on the table. One of the leather-bound classics you kept on the top shelves of the library. Namjoon read it at night before going to sleep.

Seokjin placed a plate of pancakes in front of Jimin. Pancakes were his favorite.

Belly full, he trudged to the second level.  

“Good morning,” he greeted, coming through the door.

Hoseok’s fox ears twitched. “Good morning,” he said with a small smile. Yoongi remained silent, standing by the glass wall.  

Jimin fetched the medical kit from the bathroom. Everything he would need was in there. “Did you sleep well?” He tried to make conversation. It wasn’t easy when he felt like he could erupt at any moment with Yoongi’s gaze on him. If he hurt Hoseok, Yoongi would never look at him again. Or he could do so much worse. But Jimin had already lost him years ago.  

“Yeah,” Hoseok replied, fumbling with the blanket he was sitting on. “I had a weird dream. About being at the lake. There was a statue there and he was talking… It was good, though.”

There was a small Greek style statue on the half-empty shelves of the room, a Kouros you had explained to him. “It must be because of that.” Jimin motioned to the shelves. “There are pieces of ancient Greece all over the house. The first show Y/N directed was about Persephone and Hades, the Greek god of the dead. Greek mythology has a special place for her.”

“She talked to me about Greece a little but she didn’t say anything about the show,” Hoseok said.

Jimin opened the medical kit, remembering watching the episodes one after the next, hanging from every word the characters said. “The show is so good! I couldn’t stop watching it, I didn’t want to get out of the cinema room for anything. The characters were perfect, Persephone was so sweet and kind but she-” He stopped himself, cutting off his rambling. The cream in his hand was getting warm.

Hoseok sat up straighter to help his work. “But what? Why did you stop?”

Jimin startled. He could at least do this, he could speak about the show. He had watched the episodes multiple times and he had asked you so many questions, some of which you hadn’t talked your way around. Hoseok didn’t wince as much as the first time and maybe Jimin go a little carried away, but he didn’t make any mistakes and Hoseok even asked questions and talked with him.  

The cat hybrid had to suppress the shivers the eyes on his back sent down his spine.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

Greek gods, fantasy, romance and mysteries. That’s what made you rich. That’s what got you this huge house and more money than anyone would ever see in their lives. The Castle. Yoongi scoffed. What a pretentious name for an even more pretentious house, but that was the way it worked.  

Yoongi disliked rich people on principle. Privileged, arrogant and self-entitled were only a few of the adjectives he would use to describe them. They thought they could control anyone because they had money and money made the world go round. Money could get you everything and that’s what they wanted. Everything. In long coats and designer sunglasses looking for entertainment in the most dubious places, feeding off the struggle of the others. Watching enraptured as others fought for their lives.

All of them were the same. It didn’t matter if they were hiding behind smiling masks or surface philanthropic acts. They were the same. And you were just like them. He refused to believe anything else. Despite how hard it was getting. But every time he was slipping, he would remember the pleads and rough hands. His resolve didn’t crack.

He heard all the stories you told Hoseok. Not that he wanted to but there wasn’t a chance he would leave him alone with you. Most of them were funny and although he didn’t want to admit, there were parts the corners of his mouth had lifted up without his permission. He was grateful for those stories, they made Hoseok forget. One rare time, when you were telling him about a disaster on set that involved three spoons, a maraca and a lost script, Hoseok had giggled and Yoongi’s heart had come close to bursting out.  

Every morning and every night you would have a different story for him and it made Yoongi wonder if they were all true or if you were coming up with them on the spot. Not that it mattered, it made Hoseok smile and that was enough. Yoongi had found himself waiting for the times you would come into their room and start talking. You had a way with words.

And now you were gone, leaving them alone in the house, alone with no one watching over them like a guard dog (except that damned wolf hybrid, but that was another case entirely). There were a few things he knew about the world and one of them was that hybrids weren’t left alone in a house that cost more than his handlers would make in their whole lives. He didn’t like surprises and he hated how full of them you were.  

Jimin had been the one to take over and you must have been somewhere in Virginia laughing at Yoongi’s expense. The younger looked good, his cheeks were full and there was a certain glow on his soft skin. Jimin had always looked beautiful but now he was ethereal. He couldn’t keep his eyes away.

Hoseok pressed a few buttons on the TV remote and groaned. After Jimin’s excitement about the show in the morning, he had decided he would watch the show. Jimin had showed him how to put it on but Hoseok was having some trouble.

“Give that to me,” Yoongi grumbled, taking the remote. He searched for the title among the options (there were too many of them).  

Hoseok pointed at one of the pictures. “That’s it! That’s it! “Land of the Gods”.”

A girl wearing a flower crown was gazing at him from the screen. He clicked on the picture and the synopsis and the episode list appeared. “Are you seriously going to watch that?”

“It must be good if Jimin was so excited about it. He was so excited he got me excited.” A smile stretched his lips. Yoongi was weak.

“What do you know about Greek mythology?”

Hoseok shrugged. “Not much but I don’t think I need to. The show has to be good if it got her where she is now. I’m sure she must have been great at her job to be this successful.”

If anything, there was no doubt you were successful. He could see it everywhere he looked. One night he had been watching the news, Hoseok long asleep, and they had talked about your newest project set to start filming in May. One of the greatest directors of our generation, they had called you, predicting high ratings and large audiences. But success didn’t necessarily mean talent and Yoongi told himself he didn’t care enough to see if you had it.

Contemplating, he sat on the bed by Hoseok’s side. “We should discuss when we are leaving.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened, his tail fluffing up. “Leaving?”

“Yeah, leaving. You’re better, aren’t you? We should be gone before she comes back.” Yoongi threw the remote on the bed.

“Oh.” Hoseok’s fox ears lowered. “I wanted to thank her, it feels wrong to leave like this.”

Yoongi sighed. He could understand Hoseok, he didn’t want to leave either. He wasn’t stupid. Having a warm meal three times a day was more than they could dream of in the streets. It was more than they could dream of when they had a roof over their heads and murky water on their tongues. These few days Yoongi had eaten and slept more than he had in three years but it had to end. It was nothing more than a polished dream. He didn’t want your pity and he wouldn’t have accepted to come here if it hadn’t been for Hoseok.

“I think she would appreciate us leaving more than a thank you,” Yoongi said. “We don’t know how long she will be gone and we have already overstayed our welcome.”

“We… yeah.” Hoseok gave in. “But you should talk to Jimin before we go.” Yoongi stiffened. “I have seen the way you look at him, you know. I heard you that first day. He is the only reason we are here now. I can connect the dots. I don’t ask you about your past because I know it hurts you but I ask you this. Talk to him before we go. Jimin… Jimin looks like a part of your past that shouldn’t hurt this much.”

Yoongi clenched his jaw. Because Jimin was the most painful part of his past. Everything that had happened to him, everything he had been through didn’t hold anything to the pain he felt when thinking about Jimin and his delicate features. Nothing hurt more than the images of that night ingrained in his brain. He didn’t deserve to forget, he didn’t even try.  

“I can’t talk to him.”

Hoseok scooted closer and Yoongi reached to steady him. The fox hybrid would laugh at him, he had the all clear to move on his own and he didn’t need help with something as simple as this, but he didn’t push him away. “Why not?  

“I just can’t.” Hoseok raised his eyebrows at him. “Hobi, just let it go. Jimin wouldn’t want to talk to me, there is too much you don’t know.”

Hoseok turned his head away. “Yes, because you don’t tell me.”

“Hobi…” Yoongi placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing comforting circles, there were no bruises there. “What happened, it’s better if you don’t know. I don’t want any more people being haunted by what I did.”

Hoseok’s eyes softened, taking Yoongi’s hands in his own. Every touch from Hoseok was like a brush with the sun. “If you think anything you say could change my opinion of you, you don’t know me at all. You saved me, Yoongi. You saved me when I thought I was done for, when I thought I wouldn’t live to see another day. If you weren’t there, if I didn’t have you…” A shaky breath fell past his lips. He squeezed Yoongi’s hands in his and Yoongi squeezed back. “I would have never gotten out without you. You are all I have.”

Yoongi touched Hoseok’s cheek, nosing against his neck and breathing in the scent of cinnamon. “And you’re all I have.”

The first episode of “Land of the Gods” played as Yoongi laid next to Hoseok with the younger’s head on his chest.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

The workers kept looking at you like children who had been caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar and it wasn’t even their fault. They had been following instructions and using the materials the company had sent. The one who had decided to forgo the safety measures because they were too expensive had yet to admit to anything, but a storm was brewing and you would watch until the end. They could say whatever they wanted about you but no one’s life was at risk on your watch.  

You hadn’t been alone in the sentiment, most of your co-workers siding with you and calling meetings after meetings on the matter. You had taken it up to yourself to send a lengthy email to the president and were waiting for a reply that wouldn’t take long to come.

In the meantime, you were stuck with damage control. The meticulously designed sets had turned into ruins and rubble. A lot of expensive equipment had been destroyed and the replacements had yet to arrive. The first night you had a short meeting at a building the company was renting and then drove to the set to survey the damage. You had gritted your teeth at the sight of broken blocks like legos. There was nothing more to see.

You came back with heavy limbs and dust on your jeans. The air-conditioning was on and Jungkook was sitting on the couch watching a superhero movie. It wasn’t one you recognized, an older one than those you usually watched. You changed into your pajamas after taking a shower for the third time in a day (your skin barrier was set to be destroyed soon) and joined him in the living room. Neither of you had had dinner so you ordered food from the first place you found on the web. The delivery was fast and you settled on the couch, eating pizza and watching an old Samuel L. Jackson film.

Fortunately, the earthquake hadn’t caused any major disasters but you had heard that a couple of people had been injured. The most damage in the area had been to the TV show sets. That was alright, you could work on that.  

Your schedule wasn’t much different from usual. You woke up early, the sun peaking over the horizon and showering the room in its morning glow through the thin curtains. Reaching for your phone, you turned off the  alarm before it could start ringing. You woke up earlier but you scheduled it every night regardless of that. Jungkook blinked his eyes open as soon as you moved a little, he was used to waking up early too.  

At breakfast it was only the two of you, John and the hotel staff. It was way too early for anyone else. Jungkook didn’t leave the hotel and you spent most of the day outside. The first days were the most crucial and therefore the most busy. Go there, take this, fill this out, talk to him/her. An endless task list. And there were a lot of things you had to figure out yourself.

“You should come with me today,” you said, digging your spoon into the bowl of yogurt. You ate a generous breakfast to propel through the morning.  

“T-to work?” Jungkook stuttered, his hand loosening around the spoon. He was eating pancakes with maple syrup and you had a feeling about who he was thinking of.

You rolled the spoon between your fingers. “Well, you don’t have to come to work with me. We could drop you off at a coffee shop or a park if you want to. You can’t stay cooped up in the hotel room all day.”

John nodded in agreement. “I think it’s a good idea. You need some fresh air, staying in three rooms can’t be good for you.”

Jungkook dropped his head to hide his flushed cheeks. “I’m alright here, you don’t have to worry about me. Really.”

“But that’s what I’ll do at work if you stay in here for one more day,” you said. “You can go anywhere, there is a whole city to explore. And if I have any breaks I can call and I’ll come find you.”

Jungkook looked down at the pancakes. “I don’t think I should be out alone.”

“Of course you can. You can wear a collar and no one will say anything. We packed a few didn’t-?” Wearing a collar would protect him from the hybrid services, especially with your name and number engraved in the back of a charm. But you realized it wasn’t hybrid services he was afraid of. A hybrid alone in the streets could be an easy target, Jimin and Jungkook had been together that night and still… But it was broad daylight. “John could come with you,” you offered.

“No, no, he should be with you,” Jungkook protested weakly.

You exchanged a look with John, after years you were perfect at reading each other. “I actually think John would have a much better time with you. The only thing he does with me is follow me around and wait for the day to end. And it’s not like I’m in any danger there, I’m surrounded by a lot of people and some of the places have security so…”

“Or she’s trying to get rid of me,” John said, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Not that I’m complaining, waiting outside of those meetings gets very boring very quickly. Who will drive you?”

“It won’t be hard to find someone. I’ll catch a ride with Will, he has plenty of space in his car.” Will was the assistant director and he had been dragged to Virginia with you. When you worked it was rare to find one without the other. He had been with you for a few years and he was your right hand on set, he could get everything you asked done in a matter of seconds and often better than you could have done them yourself.  

Satisfied, John finished his sandwich. “It’s settled then, I’ll go with the guy while you run around like a mad woman.”

“It isn’t so much running around today,” you mumbled. In comparison to other days, that was.

Jungkook picked up his fork again, his nose twitching. “Thank you, but I really don’t know where to go.”

You smiled. “That’s the most exciting part. There are so many places you can choose from. John knows the area a little, he knows a few places worth visiting.” John saluted with two fingers on his temple. “Is there something you want to do?”

Jungkook shrugged. “The park maybe? I would like to walk a little if that’s alright.”

“Fine by me,” John said. “Let’s reconnect with Mother Nature a little.”

You shook your head. “As if the sets aren’t in the middle of nowhere. They’re like thirty to forty minutes from the city, I spend most of my day in a car.”

“Stop complaining. It’s partly your fault,” John reminded you, which only caused you to complain more.

Jungkook let out a cute giggle at your bickering. He looked small in his oversized hoodie, it was a gray one this time with design of black swirls interwining and forming a heart. He would have to change before going out. He would melt otherwise.  

They dropped you off at the set, having spent most of the thirty minute drive (John was a fast driver, always following the speed limit though) listening to music and talking about whatever came to mind. Jungkook had insisted on coming with when John dropped you off instead of waiting at the hotel for John to come back. He didn’t care that the drive would be more than an hour for him. You stepped out of the car, adjusted your backpack with all the papers and files inside and sent flying kisses to them while John rolled his eyes.

It was one of the good days, everyone was in a relatively good mood, they were listening to you and the conversations about the problems you were facing rolled smoothly. Will had taken over some of the most tiring tasks ignoring your protests so you were left to do most of the talking and the moral support part.  

They worked quickly but there was no doubt that the sets wouldn’t be ready for filming to start on the initial date you had set, you would have to rely more on the sets in Los Angeles and film some scenes earlier than planned. Time was precious and you couldn’t waste it sitting around doing nothing.

Will was more than happy to give you a ride back to the city, you had many things to discuss on the way. You hadn’t been at this park before. It wasn’t the one you were considering for filming but it was just as nice. John had texted you where they were and you had typed the address in Will’s GPS. It was way past lunch and you wondered if they hadn’t left the park since the morning. That was a lot of hours spent in a park.

You followed the cobblestone path, tall trees framing the way adorned with green leaves and tiny flowers. Sending a quick message to John asking him about more specific directions, you stopped at a bridge arching over a small river and rested your elbows on the railing waiting for the reply.  

You missed home in a way you hadn’t before. Home hadn’t always been Los Angeles, it had taken a long time for you to see it that way. It had been your hometown at first and that would always remain a part of you but it had been years since you had stayed there for more than two weeks. Home had been a suitcase and a vague idea of belonging for the most of your adult life. Being at a new place every few months, often more than that, you traveled and met people, you explored new places and learnt their secrets and culture. Los Angeles was just the base you returned to before you were gone again.

And then you had met Taylor and Zayn and suddenly you had a reason to come back other than necessity. They had become your closest friends and you held a new appreciation for the city because that’s where you spent time with them, strolling through the streets and going to the beach or staying inside watching movies or baking.  

And through Zayn you had met Jacob and Los Angeles became more and more to you. The two of you had decided to build your life there together. That was gone now but the City of Angels had sneaked into your heart and made a home for itself there. Yet you hadn’t missed it like this before.  

Texts and calls were fine for some time but not nearly enough. Jungkook was withdrawn while you talked to the other hybrids and Jimin’s voice got smaller and smaller every time the youngest refused to speak with him until he stopped trying. Namjoon and Jin tried to comfort him but the only person who could help was the one shutting him out. On top of that, Jimin tended to Hoseok’s wounds, the two hybrids were still at the Castle and you hoped they wouldn’t leave until you got back. You wanted to check in with Hoseok one more time before they were gone, back to the streets.  

The streets… Those damn streets. Where Hoseok had been beat up, where Jimin and Jungkook had been attacked, where they didn’t know which day would be their last, starving or being beaten to death. You had done all you could, when they refused any more help, but it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be enough.

A whistle made you turn around.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” John called to you.

“Me?” you called back. “How long have you been here? Did you eat lunch?”

“We went to a restaurant nearby, John ordered the best from the menu. I told him to wait for you but he said you would be late,” Jungkook said.

You ruffled his hair and he shuffled closer to you. “Late… I’m not late, I didn’t say I would be back for lunch.”

Jungkook chuckled. “When are you back for lunch?”

You gasped. “You have been spending too much time with John. He’s corrupting you!”

On the other side of the bridge, the path opened up to a large expanse of grass with a few trees sprinkled in. Jungkook had his sketchpad with him and sat down against a tree with pieces of black charcoal, a method he had been experimenting with.  

Next to him, you pulled out a notebook from your backpack, it was your personal space where you could write anything and everything. Drawing faint thick lines on the paper, Jungkook told you excitedly about his day with John, who was sitting at a bench talking on the phone with his family.  

A shine you hadn’t seen in a while was back in Jungkook’s eyes. You took photos and sent them to the hybrids at home and rolled around in the grass. He pointed at the clouds and what each of them looked like. There was turtle, an elephant and a vase, although you insisted it looked more like an Egyptian cat.

Jungkook came with you to work later and although he was shy and stayed away from everyone else, trailing behind you like a lost puppy, he was smiling. Fascinated, he listened to your conversations about the show and the sets and admired the designs. Your co-workers cooed at the cute bunny hybrid and he flushed hiding behind you.  

When the day was over and you were back at the hotel, you realized it was the most fun you’d had since coming to Virginia. Freshly showered with his wet hair sticking to his forehead, Jungkook slipped into the bed next to you.

“Did you have a good time?” you asked. In the quiet of the night it felt wrong for your voice to be louder than a whisper. “You can be honest with me. I won’t take it personally.”

A small smile simmered on Jungkook’s lips as he turned on his side to look at you. In the lights of the city coming through the window, his chocolate brown eyes seemed black. “I had the best of times. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. It was nice having you there, it was… different. A good different. You should come again tomorrow, to the sets outside the city this time.”

“I would like that,” he whispered.  

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Jungkook repeated in a breath.

It would be nice to have him with you. He wasn’t distracting you, on the contrary you were more focused because you knew he was there watching you, you wanted to show him the best of you. This was far from the most exciting part of the process of making a film but it was necessary. Well, it wouldn’t have been necessary if someone hadn’t decided to purposely forget all about the safety measures but you had already dedicated too much of your energy being angry about it.

Once the actual filming had started you would take Jungkook with you and show him the behind the scenes of how a TV show was made. If he was fascinated with this part then he would love filming. The actors were incredible and they had found their connections to the characters, channeling them at the table readings, it would be even better when they were in the costumes on set.  

“I liked it,” Jungkook said. “I really liked seeing you work.”

You smiled at the bunny. “You used to see me work every day at the Castle.”

“But it wasn’t the same.” Jungkook laid his head on his hand. “You looked different there,” he said. “You looked powerful, like you could do anything. Everyone looked at you like you had all the answers.”

“It was a good day, I guess. It isn’t always like that. I might look confident and like I have everything under control all the time but that’s far from the truth.”  

For all of your fame and the praise you received, you did make mistakes, you got stuck and felt helpless against some problems. Not everyone listened to you and you got into arguments with the executive producers sometimes. And you weren’t always the one who was right.  

“Looking confident is half of the job, even when you don’t feel like it. It’s one of those situations where ‘fake it till you make it’ is a requirement. When you want to be heard you have to look and act like you are sure of what you’re doing, especially when you are a young woman at an important position. If you don’t, people begin to doubt you and if they doubt you, they will begin to talk over you and disregard your opinions. That was the first lesson I learnt on this job.”

At seventeen, you had been in charge of directing “Land of the Gods” and it wasn’t all smooth sailing, much less at the beginning. You were young, too young for most of them. You couldn’t direct such a project they said. They questioned your every move and decision, every correction you made and everything you said to the actors during a scene. They didn’t take you seriously until halfway through filming and even then they didn’t hesitate to question your authority. A constant battle of wills.

But it had gotten you here. You couldn’t complain.

“You’ve done so many things,” Jungkook said as if in awe. “All those shows and movies. And they are all so good. You are so talented. I could have never achieved what you have even if I wasn’t…” He left the sentence hanging.

You adjusted your position, laying on your forearm. “I don’t believe that, I think you would be marvelous at whatever you did. You have the dedication and that’s half of the job done. About me…” You let out a small chuckle. “I was very young when I started, I’m still young considering my profession, and I had so many ideas. I still have so many of them.” Or you used to, before the buzz in your brain became just noise. “And I don’t want to wait so long the industry gets tired of me, I have to take advantage of the light as long as it’s on me.”

“I don’t think they can get tired of you, not when your movies and shows are… like that. I couldn’t get tired of them,” Jungkook said. “It’s just- I’m not-” Frustrated, he cut himself off. “You work too much. I’m just… When was the last time you had a break? An actual break without working in any form.”

You opened your mouth to answer and closed it again. It certainly wasn’t this year and it wasn’t last year either. When you had taken a break to buy and decorate the house, you had been answering calls about work when you had been choosing the paints for the walls and writing scripts while you discussed floor plans. Break for you wasn’t a time you didn’t work but rather a time they couldn’t call you to the offices or the set.  

“It’s been a while,” you said in the end. “I’ve got a lot of things going on, I don’t really have the time to take a break. I can’t leave them hanging, they rely on me.”

“Maybe they shouldn’t. Not so much.”  

But that’s how it has always been for as long as you could remember. You were involved in every single part of the process, in every decision, from the scripts, to casting, to the set and costume design, to the actual filming, the post-production and the editing. Supervising and making sure that everything was right. That was your charm, that was one of the reasons you were one of the most sought-after directors in Hollywood. Each project was a part of yourself. If you let those responsibilities go, what would that mean for you? What would they say about you?

The air-conditioning made a small sound as the room reached the desired temperature. The setting wasn’t too low, a pleasant coolness replacing the stifling heat. The thick walls of the hotel kept the heat of the day trapped inside, something that would be very beneficial in winter but a lot less so in spring nearing summer.

“Anyway, I think we’ll be done in a few days,” you said. “We’ll probably be home by the end of the week. The new plans have been drawn and there is only one more meeting I have to attend and that’s more for appearances’ sake than anything else. The rest is up to the crew here.”

Jungkook’s smile wavered. “So soon? Don’t you have any more work? The people here seemed to need you.”

“They don’t need me, there is nothing more I can offer them. My place right now is in Los Angeles, that’s where they need me.” You nudged his foot with yours, your knees were close enough to touch every time you moved. “But that’s not what you’re nervous about, is it?”

Jungkook shook his head, hiding half of his face in the pillow. “I don’t want to go back.”

“Kookie…” You nudged his foot again until your legs were intertwined underneath the thin sheets. “Staying here won’t help anyone. You have to talk to him.”

Jungkook closed his eyes as if the conversation pained him. “He shouldn’t want to talk to me.”

“But he does. You know he has been asking for you,” you said.

“He stopped.”

“Because you never replied. Doing this, pulling away and ignoring him, you’re hurting him more than whatever you feel guilty for. You didn’t see how sad he was every time you didn’t show up for a meal or when he called for you and you ignored him. You’re hurting him and I know that isn’t what you want so why do you keep doing it?”

A sob clawed out of Jungkook’s throat and he tried to muffle it with his fist. Your eyes widened at the sound, instinctively pulling the younger boy into your arms. He didn’t fight you, holding on to you like you were the only thing keeping his afloat, hiding his face in your neck as the sobs he couldn’t suppress fell from his lips.  

“What… What I did to him was h-horibble. I-I took adva-advantage of him,” Jungkook chocked out as his tears dampened your skin. “And I know, I know he’s going to forgive me. But I don’t want him to. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t forgive-” A sob cut him off. “I don’t deserve forgiveness.”  

You run your hands through his hair, scratching gently at the base of his bunny ears, something that used to calm him down. “Baby… You should let him have that choice, you can’t take it away from him.”

“I can’t forgive myself,” he muttered, desperation and heartbreak seeping into his voice like water through the cracks of a dam until it breaks.

“If Jimin can forgive you then you can work towards forgiving yourself. All I know is that you love each other too much to continue like this.”

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

It was the fifth day you were gone. Seokjin had been keeping track, the equivalent of another line engraved on the wall of a cell. He had been going to sleep and waking up alone in a bed that felt too large for one person. He had added more blankets and stuffed animals decorating embellishing his nest but it did nothing for the feeling of emptiness covering it like a veil.  

You called every day and texted them religiously, it was more than he could have expected but much less than what he craved. Jungkook sent photos of the hotel suite and of every place he visited with short captions. Seokjin smiled as his heart constricted.

It was the fifth day you were gone and he was sitting at the large table in the back garden, drinking tea at the time he would have been bringing yours before you had to go back to work. Jin didn’t consider himself a clingy person. He was loyal and protective of the people he loved, he obeyed his past owners and he took care of them. But this was new. It had been five days, the number didn’t change but Jin felt like it had been much longer than that. When his past owners left it wasn’t for long, less than two weeks, he didn’t have the time to miss them. He hadn’t missed them. Two weeks. Five days.

Jungkook would be nagging at him by now, tugging his arm or foot or whatever part of him he could get and if Jin didn’t give in the bunny hybrid would sprawl himself next to the older with his head in his lap. Despite Seokjin warnings about getting splashed with tea or coffee in the face, Jungkook stayed there.  

If you were back from work, a rare occurrence, you would insist you all spent that time together. Like a family.  

Family. Such a peculiar word. It was one of those words Seokjin couldn’t grasp the real meaning of. He was a hybrid, he didn’t have parents, the one who had given birth to him had delivered him to the scientists earning a large amount of money for her services. His first owners had trained him harsher than a pet and treated him like a servant or a living piece of decor. It didn’t matter if he’d thought of them as his family to feel better for himself, they owned him and they didn’t let him forget.  

He didn’t know what having a family felt like. But he guessed it felt a lot like the mornings before you left for work and Jungkook was bickering with Jimin about how much he could eat while Namjoon was smirking into his coffee.

“A penny for your thoughts?”  

Seokjin startled, the mug trembling dangerously in his hands. Another hand enveloped his to steady it. “How do you do that? I almost had a heart attack.”

Namjoon smiled sheepishly. “You aren’t the first one to say that, about the heart attack. I’ll try to make more noise next time.”

There was only a tiny bit of tea left at the bottom of the mug so Seokjin placed it on the table to avoid any more surprises that could threaten its survival. “Are you going somewhere?” he asked, looking at the black backpack Namjoon was wearing.

“I’m going for a walk in the forest. Would you like to join me?”  

“Like this?” he gestured to his casual attire.

“Maybe you should wear different shoes,” he said referring to the slippers he was wearing.

Seokjin was tempted to say no, sugar gliders might be native to forests but he didn’t have the same ease among trees. But he was tired of being in his own company and something inside him was screaming to go and be with his pack. After all, it was impossible to not give into Namjoon’s dimples.

“Okay, I’ll come with you. Just don’t lead us so far away we won’t be able to come back.”

Namjoon’s smile widened as Jin left to change his shoes. His sneakers were in a box under his bed. He had worn them only once because he preferred wearing his slippers in the house or the gardens. These sneakers were the ones he had on when you had gone to the lake before you had to go back to work and be away for most of the day.  

The wolf hybrid was waiting in the back garden for him by the curtain of vines with the purple blooms. The mug was nowhere in sight.

“Ready?” Namjoon asked him.

“Ready,” Seokjin said, not paying any mind to the fluttering in his stomach.

Namjoon pulled the curtain of vines aside, the path stretching ahead. The forest was alive in spring, trees green and tall, creating shade for the small creatures roaming around to hide from the sun. And when a few sun-rays slipped through the spaces between the branches and the leaves, they looked like a touch from the gods.  

Namjoon navigated the forest with practiced ease and Seokjin had a feeling the wolf hybrid knew exactly where they were going. He just hoped Jimin wouldn’t look for them while they were gone, but knowing Namjoon he had probably already told Jimin. Or Jimin could call them. Seokjin wasn’t used to having his own phone and often he forgot he had the device.  

Staying close to Namjoon, he kept his eyes on the ground. A poor attempt to keep his tripping to the minimal. But the forest was conspiring against him. Roots, stones, sticks, everything he could trip over was in his path.  

“Where are we going?” he asked.

Namjoon stopped, turning to look at him. He smirked. “It’s a surprise.”

“No, I prefer no surprises,” Jin said. Rock. He stepped over it, avoiding a possible humiliating fall. “Tell me where we’re going. Is it far?”

“Not too far.” Not too far for Namjoon could be totally different from Seokjin’s idea of not too far. “I swear to you we aren’t getting lost today. I know this part of the forest like the back of hand and I have a good sense of direction. See?” He pointed to the direction of a large tree on his right. “That’s north,” he pointed to the opposite direction, “and that-”

Before he could finish, Seokjin had tripped over a protruding root. He hadn’t seen it, being too focused on Namjoon. He let a shriek as he tumbled to the ground, scratching his hands as they came in contact with the ground fist.  

Namjoon called his name but he hadn’t been fast enough. He grasped Seokjin’s elbows pulling him up so he was sitting instead of laying face down on the dirt.  

“Are you alright?” Namjoon asked, kneeling next to him, and Seokjin felt heat travel to his face and his chest tightening. He had an urge to flee and forget that had happened. Namjoon didn’t give him the chance though. He took his hands in his, turning them over and inspecting the damage. Dirt was clinging on the flesh and Namjoon blew on them to make some it go away. “We need to clean this.” He pulled out a water bottle from his backpack and poured water on his hands. It did sting a little but Seokjin was used to much worse than this.

Thin lines were etched on his palm, none of them bleeding. His hands had taken most of the burnt of the fall. The pride he had been piecing back together hurt more than his body did.

“We should go back,” Namjoon said, letting his hands go. Seokjin mourned the loss then reprimanded himself for it. “Maybe coming here wasn’t a good idea.”

“I’m fine,” he said. He didn’t like the frown on Namjoon’s face. “We don’t have to go back. I don’t want to go back.” He cleared his throat. His face, neck and ears felt impossibly hot.

Namjoon regarded him with careful eyes. “Are you sure? Does it hurt anywhere?”

“Really, I’m fine,” he repeated. He put one hand on the ground to steady himself and get back on his feet. It didn’t work very well because as soon as Namjoon saw him moving he was helping him up supporting most of his weight. “It wasn’t painful, more embarrassing than anything else,” Seokjin muttered. Despite the low tone, Namjoon heard him and his face smoothed. “Let’s go. We will never get to that place you want before nightfall at this rate.”

Namjoon chuckled shaking his head. “If you say so.” Seokjin expected him to start walking but instead he laced their fingers together. “Is this okay? I don’t want you falling again. If you trip again I’ll keep you up or at least we’ll fall together.”

Seokjin huffed out a laugh, lightheaded. Namjoon wasn’t distant but he wasn’t open with his affection like Jimin or Jungkook or even you and feeling his hand in his had ignited something inside him he was struggling to bury.

They held hands all the way to the secret destination. Seokjin tripped a couple more times, the rocks and the roots were still there and Namjoon was too distracting, but he kept his balance. Namjoon held on his hand tighter whenever he lost his footing and he allowed himself to consider it for a moment before banishing the idea.

The walk wasn’t too long and as the trees thinned out a little, a few large rocks emerged from the ground. They had climbed higher than the level of the house, the forest and the lake stretching under them. On the side the Castle peeked between the trees and the road leading to the city.  

Namjoon helped him up the rock while he complained for the sake of it. They sat down to rest and Namjoon offered him the bottle of water he had used before, plenty of water was left inside. Seokjin insisted they shared it, he had already used half of it on him anyway.

“You like being outside so much, you have walked through most of the forest. You go on walks every day. Why don’t you go out with Y/N? Or around the neighborhood?” he asked. Namjoon wasn’t someone who could be contained in a house, he needed to be outside, and the forest looked too small for him.

Namjoon crossed his hands over his bent knee. “Being in the forest is easier. I can’t explain it but it’s familiar territory. Outside the forest, outside the house, that’s different. I know the streets of Los Angeles, I’ve spent more time on them than I would have liked. And now things are different but those streets are the same. I don’t think I’m ready to go back there alone.”

Seokjin’s heart constricted at the reminder of what the three hybrids he held so dearly had been through. He was spoiled, he couldn’t have survived a life in the streets. But if he was with them… If he was with them maybe it would would have been worth it.  

It was a dangerous world for lone hybrids, people were eager to take advantage of them and hybrid services were always lurking in large cities like Los Angeles. Going outside alone could be an invitation for harassment from a few sick people who thought they were entitled to hybrids’ lives because humans created them, who thought they were lesser. Seokjin hadn’t been allowed to be alone outside, his owners believed it was indecent and disrespectful for hybrids to walk alone or stay alone.  

“Do you want to go outside in the city?” Namjoon asked.

Seokjin hugged his knees. “I wouldn’t know where to go or what to do. I’ve never been out alone.”

Namjoon nodded. “That’s alright. It was nice being out for Spring Cleaning, I saw the city in a different light.”

Seokjin smiled, for him it hadn’t been only the city he had seen in a different light. “I would like to go out one day.”

“I would like that too,” Namjoon said softly.

But Seokjin didn’t think of going alone. He thought of being with Namjoon holding his hand so they wouldn’t lose each other or an excited Jungkook hopping around with Jimin chasing him.  

Namjoon’s phone beeped with a message and he pulled it out of his backpack to read it. A smile spread on his face at whatever he was seeing. Seokjin wanted to lean closer and look at what was making him smile but he held himself back. There were only three people it could be from.

“Jungkook is playing her assistant,” Namjoon said, turning the screen so Seokjin could take a look at the photo. Jungkook was looking to the side, probably at someone talking to him, carrying two folders and a few loose papers. Seokjin’s heart softened at the sight, Jungkook looked content there. Excited and a little confused.

Seokjin took the phone in his hands. “I’m sure he insisted on carrying them for her. Doesn’t she have an assistant?”

Namjoon nodded. “Yeah, Will. But I’m not sure he’s that kind of assistant.”

“Maybe she should keep Jungkook on set, he could carry anything she wanted,” he joked. Their bunny could pick up all of them without getting tired, Seokjin had been his victim enough times to know that.  

Jungkook had been doing better, his messages were more frequent and he talked more on the phone. He had been doing better but Seokjin was missing him a lot. But he couldn’t be selfish with this, going away had been good for him and if it hurt a little that he needed to be away from them, Seokjin didn’t utter a word. He had heard him sniffling at night, covering his mouth to muffle the sounds. Seokjin didn’t know how to comfort him so he just held him tighter.

Namjoon sighed, taking his phone back and hiding it in the backpack. He sighed. “Jimin is hiding away again. He barely spoke to me before locking himself in the cinema room. I don’t understand what is going on between them. Jungkook had to travel to the other side of the States to get away.  I can’t get a word about what happened from either of them. Jungkook says he did something horrible to him and Jimin doesn’t want to say anything about it. And every time Jungkook pulls back from him I can see how much it hurts them both and I can’t do anything about it.”

“They don’t want us to do anything about it but they need us next to them,” Seokjin said, looking ahead at the sun slowly descending in the sky.  

Namjoon let the silence stretch before speaking, “I’m grateful you’re with us, that you chose to stay. I don’t like to think about how it would have been without you.”

Seokjin turned his head away. “I didn’t do anything special. I am not that important.”

A hand touched his cheek, leading him gently until he was face to face with Namjoon looking into his hazel, almost golden, eyes. “Listen to me when I say this; you are important to us. You are pack and your place is with us here. I’ll be honest, I was weary at first but you fit right in like you were always meant to be with us. You belong with us and we’ll never let you go or get tired of you. You give so much without even realizing it.” His thumb rubbed small circles on his skin leaving burning trails behind. A heavy cloud had covered everything around him and all he could see was hazel eyes. “All I ask you is to let us take care of you, too.”

And before his doubts could stop him he surged forward. Namjoon caught him in his arms, cradling the oldest’s neck as he hid his face in his neck breathing in his scent. Time was meaningless there.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

You were taking a short break. John had delivered your second cup of coffee for the day and a smoothie for Jungkook who disliked the bitter taste of coffee with passion. It was a mostly practical day that didn’t require a lot of moving around. You had been meeting up with people since the crack of dawn and discussing the best ways to cover up the disaster in a way that wouldn’t turn the public against the show or the studios. So far, you had been holding off any reporters from including the overlooked safety measures when publishing the news about the collapsed sets.  

After being inside all day, you had decided to take a stroll around the block. Jungkook was walking next to you sipping his smoothie. He was wearing a simple black chocker with a silver charm.

He was telling you about a video he had seen on YouTube when your phone started ringing. Your nickname for Taylor was displayed across the screen with a photo of her pulling out a tray of cookies from the over.

“Hey, Tay,” you said.

“I called at the right time, didn’t I?”  

“Just the perfect time, I have around twenty minutes before I have to go back. Work has been kicking my ass.”

Taylor laughed. “I’m sure you’ve been kicking its ass too. And better.”

You had told her around what time you would be taking your break. You hadn’t talked on the phone since coming to Virginia and you had missed her voice.

You stopped at a bench and Jungkook pulled out his phone. You felt a little bad for talking on the phone when it was the two of you but you had really missed Taylor and it wouldn’t take long anyway. She had been busy with Astrid, getting to know her better and helping her adapt to the new environment. When you had visited the hybrid had looked enamored with Taylor, you knew your friend would be amazing at taking care of a hybrid.

The conversation soon turned to you but you didn’t have much to share. Work was the same regardless the disaster but Taylor was more interested in other things.  

“It has been almost a year since you and Jacob broke up. Don’t you have your sight on anyone? Any flirts? It isn’t like you lost the one and only,” she said.

Jacob had been far from the one and only. And when she asked, your mind went to dangerous places.

“Just because you found your man doesn’t mean we are all that lucky,” you said. “And how am I supposed to find anyone? I’m too busy.” From the corner of your eye you saw Jungkook turning to look at you with an unreadable expression.

Taylor continued, “Aren’t there any cute boys on set? At work? There has to be someone. Don’t bury yourself in work and forget to live. I’m not saying you need a man to be happy or complete, but don’t you miss going on dates? Getting to know someone like that?”

The answer came to you unbidden but it wasn’t something you were ready to say. “Maybe after the TV show, for now I really have to focus. After that is done and I don’t have to worry about anymore earthquakes, I’ll see where I’ll end up.”

You knew Taylor cared for you and she worried about how deep you threw yourself into work. Maybe there was also a small part that was still uncertain about the way you and Jacob had broken off things and the way you had avoided the topic like the plague for the first months. Like you and Jacob had never happened. But looking at boys and dating had been the last thing on your mind.  

Ending the call with Taylor promising to text her when you got off work, you patted the small of Jungkook’s back. It was time to walk back. The smoothie was half-finished, the way it had been before, like he hadn’t taken a sip since sitting down.  

You asked him if there was something wrong but he replied that everything was alright. It didn’t look like that was the case. He stayed close to you all day, more clingy than he had been the whole time you had been in Virginia, wary of the men who talked to you.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

The blue sky and fluffy clouds reflected on the lake, a huge mirror creating another sky on its surface, a more vibrant but precise copy. No boats cut through the water, it was like there was a part of the sky that had made its home on the ground. Trees extended on every side of the lake, so many of them one next to the other with no end in sight.

The grass tickled Jimin’s palms swaying in the gentle wind. He breathed in the fresh morning.

“One day we’ll go on a boat ride.” Jungkook was sitting next to him, his long bangs falling at the sides of his face. “We’ll see every part of the lake, not just this. We’ll go everywhere.”

Flowers bloomed all around them, white and blue petunias, chrysanthemums and lilies. Jimin wanted to cut the most beautiful one and tuck it behind Jungkook’s ear. He turned to tell him but hands were holding the back of his neck and lips devouring his. He gripped Jungkook’s arms to steady himself from the force of the kiss. The sweet aroma of the flowers filled him up, engulfing every part of his being, the deepest crevices and the smallest of cracks.  

Jungkook pushed him back so he was laying on the grass and Jimin let him, too drunk off the flowers and soft lips. Touches on his cheeks and his sides, caresses under his shirt. He was burning.  

It didn’t take long for the panic to set in. With weak arms, he pushed Jungkook away. The air wouldn’t reach his lungs. The scent of the flowers turned stale and bitter.  

“We can’t,” he tried to say but his voice wasn’t coming out right, sticking in his throat and refusing to flow.

Jungkook pulled back. His eyes were darker than before. “Is this it? Am I too common for his highness? You didn’t have any reservations about the panther hybrid, did you? Are you attracted to power, Jiminie? Or do you open your legs only for him?”

There were sharp blades piercing Jimin’s chest. How did he know? Who had told him? No one was supposed to know.

Two figures were hiding between the trees in the darkness the day couldn’t chase away. Your hands were crossed in front of your chest and Yoongi was standing right behind you.  

Jimin took a step back colliding with the fountain at the entrance of the Castle. The house was looming over him, ominous and tall as if it could touch the sky. His clothes were torn, dirt and blood staining them. They were the clothes he had been wearing the day you had found them.

“I’m sorry but you can’t stay here anymore,” you said. You knew what he had done, you knew his dirty secret and he was paying for it again. He would be paying for it his whole life. A pain so powerful he felt like he was dying bloomed in his chest as rivers of tears rolled down his cheeks. His knees were weak. He couldn’t stand.  

He searched in the faces of his pack, of the people he loved so much he thought his heart would burst. Nothing but sneers and gazes of pity. Whore, they whispered. Slut. Worthless.  

Jimin crumbled to his knees. He was dying. He was sure he was dying. Spasms wrecked his body as he sobbed. He had nowhere to go, he had no one but them. He couldn’t live without them.

And when he thought it was over, that it was the last breath he was taking. He opened his eyes. His chest was heaving, his heart beating like a wild animal scratching at the bars of its cage. He was in their room, the glass wall looking out at the forest. Only the moonlight fought the darkness.

The sheets were restricting him and pushing him down, tangled around his body. Frantic movements born out of desperation took over his body and he stumbled over the edge of the bed, falling hard on the floor with the sheets wrapped around his legs.  

And it overflowed.  

The sobs and tears. He pulled at his hair and scratched his skin. They couldn’t know. No, they could never know. You would never look at him the same way. He would lose the only home he has ever known.

He wanted to scream. Scream until his lungs were empty and his body stopped shaking. Scream until he didn’t feel worthless and used like an old toy forgotten in a corner of the attic.  

There were arms around him, prying his hands away from his hair and skin. He tried to pull away but they only held tighter until he gave in and sunk into their warmth. Blood was rushing to his ears and he only made out his name falling from the other person’s lips. He rocked in his arms, cursing himself and the world. Weak. He was so weak.

Fucking pathetic.

He gripped the hands holding him. He focused on the voice speaking although he couldn’t understand what it was saying. He choked on the bile in his throat, his body shaking with his sobs.  

“Jiminie, breath. Just breath,” the voice said and Jimin tried to listen to it. He did. But it felt like he hadn’t been able to breath for a while. “Just like this. Breath with me. That’s right, like this. Breath. You’re doing so well, Minie.”

Spent, Jimin fell on the chest behind him, shaky breaths leaving his lips. One of the hands rubbed his stomach over his nightshirt.  

“There. You’re alright. You’re alright.”

Jimin swallowed with difficulty down his scratchy throat. “Joonie?”

“I’m here. I’m here, Minie,” the other said. Jimin didn’t have the energy to look at him, laying his head on the older’s shoulder. “I’m right here.”

His breathing stuttered. Another tear escaping from his eyes, he thought he’d run out of them. “I’m sorry.”

“Shhh, don’t say that. Please don’t say that.” Namjoon’s voice was unsteady and it hurt Jimin knowing he had been the cause of it. “You’re alright. I’m always here for you but I can’t protect you from your head.”

Jimin’s tail wrapped around one of Namjoon’s arms as Jimin sniffled. “I don’t want to be alone. Please, please don’t let me go. Don’t make me leave.”

“Never. I’ll never leave you. We’ll never leave you. I’d do anything in this world to keep you safe.” Namjoon caressed his arm, moving upwards and pressing his fingers against Jimin’s left scent gland. Jimin’s whole body trembled, shivers overtaking him. Namjoon rubbed his nose against the other side of his neck, leaving kisses behind. Purring, Jimin arched his neck.  

“I love you,” Jimin whispered, unable to stop the tears from falling.

Namjoon kissed over his scent gland and Jimin felt it everywhere. “I love you, Minie. So much.”

[gumnut-logic]

Wire (Bit 11)

Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Bit 4 | Bit 5 | Bit 6 | Bit 7 | Bit 8 | Bit 9 | Bit 10

Bit 11

Written between 1am and 4.30am. Guess who has insomnia again. But eh, we gets fic.

Special thanks to @katblu42 for the plot suggestion that was added into this bit ::hugs:: Also to @janetm74 @scribbles97 and @tsarinatorment for their amazing support ::squeezes you so tight::

This is still whump. Sorry, guys. A little bit of a longer bit this time at 1337 words.

-o-o-o-

Virgil ran a corn leaf through his fingers.

It was the depth of summer and the sky was brilliant with sun, the corn silks drying and brown above swollen husks while the giant flower heads at the top of each plant danced in the wind.

Ever so tall.

Cornstalks rustled as if speaking to each other, whispering his name.

He couldn’t see out of the field. It appeared to go on forever and he didn’t know how he had ended up in the maze in the first place.

Scott had been yelling his name. There had been pain and movement and Grandpa urging him on.

But now there was just the cornfield.

The wind hissed.

They weren’t supposed to play amongst the corn. There were snakes in the field and Grandma did not like losing sight of her charges.

Of course, Scott had dragged him in once.

Only once.

The field was mysterious and exciting. They hadn’t gone far, but Grandpa had discovered them and the fallout had been extensive.

They both learnt that day exactly why they shouldn’t go into the cornfield as Grandpa had found a snake, showed it to them and then listed off exactly what happened to someone who was bitten.

Scott hadn’t been a fan of snakes ever since.

Of course, Grandma followed that lecture up with some extensive first aid training for what to do if you were bitten by a snake.

It had been a long few days after that.

They never went into the cornfield again.

Until now.

And Scott wasn’t here.

Virgil shivered. He wasn’t a kid anymore and had faced far worse dangers than a snake infested cornfield, but there was something more going on here.

He knew it deep in his soul.

His IR uniform was gone and in its place his comfortable flannel shirt, jeans and boots were a stark contrast against the green stalks.

The leaf was rough between his fingertips, silica strong, almost like wire, but sharper, prone to those thin slices like paper cuts.

“Virgil.”

He startled. His name was sudden, yet as whispered on the wind as the rattling leaves.

“Gordon?”

The wind shook stalks and continued to whisper unintelligibly, ignoring him.

Two hands landed on his shoulders.

His gasp was swallowed as those small hands gently turned him around on the spot.

Eyes dark and so like his own looked up at him with so much love any remaining fear evaporated and fluttered away.

“Mom?”

-o-o-o-

Scott stood in a hospital doorway still wearing the suit he wore for the press conference yesterday.

He felt grimy and he was sprouting stubble on his chin to match his lack of self care over the last forty-eight hours or so. He wasn’t sure of the exact number.

Numbers hurt.

The door he was standing in wasn’t Virgil’s. No, he had left his brother for yet another necessary task as the eldest, the protector of his family.

John had offered to do it for him, but Scott felt an irrational and driven need to see that what his brother had given everything for was worth it.

Of course, every life was worth it. That was the Tracy motto.

But Scott was human. Ever more so now he was in pain. And he felt the need to make sure...it was worth it.

The paediatric ward was brightly painted. A stark lie to the children it contained in an attempt to distract them from the pain these halls actually contained.

The tiny figure in the bed was quiet, strawberry blond hair falling over closed eyes. He looked much more peaceful now he wasn’t bleeding.

Scott was grateful Virgil had succeeded in saving the little boy. His name was John and he did look a little like Gordon.

Toddler Gordon.

Despite everything, Scott did smile just a little. At age three, Gords had been an absolute terror. Virgil, for whatever reason, had taken it upon himself to prevent the little brat from killing himself or others and the resultant hilarity of watching his twelve year old brother chase after the three year old was legendary.

Until the day Virgil actually did save Gordon. Fish baby or no, a dam on the farm was no place for a three year old.

Although this was not Gordon, this little boy was just as lucky as Scott’s little fish brother, even if it took the rest of the Tracys to finally get him out from under that building.

Little John had two broken legs, some nasty bruising, and had inhaled far too much concrete dust and fumes. This last coupled with some internal bleeding and a three year old’s tiny body had made it very touch and go. Virgil had protected him as much as he could, but there had only been so much his critically injured brother could do.

But the doctors had saved him and although he had a tough path ahead, Virgil hadn’t risked himself in vain.

It was worth it.

Worth the lax and non-responsive figure in that too white bed on the other side of the hospital.

Scott swallowed hard.

Focus.

The boy’s mother finally caught sight of him and he forced himself to straighten up and feign presentability.

“Mr Tracy!” She hurried over, eyes wide. “Ohmigod, I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

Something must have shown in his eyes because hers widened and she held herself back.

“Come in, sir. Have a seat.” She stepped away and offered him one of the same plastic hospital chairs he had already spent a good part of the day sitting in on the other side of the building.

He held up a kind hand. “No, no, I’m only here for a moment. I just wanted to see how little John was doing.”

The woman’s breath was harsh at the mention and he prayed she wouldn’t burst into tears because he did not have the reserves right now and would likely join her.

She glanced at her son. “The doctors expect him to make a full recovery thanks to your brother.” A pause and he knew what she was going ask. “How is he?”

The image of Virgil lying ever so still, head swathed in bandages from literal brain surgery coupled with a belly full of even more stitches...

“He’s...” Another harsh swallow. “...hanging in there.”

The gentle hand on his arm nearly broke him.

He drew in a breath and mentally shook himself. “Um, I came over here to give you this.” He held out the piece of paper he had signed himself not twenty minutes ago. “When...” He tried again. God, he was tired. “When people heard Virgil was injured he was sent gifts and money.” They were still coming in. His brother was truly loved by the general public. Virgil Tracy and his giant flying green machine. Virgil would smile and wave it off, but really, people loved him. “My brothers and I know that Virgil would want you to have this, to help John in his recovery.” The cheque had a considerable number of zeros written on it.

Her eyes widened as she read them. “My god.” She blinked. “Thank you. I can’t lie. We need this. But...but what about the others?”

“Virgil saved the rest. There were some minor injuries. They’ve all been seen to.” He glanced at the bed. “John was the last one.” Scott blinked rapidly. John’s babysitter hadn’t made it, killed in the initial collapse. John had been very, very lucky.

“Thank you.” And her hands were clutching his arm again.

Scott looked down at her. Virgil would definitely want this. He dropped his hand over hers. “You’re welcome.” Now he had to leave.

She nodded and let him go. But she didn’t step back, only staring up at him.

“Mr Tracy, all my hopes for your brother...”

Scott nodded abruptly, but had no more words. A dip of his head as he backed out of the room and stalked down the hallway.

All his hopes...

-o-o-o-

Next

[keilemlucent]

lavender latte: vii

(M (for now!)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1   ||   chapter 2  ||   chapter 3   ||  chapter 4   ||   chapter 5   ||  chapter 6   ||  chapter 8  ||

masterlist

word count: ~5.2k

the details

warnings: a little spice (see that M warning!), soft shit & emotional convos

beta’ed: @keiqos 

---

wow :’^) through thick and thin, this one got here! thank u to molb for beta reading!!! this is beginning of the second act/final half of the story, a little ~*plot*~ if u will. enjoy 💗

||||||||||||||||||||||

Being in Hawks’ arms was heaven, you were sure of it.

When he’d said that he’d ‘never done this before’, you, that first night, had confirmation that ‘this’ definitely did not refer to physical intimacy. It couldn’t, not with the way he had touched you. 

His warm, well-trained hands squeezing and pulling you apart perfectly. He read each of your breaths and sighs like they were an in-depth instruction manual that he was meant to study, memorizing the perfect ways to make you cry his name.

...

Hawks was a fast learner.

 “You’re gorgeous, you know that, right?” Hawks said with a kiss to your cheek, lips trailing to your jaw. “You’re fucking beautiful, angel.”

Your thighs hugged around his, your booted foot half-supported by the couch below. Straddling his lap had been a bold move, but neither of you complained, hardly. The shocked look that Hawks had first worn had melted into one of hot-blooded lust.

You drank it all in, him all in, greedily. 

“You’re not bad yourself, you know,” You giggled at the compliments. He’d been laying them on thick as the night wore on, not that you were complaining. “I wasn’t lying earlier, agreeing that you were hot and all. It’s a little distracting.”

“‘Distracting’?” You could hear the raise in Hawks’ brow. “Spill it, dove. How am I ‘distracting’?”

You opened your mouth, ready to give him an entire heap of ego-boosting praise about how fucking hot he was in civilian clothes (and in general), but the words died in your throat as his hands trailed along your hips, dipping just below the hem of your shirt. His touch brushed along your bare skin and the waistband of your bottoms.

You sucked in a shaking breath. 

“Angel,” Hawks’s sing-song voice washed over you as his nimble fingers stroked at your sides and quick teeth nipped at your jaw. “I’m waiting.”

His purposefully mind-snagging moves were all calculated, each brush and touch he gave you turning you gooey over him. 

“U-uh,” You stuttered, Hawks snickered against your skin. You really would’ve loved to give him some sort of lip, but the gentle bites to the fragile skin of your neck made your words turn to smoke in your skull. “I-I mean, right now, w-what you’re doing.”

Hawks being a tease was hardly surprising.

“I’m sorry,” Hawks paused, hot breath tickling your ear. “I couldn’t catch that, angel. How am I distracting you? What am I doing?”

The bastard.

“Y-You’re—” You cut yourself off with a yelp. Hawks had taken to sucking at a bite mark on your neck, laving the bruise with his tongue. Pain pricked deliciously across your skin, and you let your head fall away to bare more for him.

“I’m surprised, you’re usually so good with words.”

You normally were, the banter you and Hawks shared was a testament to that. But with his lips and searing hands grabbing and damn near worshipping whatever they could, you were at a loss for words. You were more than happy to, balling up the back of Keigo’s sweater in your clammy palms. 

 Keigo was in rapture, he was sure of it. 

The sweetness of the earlier moment of the night was still there in each peck and sweet caress. It radiated in each action. 

The tension had simply been allowed to break. 

The goodness was all foreign to him, something he’d never really known. 

Keigo had plenty of sex— good sex, by definition. He wasn’t a slouch in bed, he knew that much. He’d been given glowing reviews time and time again. But, that was all hookups or platonic flings, nothing even close to the stored up desires that were finally able to be expressed.

Your sweet body already trembling over him with just easy touches got him harder and hotter than he’d been in a long time, probably ever. 

It was you, as cliche as it was. The familiar scent of your perfume clouding over him, the little gasps and whines from the back of your throat, even the taste of your quickly salting skin drove Keigo wild. And it was all so intimately close. 

He was suffocating in you and he loved every moment of it.

Keigo had already learned you from his side of the teashop’s counter. He mentally prided himself on recognizing your mannerisms after so many months of conversation and coffee. The little quirks in your movements and words that told their own stories.

The pride, of course, came from being able to use his trained interpersonal skills for something good, something that he knew was good.

With that first kiss, that sweet, sweet first embrace (of many), Keigo could finally indulge in learning about you in a new way.

He wanted to learn what would make you melt. 

Keigo’s wings twitched, sensing how each nip to your jaw made your hips stutter like you were repressing the urge to roll them down onto his lap. 

With each press of his thumbs against your sides, he could feel your breath catch, soft sounds muffled in the back of your throat.

You were perfect.

 “H-Hawks!” His name cracked from your lips as he dragged down the collar of your sweater, sucking a bruise onto your collarbone. 

Hawks chuckled against your neck, hot breath making you hazy in the best way, “This alright?”

“Uh-huh,” You nodded, giving him all the permission in the world to go to town.

Hawks wasn’t too rough with you, just sparks of teeth and nails that made your chest arch into his own. Keigo seemed more than content to have you in his lap, undoing you slowly like it was his divine mission. 

It might as well have been, with his pretty scarlet wings unfurled. You’d never seen them so close, noticing all of the filaments and their depth and colors. 

Throughout you and Hawks’s long, handsy makeout session, his wings (had they always been so massive?) slowly stretched out and open with each gasp and grunt. You’d catch the feathers trembling, shuddering when you ran your hands over the lean muscle of Hawk’s chest, fingers tracing up his ribs. You watched the plumage dance from their roots to the largest feathers when you graced him with the rare grind down onto his straining bulge.

“Can I touch them?” You asked breathlessly, head tilted to allow Hawks all the room in the world to mark up your neck.

He paused, the feathers shuddering in a wave-like pattern. You were mesmerized.

“They’re sensitive, so you have to be gentle.”

You paused, but only for a moment. 

Hawks’ words from earlier echoed in your skull:

“I’ve never done any of this.”

Further questions rattled just behind it.

What does that even mean?

He certainly knew how to turn you into a puddle with confidence, so you could only assume the tabloids had been somewhat right in saying that he was... experienced. 

(You were confident that you were only seeing a glimmer of what he was capable of. The prospect made your breath leave your lips hotter and harder.)

You shoved the thought off in favor of reaching behind him, carefully placing a hand on a downy bone near the root. 

Hawks went rigid with your touch, freezing against your neck. The grip on your hips was nearing bruising, but you didn’t move your hand other than a few gentle strokes from the pads of your fingers.

It had Hawks shaking beneath you. 

“This okay?”

Hawks nodded, taking a big breath, pressing his face into your neck, “Yeah. You won’t break me, I promise.”

You trusted him.

You ran your thumb along the spindly bone. The texture was odd, but not unpleasant, firmness covered by petal-soft feathers. Even if it had been weird to touch, you wouldn’t have minded. 

You couldn’t have, not with the high, sinful moan that croaked from Hawks’s lips.

You smirked, “Does it feel good?”

Hawks’ breath grew more ragged as your grip drifted to the roots. 

It was more than enough of an answer. 

“That seems like a yes— Why don’t you tell me about it? How my hands feel right here...”

You could tease Hawks right back.

Your hold went the tiniest bit tighter, a few of your nails barely grazing him.

 Keigo hadn’t been expecting the touch.  

No one touched his wings. He plucked and preened them himself, using a bit of special oil for them on the rare occasion that he was in the mood for some pampering. His time training with the Commission drilled into his mind that his wings were him, beautiful weapons that required coveting.

So, he surprised himself when he so freely allowed you to touch them.

Then again, he trusted you an almost scary amount for the lack of definition your... relationship now had. 

When your nails went against the grain of the small, soft, feathers at the base of his wings, the moan that ripped from his throat was entirely involuntary. The way his hips bucked up was too.

The way he accidentally sent you tumbling to the ground was very unintentional.

If Keigo hadn’t been caught in the absolute euphoria of his wings being touched by someone good for the first time in his life, he probably would’ve been able to catch you.

But, he was distracted.

 Your back hit the carpet below, uninjured leg bracing your fall while the booted one shot up awkwardly, saving it from any impact. Your head spun despite not being hit, fully jarred from the sudden motion. 

Hawks immediately sat up, sputtering and helping you from the ground. His feathers aided where they could, re-propping your boot and settling you against him. 

“It’s okay, it totally happens, Hawks,” You tried to soothe him. 

“Are you sure? I can get you so ice if you need—”

“Hawks, I’m alright, really, love” The affection slipped out easily as you popped a kiss onto his jaw. “I’m totally okay. Besides, it’s worth it to know how sensitive those wings of yours are.”

“Be careful there, angel,” Hawks’s cheeks lit with blush, smothering face in your hair to hide it, “Using those against me has some... consequences.”

The thought made your insides burn in the best way. 

“Oh yeah?” You raised your eyebrows, thinking of the wonderful possibilities. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m serious!”

“So am I.”

Any... tension in the room diffused, though not unpleasantly. 

You fell against Hawks, pressing your nose into his arm. Your earlier fears of getting ‘too used’ to him were now very much a reality, an unavoidable one. You had already come to crave the heat of his touch and the baritone of voice. 

You accepted the fact, squeezing him.

It was inevitable, really.

...

You knew it was late, very late, probably early morning. You and Hawks had been all over each other for hours, and as nice as it was, you could feel sleep beginning to pull at the back of your eyes. Despite the exhaustion and quiet aches of the marks across your skin, you didn’t want to stop, not at all.

Admitting you were tired meant that Hawks had to leave and that would mean facing reality. 

As lovely as the evening was, there was plenty swirling that was left unsaid. Things that needed to be addressed, though you both stalled. There were plenty of bits and pieces that wouldn’t be pleasant to talk about, details that could ruin the precious air of the night.

You leaned into him, eyelids sagging against your will. 

“Aww,” Hawks giggled, pulling you closer by the waist, as if you had spoken your insecurities, rather than just thinking about them. “You getting tired, dove?”

You nodded against him, tucking into his side the best you could like it could stop the inevitable. 

“Do you want me to stay?”

The question surprised you. Your guts fluttered at the prospect. 

God, was it an alluring idea.

With obvious implications.

You swallowed.

 It’s all going too fast.

The months of leadup and heat between your thighs didn’t assuage your fears. If anything, it made your fear the deep-end of a night together more. 

“Hey, you’re getting nervous, I can literally see it,” Hawks frowned, tipping up your head. Even the little, casual touches he got to give you made your hearts pound. “I don’t have to.”

“No, it’s like—” You ran a hand down your cheeks. “I want you too, that would be very nice, I’m just a little...”

You struggled to find the words, even feeling your quirk begin to stir. Anxiety prickled like jolts of sour berries across your tongue, burning your eyes and nose. You scrunched your face, shaking your head and willing yourself to relax.

“Overwhelmed?” 

Hawks was right, of course, with his observational skills being so unmatched. He probably even noticed your quirk activating with the widening of your pupils.

“Yeah, you could say that.” you sighed, finding his hand to squeeze it. “It all just feels really fast, you know? I really want to sleep next to you, with you, yet... I don’t even know your real name.”

Hawks went still and tense. 

 Keigo hadn’t really thought about that part. 

Of course, you’d want to know his name. It was only natural, every hero had a civilian name.

Except for him. 

He was Hawks, the hero of Fierce Wings and unrivaled speed. That was him. His name was Hawks.

Keigo had been Hawks for years. His identity was tied to the name, melded to it. They were inseparable. He hadn’t been called anything else in so long, not since he was a shiny new recruit. Any other name had been torn from him, snuffed out and suffocated long ago. 

Every news report and every article, all the calls from friends and colleagues, every scolding he received was always for Hawks.

Never Takami Keigo.

Yet, sitting there on your well-worn couch, surrounded by the warmth of your apartment and your own heat nestled into his side, his given name bobbed to the surface of his psyche.

It lay on the tip of his tongue, Keigo mulling over the personal consequences of telling you his birth name.

This was all different for him anyway, right?

Maybe it would be good to use his name for something good. 

Maybe using his name would be okay.

(Even if it was scary.) 

 “Uh, Hawks? Are you okay?” You asked, rubbing his knee. 

His eyes had gone blank, gazing far-off like you’d never seen before. Hawks even had a nervous bounce in his knee. His body was rigid against yours.

Concern bloomed in your gut. 

“Hey, Hawks,” You tried to get his attention again. “You’re okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

Hawks shook his head, biting his lips and mussing his already sexed-up hair. You bit your lip, refusing to move, not wanting to force any unwanted affections on him. 

A sigh shook from his chest. 

Carefully, he met your worried gaze. 

His eyes, all prettied and honeyed, looked a hell of a lot more-wide and fear-filled then you’d ever seen.

 “It’s Keigo. My name is Takami Keigo.”

You rolled the name around in your skull. Reaching for his hands, you brought them into your own lap.

It wasn’t hard to tell that it wasn’t easy for him to say. 

“That's a really pretty name. Thank you for telling me.” Gently, you rubbed the pads of your thumbs into his palms. The sensation shot up Keigo’s spine, making him sit up a few degrees straighter. “People tend to hold a lot of tension in their hands.”

 Keigo nodded, unusually silent (you got him that way a lot), unsure of what to say, genuinely and truly. His heart was pounding and he was sure you could feel the layer of sweat slicking his palms. 

“You can’t tell anyone my name, (Y/N). Can’t even joke about telling people, okay?”

You squeezed his hands, “Whatever I need to do, I’ve got you, okay, Keigo?”

It was the first time he’d heard his real name in years.

He was incredibly glad that it was from you, assuring him in the same breath. 

...

Vulnerability was terrifying. 

Keigo liked you, irrefutably. A lot. But, all of the nuts and bolts of actually having a relationship (would you two even have that?) seemed daunting. There was plenty to figure out that you had been electing to ignore. 

“There’s a lot I won’t ever be able to tell you,” Keigo forced himself to fess up. He had to lie strategically all the time, but it wasn’t the time to. “Even if I want to.” 

“That’s okay. We’ll both have to be flexible.” You replied quickly, probably not taking enough time to fully mull over the extent of what you’re saying. You slid your hand into his. “Can I be honest too?”

“Of course.” Keigo tugged, urging you back onto his lap. He liked you there the best so far. He could wrap you in his arms so well, satisfying that deep need to keep you safe. 

When you got situated on top of his thighs, you wrapped your arms tentatively around his chest, careful to avoid the base of his wings.

“I’m terrified.” You pressed your face into his chest. “That’s probably why I didn’t say anything for so long.”

 “Oh, dove,” Keigo hugged you tight to him. “You don’t need to be scared of anything. I keep people safe. It’s literally my job.”

“It’s different, though, this kind of stuff,” You replied, voice soft and low. “Aren’t you scared at all?”

Of course he was.

A lot. 

And he had to say so, didn’t he?

Honesty— real, cogent, emotionally mind-bending honesty, felt uncomfortably new on Keigo’s tongue. 

He would have to learn to reflect your own. 

“I’ve never been with anyone before, not like this anyways.” Keigo hated how weak his voice was, nothing like the silken charm he was used to exuding. “So, you could say I’m a little scared.”

“We can go slow,” You easily responded, tilting your face to meet Keigo’s. “I know it’s not normally your thing, but I think we have to.”

“I’ll manage,” Keigo cupped the side of your face, the remnants of tension bleeding from the muscles of his back as he let himself smile (hopefully). “So, you want to?”

“‘Want to’ what?” You asked, tilting your head in his hands. 

Keigo relished the way you leaned into him, letting him bear a bit of your body weight. He accepted the responsibility without hesitation, an idle hand stroking at your hips. 

“I know that functionally, we don’t know a ton about each other, but,” Keigo exhaled, noting how your eyes went soft and a bit glassy. “And I’ve never done this, but like, a relationship. Try it, anyway.”

 You only took a moment to answer, hardly pausing. 

It was a given, wasn’t it? 

With the big, intense feelings that had made their home in your insides long ago and had been given so much time to grow, it only made sense to at least try. Your feelings had roots that ran deeper than just those suited for fucking for sport.

You already cherished each other. 

“Of course, tailfeathers,” You stretched to kiss the stubble on his chin. “I like you a whole lot, you know.”

“I like you plenty too, but really?” Keigo falsely frowned. “‘Tailfeathers’? I thought we were passed that one?”

“I dunno,” You smirked to yourself, curling your free, uninjured leg over his own. “Maybe I could be persuaded to find another bird-adjacent nickname.” 

“Like?”

“Is lovebird too cliche?” You looped your arm around his neck. “Maybe just birdboy, the classic.”

“Hmmm,” Keigo’s squeezed your sides. “Not sure if I’m much of a lovebird, dove.”

“You sure about that?” You flickered your eyes to note that Keigo had you entirely wrapped up in his arms, wings shuddering in time with your own breaths. “I think you might be on your way.

“Maybe,” Keigo huffed, pressing his lips to yours. “Just for you, dove. Just for you.”

You melted into each other, starting the beloved dance all over again, not caring how late the night wore on. You were both certain, silently, that this would not be the last time you’d find yourselves like this. You both could only hope that there would be many more nights spent tangled up in each other, both sweet and spiced.

For now, you, together, settled for the blessed slowness of it all. 

 ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 Keigo did stay the night. 

You loaned Keigo an old shirt (that you didn’t mind cutting slits in for his wings)  and a pair of sweatpants, even loaning him a toothbrush. Deliberately, you placed it in its own cup, just in case he stayed over again.

(He would.) 

It was a little nerve-wracking, clambering into bed together. 

Your room was decorated and lit the same way the rest of your home was. The same soft, diffused lighting cast your room with a yellow glow. You had taken a brief moment to hastily (but carefully) tuck several plushies on top of a desk in the corner, chatting over your potential embarrassment.

(Truthfully, Keigo thought it was adorable that you had a myriad of stuffed animals that you slept with. It made your bed look a whole lot more... nestlike. It scratched an itch deep in his bird-adjacent brain that he didn’t know he had.)

You two slid beneath the sheets, though you stayed sitting up, fisting the sheets in clenched fingers.

You knew the implications of sleeping together, obviously. 

“H-hey, you know how we said we’d go slow?” You swallowed, glancing down at Keigo.

“Yeah, dove?” He flipped onto his side, peering up at you. 

You fidgeted.

It was a conversation that you hated having. It was always met with disappointment or confusion or both.

“I meant it.” You sighed, relenting and fluffing a hand through his messy hair. Remaining blunt about your reality was always the best option, you’d danced around it enough that night as it was. “The overstimulation part of my quirk makes sex really... hard? I guess.”

You wished there wasn’t so much damn internalized shame shoved into your brain about this particular facet of your quirk. You didn’t give Keigo much of a chance to respond, good or bad. 

“Like, I can, don’t get me wrong, it just gets to be too much really easily, and like, I just need a bit more time—?”

 Nervousness ticked and writhed in your voice as you scrunched the duvet in your hands.

“Hey, (Y/N), It’s alright, I promise.” Keigo shifted, tugging you down into the sheets, facing him.  “Come down here.”

You lowered yourself cautiously, a mix of expressions crossing your face, all of which felt unfamiliar to Keigo.

As much as he teased and embarrassed you at the teashop, you’d never looked genuinely upset. Even when you were struggling to tell him how you felt, just earlier that night, you’d never looked so...

Uncomfortable? 

Keigo saw the crinkle at the corners of your eyes and the scrunch of your nose and quickly corrected himself: 

Guilt.

“We can go slow, as slow as you need. I mean it.”

You laid facing each other, the duvet settling over the two of you. Carefully, Keigo took your hand by the wrist, laying a soft kiss at the joint.

The guarded look in your eyes wasn’t one Keigo was used to.

“Really? You don’t mind?” Your gaze was trained on the sheets below, picking at a loose thread.

“I really, really don’t mind at all. I want you to be comfortable.” Keigo assured you the best he could, heart aching with your nervous glances. “Slow, remember?”

“Slow.” You repeated, finally giving him a bit of eye contact. “You sure? I don’t want to force you to curb your hero’s libido because of my quirk’s bodily side effects.”

“Okay, one,” Keigo huffed, tugging you chest to chest and peppering your face with the kisses he’d always wanted to. “How often do you think I bang?”

You snorted and relaxed visibly, “I mean, I’ve seen the tabloids, so I’m assuming all the time. Like, rabbit-level.”

“God, no, please don’t believe that shit,” Keigo groaned as he threw an arm over your waist. “I am bird-adjacent, as you say, not bunny-adjacent. Then you’re talking about Mirko—”

“Keigo,” You stopped him with a finger on his lips. “I’m not sure if I can handle the details of any of the top-ten’s sex lives, sans yours. Which hopefully includes me.” 

He spoke besides, “You’re telling me you don’t want to know about Wash’s—”

“Keigo—”

“I’m just saying, I have pictures—”

You silenced him, thank god, with a firm kiss you dragged him into by the collar. You made a point to hold him in place even as his wings twitched, nipping at his bottom lip. He licked into your mouth, pulling you forward by your hips. 

You decided to make it a habit to kiss Keigo breathless more often.

...

Keigo traced nonsense shapes and phrases on your sides, you sucking a few bruises well below his collar.

(You both opted that, sex or otherwise, Keigo wearing a shirt was... unnecessary.)

You settled under the covers spooning, your back against his bare chest. 

After everything that had happened that night, all of it, you were exhausted. 

“I have patrol pretty early tomorrow,” Keigo pressed a kiss to the back of your neck. “I’ll let you sleep when I leave, okay?” 

“No, I’ll get up a little too,” You could hear the slur of sleep in your words. “I’ve got a shitty little espresso machine. I’ll make you a drink, to go.”

“You sure? You need all the rest you can get with that leg of yours healing,” Keigo tapped your booted calf with his foot.

“Of course, Kei’,” You can feel sleep tugging you down, Keigo’s heat lulling you. “I miss making you drinks.”

 You didn’t see it— you were already half-asleep by the end of your sentence. But, Keigo hid his biggest smile in your shoulder, wings fluttering in time with the butterflies in his tummy. 

It felt good to sleep next to someone else, especially when it was someone you loved. 

 —

 But, all good things must come to an end, or at least to a momentary pause. 

Keigo was out the door as dawn rose, kissing you hard and long with a travel mug of a coffee in his hand. 

“I threw together what I could, making one of those warm feelings drinks,” You’d said as you pressed the hot tumbler into his hands. “It’s cinnamon, caramel cappuccino, pretty simple compared to what I’d normally make you.”

It didn’t matter, truthfully, you making it meant the world.

Keigo flew from your balcony, flying high physically and mentally. He took the time to stop at home and change into his hero costume. 

It gave him ample time to mull over everything. 

Despite the months of (mutual) pining, a lot had happened in such a short amount of time. 

He was happy, overjoyed, that things were finally out in the open. Getting to be near you and feel you was a luxury he was ecstatic to be able to indulge in. His heart would leap and jump against his sternum if he thought about it too hard or for too long.

That wasn’t to say that there weren’t to be challenges or complications. 

There were, of course, many details that would have to be sorted and straightened.

Hawks was a hero after all.

 His patrol was fairly calm, sunrise didn’t tend to be a time of high crime. 

Though, his sharpened eyes caught the telltale plumes of smoke on the other side of the city not long after he’d launched from his apartment. 

He flew as fast as he could, dodging between buildings and sending his fast feathers in front of him. The closer he got, the more the smell of smoke stung his sinuses. 

When he arrived at the scene, he dove into action.

An apartment burning was burning, nothing new or surprising.

Except, this was a well-groomed highrise, a nicer building in a very nice part of town. 

 It took Keigo a moment or two to realize that he’d seen the building before. He recognized it from the brochures and pamphlets he was occasionally given at heroes sponsorship events. He’d gotten plenty of papers and pitches for buildings like it too. 

...

Jets of orange flames burst through the windows, shattering them down its many stories. The blaze was thick and hot, searing Keigo as he flew around the building.

For this reason, there wasn’t a ton he could do to help, not with how flame and fire. The feathers he managed to send in burned up after only a minute or two. Even if he dulled their sensitivity, the feeling of flame licking the sensitive plumes made him want to shudder and writhe. 

He eventually opted to just help with rescue operations on the ground. He felt somewhat more adept at doing so, following what had happened in the shopping district the tea shop was in. His feathers were far more useful running supplies from place to place than trying to outpace flames. 

There were plenty of heroes around. 

Plenty were local, lesser-known pros. He recognized a few from the charts, top thirties maybe. They were mostly in plainclothes, no costumes or regalia. Some still wore house slippers.

And very few of them appeared to be alone. 

Usually, they stood with at least one other person, maybe a child or two. 

It dawned on Keigo once he saw Edgeshot appear from the rubble, helping a young man walk with a hand around his waist. As Edgeshot walked past Keigo, regarding him with a firm but curt nod, he noticed their twin wedding bands glinting against the mixing light of flames and the early morning. 

Oh.

 Keigo took in the remnants of the burned-out building, recalling its splendor from the ads he had been sent so many times and dismissed.

It was Hero Affiliate housing. 

He’d been given the spiel so many times as a young bachelor, that’d he’d tuned them out long ago. 

It was a trend that had caught on a few years prior, specific luxury buildings made for the family and partners of heroes. Better security, better resistance to disaster and villain attacks(sure), and a community of people who all dealt with the same struggles of being closely attached to a hero.

They were supposed to be safer.

Yet, he was staring at the corpse of the building, burned out and soggy. Around him were soot-covered civilians that should have never been in harm's way. That’s what complexes like this were built for. That was the intent, anyway. 

Yet, there stood reality.

Keigo’s kept the calm, laid-back smile on his face, his veneer up and solid as limestone, unfractured like it too. 

As Keigo aided where he could, his mind was elsewhere.

It was on you, undoubtedly curled up and asleep, safe.

But, could he keep you that way? 

...

He’d have to. 

|||||||||||||||||||

ko-fi

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taglist: 

@thepandapopo​ @hawksexual​ @sinclairsamess​ @darcia22​ @inhalingsoysauce​ @yee-fxcking-haw​ @aproperthottie​ @seasalttrioforever​ @msgrungie @mia—merc @a-monster-love @call-me-rhee @peach-buns-unicorns @amethyst-rose-17 @mega-bastard @an-untamed-rose @ravioliplease 

[marshmallow-phd]

Healing Touch

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Yixing x Reader

Summary: Medical school abroad was the last line on your to-do list before starting the rest of your life. Everything was going according to plan. Everything, that is, until tragedy strikes your campus. In the wake of a professor’s untimely death, you’re partnered with the cute boy with a breathtaking smile in the newly combined labs. You find yourself unable to resist the dimples and shy glances, but his life is here with no plans of leaving. Will you continue on as planned or will you accept the hand that Fate had dealt you?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Final

**

You were anxious, but you couldn’t describe exactly why. Was it as narrowed down to Ran and Yixing simply interacting? The two worlds colliding? Or was it as broad as the fact that Yixing was stepping into your apartment?

The place wasn’t dirty. Both you and Ran were diligent on keeping on top of the dishes and dusting. You weren’t necessarily the “make your bed everyday” type, but it wasn’t too much of a jumble of sheets. There were no leftovers out on the counter or crusted plates in the sink. The air smelled of artificial citrus thanks to the plug-in that Ran kept up with on a steady rotation.

Ran ushered everyone in and then closed the door with no concern of a noise level. “Pizza should be here any minute.” The only responses she received were silent nods.

It was awkward as the three of you stood around, no one talking, no one moving towards the available seating in the living room. Ran often brought friends over and they naturally made themselves at home. Whenever Victoria or Amber were in town, you met up with them at coffee shops or restaurants serving brunch. Your apartment was not a typical place to congregate. It was your sanctuary, the place you went to in order to get away. Now the outside world was coming in and you weren’t sure what to do.

“Yixing, you want a drink?” Ran offered.

He nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

Ran shot you a very pointed look before whisking off to the kitchen. Yixing’s eyes roamed over the mostly empty walls. Neither you nor Ran were good with tools so ramming a nail into plaster didn’t seem like a logical way to spend an afternoon. Any decorating done to give the apartment a homey feel was done on the side and coffee tables. Ran’s novels were stacked in with your medical textbooks for easy reaching. Picture frames containing silly faces and fond memories sat on top of the wooden surfaces. Your favorite was the one of you and your aunt mid laugh, soaking wet from the water ride that had splashed from behind. Wherever you went, that picture went too. Yixing found it after a few seconds, walking over to it like in a trance. He picked up the cheap, plastic black frame with a gentle hand. A dimple made an appearance in his right cheek as he studied the photo.

“You look like you had fun.”

A small laugh pushed out as the memories of that trip flashed through your mind like a PowerPoint. Lost chargers, multiple changes of clothes from water rides and dropped ice creams, and dozens of wrong turns to get to the right ride. Neither you nor your aunt were good at working the app made for the amusement park, but that only added to the adventure.

“We did,” you replied. “That was right before my freshman year here. One last hurrah before moving on to adulthood.” That was what your aunt had said, anyway, though both of you knew she meant it sarcastically. She didn’t believe in full adulthood. A little bit of childishness was necessary to live life to the fullest – a concept that you couldn’t quite fully understand in words but could when you were looking at her. Yixing nodded, the smile growing by a few centimeters as he set the frame down again. Ran entered from the kitchen and handed him a steaming mug of fresh tea. You nearly hid your face in your shirt when you noticed which cup Ran had chosen or the gesture of a gracious host.

Little chibi figures depicting characters from your favorite drama danced around the porcelain mug. It was cute in your eyes when you’d ordered it from the online shop. Now, it was mortifying. You just hoped that Yixing assumed that it was Ran’s and that Ran didn’t mention anything to the contrary.

“Thank you.” Yixing blew on the steam that danced from the caramel colored liquid and took a sip small enough for a mouse. Still, no one sat. Ran glanced at you with a curious expression. If she was telling you to do something, you weren’t able to pick up on what that thing might be. Miraculously, you were saved by the door knock.

Ran shuffled over to the door to answer it. Yixing leaned down and placed the mug on the coffee table and that’s when it hit you.

He still wasn’t wearing a shirt.

Grabbing his wrist, you pulled him into your bedroom while Ran was distracted with the delivery guy. You let go of Yixing and started rifling through your closet for a more unisex shirt.

“What’s wrong?” Yixing asked right behind you.

You jumped at his sudden closeness but didn’t look behind you. “You’re still just wearing the jacket. When Ran notices, she’ll start asking questions.” Your fingers landed on an old band t-shirt that you hadn’t worn in a while. The black was a neutral color and most of the wording was faded. You doubt Ran would recognize it. “Here. Put this on.”

Seemingly laughing at you in his head, Yixing smiled and unzipped his jacket.

The first time you’d seen him shirtless, you were too distracted by the hiker to take real notice. Now that he was the only one around and standing in your bedroom… heat exploded all over your body. And the jerk seemed to notice as he took his time to take off the jacket and push his head through the shirt. You scurried around him and poked your head out of your room just in time to see Ran hand over the tip, closing the door with the pizza boxes in hand.

“Smells good,” Yixing commented as he snuck up behind you once again. He really needed to stop doing that.

“And its still warm, too,” Ran cooed, having heard him. She took a long whiff. You couldn’t help but take one, too. Delicious. Your mouth was already swimming when you sat down at the table. You didn’t even remember telling your feet to move. Ran grabbed plates from the cabinet before flipping open the lids, engulfing the apartment with that familiar scent. “Bon appetite!”

“Thank you for dinner,” Yixing said again. He was always so polite. It was endearing. So much so that you had paused midbite and started staring at him with a grin of your own pulling at your lips’ corners.

Ran chewed through a mouthful before answering. “No problem. You just have really good timing.”

A silence that you couldn’t quite call comfortable settled over the meal. You thought over and over of what you could say to continue a conversation, but all options fell flat. The consequence of that? Ran jumping in.

“So, Yixing, how do you know (y/n)?”

“We have class together,” he explained, not bothered at all by the questionnaire he was about to receive. Or he was simply unaware that this might only be the beginning.

“Which one?”

“Human physiology.”

Ran’s eyebrows shot up. “The one that just combined? So, did you have the other professor?”

Yixing nodded solemnly. “I did.” Though there were still several bites left of his current slice, he put it down and folded his fingers with his elbows resting on the table. “She was a good teacher.”

“That’s what I heard a lot,” Ran agreed. “It’s scary what’s going on. You never know who’s going to be next. I heard that there might have been another attack today.”

You looked at Yixing thinking that he would do the same given your shared knowledge that there was indeed another attack, but he didn’t turn his head in the slightest. He kept staring at the table. You knew this was bothering him. It was written in every facet of his posture and face. But Ran didn’t seem to notice.

“I think they should send the rangers out and put down the animal. I mean, I hate to kill anything that is just living its life, but there’s obviously something wrong with it. Like it went mad or something. Putting it out of its misery might be—”

“Ran, do you have plans tonight?” you jumped in.

Ran blinked as her mind quickly changed gears. “Yeah. Hae In is picking me up in a few minutes and we’re going to go out. You two are welcome to join us.”

“That’s okay,” you answered for both of you. “Thanks, though.”

Ran grinned cheekily. “I kind of figured.”

A quick succession of knocks rattled from the front door. Ran leapt up and ushered her friend inside.

Hae In, a girl whose personality was as bright as her blonde hair, waved excitedly at you and Yixing. “Hey! Ooo, that looks good!” She was quickly distracted by the pizza, grabbing a slice as soon as Ran gave her the okay. She swallowed down a few bites. “I’m Hae In, by the way,” she said to Yixing. “Are you (y/n)’s friend?”

“Yes, I am,” he said, a bit his previous light coming back. “I’m Yixing.” Standing up, he held out his hand for her to take.

“Nice to meet you,” Hae In shook his hand after wiping the grease off on an unused napkin.

“We should probably get going,” Ran suggested. “You know Marnie will take forever and we want to get there before they start charging covers.”

“No kidding,” Hae In giggled. She waved goodbye and followed Ran out the door.

Yixing turned to you. “They seemed nice.”

“They are,” you nodded as you stood to your feet and started clearing the table of the dirty dishes. Yixing was soon on his own feet, helping by moving all the leftover pizza into one box and then closing the lid so it could fit in the fridge. You rinsed off the plates, the water plashing all over the counter. After a quick clean up, you put the plates in the dishwasher. Yixing had moved on to the living room. He was seated on the couch, leaning forward with his forearms resting on his thighs and looking deep in thought. You sat down beside him. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” he said none-too-convincingly. He sat up so he was now sitting back into the couch. “I’m okay. It’s just been… a day.”

You snorted. “Yeah, you can say that again.”

He didn’t respond to what you had said. He changed the subject in a sharp turn. “This shirt’s comfortable.”

You frowned, confused. “Yeah, its old so its been washed a few times. But it was soft like that when I bought it.” What were you even saying? Why were the two of you talking about your shirt? Honestly, you wanted to forget for a second that he was wearing your clothes at all. Because then you mind drifted to what was underneath the cloth.

“I think I’ve heard of this band,” Yixing said as he tugged on the front where the members were proudly displayed in a tough-guy fashion. There were a few breaks in the plastic-y photo that split some of the faces at odd angles. “They’re a pop group, right?”

You cleared your throat as you shifted in your seat. “Yeah. I guess you could call them that.” Why were you suddenly dying of humiliation? Why should you have any anxiety over what music you liked? One fear might have been that he was one of those people who looked down on others for liking such “shallow music.” You never thought the group in that way. If the vocals were good, who cared if the songs were mostly about love? “I like them anyway.”

To your surprise, Yixing was smiling. “I like them, too.”

In your heart, you were sure he was saying something else. Implying someone else that he really liked.

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Because… well, you were realizing that you liked him. Very much. More than a friend. You liked Yixing. And you wanted him to like you, too. While you weren’t a mind reader, you thought that maybe there was a chance that he already did.

Going with the second thought that popped into your head, you looked at him shyly. “Thanks for coming along when you did, by the way. I don’t think I would have been to get him help in time if you hadn’t.”

Instead of returning your soft expression, Yixing remained stoic. He reached out and touched your cheek with the tips of his fingers. They were warm against your skin – No, not warm. Even with the minimal contact, you could feel the fire. It felt like a constant wave of sunshine pulsing into your skin. By sheer instinct, you leaned in deeper to his touch. That was encouragement enough for him to shift so now his palm was against your cheek. The reaction to pull away coursed in your mind, but you couldn’t bring it to fruition. If it had been anyone else, you would have been up and off that couch, putting plenty of room between you and them. But with Yixing… you simply wanted to move closer.

And someone did.

You weren’t sure if it was you or him – your money would have been on a mutual understanding, an equal pull that shifted both of you like magnets. But there was no gnashing of teeth or crumpling of shirts. It was a softer collision. A hesitant one. Your hands dug into the cushion to force you not to move as his lips brushed against yours. When he pressed more, his other hand came up and pulled you in closer by your hip. You didn’t resist, encompassing the space that was his lap.

That fire – that heat and warmth like a log alite on a winter’s day – was everywhere now. But just as it was growing, it was also drifting farther back in your mind. Yixing’s presence, his touch, was consuming your thoughts. You were not the kind of person who did this. You shied away from intimate moments like this. The weeks you had known Yixing were short, but that felt like a detail of little consequence. You believed yourself safe in his embrace.

The kiss ended abruptly. With hands that were simultaneously harsh and gentle, Yixing removed you from his lap, placing you on the cushion beside him. He gave no explanation for his sudden switch in direction. You weren’t sure what for, but the urge to apologize was swelling up, like you were the only one who had crossed a line.

“I’m… sorry.”

Yixing rubbed his eyes, releasing a sigh. “No. Don’t be. I just… I need to figure some things out first.”

“Some… things?” Was he… already seeing someone else? That’s what that usually meant, right? In all this time, he had never mentioned having a girlfriend. He wouldn’t have let you borrow his jacket if there was a chance that another girl might see it. Unless— unless she didn’t go to the university in town and they were in a long-distance relationship? The more you thought about it, the more your stomach was beginning to churn.

“I know that’s— What I mean is—” With another heavy sigh and a shake of his head, he stood to his feet. Not looking at you, he concluded, “I should… probably go.”

You were in state of confusion and sadness as he hurried out the door. Your eyes stayed trained on the last space that he had occupied. This was exactly why you didn’t do things like this. No moment of bliss was worth the terrible heartache that was always doomed to follow. Bringing your feet up on the couch, you made yourself as small as possible. Minutes went by. You weren’t sure why you didn’t move. Was there some stupid part of you that was waiting for him to come back through the door? Things like that only happened in the movies or a teen novel. As if to prove yourself wrong for why you were still in that spot, you peeled yourself up and walked into your room.

Laying there on your bed, folded like a store window display, was the jacket. Divided more than ever, you continued to stand in your doorway and stare at the last remaining evidence of Yixing’s presence.

**

As soon as he was outside, Yixing whirled and threw his fist into the grimy brick. Shaking out the pain, he cursed at himself under his breath. Stupid. He didn’t lash out like this. It wasn’t the right way to work out his anger. Even if it was towards himself.

The wolf both cheered at the line he’d crossed and whined at the sudden retreat. Part of him knew what the outcome would be once Ran left the apartment. The right thing to do would have been to say goodbye immediately and leave. But he had you to himself and to a wolf with his mate, that was a drug that couldn’t be discarded. So, he sat down on that couch, waiting for you to join. Sitting so close, Yixing’s muscles had tightened from the restraint. And then he snapped.

The scent rolling from you was too great to resist. Besides, you were leaning in, too. You were wanting it, too. Lips so soft as they kissed him back. Minseok had been right; it was like heaven on earth.

Then his mind pulled him back to hell.

A hiker had been attacked right around the time that he had blacked out. Again. And this time, they’d lived to describe the animal that had charged on him. A gray wolf. The same color as his own fur.

He fought against the thought that it might have been him. He held on tight to the chance that it was coincidence. But if it wasn’t… he couldn’t risk you getting hurt. If he did something to cause you harm… he’d never be able to forgive himself. He needed to get a handle on this, and fast. He just hoped that you didn’t hate him for the stunt he pulled back there.

In his pocket, his phone rang. Thankful for the distraction, he pulled it out and then the gratitude scrambled away.

It was Junmyeon.

Already knowing what this call would be about, he answered it. “Hello?”

“Yixing? Where are you? I need to come back to the house for a family meeting.”

He didn’t even bother to pretend to not understand. He didn’t ask for the reason to cover his current state of mind. “Okay. I’m in town, so it’ll take me about an hour to get home.”

“We’ll wait for you.”

Exhaling as his thumb hit the red button on his phone, Yixing pushed off the wall of the building and hopped into his car. A back and forth debate carried on as he drove down the backroad. Would he tell his pack what was going on and risk being ostracized? Or did he try to do this on his own and risk everything?

[cristalconnors]

TOP 20 SONGS OF 2020

20. “BELOW THE CLAVICLE”- EARTHEATER

“The meaning hasn’t come up yet. It’s still under the surface below the clavicle.”

It isn’t just Alexandra Drewchin’s ear splitting soprano when she hits that impossibly high B, practically shrieking out the “cle” syllable of clavicle, though that’s undoubtedly when I first knew that Eartheater’s avant folk was for me- it’s also the cinematic, lush strings, both bowed and plucked (is that acoustic guitar or harp? I genuinely can’t tell), deepening and complicating the sonic texture of Drewchin’s study of parsing through emotions you aren’t ready to make sense of yet. 

19. “PUSSY TALK”- CITY GIRLS, FT. DOJA CAT

“This pussy so ghetto, this pussy speak ebonics”

“WAP”’s funnier, classless Irish twin, though it’s important to note “Pussy Talk” came first. Yung Miami and JT enlist Doja Cat to expound on everything their pussies deserve and will absolutely settle for nothing less than. And why should they when they’re spitting out verses this inspiredly hilarious with such confidence and flow? 

18. “LICK IN HEAVEN”- JESSY LANZA

“Once I’m spinning, I can’t stop spinning...”

Jessy Lanza is talking about losing your cool, letting your emotions get the best of you and lashing out instead of letting cooler heads prevail, but when that earworm of a chorus hits- “once I’m spinning, I can’t stop spinning” - I can’t stop spinning. I’m that woman on the single art, a wine mom lost in the delirium of the dance floor and in Lanza’s hypnotic, fragmented rhythms.  

17. “GASLIGHTER”- THE CHICKS

“Boy, you know exactly what you did on my boat!”

“Gaslighter” finds Natalie Ames and her Chicks at their most simultaneously ruthless and ebullient, ripping Ames’s ex-husband Adrian Pasdar a new asshole and ratcheting up the righteous anger of “Goodbye Earl” tenfold, channeling it into a glorious wall of sound in what might be their most rousing, emotionally resonant chorus in their storied career. 

16. “HANNAH SUN”- LOMELDA

“Hannah do no harm...”

While “Hannah Sun” begins as an exquisitely observed rumination on grappling with long-distance, pining for someone who’s a continent away, it gradually becomes clear that Hannah Read blames herself for putting the distance between her and the subject of her longing, and that the distance isn’t strictly literal. Skittering synths (or is that distorted flute?) complicate and enrich the texture of the song, allowing it to build organically and stunningly towards a heartbreaking plea to herself- “Hannah, do no harm.”

15. “FIRE”- WAXAHATCHEE

“And when I turn back around will you drain me back out? Will you let me believe that I broke through?”

When I’d drive back and forth between Dallas and Austin over and over again when I was in college, I’d often get off I-35 past Waco and take the back roads through towns I’d never heard of, the sun setting spectacularly behind the titular hills of Hill Country that were beginning to roll out in earnest. I think about that a lot when listening to “Fire,” a song dripping in rural Americana that was, unsurprisingly, inspired by a road trip. We’ve probably all been Katie Crutchfield as she crossed the bridge into West Memphis- alone in the car, awed by the simple beauty of the American countryside, making speeches to ourselves about our past mistakes and figuring out a way forward. 

14. “3AM”- HAIM

“On the screen and in my jeans, just make me feel good.”

On an album full of genre departures and decidedly darker themes than we’ve typically heard from Haim in their near decade of syncopated bubblegum pop rock, “3AM” stands out not only as their most effective stab at pastiche, slipping into the trappings of contemporary R&B with shocking ease and gusto, but also as their most unabashedly fun track in their entire oeuvre. “I think you can hear the amount of joy and laughs we had making this song” Alana Haim tells Apple Music, and you absolutely can.

13. “QADIR”- NICK HAKIM

“We’re sinking down a hole without thinking about our loved ones who might be shrinking...”

I often wonder if I’m putting enough effort into maintaining my relationships with friends I don’t see regularly, who live several time zones away, living their own lives while I live mine. When the thought of sustaining simple correspondence becomes overwhelming, it’s easy for months to go by before you realize you haven’t spoken to one of your closest friends. “QADIR” plays less like a eulogy for a friend gone too soon (though of course it is that) than a plea to the listener to put in the work. It’s worth it. You never know when it’ll be too late.

12. “LEVITATING”- DUA LIPA

“Glitter in the sky, glitter in our eyes shining just the way we are.”

Just a few bars of that delightfully bouncy, extra-terrestrial beat is enough to launch me into space. It’s so refreshing to hear a song that remembers that pop is supposed to be joyful and is best when it’s a bit silly. When discussing this track with Apple Music, Dua Lipa cites Austin Powers as inspiration, elaborating that “if I do a video for this, Mike Meyers has to be in it.” Can’t you just see them together, performing a farcical pas de deux of seduction like the spiritual successor to “Beautiful Stranger?”

11. “RIQUIQUI”- ARCA

“Love in the face of fear! Fear in the face of God!”

Arca’s made a career of harnessing chaos and somehow making sense of it. On an album that finds her embracing more traditional, accessible song structures, “Riquiqui” is a reminder that even when working within an AB structure, she’s still breaking rules left and right and having a blast doing it. She’s also never sounded so ferociously empowered in either her femininity or in her Venezuelan identity, rattling off local colloquialisms with affection and verve without a second thought as to who’s going to understand it. 

10. “FANTASY”- AGAINST ALL LOGIC

“I think about you all the time...”

Or, the musical embodiment of this gif:

When Nicolas Jaar’s tormented synths and crunching beats give way to Beyoncé’s unmistakable alto, it is indeed quite the shock. But should it be? Even if 2017-2019 finds him ditching the dancefloor in favor of more severe, unforgiving soundscapes, his already varied career has shown us nothing’s off limits to him. So why not reinvent Beyoncé’s iconic “Baby Boy” into an industrial, vaguely sinister certified bop that arguably surpasses the original?

9. “PEOPLE, I’VE BEEN SAD”- CHRISTINE AND THE QUEENS

“If you disappear, then I’m disappearing, too.”

“People, I’ve been sad” plays out with the vulnerability and intimacy of a tumblr text post you put out in the middle of the night, only to hastily delete later when it gets no notes. It forgoes flowery language in favor of just getting to the point. “I’ve been sad.” Héloïse Adelaïde Letissier blows up this deceptively simple sentiment with richly layered textures and a big screen gloss not to offer any remedies but instead to offer solidarity. We’re all in this hell together.

8. “DESCRIBE”- PERFUME GENIUS

“Can you just find him for me?”

Mike Hadreas has never sounded so hopeless. Utilizing harsh, rattling guitar that would make Kevin Shields swoon, he conveys the experience of being so estranged from happiness and joy that you need to rely on others to describe the sensation to you. But how, when exploring darker textures than he ever has before, does he make despondency sound so divine? 

7. “4 AMERICAN DOLLARS”- U.S. GIRLS

“No matter how much you get to have, you will still die and that’s the only thing.”

Meg Remy picks up where she left off on “4 American Dollars,” reviving the subversive pastiche she mastered on In a Poem Unlimited, this time harnessing the power of funk to dismantle the fallacies we’re taught about the virtues of capitalism. Heavy stuff, but Remy makes it less didactic than joyous, ensuring the listener will be singing “I don’t believe in pennies and nickels and dimes and dollars and pesos and pounds and rupees and yen and rubles” until they start to wonder if maybe they shouldn’t, either. 

6. “STUPID LOVE”- LADY GAGA

“I freak out, I freak out, I freak out, I freak out!”

Due to a healthy spirit of contrarianism mixed with a touch of internalized homophobia and genuine bafflement at her universal appeal and praise, I was a proud Lady Gaga hater for as long as she’d been a cultural entity. I just didn’t get her at all and loved that about myself. Annoying, I know. 2020 was the year I was finally ready to let that all go. Just before the world fell apart in March, I was out at Flaming Saddles (RIP) with friends the night this song came out and by the sixteenth time it played, I understood why it was inducing such hysteria. This was a cultural shift. After a frustrating near-decade of Gaga subverting expectations so thoroughly that she was actively working against her strengths and sabotaging her cultural ubiquity in the process, coupled with the most frightening era of political upheaval in our lifetimes, she was finally ready to save us and be Lady Gaga again. Booming synth, drag sensibilities, absurd thematic conceits- all was right in the world. For the first time in a long time, people had something to be hopeful about, and as I danced that night, I felt that hope, too. 

5. “SHELLFISH MADEMOISELLE”- RÓISÍN MURPHY

“How dare you sentence me to a lifetime without dancing?”

As soon as that bass starts (the funkiest bassline in the history of music?) it’s like Róisín Murphy’s snake charming oboe, coaxing even the most stalwart curmudgeon onto the dancefloor and keeping them there, dancing frantically and involuntarily like the citizens of Strasbourg in 1518, trying their best to keep up with Murphy who isn’t even breaking a sweat, commanding the masses with a sultry remove, beckoning you closer, pulling you inexorably deeper into the mass of gyrating bodies and whispering in your ear “come and have a dance with yer mum.”

4. “PARTY 4 U”- CHARLI XCX

“I only threw this party for you...”

As PC Music / Bubblegum Bass / whatever you want to call it enters its second decade, Charli XCX proves not only that there’s still new textures to explore within it, but also that no one can exploit its artifice to get down to emotional truths like she can. How can she make something this slick sound so vulnerable? “I only threw this party for you” she croons over and over again over glorious syncopated synths that build exquisitely, reaching their climax only to immediately fall away, until it’s just her and her trusty autotune, pleading with the subject of the song to just come to the damn party. But they won’t, of course. They never do, do they?

3. “WAP”- CARDI B, FT. MEGAN THEE STALLION

“I want you to touch that lil’ dangly thing that swing in the back of my throat!”

Sometimes you just immediately know you’re living through a significant cultural moment. No, not COVID. I’m talking about the experience of hearing Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion’s instant classic “WAP” for the first time, a titanic meeting of the minds that finds both of them at the apex of their cultural influence and at their most undeniable. Can the argument be made that these two aren’t the two best rappers in the game right now? How could you hear this inspiredly filthy sex positive juggernaut, where Cardi and Megan are trading the sickest verses of their careers, and not think these two deserve the world? 

2. “KEROSENE!”- YVES TUMOR

“I can be your baby in real life, sugar. I can live in your dreams.”

If the 2010′s were all about the pop-ification of all music, trading in live instrumentation in favor of polished synths, 2020 forcefully announced the return of the electric guitar when Yves Tumor and Diana Gordon’s back and forth lustfully submissive declarations of desire suddenly gave way to that nasty guitar rip lifted from Uriah Heep’s “Weep in Silence” to announce yet another cultural shift in a year chock full of them- rock and roll was, indeed, here to stay. 

1. “I WANT YOU TO LOVE ME”- FIONA APPLE

“I move with the trees in the breeze, I know that time is elastic.”

We live and we learn. Years spent soul searching and on self-discovery shape us into better, smarter people, progressively knowing and understanding ourselves and the world around us more and more clearly, but Fiona Apple knows that none of that can quell the ferocious desire to be loved by someone. By anyone. By you, whoever that is. We can know that time is elastic and that when we’re gone all our particles will disband and disperse and then we’ll be back in the pulse, and we can know that none of this stuff actually matters, but still- we want, we want, we want. 

[crystalstar8]

Knights of the Night (ch 13)

Chapter 13

Ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9, ch 10, ch 11, ch 12, ch 13

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139240/chapters/71536491

pairing: Jungkook x oc

genre: vampire au, college au, twilight, romance

word count: 2,206

warnings: blood (obviously), kidnapping, child kidnapping, needles, France

notes: vampires, vampire au, college, college au, so many twilight references, blood, needles, kidnapping, children, homelessness, dance, ballet, flashbacks, romance, slow burn, probably no smut, idk yet tho, France, French things, attempted genocide, inaccurate French history, bisexual main character, @strawberriewithchocolate-blog @mozy-j  @daechwitad-2​ @zobadak​​

summary: Catalina starts college in a small town all the way across the country. She doesn’t know anyone and isn’t exactly looking for friends. She just wants to focus on dance. But when she meets fellow dance major, Jimin, and adventurous, fellow freshman, Jungkook, Catalina ends up discovering a whole new side to the small college town; one that is dangerous but oh so enticing…

(Okay, this woman is way too glamorous, but it was the closest I could find to the dress and general physical appearance)

              As Christmas grew closer, Catalina wondered if she should visit her mother more and more. This was the first time being away from her so long, but her mother never said anything about buying her a plane ticket, and Catalina most certainly couldn’t afford one. She was also nervous about travelling alone, now that two more people had gone missing.

               But before she had to worry about Christmas, she had her first official date with Jungkook to worry about. They were both broke and extremely busy with final exams and work. But as soon as Christmas break began, both of their schedules opened up. Catalina wanted to be the one to ask him out first, so she invited him over for a movie night one night, getting ahold of a nice bottle of wine ahead of time. The movie she chose was C.H.U.D., a perfectly mediocre film that wouldn’t distract them from each other. Once the movie was set up, all Catalina had to do was wait.

               She made herself comfortable on her bed, still just a mattress on the ground, and pulled out her phone. She ended up just swiping back and forth on her home screen, glancing at the front door constantly. Jungkook had her only spare key, so he should be walking in any moment. She opened Twitter, scrolled down her feed without reading anything, then glanced at the door again. She opened her messages and read a text from her mom. Something about keeping pepper spray on her and being careful walking alone. Another glance at the door.

               She closed all her apps and set her phone down with a deep sigh. She needed to get a handle on herself.

               The sound of a key rattling and the front door opening made Catalina leap from her bed. Jungkook stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind him. Snow was dusted in his hair and on his shoulders, which melted as he toed off his boots and took his coat off.

               “Hey,” Catalina greeted him as she approached. “How are the roads?”

               She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tight before he could answer.

               “They weren’t bad, but I walked here,” he said, pulling her close with his arms around her waist. Catalina leaned back and kissed him, threading her fingers into his hair. She froze.

               “What…” she mumbled against his lips, combing through his hair and feeling the freshly shaved sides underneath. She felt him smile.

               “Do you like it?” he asked. Catalina pulled away further and pushed his long hair away from his face, eyeing the undercut that definitely wasn’t there the last time she saw him.

               “H- you…” Catalina let out a strangled sound before clearing her throat. Then she whispered, “It’s fucking sexy.”

               He laughed and kissed her hard, her hands back in his hair, and one of his hands finding its way up her back under her shirt.

               Catalina groaned and said, “We need to stop before I ruin my plans for tonight.”

               “Oh?” Jungkook raised an eyebrow.

               “Yes. We have a movie to watch,” she said, pulling him over to her mattress, where her laptop was set up with the movie ready to play. They got settled and she pressed play on the movie, pouring two glasses of wine. A few minutes into the movie, Jungkook turned to Catalina and said, “Was your plan really to just watch this movie? Because it kind of sucks.”

               “No,” said Catalina. “I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go out to dinner with me this week sometime. I was thinking De Luca’s.”

               “You’re gonna wine and dine me?” he asked, his big eyes softening. Catalina nodded. “Of course! I’ve never been to that place before, but I hear it’s amazing. I’d love to go with you.”

               Catalina couldn’t contain the smile that took over her face.

               “And then after dinner,” Catalina continued. “You’ll drive me home since I don’t have a car-“

               Jungkook laughed.

               “And I’ll kiss you goodnight before you leave,” she finished.

               “All proper,” he said. Catalina nodded. “And then on our second date, when I wine and dine you, I’ll drive you home, because I have a car and you don’t, and I’ll kiss you goodnight-“

               “And then you’ll come inside with me and I’ll sit right here, just like this,” Catalina interrupted, getting up to straddle his thighs. “And then I’ll tug on your hair like this…”        

               She gripped his hair tight and gave it a good tug, pulling his head to the side. He let out a moan before clamping his mouth shut, his breathing getting quicker. Catalina leaned down so that her lips were just barely touching his neck.

               “Because you make pretty sounds when I pull your hair,” Catalina continued. “And then…who knows what will happen?”

               She got off his lap and returned to her spot cuddled up to his side.

               “But I’ll do all that stuff after our second date,” she said. “Because I know we’re both not into casual sex, and fucking after the first date is tacky.”

               “You’re evil,” he said, his voice breathy but a smile on his face. Catalina giggled and cuddled closer.

               “You love it,” she said. “I mean, in the meantime, we can just make out. Because this movie does kind of suck.”

               “Is that why you chose it?” Jungkook asked, raising an eyebrow. Catalina couldn’t get enough of him doing that, it was so sexy.

               “Maybe,” she said, pulling him down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

               Catalina was being chased again. She was too slow, her feel dragging and her body not responding to her commands. Namjoon was above ground, if she could get to him, he’d protect her. She made it to the tunnel and the metal ground clanged under her feet. Too loud, too loud! But she couldn’t slow down or else they’d catch her. She looked behind her. Jungkook was supposed to be following her, but he wasn’t there.

“Don’t stop now, kitty,” Jungkook’s voice echoed in the tunnel. “They’re going to eat you if you stop moving.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

              She rarely got mail, unless it was bills or brochures from the college, so when Catalina saw an envelope sealed with a wax seal in her mailbox, she ran as fast as she could up to her apartment to read it.

               She dumped the rest of her mail on the kitchen counter and tore the letter open. The paper inside was yellowed with age, but heavy and high quality. It was an invitation, from Taehyung, to a Christmas party at the mansion. The party was a week before Christmas, so Catalina still had some time to figure out what she was going to wear. She didn’t bring anything fancy with her when she moved, so she would need buy something.

               Before the party, she went shopping with Jimin and Hoseok, both of whom also needed outfits. Catalina ended up buying a long, red dress. It was backless with long sleeves, tight fitting to her figure with a wide collar that left room for a necklace. A long slit in the skirt up the back almost reached the dip in the back. When she tried it on at the mall, the boys said that “it was sexy and Jungkook has a thing for red.” Hoseok told her not to buy a necklace because he had something for her to wear.

               Anyway, she was excited to show it off. The party was going to start at eight in the evening, but Jungkook drove Catalina and Jimin to the mansion around noon. They hung out, helped decorate the house, and then a few hours before the party was to start, they all went to separate rooms to get themselves ready.

               Catalina was just finishing up her makeup in one of the guest rooms and getting ready to put her dress on when a knock came at the door. She opened it to find Hoseok standing outside.

               “May I come in?” he asked.

               “Sure,” said Catalina, stepping aside for him. He walked in and handed her a velvet rectangular box. “Is this it?”

               He nodded.

               “It’s from my mom,” said Hoseok. “I saw her a few days ago and told her about you and Jimin and Jungkook. She said you could borrow this for the party.”

               “Your mom lives around here?” Catalina asked. She never thought about Hoseok’s family. She supposed she should have assumed some of his relatives were still alive, since he wasn’t actually that old. She wondered if his mother knew he was a vampire, but she figured his mother would have to. Hoseok wouldn’t have aged in many years.

               “Yeah, after my dad died, she moved here to spend more time with me,” said Hoseok. Catalina opened the box. A pearl necklace shone back at her.

               “Oh my goodness,” she whispered. “Is she sure?”

               Hoseok nodded.

               “Tell her thank you for me,” said Catalina.

               “You can tell her yourself,” said Hoseok. “She’ll be at the party tonight. My sister will be here too.”

               With that, he left Catalina to finish getting ready. As much as she found Hoseok to be mysterious and even suspicious sometimes despite his sunny personality, Catalina was looking forward to meeting his mother and sister. Maybe they could give some insight on the secretive dancer.

               Catalina’s normally long, dark wavy hair was curled into smooth ringlets. She twisted it up into an updo as best she could with hanging strands. She fastened her hair in the back with a jeweled clip. Her hosiery was tight and uncomfortable, but when she put her dress on, it made her body look smooth and seamless, her matching red lingerie properly hidden. The pearl necklace completed the look and Catalina couldn’t stop looking at herself in the full-length mirror. Her dark curls framed her face, which was made up to make her dark eyes look bigger and sharper. Her makeup was light, just enough to make her bronze skin look flawless. The dress accentuated all her curves, and she could barely see her back in the mirror, but the dip came down dangerously low. The lace sleeves didn’t keep her warm, but they were delicate and elegant.

               Catalina couldn’t wait to show off her dress, and she couldn’t wait to see the boys in their suits.

               When Catalina came downstairs, Jin and Jimmy K had arrived and were in the foyer making conversation with Namjoon, along with a handsome stranger. All of them stopped talking to stare at her. She felt her face heat up. Jimmy K approached and held out a hand as she came down the last few steps.

               “You look incredible,” he said.

               “Jimmy K, I’m not at this party alone,” she said with a smirk.

               “I know,” he said. “Save me a dance though, would you?”

               “Sure,” said Catalina. “Where’s Jungkook?”

               “He was still getting ready, last I checked,” said Namjoon. “He should be down any minute.”

               Catalina looked at the stranger and Namjoon jumped in to introduce her.

               “Catalina, this is Dr. Vera Carlisle,” he said. “She’s a professor at the university I used to teach at.”

               Dr. Carlisle smiled and shook hands with Catalina. She had short, styled hair and was wearing a smart suit. Namjoon leaned in to say quietly, “Dr. Carlisle is the one who helps us get blood from the blood bank.”

               “Isn’t that like, taking blood away from patients who need it?” Catalina asked.

               “We have a lot of volunteers who give blood for exactly these situations,” said Dr. Carlisle. “There’s a bit of a community around the vampire life and, not surprisingly, people are infatuated with it.”

               Catalina had so many more questions, but at that moment, everyone looked to the staircase. Catalina followed their gazes and she let out a gasp. She couldn’t believe how good Jungkook looked. He seemed to be coming down the stairs in slow motion, at least that’s how Catalina saw it. His suit was black with red accents, and instead of a tie, he wore delicate gold chains looped under the collar. His hair was slicked back, revealing the shaved undercut and he might have even been wearing a slight amount of makeup around his eyes, making them a bit darker than usual. Catalina let go of the breath she was holding when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

               “Guk, you look…” Catalina couldn’t even find the right word. “I love…this is…”

               Jungkook smiled at her and said, “You too, Cat.”

               He let Catalina take his hand and pull him closer. They were alone in the foyer now, so Catalina had no reservations about leaning in and placing a kiss on his neck, right under his ear. Her red lipstick left a kiss-shaped stain on his skin.

               “So that everyone here will know who you belong to,” said Catalina.

              Jungkook’s face was bright red and he sounded breathless as he said, “You should just get a collar for me next time.”

              Catalina raised an eyebrow. She wasn’t expecting that response, but she found herself dwelling on the thought for the rest of the night.

.

.

.

[lovelucybradford]

I Pretend You’re Mine (4)

A/N: Hi all! I know it’s been a while. Unfortunately adulting sucks and I was so caught up in my work situations that I had no more left to give. Thankfully, the writer’s block has gone away (for now). I planned to have this up on Valentine’s Day, butttt *writer’s block*. So, to make up for it, I’m (hopefully) giving you two chapters this weekend. Chapter five is a continuation of four; it was just so long that I decided to split it into two parts. Hope you enjoy, and thanks for all the love! 

Masterlist

Tags: @empath-bunny​

@ityagirljay​​

@wolfarrowepz​

@supernatural-crazed-girl

Chapter Four: Drag Me Headfirst, Fearless

As soon as the plane landed on the tarmac in sunny Florida, the reality of Rosalie’s upcoming situation had hit her like a freight train. She’d been a nervous wreck since. Rosalie jiggled her leg so much on the Uber ride to the port of call that Stiles, the human form of the Energizer bunny, had placed a hand on her knee and urged her to stop. At that point, Rose figured she’d better cool it before she completely lost her resolve and ‘jumped ship’, so to speak.

So, Rosalie began listing things that she could count on in an attempt to center herself. It was something that the woman had been taught and perfected over many years of intense therapy sessions. She rattled off the list in her mind as she concentrated on the quickly passing palm trees on the side of the highway.

Things That Rosalie Could Count on For the Trip from Hell:

One: Knowing Rosalie’s stepmother Evelyn, who made her career out of creating high-class soirees such as this, everything would be meticulously planned out, down to the minute. If it were up to her, she’d even plan the times that they could use the toilet.

Two: Rosalie would most likely be the talk of the event, until the gossip hounds found something, or someone, juicier to bite into. The last time that she had seen the relatives, all twenty of them (minus her Uncle Joe and Aunt Natalie, who wanted nothing to do with her father), was three days before Drew and Rose had their untimely breakup. Drew, who was more family to them than Rosalie ever was.

Luckily, if she had to go through hell, at least…

Three: Rosalie’s support system would be with her 100%. She had Lydia to give reassuring hand squeezes and the family subtle insults. Her brother Levi who, as much of a jackass that he could be, would defend his sister’s honor to the (metaphorical) death. Stiles and Rose would lounge around the open bar and mock her Uncle Tom as he attempted to ‘dance’, or Aunt Sarah who would undoubtedly flirt with Derek.

Derek… Rose’s confidante, her best friend, her anchor, who hadn’t spoken a word since they stepped foot on the extravagant vessel.

Rosalie could chalk it up to being so breath taken from the scenery that Derek had nothing to say. Even Stiles had repeatedly commented “Holy shit this is so bougie” ten times in the last five minutes. (Not that she couldn’t agree. Her  father Jason was the poster child for ‘go big or go home’) To be fair, it was beautiful. The atrium was adorned floor to ceiling in shades of gold, a large diamond chandelier smack in between two beautiful staircases.

Staircases that gave Rosalie an eerie sense of déjà vu. Only because she had seen something bearing a high resemblance to them in a movie featuring her fictional doppelgänger, a fellow redhead who shared Rose’s name.

Part of her wondered if this was her father’s idea of a sick joke. Rosalie had always said that Drew and her were ‘Jack and Rose’. Turns out Drew was more of a Cal Hockley than a Jack Dawson. As for Rosalie, she was still Rose, forever searching in that freezing sea for her Jack. She should have known that she and Drew were doomed to sink beneath the waves.

Sink beneath the waves… Rosalie’s heart began to pound faster as she grabbed ahold of Lydia’s wrist, relying on her cousin to guide her through the maze of humans and staircases to the staterooms.

Derek and Stiles walked ahead of the two, the former’s back stiff with tension.

Was he predicting, too, that this plan of theirs would go down like the Titanic?

Or was he dreading playing Rosalie’s lover in front of a ship full of pompous asses and the occasional normal person?

Derek normally exuded confidence, from the strong set of his jaw to the way that he entered a room. At that moment, he looked more like a frightened schoolboy than a man with enough swagger for their whole friend group.

His blatant anxiety just heightened Rosalie’s. Before she could really process it, Lydia was pulling her arm away and gently shaking Rose’s shoulder.

“Rose? Rosalie!”

Rosalie shook her head, clearing her thoughts and focusing on the hazel of Lydia’s eyes. “Hmm? Sorry.”

Lydia let out a puff of air, blowing upwards the tendrils of hair that weren’t securely fastened in her high ponytail. “We’re here. Go settle in and we’ll meet you in a bit.”

Lydia then shoved Rosalie towards Derek, who caught her with a hand on her elbow. He took the key card from Rose’s sweaty palm and slid it into the slot on the handle, opening the door to a stateroom with a balcony overlooking the crystal sea. The stateroom… with one bed.

Rosalie tried not to hyperventilate thinking that Derek and she had to share that.

“You can take the bed,” Derek commented as soon as he too laid eyes on it.

Rose ignored him, deciding to handle that situation later, flopping full-bodied onto the plush mattress. The white comforter smelled like a swift ocean breeze, and she couldn’t help but press her nose further into it.

“What is it with you and smelling things today?” Derek chuckled.

Rosalie threw a nearby pillow at him, her face still buried in the bed. “Shut up, asshole.”

The bed shifted to the right of where she lied, the fabric dipping a foot away. That made her feel better. At least if they had to share it like when they were kids, there would be enough space between the two of them so that things wouldn’t happen. Which Rosalie would make sure of. Well, sober her would make sure of it. Drunk her could not be trusted.

“I didn’t hear a word you said, but I assume it was something along the lines of ‘you’re an asshole.”

Rose rolled onto her side. “Close, but no dice…” She lost the train of thought as her eyes caught on a glittering cardstock pamphlet lying between the two of them.

Martin Family Reunion 2019

Day 1: Thursday, June 13th

5:00 pm- Disembark from Cape Canaveral

7:00 pm- Welcome Cocktails in the Stardust Lounge, Deck 6

All must attend.

Proper Cocktail Attire required for entry.

Rosalie groaned so loudly that a masculine laugh resounded from the other side of the wall.

“What?” Derek responded to his friend’s displeasure. Without a word, the woman passed him the pamphlet, watching out of the corner of her eye as his beautiful olive eyes took in the itinerary. His face contorted into a sour expression, and he put down the paper at once.

With a pat to Rose’s thigh, Derek got up from the bed and grabbed his wallet and the aviator sunglasses that were resting on the vanity table. Her eyes followed his form, waiting for some kind of explanation as to where in the hell he thought he was going.

“You and Lydia have fun getting ready. Stiles and I are going down to that bar we saw in the atrium.”

Rosalie gaped, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Wh—what? What about—”

“Would you chill? I’ll be back before seven. I need a drink before I see The Stepford Family.”

Rosalie snorted rather unattractively at Derek’s choice nickname for her father and his new family. Evelyn and her daughters certainly were like characters dragged out of The Stepford Wives film.

Derek was about to leave the room, when he paused, two fingertips grazing the golden door handle. He turned his body slightly to face Rose, a mischievous look in his eyes.

“It’s all-inclusive, right? Everything we buy with the key card goes on his tab?”

She assumed that by ‘his’, Derek meant her father, Jason.

“Yup,” Rosalie replied, popping the ‘p’.

“In that case, I’ll make sure to get the most expensive liquor that they have,” Derek smiled deviously, lazily waving the golden keycard.

She was momentarily distracted by his pretty face, and the familiar but unwanted fluttering in her stomach. By the time Rosalie snapped out of her thirstiness, he was gone.

__________________

Rosalie stumbled in her Louboutin’s for the sixth time, looking quite like the person who’d had three shots of Whiskey that was bottled before she was born.

Derek, the one who actually had, so smoothly wrapped his arm around Rose’s waist for support. The heat of his palm warmed her skin, even through the mint green cocktail dress she was wearing, but it was the last thing on her mind.

With every step that they took towards the wooden double doors at the entrance of the Stardust Lounge, the more Rose’s stomach churned, and her vision blurred. Eventually, her heart pounding through her ribcage was the only sound that Rosalie could hear.

Rosalie stopped abruptly, frantically searching for a bathroom, for a garbage can, for a balcony that she could jump off of.

Derek continued walking but was pulled back by the hand that was grasping Rose’s still figure.

 “I can’t do this. Oh god, I can’t do this. I think I’m going to throw up,” she breathed shallowly, the urge to vomit slowly creeping up her throat. Rose hastily removed Derek’s grip from her waist, struggling to find her balance, and teetered towards the opposite wall. Before she could go very far, Derek’s rough hand was in hers, squeezing it in a likely attempt to bring Rosalie back to center.

“What?” She heard Lydia begin, but Derek had silenced Lydia instantly with a rushed command of “Go, stall for us. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“Hold your breath, Rosie!” Stiles called as Derek led a dazed Rosalie to a cream-tiled room.

Stiles’ advice brought Rose back to the time, years ago, when Lydia had told her that she’d kissed Stiles mid panic attack after his dad was shot pursuing a perp.

“When I kissed you, you held your breath,” Lydia had said to Stiles.

Rosalie had thought it romantic at the time. So romantic. But she prayed that Derek didn’t try that trick on her. Rose couldn’t handle it, not when…

Derek grabbed hold of either side of Rosalie’s face with both hands, forcing her to look at him.

“Rose. Rosie! Look at me. Breathe,”

His face so close to hers just made her breathing speed up, not slow like he intended.

“Fuck Rosalie,” Derek voiced, sounding almost as breathless as his best friend.

He nodded once, then took a deep breath through his nose and out through his mouth, his eyes never leaving Rosalie’s tear-stained face. “Breathe with me, babe. In, out.”

She tried to follow his lead, but only to appease him. Rosalie couldn’t stand that desperate look in his eyes, the frantic shifting of his gaze, or the tense set of his jaw. The thought of him being in pain like that, even emotional pain,it physically hurt her.

“Good. Good, Rosie. Keep going.”

She took a few more breaths through her nose, the world-ending feeling lessening with each exhale.

“You good?” Derek questioned, his thumb rubbing lightly up and down the woman’s cheek.

Rosalie nodded softly, still not having the breath to voice any thoughts.

She leaned back on the countertop, feeling the coolness of the tile and the mirror behind her. Rose hadn’t noticed before, but they were hiding from the family in a large single bathroom. Rosalie laughed to herself. It wasn’t the first time that she’d had a mental breakdown next to a toilet. And it probably wouldn’t be the last.

“Thanks,” Rose commented hoarsely, not daring to look at Derek in fear of what he might think of her. Weak was the only word that came to mind. “Sorry for freaking out. Never thought you’d have to console someone in a bathroom, did you?”

Derek snorted, and Rose’s heart dropped a bit at the sound, thinking that he was mocking her. “Actually, you’re not the first crying woman that I’ve held in a cramped bathroom.”

She raised one brow at him, a wordless cue to elaborate.

“I may or may not have had a girlfriend with a pregnancy scare back in college.”

“Of course, you did,” Rosalie said before she could really think about it, heart once more dipping in her chest. What was she thinking, pretending to be engaged to someone like Derek Hale?

Derek Hale, who could have any woman he wanted. Who would think that he would settle for someone as quiet and average as Rosalie?

“Hey.” Derek stepped in front of her, further away than he was minutes ago, but not by much. “Never apologize for being human, for having feelings and fears. Especially not to me.”

All Rosalie could manage was a small smile, to which he reciprocated with one of his own.

“You’re still the strongest woman I know. Stronger than Cora, stronger than mom—”

“I don’t know about that,” she replied playfully.

Derek rolled his eyes and continued on with his motivational speech, every word loosening the tense muscles in her shoulders. “Yes, even my mom. But don’t tell her I said that. Hey, if you’re worried about your family, then fuck them. They should be thankful that you’re even here after all the shit they threw at you.”

Rosalie nodded, fingers playing absently with the sapphire ring on her left hand—thinking about the last time she had worn a diamond on the same finger. And the man that put it there. Who took it so easily and put it on someone else. Not just someone else: Ashleigh.

“No, I can see it in your face. You’re worried about seeing Drew again, aren’t you?”

Damn him for being so perceptive, and for knowing her so well. Rosalie went to deny it but found that she couldn’t lie to him.

“You know what, we’ll walk in there, I’ll see him, and you know what I’ll say?”

He was smiling again, grinning ear to ear like he thought he was hilarious. It was so rare to see him like that that she humored him just to keep that smile on his face.

“And what will you say, may I ask?”

“’Me thinks thou art a general offence and every man should beat thee.’”

Rosalie couldn’t help herself as her head swung back in a fit of giggles. “Oh my God, Derek Hale. You are such a dork.”

“Ah,” he countered, holding up a finger, “You can’t say that. Not when you totally got my joke.”

Rosalie beamed up at him. “Ok, fine. We’re both dorks. Happy, Derek the Bard?”

“Yes, princess. I’m enthused. You ready to go?” Derek gestured with a thumb towards the door. The door that lead to the hallway. The hallway to the Starboard Lounge, where all of Rosalie’s family would stare at her like she was some rare creature on the auction block.

“No,” Rose said weakly.

Derek rolled his eyes again, a look that Rose was more familiar with than the Cheshire Cat grin that previously lit up his face. “Yes, you are.”

Rosalie stared at herself in the large, lighted mirror, checking over her face and hair for damages. Trust Rose’s family to point out a single flaw in her appearance. She looked mostly put together, save for the tiny specks of black mascara under her eyes and the slightly faded red lipstick. Rose grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall, wetting it and dabbing under her eyes until all of the mascara smears disappeared.

Satisfied, Rosalie tossed the towel in the garbage bin and grabbed her clutch. “Do I look okay?”

Derek’s eyes swept her form, taking in everything from the pale white of Rosalie’s untanned legs to the lace of her dress, to the retro curls in her hair. She suddenly felt self-conscious, even more so when Derek stayed silent.

Rose nudged him with her elbow, hoping he would say something, anything, and end this deafening silence. His eyes flicked back towards Rosalie. “You look beautiful.”

She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him that she knew he was just saying that because he’s her best friend and he has to.

“I mean it, Rosalie,” Derek added firmly.

“What about me? Do I look good enough to fit in with high-society?” Derek asked, hand sweeping down his body.

Rosalie took it as an unashamed excuse to study him. The unbuttoned suit jacket that he wore hugged his biceps so nicely that it was hard to not stare at them for too long. The white shirt under it was buttoned, except for the two closest to the top that were left open to show a peek of dark chest hair.

In short, he looked like a snack, and damn was Rosalie hungry. Not that she could tell him that, of course. So, she just repeated what he already knew. “Of course. You know you’re hot.”

Derek’s eyes widened, his ears turning slightly pink. “You think I’m hot?”

“You think you’re hot.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Um, yes you do. You get that look on your face when you’re flirting with girls like ‘I’m sexy and I know it.’”

“God, that was one time Rosalie! It guess I will never live it down.”

Rosalie snickered at the memory. “No, you won’t. Now be a good pretend fiancé and help me walk.”

“Why the hell are you wearing those stilettos if you can’t even walk in them?”

“Lydia made me.”

Derek said nothing, knowing that there was no arguing with Lydia Martin. He offered his friend his arm, ever the gentleman. In turn, she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, trying not to get too distracted by the muscle under it.

[waywardbeanie]

A Man of Letters - Chapter One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: It started as a simple hunt for Sam and Dean Winchester. Dean didn’t realize that this single case would change his life forever. Now they are on the biggest mission of their lives, and without the use of cellphones, the only way he can communicate with the love of his life is through old fashioned letter writing. He has done everything in his power to keep her safe, but will it be enough?

Word Count: 2428

Series Warnings: Language, slow burn, angst, smut, alcohol consumption, fluff, SPN typical violence (individual chapters will contain relevant warnings)

A/N: This series has been rattling around in my head for a while. It would never have made it to the light of day if it was not for my beautiful group of friends with whom none of this would be possible! You know who you are and I love you all!

If you’d like to be tagged, my list is open. Just send me an ask HERE:

Spotify Playlist : A Man of Letters

This series is ongoing!

Y/N,

It’s been two days since I left your sweet ass laying in that bed alone. I decided I’m just going to share my thoughts with you. Have you ever noticed it is so much easier to write them down than it is to say them out loud?  You have no idea how long I stood leaning against the door frame of your bedroom watching you sleep. Don’t laugh, it’s one of the most beautiful things that I have ever seen, I don’t know how long I’m going to be gone and I wanted that memory seared into my brain.

I’m sitting here in a hotel room; I’m supposed to be cleaning our guns while Sam has gone to get dinner. I’ll get to it, but I wanted to write to you first. As Sam and I were driving this first leg, he was filling me in on the case but between you and I, I really wasn’t listening. Sammy knew it too, but he kept spewing out facts anyway. Driving down the highway, Zeppelin in the deck. 

All I could think about was the night we met. You busted me staring at you so many times and each time you would just smile that dazzling smile at me.  Remember when I asked you to dance? You looked up at me through your lashes, tucked your hair behind your ear and smiled that sweet shy smile of yours. “I can’t, I’m working,” you said. I just laughed because you had no idea I was too. If it wasn’t for that nest of Vamps, I would have never met you. Thank God for Vampires!  I need to cut this short; I have guns to clean and Sammy will be back any minute. Please write me back, you can just send it to Bobby’s old PO Box in Sioux Falls, people in the group (usually Jodi) checks it all the time and will make sure I get it.  I miss your voice and your laugh. Stay safe until we are together again. 

I Love you,

D

3 years ago

Y/N had just moved to Lincoln, Nebraska 6 months before. It was where the dart landed when she closed her eyes and threw it at the map. This was her new lease on life, she promised herself that wherever the dart landed is where she would go to open her photography studio.

 “Ugh, corn,” she groaned to herself. That’s all she knew about Nebraska is that they have corn…and pigs. She was going to be so mad if all she took pictures of was prize winning pigs at the 4-H Fair.  

She picked up her camera and took a picture of the map. She would blow it up and hang it in her new studio to remind her of her new lease on life. She pulled the map from the dingy motel room wall, folded it and put it in her backpack.

Zipping it up she thought about one of those inspirational posters she saw once that said “The greatest adventure is what lies ahead”. Walking out, the heavy motel room door slams behind her, almost as a sign that she was never going to look back, only forward.

She threw her backpack in the passenger seat of her 2008 black Jeep Wrangler hardtop that was already packed with her camera equipment and the few belongings that she had. She pushed the Spotify app on her phone, “More Than A Feeling” by Boston began to play and she pointed the nose of her Jeep west, towards a new life.

Six months, Y/N had been in Lincoln and business was finally picking up. The owner of a honky tonk and blues bar called The Zoo wanted her to come take pictures for their new advertisements. Y/N walked through the door shabby club at 6:00pm on a Thursday night. It was country night, the first night of a 3-day shoot. She had her black skinny jeans tucked into a pair of black cowboy boots with black stitching and a knee length black jacket over a white form fitting T Shirt. She fit in, but not too much, after all she was a little more Rock-N-Roll than country.

Walking up to the bar she saw Travis, the owner, immediately. She set her backpack on the bar and leaned over to shake his hand. “Nice to see you again Y/N, glad we could put this together.”

“Me too,” she smiled back. “Can I just stow my bag behind the bar so I can be hands free to get the shots we talked about?” “Of course.” Travis nodded. Y/N unzipped the backpack to retrieve her camera, closed it back up and handed the bag to Travis with a nod of thanks. Turning her back to the bar she scanned the crowd. She could not believe it was already half full so early on a Thursday.

The band just walked on stage, welcomed the crowd and dived right into “Country Girl” by Luke Bryan. As the dancefloor began to fill up, Y/N once again scanned the crowd. Her gaze stopped at two tall men over at a table in the corner, one has longish hair almost to his shoulders and the other is just an inch shorter than his company. She locked eyes with the man who is of smaller stature as he brought a bottle of beer to his lips. She could feel the heat creeping up her face and she smiled at him.

 As he pulled the beverage from his mouth, the side of his mouth quirked up and he winked at her. She looked down at her camera quickly, fumbling with the lens cap. She could feel her cheeks flush as a tiny bit of sweat popped up on the back of her neck.

 “Holy shit,” she breathed. That man was beautiful. Starting with his black work boots, up his Levi clad legs, to his fitted white T-shirt under a red and white open flannel. His hair was brown but what shook her were his piercing eyes. She was too far away to see their color, but they were laser focused. It was like he looked right into her soul.

“Shake it off,” she chastised herself, “you’re here for a job.” She slid the lens cap in her back pocket next to her phone and brought the camera up to her face. Pointing at the crowd she began to take pictures; she took a few shots of the whole crowd but then began to focus on individual couples and the band on the stage.

 Throughout the night as she moved around the bar to get different shots, she would try to sneak a glimpse of the stranger in the corner. Each time she would catch sight of him, he was watching her. She would quickly smile and look away. They played this game most of the night.

As the band came back to the stage from their last break of the night, she had just returned from the back of the office area where she was showing Travis the pictures she had taken to confirm she was capturing the ambience he wanted for the promotional push. She glanced up to what she now referred to in her mind as “The Hot Guy Corner”. Her stomach dropped immediately; he was gone.

 Y/N didn’t know what she expected but she expected...something. “For God’s sake, he was staring at me all night,” she thought. Shrugging to herself, she plastered a smile on her face to chase the sadness away and scanned the crowd looking for the next set of shots. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” a deep voice rumbled, the breath warm against the shell of her ear. Y/N gasped and stumbled backwards into a hard wall of chest. Two large hands grasped her shoulders to steady her. “Sorry,” he chuckled next to her ear. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Straightening her spine, she turned around. Looking up, she peered into the most stunning moss green eyes that she had ever seen.  “H-H-Hey,” she stuttered, “you just surprised me that’s all.” She stepped back out of his grasp.

“Yeah, again sorry about that.” He smiled. Looking down at you he continued, “so I was wondering, would you like to dance?” She tucked her hair behind her ear like she always did when she was nervous and looked up at him smiling. “I can’t, I’m working.” She gestured with her camera.

“Well I figured it was close to the end of the night, so you might have time for a dance, ya know, just one.” He indicated to the dance floor. “Um, yeah I’d like that. Can you catch me at the last song of the night? That way I can finish up the shoot and put my camera away.”

“Sure.” He grinned, “I’ll find you for the last song.” He reached over and lightly squeezed her free hand, turned on his heel and walked back towards the corner table.

Before she knew it, the band leader was thanking the crowd for joining them on a Thursday night and that they would now close the night with “Colder Weather” by the Zac Brown Band. Y/N felt her heart begin to beat faster as she quickly put her camera back into her backpack behind the bar. She zipped up the bag and as she stood her eyes drifted to the dance floor.

There he stood in all his handsome magnificence as he locked eyes with her, smiling as he began lifting his hand towards her. She smiled back as the butterflies were riotous in her stomach and her body began to tremble. Walking over she took his outstretched palm as he led her to the middle of the dance floor.

 As they turned to each other, she put her left hand on his shoulder and her right hand in his as she felt his palm rest on the small of her back. Looking up at him through her lashes, she smiled. “Hey again,” he grinned. She huffed out a laugh, “Hey yourself.”

She concentrated on moving her feet to the music and prayed her hands didn’t get sweaty as his enveloped hers. She feels his touch lightly on her back as he leads her through the dance, and she swears it is burning a hole through her clothes. They didn’t speak after that, moving around the dancefloor as if they had done this together a million times.

The song was over too soon, and she was mentally kicking herself that she hadn’t taken this man up on the offer to dance an hour ago. As the final cords of the song came to an end, Y/N reluctantly stepped back. As she did, this denim and flannel clad man held gently but firmly onto her hand.

“I wish I would have asked you to dance sooner,” the corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile.

“Well, unfortunately I was still working.” She wasn’t sure why he was still holding her hand, but she couldn’t look at them for fear she could actually see the sparks zinging off their linked fingers. Hesitantly she let go, finding comfort in the front pocket of her jeans.

“Thank you for the dance.” She stood there awkwardly for a moment. When she looked up at him again, he was just staring at her closely. She smiled uncertainly at him and then turned on her heel to walk to the bar and grab her bag.

“Wait!” She stopped in her tracks and looked back over her shoulder. “Can I walk you to your car?”

“No, it’s ok.” She shook her head with a slight smile, “I parked under a light.”

She grabbed her bag quickly off the bar where Travis set it and with a quick wave she headed toward the door. As she made it out of the bar into the parking lot, she began taking deep gulping breaths of fresh air.

 “Why did he make me so nervous?” she asked herself. It’s just ridiculous. As she rummaged through her bag for her keys, she looked up to notice her dance partner’s tall friend leaning against a dark colored muscle car, parked a few spaces away from her Jeep. He wasn’t watching her exactly, but she could feel eyes on her. With keys in hand she unlocked the door and glanced toward the bar.

Standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe watching her was “Smoking Hot Flannel Guy”. He lifted his hand in a wave, she smiled and waved back. She jumped in her Jeep, cranked the engine and with Bob Seger’s “Her Strut” blaring from the speakers, she peeled out of the gravel parking lot with the silliest grin plastered on her face.

The roads were deserted this time of night as she drove like a bat out of hell, which is normal, no concern there, towards her little two-bedroom bungalow. Suddenly a light bulb went off in her head and she slammed on her brakes in the middle of the two-lane road. Quickly she looked in the rear-view mirror to make sure someone wasn’t about to plow right into the ass end of her Jeep.

She began banging on her steering wheel “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” Y/N couldn’t believe it. She never even asked him what his name was. She was a people person, she always asked people their name. His mere presence made her so unsettled she forgot to ask a simple question. He didn’t ask what her name was either. “Well,” her mental dialogue began “maybe he would have if you let him walk you to your Jeep.”

“Ugh,” she thumped her head against the head rest. “This is what happens when you rarely find someone attractive.” She shook her head slightly. “You totally forget how to construct a sentence like a basic human being.”

She clutched the steering wheel and jammed her foot on the gas toward home. Her euphoric mood quickly dissipating. Y/N was never going to see the tall, handsome stranger again and she didn’t even know his damn name.

Chapter 2

Tags: @winchest09​ @katehuntington​ @whatareyousearchingfordean​ @emoryhemsworth​ @flamencodiva​ @superfanficnatural​ @deanwanddamons​ @janicho88​ @talesmaniac89​ @anathewierdo​ @compresshischest09​ @supernatural-bellawinchester​ @jensengirl83​ @this-is-what-im-reduced-to​ @ellewritesfix05​ @moron225​ @foxyjwls007​ @hobby27​ @unicornqu33n17​ @swinchester27​ ​@4fareader @deans-baby-momma​ @squirrelnotsam​

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Colors, ch.25: Iris

(A Spicyhoney ‘The Village’ AU)

The story so far:

1. Crimson | 2. Yellow | 3. Blue | 4. Blush | 5. Sallow | 6. Russet | 7. Spice

8. Whiteout | 9. Sable | 10. Blue on Black | 11. Midnight | 12. Ebony Falling

13. Golden | 14. Magenta | 15. Marigold | 16. Coquelicot | 17. Daffodil |

18. Verdigris | 19. Honey | 20. Scarlet | 21. Alstroemeria | 22. Onyx |

23. Gray | 24. Vellum

~~*~~

Read ‘ Iris ’ on AO3

or

Read More Here!

~~*~~

Rus had no idea of the hour when he woke. He rolled over stiffly, his bones chilled and achy from sleeping curled up on the floor. It couldn’t yet be dawn, the only light from the walls came from along the lowest section, a dim, warming glow, like coals banked in a stove for the night.

He sank down, letting his head fall back on a cushion that was normally for sitting and while it certainly worked as fine a pillow for his coccyx, his skull was less enthused with purposing it for a night. He wondered dismally if Edge were still abed, curled up sleeping comfortably warm in the furs and blankets of their pallet. Rus thought it more likely Edge was just as restless as he was, tossing and turning and missing the comfort of holding a loving spouse in his arms.

With a little poor sleep and distance from their argument, Rus was starting to regret his impulse to stay the night in here. After thoughtlessly dredging up Edge’s memories of his lost family, it was passing cruel to deny him what little he did have. As much as Rus desperately missed his brother, he was at least alive and well, kept safe by his status as healer.

Rus looked up at the scattering of stars across the cave ceiling, painted so carefully he could hardly distinguish them from the ones in the sky. Edge was wrong about the village, and about Blue, but sulking alone wouldn’t solve that.

Decision made, Rus scrambled to his feet, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders against the chill as he followed the overhead path of stars to their bedroom. His bare feet scuffed against the floor rugs as he shuffled along. The cloak he’d tacked up while the Dogs stayed as guests was still hanging in the doorway and Rus drew it aside, slipping into the room to head for their pallet.

Only to gasp and stagger back, his shoulder banging painfully against the wall at the crimson eyed figure that abruptly loomed over him, their hands wreathed in flame. For a brief moment, fear overwhelmed his good sense and he nearly fled, a shriek blossoming in his throat.

Then logic reasserted himself and that scream became a gasp of, “edge?”

He watched his husband blink in the dimness, his eye lights winking in and out, then he hastily shook away whatever spell he was calling up, reaching out to take hold of Rus with hands that were still overly warm and yanking him into a tight embrace. The sound that escaped him was rough and anguished as he rattled out, “Sorry, so sorry, k’uhah, my soul, sorry—"

“hush,” Rus soothed, “i’m the one who’s sorry, i didn’t mean to startled you so.” He held Edge close, petting the smooth curve of his skull with gentle fingers. He was shaking a bit, Rus realized distantly, but it was nothing compared to Edge. His husband was trembling so fiercely Rus could hear the rattle of his bones muffled against the blanket between them

“Sorry,” Edge mumbled again. He rubbed his cheekbone against Rus’s collarbone up to his shoulder, absurdly reminding him of one of the stray cats that often roamed the village. “I was not myself. My dreams were troubled ones.”

Of course they would be, Rus thought, tears springing into his sockets. He’d had an abrupt and unpleasant reminder of the horrible loss of his family when he’d only been a child and then his husband abandoned him to deal with the haunting memory on his own.

No matter, he could deal with his own regrets later. For now, Edge needed him and with gentle tugs, Rus persuaded him towards the bed, leading in a strange sort of dance until they could sink into the furs together. Edge curled up tightly into Rus’s side as Rus soothed him with gentle touches, smoothing a hand down his spine, the other cupping his cheek bone in featherlight strokes until his shivering slowly subsided.

Perhaps he should have expected Edge’s hands to begin wandering on their own, but Rus was still bemused as his touches became less ones of soothing and turned to the urgently carnal. But he offered no protests as the clothing and blankets between them were tugged away, moaning his delight as Edge explored his most sensitive places with barely restrained need. If this was what his husband needed to chase the ghosts from the dark corners of his mind, Rus was eager to give it.

Those stroking fingers left off their fondling of his ribs and spine, gliding down to his pelvis and there his hand lingered, coaxing and shaping and Rus understood even before Edge nuzzled against the side of his skull, murmuring hoarsely, “Need you, be with me? Inside me?”

Even as burgeoning desire clouded over him, Rus managed to clear his thoughts, concentrating hard so that he might give Edge the shaft he’d wanted. It was easier than before, his need to care for his husband guiding his desire and he gasped as the shaft settled into place at his pelvis. Almost immediately a hand surrounded it, stroking him from tip to root and Rus was forced to grab Edge’s demanding hand, stilling him.

“wait,” Rus gasped out. “wait, i’ll spill too fast.” He tried to catch his breath, slow the roused pulse of his soul and his efforts were not at all helped by Edge’s hips grinding against his thigh, the wetness of his mound rubbing slick against his femur.

“Need you,” Edge moaned out, “k’uhah, Rus, need you!”

There was nothing for it. Rus pawed at Edge, pulling on him roughly until he settled astride him. Through the dimness, he watched as his husband sank down on his shaft, the twisting pleasure on his face a mirror to his own.

“oh!” Rus cried out, grappling at Edge’s hips. “oh, please! oh!” Tight slickness engulfed him, slick walls gripping as Edge rode him, chasing his pleasure as he muttered out words in his own tongue that were either too fast for Rus to grasp or simple nonsense. Rus could do nothing but endure, pinned by Edge’s weight and clinging to whatever shreds of control he still possessed to keep the folly of his sudden ecstasy at bay.

His end still came with shameful swiftness, straining against his husband’s weight as he ground down on him, taking Rus deeply into the glorious tightness of his body. Rus couldn’t think any longer, could only follow his own clumsy eagerness, blindly wanting, needing, and the cry that strangled out of him when he tipped over his peak was muffled into a choked groan into Edge’s mouth, the plunge of his tongue inside mimicking that of his shaft.

He sagged back, breathing harshly and mortified at leaving Edge wanting. Only Edge was shuddered over him, his hand working between his own legs, fingers grazing where they were still joined. Rus pulled him down into another kiss, urging him on, his moans broken with arousal. When Edge stiffened, sockets squeezing closed as he toppled into his own pleasure, Rus held him gently, hardly grunting at the suddenness of his weight sagging down atop him.

The burden was not for long. Edge managed to slide off to the side quickly enough, leaving a single leg slung over Rus’s, an arm draped over his ribcage, holding him close as pleasant quivers still trembled through them.

The restless night joined with the exhaustion of exertion and sleep was trying to claim Rus, pulling him into yet another embrace. He struggled against it, wishing to stay in Edge’s arms some longer and sleepily, Rus murmured, “I love you.”

“Love you,” Edge returned with equal tiredness. “Love you, Rus. K’uhah

They were a mess, shared fluids drying on their bones in uncomfortable places and Rus did not care. He held his husband close and when he did finally give in to sleep’s persistent claim, it was without dreams to haunt him.

~~*~~

When next he woke, Rus noted with bleary confusion that he was alone. That wasn’t entirely uncommon, Edge often let him sleep while he went out to check the traps, but after last night, it was particularly disappointing. He’d rather hoped to wake in Edge’s arms and surely after a row of the sort they’d had, that was the best-chosen path or at least that was what he gleaned from watching Blue and Azzy’s spats and their layabout ways the day after.

He supposed he could hardly blame Edge for being unfamiliar with that sort of mutual contrition.

There was hardly time to feel the pinch of unhappiness when the curtain over the door was pulled aside and Edge ducked beneath it, bare as the day he was born and holding two steaming cups.

Ah. Well, it seemed Edge wasn’t as eager to get to his traps as Rus assumed and a hot flushed crawled up his face, burning high in his cheekbones as he tried not to look at the faint honey-orange stains that still decorated the insides of Edge’s femurs.

His husband was utterly without shame and the thought was a fond one, swelling along with the love in Rus’s soul. So unlike anyone in the village, unlike Rus himself, and that was a less appealing reminder of all he’d recently learned. It was still so difficult to reconcile his new knowledge about the village Elders, the uncertain loss of everything he’d been taught since childhood filled him with a strange grief.

Every prayer meeting he’d attended, every rote recitation from the pages of the Book of Prayers were a deception whether or not those that taught him knew it.

The loss was one he’d simply have to learn to deal with and a renewed determination to meet with his brother, to share the truths he’d learned, surged in him, filling that void of left by grief.

Rus reached automatically for one of the cups Edge held, absently anticipating the bland, thin taste of slippery elm tea. Only to blink in confusion as it was held out of his reach. Realization came with the rueful smile Edge offered him before he drank it himself and Rus didn’t need either of their languages to interpret it. This time it was his husband’s turn for due diligence against creating a child and Rus returned that smile with a sheepish grin of his own even as he recalled the toe-curling memory. He chose the other cup and nearly choked, swallowing down an unexpected mouthful of slippery elm.

What in the name of the Angel…the way Edge’s smile slowly widened into a more predatory one revealed that it was not at all the will of the Angel on his husband’s mind. Hastily, Rus tossed back the contents of the cup, swallowing it down with a grimace, barely in time for it to be snatched away as he was tumbled back into the blankets.

His laughter briefly echoed around the room quickly replaced with moans.

This, he decided hazily, was the best way to make a proper apology and as Edge slid down between his legs, Rus arched into his touch, eager to join him on the path to forgiveness.

~~*~~

Time was difficult to discern without windows, but the sun was high in the sky when Edge finally left their cave. Rus stood by the entryway, still buried into the depths of a blanket and the chill of the floor had him hopping from foot to foot, hissing unhappily as he offered a last kiss to Edge before he left.

He stayed only long enough to see his husband off before darting back inside and soon enough the inner warmth was enough for him to shed his blanket. He folded it with a sigh, heading back to set it within the parlor room. They might be off to a late start for the day, but there was still cleaning to be done and dinner to consider.

When he stepped into the parlor, Rus paused, catching sight of the journal still on the table. The locket from Edge’s medicine bag was sitting next to it and Rus picked it up, running his fingers over the delicate shape as he thought of the woman whose portrait it contained.

Selfishly, he wondered if Edge’s mother would have liked him if they’d had the chance to meet. He hoped so.

It was such an awful that her story was unknown in the village, Rus thought unhappily. That all the suffering she’d enduring and the sacrifices she’d made to discover the truth were concealed only in the mind of her son and now in Rus’s, her words crying out from the very pages for vengeance, both for herself and their people.

A misbegotten injustice, that was it, the forced degradation of their people by the Humans who greedily took and took, stealing any magic they found useful and doing the same to their bodies, like Elder Smith did time and again, and Rus only realized he was clutching the pendant tightly in his fist when the pain of it cutting into his bones registered. He forced his hand to unclench and gently set the locket down on the journal, smoothing the broken chain along the cover. The others in the village needed to know all of this, his brother, Dogamy and his kin, it simply must be, if only there was a way—

Rus straightened abruptly, dawning awareness striking him.

There was a way, he realized. He had the map Edge gave him and the compass from his pack. The village couldn’t be more than a day’s travel away or Edge wouldn’t have suggested he visit the cave. If he left early when Edge went to check his traps, he could be back by sunset, a reverse of his earlier trips to the woods to visit Edge. He could travel to Dogamy’s farm and surely they would send for his brother, giving him enough time to reassure Blue that he was doing well and to give him the journal before he traveled back…right into his husband’s anger.

Edge would forgive him, Rus told himself fiercely. Their bond was deeper than one of the mere spoken words of marriage, they were bound by their souls, and yes, it would be difficult, yes, Edge might well be furious for some time. But Rus could endure it, do whatever he needed to earn his husband, no, his k’uhah’s forgiveness.

In truth, it was no longer simply his own wish to see his brother at stake and a strange urgency was rising within him, demanding that he go as soon as possible.

He needed to do this.

Hastily, Rus snatched up the journal and locket both, carrying them back to the bedroom. He hid them in the small alcove that wardrobe, beneath the stack of his trousers. He wouldn’t lie if Edge asked after them, but if he saw them lying about, Edge might move them to a place Rus couldn’t find. With them hidden, perhaps he would forget for a time, long enough for Rus to sneak away with them.

That done, Rus hurried off to the kitchen, his soul throbbing agitatedly in his rib cage. Plans needed to be made yet, but for now, it would be best to follow his normal routine.

He filled one of the crocks with water and set it on cooking stone, contemplating the contents of their pantry as he mentally sorted through the few recipes he’d learned. Perhaps he’d ask after some of Blue’s cookies, he told himself, both for a recipe and to bring some back to Edge; he’d enjoyed them very much the last time Rus brought them to the woods. A present might help smooth the rough path of forgiveness, even a tiny bit.

With that thought, Rus began humming a quiet song, choosing his ingredients with care. A good dinner, tonight, yes, that was what they needed, and perhaps they could read a bit from that saucy novel again or even indulge in a little more of their own sauciness tonight.

He didn’t allow himself to think of anything else.

Not yet.

tbc

[thekillerssluts]

The Story Behind Every Song On Will Butler’s New Album Generations

Will Butler has a lot on his mind. It has, after all, been five years since his solo debut, Policy. A lot can happen in half a decade, and a lot has happened in this past half-decade — much of it quite dire. Butler was in his early 30s when Policy came out, and now he’s closing in on 40. He’s a husband and father. And he’s shaken by the state of the world, the idea of being an artist and a soon-to-be middle-aged man striving to guide his family through the chaos.

At least, that’s how it comes across through much of Generations, his sophomore outing that arrives today. Generations is a big, sprawling title by nature, and the album in turn grapples with all kinds of big picture anxieties. Mass shootings, the overarching darkness and anxiety of our time, trying to reckon with our surroundings but the system overload that occurs all too easily in the wake of it. Then there are more intimate songs, too, tales drawn from personal lives as people plug along just trying to navigate a tumultuous era.

Butler is, of course, no stranger to crafting music that seeks to parse the cultural moment and how it impacts in our daily lives. Ever since Arcade Fire ascended to true arena-rock status on The Suburbs 10 years ago, they have embarked on projects that explicitly try to make sense of our surroundings. (Not that their earlier work was bereft of heavy concepts — far from it — but Reflektor and Everything Now turned more of a specific eye towards contemporary ills and trials.) But as one voice amongst many in Arcade Fire, there is a cinematic scope to whatever Butler’s playing into there.

On Generations, he engages with a lot of similar concerns but all in his own voice — often yelping, desperate, frustrated then just trying to catch a breath. Butler leans on his trusty Korg MS-20 throughout Generations, often giving the album a synth-y indie backdrop that allows him to try on a few different selves. There are a handful of surging choruses, “la-la” refrains batting back against the darkness, slinking grooves maybe allowing someone the idea of brief physical release amidst ongoing strife.

Ahead of Generations’ arrival, Butler sent us some thoughts on the album, running from inspiration between the individual tracks to little details about the arrangement and composition of different songs. Now that you can hear the album for yourself, check it out and read along with Butler’s comments below.

1. “Outta Here”

I think this is the simplest song on the record. Just, like, get me out of here. Get me fucking out of here. I’m so tired of being here. No, I don’t have another answer, and I don’t expect anything to be better anywhere else. But, please, I would like to leave here.

I can play plenty of instruments, and can make interesting sounds on them, but kinda the only instrument I’m good at is a synth called the Korg MS-20. That’s the first sound on the record. It makes most of the bass you hear on the record. It’s a very aggressive, loud, versatile machine, and I wanted to start the record with it cause I’m good at playing it and it makes me happy.

2. “Bethlehem”

This song partly springs from “The Second Coming” by William Butler Yeats:​ “What rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?” Like a lot of folks, I woke up after the election in 2016 mad and sad and scared and exhausted. This song is born of that emotion.

My bandmates Jenny Shore, Julie Shore, and Sara Dobbs sing the bridge, and it’s a corrective to my (appropriate?) freaking out — this isn’t the apocalypse. You’re misquoting Yeats. Get your fucking head on straight. History has not ruptured — this shit we’re in is contiguous with the shit we’ve been dealing with for a long, long time. But still, we sometimes do need an apocalyptic vision to make change. Even if it’s technically wrong. I dunno. It’s an ongoing conversation.

There’s a lot of interplay with backing vocals on this record — sometimes the narrator is the asshole, sometimes the backing vocals are the asshole. Sometimes they’re just trying their best to figure out the world. This song starts that conversation.

3. “Close My Eyes”

I tried to make these lyrics a straightforward and honest description of an emotion I feel often: “I’m tired of waiting for a better day. But I’m scared and I’m lazy and nothing’s gonna change.” Kind of a sad song. Trying to tap into some Smokey Robinson/Motown feeling — “I’ve got to dance to keep from crying.”

There’s a lot of Mellotron on this record, and a lot of MS-20. This song has a bunch of Mellotron strings/choirs processed through the MS-20. It’s a trick I started doing on the Arcade Fire song “Sprawl II,” and I love how it sounds and I try to do it on every song if I can.

4. “I Don’t Know What I Don’t Know”

This makes a pair with “Close My Eyes” — shit is obviously fucked, but “I don’t know what I don’t know what I don’t know what I can do.” I’m not a proponent of the attitude! Just trying to describe it, as I often feel it. In my head, I know some things that I can do — my wife Jenny, for instance, works really hard to get state legislatures out of Republican control. Cause it’s all these weirdo state legislative chambers that have enormous power over law enforcement, and civil rights, and Medicaid, and everything.

The image in the last verse was drawn from the protests in Ferguson in 2015: “Watch the bullets and the beaters as they move through the streets — grab your sister’s kids — hide next to the fire station…” It’s been horrifically disheartening to see the police riot across America as their power has been challenged. I’ve got a little seed of hope that we might change things, but, man, dark times.

More MS-20 bass on this one, chained to the drum machine. This one is supposed to be insanely bass heavy — if it comes on in a car, the windows should be rattling, and you should be asking, “What the heck is going on here?” Trying for a contemporary hip-hop bass sound but in a way less spare context. First song with woodwinds — rhythmic stuff and freaky squeals by Stuart Bogie and Matt Bauder.

5. “Surrender”

This song is masquerading as a love song, but it’s more about friendship. About the confusion that comes as people change: Didn’t you use to have a different ideal? Didn’t we have the same ideal at some point? Which of us changed? How did the world change? Relationships that we sometimes wish we could let go of, but that are stuck within us forever.

It’s also about trying to break from the first-person view of the world. “What can I do? What difference can I make?” It’s not about some singular effort — you have to give yourself over to another power. Give over to people who have gone before who’ve already built something — you don’t have to build something new! The world doesn’t always need a new idea, it doesn’t always need a new personality. What can you do with whatever power and money you’ve got? Surrender it over to something that’s already made. And then the song ends with an apology: I’m sorry I’ve been talking all night. Just talk talk talking, all night. Shut up, Will.

Going for “wall of sound” on this one — bass guitar and bass synth and double tracked piano bass plus another piano plus Mellotron piano. The “orchestra” is about a dozen different synth and Mellotron tracks individually detuned. And then run through additional processing.

6. “Hide It Away”

This song is about secrets. Both on an intimate, heartbreaking level — friends’ miscarriages, friends’ immigration status, shitty affairs coming to light — and on a grand, horrible level: New York lifting the statute of limitations on child abuse prosecutions, all the #MeToo reporting. There’s nothing you can do when your secret is revealed. Like, what can you do? You just have to let the response wash over you. If you’ve done something horrible, god-willing, you’ll have to pay for it in some way. If it’s something not horrible, but people will hate you anyway, goddammit, I wish there were some way to protect you.

This song has the least poetic line on the record, a real clunker: “It’s just money and power, money and power might set them free.” But it’s a clunky, shitty concept — the most surefire protection is being rich and knowing powerful people. But even then, shit just might come out. Even after you’re long dead.

Came from a 30-second guitar sample I recorded while messing around at the end of trying to track a different song. I liked the chords, looped them to make a demo. And the song was born from there. This is the one song I play drums on. Snare is chained to the MS-20, trying to play every frequency the ear can hear at the same time on some of those big hits.

7. “Hard Times”

[Laughs] I sat down and tried to write a Spotify charting electro-hit, and this is what came out: “Kill the rich, salt the earth.” Oh well. Written way before COVID-19, but my 8-year-old son turned to me this spring and asked, “Did you write the song ‘Hard Times’ about now, because we’re living through hard times?” No, I didn’t.

In Dostoevsky’s Notes From Underground, the narrator is a real son-of-a-bitch—contrarian, useless. Mad at the strong confident people who think they’ve got it figured out. And they don’t! And neither does the narrator — but he knows he doesn’t, and he at times yearns for some higher answer, and he’s funny, and too clever, but still knows he’s a piece of shit. I read Notes From Underground in high school and kinda forgot how it shaped my worldview until I sat down with it a couple years ago. The bridge on this song is basically smushed up quotes from Notes From Underground.

I was asking Shiftee, who mixed the record, if there are any vocal plug-ins I should be playing around with. He pointed me toward Little AlterBoy, which is basically a digital recreation of the kind of pedal the Knife use, for instance, on their vocal sound. It can shift the timbre/character of a voice without changing the pitch. Or change pitch without changing character. Very fun! Very much all over this track. Tried to make the bridge sound like a Sylvester song.

8. “Promised”

Another friend song masquerading as a love song. I’ve met a handful of extraordinary people in my life, who stopped doing extraordinary work because life is hard and it sucks. People who — I mean, it’s a lottery and random and who cares — could be great writers or artists, who kind of just disappeared. And it’s heartbreaking and frustrating. I don’t blame them. Maybe they weren’t made for this world. Maybe it’s just random. Maybe they’ll do amazing work in their 60s!

We tracked this song before it was written. Julie and Miles came over and we made up a structure and did a bunch of takes, found a groove. Which I then hacked up into what it is now! The bed tracks are lovely and loose. Maybe I’ll put out a jammier version of this song at some point. The other big synth on this record is the Oberheim OB-8, and that’s the bass on this one (triple tracked along with some MS-20).

9. “Not Gonna Die”

This song is about terrorism, and the response to terrorism. I wrote it a couple weeks after the Bataclan shooting in Paris in 2015. For some reason, a couple weeks after the shooting, I was in midtown Manhattan. I must have been Christmas shopping. I had to pop into the Sephora on 5th Avenue to pick up something specific — I think for my wife or her sister. I don’t remember. But I remember walking in, and the store was really crowded, and for just a split second I got really scared about what would happen if someone brought out a gun and started shooting up the crowd. And then I got so fucking mad at the people that made me feel that emotion. Like, I’m not gonna fucking die in the midtown Sephora, you fucking pieces of shit. Thanks for putting that thought in my head.

BUT ALSO, fuck all the fucking pieces of shit who are like, “We can’t accept refugees — what if they’re terrorists?” FUCK OFF. Some fucking terrified family driven from their home by a war isn’t going to kill me. Or anyone. Fuck off. Some woman from Central America fleeing from her husband who threatened to kill her isn’t going to fucking bomb Times Square. You fucking pieces of shit.

In November/December 2015, the Republican primary had already started — Trump had announced in June. And every single one of those pieces of shit running for president were talking about securing our borders, and keeping poor people out, and trying to justify it by security talk. FUCK OFF. You pieces of shit. Fuck right off. Anyway. Sorry for cursing.

I kind of think of the outro of this song as an angry “Everyday People.” Everyday people aren’t going to kill me. Lots of great saxes on this track from Matt Bauder and Stuart Bogie.

The intro of the song we recorded loud, full band, which I then ran through the MS-20 and filtered down till it was just a bass heart-pulse, and re-recorded solo piano and voice over that.

10. “Fine”

I kind of think that “Outta Here” to “Not Gonna Die” comprise the record, and “Fine” operates as the afterword and the prologue rolled into one. An author’s note, maybe. It was kind of inspired by high-period Kanye: I wanted to talk about something important in a profane, sometimes horribly stupid way, but have it be honest and ultimately transcendent.

In the song, I talk semi-accurately about where I come from. My mom’s dad was a guitar player who led bands throughout the ’30s and ’40s. In post-war LA, he had a band with Charles Mingus as the bass player. Charles Mingus! One of the greatest geniuses in all of American history. But this was the ’40s, and in order to travel with the band, to go in the same entrances, to eat dinner at the same table, he had to wear a Hawaiian shirt and everybody had to pretend he was Hawaiian. Because nobody was sure how racist they were supposed to be against Hawaiians.

Part of the reason I’m a musician is that my great-grandfather was a musician, and his kids were musicians, and their kids were musicians, and their kids are musicians. Part of the reason is vast generations of people working to make their kids’ lives better, down to my life. Part of the reason is that neither government nor mob has decided to destroy my family’s lives, wealth, and property for the last couple hundred years. I tried to write a song about that?

Generations is out now via Merge. Purchase it here.

https://www.stereogum.com/2098946/will-butler-generations-song-meanings/franchises/interview/footnotes-interview/

[ruewrites]

We’re Blooming Together Chapter 11: A New Beginning

AO3

Ships: Solomon/Asmo

Word Count: 5254

Warnings: None

Chapter 1-Chapter 2-Chapter 3-Chapter 4-Chapter 5-Chapter 6-Chapter 7-Chapter 8-Chapter 9-Chapter 10-Chapter 11-Chapter 12

It was a chilly night, the trees were bare and a few brown leaves still scurried across the sidewalk. Winter was starting to call, and cleaning up what little mess fall had left behind.  Time had passed and Asmo hadn’t realized. Time had become irrelevant. Between the notes from Secret and his time spent with Solomon and going through the motions of his classes everything just seemed to flow together. The sky was clear and the moon was full, shining down on him like a beacon as his heels clicked against the sidewalk. The stars twinkled in the sky like little diamonds. It was a rather romantic night, the world around him seemed silent. 

Asmo slowly walked through the dark playground. The old gates creaked as they opened. He came here alone, steeling himself for whatever outcome was about to await him. Keeping his breathing even and his heartbeat steady had never been so hard in all of his life. He remembered it being much more shiny and new than it was now… How long had it been since he’s been here?  Paint was chipping off a once emerald green slide, revealing the dirtied white plastic underneath, and rust clung to monkey bars and chains of swings. 

Things changed.

This wasn’t news to Asmodeus, but the feeling it left in his stomach was a strange one. Not quite empty but it didn’t quite reach longing either. It was odd, like being a ghost among memories. Even if things looked different now, he could still picture the way they were when he was a child. 

But he wasn’t alone. 

A man sat on the swings in the distance, A steady, rhythmic creaking followed his movements.

Back and Forth.

Back and Forth.

His eyes were trained on the ground, unmoving. 

Asmo felt his heart stop, and jump up into his throat. His cheeks started to darken. He recognized the figure, he would have recognized him anywhere. Even though everything else around him stopped his legs kept him moving forward to the swings. Even now he was afraid to get his hopes up, and yet his heart was ready to leap out of his chest with joy. The chains rattled as he took a seat.

Despite years of wear and tear and looking like it could fall apart at any moment, it still stood strong. It had withstood years of harsh weather and unforgiving winds and people who purposely tried to add dents or break it down. Yet it was still here. It didn’t look the same as when it was first built, but now it also held memories beneath a rough exterior.

Back and Forth.

Back and Forth.

“Solomon?” Asmo’s voice was soft, almost like he was afraid of something.

Solomon stopped, his hands tightened around the chains for a moment. He swallowed the lump in his throat and took in the crisp night air, “Asmodeus.”

“You-?”

“Me.”

“But I- I thought that you-”

“What? That I didn’t like you?” Solomon chuckled, “You never asked Asmodeus.”

Asmo’s face turned even pinker. Of course he’d never asked. He’d assumed Solomon’s feelings because it was safer to assume rejection. “Well you didn’t ask either!  And what was I supposed to do? Risk losing my best friend? Risk one of the most important people in my life? Especially when I didn’t even know… know if you….”

“I saw your partners, I’m not blind. They were all beautiful, I didn’t really think I was like them,” Solomon looked like he was getting nervous. He was playing with the rusty chains of the swing and his eyes turned back towards the ground. “Is this your way of saying you don’t want to?”

“No.”

Asmo was scared his words came out too fast at first, “No, I never said that.” 

Silence.

Back and Forth.

Back and Forth.

Solomon saw Asmodeus stand  out of the corner of his eye and nodded to himself. He really shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. He prepared himself for this. Especially after Friday night. He’d been so off, and Solomon had made one stupid mistake. He didn’t know why his drunken self thought that woman had wanted nothing more than a dance. Maybe it was because all he would think about was Asmodeus. He’d looked so wonderful, better than any words could describe. Solomon felt his fingers twitch every time he brushed up against him. And he had been so warm. Asmodeus was always warm. It was an incredibly wonderful feeling. Solomon honestly thought he might have kissed him that night if things had gone differently. Asmodeus was special, and he deserved someone just as wonderful as he was. Solomon wasn’t-

Asmo took his hand and tugged him away from the swing. Solomon was shocked and just stood there for a moment. He was adorable, beautiful, beyond what words could describe. And he had him. Asmodeus opened and closed his mouth a few times, searching for words he couldn’t find. They came closer together. Solomon’s hands on his hips, Asmodeus laying his arms over his shoulders.

Years of dreaming could even begin to describe how Solomon’s lips felt against his or how wonderful it would feel to have his hands gently caress his body. 

Asmo had been overwhelmingly underprepared for how this would feel.

Near the end of their kiss, Asmo couldn’t help but start laughing. He didn’t realize the tears falling from his eyes until Solomon’s thumb brushed against his cheek. “What?” Solomon asked softly.

Asmo shook his head, “This… All of this is so… So stupid. All this time, I thought you didn’t like me…” He  leaned in and kissed Solomon again. He pulled back only slightly, their lips barely brushing, “I thought you couldn’t like me like that.”

"Well, I can, and I will if you don't mind me doing so."

He thought that Solomon couldn’t have possibly pulled him closer, kissing him until he was gasping for air, hands exploring his body almost hesitantly. Asmo did nothing but give him soft words of encouragement, their quiet laughter breaking the silence of the night. Asmodeus was blooming. Each petal grew and unfurled faster and more vibrant than the last. Vines curled around his arms drawing him closer to the source of his affections. They were tangling them together. Braiding, twisting, and turning until their roots were completely intertwined.   Somehow, they ended up curled up together close to the old playset. Asmo was nestled comfortably in Solomon’s arms, head on his chest and listening to the soft thump of his heart. Solomon’s face was buried in strawberry blonde locks, and every now and again he’d deliver soft kisses to Asmo’s head. His hand was planted firmly on Asmo’s hip, thumb gently caressing his soft skin.

Asmo let out a soft sigh, “I’m afraid.”

Solomon removed his chin from Asmo’s head and looked down at him curiously, “Afraid of what?”

“That this is all a dream,” he murmured, “That I’ll wake up tomorrow, without you, alone in my bed. That I’ll still have all your unanswered text messages waiting for me to open. All the missed calls… That I’ll be without you again, that I’ll still be left wondering alone in my room.”

“It isn’t a dream, unless we’re dreaming together,” Solomon said.

“I want to stay the night with you,” Asmo blurted out, “Please? Just so I know that it’s all real. I want you to hold me until morning. I want-”

He was stopped by another kiss from Solomon. His lashes fluttered for a moment. There was no way this could be a dream. If it was, he wanted to stay here for the rest of his life. Solomon’s hands were cold and left goosebumps all over his body, but Asmo didn’t mind in the slightest. “I’ll stay with you. Wherever you want to go, I’ll go too,” Solomon whispered, inches away from his lips. Asmo loved the way he held him close, how his hands caressed him, comforting him. 

“You mean it?” Asmo asked softly.

Solomon nodded and took one of Asmo’s hands to his lips, leaving a kiss against the soft skin, “I’d follow you to the ends of the earth if you’d asked me. I’d steal every star out of the sky for you if you wanted them. Anything you want, it’s yours.” 

That was how Asmo ended up in Solomon’s arms that night. He was drowning again, but this time he wasn’t panicked. He was drowning in Solomon’s warmth, in the wonderful feeling in his chest. The smell of Solomon filled his senses once more as he held him close. They fit together so well. Asmo wasn’t sure how long they stayed up together. Hours ticked by as he played with Solomon’s finger tips under the covers and soft words were exchanged. Everytime Solomon  pressed a kiss to his forehead Asmo felt a little shiver run through him and his smile grew a little wider. He just wanted to  stay like this forever with his body close to Solomon’s. Every time he thought he was going to drift off, another surge of energy ran through him and he was thrown back into a fit of giggles  and light conversation with Solomon. Asmo couldn’t even comprehend how happy he was. This was beyond beautiful, beyond perfect. It was everything Asmo had ever wanted to feel and more.

Solomon was magical, in more ways than Asmo could have imagined.

*********

To say that Asmo had caused a commotion amongst his brothers would be an understatement. One of them had come up to check on him after he missed breakfast, only  to see Solomon’s messy mop of silver hair rise from his bed. This wouldn’t have been cause for commotion under normal circumstances. However, the two of them had been tangled up together  in the same position they’d fallen asleep in. Well, if Asmo could be certain about anything, it was that his night before with Solomon hadn’t been a dream.

All hell broke loose within the Morningstar estate that morning.

Aside from that, Asmo managed to learn a few of Solomon’s tricks. The first one was Simeon. Apparently Simeon knew about Solomon’s little crush and was also the reason that Asmo couldn’t recognize the penmanship of the letters. Simeon had stunning handwriting and a collection of pretty pens. All of the letters outside of the last one, hand been written versions of Solomon’s words by Simeon. Solomon came up with it, and Simeon helped make it prettier. That and Solomon knew that Asmo would recognize his handwriting. Apparently, Simeon had thought their story was cute, and had been willing to help Solomon. Well. That and according to Simeon Solomon had the most lovesick puppy dog expression on his face whenever he thought Asmo wasn’t looking. 

“He was hopeless,” Simeon claimed, “You should have heard the way his voice tripped over the words, or how sappy he sounded when he would get lost in his descriptions. Every letter had to be perfect.” Of course Asmo had heard these things when Solomon wasn’t in the room. After all, he couldn’t embarrass his darling like that… or maybe he could, but that would be for another time. 

Apparently, Solomon had also been practicing in order to slip the notes without Asmo knowing. Asmo had to concede at this point, Solomon’s magic tricks had come in handy for him. Solomon had had the cutest little smug smirk on his face when Asmo finally said so. 

Asmo yanked Solomon’s hoodie over his head and looked at himself in the mirror. For a moment he hesitated. He could always go with something a little nicer… He debated with himself, going back and forth between his options, eyes darting towards his closet. He could go all out instead of wearing the hoodie. Slowly he pulled his gaze away from his closet and nodded at himself in the mirror. This was good, this would be good. He took another moment to do last minute touch ups on his hair and makeup before heading downstairs at the sound of Cerberus’ barking, grabbing another jacket on the way down. 

Solomon was kneeling on the ground, stroking Cerberus’ head and looking up to talk to Lucifer who was leaning against the doorway. The dog kept squirming and quickly walking around in circles while giving Solomon every possible hello he could think of. Asmo wasn’t exactly what they were talking about, but the sound of Solomon’s laugh made his heart flutter. Oh he looked wonderful…

Adjusting his bag over his shoulder, Asmo continued his way down the staircase and caught Solomon’s eye. The distraction was what Cerberus needed in order to knock Solomon over and lick his face, tail wagging behind him like a hurricane. 

“Cerberus, down,” Lucifer chuckled, Asmo racing over to yank the dog off of his new boyfriend.  Solomon sat up looking a little dazed, he leaned over to check something in his own back before straightening himself out and getting to his feet. He wiped his face off before pressing a small kiss against Asmo’s forehead. Cerberus continued to squirm at Lucifer’s feet for a few moments before settling down.

Solomon pulled back slightly and his hand moved to brush a bit of hair out of Asmo’s face. Despite Lucifer standing close by, Asmo leaned into his touch ever so slightly. Nothing had ever felt this right to him before. No person had ever felt so perfect for him before. “Are you ready to head out?” Solomon asked, letting his thumb run over Asmo’s cheek. With a nod he took Solomon’s arm and was about to head out the door.

“Let me know when you’ll be home. Try not to stay out too late,” Lucifer said, eyes trained on the pair. 

Asmo giggled and waved, “I’ll try.” 

Of course, if he was having fun, he certainly wouldn’t want to end it anytime soon. Why should he cut his time with Solomon short? Honestly, they’d fallen into a couple’s routine quite easily. Perhaps it was the idea that they’d had a rather stable relationship before, but whatever the reason Asmo enjoyed it. He hoped he could keep it this way too.

The crisp, cold air bit at Asmo’s cheeks and nose, turning them the tinting them red ever so slightly. He huddled closer to Solomon’s arm a little closer. Solomon’s eyes glanced towards him, eyes settling on the hoodie peeking out from his jacket. Asmo felt himself grow fidgety. Did he like it? Was he upset Asmo hadn’t dressed nicer? Would he pull away from Asmo? Refuse to touch him?

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” Solomon finally said.

“Yes,” Asmo said, fidgeting  with Solomon’s sleeve, “Do you like it?”

Is it okay?

Solomon hummed and removed his arm from Asmo’s grip. He felt his throat tighten, but before he had time to even dive into a pit or regrets and failure, the arm slipped around his waist and pulled him closer into Solomon’s side. “It’s adorable. It looks good on you. I like it one you better than me,” Solomon smiled. Honestly, to Asmo it sounded like he was stumbling over his words a bit, but he didn’t mind. Asmo was too busy processing the feelings in his chest. He leaned into him closer as they walked down the street, everyone else around them slowly disappearing. They didn’t matter, not when Asmo’s entire world was holding him so close.

“Sorry, if I startled you. I uh- wanted to do this earlier, but I’m pretty sure your brother just threatened me before you came downstairs,” he chuckled, motioning towards his arm around Asmo’s waist, “But that’s to be expected of Lucifer right? I was a little surprised he didn’t say more to me.”

Asmo’s body eased, a smile finding its way to his face, “Well, he does know you, it’s not like you’re a complete stranger.”

“That doesn’t mean he cares about you any less.”

“I suppose that’s true. Maybe it’s because you already came to him about me.”

He could only imagine Solomon standing in the lobby with Barbatos waiting for Lucifer. Fingers playing with the edge of the envelope. Of course Lucifer wouldn’t have just agreed to give Asmo the letter. He’d known Solomon since he and Asmo were kids, he knew how close they were. Of course he wanted to make sense of the entire situation. Asmo was now sure that Lucifer knew something was up with how he and his brothers were acting, and once Solomon spilled everything from his side it had all clicked together for him. Lucifer had known about the letters before Asmo even pulled them out of their hiding spot. Even if no one said anything about it, Asmo was sure Lucifer would have grilled Solomon right there if it hadn’t been for Diavolo finding the whole ordeal quite adorable.

“I wouldn’t let him do anything to you regardless,” Asmo teased, looking up at Solomon. It was true. Asmo wouldn’t let any of his brothers even touch Solomon. 

When Asmo glanced up at Solomon, he noticed he had his hair pinned back. His eyes widened. He’d been so concerned with what Solomon would think of his attire, of him, that he hadn’t noticed he pinned his bangs back. “Your hair,” he started, “You pinned it back.”

Solomon nodded, reaching up with his free hand to run over the pulled back strands. “You mentioned that you liked it like this. So I figured I’d try and do it.”

All because Asmo liked it.

Asmo stared at him for a moment, head tilting every which way. Eventually he let out a small hum. “Well, it is true that I like your bangs back so I can see your incredibly handsome face, and that I think it’s really hot for you,” he said, reached up to put Solomon’s hair back into its normal position on his forehead, “I like this too, maybe even better. It's more you.”

The blush that spread across Solomon’s face was hard to miss, and Asmo couldn’t help but admire it. It was also rather adorable how he tried to hide it behind his free arm. Oh he was so wonderful. It would have been a crime if Asmo hadn’t kissed his cheek right then. 

Eventually they came to a little coffee shop on the corner where the couple tucked themselves away in a corner on the second floor. Solomon dug around in his bag as Asmo slipped his jacket off and buried himself further into Solomon’s hoodie.  He really did love it, maybe he could get Solomon to spray his cologne on it every now and again, or he could wear it when he spent the night…. Or he could always take more of Solomon’s clothes.

“Ah! It’s okay,” Solomon said, making Asmo peak up from his comfortable spot in the hoodie. Solomon pulled out a bundle of bright yellow flowers from his bag. They were in full bloom and vibrant despite the harsh weather. “I was worried they’d get ruined. I think they’re the same ones you liked when we were kids, I had to contact Ash just to make sure. They even knew a little shop that had a green house that grew them.”

Asmo took them with gentle hands, fingers gently grazing over the soft petals. They took him back to their younger days. “You used to pick flowers for me all the time,” he said softly, “They used to grow these all the time at that little ol’ playground.”

“Flowers always made you smile.”

Asmo carefully set the flowers in his bag before setting his hands on the table. Solomon’s hands quickly engulfed his own and held them tight. “I love them, thank you.”

The feeling of Solomon’s thumbs caressing his hands was a soothing one. He liked the way their hands molded together perfectly  no matter how they were holding hands. 

“I was actually thinking about getting another tattoo too.”

Asmo couldn’t help but snort a little, “Where would you even put it? You’re covered!”

“Well, I have a few spaces and I think I’m gonna let you choose,” Solomon took one of his hands back so that he could sip at his coffee, “I want this one to be yours. Like one dedicated to you and everything. I was also hoping you might design it. That way it would be special.”

“Solomon.”

“What? I’m serious.”

“I know and that’s what-” Asmo took in a deep breath, thinking through what he wanted to say next, “That’s what worries me. Solomon we haven’t even been dating all that long, and you already want to do something like that? What if-”

It made Asmo a little worried. He wanted this to last with Solomon for as long as possible. 

“No what if’s,” Solomon tutted, “It’s something I want to do.”

“We haven’t even been together that long.”

“But we’ve known each other for a long time now haven’t we?”

Asmo bit his lip and looked off to the side. It was rather sweet, and Solomon was right. They’d known each other for years now, but they’d just started dating. Then he felt Solomon start playing with his fingers. Gently gliding over top of them, sliding in between them, and squeezing them ever so gently. Just like that, he was drawn back  to the now.  He loved Solomon, and Solomon felt the same way about him. 

“Hey,” Solomon’s voice was gentle, bringing Asmo’s eyes back to his own, “I won’t do it if it’ll make you uncomfortable. If you don’t want me to do it I won’t,I just thought it’d be a nice reminder of you, no matter what happens.”

Asmo thought it over for a few more moments, then a small chuckle left him, “Well, it’ll take me awhile to come up with a design or two for you. By then you should be able to see if you still want to be with me or not.”

That last part was more of a joke than anything, and Solomon couldn’t help but scoff, “Please. As if I’d change my mind. I’ve known you since we were kids Asmodeus, I know you, and I love everything you are. I thought I made that clear in my letters. Perhaps I was wrong.”

“Solomon-”

“Perhaps I should say it more? Text you when I can’t see you? I’ll say it as many times as you need me to and then more Asmodeus. You’re absolutely stunning in every way. I love your passion and how you hold yourself and-”

Asmo put his finger up to Solomon’s lips. The words spoken weren’t as elegant as the ones written on paper, but he didn’t mind. He always knew Solomon was a man of few words, and hearing him gush would always be a treat. It also let Asmo know that he meant every word. Solomon’s face had also become red once more as he started going through his list, and his smile had become so soft. Asmo couldn’t believe how much more in love he could fall. Every time he thought he was at his peak, Solomon brought him even higher.

It was wonderful to have a partner like Solomon.

“I love hearing your words, they’re beautiful, you’re intelligent, and you’re the most wonderful man I could have ever asked for,”  he said, “But if you keep talking like that, I am not going to be able to keep myself away from that handsome face of yours.” He brought his hand back  to his side to grab his cup. This date was hardly different from any other time he and Solomon had hung out, yet it was vastly different from other dates he’d been on in the past. 

It was simple, and sweet, and cliche. And somehow it was one of the best dates Asmo had ever been on. Why did it have to end? Why would he have to go home? Why not spend as much time with Solomon as he possibly could? This was the first time in a long time Asmo genuinely wanted to hang out with his date in a long time. Maybe it was because he and Solomon already had chemistry, but he didn’t care. He loved Solomon and everything he was.

“How can I keep my words from you when they’re true?” Solomon asked. He lifted Asmo’s hand up to his lips and pressed a soft kiss against them. 

“Well I guess you don’t have to stop,” Asmo giggled, “I mean, Lucifer did say that all I had to do was text him when I was going to come home.”

Solomon raised his brow and tilted his head ever so slightly, “Hm? And what does that have to do with right now?”

“Well, no one said I had to come home tonight.”

“Asmodeus-”

“And then you can compliment me for as long as you want.”

“Don’t you need things from your house?”

“You don’t think I packed them already?”

Asmo gestured towards his bag and Solomon couldn’t help but chuckle, “Why am I not surprised.”

Solomon’s eyes flickered, and for the first time, Asmo thought he saw flecks of gold in those beautiful eyes. Perhaps it was because he was finally allowing himself to become lost within them and really study them. Asmo could spend years lost in those eyes. There was so much behind them, and Asmo wanted to take time to unwrap every little gift they held.

“Waking up next to you is a feeling I enjoy, you know,” Solomon continued, “The bed isn’t as cold when you’re in it, and your presence is so comforting. I sleep well when I’m with you.”

“Mhm, because I make you go to bed so you can’t stay up until the early hours of the morning.”

“Alright I’ll concede on that front.”

Solomon’s sleeping schedule was atrocious. Sure Asmo’s wasn’t the best due to college, but Solomon’s genuinely had him worried for his health sometimes. Now, with the boyfriend title, Asmo could finally convince him to go to bed without much fuss. Honestly it was something Solomon needed, and he’d fight tooth and nail to make sure his boyfriend was getting the sleep he needed even if said boyfriend wasn’t always the easiest to convince. 

“If I stay the night, I could make breakfast in the morning.”

“Shouldn’t I make breakfast for you since you’re my guest?”

“Solomon I once witnessed you light eggs on fire. I don’t really want to take my chances.” 

So cooking wasn’t one of his strong suits, but Asmo didn’t mind. He and his brothers had been switching on and off on kitchen duties for years. Cooking for one boyfriend compared to six brothers? That was nothing. It would also mean that Solomon would have left overs and not try to commit accidental arson. That didn’t mean that he would say no if Solomon offered to take him out, he just didn’t want him cooking.

Despite the fact that Solomon was rather cold most of the time, being close to him made Asmo feel warm both inside and out. The sun was still in the sky by the time they left the coffee shop and a snowfall was in the middle of its steady descent down to the earth below. Asmo tightened his jacket around himself he couldn’t help but glance at Solomon. When he did his breath caught in his throat and he immediately went for his phone to take a picture. The snow formed around his head in a perfect halo and made his silver hair sparkle. Solomon stopped and turned to look at him.

“You looked pretty,” Asmo said, looking down at the picture on his phone. There was a reason he had asked Solomon to be his model. Well, more than one reason anyways. Yes it was true he’d always had a crush on Solomon, whether he liked to admit it or not, but he was also attractive and looked really nice in pictures (when he wasn’t thinking too hard about it). 

Solomon looked at their surroundings for a moment. The snow was starting to settle on the ground in a soft white blanket. Most areas were undisturbed still and the few footprints there were, were slowly covered by the falling snow. “We could take some pictures together if you wanted to. You might get some nice ones to post,” he said. 

Oh and Asmo most certainly got some nice ones. Some of just him, some of Solomon, one of him right as Solomon nailing him with a snowball, both of them on the ground because Asmo had soon after tackled his boyfriend-

Asmo scrolled through them all as he was curled up on the couch with Solomon. He wanted to get a few printed out to hang on his wall along with posting them to his pages. A cheesy holiday romance was playing on the TV in front of them. The two of them always enjoyed making fun of the movies and how each one had the same plot as before. Although, there was the occasional one that would make Asmo’s heart swell. There were a few pictures of the two of them that Asmo couldn’t stop flipping between. A couple had stopped and asked if they wanted them to take some for them.

And those pictures had been wonderful.

There was one of them close together, Solomon’s hand on his hip and Asmo’s on Solomon’s chest.

One of their foreheads pressed together with their eyes just barely opened, which was quickly followed by one of Solomon kissing his forehead. 

In each one, there was nothing but adoration in his eyes as the snow fell softly around them. It was all so gentle, so serene, so magical. And Asmo got to experience it. It made his throat tighten. Solomon was perfect for him, almost too perfect.

Asmo buried his head into the side of  Solomon’s chest, making him turn his head  and look down at him ever so slightly. “You alright? Do you need me to get you something?” he asked.

A small bubbly laugh escaped him for a moment, the one Solomon adored oh so much, and he shook his head. “Oh, no I don’t need anything,” he said softly, “I just love you. I love you Solomon.”

“I love you too.”

Asmo’s heart fluttered and he looked up. “Never leave, okay? Stay with me. Right here.”

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving you,” Solomon started, leaning over to peck at Asmo’s lips, “Not in a bajillion years.”

“Not even a hundred billion?”

Another peck.

“Not even then,” Solomon wrapped his arms around Asmo and held him close, and Asmo didn’t resist. He gave in to the warmth, the love, every feeling coursing through him in this moment right now. He couldn’t bring himself to deny these wonderful feelings any longer, and he had no reason to. Solomon was giving everything to him, everything Asmo had ever wanted. Everytime Solomon kissed him was better than anything Asmo had ever imagined, everything he said was utter euphoria, and every glance was a tiny piece of heaven. “I love you Asmodeus, and I always will. No matter what happens, I love you.”

And for the first time in a long time, Asmo believed it.

For the first time in a long time, Asmo didn’t need secrets.

For the first time in a long time, Asmo knew what it was to be adored.

For the first time in a long time, Asmo knew love.

[codevassie]

a heart he couldn’t control (destined to love and hate and damn forever) Part 7

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | On Ao3

CV:  You know when you're smelling candles and you smell so many candles that you can't tell which ones smell good or bad anymore? Let's just say I don't know what this chapter is. There's a lot of words. And a lot of important things happen in it. And I've gone a bit insane trying to make it. Hope you enjoy <3

CW: Kidnapping, Guilt, Historical Discussions of Prejudice, Mentions of Death, Unreality, Weapons

@winterwynd @escalatingtoofast

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

When Remus was little, nothing but a scoundrel on the streets, orphan, alone but his brother and a hyper-defiant attitude, he never used to dream.

Each morning, Roman would wake and recount a world better than their present–where a wealthy family came to town and adopted them; where they grew up and ran a bakery together, with all the bread and cookies they'd ever desire; where Remus didn't have to hide his magic; where Roman didn't get ganged up on in alleys.

Where they had… more than this.

Dreams kept Roman going, and, in a way, it kept Remus going too, hearing his brother tell all these magnificent stories–all while Roman wasn't even awake to imagine them. A lot of them didn't even make sense, but those were Remus' favorites. He loved hearing the impossible ones–ones where you walk out the door of your house and you fall into the river, or dive out the window and fly into the sky.

Remus never got any of his own, or if he did, he never remembered–until he lived in the caves, at least.

His first week waking in his new “home” was plagued by nightmares. Virgil told him it had to do with the magic running freely through the caves. Out there in the towns, among the regular people, magic was obsolete, dried out like a desert. In the caves it was everywhere. Where before Remus’ head was dry, it could weave worlds upon worlds with a bit of magic.

Dee thought something similar. He said Remus had been repressing his magic in order to hide it. However, now that he was in the caves, it was still difficult to access. The magic was blocked up like a dam, and that caused his psyche to go into turmoil.

The witch, on the other hand, thought they might be visions. That hadn't gone over well.

They never were visions–not that they could make out. Not once did Remus dream of anything that had once or would be true. So in the present day, as Remus went to sleep on the fifth night Roman had been gone, he didn't worry too much when he realized he'd walked into a nightmare.

That, really, should have been what tipped him off. Remus never had lucid dreams, and while he couldn't control a thing in this one, his mind knew well enough this wasn't his reality.

Remus walked along a corridor in the castle, one that he didn't recognize very well. In his hands he held a long sleeve of parchment, marked all over in different types of ink and at least five different hand-writings. Gripping the edges of the paper, he noticed his fingers were bedecked in rings with heavy jewels and, on the thumb, a large crest. His hands were wide and aged, and paler than usual. His shoulders were heavier, but his mind felt lighter. Remus wasn't Remus in this dream.

Strange. He still knew he was Remus, but that’s not what his voice or body understood.

The man–whoever Remus was–sighed and rolled up the parchment restlessly. He bopped the paper to the side of his leg, looking about the hallway and to a room a couple paces off. The closer he drew, the easier his shoulders relaxed. No sound came from the room, and that nurtured something content in the man’s chest.

Until, that is, he rounded the corner and through the doorway.

It was a nursery, from what Remus could tell. An ornate crib stood at the center of one wall, a carousel of horses hanging like wind chimes above. The room was dark, lit only by the blue light of the night, shining in easily from the wide open windows. The rug was soft and plush, fit for a baby to crawl safely, and there was a shelf of toys and books in the corner.

Something felt wrong. Remus didn’t know what it was, but going by his sudden gasp, the man did.

He rushed into the room, going to the cradle first. It lay empty. His heart dropped, abandoned down a well like a draw bucket without a string. There was a noise behind him, and he spun.

There, closer to the bookshelf, was a bundle of hair and fabric. When she looked up, the king bolted over, heart again in his chest, but pounding, hammering a painful dent into his ribcage.

“Yolanda? My love,” he said, kneeling by her side and taking her into his arms. “What is the matter? Where is Janus?”

Yolanda? Remus wondered, tilting his head in thought. The head in his dream remained unmoved. Janus?

The names seemed familiar, but Remus couldn’t remember- He was so tired of not remembering.

“She took-” the woman panted, barely able to get her words out before a coughing fit seized her. The man helped her to sit up, eased her into a position to aide her air passage. The man said nothing, kept an appearance of calm and reassurance, but he was scared to death. Remus could feel it.

The woman was crying. She was sobbing as she tried to get her voice to work, grasping at her throat. “Easy,” the man said softly. “Easy, Landa.” But she couldn’t stop crying. Finally, the man had to ask. “Please. Where is our boy?”

The woman, Yolanda, breathed once, body shaking fiercely. “He’s gone,” she whispered, the sound of a broken woman. Remus didn’t know what was happening, but his own heart stopped. Something unthinkable had happened here.

“Guards! Guards!” the man turned his head to yell out the door, raising minutely away in the moment.

But the woman was already shaking her head. “It won’t help. She took him hours ago. I couldn’t- I couldn’t move-”

The man placed a hand to her shoulder again. There were no sounds of rattling armor. The castle was silent.

This should have never happened. Where was everyone?

“Where? We must know which way to send the men. I will go with them – I have to go with them,” the man rambled. The woman clutched his arm, beckoned him to look at her. She wept, but her eyes were fierce, commanding.

“You must find him,” she said.

Remus felt the man’s eyebrows furrow. “I will.”

“She will pay for this,” she said, voice shaking in barely restrained anger. “She took my baby.”

“Where did she go?” the ringed man asked.

The woman’s eyes vacantly moved across the room to the blowing curtains at the balcony window. The man followed her gaze, frowning.

“She scaled the tower,” he said, voice terrified. His son… this kidnapper had put him in so much danger already.

“No,” the woman said. “She appeared. And then… disappeared.”

The man looked back, expression puzzled. Before he could ask, however, her gaze met his, eyes dark and disheveled hair barely concealing her fiery look.

“She had magic.”

Suddenly, the room went dark. Remus felt his body jolt, and he blinked, head whipping around, back and forth, back and forth. Black spots danced before his eyes as they grew accustomed to the pitch black room around him.

He was no longer in the man’s body. He had woken up. But he was no longer in his room either.

Remus was in the nursery from his dream. It was dustier. The curtains were drawn, and looked to have been that way for a long time. But it was unmistakable. Virtually nothing had changed in the room. And now that he was awake, he understood where he was.

He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself, shutting his eyes.

There was still so much he didn’t understand.

-/-

If they’d thought the library was difficult, then Logan’s house was a whole other challenge. The place was a library in itself.

Roman had been thumbing through volume after volume all night, trying to pinpoint something that might point to Virgil or this ‘Dee’ guy. They were looking for anything at this point, and that made the search even more difficult. If only they’d had something a bit more specific, something to go off of.

He was planted at the coffee table, hunched over and trying not to think about the crick that was forming along his spine. He flipped a page, squinting to understand what it was saying through the fog in his brain and the dim candlelight.

Earlier, Patton had cast a light to illuminate the room a bit better, but after hours of tireless research, it had gone out. Patton had gone home a while ago, hinting pretty strongly that he expected Roman to follow. Roman hadn’t, and that meant he had no Patton to recast it.

Roman vaguely heard someone walk into the room. In his periphery he saw a figure lower itself to the floor across the table. “My prince,” it said in an even voice. Roman blinked up at the man, clearing his vision of letters and misshapen words he could no longer understand.

“Oh, hey Logan,” he said, giving a tired smile. He’d never seen the man out of a tie. He was in a t-shirt and some pajama pants, eyes soft and still behind his glasses. It was funny seeing him so calm after the stress he’d been under earlier.

“Have you found anything?” Logan asked kindly. Odd, Roman rarely heard emotion in the man’s voice. Logan didn’t seem like the type to slow down his thought process enough to implement it.

But Roman just shrugged. “It’s a bit hard to figure out what he meant,” he said. They’d come to Logan’s house assuming he’d know the exact book Virgil had meant. Turned out Logan was just as clueless as they were.

Actually, more so. Logan hadn’t even known Virgil was gone.

Logan knocked his glasses askew in an attempt to rub his eyes, giving a small sigh. Roman noticed there was still tension in his shoulders–the same tension that had grown there after they’d explained everything.

“Hey,” Roman spoke up, too tired to put himself under any kind of filter. Earlier he’d left all of this up to Patton, afraid to screw it up. Comforting was more in Patton’s capabilities anyway. Now Roman just couldn’t keep himself back. “I know you’re worried about Virgil, but you should get some rest.”

Logan adjusted his glasses, putting them back in place as he scrutinized Roman. In a moment Roman was wriggling in place, regretting his decision to be open, but then Logan let out a breath that somewhat resembled a chuckle, shaking his head.

“Funny,” he said. “I came out here to tell you the same thing.”

Roman stared for a second then cracked a smile. “That is funny,” he said, too tired to say anything clever.

“Roman,” Logan said, voice a bit more somber. Roman looked back to him and took note of his frown. His hand hovered over the book in front of him protectively. “We all want to help him, but we can’t if we exhaust ourselves.”

“I’m not exhausting myself,” Roman said, shaking his head. “I work nights all the time. It’s not a big deal.”

“That’s not healthy,” Logan said. “Your body needs rest to function properly.”

Roman looked back down at the book. “I’ll rest when we’ve gotten Virgil back,” Roman muttered, trying not to come off too irked. Logan was just trying to help.

“I know this is likely not something you want to hear,” Logan put a hand over the page Roman was trying to make out, “But we may not get Virgil back for some time. Things like this take time.”

“Then I’ll work night and day to make it happen,” Roman said, head snapping up with a scowl. His blood was boiling for some reason–the same as it had been when he’d talked to Patton in the library.

“Neglecting yourself will not bring Virgil back any faster,” Logan said, his own voice tighter now too. Unlike Patton, he would match Roman in intensity rather than try to soothe it. “In fact,” Logan carried on, “It would rather slow it down.”

“You don’t know that,” Roman said, heart speeding up at the thought. He couldn’t rest. Not when Virgil needed help. The more he tried, the faster it would help–it had to.

“Then tell me, are you actually absorbing anything you’ve been reading for the past hour?” Logan asked.

Roman pulled the book back from him, holding it close to his chest. “Yeah, of course!” he said, voice defensive.

“What is it you’re reading then?” Logan asked. Roman stopped, thinking for a moment. “I’ve read all these books, Roman. I know what that one is about too. So tell me; what is it about?”

“Give me a moment!” Roman argued, trying to grasp something, anything that he remembered. Was this the one on the northern regions or the fiction story about wolves? Roman had lost track.

“Roman,” Logan said, drawing his attention back. Logan sighed, something too close to pity crossing his features for Roman’s comfort. He shifted, clutching the volume tighter and looked on almost in fear as Logan opened his mouth. “Did you notice the inscription at the front of that one?”

Roman furrowed his brow, pulling the book away from his chest. No, no he hadn’t noticed an inscription. Setting it back down on the table, he flipped to the front, keeping a hand on his page to not lose his place. On the title page, he found it.

Logan,

I don’t know if you remember, but this was the first book you lent me. That copy was a library book, so I thought you might like your own. I know you own the library and all, but I hope you like it.

Virgil

Roman was frozen, eyes going again and again over the words. The letters were in small, cramped script, but he could tell it was carefully written. He hovered over Virgil’s name with the pad of his index finger, holding his breath. A part of him felt it would flake apart just at his touch.

“Virgil gave you this,” he said at last, glancing up to Logan’s face. There was sorrow there if you could look between the lines. He had sobered up from his exhaustion, placing a mask of emotionlessness on, but Roman could see it like a reflection. “Do you think this is it? Is this the book?”

To Roman’s disappointment, Logan shook his head. “I doubt it. He could have simply gone to the one in the library. It would be a lot easier than borrowing this one from me.”

“What if there’s something hidden in this one specifically?” Roman asked, desperate at this point. He felt so close, yet Logan didn’t look convinced at all. Could nothing be easy? Couldn’t Roman just do this one thing right?

“If there is, then I doubt you’d find it as tired as you are. It would have been very cleverly hidden considering I’ve reread that particular volume many times throughout the years.”

Roman furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Is it that good?”

“Not particularly,” Logan said. Something soft flashed across his face as he gazed at the volume Roman held so possessively. “It’s mostly for sentimentality’s sake, I suppose.”

Roman looked again at the book, at the inscription. “Oh,” he said, understanding.

“Virgil is like family, you see,” Logan said. “I’ve known him for years, so when I accept that I need rest in order to help him, it is not me giving up on him. I am not standing by while he is back there. I am simply doing what is in my power to get him back. As long as I am healthy, I will be at my full power to figure out a solution to get him back. Do you understand?”

Logan said this like it was a challenge, like he was daring Roman to argue with him on this, and Roman realized that he had given Logan the wrong idea completely.

“Of course!” he said, eyes wide. “That’s not what I meant. I just meant I needed to do this. Of course you’re helping Virgil. Of course you deserve rest.”

Logan folded his hands on the table, leaned forward to look Roman dead in the eyes. “Then why not you, Roman?”

Roman’s heart rate picked up. He leaned back, eyes darting around as he suddenly wanted nothing more than to avoid eye contact. “I just need to keep going. It’s different.”

“Why is it different?” Logan asked. “Why do you need to keep going? Why do you need to push yourself and hurt yourself to try to help Virgil?”

Roman frowned, eyes going back to Logan. “I’m not hurting myself.”

“You are,” Logan said. Roman’s hands turned into fists, but not from anger. From confusion. From something a little too close to vulnerability.

His voice went lower. Roman’s eyes bored into the table. “It’s just different.”

“Different how?”

His hand drifted above the inscription, but he didn’t touch it. Roman couldn’t bring himself to. He was unworthy.

“I’m the reason,” he said. He was greeted with silence, but he couldn’t look up. Couldn’t look Logan in the eye. Roman and Patton had already told Logan the full story. He knew it was Roman’s fault this had all happened, but Logan hadn’t actually said anything to the prince about it yet. Patton had forgiven him, but Patton had always been too nice for his own good. Logan surely wouldn’t be so forgiving. “Why should I get to rest when every second he’s there, anything that witch is doing to him, it’s all my fault?”

“You… feel responsible,” Logan said, as if it was only now that it had occurred to him.

“Of course I feel responsible. I made that deal,” he said.

“The deal that she pretty much forced you to make,” Logan said. “That deal?”

“I still made the deal , Logan,” Roman said, imploring the man to understand. Logan was smart. He should get this. “I knew someone would suffer for it. I knew someone I would come to care for would suffer for it.”

Logan squinted at him, one moment confused and another looking older beyond his years. He seemed both weary and wary as he examined Roman, and the prince shifted in place at the attention.

“What?” he finally asked.

“How do you shoulder the weight of a country while so prone to guilt on things out of your control?”

“I’m sorry ?” Roman asked, aghast.

Logan shook his head, resting it on his hands where he’d propped them up on the table. “I’m sorry,” he said in return. “I just mean, you must have had to make tough decisions before. Nothing is cut and dry in politics.”

“I-” Roman’s eyes shifted around again, refusing to make contact as he came up with an answer. “I mean, yeah . Doesn’t mean I’m not responsible for those either.”

“You’re responsible for the well-being of your nation, but all decisions have unforeseeable outcomes. Surely you cannot carry guilt for each and every one.”

Roman frowned, unsure if he should be taking offense. “Why shouldn’t I? Are you saying I don’t care about my people?”

But Logan shook his head. “That is simply not in question here. You can care for your people while maintaining a healthy understanding for things that are in and out of your control.”

“But those decisions were in my control,” Roman said.

“And how are you to predict every repercussion?” Logan asked. “The best strategist in the world couldn’t predict every outcome. While decisions are in your control, repercussions often are not."

"So what? Am I just supposed to throw the hat in? Eh, didn't realize my actions would have consequences so I might as well just ignore it."

"No, Roman." Roman stopped when Logan's voice came out firm, curt. "Of course you try to fix it, but you do not punish yourself either. You let yourself eat. You let yourself sleep. You forgive yourself for a bad or wrong decision, or you recognize that a witch manipulated you into making it . That decision wasn't even your own, Roman! Yes, in the end you made it, but you had a figurative sword to your throat!"

For a moment all Roman could do was stare. He had never seen Logan talk so passionately before. He'd never seen so many emotions on the man. He was kind of in awe.

Then Logan took in a deep breath. He straightened himself, but the tension in his voice did not fade. "The only one here to blame is that witch. She took Virgil. She hurt him enough that when he ran away he wouldn't leave Patton's house for two months out of fear she'd find him and cast layers of wards for years following. She took your brother, and from what you've told me, hurt him beyond imagine. She took that other boy who has been with her this whole time, and I do not want to think of the pain she must have inflicted on him. You are not at fault for any of this. She is."

"I- I-" Roman stuttered, not quite sure what he wanted to say. What he could say.

He still felt terrible. He still felt a crushing guilt inside, ready to tear in with its claws and teeth any time he was ready to think too hard on it. But everything Logan said made sense. There was nothing Roman could say to refute it.

So all he could say was, "...okay."

Logan looked him deep in the eyes, and Roman felt seen like he'd never been seen before. Not by people who had seen him in the streets, everything he was and everything he owned laid before them. Not in front of the millions in their kingdom on his coronation day, feeling inadequate but ready–ready to take on this duty, ready to serve his people.

Logan looked at him now, and Roman knew he could see every thought. He knew Roman still hurt. He knew Roman couldn't quite shake it all off, and Logan knew that Roman believed him too.

It was the witch's fault. Roman believed that. But there was a tiny part of his mind that wouldn't stop insisting it was his fault too.

But Roman also couldn't find flaw in this logic. Logan could see that too.

Logan nodded. "Okay," he agreed. "Bed then?"

Roman blinked, startled by the sudden shift in attitude and priority. He looked back to the book, to the inscription.

"It will still be here tomorrow," Logan reminded him. "And you'll be literate enough to read it too."

Roman threw him a scowl. "I'm literate!"

"Not at this time of night," Logan scoffed, rolling his eyes. He had gone back to that emotionless facade, but now that Roman had seen more emotion from Logan than ever before, he could pick up on more now. Logan was joking, a mirth hidden in his eyes.

Roman cracked a smile. "Fine. I concede."

"Good. The guest bedroom is this way," Logan waved to the hallway that branched off from the living room. Roman blinked.

"I can go back to Patton's," he offered.

Logan just rolled his eyes. "It's late, Roman. Take the bed."

"Okay," he said and got up. They walked together, and he stopped at the door Logan gestured to. He stood at it for a moment, watching as Logan continued on down the hall. As the man reached for the handle for the next door down, Roman called, "Um, thank you."

Logan looked up, then nodded. "Goodnight, my prince."

When Logan closed the door behind him, Roman was left alone in the hall, realizing Logan, who had never called him by his name at the park construction site, had used it their entire conversation.

"Huh," he said before turning to his own room.

He was faced again with the realization that these years of isolation had cost him some potentially great friends.

Roman hoped he could amend that.

-/-

Remus looked around when he awoke in his dream. It felt a lot more familiar than the last one. In this one he felt like himself. But not himself himself. A different self.

This self wasn't from too long ago, but it was still definitely a different Remus. He felt a whole lot more awake. Funny, as he was actually asleep right now.

"Wait wait wait," a familiar voice reached him from around the corner. "You said brother?"

Remus knew him. How come he knew him? Dang, not another memory. It was so close. So so close.

"Okay so-"

He felt his feet walk as if of their own accord. He turned the corner, and there they were. The purple one–what was his name?–and his brother. Remus always knew his brother. Roman.

"It is you," he said, but the words weren't his. They were the other Remus'. He said it, and dreaming Remus didn't know what it meant.

He remembered this vaguely, but it was all so fuzzy.

"Wait, do you know each other?"

" Remus ? What- How-"

Remus knew this one. It wasn't too long ago he'd seen this- lived this- what was it? What was happening?

"It's too late," other Remus mumbled, the words so familiar in his mouth. "It was a trap."

“A trap? What do you mean? A trap for who? Who’s trapping?”

“Remus, what the fuck? How are you here? How did you get away?”

Remus heard the words, he heard the voices, but he couldn't focus on where they were coming from. Who was this? Remus knew this man.

“Get away?”  

“What about Dee?”

“Dee…”  

It wasn't Remus who had spoken, but he perked up at the name. He knew Dee. He remembered Dee.

“It’s too late,” he said instead, ignoring the wonderful name. “Of course it was you.”

Then, the room erupted into chaos.

Remus jolted awake. His head hit the floor and he was left staring at the ceiling.

He didn't recognize this ceiling.

Slowly, he sat up. He looked around, taking in shelves, books, a cart pushed into a corner.

What was he doing in a library?

-/-

When Roman blinked awake, the light leaking through the curtains was strong. He sat bolt upright, blinking away his disorientation and pulling the curtains back. Sure enough, the sun was high in the sky, almost midday already. With a strong intake of breath, Roman leapt out of bed and stumbled his way to the guest room door.

He limped out towards the living room, fighting to keep the emerging guilt at bay. He and Logan had just talked about that last night–could he not keep it together for two minutes? Roman shook his head, stopping in the hallway to recuperate before revealing his rumpled form.

There were low voices coming from the living room, a small laugh and the shuffle of papers. When he finally turned the corner, he caught sight of both Patton and Logan, already scouring over books pulled from Logan’s shelves.

Patton was the first to catch sight of him, and he smiled. “Roman! Good morning!”

“More like afternoon,” Roman said, approaching. “Why didn’t anyone wake me up?”

“We thought you could use the sleep,” Patton shrugged, picking up another volume and flipping through it. “Besides, I went to bed a whole lot earlier than you two. I figured I’d get a headstart.”

Roman turned to Logan, trying to keep the frown off his face. “How long have you been up then?”

Logan straightened, adjusting his glasses. “I work on a very strict circadian rhythm. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep more in any case.”

At this Roman did frown. He wasn’t an idiot; he could tell when someone was keeping things from him. But he could let it go. Whatever time Logan got up–it wasn’t a big deal. Just more time he’d been spending looking for Virgil. A responsibility that should have rested with Roman.

Roman pushed that thought back. That wasn’t right; he had to remember that. He wasn’t responsible for this. Roman wasn’t the guilty party. He wasn’t.

He repeated it like a mantra in his head.

He wasn’t the guilty party. He wasn’t. He wasn’t he wasn’t he wasn’t.

But he was going to make this right.

“Okay,” he nodded, sitting down at the coffee table again, fingers digging into the carpet. “Well, I’m fully rested now. Let’s do this.”

“Want some breakfast, kiddo?” Patton asked, already standing up. “Logan and I already had coffee, but nothing else really. I think I might make eggs for everyone.”

Suddenly, Roman was torn. He looked at the books, could see the one from last night at the corner of the table, the one with the inscription, then he looked back. He bit his lip. “Can I help with breakfast, Pat?”

Patton laughed, and it wasn’t his normal polite chuckle. It was something amused. He found something Roman did funny.

“I can see how you’re eyeing up those books. No sweat; I’ve got this. You might want to change into something that’s not a day-old though,” Patton said. Roman looked down at himself. He’d been borrowing clothes from Patton for the past few days, but he wasn't at Patton’s anymore.

“Follow me, Roman,” Logan stood, placing the volume he’d been perusing to the side. “We can find something that will work from my things.”

The morning continued in this domestic sort of haze. At Patton’s house it had been cozy–warm and welcoming–yet there was something so different in Logan’s. Before Roman had always been busy, on his feet, trying to do what needed to be done always.

And that was how it had been at the palace too, hadn’t it? And before–in his old village, on the move to find Remus. Roman had never slowed down. He was always on the go, always looking for ways to do better.

Roman had… never had something like this.

Slow. Comfortable.

The house was warm. The living room was well-lived in–the shelves riddled in books, candles, pictures; the coffee table had a coffee ring seared into its wooden surface; there was a blanket thrown over the back of the couch.

When Patton–lovely, lovely Patton–brought him coffee, it was in a mug labeled “#1 Architect.” The drink tasted slightly bitter–nothing like the palace’s coffee–but somehow, it was the best he’d ever had. So much so that Roman took a moment to simply revel in it, sit back on the couch and forget about the books, about everything else, and close his eyes to the taste.

He could hear singing in the kitchen. Patton had a lovely voice, and it was lower than he would have thought. There was another that joined it, however. He could barely hear it–wouldn’t have if he hadn’t taken this moment, just listened–but it was Logan’s. Through Patton’s slightly louder notes and the clings of utensils and bowls, Logan sang as well.

And throughout the day, that warmth never left. They flipped through books, but the tension from yesterday and all the days past had left. Patton said it was like a study group, but Roman didn’t really know anything about those. He’d started school when he’d arrived at the palace, and his tutoring was always one-on-one.

What he learned though, was that ‘study group’ was sitting around together, talking through different books, asking questions, joking to keep the air light and motivation up. It was passing around food, telling each other to take a break, leaning over to laugh at a funny picture or read over each others’ shoulders.

It wasn’t like that every day. Some days were somber, confronted with the low likelihood of finding what they needed, of finding anything. Some days Patton and Logan had to go to work, leaving Roman alone to his thoughts and pages. Some days Roman couldn’t move past his guilt, couldn’t think of anything but reading the night away because surely he had to be close. It had to be the next page, the next book.

They had to be close to the truth.

But who knew if the truth would help Virgil at all?

This was barely a lead, barely anything. It was a stray note Virgil had left on his desk that had loads of other incomprehensible items and a vague title, alluding something to his brother. They could find the book and not even know it was it. They could have past it already, dismissing it as nothing relevant. Or Virgil could have found a book he thought Dee might like, and it truly wasn’t anything at all to their search.

They could be going in circles. And they’d been searching for weeks.

Roman had scoured the pages of the book Virgil had given Logan to no avail. At night when they had all decided to retire until morning, he would bring the book to bed with him and read the story. He would try to see Virgil in it, try to pick out why Virgil had taken a liking to it in particular. Maybe it was sentimentality for him too, just like Logan.

He couldn’t tell. But Roman had to know.

One particular day, Roman picked up a book he had been dreading. It was a simple history text, dating back to the kingdom’s creation two centuries ago. It looked much like the ones the castle kept on hand–like the ones Roman had been forced to absorb in a week in his rapid tutoring. Reading two centuries worth of history in dense text had possibly been the worst part of his preparations to become prince–especially as he had still been learning to read at the time.

The thought made him dizzy. He frowned, looking up from the volume and realized his head was rushing, his vision spotting in places. He held to the couch and blinked. For a moment, he felt really sick–head light and stomach heavy and halfway between the floor and the toilet as his next destination.

Then it was gone.

Roman blinked again. No spots.

He frowned down at the book. “Maybe I have been overworking…” he mumbled.

He shook himself and sighed. No use resting now.

With a sigh Roman pulled it open, looking first to the table of contents. Perhaps he could start somewhere entertaining.

Two and a half hours later and Roman was ready to stab himself in each eye with a rusty fork. Logan and Patton walked in from work, looking weary, and he took the wonderful opportunity to take a break.

“You’re home!” he cheered. “Welcome back! And how was work?”

“Shelby is still trying to schedule a meeting with you through the castle,” Logan said, hanging up his bag.

Roman slowed as they approached him, sagging a bit where he sat. “Oh.”

“You really should check in with the palace soon, Ro,” Patton said casually. They’d had this conversation enough times where it wasn’t a big deal. Still, every time it made Roman feel like he was swallowing rocks.

“I will,” he promised, not for the first time. After we get Virgil back , his mind insisted, but he thought again of his brother, his people.

You’re letting down everyone.

“What are you reading?” Logan asked, walking closer to take a peek. Roman looked back at the book, feeling a tiny bit relieved to change the subject.

“This boring history book,” Roman lamented, sagging back into the sofa. “Do we even know Virgil borrowed this one? I can’t imagine anyone actually choosing to read it.”

Logan looked over the volume then nodded his head. “He definitely read that one. Actually, that was a more recent read. He was fascinated by its candor on the history of magic within the kingdom.”

“Magic?” Roman asked, brow furrowing. He hadn’t come across anything about magic.

“Yes. Where are you? Oh, you seem to have a couple more decades until it gets into that. You may want to skip ahead–this war is rather trifling,” Logan said, pointing to the page. Roman agreed. The war was really kind of stupid.

Roman leaned forward again, grabbing the book. He flipped forward, past the war–a three month endeavor–into reconstruction of the eastern lands and amendment of trade policies. He almost sighed again. Out of the fire and into another fire.

“Here.” Logan took the book and flipped forward himself, skipping a rather large chunk in the middle. Roman looked on, baffled and altogether so so grateful for this man. When Logan got where he wanted, he handed it back.

“This is where you will want to start. Magic wasn’t thought of as out of the ordinary until about fifty years ago. It became ostracized as a result of a dispute with Ilmita, whose population has a significantly higher proportion of sorcerers. Sorcerer eventually became synonymous with Ilmitian. Our people became more and more prejudiced against Ilmitians during the dispute, and being a sorcerer became rather taboo in our kingdom.”

“Taboo?” Roman asked, now intrigued. This was a part of their history he’d never learned about. He remembered the dispute with Ilmita, but none of that lesson had covered it relating to magic. “Magic is outlawed. I wouldn’t say that’s just taboo.”

Logan sat down next to him, flipping again through the pages of the book. “At first it was just taboo. Sorcerers were treated horribly in the kingdom. They couldn’t get jobs or housing. They were physically driven out of certain towns. Many chose to hide who they were even when it was legal.” When he came to rest on one page, he jabbed a finger at it as if to illustrate a point. Roman couldn’t make out what was so important about the page though. It was just another wall of text.

“Tensions heightened throughout the years, but it was here,” Logan pointed at the book again, a year, “Nineteen years ago when they banned all magic from the kingdom. After what happened to the prince, the unease in the kingdom finally came to a breaking point. The king and queen instated the new law: magic was illegal by penalty of death. Many fled to Ilmita. Many hid their powers. Many were sent to prison and executed.”

Roman sat still, eyes wide on the book before them. How had he never known any of this before? How could they have kept this from him? That was so awful. Those were their citizens–uprooted from their homes, forced to live as someone they weren’t, without a vital part of themselves. So many of his citizens, put to death for this.

“What happened to the prince?” Roman finally asked.

Everyone knew about the prince. He had only been a baby when he’d died. It was a tragedy that no one spoke of in the palace.

But Roman didn’t know anything about it. That baby was technically his adopted brother, and Roman knew nothing of him.

Logan flipped another page, and on this one they were faced with a portrait. It was the same one from the office Remus had taken him to that one time. Roman had barely gotten a good look at it.

“It is said that a sorcerer broke into the castle one night, went straight to the prince’s room,” Logan said. Something lodged in Roman’s throat suddenly. As curious as he was, he suddenly wasn’t so sure he wanted to hear. But then Logan said something Roman hadn’t been expecting at all. “The sorcerer fled with the prince, stole him. All the queen knew about the kidnapper is that they had magic.”

“Wait,” Roman stopped, looking away from the portrait to Logan. “What? You’re saying the baby was still alive?”

Logan furrowed his brow. “Yes, of course. The young prince was kidnapped.”

“I thought he’d died,” Roman blurted out. “You’re telling me he could be alive out there somewhere?”

“Of course,” Logan said. “Did they not tell you this? I assumed as the new prince…”

“No,” Roman said, shaking his head. He looked down at the picture. “They didn’t tell me any of this.”

As Logan’s finger moved away from the book, Roman caught sight of a caption below the portrait. He pulled the book closer to him, moving to read it.

“King Xavier, Queen Yolanda, and Prince Janus,” he read off. Roman knew those names. He said them practically daily–he had never called the king or queen “mother and father” or “mom and dad” or anything close to casual. They were the king and queen, and perhaps they were his parents, perhaps they had taken him in, treated him well, smiled warmly on him and spent holidays with him, but Roman had never taken to calling them anything else.

What stood out was the prince’s name, so rarely seen, even rarer spoken within the palace walls. The little baby, stolen in the night. His birthmark would make him obvious to anyone who saw him, even grown up.

Roman shook the thought from his head. His long lost… “brother” could wait.

“He was interested in the history of magic in this book,” Roman said. “Could this have to do with what Virgil was looking for?”

“I don’t know, Roman,” Logan said, sighing, His shoulders slumped minutely, but Roman could spot a change in his demeanor far better throughout the weeks they’d been working on this. “It could be. The facts of the matter are we don’t have enough information to go off of.”

Roman looked back to the portrait, dejected. He supposed Logan was right.

He couldn’t help but feel like they were close to something here though. Like they were barely missing it.

Prince Janus’ eyes were green, barely peeking up above the blanket he was swaddled in. He must have been old enough for his eye color to come in. How old was he when he’d been taken? What had the sorcerer done to him? What did they want with him?

Barely missing something…

Just then, however, Roman was stirred from his thoughts by the sound of a knock. Both he and Logan looked up. Patton emerged from the kitchen to stare as well, them all frozen in place.

Roman was careful to keep his voice low as he asked, “Are you expecting anyone?”

In his periphery he saw Logan shake his head. He heard him swallow thickly before he responded, voice unsettled.

“No.”

-/-

When Remus awoke in yet another dream, he wasn’t in a foriegn body, nor was he in a different self. This time Remus felt unbound, invisible to the mortal eye, broken from his reality.

Remus was used to feeling apart from reality. He never quite got what was going on around him, and there was always something he was trying to remember, always something just out of reach. He never felt like he belonged. Not in the streets he’d grown up in. Not in the caves where they’d said he’d had a home. Not in this new place where the window was his only friend and his brother covered his beautiful green colors when they said hello.

In this dream Remus was no one else, but he also wasn’t himself. He was above it all. An all-seeing eye. He stretched out an arm and it passed through the table to his right. He swung his leg and it didn’t stir the air.

He couldn’t do anything – even now that he had control of his body in one of these dreams. It seemed a bit unfair.

But he’d always just been an observer here.

“You can put it over there,” a voice resounded throughout the room. At first, there was no one there. Remus scanned the small space once, twice, but on his third go something suddenly shifted. It was like another reality had flipped into this one – like the pages of a book. A figure now stood in the middle of the room, bent over one of the tables and straightening a stack of papers.

Remus knew him. He squinted, hard, trying to piece him into the right memory. The man turned to place the stack on one of the many shelves that surrounded the room, all piled high in papers and vouchers and binders. Along the opposite wall were tables with pens and paper and random assortments of books. There was an empty cart in the corner. It was cramped, but organized – like some sort of office space.

“Here?” another voice asked, hidden away towards the back of the room. The original man looked back, a small smile gracing his features as he did so.

The man nodded. “Yeah, that’s good, Ro.” He went back to his organization, and after a moment, the man who was hidden emerged. Remus perked up when he saw him, realizing he’d known that voice – realizing where he knew this other man too. He was there last time with him and Roman, in that library.

He still couldn’t put a name to him, but Remus knew him.

Roman walked to stand at the other side of the table, taking the other man in with a lopsided smile. He pulled a chair over and sat down, placing his head in his hands and continued looking, stars in his eyes. “Hey,” he said, voice dripping with fondness.

The other man looked, a blush immediately coloring his face when he saw Roman. His eyes jolted back down to the papers, and he coughed behind a hand. “Hey,” he replied, and Remus could hear it in his voice that he was trying to sound casual.

Roman blinked, probably picking up on the man’s tone too. He looked down, a deep red covering his face as well, and pulled over a pen to fidget with. Slowly, suddenly replicating the other’s voice, he tried for casual too. “How are you?”

The man bit his lip and quicked a glance back to Roman. As his eyes fell again on the papers, he pushed them aside and picked up a pile of vouchers, thumbing through and every now and again, flipping one in the stack. “Alright,” he said, lifting one shoulder. “You?”

“Doing good, doing good,” Roman said conversationally, nodding.

The man lifted his head, for a second looking as though he wanted to say something. His eyes raked over Roman, brow furrowing minutely, but in the next second it was gone. He shook his head and went back to work. “That’s good.”

Roman looked up, and, feeling his gaze, the other man did too. For a moment they just looked at one another, eyes saying more than Remus could follow. They both smiled, barely the tilt of lips, but warm, something more.

Remus felt like he was barging in on something that wasn’t for him.

And with that thought, the scene turned to black. As it faded away, Remus felt the familiar jolt that signaled he had woken up somewhere new.

With a sigh he sat up to face the strange office room. He clenched his fist and thought of his room.

When he felt the plush feel of a comforter beneath him, Remus fell back against the bed, not even giving the teleportation a second thought before he drifted back to sleep.

-/-

Roman’s thoughts were on the sword in the guest bedroom. Could he get there in time? Should he leave these two in the main room by themselves?

“I can’t tell who it is,” Patton whispered, barely moving aside the curtain at the window. Roman stood suddenly.

“Pat, get back,” he hissed. Patton dropped the curtain and backed away.

“Everyone, calm down,” Logan said, voice level, but still low. “It’s probably nothing. I will answer the door, but Roman,” Logan turned to him, “You have to stay out of sight. No one knows you’re here.”

“It could be dangerous,” Roman said, grabbing Logan’s arm when he moved away. “Who the heck would be visiting at this time of night?”

“It’s not that late,” Logan said. “It’s only ten. I’m sure whoever it is has a good reason for showing up a bit later.” He pulled his arm from Roman’s grip and moved again around the couch. Roman moved to try to stop him, but Logan was light on his feet, at the door in no time.

“Lo-” Roman hissed, trying in vain to stop him, but Logan was already reaching for the knob. “Fuck,” he said under his breath, finally doing as Logan asked and ducking behind the couch.

Please be a civilian. Please be a civilian. Please-

A noise escaped Patton. Roman’s feet felt filled with springs, ready to jump at a hair’s breadth. He could see Patton around the corner of the couch, but he didn’t look alarmed.

Just… confused.

“Roman, you can come out,” Logan said. Now Roman was confused too.

Slowly, he stood up, his eyes immediately on the door. Logan stepped back.

And there was no one there.