#i don’t think i’ll refine any of these yet since i’ll mess around with the idea some more

[thedawner]

Some incromprehensible Osmosis Jones fan character brainstorming.

I want to make something inspired by Alien and Subnautica (Leviathan Reapers, especially). He’d be some waterborne organism that Frank picks up when he decides to go swimming in a murky lake (Shane had advised him many times not to). Fortunately, this monsterling is mostly passive(but did give Frank a horribly upset stomach out of spite) as he fixated on Thrax and just follows him along like a really annoying parasite that feeds off of Thrax’ patience.

[burnedbyshoto]

the bodyguard

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

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pairing: bodyguard!kirishima eijirou x idol!reader

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

word count: 20,500

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

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“I’ll be okay.”

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

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

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

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

What had he done?

What in the fucking world had he done?!

BOOM!

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

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

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

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

05:30.

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

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Better?

No, not yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Cause I’m a stalker, duh.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Kirishima-kun, are you okay?”

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

“Kirishima-kun?”

“Yo, he’s not looking too hot?”

“Kirishima?!”

“Can you hear us?!”

Silence.

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

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

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

He was okay.

He was okay.

He was okay.

“Kirishima?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

But he was obviously not the first choice still.

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

“Toshinori—”

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

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

He had barely passed the admittance test.

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

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

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

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

“I can do it.”

A smile.

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were tiny.

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

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

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

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

“Six months tops.”

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

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

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

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

“...no,” Kirishima answers truthfully.

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

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

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

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

Fuck, that one hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

“Six months,” Kirishima agreed.

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

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

“You got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, yes, let’s continue.”

So, the contract was discussed to full detail.

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

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

Or so the contract said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, so much for a good case.

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

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

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

You always managed to sneak away from him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ya, okay, bye!”

“By—”

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

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

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

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

He wanted to be just a fan.

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I can’t do that it’s not—”

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

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

And then there’s only silence.

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

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

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

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

He knew that.

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

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

You were a good person.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...how interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

“Very much.”

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

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

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

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

So much for change.

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

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

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

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

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

It had been a hard morning.

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

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

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

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

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

But today, Kirishima was exhausted.

Today, Kirishima wanted to sleep.

Today… Kirishima broke.

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

You ignore him.

“We’re leaving, now.”

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

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

He grabs your wrist and begins pulling you away.

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

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

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

Oh, right.

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

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

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

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

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

“Compromises aren’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Wh-”

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

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

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

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

And for a moment, it’s quiet.

Until a single name is screamed.

“SERGEANT!”

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

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

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

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

The van turns on.

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

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

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

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

T082-23

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

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

Well, shit.

So much for the month of no attacks.

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

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

But they also gave him an essential piece of information.

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

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

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

For now, he was waiting for you.

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

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

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

“Should we go?”

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

“I actually wanted to talk before we left.”

Oh?

“Of what, if I may ask?”

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

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

“Sure.”

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

The contract was then discussed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, Kirishima.”

“Oh, and y/n?” 

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kirishima stood in the softly lit hallways of a sauna.

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

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

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

Well, everyone but Kirishima, that was.

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

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

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

A stressful month had passed into a friendlier one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-If that’s okay?”

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

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

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

“No, I’m okay,” you politely decline.

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

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

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

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

“So, what questions do you have?”

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A pause.

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

A nod.

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

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

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

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

What had happened?

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

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

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

“Was that um, Major—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t made of glass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

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

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

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

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

“PERVERT!”

“What?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, his dreams were never like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kirishima stepped back out to the hot spring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jenny, are you okay?” you called.

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

“We weren’t fucking you prude!”

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

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

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

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

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

What was he going to do now?

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

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

Bad, Kirishima, bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That sounds amazing, Kimiko!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whoever it was, pfft.

Kirishima was willing to bet on who it was already.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something.

Anything.

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

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

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

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

He was going to.

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready to move out?”

“We’re all clear.”

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

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

“Damn right I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Such a brat.”

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

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

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

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

T082-23.

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

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

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

You really came to life right now.

You were beautiful.

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

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

He was here.

Every warning bell sounded in Kirishima’s head.

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

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

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

Wait.

“What?! Family member?!”

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

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

There was no way you wouldn’t.

Was he wrong?

Who was it?

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

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

Oh fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

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

“...she’s drunk?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a reason why you were considered a legend.

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

You smile.

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

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

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

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

How were they related?

What connected them?

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

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

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

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

Kirishima panted as he looked before him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was he ready?

Actually ready?

Save her, his past whispered.

Save her, his nightmares screamed.

Save her, his heart yelled.

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

BANG!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you resisted and might have been harsher than needed.

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

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

But it was growing late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown. 

“Where will you be sleeping then?”

“My couch is just fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I’ll be leaving—”

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

“Oh, sure!”

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

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

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

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

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

He was relaxed.

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

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

“Really?”

“One hundred percent.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” you grin against his mouth.

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

“No?” he repeats.

“No,” you confirm.

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

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

Menacing, promising, sending chilling shivers down your spine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does the princess want?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy fuck, he could quickly kill you with that.

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

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

And thankfully, Kirishima allows it.

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

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

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

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

It feels like fire.

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

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

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

Slap!

“Hey!”

Slap!

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

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

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

More, you plead.

And he delivers. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who saved you?”

“E-Ei did,” you garble.

“Who’s fucking you?”

“E-Ei is!”

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

“Me! Fuck, me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t.

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

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

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

“I think we do.”

[monocaelia]

royalty au headcanons

what they would be in a royalty au and the sweet moments shared with them.

feat. albedo, childe, diluc, kaeya, venti

genre : fluff, slight angst in childe's

❀ albedo

albedo is the royally appointed painter of your family. he's in charge of painting all of the portraits of the royal family, which is well deserved. the blond artist's brush strokes and painting techniques make all of his works of art feel so alive, almost as if they could walk out of the canvas they were painted on and live amongst the people.

he prides in his works, always making sure each square inch of each painting absolutely perfect before presenting it to the royal family. even if they were already perfect to begin with. but, as they say, you're your own worst critic.

from since you were both young, he was hired by your family to teach you the basics of the arts as well as how to properly hold a brush.

so, you could say albedo has watched you grow from a grubby child to the elegant and refined person you grew up to be. an honor, really, to watch the stars in your eyes grow brighter and brighter with each passing year.

"ah, you've messed up the brush stroke here," albedo's gentle voice points out the mistake in your technique. your ears burn from having your mistakes pointed out, but you know it's for the best. you clear your throat and try to fix it, only to have albedo sigh from beside you.

"like this, your highness." before you can even react, you feel the heat from albedo's chest radiating against your back and your hand is encased in his own. he guides your hand with his, making the brush you're holding glide smoothly across the canvas.

his hand is cold, you think to yourself, and you wonder if he's been maintaining his health properly. but in contrast to his hand, his breath is warm against your ear as he talks you through the painting technique.

it's hard to focus when you're feeling overstimulated from the proximity of the blond painter and the rather domestic position you're in; almost as if your entire body is being embraced by the artist you grew up with.

"understand, your highness?" his quiet voice breaks your thoughts. he's close to you... so close. you gulp, praying to the archons above that albedo couldn't feel your hands shaking from this entire exchange.

"i thought you were supposed to call me by my name when we're alone together, albedo," you stutter out shakily. it's then that albedo realizes the position the two of you are in. his teal eyes widen slightly in surprise and his ears begin to burn a light pink. the artist pulls away, muttering a small apology to you.

though, albedo has to admit that having you in his arms, albeit for painting, felt so nice. from the position he was in, albedo could have counted the thousands of stars that your eyes held; and he would do anything to see them again.

❀ childe

ajax became a knight of your kingdom from a young age. he was always bored from the day to day schedule of his familial job; he wanted more and nothing could satiate the need to do something, anything that could give him the exhilaration that he needed.

which being in the knights provided for him. from learning how to properly wield a sword, to sparring with the best knights in your kingdom, to being a master at any and all weapons in your artillery, the ginger haired knight loved every second. he always felt alive when wielding his weapon, always grinning ear to ear when he's sparring for fun.

despite being a terrifying machine of war, ajax would never betray your family, let alone you. he swore an oath to protect everyone in the kingdom when he joined the knights, and that included you. the one who has watched him since he was a clumsy knight in training, fixed up his injuries, and wiped his tears away when he was frustrated with himself.

the call of ajax's name alerts him of your presence along with the quick pads of your shoes against the pavement. said male turns to look at you, smile big and bright on his face. "your highness! fancy seeing you here so late. did you miss me that mu-"

"is it true?" you interrupt him. your furrowed brows and frown etched onto your features contrast against the bright expression on the knight's. ajax's smile falters a bit when you stop in front of him, holding your arm and biting your lip in concern. "is it true that you're going to fight in the war?"

ajax blinks, stunned at your question. but he laughs lowly, not helping you in your concerned state. "of course, why wouldn't i? i made an oath to protect you, your family, and the people. it's my duty to go to the front lines."

his cerulean eyes stare into your own. you take a breath, hesitating on what to say or do next. ajax assumes you're going to scold him for throwing himself into the pits of danger, assumes that you're going to yell at him because when he fights he fights with no care to his own body. he would power on through the fight until he physically wasn't capable anymore.

"would you stay with me if i asked you to?"

your question surprises the ginger knight. out of all things that you could have done or said, he wasn't expecting this.

his finger strokes your cheek, sliding forward until your jaw rests in the palm of his hand. ajax gives you a smile, endearing yet bittersweet. he wants to stay here with you, to see your annoyed expression when he ends up hurting himself again or the huge smile on your face when he does something dumb.

but duty calls. and you know that.

his heart falls when you sigh and pull away from his touch. but it flutters again when he feels something hard press into the palm of his hand, your own covering his.

"then, promise me you won't die out there, ajax. take this lucky charm of mine and stay safe. i'll miss you."

you plant a quick kiss on his freckled cheek and run off before he could see you cry. unfolding his hands, he's greeted with the delicate, red mask you've placed in his hands.

❀ diluc

being the heir to the throne of your own family makes it hard to miss the prince of the neighboring kingdom. prince diluc is a stoic and hard to please person. every time you've seen him in passing at royal balls, he has always had a frown or blank expression on his face.

but, despite what his outer expression and appearance shows, the young prince is a kind and gentle individual. at least to you. in contrast to how stoic he is with others, his warmth is always welcoming and comforting to you. if he's being honest, you're one of the few people, if not the only person, who has witnessed the genuine yet small smile of prince diluc.

when he has the time off, he writes letters to you, often complaining about how useless the knights and how he would rather work alone. but he never fails to indulge you about the little things that have happened since the last time he has spoken to you. how he misses seeing you and that the next time you visit he would take you to a beautiful meadow he passed by on one of his scouts around mondstadt.

you, his only friend who sees the young prince as who he is, and not what the rumors, nor what his title says he is.

"thought i'd see you out here." diluc's ears perk at the familiar cadence of your voice. his eyes that held the warmth of fire flit up to look at you, and his breath is taken away. underneath the gentle glow of the moon, you're practically glowing in front of him. with rich, beautiful silks covering your body and a comforting smile quirking your lips up.

"what are you doing out here? it's cold out here, and the party's inside, [name]," he scolds you. diluc's expression deadpans when you stick your tongue out the corner of your mouth and shrug. when a cold breeze flows through and you physically shiver, the red haired prince sighs and slides off his coat, throwing it over your shoulders.

"i could say the same to you. besides, i saw you out here looking lonely and like a fool, so i thought it would be nice to join you. so you don't look so pathetic." it takes everything in the young prince to not take his jacket back from you and march back inside the palace with the intolerable guests. "i'm kidding! but not about the lonely part. are you alright?"

the playful glint in your eyes disappears in that moment, captivating diluc yet again. he could never outright tell you this, but your eyes are the most beautiful he has ever seen. filled with actual starlight and twinkling with fondness for the awkward prince.

"yeah, just a bit overwhelmed with the guests inside."

you hum in response to him. "well. why don't i keep you company then? from one royal to another. we don't have to say anything, but having someone with you is comforting, right?" ruby eyes widen when you step forward and grab onto his hands, intertwining them. he hopes his cheeks aren't as red as they feel and that you can't see his blush despite the proximity.

"r-right. as long as it's just you, [name]."

maybe the young prince will find the courage to be more forward with you, ask to court you with a bouquet if your favorite flowers and a love letter slipped in between the petals. but for now, he finds solace in your company and your gentle hand laced with his.

❀ kaeya

the origins of how kaeya ended up in your kingdom's calvary is an enigma. no one is quite sure where he had come from, nor had any idea who he trained under considering he was an exceptional equestrian and sword fighting on horseback came so easy to him. every time anyone asked him about his background or history, the blue haired knight would always brush it off and redirect the conversation to something else.

despite having a mysterious background, kaeya still ended up captain of your calvary not too long after he joined your kingdom. though, anyone could have expected it considering he easily outwitted the previous calvary captain in their own sparring sessions.

during his time there, you can't admit that kaeya hasn't caught your eye. he's handsome; his laughter and taunts while sparring with the other knights sends butterflies to your stomach. charismatic and always lightly teasing you whenever you drop by the knight's hall made it difficult to suppress the rhythmic thrum of your heart.

"oh come on, your highness. don't tell me you're getting cold feet now." the smirk on kaeya's face only grows when you send him a glare. he finds it amusing that you're still trying to stand your ground despite your evident fear of the horse in front of you. "i thought you knew how to mount a horse."

the calvary captain snickers when you tell him that you are going to, that you're just not familiar with his horse. his sapphire eye follows your movements and form a crescent when his horse turns her head to look at you.

as you try and muster out an explanation on why you were startled, kaeya takes this time to slide his hands underneath your arms and hoists you up above the horse. your leg slips over the saddle of the pure white mare and you yelp in surprise at the sudden motion.

before you can yell at kaeya for not warning you, the calvary captain climbs onto the saddle behind you. because of the limited space on his horse, the blue haired knight's chest is pressed against your back and his arms encase you so that he could properly hold onto the reins.

"cat got your tongue, your highness? there's no need to be so scared, i won't let you fall. well, unless you're being more unpleasant than usual. don't blame me if you end up on the floor."

laughter surrounds you when you yell at the calvary captain to 'stop messing around.' he can't help it; kaeya loves riling you up and hearing his name slip from your lips regardless of if it's in between fits of giggles or out of anger when he teases you one too many times.

from the position you're in, you aren't able to witness the endearing look that adorns kaeya's visage when you calm down and lean into his touch as soon as his mare starts moving.

❀ venti

there's nothing that suits venti more than being associated with music in some way, shape, or form. he's a well known musician around your kingdom; knowing at least the basics of every instrument known to man and having every song he has ever heard by memory.

rumors around your kingdom flutter around, saying that hearing a song sung by venti himself could cure almost any disease because of how angelic and healing his voice is. of course, it's not true but the young bard likes to play along with it. anything to get free drinks at the local bar, right?

there's no surprise that your family hired the bard to become your piano tutor. but cheeky smiles, poetic songs regarding the beauty of nature, and lyrical poetry of the beauty you hold make it hard for you to not fall for the playful virtuoso.

a delicate melody drifts down the halls of the castle, elegant staccato piano cords resonate in each other's harmony. your fingers deftly glide over the ivory keys, eyes closed and letting your memory guide you through the piece.

beside you, venti plays your counterpart with a gentle smile on his face. a contrast to the beautiful, yet complicated composition that was being performed.

it was his idea to learn this rather tedious piano duet; you thought it was too difficult because of the complicated melodic line and technical harmonies. you recall many nights filled with frustrated tears and crumpled silk from trying to perfect the melody given to you; and venti's gentle voice as he consoled you during those nights and urged you to rest.

before you know it, the piano duet ends with a final statement of the tonic harmony. silence settles into the room as the final chord resonates in the empty concert hall, only to be broken when you shout victoriously.

"your highness, that was a wonderful performance!" venti congratulates you with a proud smile on his lips. the percussive beat in his chest accelerates when you beam at him, the candlelight making your eyes gleam as if they held the entire universe in them.

"it's all thanks to you, venti! oh gosh, i'm so proud of us i could almost kiss you!" the statement leaves your mouth without thinking and leaves the both of you stunned. one, two, three beats of silence and on the fourth you begin to stutter out an apology with a flustered expression on your face.

venti's airy, light laugh fills your ears and echoes against the vast walls of the concert hall. you want to dig yourself in a hole and hide for the rest of your life.

"and what if i take you up on that offer, your highness? or should i call you [name] now? a kiss ending this performance of ours would be way better than a bow, don't you think?"

[retrogradedreaming]

UHHHH maybe,, you could write a little thing for reki making the sk8 fam tea? and kaoru thinking hes gonna have to pretend he likes it but then "oh wait reki can actually make tea what-"

just bc this has been living in my head for awhile sdkljfs

(capt-snoozles)

It turns out I am completely incapable of writing ANYTHING short, so have a full one shot type thing, I guess. I hope it's okay that I kinda borrowed headcanons from you and @that-was-anticlimactic for Reki with TS at a couple of small moments in the fic?

----

It used to be Kaoru alone who visited Kojiro’s restaurant when it was closed on Mondays. But since the start of winter break, Sia la Luce had become much livelier now that Reki, Langa, and Miya weren’t in school all day, and Shadow came when his days off lined up right. If Kaoru were being honest, it took some time to get used to the space no longer being only his and Kojiro’s, but he’d grown to like how their group came together like this.

The afternoons were the quietest part of these days. Kojiro took these opportunities to try out new recipes on them, leaving everyone contentedly full and pleasantly sleepy. Today, Langa had actually fallen asleep in the booth, and Reki sat beside Kaoru at the counter, playing with a tiny skateboard and making soft sounds like a small motor. Shadow and Miya sat at a table across the room, arguing over whether clown or cat makeup looked cooler while Kojiro finished cleaning. Kaoru let himself sink into the lull, Reki’s noises and that of the skateboard wheels on the counter an almost comforting presence beside him. And yet, one thing was missing, keeping him from truly relaxing.

“Seems like a good afternoon for tea,” Kojiro said, as if reading his mind as he appeared out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “You want me to make some?”

“Absolutely not,” Kaoru scoffed. “People who microwave their tea should be arrested.”

“There’s no way you can tell the difference,” Kojiro said, defensive. “Hot water is hot water.”

“Only an uncultured pig would believe that,” Kaoru snapped. He was about to stand, to tell Kojiro he’d make the tea himself like he always inevitably had to, when Reki all but leaped from his seat, skateboard abandoned for the moment.

“I’ll make it!” he offered, and the way his face lit up meant that Kaoru took too long to say not to bother. By the time he’d found his words, Reki had already bounded around the counter and into the kitchen, and Kojiro didn’t even try to stop him. Before Kaoru could tell Kojiro to stop him, Reki called out to Kojiro, asking about the industrial stove, and soon, Kojiro was not only allowing Reki to make the tea, but encouraging him.

Kaoru supposed this was a step up from Kojiro’s microwave technique, but if Kaoru were likely to trust anyone other than himself to make a decent cup of tea, it wouldn’t be Reki. The idea that he’d wanted his tea made well and was unlikely to receive it as such set him on edge. As he listened to the water boil and the conversation continued around him, he found himself wrapping a strand of his hair around his finger and tugging, letting it go, and repeating the process until his scalp hurt. He didn’t even notice that Langa had woken up until he appeared beside Kaoru and spoke.

“What’s Reki doing?” he asked.

“Making tea,” Kaoru said, doing his best not to appear so anxious about something so small.

Langa peered over the edge of the counter to where Kojiro and Reki were talking in the kitchen, and then turned back to Kaoru. “I like how he makes it. I never liked it before I met him.”

Kaoru hummed a halfhearted response. He doubted that Langa’s standards were very high, given that he’d grown up in Canada. He’d likely had tea often enough, given that his mother was Japanese, but Kaoru knew from experience that plenty of people even here in Okinawa had no idea how to brew a proper cup. It was about timing, knowing how hot to make the water, how long to steep the leaves, and so many people rushed the process—or worse, forgot about it and steeped too long—that Kaoru preferred to make his own.

He couldn’t help but envision Reki handing him a bitter cup, or one that tasted like little more than hot leaf juice. He grimaced at the idea of having to drink it and pretend he liked it, suffering all the while. He would have to wait until he was home later to make something better for himself.

He was still trying to think of a polite way to decline the tea he’d obviously wanted when Reki came out bearing a tray of steaming cups and began making the rounds through the restaurant. Reki handed the first one to Langa, who accepted it, smiling softly up at Reki. Langa sipped the tea immediately, only to flinch and draw it away after the first sip.

Not promising, Kaoru thought. If he’d boiled the water, it was ruined, even if it was something as simple as green tea. And yet, Langa only took another sip while Reki looked on approvingly.

“It’s good,” Langa finally proclaimed, and Reki glowed as if he’d received praise from the emperor himself. Reki moved on, handing Kaoru his cup.

“Thank you,” Kaoru said, accepting it with both hands. Fortunately, Reki moved on to Shadow and Miya without waiting for Kaoru to try it, which meant that he didn’t know Kaoru only held onto it without making a move to taste it. If nothing else, he could enjoy the warmth that crawled from his fingertips all the way to his elbows.

Neither Miya nor Shadow hesitated in drinking theirs, though Kaoru couldn’t imagine they cared much how it tasted, as long as it was hot. And yet, as he watched, the two of them looked just as pleased as Langa when they tried it.

“Oh wow, the slime makes good tea,” Miya pronounced, hugging the cup close to him like a space heater.

“Damn, this is pretty good,” Shadow said, drinking deeply and draining half the cup. “How’d you even learn to make it like this?”

Reki shrugged, taking up his own cup, the last on the tray. He set the tray down on the counter and took the empty seat beside Langa. “I dunno, I guess I just picked it up over the years. It’s kinda like making skateboards, y’know? You have to figure out how all the parts fit together, and if you do it wrong, the tea doesn’t taste right.”

Kaoru looked up at him from the murky depths of his tea, brows raised. When it came to making tea, the analogy was rather profound, and Kaoru couldn’t argue it. Reki was right—tea was about the sum of its parts, the pieces fitting together perfectly. And as with building skateboards, the person making it had to know exactly how to combine each piece to create the whole.

“That doesn’t make any sense, but whatever,” Shadow said, taking another sip. “All I care about is that it doesn’t suck.”

“How come you’ve never made us tea before?” Miya asked, eyes trained on the Switch he’d pulled from his pocket now that he’d abandoned his conversation with Shadow.

“I don’t really have the patience for it,” Reki said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s kinda like, if I don’t wanna put in the time to do it right, why bother?”

While everyone was wrapped up in conversation, Kaoru finally chanced a discreet sip. If it was as bad as he’d expected, he could school his expression appropriately while they were all distracted. Perhaps he could even get away without having to lie about how good it was. And yet, when the tea touched his tongue, he paused.

It wasn’t too hot.

It wasn’t too weak or too strong.

It wasn’t too bitter and the leaves didn’t taste as though they’d been burnt.

It was, as far as Kaoru was concerned, some of the best tea he’d had outside his own home. For a moment, he couldn’t find the words to say so. He sipped it again, just to make sure he hadn’t deluded himself based on everyone else’s praise. Sure enough, it was almost more delicious the second time.

“You surprised?” Kojiro murmured at his ear, his own cup dangling from his fingertips. Kaoru jumped, nearly spilling his tea. When he turned to face him, Kojiro’s lips quirked in a smug grin, and he raised one brow meaningfully. Kaoru shot him a hard glower in return, a silent command to keep his mouth shut before Kaoru turned back to Reki.

“It’s delicious,” Kaoru said, and it wasn’t forced in the least. “I’m impressed.”

Reki, who had already immersed himself in talking to Langa, gaped at Kaoru, one of his hoodie strings falling from between his teeth. Then, he flashed a wide grin. “Glad you like it!”

“Have you ever practiced tea ceremony?” Kaoru asked, reluctantly setting his tea down on the counter.

“Nah, my parents let me try it once when I was younger, but I kept messing up the steps,” Reki said. “It’s not really fun when people get mad at you for doing it wrong.”

“I studied it for some time,” Kaoru said, remembering how the order felt comforting, how the amount of concentration it required gave his anxious mind something to focus on, how the simple yet refined aesthetic felt like clearing his head. In recent years, he didn’t have time for it with his calligraphy business, but a part of him missed it. “It’s quite a bit different from drinking tea like this, but if you wanted to, perhaps we could do a...modified version of it. Something less formal with everyone here.”

Reki’s eyes brightened, and he looked to Langa, who only seemed to share his enthusiasm. “It sounds fun, yeah! A lot better than getting yelled at by a bunch of old people because ‘tradition.’”

“I’d say so,” Kaoru said, and they devolved into talking about their favorite teas and the best ways to brew them. Kaoru couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked to someone who actually understood that tea was an art even more than it was a drink. But Reki did, and when the rest of the group finally left, leaving Kaoru and Kojiro alone in the restaurant to clean up, Kojiro nudged him with an elbow.

“You didn’t think Reki could make tea like that, did you?” he said, the words teasing but too close to Kaoru’s own thoughts for comfort.

“Shut up or I’ll leave you here to wash dishes alone,” Kaoru quipped, even as he accepted the next cup to dry. “I will admit, I was pleasantly surprised.”

“I knew you would be,” Kojiro said as he dried his hands and stretched.

“Anything is better than microwaved tea,” Kaoru said. And although it was true, he couldn’t help but look forward to the next Monday, and the last before the kids started school again.

[altersidearchives]

[12/12] Here Goes Nothing

I want to preface this with context before I continue any further… my name is… I'll just go with "R" for now. I live close by to a big scientific laboratory, it gets a little noisy around here and I sometimes see stuff blow up out of the windows, but that's besides the point. One day, as I was driving home from work, I see a box full of gadgets and parts laying around. I usually don't mess with that stuff, but I was working on a few projects and could use the spare junk as long as it was safe… so I was curious. Turns out it was an abandoned project they had no further use for and needed to dispose of the parts. It looked like a Wi-Fi router and a modem with a bunch of wires, and it said "ALTER" on the top. I took it all home and didn't really do much with it.

A week in, and I go back to check it out. I go in my shed and hook it up to an old laptop I haven't used in years… with some makeshift pillow armor in case it decides to explode- and got it connected. When I went onto my browser though, the Google page looked a bit odd. A little more refined and with a newer logo, and a bunch of new buttons I never recognized. It also said my browser wasn't recognized, yet I was using Chrome… on Google. Thought it was one of those special screens they do every other day and it was bugging out, but it was still weird. I looked up the first thing I could think of… "pac-man…" and after about ten minutes, yes it really is THAT slow, stuff came up. Couldn't get any images yet, but, the stuff I was reading puzzled me. There were new games, a ton of new characters I'd never heard of, and I couldn't find a trace of things you'd expect like the old Midway games. Instead I found a game called "Pac-Man 2" and a whole article about a massive legal dispute between Namco, Midway, and GCC in the 80s over this game, which had a strikingly similar development story to Ms. Pac-Man, but… that game seems to have been wiped from existence here, if it ever even DID.

I realized what I had, I was looking at the internet from an alternate timeline. These science guys must have been developing some form of… I guess multiverse communication? And this is all they could get working and tossed it in the bin. I don't blame them, this is slower than 90s dial-up, I'd be disappointed too. At first I was kinda freaked, but… also really REALLY intrigued. I had to know more. So, I looked up "Nintendo" and got to work, figured they'd be a good place to start if I'm already going with looking at this place's games industry.

So I'll be documenting all that I can from various sources (mostly Wikipedia articles, that's all that's loading in full at the moment), and put together some type of documentary article stuff to make sense of it all. I'll also be adding notes as I go along to give opinions and other tid-bits I find that I can't fit into the articles.

Since this was called "ALTER" apparently, I'll call this project of mine… the Alterside Archives.

Well, here goes nothing.

[sandnin19]

Gaara Week 2021- Day 6 Memories

“Like a scene from the past

Where we look back and laugh

With love, love

A thought like a flash

Black and white hope it lasts

With love, love”

-Love, American Authors

A young boy raised his fist, ready to knock at the door of the Kazekage’s temporary room. He hesitated a but, unsure of how to address the man behind the door. He still found it...odd to call him “father” instead of “Kazekage-sama.” It hadn’t been long since the Kazekage adopted him, but as soon as Gaara-sama’s sister heard her little brother adopted a child, she immediately wanted to meet her new nephew. Hence how Shinki ended up at the Nara estate in Konoha, meeting the rest of his new family.His new aunt was kind enough to give them their own private rooms, but also scary enough to enforce some family bonding at certain times throughout the day. 

Right now was one of those times. He had been in his room reading scrolls about various jutsus when his aunt barged in, muttering, amusedly, something about him being like his father before telling him she had a surprise she wanted to show everyone. Not wanting to seem impolite, Shinki nodded his head and offered to fetch his father much to Temari’s appreciation. 

Taking a deep breath, Shinki finally allowed himself to knock on his father’s door while softly speaking, “Father.”

He heard quiet footsteps approaching before the door opened to reveal the crimson-clad Kazekage who smiled adoringly at his son, “Yes?’

Shinki ducked his head at the look on his father’s face, hiding the blush that was becoming rather apparent on his face. He still wasn’t used to the affection his father gave him, but valued it greatly after being on his own for so long. 

“Aunt Temari said she has a surprise and would like for us to join her in the living room.”

A quick look of suspicion crossed the Kazekage’s face before switching back to the small smile reserved for his family. Shinki was confused as to why his father would be suspicious about his sister having a surprise for them, they were a close-knit family after all, it shouldn’t be that ominous. Shaken from his thoughts as his father began to walk past him, he quickly followed his lead into the living room where his cousin and Uncle Kankuro were sitting on the couch arguing about which village has the best Yakiniku. 

“Listen, brat, before you go off spouting nonsense, you should keep in mind you never had Yakiniku in Suna before,” Kankuro teasingly scolded Shikadai.

Said boy yawned lazily, not at all intimidated by his uncle’s remarks, “I don’t have to go to know the best one is here, my friend Chocho can attest to that, she’s got the ‘most refined pallet ever’ as she says.”

“Has she ever been to Suna? I bet she’d think again once she tri-”

“Still picking fights with children, brother?” Gaara asked with a small smirk as he took a seat on the other end of the couch.

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about! Tell him, Gaara, tell him we have the best Yakiniku there is! Tell him we’ve spent so much time and money at that one close to that bookstore you always dragged us to!”

Gaara’s smirk faded and turned to a frowned that belonged to an annoyed little brother, “I never dragged you there, you were the ones that followed me after we ate.”

“Whatever! You know what I mean, just tell this brat who has the best Yakiniku,” the hooded man folded his arms out of playful irritation waiting for his younger brother to assist him in this argument.

However, before Gaara could open his mouth to speak, Temari came back into the room with a book in her hands. “Why talk about it when we can show them,” she said, holding the book up for everyone to see it was a photo album.

Groans from her younger brothers were met with her declaration. So this is why Shinki’s father looked so suspicious when he heard Temari had a surprise. 

“C’mon, Tem, don’t make us sit here and look at all those old photos, no one wants that,” Kankuro tried to persuade his sister.

“I do! And I bet Shinki and Shikadai do too! They should learn about their family!”

Shikadai snickered as he took the album from his mom’s hand, “Mom’s right, this is important for us to see, right, Shinki?”

The other boy was still standing in the entryway of the room, not knowing exactly what to do. His cousin waved his hand, signaling him to sit between him and his father. Gaara noticed Shinki’s hesitance and, against his better judgement, nodded and made room for his son to see the photo album. He would regret this, but he thought it would be worth it for Shinki to bond with his aunt and cousin, even if it was at the redhead’s expense. 

Shikadai opened the album to the first page once his cousin seated himself comfortably. On that page were a few pictures of teenaged Sand Siblings. Immediate regret hit Gaara when his nephew laughed, “Uncle Gaara! Your hair! It’s so different!”

“Yeah, your uncle was a real punk back in the day, and his hair reflected it,” Kankuro said, reaching over to mess up Gaara’s now neatly combed hair.

The redhead grabbed his brother’s arm before he could touch his hair, “Yours was styled almost exactly like mine, you just covered it with cat ears!”

This earned another laugh from Shikadai in addition to a red faced Kankuro, “They are not cat ears! Ow!”

Kankuro began to rub his head where his sister had just hit him, “Why are you hitting me?! He’s,” he pointed an accusatory finger toward Gaara, “the one who said I had cat ears!” 

“You both looked ridiculous,” she said with a mischievous smirk. Both brothers were not amused. 

“Says the girl who has had the same hairstyle since she was a child,” Gaara muttered under his breath.

Now it was Temari’s turn to grow red while Kankuro and her son cackled. Unamused herself, she took both her hands and lightly hit the two laughing in front of her.

“Ow! Again, why me? Gaara’s the one who said it! Is it because he’s the youngest? That’s not fair, Tem.”

“How do you think I feel,” Shikadai chimed in, “All I did was laugh, I didn’t say anything!”

“And yet, Gaara sits there, not a scratch on him,” Kankuro whined. 

“I physically cannot hit Gaara, so I gotta hit you hard enough for the both of you!”

“That’s bull and you know it, Gaara can control his sand well enough to not block an attack like that from you!” 

The older siblings continued to bicker as the youngest looked on, fully amused at the scene before him. He glanced at his son who was sitting quietly beside him, watching his aunt and uncle’s antics before his eyes wandered back toward the photo album. 

“May I see this, Shikadai?” 

“Sure, Uncle Gaara,” he began to hand the book to his uncle when Temari stopped fighting with Kankuro to notice the exchange, “No! He’ll put it away!” She made a dive to grab the book before her brother’s hand could touch it.

“I was not going to put it away,” Gaara pouted, “Kankuro wanted to show Shikadai that Yakiniku place, remember?”

“Fine! But I’ll find it! I don’t trust you not to hide it away!” She flipped through the pages until she came across one of the many they had taken at that restaurant. This particular picture included a stoic Gaara sitting next to an equally stoic Baki with Temari and Kankuro on the other side behaving much like they were a few seconds ago. 

“Why are you two always fighting?” Shikadai asked his mother and Uncle Kankuro.

“You live with her, you should know how annoying she can get it...Ow! Again, really?”

“That one seemed to have been on you, Kankuro,” his brother said, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips. 

“He asked…,” the puppeteer mumbled.

“It just so happens, I remember what that fight was about,” Temari said as she handed the book back to her son. “We ran into my friend, remember? Sen? And you were being a total pig!”

“Who? I don’t think I remember her,” Kankuro said honestly.

“She was one of Shira’s teammates, Kankuro,” Gaara added.

The lightbulb went off in the older man’s mind as he exclaimed, “Oh! Sen! I remember her, the one with the nice a-ah personality.”

His nephews looked at him, not totally buying what he said while his siblings both gave him an irritated stare.

“Anyway, next picture!” Kankuro turned the page to reveal another photo at the same restaurant, but this time the two older siblings wearing their jonin jackets while the youngest was in his Kazekage robes. There wasn’t any evidence of fighting going on here, only what seemed to be a celebration.

“Aw, Gaara! This was after you became Kazekage, remember?” Temari said with joyous pride as she recalled the day her little brother was announced the Fifth Kazekage.

Gaara nodded his head as he continued to look at the picture with his son staring intently and his nephew with a confused look on his face, “You went to a Yakiniku restaurant to celebrate that, didn’t you have like, a formal celebration?”

Kankuro laughed, “Yeah, we had some formal dinner with the old geezers from the council, but this was more of a private celebration, family only.” 

“We went straight from that dinner to this one!” Temari chuckled. 

Gaara let out his own small chuckle, remembering how foolish he thought it would be, but in the end was grateful they had their own celebration. He glanced over all the pictures on the two pages in front of him, thinking back to the times they were taken. Like a lot of teenaged boys, he hated having his picture taken, but after looking through this album with his siblings, nephew, and son, he was happy his sister made him take the photos. 

“You know,” he started in his deep, authoritative voice, “pictures of the restaurant aren't exactly the same as eating there.” He looked at his nephew, “You’ll just have to visit and see it for yourself.” 

Shikadai looked at his mom, “Can we?”

Temari smiled affectionately at her son, “Of course, the next time we visit your uncles and cousin we’ll go there instead of eating at the places we usually go to when we visit.”

Shikadai grinned, “Sweet, maybe you can show me more good places too, Shinki.”

Shinki only nodded, trying to wrap his head around them visiting Suna. He was a bit curious and excited for it to happen, leaving a small upward turn of his lips.

Gaara noticed his son’s small smile, making his own grow even bigger. He wanted Shinki to be able to have photos like these with Shikadai for them to look back on when they were older. He wanted them both to look back at their childhood with nothing but love. 

[twoidiotwriters1]

The believer (Din Djarin x Fem! Reader)

Resquest by: Me, lol. -Val

Words: 3, 343

A/N: Based on episode 15

"I mean it, Cara. You said you needed my help for important things. Being the commissioner of the new republic must be something better than just moving boxes” I complain leaving some on the ground. I walk to her desk.

“We are only relocating some files. Thanks for your help." She mocks. I roll my eyes. "We’re  almost done. Besides, you've already helped me enough by catching the bad guys. Who imprisoned all those thieves? " She tries to try fix it.

"I did" I say through my teeth. "Whatever. But do you promise this is the last one? "

"I promise. You'll see. Soon you’ll be with your Mandalorian. Although ” she frowns and gets up from her chair. “I just got a message from him. He says he will come today "

"What?"

She shrugs her shoulders.

“Maybe he can't wait any longer to see you. But I really need you to finish this "

I sigh. Why would Din come early? We agreed that I would return until Cara no longer needed me or… in case of emergencies.

"Well, where do I put this?" I try to lift another box, but it is heavier.

"Hey! No, we said only light things and you know it " she says, taking the box from me

"Whatever," I go back inside the office to look for more boxes.

**

After a couple of hours, I close the store’s door. I stretch my body and walk back to Cara's office.

Upon arrival, my heart races to see the armor that I already missed too much.

"Din!" I run up to him and throw myself into his arms. I put my arms  around his neck and he holds me by my waist.

“I'll leave you alone. I'll prepare everything,"  says Cara leaving.

I frown and pull away from him.

"Prepare?” I look straight into the visor of the Mandalorian. “What's going on? I thought you would come later "

"I'm also happy to see you," he jokes 

I smile.

"I'm sorry I didn't have a better welcome, but you didn't give me time," I say sarcastically.

"I don't think that matters now," he says changing his tone.

"Din, what is the problem?"

Din sighs and shifts uncomfortably.

"Something happened, I uh- sorry"

"Are you okay? Where’s the child? "

"They have the kid"

"What? Who?"

"Sorry, cyar'ika. It all happened so fast, I couldn't - I couldn't protect him enough ” says Mando, moving away a bit.

"Hey" I took his hand stopping him. "Listen. I'm sure that whatever happened, it wasn't your fault "

"You don’t know"

"Then, tell me"

"Moff Gideon. He kidnapped the child"

My body tenses remembering very well that monster. I clench my teeth.

"Where is he?"

"That's why I came, I need Cara's help." He sighs. "And from Mayfeld"

"Mayfeld? The idiot who tried to catch us in prison? "

"The same"

"Why the-? No, forget it. You'll tell me at the Razor Crest ”I walk towards the exit, but he stops me by taking my arm.

"The Crest no longer exists," he whispers. I frown and sigh at his tone of defeat. I take his hand and force him to follow the path.

“C’mon, we must not waste any more time. Nobody messes with my family "

**

"I don't like your new friend," I complain, sitting next to Din. "He's grumpier than you when we first met"

Din laughs at my pout.

"He's not that bad. He has been a great help"

"That doesn't take away the grumpiness"

"I don't find the charm in you either, princess," says Boba Fett. passing in front of us to open the cargo door. I grunt at the sight. Din puts a hand on my leg.

"Hold on, Cyar’ika."

We both got up to follow Boba along with his partner Fennec Shand. The four of us go out when Cara returns with Mayfeld.

Din steps forward while the others guard him closely and confronts the prisoner.

"Mayfeld"

"Hello, Mando. How long ” he answers, nervous. He looks behind Din and smiles slightly. "Hi gorgeous. It's nice to see you again "

I roll my eyes.

After explaining a bit about his value in knowing the Imperial protocols. We all went back to Boba's ship.

Mayfeld indicates the new course to Morak, where he must infiltrate an imperial database to find out the location of Gideon.

The new mission is to infiltrate to a secret mine, get to the refinery and get the information. A good plan, but after several years of being with the Mandalorian, I know it didn’t always turn out the way we expect. And the fact that they refine rhydonium, an explosive material, is not a good sign.

**

"I don't understand how he can be in a suit like this all the time," I complain, fixing the my  stormtrooper uniform.

"This one really sucks," Mayfeld continues, adjusting his boot.

Two guards to drive the truck with rhydonium and one to check the levels of the material, we replaced them as soon as they crossed a tunnel, it sounded like a good idea. But I can already smell the perspiration of whoever wore my suit.

Din walks towards us also wearing his black suit and helmet. He leaves his armor to Cara.

"Are you okay?" he asks me.

"The faster we do this, soon I will take this off"

"That interests me," I raise my eyebrow and smile. He tilts his helmet making me laugh.

The three of us get on the truck and the mission begins. We pass the tunnel and continue along the path in the middle of the forest.

Mayfeld tries to make conversation with us, but his attempts are in vain. Everything is going well, until an intercepted conversation warns us of certain complications with another truck ahead, and then we hear an explosion not far from us.

"You must continue" says Din "As long as you drive carefully and slowly, the Rhydonium will not explode"

"Good to know" answers Mayfeld.

"It's stable" I announce.

A knock to the side of the truck breaks the silence.

"Pirates. They are trying to destroy the Rhydonium ”says Mando.

We both go out on the roof of the truck and try to get rid of the pirates, but it gets harder and harder when more arrive. While we fight, Mayfeld makes sure the material levels don't overheat.

Every movement I make, makes my heart race, maybe I already have some experience fighting and Din has always helped me to defend myself, but this time it's different and I have to be more careful.

Our only salvation comes when we approach the empire mine. The whole army helps us against pirates.

I sigh in relief.

"Are you okay?" Mando asks. I nod. We both went back inside the truck.

Upon arriving safely at the mine, many people congratulate us on a great job. Of course, being the only ones who could pass an explosive for several kilometers with some pirates as an obstacle, should be cause for celebration.

We walked among the people, some soldiers, stormtroopers and other workers. Mayfeld tells us that a database may be in the dining room, so we keep pretending to know where we are.

When we get to one, Mayfeld steps forward.

"Good luck," Din tells him.

"Ugh, I can't take it anymore" I complain taking off my helmet. I straighten my hair as best I can and sigh. "Surely your beskar helmet is better than this, but I couldn't wear one all the time."

"You get used to it" says Mando.

"I can't go in," says Mayfeld, turning back.

"Why not?"

"There is Valin Hess"

"Who?" I ask.

"He was my boss" Oh no.

"Would he recognize you?"

"I do not know. I was just a field agent, but I won't risk it ” he says trying to leave, but Mando stops him.

"Make it quick so we can go"

Mayfeld denies.

"I can’t  do it, I’m sorry"

"No, I can’t. If we don't get those coordinates, we will lose the child "

"I’ll do it. Give me the data stick ”I tell them.

"Yeah, I don't think it's a good idea either," Mayfeld answers. "You have already attracted attention being a participant in the truck mission, if they see a woman in the database it will be more suspicious"

"That makes no sense"

“Maybe, but look around you. Any boss is a man, imagine what they would do without seeing you trying to enter the system "

“Give me the data stick,” Din interrupts. Mayfeld and I watch it.

"It won't work," says the bald man. "In order to access the network, the terminal has to scan your face"

I shake my head.

"There must be another way"

"Give it to me" Din repeats, taking away his memory

"No, wait" I try to take his arm, but he takes off and walks towards the terminal. "This will end badly"

"Since when has something gone well?" Mayfeld answers next to me.

My body trembles from nerves. Din must be desperate to even think about showing his face.

Mayfeld and I watch him from the entrance. Din walks to the terminal, presses some buttons, waits a second and as soon as I see his hands go to his helmet, I turn suddenly.

"Have you ever seen him without the helmet?" He asks. 

"No, I haven't"

He nods.

“And how do you…? You know. ” I frown at him. "What? Haven't you had sex yet? "

"That is none of your business"

"Hey, it was just a question" he defends himself. "Oh no" he says looking towards the dining room

"What?"

"We have a problem. Hess is talking to him

"Shit"

"I'll take care of it," he says nervously.

Mayfeld comes in to help Din, while my back is still turn on him. What am I supposed to do? I look around for an answer. Which comes when I see a crew member talking with other soldiers. She holds a datapad and the others sign on it.

It could work.

**

“We just call him Brown Eyes. Isn't that right, officer? " is what I hear when I get closer. Completely avoiding Din's face.

"Sir" I interrupt them. Hess turns to see me. "I need you to sign some documents regarding the delivery of the Rhydonium." Hess raises an eyebrow looking me up and down. I extend the datapad to him.

"Are you also part of that delivery, Lieutenant?" points to my uniform.

"Yes sir. They asked me to file the delivery, given the circumstances. Lack of staff ”I know the other two men are staring at me, but there is one look that makes me more nervous.

Hess nods.

"You are the only transport that delivered cargo today" he announces. “Let's have a drink. You too, Miss. We can celebrate," He smiles. " Brown eyes."

I sigh. The three of us follow Hess without saying anything. My eyes are fixed on the floor, but the problem widens when I get to the small table, Mayfeld and Hess are at my sides, leaving Din in front.

I use all my willpower not to look at his face, but I know he is watching me and it only makes it harder. I want to hit him, but that would force me to see his face. Dammit.

“You don't have to be so tense, Lieutenant. You can relax, we are in confidence ”says Hess offering a glass of alcohol. I smile taking the glass. "It’s  really surprising to see a woman on such a dangerous mission"

"It's part of the job, Sir"

“A good soldier, we need more troopers like that. Although, the women here are not as pretty as you. ” I clench my teeth. "Surely your companions agree with me" out of the corner of my eye I notice Din's hand clenched into a fist. "We can celebrate that too, can't we, boys?"

Din lowers his hand whipping his glass in a quick movement, causing the three of us to freak out and… it was just a reflection. My eyes connect with his. That alone was enough to make me lose focus.

Hess wants to ask about Din's behavior, but Mayfeld cuts him off.

"Shall we toast Operation Cinder?" He starts, but I can't hear the rest.

I observe every detail of Din's face. His facial hair, more than a shadow, his brown hair disheveled by the helmet, his profile, jaw, nose, lips and his brown eyes. I can't look away. 

Ever since I've known him, I've imagined what he might look like. He had only told me the color of his eyes and hair. I had touched his face with my hands, but I had never thought he to be… like this. Stars, he’s gorgeous. My cheeks are flushing like they never have before and he tries not to  smile. Son of a bitch. He knows my anxiety is about him. I feel like a silly teenager and the worst part is that I can't help it. To think that this handsome man is… mine. Stupid hormones.

After a few minutes, I shake my head and finally return to the conversation, which has become somewhat more tense. Mayfeld seems to argue and claim something about a past mission and Hess only apologizes for the flaws in that.

From one moment to the next, Mayfeld shoots Hess with his blaster. I turn to him and he seems surprised too, but it doesn't take long for those in the dining room to try something. I pull my blaster out of my stolen uniform and fire in self-defense.

The three of us were silent for a few minutes. Mayfeld has the helmet on Din.

“You did what you had to. We never saw your face ” he says looking at the wall. I follow suit until Mando hides his face again.

"Sorry" I whisper loud enough for him to hear me.

"Security in the common area" say some soldiers approaching. We shoot at them while looking for another way out.

Mayfeld climbs on the fence behind us, under the vents.

"Over here" He tells us.

Din follows him. I keep shooting until I see an opportunity to turn. Din extends his arm to me and helps me up. Both men manage to kick a vent. We leave the building to walk on the ledge until we reach a staircase that leads to the roof.

Thanks to Fennec and Cara who helped us by observing everything from a distance, we were able to return to Boba's ship safely. 

**

"We should talk about what happened," says Din, sitting next to me. It feels better to see him in beskar armor again.

After Mayfeld destroyed  mine and we set him free, the ship ride has a new direction. Fennec and Cara help Boba, although maybe they just want to leave us alone.

‘You must tell him. You're lucky I couldn't do anything to prevent you from going in the truck without suspicion.'

Cara's words echo in my head. But I ignore them, this is not the time. Din must focus on getting the baby back.

“We don't have to. Mayfeld said so. We never saw your face "

"Cyar’ika" takes my hand. "I don't regret doing it" I raise my head looking at his visor.

“It was necessary, I know. Everything is for the child, I understand it ” I grimace. “I know how much your creed means. I don't want you to feel bad about something that wasn't your fault. you had no choice "

"Listen to me" his hands go to my cheeks. “I could make any excuse for what happened, but I don't care that you saw my face. I could tell that you tried to look away and you don't know how much that meant to me ” he sighs.

"It was inevitable" I blush

He laughs. “You and the child are the most important thing and I would do anything to protect you. Regardless of my belief "

He leaves my face and now his hands travel to his helmet.

"Wow, wait, Din-"

"I want to do it"

He slowly takes it off and again I’m surprised to find his brown eyes. I settle in to see him. I touch his cheek and he closes his eyes, bowing to my touch.

“You’re part of my clan, my family. No more secrets, Cyar’ika "

"How could I be so lucky to have found you?"

“The lucky one is me. You never knew what my face was like and still you stayed by my side "

“It wasn't easy” I joke “But I know when a man is worth it. I don't regret staying by your side. And now less when seeing how incredibly hot you are, Brown Eyes "we both laughed

I move closer and press his forehead against mine, closing my eyes.

"I could see how you were blushing, Cyar’ika."

"Don't get too cocky"

**

‘He wants the permission of both’

'All right, pal. It’s time to go. Don’t be afraid ’

‘I love you too, my Little bean. We will see each other again, I promise. '

‘May de force be with you’

**

I stand in front of the door. After the emotional goodbyes, Din wanted to be alone for a few minutes. That happened two hours ago. I know my time is running out. This may not improve the situation, but I can't keep putting it off.

I push the button and the door opens. I enter the room and it closes again.

Din is sitting in his cot, his back to me, without his helmet.

“I know you don't want to talk and I don't know what to tell you that can help” I sigh “But you must know something. I have to tell you, Din "

I sit on the shore.

"It's not a good time"

"I can't keep waiting for that moment" he sighs and turns.

I lick my lips and fidget. He notices my movements, frowns.

"Are you okay? You're hurt?"

"No, I, uh. I'm good"

"What do you want to talk about?"

“Something happened when I was in Nevarro with Cara. Well, it happened a lot before, but I found out when I was there "He comes over and takes my hand" I know it's not the best scenario to tell you, but maybe I can take away your pain about the child- "

"Grogu"

"What?"

"His real name is Grogu" I smile nodding.

“Grogu will always be important to both of us, I am not trying to replace him in any way, it was never my intention. Although” I grimace “ I don't think I thought about this until it happened, but ”

"Cyar’ika"

"Yeah, right. I- uh. Din, I'm pregnant "

You never know what your partner's reaction to this news would be like and I, without a doubt never imagined being able to see this.

"We're going to have a baby?" He whispers. "Yours and mine?"

"Yes" I answer, unsure.

He shakes his head and frowns.

“But, you were in danger, the truck, with Gideon. Is the baby okay? Are you both? " he says quickly making me laugh.

"We are fine, Din"

"But-"

I take his face.

"We are both fine" that seems to reassure him. He's silent for a few seconds.

"Are you sure?" I nod. Little by little he assimilates the news again, now he smiles. He lets out a little laugh. "A clan of four"

My eyes water, I laugh too.

"A family"

"Allit"

We get closer at the same time. My lips collide with his in a tender kiss. Tears run down my cheeks. Din grabs me by the waist to get me closer to him, causing me to end up in his lap.

"Aliit ori'shya tal'din" he whispers near my lips. Family is more than a bloodline. "I love you, Cyar’ika"

"I love you too"

[ddarker-dreams]

Fallen From Grace Part 2. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

Click here for part one!

Luxury surrounds you at every turn, and tonight is so different. 

The dish that’s sitting in front of you for tonight is bruschetta, a dish warm and inviting in contrast with its desolate surroundings. Bread grilled in a brick oven with fine, expensive cheese melted onto it, hints of garlic and olive oil mixing in to create a drool inducing image. On top lays a light garnish of parsley, bright green contrasting the deep reds of the tomato. 

Every one of your meals is similar in this refined quality. It felt jarring at first, having every need of yours attended to with utmost care. Not only because it’s unusual to be treated with this regard, but because of those who carry the actions out themselves. 

They scurry around you, gaze cowering to the ground and voice meeker than a mouse. On the scarce occasion they find it absolutely necessary to ask you a question related to your preferences, their eyes never dare to meet your own. A sudden interest in the top of their shoes develops, or fiddling with any objects in hand. Your premature conclusion was that they were too guilt ridden to even look at you. 

Now, lips pressing against a glass and taking in sips of cool water, you know the lamentable truth. 

It isn’t that the servants of this villa feel remorse for standing by and enabling your isolation, failing to assist at any opportunity. No, money can soothe any scathing concerns in that regard. It’s a different poison, far more venomous than all consuming guilt. It’s a primal fear of Italy’s most powerful don that drives their complacency, in sight of immoral actions. 

Spineless cowards. Every single one of them. 

You return the cup to its original place on the long, wooden table. The muted sound is the only one in the grand dining room, aside from occasional silverware hitting a plate across from you. Since the beginning of dinner, you’ve made it a point to ignore him. Too many troubles to count plague your mind, the man on the other side of the table being the source. 

Uneasy silence does not last as long as you wish it would. He gently clears his throat, a signal that shouldn’t go ignored.  Looking up now, you’re unsurprised to see Giorno’s ever watchful gaze meeting you back. Pale skin is illuminated by flickering candlelight, golden hair framing his mature face. 

There’s a closed mouth smile on his face, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Unsettling.

“Do you still not feel hungry?” 

Giorno’s voice startles you, fingers twitching by your side. Time is an elusive thing, minutes always seeming to blur together, creating an incoherent mess. How long have the two of you been sitting here? Ten or so minutes, is your guess. Judging from his plate being almost finished, you realize just how long your thoughts were holding you captive.

Swallowing back the bile that creeps into your throat, your eyelids flutter shut. “Ah… something like that. You don’t need to wait for me, I’m sure you’re busy.” 

It’s Giorno’s turn now to take a sip from a wine glass, swirling the white liquid before raising it to his mouth. It’s rare that he drinks, a distaste for heavy alcohol consumption a moral code embedded in his person. Moscato d’Asti if you recall correctly, which you declined an offer for earlier. From the bottle alone you surmise it cost a fortune.

“You’ve hardly eaten anything today,” Giorno points out to you, voice leaving little room for argument.  He looks at your untouched plate, frowning at the undesirable sight. “Should I have something else prepared for you…?”

Exhaling shakily, you accentuate your disinterest in the subject by avoiding eye contact. It’s been like this lately, always placed under a magnifying glass. A tense exchange between supposed lovers, neither cluing the other of their true agendas. In this twisted parody of a dance, Giorno claims a clear upper hand. He leads you according to his own tempo, never once stopping to let you regain your breath. 

Even with him out of your vision, you still feel the crushing weight of his stare. You swallow despite the dryness of your mouth, reaching once more for the soothing glass of water. Panic has long since settled in, disrupting any logical way of thinking and successfully shaking you up. How long can you hide your secrets from him? At this rate, you won’t last much longer.

It all started four, excruciatingly long days ago.

Marco, a guard who you have grown fond of, seemingly vanished into thin air. Along with all the other workers. No explanation, no clues, nothing. The days that followed left you littered with doubts and soul crushing anxiety, taking your every thought hostage. Did something happen to him? If so, what? Did Giorno learn of your secret interactions with him? And if he did, how the hell is he remaining so composed? 

“You’ve been zoning out often.” 

It’s unfair how he can pick up on your behavior without even trying. Being picked apart and analyzed in real time has never been your favorite, yet it feels even more dreadful now. When you first arrived in this golden barred cage, you had nothing to hide. Now, the burdens of your sins against Giorno threaten to swallow you entirely. 

Nails threaten to puncture the soft skin of your palm, hands balled into tight fists on your lap. Every little poke and prod of Giorno’s comments further torments you, sending you into a spiral of never ending despair. Controlling your outward reactions is the bare minimum you can offer at the moment, too skittish to do anything else. Even the sight of delicious food in front of you sends your stomach churning, the scent of it bringing nausea rooted in crippling anxiety. 

He has to know, right? Everything would make so much more sense if he did. It would explain this surreal, benevolent streak that emerged from him seemingly unprompted. It’s not that Giorno was ever outright cruel to you, until this point, you were given your space. No longer is that a luxury you can experience. 

The past few days he’s been practically glued to your side, giving you no time to get your bearings. An unrelenting attack from all angles. It’s an impossible feat to maintain a facade of cluelessness like you were able to before.

Giorno tilts his head, still awaiting a proper answer. Gathering what remnants of strength that remain, you hurriedly utter to half the truth. “I-I haven’t been feeling well.” 

This disclosure earns you a worried glance. He looks at you a moment longer -- as if searching for something -- before pulling back his chair. It groans against the wooden floor in protest, steady footsteps approaching you. Now by your side, he bends down to inspect you further. A tentative hand is placed to your forehead, assessing your condition from a closer perspective.

“You don’t feel warm.” he murmurs while retracting his hand, the action giving you a chance to breathe normally again. Does that mean he thinks you’re lying? Not giving you any further hints at his inner thoughts, Giorno stands by your seated form in silence. In hopes of avoiding suspicion, you come up with a rushed explanation.

“I’m tired, that’s all,” you scratch your cheek, finding difficulty in maintaining your composure. “It’s really nothing to worry about, Giorno. A few restless nights won’t do me in.” 

If a physical ailment was bothering you, Giorno’s ability could serve to aid you. There isn’t anything his Stand can do for exhaustion though, not to your knowledge. He blinks, long eyelashes fluttering in the process. Whether he believes you or not is in the air. The topic is left to the wayside for now, much to your inner relief.

You had gotten sick once in the past. Even more freedoms were stolen from you, health professionals sworn to Passione monitoring you around the clock. Privacy was nonexistent, a true nightmare of an experience. It was only a mild fever, nothing that could cause any true harm. Giorno took it seriously, acting in an abundance of over protection until you recovered.

It won’t be ideal for you if that happens again. For almost a week you were forced to the confines of your bed, taking bitter medicines and eating only bland, nutritious food. That period of time made you go borderline stir crazy, having nothing to do aside from entertaining your malicious thoughts. If he’s thinking about putting you through that again, you’re unable to tell. 

Composed and serene as ever, he takes your hand up from your lap with tender affection. 

“[First]...” your name rolls off his tongue in a low tone, his deep voice and close proximity causing your pulse to quicken. “If there’s anything on your mind, know that you can come to me.” 

Your breath hitches, all hairs on the back of your neck standing. So he has noticed, or believes your anguish is related to something other than physical illness. It makes more sense why he’s insisted on having you in his presence, to keep you in his sight. To make sure you’re not misbehaving. 

The coarse pad of his thumb rubs over your hand in slow, methodical circles. Involuntarily, your hand begins to tremble. There’s not an opportunity to state your case against his words before he speaks up again, words intent on placating you.

“There must be something I can do for you. I hate seeing you troubled like this.” 

You need to think of a diversion. Fast. He’s eroding your defenses, goading you into spilling the hideous truth of your disobedience. A small voice in your head pleads with you, whispering that maybe he’ll forgive you if you confess now. For you to beg for amnesty, claiming the depths of loneliness you’ve felt all this time. Would that cause him to take pity on you? 

Or would you suffer greater lengths than before for your misdeeds? 

Pushing down the temptation, a hopeful idea comes to mind. Deft fingers wrap around his hand, a tired smile on your lips. “You’re very considerate. It really isn’t anything bad, I’ve just had a few rough nights. I’ll try sleeping earlier tonight and seeing if that helps.” 

Giorno gives your hand a final squeeze before pulling away. “Ah, of course. Whatever you feel is best.” 

It’s a small victory, holding purpose to you. You can’t make any moves under his scrutinizing presence, the threat of alerting him by acting suspicious constant. He can’t be around like this forever, Giorno’s position requires constant attention. Even a few days into him not leaving the premises, you’re having trouble adjusting. It has to be a temporary arrangement, he won’t always be able to monitor you. When the opportunity presents itself, you’ll learn the truth about Marco.

You swear this to yourself.

“I’ve read that relaxing before going to bed helps with sleeping problems. Let’s walk around the gardens together, and see if that helps.” he phrases it like a suggestion, but you know better. It looks like you won’t be escaping Giorno’s presence anytime soon, an oasis of sleep slipping through your fingers like sand. Offering a meek nod instead of utilizing your voice, you mimic his previous actions and get up from your seat. 

Giorno extends an arm to you, which you accept. It’s not that you want to, per se, it’s that you need to maintain the charade from before. Marco suggested to you that if you act less combative to your husband, he might grant you more freedoms. Which you desperately want to attain. In light of his sudden disappearance, it would be suspicious to stop acting like this. Reverting to your former harsh behavior won’t do anything good. 

The new disposition worked in your favor. Instead of ignoring Giorno or cursing him like before, you acted tamer. And, as Marco predicted, some embargoes on your freedoms were steadily lifted. Acting like a loving wife to a man you feel nothing about animosity for isn’t an easy task. It’s a survival tactic. 

You catch a whiff of Giorno’s light cologne, the scent dotting your skin with goosebumps. He’s always been a man of fine taste, you must confess. Once at his side, he begins to walk in the familiar direction of his outdoor gardens. The spot is a grandiose one, awe-inspiring flowers from all over the world appearing in full bloom. Even out of season plants are capable of flourishing, which you suspect is due to Giorno’s Stand.

For such a reprehensible person, he sure has a beautiful ability. 

He looks lost in his own thoughts for most of the walk, and finally speaks up often a prolonged silence. “I’ve noticed how you enjoy your time in the gardens.” 

Struggling to keep up with his pace and balance your rapid thoughts, you take a moment before responding. “Gardening is something I always wanted to try. When I first looked into it, I never realized how expensive a hobby it is.” 

He hums in response, offering a moment of reprieve from stressful conversation.

When the two of you walk outdoors, you’re greeted by the crisp evening air. The sun is just beginning to set in the sky, warm colors embracing the expansive greenery. A main path leads up to an outdoor fountain, which emits a noise of rushing water. On either side of you are a variety of shrubs, pink and blue hydrangeas in bloom. A cicada beats its wings in the distance, a telltale time of summer. 

The openness the outdoors brings with it a false sense of solace. You prefer this to the confining walls of inside Giorno’s mansion, which bring with them melancholic memories. A single aspect of this area has earned your ire, the large window above that is attached to his office. You’ve looked up to see Giorno watching over you for a few seconds. Further cementing the idea that you’re never truly alone. 

Silence settles in between the two of you, weaving through winding paths and mossy stone arches. This is a part of the garden you don’t come to as often, you notice. Rounding a final corner around some hedges, you spot a stunning collection of flowers that must be new. From a dark center, pointed petals emerge, jet black in color with hints of crimson on the edges. 

Giorno pauses to observe the mesmerizing blossoms as well, reaching out to inspect a petal. As soon as he touches it, his lips curl into a frown, almost like he’s remembering something. “A few days ago, I decided I wanted this addition. I got what I needed to grow it this morning.” 

You thought that Gold Experience could create life from anything, so it doesn’t make sense to you why he needed to wait for the arrival of something. Maybe even Stands have limits? Any desire to ask about it is stifled by the fact that you’re talking to Giorno, curiosity fizzling out as fast as it sparked.

He pulls a handkerchief out from a pocket within his suit, and wipes off his fingers that had touched the flower. 

“Black dahlias. It isn’t a flower most people would associate with summer, but I found myself interested in them.” he offers a look into his inner thoughts, a rare occurrence. You wait patiently, sensing he has more to say.

“All plants have different meanings, some even having their own folklore. Tell me, [First], what do you believe black dahlias represent?” 

A perplexing question. Not wanting to offer a halfhearted answer in fear of being reprimanded, you give it some thought. Darker colors typically symbolize negative feelings, at least in literature. It’s possible the same logic applies here. In the distant past, you’d read online about an unsolved murder case in America by the name of The Black Dahlia. It seems anything with the name can’t be a good omen.

Humming in thought, you offer the best guess you can concoct. “I’m not the best with stuff like this… if I had to guess, I’d say it means suffering. Or something to that effect.” 

“Very close. Not quite,” Giorno’s eyes betray the calm delivery of his words, a hidden storm within. “What black dahlias symbolize… is betrayal.” 

You’d swallow if you could.

In a single instance, it feels like all the air has been forcibly punched from your lungs, body going numb and blood running cold as ice. Every ounce of strength that hasn’t been sapped from you goes to keeping your knees from buckling, mouth dry and tongue like sandpaper. He doesn’t blink, waiting patiently to see what your next move will be.

He knows. You don’t know how, but he knows. Similar to how a predator toys with its prey before devouring it, he’s testing you. Gauging for a reaction, savouring the guilt that rolls off you in palpable waves. Options and time are limited, both a dry well as he expects a response. 

Your resolve begins to wilt, perishing under the harsh conditions it's been placed. Roots crumbling and petals falling to the ground, it’s a competition within your mind to see what thought will win. Marco risked his own livelihood in order to give you companionship, to make you feel human again. Can you stay afloat under this immense pressure? 

With unexpected speed, you decide. There’s no backing down now. You’ll see this treacherous charade through until the bitter end. It’s what you owe to him, what you owe to yourself. If it’s games that Giorno wants to play, then so be it. 

“My guess was close then, wasn’t it?” you force a light laugh at the end of your sentence, straightening your posture and giving him your best smile. Within the depths of his countenance is an unidentifiable emotion, his jaw tight and eyes studying. All intensity melts away within an instant, the Giorno you’re used to seeing reappearing in front of you.

“Yes, yes it was.” 

Without his prompting to do so, you wrap your arms around his arm once again. Letting out a soft exhale, you speak up, hoping to rid yourself of this tense atmosphere. “A walk was just the thing I needed. I feel better already, still a little tired though…” 

It isn’t a regular occurrence that you touch Giorno of your own will. You can’t remember the last time you’d done it, but desperate times call for desperate measures. He subtly leans into your touch, welcoming the warmth it brings. Hope erupts within your chest, that you can still play innocent and get away with your grievances. 

Now that you’ve been removed from the moment, your mind is clearer. Capable of reasoning with itself, instead of scrambling to react. It’s a possibility that Giorno has an inkling of suspicion, and nothing solid to grasp it. Giving yourself up and playing right into his hand is exactly what he wants, and you adamantly refuse to do it. It’s shameful that you even thought about giving up, even if it was only for a brief moment. 

It could be the fried nerves, that you find yourself rambling more than you normally do. “I never asked, but how was your day? You always ask me about mine, so it seems right that I’d return the favor.” 

“Busy, not much more than usual though. I regret not being able to join you for breakfast. I had... something to attend to.” Giorno reminisces back to this morning, tone lighter than before. It looks like your hunch of him not knowing anything concrete could be true. A passing breeze ruffles through your hair, cool air serving to calm you down more. 

You can do this. You’ll make it through the storm, and find out the truth on your own terms.

“There’s always tomorrow,” you gently tug at his arm, back in the direction of the house. “Can we… can we head back? I still want to try and sleep, even if it’s early.” 

Never one to deny you anything, he starts the walk back, and you follow suit. “I’ve never seen you this talkative before, [First].” 

You’ve never felt the need to talk this much until now. Rambling about nonsensical topics gives your overwhelmed brain a much needed reprieve. If there’s anything good you have to say about Giorno, it’s that he’s an excellent listener. Never interrupting, always offering his full attention. He never offers his input more than he sees necessary. 

The comment doesn’t feel like a pointed one, rather a truthful observation. You let out a sigh. 

“I’ve always had a lot to say,” you start with a purse of your lips, mindful of yourself. But I hate you. “Once you get me talking, you’ll miss the days I was quiet.” 

He doesn’t buy into the self derogatory statement, and shakes his head. “I could never tire of hearing your voice.” 

You open your mouth, only to close it again. Warmth erupts onto your face, the genuine delivery of a line only Giorno could deliver properly. Displays of heartfelt fondness leave you taken aback, never allowing you to understand the man by your side. How can he say in good conscience that he loves you, while taking you from everything you’ve ever known? 

Giorno Giovanna, who you’ve spent a little over a year with, is still an enigma to you. 

When you spoke with Marco, rarely did either of you bring him up. Out of respect for your feelings, you guess. On the rare occasion you did ask a question about Giorno, there weren’t any clear answers. All he knows is that Giorno took over Passione at a young age, and issued wide reform of the gang that extends worldwide. 

The fact is an intimidating one, since he’s so close to you. 

Now back inside, evening has settled in. Long halls are deserted of any life, only you and Giorno occupying them. It’s off putting, you can’t think of the last time you’ve seen this home so empty. There must be someone here, if your meals were made. Other than that, the only human being you’ve seen is Giorno. 

Your shared master bedroom is on the second floor, and after an uneventful trip, he holds the large doors open for you to enter first. 

Lavish and not obnoxious in its designs, this room is where you spent all your time when you first arrived. Not of your own will, since you were antagonistic. Looking at the custom glass windows, it brings back memories of desperately trying to break them with different furniture. Then the noise of doing so getting you in even more trouble. 

Next was an iron shackle against your ankle, metal cold against your skin and uncomfortable. 

Compared to that, you should feel like your current condition is better. Now it’s mental strain instead of physical. There never is rest for the weary.

Hands of the grandfather clock in your room read 8:24 PM. Your guess is that Giorno will dismiss himself any moment now, heading to his office and giving you much needed space. It’s an unspoken routine that you’ve fallen into. Though you ultimately sleep in the same bed at night, Giorno doesn’t join you until much later, if at all. Being in charge of Passione is a full time commitment. 

With a muted thud, the door closes behind you. Giorno draws the curtains over the windows shut, cutting off what little sunlight shone through. Fully mesmerized with his graceful actions, you find yourself staring. It’s when he starts unzipping the top of his royal blue suit that you realize he isn’t intending to leave anytime soon.

Looking for something to preoccupy yourself with, you get ready for bed yourself. The marble ground of the master bathroom feels cold against your bare feet, causing you to shiver and mutter a quiet curse. After brushing your teeth, you open the door to see Giorno still getting changed, bare back facing towards you. Why is he still here? 

Reading your thoughts, he turns around, white pajama shirt in hand. “Is something wrong, [First]? You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden.” 

He can be teasing when he wants, much to your chagrin. Sucking in a deep breath, you give your honest thoughts in a strained voice. “It’s just, I thought you’d have work to do.” 

“I’ve taken care of what I need to today,” he lifts the plain shirt over his head while he speaks, the material stretching against his defined muscles. “So, I’ll spend time with mi cara. It’s been a trying week.” 

Well, that makes two of us. 

His last comment makes you curious. Giorno isn’t the type to complain, if he sees a problem he dedicates himself to fixing it. What is it that managed to earn an admission like that? You’ll test your luck and press further, seeing if you learn anything. It could be related to Marco’s disappearance. 

“Trying…?” you repeat back, testing the word on your tongue. Giorno pulls his braid over his shoulder, and you recognize what that means. Before he gets the opportunity to fiddle with the restraints himself, you walk over to his side and start on it. He allows you to do so, shoulders relaxing as you pull the hair tie out. 

“I shouldn’t burden you unnecessarily.” 

His golden hair is like silk between your fingers, having a light floral scent. You furrow your eyebrows while working through undoing the braid, combing through it. He subtly leans into your touch, eyelids fluttering close at your soothing maneuvers. Prying the truth from him will take more effort.

“It’s not a burden.” you reassure, pulse quickening at the anticipation his silence brings. Worst case scenario, he’ll deflect again and you’ll drop the subject. Feeling inquisitive leaves you unsatisfied, Giorno opting to leave you in the dark about most matters. 

“There was a plot uncovered, relating to you.” 

Your actions cease, body frozen on the spot. 

“It was a threat on your life to weaken me. This morning, everything was taken care of, so you have nothing to worry about. That’s the reason I’ve been working from home the past few days,” he runs a hand through his hair, and turns to face your stunned form. “I’d never allow any harm to befall you. New staff will be replacing the previous one, there’s nothing to disprove that they weren’t all involved.” 

“A few workers were going to get close to you, and draw out information about me. Then... ah, well. It doesn’t matter now.” 

What he’s saying makes logical sense. You’re the wife of a powerful man, who has more enemies than you could ever hope to count. Your mind drifts to Marco, and the time that you had spent with him. A seed of doubt is planted within you, knowing that Giorno distrusted his former staff enough to get rid of all of them. Those men and women were tested vigorously, so for him to now distrust them... 

That leaves a single, haunting question that you don’t want to entertain. Was Marco getting close to you, with the sole purpose of murdering you at the best opportunity? It… it can’t be like that. You spent hours by his side, laughing and reminiscing over snacks and games. He told you about his family, the misfortune that befell his sweet sister, his inner conflict of working for Giorno at your expense. 

When Marco rarely spoke of Giorno, he did ask a few questions about his routine. You thought it was so the two of you could speak together with ease, and sneak around. 

You had cared for him. In the deepest sentiment your broken heart could conjure, you really did. It was the highlight of your day, what you looked forward to every morning when you woke up. The reassurance he would offer, giving you that extra push to carry on your miserable parody of a life.  

Mouth agape, no words can form on your dry tongue. Giorno must mistake your inner conflict for worry over the undone plot on your life, running his hands up and down your arms. He pulls you into a hug in hopes of comforting your shaking form, and you hate yourself for accepting it. 

Nothing makes sense. This has to be a trick, a cruel misunderstanding. Why has the universe seen fit to toss and turn you at every chance, jostling your being to the core. Vacillating between two sides of yourself, the one that wants to believe him and the one that doesn’t. 

Wetness drips down your cheeks, finally breaking down. You sniffle against his shoulder, even more upset with yourself for willingly accepting his embrace. It’s not that the thought of death bothered you, it’s what your trust was broken. Was everything Marco told you a ruse?  

You don’t know. You suppose no one other than the aforementioned person knows, if he’s still alive. It’s embarrassing, truly humiliating to know you told him the secrets of yourself. All for it to amount to nothing, a dagger twisting into your side repeatedly. 

Giorno hushes you, pulling you tighter against him. He coos sweet words into your ear, now rubbing the small of your back. You take all of him in, accepting him in a moment of profound weakness. There’s deep pain, first, then nothing. Emotions come to a halt, numbness settling in as you cease weeping. 

What is there to feel now? 

Soft lips press against your forehead, Giorno offering a chaste kiss. This amount of physical affection is the most he’s ever given you at once, now offering you all of himself. Too weak to protest, you close your eyes, wanting to sleep and never worry about anything again. 

Why try anymore. 

Giorno... did he speak the complete truth? That you can only trust him? He’s given you everything you could ask for, always turning the other cheek when you lashed out at him. He loves you, in his own twisted way. Even after all the rejection you spewed at him, he loves you still. 

“Amore, oh amore,” he whispers into your ear, warm breath causing you to shudder. He pulls back from your amorous embrace, taking your face in his thumb and lifting it. “I’ll take care of everything. Come, let’s get you cleaned up for the night. You must be tired, hm?” 

So, so tired. Of everything. Of this life you live. 

Arms sneak around your shaking torso once more, and he places his head atop yours. Tears are gone for now, a well long dried up. Now, you stand and shake. Head devoid of coherent thoughts, limp against him. He holds you up, keeping you steady.

You close your eyes. Has Giorno always smelled this pleasant? It’s starting to grow on you. Your ear is against his chest, his skin pressed against your own. Listening carefully, you hear the steady thump of his heart. The one before that you thought to place a knife through, now bringing you solace.

What a joke this world is. 

Giorno accepts you, always. Like he said time and time again, the words now settling in. You mutter something against his chest, voice seemingly inaudible. Even you are uncertain of what they are, yet he seems to understand nonetheless. 

And he smiles, content. 

[justheretobreakthings]

Okay, we’re starting off Bad Things Happen Bingo with a bit of a throwback to the Voltron Bingo event from back in 2018. Way back then, I got a request from @familyofpaladins for my ‘Taking the Fall for Someone’ square, for Keith taking the fall for Hunk, and then the bingo ended and the prompt has just been sitting there for an eternity. But now, my BTHB card has just the square for me to finally get this prompt filled. Hope it was worth the very, very long wait!

Got Your Back

Written for @badthingshappenbingo Prompt: Taking the Blame Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Word Count: 13,198 Characters: Hunk & Keith Read on AO3

Summary:

While defending the planet of Crelxatain from attacking drones, Hunk causes what he believes to be some minor collateral damage, but what turns out to be much, much worse. And when the Crelxats needed something to blame, Keith steps in to take the fall.

I don’t even drink coffee.

It was fortunate that Hunk had gotten better with flying during the battles and flight practices he’d been through with Yellow. It might have been the Lions’ magic helping to keep their pilots stable, or the more mundane gyroscopic design of the cockpit helping with his equilibrium. Or, of course, it might just be a matter of him getting used to it. Whatever the case, he had come a long way since his Garrison days, when even a fifteen-minute run in a simulator would be more enough to empty the contents of his stomach.

It was fortunate, because if he hadn’t gotten better about keeping the nausea at bay, his cockpit would be a revolting mess right about now.

He and Keith had only been tasked with coming here to Crelxatain to negotiate for supplies, its geography home to mineral ore that Coran assured them could be top-grade fuel when Altean alchemy was in use, but just as they had approached the planet’s atmosphere, Yellow and Red both picked up a distress signal from the same city they were nearing. It seemed they had coincidentally arrived just in time for an air strike on the city from a nearby Empire ally, and the Crelxat had little in terms of defensive weaponry. So of course, that duty landed on the paladins.

If Yellow’s failed attempts to detect life in any of the little attacking cruisers was correct, they were only dealing with drones, not manned vehicles, but the maneuverability of the drones was downright amazing. They were constantly dodging strikes and blasts from Yellow, skimming near the tops of buildings and sometimes slipping between them, making sharp turns and speedy dives that left Hunk reeling.

The drones’ weapon of choice appeared to be some sort of energy pulse, and well-aimed blasts had elements of the infrastructure and sections of buildings toppling inward. These pulses were also being aimed at the Lions, and although they were made of strong enough material to resist being damaged by the force, the pulses would still send them jerking off course and blown aside.

Hunk groaned into his comm as Yellow tumbled in the air from one such blast, rolling rapidly enough that the gyroscopic cockpit couldn’t stop the blood from rushing to his head and then down again. “I swear,” he grunted, “When we’re finished with these things and back on the ground, I’m just going to spend like three days just lying on the floor, perfectly still, not moving. I’ve had enough movement.”

“You know we’re going to have to head back to the Castle eventually,” Keith replied through the comm. “That counts as movement.”

“So? Allura and Coran said we could take a few quintants.”

“Because it could take time for them to gather and refine the stuff we need, not because they expect us to conk out for days at a time.”

“I don’t care, I’m going for it. Day one, we place our order. Day whatever, we head back. Everything in between, we go comatose.” He squinted into the viewscreen and tried to get his vision to stop swirling before directing a blast toward an oncoming drone. The shot went wide, and the drone responded with a pulse that shoved Yellow backward and threatened to give Hunk whiplash.

“You hanging in there?” Keith asked.

“Yeah,” Hunk replied. At the corner of his viewscreen he spotted a beam of flame, the Red Lion’s fireblast, reducing a drone to ash. “Not as well as you are, though. Aren’t you getting dizzy too?”

“I was on the pilot track at the Garrison, I’ve been flying longer.”

“Still.” He righted Yellow as best he could and caught a drone in his sights. He sent off a cannon fire, and although he didn’t hit it head on, he managed to wing it just enough to send it spiraling. “Seems you’re taking down three of these things for every one I get.”

“We’re not keeping score, Hunk.”

“Just wish I was being a little more useful right now, is all.”

“You’ll be plenty more useful than me when we actually get around to talking to the Crelxats and making deals. You know that’s not exactly my strong suit.”

“Hmm, fair point,” Hunk said. “Your people skills are pretty abysmal, aren’t they.”

“Don’t hold back, Hunk, tell me how you really feel.”

“I’m just agreeing with you.” Yellow lurched upward, and Hunk narrowed his eyes at a drone zipping by from the bottom of his viewscreen while his stomach tried to right itself. He took aim with Yellow’s laser cannon, but just before he fired, another pulse threw the Lion to the side. The laser shot off, and he winced as it blasted through what appeared to be an enormous sculpture in a plaza below. “Crap,” he grunted.

“What is it?” asked Keith.

“I think I just took out some public art,” Hunk replied. “You don’t think that’ll come across as some weird anti-art statement, do you?”

“Let’s hope not. If the pulse things are giving you trouble, why don’t you focus on the drones that are flying higher up for now? I’ll work on the ones nearer to the buildings. Red’s got quicker reflexes, it’s easier to avoid collateral damage with her.”

“Yeah, sure,” Hunk sighed, managing to hold back a self-deprecating remark about how it was probably more to do with the pilot than the lion. For now, he set his sights on a drone careening toward the city's outskirts, and directed Yellow to go barrelling after it.

The pulses continued to give him no end of frustration, but he eventually managed to take down another three drones, and a scan informed him that the sky seemed to be clear around this elevation. He sighed with relief at the scan’s results, and reminded himself that he was this close to finally getting to touch down on flat ground and relax. His stomach was still churning, and his face was soaked in salty sweat, but it was over.

Well, almost over. The skies were clear at this elevation, but there had been more drones closer to the ground, and he wasn’t sure whether Keith had finished them all off yet. Odds were, of course, that he had, and might even be waiting impatiently on the ground wondering why it was taking Hunk such a long time to finish off his own batch. And now he was wasting more time catching his breath instead of actually finding out.

Heaving a deep breath, he grabbed the controls again and started downward, eyes peeled for signs of Keith. It didn’t take long to find him, as Red and her fire were making quite a scene above the city square, currently whipping around in a complicated air ballet while facing off against five drones at once, all focused on sending their pulses into Red from every direction.

Red was able to wing one of the drones before pulses from two of the others sent her flying back, and the Lion let out a growl that was echoed in Hunk’s comm as Keith let out one of his own. She dove back into the fray, expertly wheeling around between the drones and the building tops to send an arc of fire their way.

Hunk hovered on the outer edge of the ongoing fight, feeling the urge to help but not wanting to risk hitting Red by accident. “Uh, Keith?” he said. “There anything I can do right now?”

“Um, keep an eye out if any of these try to make a break for it,” Keith answered. “Other than that, think I got this under control.” As if to emphasize the point, a blast of Red’s fire hit one of the drone’s dead on, blasting it to ash.

“Okay…” Hunk said. He chewed at his bottom lip as he watched the drones, eyes straining as they flitted amongst their flight paths, trying to catch any sign that one of them was liable to break from the pack so he could go after it, but they all seemed to have their sights completely honed in on Red. It felt a little wrong to simply be waiting around while Keith managed the whole firefight on his own, even if Keith had sounded pretty certain of what he could handle and what he needed. He tentatively spoke up as Keith shot down another drone, “You know, um, maybe I could get a shield up and you can sort of feint toward it, see if we can draw them into - ”

He was cut off by a loud blast and a flash engulfing his viewscreen, and Yellow reeled back, sending him slamming his head into his dashboard. It seemed Red had sent out a powerful arcing blast from all to send the remaining drones careening out of the air, at the same time that the remaining drones surrounding her had all pulsed at once. Resulting in a shockwave that pushed Yellow back and, as was apparent when Hunk managed to blink his vision back into focus, leave many of the surrounding buildings with caved-in roofs. Hopefully any Crelxats inside them had had the sense to hunker down in the lower floors.

As he made sure Yellow was steady again, he glanced around for Red, and grimaced when he spotted her. She was still airborne, but the lights on her face and the tip of her tail were stuttering, while bolts of light crackled beneath her flank. “Um, Keith?” Hunk said. “Red’s not looking too hot.”

“I know, I’ve got it under - shit, hang on,” Keith grunted. Red turned around in the air, her movements jerkier than Hunk ever would have expected from Red, and starting soaring away from surrounding buildings. He followed in Yellow, and together the Lions made it to an open stretch of land. Red glided toward the ground, and as she was lowering, her lights went completely dark. She hit the ground with audible force, collapsing in a heap where she landed.

Hunk winced at the sight of the downed Lion before scanning his eyes over ground, making sure the terrain was clear for his own landing. He managed to maneuver Yellow close to the other Lion before lowering her to the ground and disembarking from her mouth. Keith was already outside of Red, standing with his arms folded and staring up at her face.

“You okay?” Hunk asked as he approached. “Looked like kind of a rough landing.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Keith said. “Managed to get nearly to the ground before she went offline. So, little abrupt, but nothing I couldn’t handle. We’re gonna have to see about getting her powered up again before we can head back to the Castle. Think it was one of those pulses throwing off the propellant tank that downed her.”

“Hmm. If that’s the case, I can probably do the repairs myself in a day or two, but we’ll need to replenish the fuel.”

“Hopefully the Crelxats will be willing to help us out for that.” Keith looked around. “Speaking of whom, see any of them coming this way yet? Battle’s over.”

Hunk frowned and joined Keith in peering about at the surrounding buildings. He had only seen a few sparse Crelxats on the ground while they had been in battle, the pale shocks of hair against skin shades of red and orange making them easy to spot, but most of them had likely fled indoors when the drones had arrived.

He felt a tap against his shoulder, and when he turned, Keith pointed; it seemed he’d been first to spot movement, and without a word between them they started off to follow the pair of Crelxats heading away from the Lions’ landing site and deeper into the city.

It didn’t take long for them to see where the many Crelxats had ended up, since after only a couple of turns they could see a crowd gathering in a wide plaza ahead, a murmur from the assembled onlooker reaching the paladins even at this distance. Hunk glanced to Keith, eyebrows raised, and Keith only shrugged, just as unsure as to what had the crowd so enthralled.

As they moved closer, heads began to turn in their direction, some of the onlookers nudging others beside them and pointing, the chatter gradually dying down as they stepped aside to let the paladins through. No face wore the joy or relief that Hunk was used to seeing from aliens after Voltron fought off invading forces for them. Instead, they were eyeing him and Keith with apprehension and suspicion.

This, Hunk decided, was not a good sign.

The Crelxats were quick to step aside for them, so they were able to reach the front of the crowd fairly easily. And Hunk’s stomach knotted itself tightly as he realized what they were all staring at.

The sculpture. The sculpture that he had blasted with Yellow’s cannon. Or, at least, what remained of it.

From above, it had been hard to see what the sculpture had actually depicted, and here from the ground, seeing only the bottom half, it wasn’t any easier to discern. The shape seemed to be fairly complex, a tangle of angles and loops, but nothing that resembled anything Hunk had ever seen before. His best guess was that it was an abstract piece; a lot of the public sculptures that could be found in plazas like this back on Earth were abstract. There was rubble, he noticed, bits of the same material as the sculpture scattered along the ground behind it, some of it smoldered black like the top of what remained of the standing sculpture, burnt up by the cannon’s heat.

The Crelxats standing nearest to the statue turned as Keith and Hunk approached, and one stepped toward them. She was half a head shorter than most of the others gathered nearby, although she made up for it with a piece of headwear that to Hunk just looked to be a tangled pile of wires. She appeared to be unarmed, although the other Crelxats just behind her all wielded either halberds in their hands or daggers at their hips; the weapons combined with the helmets on their head and matching sashes indicated that they were security of some sort, although Hunk wasn’t sure if they were guards for the city as a whole or just the Crelxat with the wires on her head.

Allura had briefed him and Keith a bit on who they would be interacting with on Crelxatain, and she had mentioned one of the Crelxats was both the governmental and religious leader for the city. Malvet, he was pretty sure her name was.

And right now, despite her being smaller than the other Crelxats and unarmed, he was feeling much more frightened of her than of the surrounding guards. Because he had never seen that much icy fury on a person’s face before. Her narrow silver eyes fixed him and Keith with a wrathful glare that he could almost physically feel, her hands clasped together in front of her were shaking from how tightly the fingers were intertwined, and dark veins pulsed visibly beneath the skin on her forehead.

“What,” she bit out, her voice low and dark and heavy, “happened?”

Hunk gulped, though it did little to alleviate the feeling of daggers in his throat or the clawing in his stomach. He had anticipated that people may be upset about the damaged sculpture - people always had a fondness for public art, especially pieces that had been around for quite a while and been accepted as an inherent part of the landscape - but the irate looks on the faces of Malvet and her guards and the horrified silence of the surrounding crowds was far worse than he expected.

Beside him, Keith cleared his throat, making Hunk jump. “Look,” Keith said, “I understand if you’re upset. But collateral damage is basically unavoidable against a weaponized enemy like the one that was attacking just now. We’re both here representing Voltron, and we were expected today, and we’d be willing to assist with repairs to your art while we’re here if you - ”

“Our art?!” Malvet spat, her face going an even deeper shade of maroon. “You believe this monument to be simply art?!”

“Um… isn’t it?” said Keith.

Her hand shook as she pointed a clawed finger toward the sculpture’s remains. “This monument is the vessel for the Twenty Gods of Crelxatain, the channel through which they grant life and fortune. It was built as a cenotaph to the spiritual leaders who have dedicated their lives to guiding Crelxatain to the will of the Gods, and as such is the one site wherein their connection to the citizenry is most powerful. It has stood for centuries, and now… it has been destroyed.”

“...Oh,” said Keith, as a murmur began rumbling through the crowd. He had paled somewhat, and seemed to be at something of a loss for words.

Hunk was faring no better; he didn’t think he’d be able to string two coherent words together right now with his nerves the way they were. This was much worse than he could have predicted. Why the hell would something this important to them be out here in the middle of the town with no additional protection? Why wasn’t it in some sort of ultra-enforced temple and under constant watch? He could only hazard wild guesses - maybe they wanted it to be more exposed to the people, maybe they had assumed that faith in those twenty gods of theirs would keep it safe or something. Now didn’t really seem like the correct time to ask about it.

Keith was the first to speak again, keeping his voice surprisingly level. “I - I appreciate the seriousness of the damage, then. Know that we did what we could to prevent it. The drones were - ”

“No,” Malvet cut him off. “We witnessed these drones. They used force, yes, their weapons have done damage enough. But they burned nothing. The monument - it has been burned.” She swept her arm out to gesture again toward the remains, the singeing and ashes seeming somehow darker now. “We witnessed your ships too. You had cannons and flame. So tell me,  representative of Voltron. What. Did. You. Do?”

“I - ”

“Which of you did it?!” Her voice rose abruptly in volume, crackling with despair. “It had to have been one of you! This callous destruction - which of you is to blame?!” She rounded on Hunk, who stepped back, swallowing down a whimper. “You’ve not spoken, have you, yellow one? And why is that? Have you nothing to say?! No words in your defense?!”

Hunk could feel an icy sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. “I - I - I, uh - ”

“Is it guilt that stays your tongue?!” Malvet continued, jabbing a gnarled finger toward him. “Is the sight of the damage you’ve done before you too much to - ”

“I’m sorry,” Keith suddenly spoke up beside him. Hunk and Malvet both turned to him, incredulous, as Keith stepped forward, arms crossed over his chest and eyes on the ground.

“You’re sorry,” Malvet repeated tonelessly.

“Yeah,” Keith said. “It was my doing. Red - you know, you saw her out there, she’s awfully fast, and, um, gets real heated in battle and stuff, so it can be easy to kinda - to lose control, see, and I wasn’t really paying attention to the, um - ” He waved his hand in the direction of the destroyed sculpture. “The scenery, and stuff, so, yeah. It’s my fault, and I’m sorry.”

Hunk bit his lip as he turned his attention back to the Malvet, who was examining Keith with narrowed, probing eyes. If she knew Keith at all, it would be obvious that he was lying. He had rambled and stumbled and refused to look even remotely in her direction and his voice had kept getting lower as he spoke. All tells of his. Not to mention that Keith was the least likely of any of the paladins to ever focus during a battle or be unable to handle his Lion’s agility and fire.

But the Crelxats didn’t know Keith, so after several ticks of silent examination, Malvet hissed out, “I see.”

She stepped back, and Keith’s eyes darted upward, looking apprehensive. Malvet let silence ring throughout the square for a couple seconds more, but just as Keith opened his mouth to speak again, she nodded.

Instantly there was an eruption of activity, and Hunk was nearly knocked to the ground by the guards rushing past him toward Keith. Half a dozen fully armored guards descended on Keith, and though Hunk saw Keith’s hand fly instinctively to his hip where his bayard was holstered, he either was too caught off guard to grab it in time or thought better of whipping it out right now, since it was still holstered when his arms were wrenched behind his back and he was brought forcefully to his knees.

“Hey!” Hunk yelped. “What are you - ?” His attempt to rush forward to help Keith was stymied by halberds crossed in front of him, and a guard took his arm to hold him back, although he was handling Hunk more gently than his fellow guards were handling Keith, whose ankles were being pinned to the ground by heavy boots on top of them and whose hair was in the tight grip of gauntlet-covered hands. “Stop it!” Hunk cried. “You’re gonna hurt him!”

“After what he has done to us, hurt only seems fair as recompense,” Malvet said, stalking over to glower down at Keith. Around him, Hunk could hear others in the crowd murmuring their agreement. “He must be made to pay penance.”

“He didn’t do anything to you!” Hunk shouted.

“He just confessed to being responsible for the destruction of our monument.”

“But it wasn’t his fault! He only - ”

“Not his fault?” Malvet finally turned to Hunk. “Are you saying that his confession was inaccurate?”

Keith shook his head, or at least gave a little twitch in the guards’ grasp that may have been meant as a head shake, but Hunk nodded at the Crelxat, relieved. “Yes, yes, that’s what I’m saying! It was my - ”

But Malvet was already turning away before Hunk could finish, making a gesture to one of the guards. “You heard him; remove it.”

“Oh thank God,” Hunk sighed. “I’m sure we can all - um - ” He faltered as he watched the guards. When Malvet had told them to ‘remove it’, he had assumed she meant removing their feet from on top of Keith’s legs or removing the weapons from where they were pointed at him, sharp tips far too close to Keith for Hunk’s liking. But they weren’t. Instead, they still held him in place despite his struggling, and one of them had moved in front of Keith and was grabbing his jaw. “Wait, what are you doing?”

“If his tongue is to be used to spew false witness before the eyes of the twenty gods,” Malvet said, “Then it is of no good to us nor to him. It shall be removed.”

Hunk’s eyes blew wide, every drop of blood in his veins turning to ice as the guard managed to force Keith’s mouth open and a dagger’s blade approached. “No! No, no, no, you can’t do that! He - he wasn’t lying, you misunderstood!”

“And pray tell, what did I misunderstand?” Malvet said.

“Just - I meant - he - it was an accident,” Hunk fumbled weakly. “He did but - but he didn’t mean to, you know? It was, like, unavoidable. So - so - so it’s not his fault.” He glanced toward Keith, trying to figure out whether that had been the right thing to say, but with the way the guards were still holding his jaw and gripping his hair, Keith couldn’t exactly make an expression to indicate one way or the other.

Malvet let out a derisive sniff. “Unavoidable? The people of Crelxatain have avoided damaging it for centuries. This one could easily have done the same.” She turned away from Hunk again, back to the guard. “How soon can we have him perform his penance.”

The guard let out a pensive hum before replying, “We’d need until overmorrow’s nightfall to prepare and deliver an oblation to the twenty gods. The penance can take place the morning after.”

“Begin preparations, then,” Malvet said with a nod.

Keith was hauled to his feet, meeting Hunk’s gaze as one of the guards behind him drew a set of shackles from somewhere within their armor to cuff his hands behind him. “Hunk,” he said, a slight rasp to his voice, no doubt from the way his mouth had been manhandled a moment ago, “It’s gonna be fine, okay?”

Hunk almost let out a laugh of sheer disbelief. Keith should be the one being reassured right now, not Hunk. “Are you insane?” Hunk said.

“Look, just get the supply stuff taken care of, I’ll figure this out, and we can - ”

“Get moving,” one of the guards said, shoving him away from Hunk as two others began wheeling him around by the arms.

“Just a sec,” said Keith. “See if you can get Red up and - ”

He grunted, his words cut off by the hilt of one of the guards’ daggers being slammed into his face. When he scowled back up at the offending guard, his nose was bleeding. “I said get moving,” the guard growled.

“Hey!” Hunk cried. He tried moving toward the retreating guards, but the ones who had held him back before intercepted him again. “Hey, you can’t treat him like that!”

It was useless. The guards ignored him, and as the crowd began surging and milling around him, they disappeared, along with Keith.

This was so, so, so bad.

For a long moment he simply stood there on shaking knees, uncertain what to do, until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He whipped around, coming face to face with a tall, narrow-faced Crelxat. “What?” he snapped.

“Your companion said you were here as a representative of Voltron,” the Crelxat said. His expression was stoic, unfazed by Hunk’s tone and by the scene that had just gone down before him.

“Yeah,” Hunk said. “And?”

“I am Kalgex? Of the Crelxatain Geological Survey Bureau and Mine Repository. I was contacted about overseeing a trade deal between your organization and our department?”

Hunk stared. “Um,” he said, “Look, I’ve kind of got other things on my mind at the moment. Keith - I - I don’t know where they’re - I have to figure this out, I have to see - ”

“I am certain a member of the security force will be in contact with you once your friend has been duly processed,” Kalgex said. “They are quite efficient in matters of communication.” He pulled something out of his pocket, a small cylinder with a screen across it that lit up like a cell phone. “Those attackers put us behind schedule. We really oughtn’t postpone negotiations any longer than necessary.”

A part of Hunk, a small but strong part, wanted to punch Kalgex in the face right then and there. He was talking about Keith being arrested and hurt and forced to pay ‘penance’ - Hunk wasn’t sure what that entailed exactly, but it didn’t sound like fun - as if it were a minor inconvenience in a normal workday. As if Hunk were being somehow unreasonable for wanting to go after him rather than worry about the stupid ore.

“No,” he said. “No, I have to go.” He turned away, scanning the crowd and spotting the array of wires that had decorated Malvet’s head. Immediately he began shoving his way through the crowd, ignoring Kalgex calling after him, and didn’t stop until he had reached her, right on the edge of the plaza with a guard at each side. “Hey!” he shouted. “Where did you people take Keith?!”

She turned, eyeing him up and down with pursed lips, like he was a stain on her floor that she was deciding how to get rid of. “To the holding cells to await penance, of course,” she answered.

“And where’s that, huh?”

Malvet’s eyes narrowed. “He will not be allowed visitors until his case has been fully processed according to our laws. Respect our criminal proceedings should be the least we could ask of Voltron, considering the disrespect your friend has shown toward our - ”

“Yeah, I know,” Hunk said, frustration turning his voice to a growl. “Fine. When will that be done so I can visit him?”

“I will see to it you are contacted when proceedings are completed,” Malvet said. It wasn’t exactly an answer, but at least it was an assurance that he would get to visit Keith before the penance took place. “And of course,” Malvet continued, “Your companion will be duly returned to you once penance has been completed.”

“Right,” Hunk sighed. “So, what is this ‘penance’ anyw- ”

But Malvet had already turned away, leaving Hunk standing uselessly, grinding his teeth and dreading what the answer would have been.

--------------------------------------------------------

He tried and failed to come up with a plan.

His first thought once he finally accepted that the whole situation with Keith was out of his hands was, naturally, to contact the other paladins for help. But the reason it had only been himself and Keith coming to Crelxatain in the first place was that the others were on missions of their own. They had docked the Castle, shields in place, on a moon in a neutral zone the next star system over, and Shiro and Allura were off on Heliuruta to negotiate allowance through their blockade into the quadrant, while Coran had recruited Lance and Pidge to help him on a medical supply-gathering expedition. So Hunk couldn’t reach any of them at the Castle, didn’t know where on the planets the groups had gone and wouldn’t have time to track them down, and couldn’t contact them through just the Lions’ communications system at such a range.

Which meant that whatever happened to Keith, he was going to be the only one around to deal with it.

It also meant that he was stuck doing the negotiations for the Crelxat ores alone. Between himself and Keith, Hunk was better with numbers, but Keith was more stubborn and better at steamrolling attempts to mislead. By the time he wrapped up his meeting with Kalgex and his board, they had wound up settling on a price nearly twice as high as what Coran had told them to aim for.

Hunk couldn’t bring himself to be that put out about it, though. The main reason he’d done such a lackluster job of negotiating, after all, was that his mind was more occupied with the much more pressing matter of what the hell was happening with Keith.

He managed a grand total of less than a varga of sleep the first night on Crelxatain, despite the comfortable accommodations that had been prepared for him at a lodging house not far from the plaza where the monument had stood. He had made sure every single member of the staff there knew that they were to come get him immediately the instant anyone contacted him about getting to visit Keith, but no message came.

The Crelxats had predicted it would take them about two days to refine the ore he’d requested and prepare it for transport, so he tried to occupy his time by working on repairs for Red. He dried up nearly all the GAC they’d been given for this trip gathering tools and supplies for it - apparently the ability to fix vehicles must have been considered something of a luxury in Crelxatain, and was priced as such - and as he set to work on her dark and still form, wondered what she would be doing right now if she were up and running. If she was calm, then he’d know Keith was okay. If she was angry and trying to reach Keith by force… well, then he’d be even more worried than he was now, but at least Red would be helping to take care of the problem.

He worked on her throughout the day, still with no word about Keith, and the longer he went without answers the more nauseous he felt. He managed to eat some lunch between getting supplies and starting on Red’s repairs, and it sat like rocks in his stomach for the rest of the day. He didn’t bother with dinner.

He managed to fall asleep at some point that night, and woke tangled in his bedding after tossing and turning in his sleep, not feeling refreshed at all.

It wasn’t until later that day, when he returned from Red’s landing site back to the lodging house, promising himself that he would at least try to eat something because starving himself wasn’t going to help Keith, that he discovered a member of the security force was there waiting for him, had told the staff that he was there to escort Hunk to visit ‘the prisoner’ as requested.

Finally.

The walk to where Keith was being held wasn’t far from the plaza that had housed the monument, and the building he was led into looked from the outside a bit like a country church, long and narrow and with a vaulted roof. Hunk was led into a dim anteroom as the guard who escorted him had a muttered conversation with another who was standing watch inside, then, another door was opened, and he was ushered through and into a hall lined on each side with cells. The guard didn’t accompany him any further past the door, just told him, “You have fifteen doboshes,” before taking his leave, slamming the door shut behind him.

The hall was just as dim as the anteroom, the walls and floors a shale-like shade and narrow windows in the walls of the cells lining only one side of the hall casting sharp shadows, so it took a moment for Hunk to spot the cells’ only occupant, seated on the floor against the wall at the end of the hall. When he did, he let out an enormous breath of relief and rushed toward him, yelling out, “Keith!”

Keith looked up at the sound of his name, and Hunk grimaced at the sight of him as he got to his feet. He’d been stripped of his armor and left only in his dark undersuit, and was shackled hand and foot, maybe a foot and a half of chain between each metal cuff on his wrist, and the same around his ankles. A red and purple bruise spread from his cheek to his nose, swelling enough to make one eye squint; this was likely the result of that guard who had struck him with the dagger hilt the other day. Besides that, Keith appeared to be uninjured, just tired, a fact that the dark rings beneath his eyes could attest.

“Hunk,” he said. “So, um. So, how are you do- ?”

“Are you out of your mind?!” Hunk cried. Honestly, he had been intending to ease into that a bit more, give Keith a friendly greeting and see how he’d been being treated before moving onto the topic of what the actual quiznak Keith had been thinking, but it seemed his brain had forgotten to relay that plan to his mouth.

“Hunk,” Keith repeated, lifting his shackled hands placatingly. “You have to be calm, all right?”

“How can I - you can’t expect - what were you thinking?!” Hunk demanded. “You know as well as I do that Red didn’t - ”

“Hunk, I’m serious. They’ll hear you.”

Hunk shut his mouth, teeth coming together with a click, and looked back toward the door. Right. Apparently the Crelxats really didn’t like being lied to. As much as he hated it, their story was that Keith had been the one to ruin the monument, and that’s the story they were going to have to stick with if they wanted to get out with their tongues still intact. “Sorry,” Hunk said. His eyes roved over the rest of the hall, stopping at the sight of a lens near the ceiling in the center. “Crap, will they be able to hear - ?”

“That one’s just video, no audio,” Keith said. “They can’t hear us.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“The guards told me.”

Hunk raised a brow. “And you’re just taking their word for it?”

“Course not,” Keith replied, shaking his head. “I tested it. They didn’t care one lick about me slinging insults at them through that camera for about an hour straight. Moment I said the same while they were actually here, they got pretty thin-skinned.” He tapped lightly at the dark bruise on his face. “This, uh, this was smaller yesterday.”

Hunk winced. “Dang it, Keith,” he said. “Why did you have to go and do that, huh?”

“... You mean, why’d I have to insult them?”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

There was a long moment’s pause between them, and then Keith sighed. “I was trying to help, Hunk,” he said. “That’s all. That Malvet, she was so mad, and the guards were at the ready, and you - well, you were - ” He took a deep breath. “I dunno. Maybe if you were able to see how you looked in that plaza, you’d get why I needed to step in.”

Well, Hunk could certainly recall feeling terrified to his core, but he didn’t know how much of it had actually shown on his face. If it was enough to get Keith to take the fall for him like that, though, it was too much. “I mean, you did a heck of a lot more than ‘step in’,” he said. “Look, Keith, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful, but I - God, man, I really wish you hadn’t done that.”

The shadow of a sad smile played on Keith’s lips before vanishing again. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Wasn’t really expecting you to be overjoyed about it. But it’s not like they were giving us a whole lot of time to come up with a better plan to get you out of that mess than just… getting in myself.”

“Why did you decide you needed to get me out of it in the first place?”

Keith frowned at him, appearing genuinely surprised. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because - because I’m the one who caused the mess? Yeah, it was an accident, but it still was mine to own.”

Keith shrugged. “We’re teammates, right? Your mess is my mess.”

“I - ” Hunk took a long breath and blew it out slowly. “You really picked a horrible time to embrace team spirit.”

“I guess. Can’t exactly go back now, though.”

“Right, suppose not.” He let the silence linger a little longer, half-hoping that Keith would suddenly pipe up with an, ‘Unless…’ and a brilliant idea to make everything right, but of course he didn’t. “So we’re just supposed to see this out to the end, huh? Endure whatever they throw at you?”

“Don’t exactly have much choice,” Keith answered. “But, I mean - it’s just a waiting game until tomorrow morning. They’ll dole out their punishment and then it’s over. Just have to get it over with. Did you get the ore stuff taken care of?”

“Yeah,” Hunk said. “And don’t say ‘just get it over with’ like it’s just a hard test at school or something, man. They’re gonna - I don’t even know what, but they were awful mad. What are they planning to do tomorrow anyhow?” Keith didn’t answer, and Hunk’s gaze grew more intense, newly ignited worry crackling in his gut. “Keith? Do you know what’s gonna happen?”

Keith hesitated, dropping his gaze. “Okay, um, they, uh, they haven’t really given me much to go on, so I don’t know for sure.”

“But you have some idea?” Hunk prodded.

“Well, so, you know they said that I’ve got to face ‘penance’ for the monument.”

“Yeah.” Hunk fought down the anxiety that bubbled up at the mere mention of the word. “Still don’t quite know what that means, though.”

“Right.” Keith took a deep breath. “Well, uh, no one’s said anything to me directly, but I’ve overheard some chatter. From the guards here, see. They don’t seem to have any specifics either, but they’ve got a better idea of what ‘penance’ usually refers to, so they were talking, and, um…” He trailed off and began to chew at his lip.

“And what?”

Keith lifted his eyes back up to Hunk, and they were wide, brow pinched, almost appearing apologetic. “You have to promise not to freak out.”

Immediately Hunk was fully prepared to freak out. “What do you mean? What’s there to freak out about?! Keith, what’s gonna happen?!”

“Okay, look, it’s probably not as bad as - ”

“Keith, if you have to warn me not to freak out, it’s probably pretty bad!”

“That’s not what - it’s not the penance part, I just didn’t want you to feel guilty about what happens, all right? I promise, Hunk, I’m gonna be able to handle it. Okay? Whatever happens, you’ve got to keep a cool head. The last thing we need is for them to decide to detain you too. And, well - ” He let out a little cough and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m probably, um, gonna need you to help me out afterward…”

Hunk gulped. As much as he dreaded the answer, he had to know. “Keith,” he said, “What’s the penance?”

There was another second’s hesitation before Keith quietly answered, “If what those guards were saying was true, Crelxatain seems to be fond of, um… corporal punishment. A public display of it. Apparently it’s, um, they seem to think it’s an effective way to, uh, deter repeat crimes, and, like - ”

Hunk’s voice, which had frozen in his throat at some point while Keith had been talking, managed to find just enough strength for him to repeat in a squeak, “Corporal punishment?!”

Keith winced. “Yeah. Um, best as I could tell from what they were saying, flogging’s pretty common, so that’s probably the most likely, but, um, yeah… Hunk? Please don’t freak out.”

“How can I not freak out?! Keith, they’re going to - !”

“I know,” Keith snapped. “I - yeah, I know.” He huffed out a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, it’s not like I’m looking forward to it, but it’s not exactly like we can opt out. The place is under heavy guard, Red is still down… Only thing for us is to ride this out, let them take their anger out on me if they have to, then get back to the Castle as soon as we’re able so we can, um, you know.” He tightened his arms where they were crossed. “Fix anything that needs fixing.”

With a frustrated sigh, Hunk leaned against the wall, letting his shoulder rest up where the hard wall met the narrow bars of Keith’s cell. His legs were feeling leaden, like they would give out on him if he spent much longer standing on his own two feet, so he let himself slide down toward the floor. Once he was seated, Keith joined him, sitting down cross-legged on the other side of the bars, although it took some maneuvering to get settled with those chains on his ankles. “You okay?” Keith asked.

“Don’t ask me that,” said Hunk. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be in that cell right now, not you.”

“Hunk,” said Keith, “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t do anything wrong either! You know as well as I do that Yellow was the one who took down that monument. You’re too good a pilot, you’d never let something like that happen with Red.”

“It has nothing to do with who’s a better pilot. Yellow’s bigger than Red, it’s harder to avoid collateral damage with her.”

“Doesn’t matter. The damage was still mine. And you - ” His lip began to tremble, and Keith seemed to tense at the catch in Hunk’s voice. “You shouldn’t have lied to the Crelxats like that. You should’ve just let me take responsibility. What good does it do for you to have to do this stupid ‘penance’ thing instead of me?”

“Hunk, I - ”

“Either way, we’re ending up with one paladin who’s gonna wind up really, really hurt, so why did you get to decide it should be you instead of me, huh? Why would you go and complicate things like that? What the hell were you thinking?!”

Keith sighed, bringing his hands up and combing his fingers into his hair as he grabbed his head. “I was thinking, you were scared. And I just… I dunno. I wanted to fix that.”

Hunk set his jaw, hoping that that would help keep the tremor out of his voice. “And you just decided the best way to do it would be to take on all the consequences for yourself? That’s not fair to you, Keith.”

Slowly lowered his hands from his hair to cross his arms over his chest instead, and he muttered something under his breath that Hunk couldn’t quite make out. “What was that?” Hunk asked.

“I said, nothing’s ever ‘fair’,” Keith replied. “This isn’t about fairness. If things were gonna be ‘fair’, the Crelxats wouldn’t be upset with us over that monument in the first place, they’d be too busy being grateful to us for saving their asses and they’d realize that that should be much higher priority than a stupid statue. But as is, we can’t leave, we can’t get help from the others, and the Crelxats want blood. It’s not fair, but it’s happening, so all we can do now is get it over with.”

“I know, but - but - ” Hunk sighed and rested his chin on his hand. “I still say you shouldn’t have done it.”

“I know.”

“And I wasn’t that scared.”

“Okay.”

“Are you scared?”

There was a pause before Keith answered, “No.”

Hunk sighed. “You’re a really awful liar, Keith.”

“I know.”

They sat in silence for a long while before Hunk slowly reached through the bars of the cell and took hold of Keith’s hands, twining his fingers into Keith’s and trying not to think about how cold they were. “I’m sorry, man,” he said softly.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Keith mumbled.

“Sure. I’m just gonna go ahead and be sorry anyway, kay?” He gave his hand a squeeze. “Besides the face, have they hurt you?”

“Nah. Bit of shoving around, but that’s all.”

“They been giving you water? Food?”

“Enough, yeah.”

Hunk frowned, making a mental note to set aside some food from the lodging house to fill Keith up the moment he was released. He was just opening his mouth to ask if Keith had any requests - none of the Crelxat food was an exact match to any from Earth or any they’d encountered in space so far, but he could at least do some taste testing and see if he could find something similar to whatever Keith wanted - but he was interrupted by the door at the end of the hall slamming open.

“Time is up,” the guard grunted. “Make your leave.”

Hunk scowled at the guard, but after giving Keith’s hand one final squeeze, he rose to his feet. “I’ll be right there waiting once the penance is done,” he said. “The ore delivery should be finished early tomorrow morning, so once Red’s back up and running we can go straight back to the Castle. Get off this planet for good.”

“That’ll be nice,” Keith said, and he grimaced when the guard knocked his halberd into the doorframe, ordering Hunk to get moving. “I’ll - I’ll see you then. Better get going.”

Reluctantly Hunk complied, shuffling back down the hall of empty cells and giving Keith one last wave goodbye before the door was slammed shut again with a sickening finality.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Time moved at a crawl as Hunk waited. He kept himself occupied as best he could, working on Red’s repairs throughout the day, and he managed to convince a guard to let him take Keith’s confiscated armor and bayard off their hands (with the understanding that if he tried any funny business with the weaponry he would be tossed into his own cell before he could so much as blink) to have them ready for Keith when the penance was finished, and he polished the helmet three times over just for something mindless to do.

He stared at the ceiling in his room that night, trying to convince his exhausted body to sleep, but it wasn’t easy. Every time he closed his eyes all he could see was Keith, standing before that same crowd that had been in the plaza, and he was facing his penance, Malvet raising a whip with sadistic glee in her smile.

He always opened his eyes again before it actually made contact.

It took vargas of pacing around the room that night - ignoring the irritated knocking from whoever was staying in the room below his - to finally wear him out enough to get any amount of sleep, and then he was up again, getting the ore loaded onto Yellow in the earliest hours of morning and anxiously watching the planet’s sun creep upward into the sky, the whorling dread in his stomach growing stronger with every inch it rose.

No one came to fetch him or let him know when the penance was starting, but they didn’t have to. He could see for himself when Crelxats started to eagerly emerge from their homes and head off all in the same direction, and he overheard bits and pieces of discussion about whether they thought the twenty gods would be appeased and what they thought of the offering that had been made by the city the night before; Hunk didn’t know what that offering had been, and honestly he could not have cared less, but apparently it had been act one of this show, and Keith’s penance was the finale.

For visibility’s sake Hunk donned his full paladin armor before leaving the lodging house, hopefully for good, and he followed the flow of Crelxats past the building that housed Keith’s cell and even past the plaza featuring the statue, which, judging by the scaffolding that had been set up around the plaza, was currently under repairs. The Crelxats moved down a road veering off to the side and sloping down toward a long, solid wall, where they congregated toward a large arched entryway flanked by two guards.

He started toward the entry, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. He jumped and whipped around to find a stony-faced Crelxat guard, dressed in the same garb as the guards had been in the jail where Keith had been kept. Two other guards were hovering nearby, watching with the same stoic expression.

“If you are intending to view the penance,” the guard said, “You must remain under our watch.”

“What?” said Hunk. “Why?”

“You have made known that you hold close personal connection to the transgressor.” Ire scratched at Hunk’s throat at Keith being referred to as ‘the transgressor’, but he held his tongue and let the guard continue: “It is standard, then, to ensure that you are kept under supervision to prevent attempts at interfering with the penance.”

“Oh. Um, right,” Hunk relented. It made sense, he supposed. Any decent person witnessing their friend being publicly tortured would want to try to put a stop to it. It seemed that even if he hadn’t already promised Keith that he would let the Crelxats go through with their punishment, there wasn’t much he would be able to do under the eye of their guards.

The one who had stopped him nudged him forward as one of the others began leading the way toward the entrance, while the other approached and held out his hand. “No weapons are allowed at the viewing. Hand it over.”

Reluctantly Hunk removed his bayard from where it was holstered at his hip and dropped it into the guard’s hand. The guard nodded curtly and turned to follow the other, turning the bayard in his hand to inspect it as he went, and Hunk was nudged again, a cue to follow.

He trailed behind them, and as they passed through the entryway, he got his first view of where this penance was being held. The space seemed to be some sort of amphitheater, with rows of seats curving in a semicircle, getting lower and lower as they reached the center, where there stood a completely bare platform, high enough that the spectators sitting in the front row would probably have to crane their necks to see what happened on top of it.

Hunk wanted to go toward the front, to be as visible as possible when Keith was brought out, so he would be able to see him in the crowd, know he was there to support him and rush to his side the moment this whole mess was finally over, but the guards instead led him into a row toward the back. As they filed in, Hunk scowled at the Crelxats who were milling around the amphitheater, filling up the rows of seats in front of them. All these people, taking the time out of their lives to come and watch Keith suffer. As though this was some sort of entertainment to them. They wanted blood, they wanted it from Keith, and there was nothing about this whole situation that wasn’t disgusting.

He had to take care to clench his jaw so he wouldn’t wind up just shouting at everyone in the crowd, since that would probably only end with him being forcibly escorted out by the guards, and took his seat obediently. The other Crelxats in the crowd were gradually sitting down as well, taking their time far too casually, and every dobash of waiting felt agonizingly long.

After that wait, though, the crowd finally hushed at the sight of the guards coming through the entrance at the front of the amphitheater behind the stage, and as they did, Hunk wished they could go back to the waiting. Harrowing though it was, it was still better than watching Keith being escorted onto the stage.

His wrists and ankles were still shackled, so his gait was only a shuffle, and the guards at either side of him pushing him forward didn’t seem to be making walking any easier; he tripped on the steps leading onto the stage and, rather than pause to let him regain his balance, the guards grabbed him under the arms and began dragging him before Keith managed to find his footing again. He still wore the leg portion of his underarmor, but he’d been stripped of the top, and his bare torso looked deathly pale in the too-bright sunlight.

He also, as Hunk realized with a surge of fury as Keith shook his hair out of his face, been gagged, a strap of what looked like leather cinched tightly over his mouth and digging into the skin at the corners. Hunk wondered vaguely what he had said to the guards to warrant that addition. Or who he had bitten.

The Crelxats in the amphitheater around him had begun to jeer as Keith was escorted onto the stage, and only stopped when another figure stepped out: Malvet, the wiring of her head blindingly reflecting glints of the sunlight as she raised her hands for quiet.

“We are gathered here,” she began, her voice booming despite Hunk not seeing any sort of microphone or other audio equipment anywhere, “To offer the Twenty Gods of Crelxatain a display of our respect, our reverence, and our compunction. The offender who stands before you now has, in an act of brash disregard for our planet and its citizens - ”

She continued, but Hunk tuned her out, and not just out of anger toward the way she was talking about Keith. His focus had instead been drawn to the guards who had come forward along the stage. Where he had thought there had just been flat floorboards, they opened a hatch, and from beneath the stage they unfolded a bundle of beams that clicked into place as a solitary and stationary pole, with a hooped hook sticking out of it a good six feet up. Keith was pulled forward, and the chain between his wrists was lifted and latched onto the hook, leaving Keith standing with his arms stretched above him, back stretched out and exposed.

So Keith had been right about the flogging, and Hunk pressed his lips together, feeling nausea bubble up in his throat and wondering if he were going to start blowing chunks onto the row of Crelxats in front of him.

He kept his eyes on Keith, trying to meet his gaze, and Keith was looking out to the crowd too. It was hard to be absolutely sure from this distance, but Hunk was pretty sure that Keith spotted him, because his gaze was definitely aimed Hunk’s way, his pale face and wide eyes directed right toward him.

And no matter what Keith said, he was definitely scared.

Unlike in Hunk’s nightmarish visions from the night before, Malvet wasn’t the one to bring out a whip. Instead it was one of the guards, unfurling a length of cord from behind him as Malvet stepped toward the pole, fixing Keith with a withering glower before turning back to address the crowd once more. “To each of the twenty gods he has chosen to desecrate, he shall pay blood in penitence. Firstly, to Taelxot.”

That was all the fanfare given before the crack of the whip rang through the amphitheater, making Hunk jump at its suddenness. It seemed too soon to be starting, he needed more time, more time to emotionally ready himself and for Keith to say his own piece, but here they were. It was happening. Now.

The first lash seemed to have taken Keith off guard too, since he let out a yelp at the contact that was muffled by his gag. The crowd of Crelxats let out applause as the whip struck, and the sound seemed distant to Hunk as he watched Keith, trying to see if he was okay.

“Secondly,” Malvet continued, “To Vokrin.”

Another crack of the whip, another cheer. These names Malvet was saying, Hunk surmised, must have been the names of some of those twenty gods she kept talking about, and they must have been giving Keith one lash for each god that had been disrespected.

Which meant there were going to be twenty lashes in total. Hunk’s eyes widened as the whip dragged on the floor as the guard reeled it back, leaving a red streak on the wooden planks that Hunk could just barely see from where he was sitting.

There was no way he was going to be able to stomach eighteen more of these.

At the third lash, Keith squeezed his eyes shut against the pain, and at the fourth, the whip struck deep enough that Hunk could see blood droplets flying directly from Keith’s back. The crowd was eating it up, getting to their feet as they applauded, and at the fifth lash, Hunk stood too, because that was the only way he could still see over the heads of the cheering Crelxats in front of him.

The lashes kept coming.

Hunk’s hands hovered over the lower half of his face, threatening to move up and cover his eyes, but he resisted the admittedly powerful temptation. He owed Keith this much, at the very, very least. He owed it to Keith to be there and watch, to meet his eyes whenever Keith opened them so that the red paladin would have a face to look toward for support, for a silent message to hang on, just hang on, it will all be over soon.

Besides, closing his eyes now wouldn’t get rid of the image of those blood droplets Hunk had already seen spraying from Keith’s back, so there really was no point. That image would probably stay burned in his mind forever.

Another lash - Malvet was still counting them, but Hunk couldn’t hear her. All the sounds in the amphitheater were starting to blur together in his ears, muddling into loud and angry static as he focused only on Keith. The pain of the flogging must have been getting to be too much even for him, because an agonized shout escaped into his gag this time, much to the delight of the assembled Crelxats. At the next lash, he screamed again, and his eyes flew open, meeting Hunk’s almost immediately.

Hunk’s heart stopped at the sight of the tears gathering there, the sun sparkling off of them, and it started up again, pounding like a drum, when the whip came down again and the tears broke free and began to fall.

The specks of blood staining the platform were growing thicker with every lash. They couldn’t possibly keep this up. They were going to kill him.

On the next lash, the whip’s aim was off, and it landed over Keith’s shoulder. The barb on the tip must have caught on his skin, because it ripped a line of flesh off with it as the guard pulled it back, sending a splash of blood across his chest.

Hunk finally threw up, then, and the cries of delight coming from the Crelxat in front of him turned to ones of disgust as the sick splattered onto his back. Which did nothing to relieve Keith’s pain, but it did give Hunk just the tiniest glimmer of satisfaction before he straightened up again to watch the last of the lashes.

“And to the twentieth God of Crelxat, Skovok!”

The whipped cracked for the final time, the crowd cheered, and Keith was motionless on the stage, all his weight dangling from his wrists, his head bowed and hair covering his eyes so Hunk couldn’t tell whether they were open or closed. The floor at his feet far, far too red.

Hunk could only spot the tiniest bit of movement, just catch the way Keith’s chest shook as he breathed, and he tried to focus only on that as he waited for Malvet to give her stupid closing speech and Hunk could finally take Keith back to the Lions and try to find some way to patch up his back, which had to be a grotesque mess at this points.

“To each of the gods, a due has been paid,” Malvet was saying grandly. “So all that remains is our assurance that the transgressor can never again bring harm to the gods, or to Crelxatain itself. To that end, we offer the last of his life, that they may find solace in its removal and a better purpose for it in the world beyond our own.”

… What?

With great difficulty Hunk pulled his eyes away from Keith to see what was happening on the rest of the stage. All but one guard had moved to the other side, and another hatch, like the one from which they’d pulled the pole, had been opened, something else being unfolded from this one. They locked the pole into place, but this one kept unfolding, into a bracket that projected over the hole the open hatch left in the floor. The hatch was pulled back into place, and one of the guards hooked a loop of wire over the projection.

It took a long moment for Hunk’s brain to catch up to his eyes, for him to realize what he was looking at.

Gallows.

His heart racing, blood pounding he whipped around to face the guard next to him. “What - what is that?!” He jabbed a shaking finger toward the stage, and oh god, the guard who had stayed by Keith was taking him down and starting to drag him across the stage.

“It is a device that will allow penance to be completed,” the guard said, explaining it like he was a teacher giving a classroom lecture. “The wire is placed around the neck of the criminal, and the hatch - ”

“I know what it is!” Hunk yelled. “Why is it here?! Keith paid his penance! He got his punishment already!”

“He paid a blood penance, yes,” the guard said. “Now, they are ensuring that he can never again cause harm to the sacred - ”

“We were never gonna even come to this stupid planet again!” Hunk shouted. He ignored the surrounding Crelxats who were turning to glare at him, a couple snapping at him to be quiet. “They don’t need to ensure it! They - they - they said he’d be returned to me once the penance was done! What happened to that?!”

“He will. To be preserved or memorialized as you and your culture see fit.”

Disbelief had Hunk lost for words for a few seconds, while on the stage, he could see Keith, even in the state he was in, starting to struggle in the guards’ hold. “I don’t want his corpse!” he finally squeaked out. “I - I - oh god, I’ve got to - ” His eyes roved toward the guard holding his bayard.

A hand thumped onto his arm, holding him in place. “Consider this your only warning,” the guard said. “Any attempt to derail the proceedings will result in you joining him.”

Hunk swallowed, his legs feeling close to giving out under him as the loop of wire was wrestled over Keith’s head and around his neck. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening. “Please,” he begged, tears pricking at his eyes. “There - there has to be something I can…”

Keith was shouting into his gag, and Malvet was saying something again, raising her voice to drown Keith out. The guard’s grip on Hunk tightened, and he felt dizzy. Keith was going to be hanged right in front of him. Keith shouldn’t even be the one going through this, it should have been Hunk.

Keith was going to die, and it was going to be Hunk’s fault.

There had to be something he could do. He owed it to Keith. Keith had saved him from the Crelxats’ wrath, hadn’t even thought twice about him, and Hunk needed to repay him. He couldn’t let things end this way.

If he were up on the stage right now, in that noose, and Keith were the one having to watch, what would Keith do?

Lance would probably say Keith would ‘punch his problems until they go away’.

It wasn’t much of a plan -

A thunk sounded as the hatch below Keith’s feet was dropped and the wire went taut.

- but it was all he had.

All the fury that had built in him since the moment he had been ushered into the amphitheater flooded into his fist as he whirled on the guard holding him, and it connected with the chin of his helmet. His knuckles immediately throbbed with pain, but there was a satisfying crunch of bone as the guard’s head reeled back, his grip going slack.

Hunk dove for the guard holding his bayard. The guard let out a shout and tried to jump back, but Hunk was not to be deterred, and he bodily tackled him into the next row, the Crelxats there shrieking and scampering out of the way. He clawed his way up the guard’s arm, fighting to pry his fingers off of the bayard, and when he wouldn’t give, he decided he didn’t have the time to fight clean. He hauled himself forward and bit down as hard as he could on the guard’s hand.

The bayard was dropped immediately, and Hunk snatched it up and clambered to his feet. It expanded into its miniturret launcher form as he hefted it up and aimed it toward the stage. Several Crelxats screamed, and his vision swam as he saw Keith through the optic. He was still moving, still jerking in his bonds even as the wire tightened around his neck and his face began turning blue. That meant his neck hadn’t broken when he dropped. He was still alive. There was still a chance.

Although, that chance was getting exponentially smaller with every tick that passed, and Hunk didn’t have time to reach the stage. With his vision hazy and his body shaking and his stomach doing somersaults, it would be insane to try to shoot from here. There was too much chance of hitting Keith. He was going to survive being hanged only to be killed by cannon fire instead.

But it was the only thing he could do.

He fired, praying to anything that was out there and that might be listening that the shot would hit its mark.

It didn’t. It went too high. Hunk’s heart sank, despair flooding him -

Until another shot came from behind him, the projectile this time much larger. This one took out the projection of the gallows that Hunk had been aiming for, dropping Keith’s struggling form to the ground, and burned through half the stage along with it.

He turned around.

Never in his life had he ever been so happy to see the Yellow Lion, hovering just over the amphitheater’s entrance. The buildings behind her were darkened by her enormous shadow, and her eyes blazed down on the crowd that was practically trampling itself to get out of her way.

Yellow had come. She had sensed Keith in danger and -

No, that wasn’t quite it, Hunk realized as he finally noticed Yellow’s presence in his mind, the weight trying to ground Hunk like a heavy blanket, the low rumble of her growl asking if he was okay.

She had sensed Hunk’s distress. That’s why she had come. That’s why she had flown here on her own.

Huh. It seemed Keith wasn’t the only one with an overprotective Lion.

And speaking of…

Hunk’s bayard shrank back down into its dormant form as he raced down the amphitheater steps, shoving panicking Crelxats out of the way and sliding onto his knees as he reached Keith’s crumpled form. The smell of iron from his bloodied back was so strong Hunk could taste it, and he gagged as he rolled him over. Keith’s eyes were closed, his lips gray from lack of air, and Hunk immediately set to fumbling at the wire noose, mumbling reassurances to Keith’s unconscious form as he loosened it.

Right as he pulled it up over Keith’s head, grimacing at the dark bruises it had left on the skin of his neck, the body was yanked aside by the arm, and Hunk looked up to see Malvet, both her hands locked around Keith’s forearm as she tugged at him.

“Get away!” Hunk snarled. “Haven’t you hurt him enough?!”

“He has not completed his penance!” Malvet cried. She swiveled her gaze onto Hunk, and the angry gleam in her eyes was almost manic. “The destruction he caused must be paid in kind! The twenty gods require his life, and we must - ”

Hunk let out a frustrated growl, just about at his wit’s end with Malvet’s gods. In a show of rashness that would make Keith proud, he brought his bayard back up, and it morphed into its energy minigun form as he pointed it right between Malvet’s eyes. “If you even think about hurting Keith one more time, then my gods are gonna need your life in exchange.”

Malvet narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Sure I would. I already took out your monument. I’m on a rampage. I can’t be stopped.”

Her jaw dropped, and her hands shook as her grip on Keith’s arm loosened. “You - it was you who - ”

Hunk was already hauling Keith onto his back and taking off before she could finish the thought, and he raced up the amphitheater steps in leaps to meet Yellow at the top, where she scooped the paladins into her mouth and took flight.

The sound of screams below them was cut off as her jaw shut and Hunk collapsed onto the cockpit floor, rolling Keith off of him as gently as he could before rushing to the controls, taking Yellow around in a wide arc and scanning the city below before he spotted where Red lay, still not quite fixed up to working condition. He dove toward her, and Yellow grabbed the smaller Lion up from the ground around the middle like a mother carrying her cub before rocketing upward, gaining speed until she broke the atmosphere. Then he set her autopilot to the coordinates of the Castle’s landing site and…

It was over. After all that, it was finally over. They were off Crelxatain. They were safe.

They were alive.

Well, Hunk reminded himself as he left the pilot’s seat and made his way back toward Keith’s prone form on the cockpit floor, the worst part was over, at least, but they weren’t in the clear yet. He reached to the overhead storage unit to pull out the emergency medical kit and got onto his knees next to Keith to get a closer look.

It wasn’t a pretty sight. Keith’s back had been slashed to ribbons, the gashes in varying depths with a couple cutting so deep Hunk could swear he could see vertebrae. Some of them had stopped bleeding, most had not, and the sounds of the slowly seeping blood dripping onto the floor of the cockpit rang in Hunk’s head. He’d be able to clean the wounds and get some gauze onto them for now, but the cryopods in the Castle would have to do the bulk of the work.

And his back wasn’t the only spot injured. His ankle was bent in the middle in a way it shouldn’t have been able to bend and was starting to swell; he’d probably landed on it at a bad angle when Yellow had shot down the scaffolding. A trickle of blood dripped from the edge of his mouth where the tight gag was cutting into the skin, and Hunk reached up to start working it free, relieved to hear Keith breathing when he pulled it away, even if the breaths were raspy and strained. Small wonder, considering the purpling bruises covering his neck where the noose had strangled him.

He opened the medical kit, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the extent of Keith’s injuries, and decided to pull out the bottle of disinfectant first. His back was definitely going to need it. He unscrewed the lid and held his breath against the sharp smell before lowering it toward the gashes and pouring the disinfectant in.

It let out a sizzling sound as it spread over the wounds, and Keith’s back arched as he let out a strangled yell, his swollen neck leaving his voice as nothing but a dry rasp. Hunk immediately set the disinfectant down and hurried up toward Keith’s head. “I’m sorry, man,” he said. “I know, I know, it’s gotta hurt like hell, but I have to clean it up, I’m sorry. Hang in there, bud.”

Keith let out another rasping groan, and slowly his eyelids began to peel apart. “Keith?” Hunk whispered. “You awake?”

His back rose and fell in a couple of slow, deep breaths before he finally grunted out, “Sh’ro?”

Wow. Keith may as well have just rammed his fist through Hunk’s chest, grabbed his heart, and wrung it dry. “Uh, no. No, it’s not Shiro. It’s me, it’s Hunk.”

Keith blinked slowly, his eyes working to focus on Hunk’s face, and then: “Hunk? We’re alive?”

Hunk let out a breath. “Yeah, man,” he said, giving Keith a wobbly grin. “We’re alive. We made it out of there. You did great, buddy. Just need to hang in there a little longer before we get back to the Castle.”

“I thought they - ” Keith took a rattling breath, but his voice didn’t sound any less gravelly when he continued, “They decided t’ kill me, di’n’t they.”

Hunk grimaced. “Yeah. They did. But that was a pretty stupid decision, wasn’t it?”

“You stopped th’m,” Keith said. “I saw you. In th’ crowd. You had - y’ had your bay’rd. Before I couldn’t see ‘nymore…”

“Well, I - I tried,” Hunk said. “But it was really Yellow who saved the day, you know. She’s the one who started blasting. All I did was get a little chaos going in the stands and grab you. It was nothing.”

“Nah,” Keith sighed. “It wasn’t noth’ng.”

He let his eyes drift closed, and Hunk pushed his bangs out of his face before scooting back toward the medical kit. “Once we’re in close enough range of the Castle, I’ll radio in and see if anyone’s there to get a pod ready for you. If we’re the first there, well, I’ll do it myself. Coran showed me the basics of how those things work, I can at least get you stabilized before he or Allura comes back and can get it started for the deep healing stuff. But, um, for now I’ve got to get this stuff disinfected and wrapped up. It’s definitely gonna sting.”

“‘S’okay,” Keith grunted. “Go ahead.”

“And Keith?”

“Mm.”

Hunk leaned in close. “Don’t you ever, ever scare me like that again, you got it? You’re no longer allowed to come that close to dying, I forbid it. And if you ever try to jump in and take the blame for my screw-up again, I swear to the Twenty Gods of Crelxatain I’ll bring all the wrath of the Yellow Lion raining down upon you. You hear me? Never again.”

Eyes still closed, Keith gave him a weak attempt at a smile. “We’ll see,” he rasped out.

Hunk sighed. Shiro really should have warned them right from the start how stressful it was to have Keith around. “Good enough,” he said, moving back to focus on the gashes. Keith tensed and let out a couple of whimpers as Hunk dabbed disinfectant into the wounds, but they got through it.

It wasn’t until Hunk was halfway through wrapping Keith’s torso in bandages that he opened his eyes and spoke again. “Hunk?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Remember, when I said t’ just let them get th’ penance over with? ‘nd not to interfere?”

“Yeah…”

“Thanks for not list’ning to me.”

Hunk let out a loud laugh, more out of the hysteria still left in his system than any humor in Keith’s weak joke, but he still broke out a wide smile as he said, “Any time, buddy.”

“And for… ev’rything else.”

“Hey. You had my back from the start, right? Of course I’m gonna have yours too. That’s what teammates are for, you said it yourself.”

“So now… we’re even?”

“Not even close,” Hunk said, shaking his head. “Not until you get out of that cryopod and eat every bite of the feast I’m going to make for you the moment we get back to the Castle. I’m talking twenty dessert courses and live entertainment by the mice. Then we’ll be even.”

Keith let out a breath of laughter and let his eyes slide closed again. “Deal.”

[kenzieam]

Touch

Rating: M

Warnings: Major Angst, heartache, some language

Word Count: 3595

Tags: @jewels2876  @moonbeambucky  @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123  @iammarylastar @captstefanbrandt  @badassbaker  @pinknerdpanda  @oliviastan17 @mizzzpink​

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As time runs out, Lev remembers her first encounters with Bucky, and how the touch-starved, damaged man became just as important to her as she is to him.

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HEADS UP..... MAJOR ANGST AHEAD, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. i DON’T EVEN KNOW WHY I WRITE THIS SHIT, IT JUST MAKES ME CRY.

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Shit, I’m cold.

But at least it doesn’t hurt anymore.

I don’t know how long I’ve been trapped down here; things have gotten hazy.

It’s been a while though; I can’t hear half as many people screaming for help as before.

I’ve had time to figure out what happened at least, with nothing else to do but lay here, slowly suffocating.

My day, I think it’s fair to say, has gone spectacularly to shit.

I think it was an explosion that made the building collapse, but things were happening so goddamn fast I can’t say for sure.

Either way, I’m here, trapped, and I’m pretty sure I’m dying.

Figures, Bucky didn’t want me to go to this convention. If I live through this, I’ll never hear the end of it; Bucky hates being apart from me, because I’m not enhanced like he is, he thinks I’m fragile.

And to be honest, I’m feeling pretty goddamn fragile right now.

My back is arched, bowed backwards to where I could almost grab my ass with the arm that’s twisted back behind my head; my fingers are in the perfect place to scratch any itch I might have between my shoulder blades, but an itch is the least of my problems right now.

I can’t feel my legs.

I don’t know if it’s the fact that a large section of concrete wall is pinning me from the hips down, or if its something more sinister and permanent, a broken back perhaps. Either way, I can’t see my legs or feel them. Maybe they’re not even there anymore.

Would Bucky still love me if I were broken? No longer whole?

I think he would, he knows what it’s like to be incomplete. So many times, after we’ve made love, he’ll hold me and tell me how much he loves me, how I complete him, make him feel whole for the first time in nearly a century.

It’s a heady sensation, to know someone as powerful and legendary as James Barnes loves you.

I never expected to find someone like him, to feel the things he makes me feel.

It breaks my heart that it’s probably all going to end today, with me trapped, alone, in my proverbial coffin.

Was it only three and a half years ago I heard Tony Stark was hiring and me, fresh out of school with the ink on my doctorate of Physical Therapy not yet dry, decided on a whim to apply?

I never expected a call from the man himself, never expected to be given such a huge opportunity so early in my burgeoning career.

But Tony had a plan. People get hurt all the time, secretaries with carpel tunnel, agents with bruises and bumps, Avengers with broken bones earned on their newest mission, it only made sense to bring in a full time PT to the medical labs in the Avengers Complex, and Tony wanted someone fresh and new, someone without any bad habits to break as he put it, which is ironic when you consider all the bad habits Stark himself has.  

I’m still working on refining his damn posture in front of the computer, but I think it’s a losing battle.

My job was soon revealed, to help after Bruce and Helen had worked their magic, regain range of motion, stretch and massage damaged muscles, ensure the team ran at their peak.

While my job originally was supposed to include the entire Complex, it soon became obvious that all my attention would need to be devoted to the team of superheroes themselves and, after a few months of commuting to and from my small studio in the city, I gave into Stark’s less than subtle hints and moved directly into the Complex myself, becoming a round-the-clock, on-call-all-the-time member of the team.

My first interactions with Bucky were minimal, a shadow lurking behind the much more gregarious Captain America himself. I didn’t take it personally because, from what I could see and had heard, the former assassin stayed as far away from everyone that he possibly could.

But he ended up being half dragged to me by Steve himself a few months into my job, due to a lingering pain in the juncture of his shoulder from a recent injury; or more accurately, from a recent injury on the training mats that merely brought back the pain Bucky had apparently been struggling with off and on ever since HYDRA attached his first bionic arm.

The big man didn’t want to be there, I could tell and only his loyalty and commitment to his oldest friend kept his ass on the table as I examined the puffy, angry red scar tissue, his body rigid beneath my exploratory touch.

I knew enough of his past to realize that Bucky’s aversion to me was part of, if not wholly, due to the rough and cruel way HYDRA had treated him, when every contact meant hurt and degradation, but it still affected me. What had he lived through that had taught him that even simple touch meant pain? And how, with the very nature of my work involving discomfort, did I help him?

“Can you rotate your arm?” I ask quietly. When he hesitates, I continue. “I need to feel the joint when you move it.”

He nods silently, accepting the fact that my hands need to stay on him, press in lightly while he rotates his shoulder and, most likely, increase the pain he already feels.

I fall silent, close me eyes to help concentrate as he complies. “Again, please.”

I finger a particular point, deep in the joint and Bucky flinches, swallowing a low groan. I instantly feel horrible, for surely, to make Bucky react at all the pain I just caused must have been extraordinary, but it gives me something to focus on.

I pull away, trying to ignore the way his skin makes my fingers tingle; must be related to his serum-enhancement, my mind studiously ignoring the fact that touching Steve doesn’t illicit the same sensation and offer him a smile.

“I think a lot of that discomfort can be managed with massage, relaxing and sorting out the muscles involved. I’d prefer to try that, rather than jumping into more invasive therapies right away.”

I wait for his response, glancing at Steve when it appears for a beat that Bucky hasn’t even heard me but then it hits me.

Massage.

Continuous touch, continuous pain while he will be forced to lay immobile, tolerating it soundlessly.

Pretty much Bucky’s worst nightmare.

Shit.

Steve shifts his weight, clears his throat. He’s obviously torn between answering for his friend and letting Bucky decide, although it’s clear he expects Barnes to reject the proposal, to push on grimly through the ache and potentially damage his body more.

“Okay.” His voice is so low I almost don’t hear him.

“I’m sorry?” I lean closer, frowning with concentration. Fuck, for so huge and imposing a man, the guy can make himself practically invisible, even right beside you.

“Okay,” he repeats, barely raising his voice. “We’ll try.”

“I’ll do my best,” I feel compelled to reassure him, barely stopping myself from resting my hand on his shoulder, pulling back at the last second when I remember that that would probably be the last thing to calm the man. “To make it as tolerable, as pain-free as possible.”

Bucky nods but doesn’t answer.

“Want to start now?” Steve asks carefully, glancing between me and Bucky. I don’t know what Bucky will say, but I’ve probably filled his quota of contact today.

A silent head shake, his lank brown hair swinging, a quick but interesting glance up at my face. Is he concerned about my reaction?

“Tomorrow?” I ask gently. At his nod I continue, running through my schedule in my head and I know these two usually go running in the morning, hitting the gym after and then grabbing something to eat. “How about after lunch?”

“Okay.” Christ, the man’s voice is so quiet and soft, it doesn’t fit with his appearance. He looks like a beast, huge and muscular, danger radiating out of every pore. Its so much easier to visualize him as the cruel assassin The Winter Soldier than as a traumatized prisoner of war. That is, until you look in his eyes; then the muscles, the bulk and silent intimidating air all fall apart.

The concrete around me creaks, the rubble threatening to shift, and I hold my breath. It’s getting harder to breathe but I don’t know if that’s because of the way my torso is twisted, or just a general lack of fresh oxygen. I can’t see any daylight anywhere, of feel any type of air movement, but I also can’t move any part of myself around to look. For all I know, there could be a way out of this mess directly behind me, but I’m pinned.

How long has it been? I think I greyed out for a minute there, remembering one of my first meaningful encounters with Bucky, the first time he answered me, agreed to try massage therapy for his shoulder. The trust he showed wasn’t lost on me.

The building groans, as if its in pain too and I fight a rising panic. The voices I could hear around me have gotten less and less, the faint screams for help devolving into wordless, animal cries of agony before cutting off altogether and I wonder if anyone is even still alive. Is there any type of rescue effort yet? Has there been some kind of terrorist act that’s holding up my salvation?

Have they told Bucky?

The convention was a couple of thousand miles away from the Compound, even with the quinjet Bucky and I were hours apart.

Is he out there right now? Digging for me?

My mind wanders again as a fresh stab of agony shoot through my torso, ending curiously at my hips.

I look up at the soft knock at my office door and smile.

“Hello, James.”

His eyes meet mine, just for the barest heartbeat before dropping. “Bucky,” he murmurs.

“Bucky.” I agree, my smile widening at his soft, endearing air. I want to just gather him up and give him a hug, show him that there is love and gentleness in the world and he deserves it too; although, to be honest, I’d just look like a koala hanging off him, God, he’s beefy.

He follows me soundlessly through the Physio department, to the room I’ve set up strictly for massage therapy. I put myself through school moonlighting as a masseuse, and that was one of Tony’s first requests, that I set up shop again. It seems some days that half of my job is just massage, but I’m not complaining; I enjoyed it in school and it’s just as amiable now.

I gesture to the table, draped with clean sheets. “I’m just going to work on your back and shoulders, so you just need to take your shirt off, if you want to remove your pants too, that’s fine. Lay face down and there’s a sheet to put over yourself when you’re ready. I’ll be right back.”

He nods again but there’s a tension in his body now. Is it because he’s going to be showing his arm, the angry scars that surround it? I’ve seen it before, but it seems to be an enduring shame with him, and I make a note not to draw attention to it.

“Are you ready?” I knock softly and ask through the door, hear his quiet confirmation. I turn the lights lower as I enter, explaining as I do. “I’m just turning the lights down a bit.” I busy myself at the small table covered in different types of massage oil. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t relax under full lighting.” He mumbles some sort of agreement, head lowered into the u-shaped cushion. He’s laying face down, like I requested, but he’s anything but relaxed. Fists clenched tight, breathing quickly, he’s not letting go, not yet. “I can play some music if you want?”

“Okay.”

I pause, then speak. “Bucky? We can hold off; you seem a little tense-”

“No.” He lifts his head to look at me. “I’ll lay still, I promise. Just go ahead…. I won’t react, I can take it.”

I shake my head, that’s not the point. “No, Bucky. That’s not how it works here.”

He lifts his head again after dropping it during his statement about laying still, frowning thoughtfully, if a little suspiciously.

“You don’t have to just lay here and ‘take it’. This is for you, if you get uncomfortable, if you want me to stop, you say so and we’ll take a break. I don’t want you to just lay here and endure the pain. If it hurts, tell me; if you start to get overwhelmed, tell me. The last thing I want is to make this another bad experience for you.”

He pauses then, forehead furrowing slightly. From what I’ve gathered regarding his past, free choice wasn’t something ever offered to him, HYDRA would just order him to lay stay and endure whatever torture or torment they were performing.

That shit doesn’t fly here.

“You are in charge.” I squat at the head of the table to meet his eyes, wanting him to really hear me. “I will not do anything to you that you don’t consent to. I can’t guarantee it won’t hurt, but I will only do want you allow me to, okay?”

Something flickers through his eyes, something soft and vulnerable and I get the feeling that he will lay here for me through the worst pain, if only because I gave him the control to, something he’s never been given before.

“Okay,” he replies quietly.

“I’m not going to lie, the harder I work, the more it hurts initially, the quicker the pain will be over.”

He nods and I think he’s relieved that someone is taking the time and consideration to include him in what’s going to be done to his own body.

“But we go at your speed, okay?”

“Okay.”

I stand again, reach over and turn on my playlist, a compilation of soft, bluesy swamp rock and acoustic melodies and begin.

I’m getting tired.

Is it dark outside too?

Will I ever see the sky again?

I can’t think that way, I can’t give up. Not on myself, not on Bucky.

He will come for me; I just have to hold on until then.

My mind continues to wander, trying to distract itself from the growing lassitude in my body. The weariness, the lethargy scares me, I wish I could still feel the pain, at least I’d know I’m still here, existing, even with the agony.

I remember the way our relationship progressed, slow and cautious, tentative.

Slowly his body would turn from iron to relaxed muscles beneath my touch, slowly there would be anticipation, maybe even eagerness in his eyes when he’d walk into the department, rather than grim resignation.

Once he fell asleep on me, facedown on the massage table and I let him nap, leaving the music and lights low, the door cracked, waiting for him to wake as I went about with other duties, finally seeing him emerge looked a little shamefaced, smiling tentatively in apology as I worked with Sam on a range of motion exercise for his recently injured knee.

That seemed to be the final barrier.

After that, I was one of the few people Bucky actually chose to seek out, a rare and exclusive club.

It was easy to love him.

For even as I seemed to be a source of comfort and contentment for him, he too was my bastion of strength, my rock.

If he could wake up each morning and push on, then anything I encountered in life was conquerable too.

“Baby.” He groans, lips brushing my ear.

His powerful body moves above me, inside me, bringing me to heights of pleasure I’ve never felt before.

It’s our first-time making love together, and in some ways, it’s like its truly the first time for both of us.

He’s so gentle and tender, careful with how he handles me, like I’m precious glass in his large, powerful hands.

He cradles me as he thrusts, holding me close to him, whimpers faintly and its that sound of pure vulnerable surrender that pushes me over the edge. He follows, groaning my name into my hair as his body shudders. I feel him pulse inside me, the most peaceful feeling of rightness suffusing my limbs.

Right here.

This is where I’m meant to be.

This is the point my entire life has been leading to.

He collapses beside me, breathing heavily and I roll to the side, resting my arm across his heaving chest. The faint flinch he always had, that he still has with most other people, is gone. He trusts me completely and it’s a gift I will never waste.

His eyes lock with mine, searching, somehow dark with desire and light with joy at the same time. His body is ready again, hard and straining, serum-enhanced and close to insatiable.

I roll to straddle him, his eyes following me. His hands reach up and I clasp them, twine our fingers together, press against them as I sink down onto his cock, watch his eyes roll back in his head with ecstasy. I roll my hips, encouraged by the sounds my movements draw from him, the low groans and grunts, moans and hums of pleasure.

“Fuck-” he curses and my heart dances.

My body is hungry, wanting more, and I increase my pace, chasing another release.

His eyes open, lock on mine once again and we stay connected like that, both in gaze and in body. I watch the emotions shine there, in his supernaturally blue depths, see the vulnerability there, something akin to awe, as if he has trouble believing he’d ever be this way again, open and honest and bare with someone else, trusting them in so many ways.

“Bucky-” my voice drops into a whine as my peak hits, my eyes closing.

“No.” He orders and my eyes snap open. “Let me see you, baby. Let me watch you.”

Our eyes lock again as I give in and then he’s coming too, thrusting up into me one last time, eyes burning into mine, the expression in them driving me into another, simultaneous orgasm, which infinity loops back into Bucky, his body shuddering as my walls milk him, drawing his seed hungrily, and I realize that there’s few things I’d rather be in this world right now, than joined so viscerally with him like this.

The only thing that would make this better would be if his seed takes root inside me and I’m able to give him a child, a second chance, an opportunity for unconditional love.

I cough, wince at the pain that flares in my chest, taste copper in my mouth.

It won’t be long now, I feel the truth in my bones and, while it breaks my heart, I still fight it.

I need to see Bucky, even if its for the last time.

I’ll miss our life together, the way he always sought me out, wherever I was.

Touch-starved as he was, for nearly a century, once Bucky learned he could trust me, began to touch me whenever he could.

An arm around me from behind, lips on my neck. Tight hugs for no reason, seeming to recharge at our connection. Waking tangled up with the huge cuddle-bug, barely knowing where I ended, and he began.

And the way he’d cling to me on the couch, even if others were there too, uncaring about what they thought. Curled against me like a child, head buried in my neck, almost purring under my touch as I ran my hands along his back and shoulders, like stroking and taming a large beast, soaking in the touch-love like parched earth and water.

After almost a century of starving, he was hungry for connection now, for my touch.

I hate that I’ll be taking that from him.

Slight sounds I’ve been hearing sporadically for a while now but not really able to make out become faint rustles nearby, a muffled call.

The rubble creaks, threatens to shift and, after a fraught pause, the rustling continues.

“Lev?!” I hear someone call, faint and blurry, but the way the word cuts tells me they’re screaming.

I try to answer but can only croak.

The weight on my body is almost too much now, the exhaustion pulling me further and further down. My belly feels heavy and a faint part of me muses that I’m probably bleeding internally, probably have been since I came to in this horrible, choking blackness.

Would Bucky still love me if I were broken? No longer whole?

I know the answer.

Yes.

I loved Bucky before he was whole, when he was broken.

A giant rat is nearby, scratching, then the cutting scream again, closer and cracking with strain. I recognize it finally, Bucky’s voice, breaking with anxiety, snapping under the stress. His throat will be sore for days.

I imagine him tunneling through the rubble by hand, shaking off other’s hands that try to stop him, tell him it’s too late and there’s no way I can still be alive.

But I know he won’t stop, not until he can touch me again.

[windstormwielding]

✵ for Naomi and Chinatsu

via Send ✵ and my muse will answer the following (closed!):

Naomi... It’s been some time since I checked in on her, hasn’t it?

Their first impression of your muse:

It was during my first big mission after the Quincy war. An old Aizen experiment skulked around the world of the living at the time, an Adjuchas-class Hollow that melds into shadow seamlessly. We met when started targeting her, because not only did she have more spiritual energy than most humans, she happened to be a Fullbringer at that. Never met one myself before then, but we sure put paid to that Menos together!

Current impression:

An old, short-lived flame. She found comfort in me amid her day-to-day struggles, and I found peace in her for a while, what with the Quincy war still fresh on my mind back then... I tried to be the voice of reason between us though, staved off her affections for as long as I could until I finally decided to be straight with her, as much as it pained us. She was sweet, patient, plenty fun to tease...

Are they attracted to your muse?:

...so I can’t pretend I don’t miss her company. I still look back on her fondly and hope she’s doing well.

Something they find frightening about your muse:

Not that I can think of anything notably scary about Naomi, but I did fear for her safety when I wasn’t around before. Hopefully she kept improving her Fullbring since we parted ways...

Something they find adorable about your muse:

I found it cute when she kept calling me Shinigami-san, even after I told her my name.

That, and messing with her at her bar made for some lovely reactions-

Would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?:

It wasn’t like I just stood there when that Hollow came for her!

Would my muse go on a date with yours? platonic/romantic:

It’s not that I would’ve been against it, but we’re of two separate worlds, you know? There is myself, a duty-bound shinigami, with more time to look forward to than she does as a living, breathing human... All of that would lead to inevitable heartbreak for us in the end, so we couldn’t get too emotionally invested in each other, as much as it pained us.

Had our circumstances been different, then maybe...

One word my muse would use to describe yours:

Worthwhile.

Would my muse slap yours if they could?:

Her butt, yes

Would my muse hug/kiss yours?:

Oh, we were not at all chaste towards the end of my assignment there-

—————————

Lieutenant Yamamoto now, right?

Their first impression of your muse:

She’s been with the Gotei 13 longer than I was ever even alive, a mainstay of the 1st Division under her father up until very recently. Chinatsu often visited Captain Ukitake back in the day, but it was either just for affairs with the 1st, or simply meeting together as friends. I wouldn’t really get to know her myself until well after the last war was over, when I made Lieutenant. Always poised and regal, she had a powerful air about her that made it hard for a greenhorn like me to approach her in those times... Not that I had a reason to before, anyway, but still.

Current impression:

When she allows herself to let down her hair, out of the public eye? I find Chinatsu can be really kind, and has plenty of wisdom to impart. Very knowledgeable in her teas, too, and a great drinking companion to have in that regard! I don’t know what compelled her to up and join the 8th Division as their Lieutenant, especially after staying in the 1st for as long as she did, but I’m happy for her advancement all the same. And hey, now we share the same rank!

On that note, I’m also... relieved for her, I suppose? Now she has every opportunity to go out and connect with the rest of the top brass instead of them coming to her. I know it’s not easy for her to have... well, lost as much as she had over the years, but at least she can now make new friends and open up to new acquaintances, while seeing to the next generation of soul reapers. This will be good for her! Not that Chinatsu needs me to, but I’ll vouch for her.

Are they attracted to your muse?:

Granted, I don’t know her too well personally yet so I can only really speak for her looks... but at least based on those, I’m honestly surprised no one’s really tried to pursue her? Envious curves, long black hair that hasn’t lost a hint of lustre, a mature and refined beauty with plenty of youth to her yet... It’s like I said before, I won’t pretend she isn’t pretty.

Something they find frightening about your muse:

She strikes the fear of divine retribution in anyone when she’s set off, and knows exactly what words to impart when she finds something worth criticizing... New recruits were especially sensitive to that, so Reiō knows I wouldn’t want to do anything to deliberately upset her. That was our first face-to-face meeting too!

Something they find adorable about your muse:

I find it wholesome that she took over Tea Ceremony Club duties from her father. Still haven’t thanked her properly for inviting me into the club yet!

Would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?:

Certainly! I like to think we’re becoming friends anyway.

Would my muse go on a date with yours? platonic/romantic:

Huh... Well, not that I would say no if she offered? But I feel I’m probably too young to her taste for anything romantic, and hey, that suits me fine. Besides, any chance to know her better now as my fellow Lieutenant would be a chance worth taking, so platonic works just as well!

One word my muse would use to describe yours:

...lonely?

Would my muse slap yours if they could?:

I’d rather not be cremated on the spot, thank you...

Would my muse hug/kiss yours?:

I don’t think we’re anywhere near that close for the former, let alone the latter. Can’t say she comes across as a hugger either, but hey, I could be surprised!

[ibijau]

demon NHS // On AO3

Set after wwx freed the Wens, and a little before NHS meets his mother

The last notes hung in the air, giving the room a peaceful air it often lacked. Lan Xichen had not often had the occasion to come into Nie Huaisang’s quarters before things took the turn they had, but it had been enough to find out the other boy, trying so hard to be elegant and refined in public, hid a messy side in private. It had grown worse lately. Back when Lan Xichen started playing music to help him keep his nature under control, Nie Huaisang at least made efforts to put some order to his things.

For his last two visits, the mess had been allowed to remain. 

It was not the only sign that Nie Huaisang was struggling more and more with the situation. There was also the lack of care with which he had dressed himself, the state of his hair, the way he no longer smiled when Lan Xichen joked. And that was only what Lan Xichen himself could see. Nie Mingjue had mentioned terrible arguments between them, usually on the subject of Wei Wuxian. 

Nie Huaisang, apparently, was of the opinion that although his manners had not been ideal, Wei Wuxian had been right to interrupt the Flower Banquet and demand to be given an account of the surviving Wen's treatment, that the Jin's actions needed to be investigated, especially those of Jin Zixun. In short, he wanted Qinghe Nie to give support to Wei Wuxian. Nie Mingjue, however fair he tried to be in other matters, refused to listen in that one, arguing that the lives of some Wen dogs were not worth so much trouble, and that Nie Huaisang would do well to forget he had ever been friends with Wei Wuxian. 

In truth, a similar discussion was happening between Lan Xichen and his own brother, though with a great deal less shouting. Wei Wuxian was not a man of many friends, but those he had certainly were fiercely loyal to him. 

And yet news had just arrived from Yiling about Jiang Wanyin visiting his brother, about Wei Wuxian seceding from Yunmeng Jiang… 

"Is Er-ge too angry at me?" Nie Huaisang asked. 

His train of thoughts interrupted, Lan Xichen's gaze fell on the other man, still in a meditative position, his eyes closed. In spite of the song played to him, there was little peace to be found on his handsome face. It made Lan Xichen sad that he could not help more. They had never been particularly close before this started, and even now Nie Huaisang probably would not have called him a friend, not when he had Jin Guangyao and Wei Wuxian, but still… Lan Xichen felt an ever deepening fondness for the unfortunate young man, and wished he could have done more. 

He missed how insouciant Nie Huaisang used to be, how easily he would laugh. Lan Xichen didn't think he'd heard him laugh since his nature had been revealed.

"Who do you think is angry at you, Huaisang?" 

Nie Huaisang opened his eyes and gave him a long, tired look, as if to signify he found the question a particularly stupid one. 

"Da-ge is furious that I want to help Wei Wuxian," he pointed out. "That's why he called you here, he thinks I must be going crazy if I agree with protecting a bunch of Wen. San-ge is upset that when I yelled at his father and everyone else, I've ruined all our hard work in making me look weak and insignificant, which is why he also wants you here to calm me. And then there's everyone else who is just generally angry that I'm still around and wants me dead, but I don't much care what they think. Your opinion I do care about. Are you angry too, Er-ge? "

Lan Xichen winced at the ease with which Nie Huaisang spoke of being so hated. Sadly, it was a fair assessment. Nie Huaisang, even more than Wei Wuxian, had few people on his side outside of his sect (or even inside it). Hearing him publicly stand up for his friend had certainly not endeared him to anyone, just as it probably made Wei Wuxian's own case worse. 

"You have done nothing that Wangji did not do as well, although perhaps a little more noisily. I am not angry at him for doing what he thought was right, so I see no reason to be angry at you either."

"He's your brother, it's different," Nie Huaisang pouted. 

"We're family as well, in a sense, and so I will extend the same good will to you as I would show any brother of mine. I am not angry at you, Huaisang." 

"Unhappy then. Upset?" 

"Worried," Lan Xichen conceded. "I wish more people saw you the way your brother, A-Yao, and me see you." 

Nie Huaisang snorted in disdain, but something still relaxed in his expression and he finally stretched out of his meditation posture. 

"Useless and foolish and only good at getting in trouble, that's me!" 

"Clever when you feel like it and devoted to the people you care about," Lan Xichen countered. "I will not contest that you are rather good at getting in trouble, but lately that's only because people around you are unreasonable." 

A weak smile found its way to Nie Huaisang’s lips. 

"Er-ge is too kind." he sighed. "I wish Da-ge and San-ge saw this the same way as you do. I'm glad they finally agree on something again, I just wish it weren't on how much I messed up." 

For some reason, Lan Xichen felt an impulse to pet Nie Huaisang’s hair or hug him or just do something to comfort him. It was just so wrong for him to be so melancholic. But it would have been improper for Lan Xichen to be so informal with him when they weren't that close, so he restrained himself. 

"I'm sure they're just worried, like me," he said. "I will be going back to them now. If they are just worried I'll scold them for not showing it more kindly. If they are angry… I'll try to deal with that for you." 

Nie Huaisang broke into a large, happy smile, and thanked him profusely for that promise. For a moment he looked almost like the cheerful boy he used to be, and just that would be worse the headache Lan Xichen was sure to get while trying to get his sworn brothers to calm down. 

-

"Of course I'm angry at him," Nie Mingjue huffed while Jin Guangyao poured tea for all three of them. "That little idiot, losing control over something like that!" 

"He did not lose control," Lan Xichen protested, smiling at Jin Guangyao when he handed him a cup of tea. "In fact, I remember him backing off the instant you ordered him to." 

"Storming off and going after Wangji and that girl who defected is not backing down."

Lan Xichen frowned, but before he could protest, Jin Guangyao intervened. 

"It was really bad timing, and I wish Huaisang had kept quiet. Now people will certainly think that he is associated with what Wei Wuxian is doing with those Wen cultivators. Our Didi's reputation did not need that."

Jin Guangyao sounded genuinely worried, as he always did when their conversation were about Nie Huaisang. Lan Xichen dared not imagine what his sworn brother must have heard when Nie Mingjue was not around to keep people quiet.

"Did you investigate what was going on in that camp?" Lan Xichen asked. "Was there any truth to Wei Wuxian's claims?" 

"Some of the guards were at times a little rough," Jin Guangyao conceded with a sigh. "But nothing more than a little bullying, a few unkind words here and there. Jin Zixun swears that the incident Wei Wuxian described also never happened, and as we know, Wei Wuxian could have a grudge against him." 

"Jin Zixun is not the most trustworthy person out there," Lan Xichen pointed out. 

Jin Guangyao froze in the movement of sipping some tea, and flashed him a pained look. "Er-ge, do you think I took him to his word? I asked others as well, of course. I know how my cousin can be when he gets upset, and I double checked." 

Lan Xichen felt embarrassed for having doubted his sworn brother's zeal. After such accusations, it was normal that Lanling Jin would have made sure that nothing wrong had happened within its ranks. Certainly Wei Wuxian had sounded very sincerely upset, and Nie Huaisang seemed to fully trust him, but… Jin Guangyao would not have lied to them.

"Go tell that to Huaisang then," Nie Mingjue said. "Maybe he'll stop moping around like a molting hawk if he just hears that he was wrong."

"Huaisang doesn't listen to anyone these days," Jin Guangyao sighed. "Me least of all, since I have nothing to say that he wants to hear." 

Nie Mingjue reluctantly nodded to that, glaring at his half empty cup of tea as if it were responsible for the unease between him and his brother.

"I think he's bored," Lan Xichen hazarded. "He's been very isolated since this all started, and now he can't even write to his best friend. You can't fault him for being upset." 

“Then perhaps Huaisang needs more… appropriate friends,” Jin Guangyao suggested. “I know Jin Zixuan is organising a Night Hunt in a few weeks with a few others. I think if I asked him, he would agree to invite Huaisang.”

“A Night Hunt?” Nie Mingjue grunted. “Isn’t that going against everything you’ve been telling him to do for over a year?”

That was Lan Xichen’s thought as well. They had worked so hard to make it clear that Nie Huaisang was harmless, it would ruin everything if he started slaying monsters. Besides, even before the truth came out, Nie Huaisang had never enjoyed Night Hunting, so this seemed like a rather poor way to find him friends.

“Don’t worry, Da-ge,” Jin Guangyao said with a pleasant smile. “It is not the sort of Hunt you would go on. As I understand, quite a few young ladies have been invited, most of which just so happen to be either engaged to Jin Zixuan and friends of his, or hoped to become so in the future. The boys are going there to show off, the girls are going there to admire them. If Nie Huaisang stays with the girls during the actual Night Hunt there’s no risk at all, but he’ll show again how tame he is. It had worked quite well during the Phoenix Mountain Hunt, right?”

“I don’t like it,” Nie Minjgue insisted. “I’m not worried about fierce corpses and monsters, I’m worried about what would happen if someone decided to take their chance and attacked him.”

“Then send a few trusted Nie disciples with him if you’d like. But you needn’t worry. Jin Zixuan would not allow any harm to come to him. In fact, since Nie Huaisang has so openly declared himself in favour of Wei Wuxian, it is likely that my brother, put in his presence, will try to befriend him even without my prompting him to do so. After all Lady Jiang will be there and he is still very eager to impress his fiancée.”

Even with this promise, Nie Mingjue looked unconvinced, so Jin Guangyao turned to Lan Xichen for support, silently pleading for his help. On any other subject, Lan Xichen would have quickly sided with him, but for once he felt uncertain.

“Wouldn’t it be simpler to organise an occasion where he could meet with Jin Zixuan and chat with him alone?” he suggested. “I think Huaisang could get along with him if he tried, but I’m less sure about the crowd that usually follows him. Would Jin Zixun be there?"

"He sees Wei Wuxian in every shadow these days, so that's very unlikely," Jin Guangyao explained. "As for your idea… Er-ge, it is possible for my father to allow Nie Huaisang to join a Night Hunt if Jin Zixuan requests it, but meeting in private would be too much considering the current… situation. Otherwise, I would not have suggested an activity Huaisang dislikes this much."

It made sense, sadly. Jin Guangshan had never directly taken sides against Nie Huaisang, but he had also made no effort to silence those who did. Yet with how fond he was of his only legitimate child, it might work if Jin Zixuan started arguing in favour of Nie Huaisang. 

"I suppose it might not be bad," Lan Xichen admitted. "He looked very unhappy earlier." Like a caged bird with clipped wings, he thought. Like a flower cut and displayed in a vase, starting to wilt for lack of roots. "He can't stay in his room for the rest of his life, Mingjue."

Even with the most logical of arguments, Jin Guangyao could never have convinced Nie Mingjue. Yet now that Lan Xichen approved it, the plan was instantly less distasteful. 

"I'd be sending him with the best disciples his age," Nie Mingjue warned. "And he'd be taking his sabre." 

"It would be odd if he didn't take it," Jin Guangyao replied with a note of amusement. "This is a Night Hunt in name at least, and it would be unseemly for a cultivator of his rank to appear without his weapon. The same goes for him having companions. He is the Second Master of Qinghe Nie, of course he cannot travel alone. Da-ge, I also want Huaisang to be safe ! Tell me all your conditions, and as soon as I return to Lanling, I will talk with Jin Zixuan to see if he agrees to help. Everything will be fine, Da-ge.”

Nie Mingjue looked unconvinced, but started naming his demands, which Jin Guangyao listened to without a single protest.

It would be good for Huaisang to be around people again, Lan Xichen told himself. It would force him out of his melancholy, and it might make him a little more reasonable in his views of Wei Wuxian if he could just have other people to talk to.

It would be good for him.

And yet, Lan Xichen couldn’t help feeling at least as worried as Nie Mingjue was.

[ibelieveinharrystyles]

Chapter Three: It’s Complicated

Forever? Masterlist

1st February 2016 Ashley loved celebrating birthdays, she especially loved celebrating Harry’s birthday. On the morning of the first day of February she pulled herself out of bed and found her phone to send Harry a video of herself dancing to Stevie Wonder’s rendition of happy birthday. It was easier to do when she still lived with her mum because their house was considerably bigger than her new flat in London. Being from the North of England Ashley was naive when she started house hunting, but eventually she managed to find a small flat in South London that had decent enough tube connections to allow her to get to work each day. She had also managed to make it her own, making the most of the available space, each room was incredibly small, but that was how things worked in London. She was set to be at work all day and then she’d have to face the inevitable joy that was rush hour as she traveled into North London for Harry’s birthday meal. 

Following breakfast she rummaged through her wardrobe looking for something she could wear to work, but would also be appropriate for Harry’s meal. She was still yet to tell Harry about the baby and her choice to keep it, so she thought tight fitting clothes were out of the question. Eventually she settled on a grey chunky roll neck jumper which she paired with black jeans and her trusty leather jacket. Her hair was a mess as always, she didn’t even attempt to curl or straighten it, so decided to opt for a simple but effective top knot.

“Morning sunshine!” Ashley called as she sat at her desk, across from her new found friend Toby, he was one of those effortlessly fashionable people who looked painfully good in literally anything. The two of them were doing the same paid internship and shared a mutual appreciation for Colin Firth; they spent every lunchtime together, Ashley swiping through Toby’s tinder matches to find him a suitable match, whilst Toby continued to talk about his failed dates, this week's disaster was Roberto.

“How are you so awake when it is so early?” Toby sighed, spinning on his office chair.

“It’s called getting nine hours of sleep you melon.” 

“I love it when you get all sarcastic, makes me realise I’m not actually as cynical as I thought.” Toby told her as she tapped away on her computer.

Whilst on their daily lunch break Ashley and Toby stopped off at Starbucks, “What can I get you love?” the barista asked her.

“Just a cheese and marmite panini and tea please.” Ashley replied as she handed over her cash.

“Cheese and marmite? Are you trying to insult me?” Toby asked in disgust before ordering his salad and cappuccino.

“You aren’t allowed to be rude to me, I’m pregnant remember, besides it's one of my odd cravings, along with chicken nuggets dunked in peanut butter.” She told Toby sarcastically, the only people who knew about the baby were her mum, Gemma and Toby, she hadn’t intended to tell anyone at work until further down the line, but using dry january as an excuse not to go on a work night out didn’t seem like a feasible excuse, so she felt it necessary to tell him the truth. She was still yet to find the right moment to tell Harry, or Anne for that matter, she didn’t want to have to tell her best friend that her first child was born out of a loveless night of lust, well in fact there wasn’t even any lust on Ashley’s behalf.

“What ya thinkin bout pet?” Toby asked her as they took their usual seat in the window.

“All sorts, whether I should buy a crib or wait a few months, whether or not I should tell my best friend I got pregnant after a drunken mistake.” Ashley explained, biting her nails the way she always had when she was anxious.

“Whoever this elusive friend of yours is, I’m sure he’ll still care about you the same way whether or not you’re pregnant, so stop being so hard on yourself, besides babies don’t stay that small forever, in a few months time your belly is going to be the size of a beach ball.” Ashley hadn’t told anyone at work her best friend was in fact Harry, she didn’t want people to think she got a free pass just because she was best friends with pop sensation Harry Styles.

As soon as she entered Leicester Square Station Ashley regretted her choice to get the tube, it was packed, even though on the streets of London there was still a cold chill in the air, somehow the underground remained its warm and sweat inducing self. She held onto her bump with one hand, while the other had hold of the pole, not wanting to face palm on a tube full of people. Since moving to London Ashley was often successful at wrangling a seat, seeing as it was pretty obvious she was pregnant, it had taken her a while to adapt to the bluntness of most Londoners, growing up in Holmes Chapel, life moved at a much slower pace, people stopped for a chat and it wouldn’t in anyway impact the progress of their day, but here everyone was in a rush, living in their own little bubble.

Harry’s restaurant of choice was fancy, very fancy, when Ashley arrived they took her coat from her and led her to the table where Harry, Anne and Gemma were sat with several other people she didn’t recognise, so assumed they were colleagues and famous friends of Harry’s. “Happy birthday Haz!” Ashley cried as she hugged her best friend.

“Thank you petal.” he whispered into her hair, swaying her from side to side, he was dressed in yet another Styles signature look, a loose white shirt which was only buttoned half way, so his bird tattoos were peeping out, paired with black skinny jeans and chelsea boots

“This is for you,” she handed him the gift bag, Ashley never knew what to get Harry, if he wanted something, frankly he was in the position where he could afford it himself, there was no need for Ashley to buy him anything fancy, so instead she decided on a leather bound notebook with room for all his scribbles and ideas. “Twenty two eh? Pretty sure someone’s written a song about that.” She smirked, shooting Harry a knowing glance as she took a seat opposite him, beside Gemma. 

“You alright?” Gemma mouthed, to which Ashley nodded, being the generally caring and compassionate person she was, Gemma had accompanied her to the twelve week scan, and offered her services as a general source of comfort, because in Ashley’s eyes she was the next best thing to Harry.

The food was posh, and Ashley had always lacked a refined palette, the poshest food she’d ever had was when her dad took her for tea and cake at the Ritz, so she opted for what she felt most comfortable with, steak. Conversation was buzzing amongst the table, Harry had lots of questions for Ashley, he hadn’t seen her since Christmas and wanted to know all about her first month working at Capital. “Some champagne for you sir.” The waiter placed the bottle on the table in front of Harry and a champagne flute in front of each guest. 

Harry stood up, clearing his throat, “I’d like to say thank you all for coming tonight, it means a lot to have all my favourite people in one room, so cheers!” Harry told the group before popping the cork, he made his way around the table to pour everyone a glass, eventually getting to Ashley, “

I don’t want any thanks H.” She told him softly.

“Oh come on Ashley, it’s the first day of February, dry January is over so you’ve got to have a drink.” he insisted.

“I’m fine H, I don’t want one.” She replied.

“Just one, a little one.” He pushed.

“Harry leave it.” Gemma told him sternly.

“Why are you getting all defensive all of a sudden Gem?” He asked, placing the bottle on the table.

“If she doesn’t want a drink I just don’t think you should pester her about it.”

“Harry I wasn’t doing dry January, the real reason I haven’t been drinking is-” Ashley muttered.

“You don’t have to do this, not now, not if you aren’t ready.” Gemma assured her.

“What’s going on? Why are you two being secretive?” Harry questioned, the several glasses of wine he had consumed, clearly taking effect, on his normally rational state.

“I’m pregnant.” The silence was almost deafening, the light conversations around the table had stopped, Ashley and Harry looked at eachother like there was no one else in the room, she hadn’t wanted to tell him like this, she was going to tell him when she was ready. Harry sat back in his seat, twiddling his thumbs, “I think I best leave you all to it, thank you for having me,” Ashley whispered before standing from her chair, she left some money towards the meal on the table, took her bag from the chair and left the restaurant, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Gemma glared at her brother as Ashley darted out of the restaurant, “Well done Harry, you handled that with real compassion.”

“What did you want me to do? My best friend just told me she’s pregnant.” Harry replied.

“For Christ sake Harry! She’s the one who is going through all of this, and yet all you can think about is your bruised ego.” Gemma told him bluntly, the raised voices drawing unwanted attention from other customers in the restaurant.

“You two need to calm down.” Anne soothed, placing her hand on Harry’s arm, “I’m sure she had a valid reason not to tell you love.”

“Harry, be the friend she needs you to be, go after her and apologise.” Gemma instructed him.

London was dark, as you would expect, it was early February after all, Ashley made her way towards Highgate tube station, the winter frost biting at her skin as she walked. She entered the station, rummaging through her pockets for her oyster card, “Ash! Wait.” She turned to see her best friend, panting heavily as though he’d run a 100 metre sprint, the station wasn’t busy but he had drawn some unwanted attention to himself. “I’m a dick.” he sighed as he walked closer to her.

“Little shit actually.” she replied, a small grin appearing briefly on her lips.

“What I mean is, whatever happens, whatever you have to deal with over the next few months, I’ll have your back, forever.” He assured her, holding onto her elbows, so as to steady her.

“The reason I didn’t tell you was because I thought you’d think I was a failure, for fuck sake I’m nearly twenty and I’m three months pregnant and the father is a twat who currently resides in Malia and probably beds a new girl every night.” 

“I don’t think you’re a failure, out of everyone I know you’ve got your shit together, you knew you were pregnant when you came to London, but you still did it, the idea of being here alone didn’t phase you and I admire you for that.” Harry told her, “You’ll be a great mum, and I’ll be an even better uncle.” Harry chuckled.

“I’ve got another present for you if you want it? I think you’ll like it more than what I actually got you.” Ashley rummaged in a bag, pulling out her twelve week scan, “That’s your niece or nephew in there.”

Harry grinned eagerly, his dimples becoming more prominent than usual, “Can I keep it?” he asked her, unable to stop smiling.

“Of course you can.” 

“Thank you, I’m sorry I’m such a little shit.” He wrapped his arms around her tightly, kissing the top of her head, “I’m going to look out for you two forever.”

[likeanemployee]

Weiss’ Portrait

Weiss had been surprised by a number of things today, the first was when Ruby asked if she could paint her. She simply would never have guessed the energetic younger girl would have an interest in a hobby like that. When she thought of painters, or artist in general, she imagined the somber, dignified museums and galleries in which their work was displayed or refined masters focusing intently for hours on end to create the perfect masterpiece. She was pretty sure she had never seen Ruby focus on anything for more then half an hour and anything further from her idea of a refined master then the dolt was hard to imagine. Which is why Weiss hadn’t been surprised when Ruby added only a moment later “I’m not very good but I still like doing it” the image of a painter in Weiss’ mind had shifted suddenly at the comment from a classical master to something more like a child covered in its own finger paint. That was probably an unfair description, despite her tendency to act like one Ruby wasn’t really a child and Weiss didn’t really think of her as one, or at least not most of the time. The imagine which had truly formed in her head had been quite vividly of Ruby herself slashing energetically at a canvas with a brush, paint splashing everywhere as she did. After a moment, the phantom Ruby had leaned back revealing a smock which at some point had been white, but which now was thoroughly besmirched with paint of all colors. As this false Ruby considered her work, she moved her brush absent mindedly to her chin and then blinked in surprise as she accidently left a bright green splotch on her face. Weiss had suddenly found herself trying very hard to suppress the smile her own mental image had created before shrugging and agreeing to let Ruby paint her

It had turned out Ruby looked nothing like Weiss had imagined. She had remained in her usual clothes and while her brush strokes were on occasion faster than Weiss would have imagined from one of those “refined masters” they lacked the grand, if she was honest comic, flair and fervency of her imagined Ruby. On top of all of which the entire process was quite tidy, without the mess of paint she had been certain would define Ruby’s style. That had been the second surprise, although after she thought about it she realized it shouldn’t have been. For one this was hardly the first time Ruby had proven herself to be more skilled then Weiss first imagined and for two, and probably more importantly, Weiss realized her mental image had been entirely unrealistic, with grossly exaggerated motions and truly absurd quantities of paint.

The third surprise she was just becoming aware of as she felt her neck getting stiff. She had imagined when all this started that it wouldn’t take up that much of her time. It wasn’t the first portrait she had sat for so she was familiar with the kind of time it could take for a professional artist but surely Ruby wouldn’t put that much detail into her painting, beside certainly the energetic dork would get bored and lose interest before then. Unfortunately, she had been wrong, and she had already been here for at least as long as the last portrait she sat for. In some ways she didn’t really mind, she didn’t have any other plans and Ruby had chosen a pleasant spot for her to sit and do the painting. Beside she had agreed to let Ruby paint her and she at least should have known what that meant but still…

“Ruby?” She decided to ask trying not to sound too impatient “are you done yet? My neck is cramping.”

Ruby’s response came as the next surprise “NO!” she had answered forcefully “Perfection takes time. don’t rush me!”

Weiss blinked taken aback by the anger, no, she realized slowly, not the anger but the frustration in Ruby’s voice. She hadn’t been paying much attention to what Ruby was actually doing but she did now, and she found the younger girl was doing a lot of glancing back and forth between her easel and Weiss with a scowl on her face and very little painting. “Ruby?” she asked again “I don’t mean to be rude, but it doesn’t look like you’re doing much painting. And” she added quickly as Ruby’s angry face appeared suddenly from behind the canvas “it doesn’t look like you’re having much fun, which I thought was kinda the point of this.”

“oh Ruby I’m sure it’s fine, besides like they say it’s the thought that counts. Just let me see.” Weiss said trying to sound as reassuring as possible.

It was Ruby’s turn to blink in surprise and her expression softened as she did “Fun?” she asked “I guess kinda but it was also… well I wanted to make something for you. You know something that was I don’t know fancy or whatever, but I think I messed it up and I don’t know how to fix it.” The disappointment in her voice was palpable and Weiss smiled warmly touched by the sentiment.

Ruby looked as though she were going to refuse for a moment but then her shoulders sagged, and she said “Ok” gesturing for Weiss to come stand beside her and look at the painting.

Weiss stood preparing  herself to pretend like she liked whatever she saw, she didn’t want to hurt Ruby’s feeling especially since Ruby was trying to do something nice but she wasn’t sure how convincing she could be after all they didn’t call her the…

Her thoughts cut off suddenly as she stepped around the easel and caught sight of the painting. “Ruby it’s…” she paused sheer shock at the greatest surprise yet rendering her speechless. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting but it hadn’t been something so “incredible” she finished the thought out loud.

“Don’t tease!” Ruby huffed back “I was trying to be nice.”

“I’m not!” Weiss answered the words came out in a far more confrontational tone then she had really intended, and she forced herself to pause and continue in a far sweeter voice “Really, Ruby this is fantastic.”

“Yeah, right, sure I know sarcasm when I hear it.” Ruby continued grumpily

Weiss rolled her eyes and let her frustration show this time “Apparently you don’t, dolt. Why can’t you just take a compliment!”

“Because you don’t mean it!” Ruby screamed back but then fell back and continued quietly “how could you? I mean look at you and look at that.” Weiss didn’t know how to respond to that and silence hung between them for a moment before Ruby continued “I should have known better you’ve probably been painted by some famous professional potraiterist who made you look as pretty as you really are and me...” she simply plopped sadly down on the ground instead of finishing the sentence.

“Ruby” Weiss hummed sweetly as she crouched down next to her “You’re right you know, I have, or my father at least, had a professional paint my portrait before, I don’t know that he was all that famous but he was very well paid and I can say with full certainty and honesty that I like yours much better.” And she thought as she stood to look at the painting again I really do mean that, the professional’s might, and I mean might, be a little technically better but I hated that painting I looked so stiff and lifeless and in this..

“You look ridiculous!” Ruby protested jumping up next to her and pointing at her painting “Look at your smile, I made you look crazy.”

“You made me look happy, you dork!” Weiss retorted half laughing, and half frustrated

“but it doesn’t look like you” Ruby insisted refusing to give up

“You know if Yang were here, she’d probably say something like that’s just because I never look happy.” Weiss countered but Ruby didn’t look amused “Ruby, I like it! Wasn’t that the whole point. I mean look I’m smiling right now do I look crazy to you?”

Ruby tried hard to stay upset and grumpy but her folded arms loosened and a smile crept across her face “Well…” she started and Weiss was delighted to hear a playful note in her tone “Yang does have a point, you aren’t ever happy…”

“Ruby Rose” Weiss said trying to sound intimidating while stifling a laugh “Are you saying I do look crazy?”

“Maybe not crazy so much as unnatural and unnerving, and only when you smile.” Ruby teased back.  

“Just you wait till next we spar, I’ll show you unnatural and unnerving!” Weiss retorted and they both laughed before turning as one to look again at the painting.

“You really like it?” Ruby asked one last time

“Do you really think I’m pretty?” Weiss asked in response

“what?!” Ruby stammered out in surprise “I said..? umm see what I meant was…”

Weiss just laughed back and interrupted

“I love it, Ruby”

This fic was inspired by this I’m not so sure this is actually anything at all like the sort of scene the artist was portraying but it’s where my mind went after seeing it 

[hedwigstalons]

High Expectations - Ch12

Just a little sketch to see if I could tackle proportions and pose, no references used.  Yes I know I have made absolutely no attempt to make the brothers look like anyone, particularly Scott, I’m very much still learning (and struggling).

I’m normally very clean with my fics but one or two swears crept in this time, blame Scott.  It’s not littered with profanity though.

This chapter (and the next one) were really saved by @willow-salix​ who stopped me from deleting the whole thing in a crisis of confidence.  She is lovely.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven

AO3 chapter link

Chapter 12

Virgil ran his fingers through his hair and wondered what the hell to do for the best, he was completely out of his depth and floundering.  He had made it his personal duty to keep an eye on Gordon ever since that fated visit to Denver but now the red flags were flashing and he was feeling ill equipped to deal with it.  His cheerful brother, normally so driven and bursting with barely contained energy, was wilting before his eyes.  

With each passing call Gordon had become more listless, less talkative, dropping into the stupor of the repressed.  He should have been worried when Gordon switched from video calls to voice only but he had been too busy with his own course to pay much heed to the change of routine until today.  He was pretty sure that Gordon had activated the video screen by accident; the face that greeted him was sallow, the eyes red rimmed and framed by heavy black bags.  It hadn’t taken long but Gordon’s lean and athletic form displayed change quickly, his little brother was a mess and looked visibly ill.  

Of course he had heard all about the Marineville incident and their father’s ultimatum so he knew the cause but not the solution.  He couldn’t even have Gordon up to stay with him again because Jeff’s total control over Gordon’s life had extended to him refusing even this escape for the teenager.  He had already tried that route but their father had held firm that Gordon had not yet earned the right to freedom.

With his father holding on to the unshakable belief that Gordon needed tough love and firm handling Virgil turned to the only other person he thought could make a difference.  After a quick check of the time he picked up his phone again and called Scott.

“Hi Virg, what’s up?”  Scott took in his brother’s agitated demeanor causing his usually cheerful tone to change to one of concern.  “Hey, are you ok?”

“Not really.  I think I need your help.”

“Everything ok with your project?  Or have you finally got girlfriend trouble?”

“This is serious Scott” Virgil admonished, not impressed at his brother’s attempt to lighten the mood.  He ran  his fingers through his hair again, it was a sure tell of his barely contained worry and a gesture that made Scott sit up and take notice.  “I’m fine but I’m worried about Gordon.”

“Gordon?  What has he done now?” With Gordon pretty much confined to quarters since Marineville Scott wondered how much trouble could his brother could get into really?  Surely if he had run off again it would be Dad on the phone to him, not Virgil.

“Nothing, as far as I can tell.  But I spoke to him tonight and I’m worried about him, he seemed so low and upset.”

“Are we talking ‘Alan breaking his octopus model’ upset, or ‘losing the state final and nearly being booted from the national squad’ upset.”

“I mean looking like he hasn’t eaten or slept for a week levels of upset.”

“Shit.  That bad?”  To Gordon the body was a tool and a temple, the words ‘optimal nutrition regime’ had been bandied about from an age when most kids would still happily eat candy for breakfast if given half the chance.  Gordon had never not taken care of himself.

“Yes, that bad.  I’ve never seen him like this before, it’s like all the spark has gone out of him.  He’s got nothing to aim at and nothing to live for.  Dad is adamant that he needs to go to college but that has never been part of his life plan and he has got absolutely no confidence in his own abilities even if he wanted to go on to further studies.  Do you think you can go back and check on him?  I know it’s a big ask but I’m tied here for the next few weeks otherwise I’d go myself.”

Scott knew that Virgil wouldn’t make this request lightly.  They had spent so long looking after the kids together back in Kansas, each supporting the other while their father focussed on his business or his grief, that he trusted Virgil’s judgement to be sound.  If direct intervention was requested then that was what was needed.

“I’ll see what I can do.  I’ve got some leave due at the end of the month, I might be able to get it brought forward.”  He made a mental note to cancel his airfield slot in New York, whether his leave got moved or not it looked like he was going to be spending it in LA rather than the Big Apple.

“Thanks.  You know I wouldn’t ask this if I wasn’t sure it was necessary.” 

“I know.  Look, it’s fine.  I’ll get down there as soon as I can and report back to you.  Now go get some sleep, you look done in and it must be gone midnight for you.”

“Okay.  Night Scott.” A wave of relief washed over Virgil as he closed the call.  If Scott hadn’t been available the next step would have been to head back himself; he would have been on a flight already if his project wasn’t at a time-critical stage.  Scott would soon get to the heart of the matter and everything would be fine.  He hoped.

Several states away Scott ran his fingers through his own hair in a gesture that mirrored his brother’s earlier action.  He hadn’t seen Virgil this rattled about a brother’s health since John’s suspected appendicitis eight years ago.  That had been for a scary time for them all with Jeff away on a business trip and Scott left in charge of the kids, ably backed up by Virgil as his reliable second in command; a role his little brother had assumed without asking ever since their mother had died.  Now Virgil was asking him to step up again and it was time to answer the call.  They had worked as a team then and they would work as a team now.   

xoxoxox

In less than a week Scott found himself outside the apartment door.  He hoped Virgil was wrong and that this was a wasted journey but his brother had an uncanny skill at being able to see beneath the surface.  It was his trust in Virgil’s opinion that had him citing ‘family emergency’ and ‘compassionate leave’ at his own commanding officer before making the trip south.  

He entered the cool darkness of the hallway and was hit by the wall of sound spilling out from the cracked doorway of Gordon’s room; a telltale sign that his brother was there but noone else was.  There was no way Jeff would have put up with that sort of racket as the beat of the music thudded through his bones.  He wasn’t particularly keen himself but at least it meant he could make his entry undetected.  It also meant that he was guaranteed some time alone with Gordon; Alan should be out at school for at least the next few hours which would give him the opportunity to try and get Gordon to open up without the pressure of an audience.

Pausing only to deposit his kit bag in the room that had never really felt like his, Scott made his way to the kitchen and started digging through cupboards until he found the cocoa.  It was a comforter, a treat reserved for those times when someone was particularly upset or recovering from illness.  The dark playlist that was still reverberating around the apartment suggested it was going to be necessary. 

Bearing two steaming mugs Scott nudged the door to Gordon’s room wide open and stepped in.  The curtains were still closed despite it being the middle of the day and the room smelt stale.  The figure on the bed sat up with a start at the sudden intrusion and confusion crossed Gordon’s features at the unexpected visitor.  For Scott the shock was different in nature, even in the darkened room the physical change in his brother was profound.  Gone was the tanned skin and glossy hair, instead Gordon’ locks sat limp and flat, framing a face that was several shades too pale making the dark eyes look like wells into oblivion.  The haunted look that greeted him caused Scott to curse himself for for not realising that things had gotten this bad, for not being there and for leaving Virgil to be the one that kept a check on everyone’s wellbeing.

He put the mugs down and hit the off switch on the stereo, causing a deep silence to fall over the room, before throwing open the curtains.  The sudden change in light levels made Gordon wince and the natural light he was now bathed in only served to enhance how pale he had got.   Scooching Gordon’s legs out of the way so he could perch on the end he joined his brother on the bed.

“I couldn’t find any of that caramel syrup you like, sorry.” 

“S’ok.  Coach doesn’t like us having too much refined sugar.  Didn’t like.  Don't suppose it matters any more.”  The reminder that he no longer had a coach was like a punch to the gut and his shoulders slumped just that little bit lower. 

Picking up the mug Gordon took a deep pull at his cocoa.  The warm sweetness hit the back of his throat invoking memories of Kansas; recovering from a cold or mourning a lost race, Scott’s cocoa was a band-aid for the soul.  Even without the syrup the hit of sugar that came with the drink gave his thought processes a jump start.  He blinked, then looked at Scott as if properly seeing him for the first time.  Yes, big brother really was in his room. 

“Why are you here?” Suspicion crept into his voice.  The last time he’d seen Scott it was Marineville; he wondered if this was another visitation orchestrated by their father, have big brother there during the day as another layer of control.

“Had some annual leave to use” Scott shrugged.  “Didn’t have any plans so I thought I would stop here for a few days.”  

“You’re a terrible liar.” Gordon rolled his eyes at the blatant falsehood.  “Try again.”

“Okay.  Virgil was worried about you and asked me to look in, call him if you don’t believe me.  It’s true I had some leave to use up though.” 

“Does Dad know you’re here?”

“Not yet.  I wanted to see how you were for myself first and frankly Gordon, you're a mess.  When did you last swim?  When did you last even shower?” With the curtains now open and the sun streaming in the room was warming up, amplifying the odour of unwashed body. 

“Was at the pool maybe 2 weeks ago.  Don’t really know any more.  Not much point now I’m off the squad.”

“C’mon Squid, you’re better than this.  Finish your drink and get your running shoes on, you need some sunshine and you need it now.”  

“Can’t.  Gotta get my personal statement finished before Dad gets home.”  The half-empty mug was set down with thud, the cocoa suddenly seeming bitter.  Storm clouds brewed behind his eyes at the reminder of their father and the rules he imposed.

“And how’s that going?”  Scott raised an accusatory eyebrow at the rumpled bed sheets.  There were some jotted notes on the desk but it didn’t look like Gordon had made much progress.  “I’ll give you a hand with it later but I need a run and you are coming with me, it’ll make you feel better.”

Gordon knew better than to argue.  The Scott of Kansas, the one that provided cocoa, was also the Scott that had spent night after night getting him to complete his homework or making him tidy his room.  He’d had a counter to every single one of Gordon’s tricks or arguments then and the look on his face showed he wasn’t going to take no for an answer now.  He hauled himself up and hunted for his running shoes in the closet while Scott disappeared off to his own room to get changed.  The very fact that he couldn’t lay his hands on his running kit straight away just showed that Scott was probably right, he had been shut away and static for too long and needed to move. 

The pair set off at an easy pace, their feet thudding against the sidewalk as they headed towards the nearest green space.  For Gordon, who had been neglecting his fitness regime of late, it took a while to shake the stiffness out of his limbs.  The sun felt dazzling as it reflected back up from the flagstones after shutting it out of his room for so long. 

Scott made sure to stay a couple of steps behind to start off with, supposedly so that Gordon could direct the route, but really so that his younger sibling could dictate the speed without being pressured.  He had always been the faster runner, his long limbs easily able to outstrip his brother’s stockier build, but the pace as they set off felt particularly sluggish.  There was no attempt at competition either.  Despite their differing talents the Gordon of old would always put up fight, trying to achieve the impossible and beat him to the finish but there was no fight today.  Staying a few steps behind also gave him a chance to take a proper look at his brother.  Scott noted with worry that the muscle definition in his arms and legs was softer, his steps heavy and less springy and the tee-shirt hung limply off a form that seemed thinner than before; the family athlete was a long way off peak condition and far from his usual energetic self.  Compared to the powerful figure he had watched sprinting to the finish of the assault course at Marineville Gordon was practically unrecognisable.

They ran in silence along shaded boulevards and down wooded paths, the sounds of the city muted by the greenery of the park.  The path looped and twisted and you could almost forget the world that existed on the far side of the railings.  As they approached the gates that would release them back into the city Scott turned onto the grass and slowed to a halt leaving Gordon to follow him with a puzzled look.

“Stretches” Scott answered in response to the unasked question in Gordon’s eyes, “or have you forgotten how to do those too?”

Gordon didn’t grace that with a response, just rolled his eyes and started running though his post-workout routine.  It really had been too long since he had given his body a proper challenge and his limbs were protesting.  He was still fit by average standards but he knew that if he hit the pool now he would be miles off gold medal pace.

Stretches complete Scott flopped down on the grass and patted the ground next to him in a gesture that was more command than invitation.  Gordon’s legs complied, gratefully collapsing to the floor, and he was soon sprawled beside his brother on the warm turf gazing up at a sky criss-crossed by contrails.

“So Gordon, what the fuck were you thinking?”

Gordon’s head snapped round at the blunt outburst.  “Don’t you start too, I’ve already had all the lectures I can handle.”

“I’m not here to lecture.  Seriously though, what the hell has been going on?  First you’re storming your way to a world record, then you’re putting yourself through one of the toughest military selections in the world and now you look like you couldn’t do either.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need to be able to do either, do I.  Dad has made it perfectly clear I’ve got to go to college.  I’m not allowed to compete any more and you hauling my ass out of Marineville kinda blew any chance I had with WASP.”  

A look of anger flashed across Gordon’s eyes as he threw out that barb.  He was pissed at himself for how hard he had found the run and cursing his lapse of discipline, Scott was an easy target for his frustrations.  For Scott it was the first spark of real emotion he had witnessed since arriving. 

“Yeah, sorry about that, I didn’t really have a lot of choice.  I must admit I was surprised though, you’ve never shown any interest in the military before.” 

“Never really had the time.  I’d spent so long throwing everything I had at my swimming I really thought that was going to be my life.  I honestly thought I could make him proud.  Turns out in Dad’s eyes though it could never be more than a hobby.  Now Coach won’t have me back on the team even with Dad’s permission; he said he needs commitment and can’t risk putting in the work only to have me pulled again.”  

The pain in his brother’s voice was clearly evident and Scott couldn’t blame him.  Gordon has spent years devoting himself to his sport, making significant sacrifices along the way.  Their father had always told them to give whole heart to a cause, that half measures would only lead to failure, and when it came to swimming Gordon had followed that advice to the letter.  To have all that dedication and commitment wiped out in the eyes of his Coach by the actions of that same father must have been a bitter blow.  

“Ok, forget Dad for a minute, tell me what you want.  I don’t care about what Dad thinks or what your Coach says.  If you could do whatever you wanted with your life what would it be?”

If Scott was expecting to be left waiting for an answer he was in for a surprise.  There was no hesitation in Gordon’s response, a small part of him might still doubt Scott’s intentions but it felt good to actually be listened to and to get his frustrations off his chest.

“WASP.  It...it felt good there.  I felt good.  I felt like I belonged and I could actually see myself having a decent life.  I honestly thought I could make it but I guess now I’ll never know, I’m probably permanently blacklisted.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.  Ok, faking the forms really wasn’t the smartest of moves but you won’t be under age for much longer.”

“I still couldn’t get it past Dad though.” The thought of his Dad had Gordon curling his fists in rage.  A handful of grass stems ended up decapitated with a satisfying ripping sound as they were torn up by the roots.  “I can’t just fly up there and try again, Dad would never arrange the ticket and my allowance has been cut off completely.”  Another handful of grass lost its grip on the ground.  “I can’t even call a cab without needing to run it by him to get some funds released.  Hitting 18 isn’t going to buy me any more freedom.”

Scott winced inwardly as the pile of broken stems beside his brother grew with each angry tear at the ground.  The restrictions being placed on Gordon’s life were draconian to say the least.  The stupid thing was they were doing more harm than good but evidently their father was too certain of his own righteousness and was blind to the damage he was doing.  He knew that if this carried on much longer Gordon could end up both mentally and physically broken, cowed into submission with all his spark gone.  

Just recently Scott had begun to have some appreciation of what it felt like to be under the controlling shadow of his father.  Every phone call between them came with the reminder that he was expected to become pilot in his father’s rescue organisation idea.  He hadn’t been asked, just presented with the future as if it were a foregone conclusion.   The difference between him and Gordon was that he had already stepped away from his father’s control.  Jeff couldn’t tender his resignation for him, much as he might like to, and so he still had a say in his own future.  Gordon had no such power .  His resolve to help his brother hardened.

“You leave Dad to me.  If you’re sure WASP is what you want…”

“Yeah, it is.” The response was strong, showing some of the old confidence Scott was more used to associating with his brother.

“...then I’ll do what I can to see you get your chance.  Of course, actually getting through selection will be up to you but from what I saw before you seemed to have that sorted.  Now come on, up with you.” Scott hauled himself up off the grass and extended a hand to his brother, pulling Gordon up and then into a hug.  He stood there for a moment, arms wrapped around the shorter form, feeling the head buried into his shoulder in silent thanks, before reluctantly breaking the contact that his brother obviously needed so desperately.  “We ought to be heading back, it’s getting late.  And you seriously need to hit the shower.”

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

Could I ask for Mountain Tim with #9 (The first words your soulmate says to you are tattooed somewhere on your body)? I love me my cowboys- would absolutely wed him on the spot if I met him irl!!

Yee to the haw! I would totally marry him too! I'm so glad you requested! Also I just managed to finish this on my lunch break.

The night watch (Yandere Mountain Tim X Female Reader)

You had been sitting in a train carriage for maybe two to three days. You couldn't help but be struck in awe, so much had changed in America since you were sent away to France nineteen years ago, slavery had been abolished and the county was slowly gaining momentum as an upper nation and another presidential campaign had began.

You couldn't read a newspaper without seeing Funny Valentine's name on almost every page and you could understand why he was a man of the nation and had the patriotism that a president needed.

As the train grinded to a halt the dust flew up in the hot summer wind. You stood up, grabbed your bags and made your exit. You walked calmly out of the train and saw only one unfamiliar male standing at the station. A blonde haired male who had the indistinguishable look of a cowboy. He tipped his hat up as he noticed your presence and you caught the gleam of his sheriff's badge as he approached you. You let out a hiss of annoyance, he was most likely sent by Mayor Harold Jones to have you locked up for the crime you never committed.

"Are you here to arrest me sheriff because if you are then please do so later, I have to visit my mother urgently" you said as you tried to walked past him but he grabbed your arm to stop you. For a split second you could see a gleam of shock in his eyes.

"No I wasn't aware of any pending arrest against you, I'm I'm hear with a heavy heart to tell you that your mother passed away yesterday morning" he responded as he gave you an empathetic expression. You looked back at him once more and let out a sigh. You knew one day this day would come. The prophecy was tattoed in your skin. To you it was a horrible foreshadowing of what the future had in store and now it had finally happened.

It was an uncanny birthmark that went from a simple blob to actual words, you never knew why or how this happened but you did know that a sign like that would never lie.

"I'm sorry for your loss ma'am" he said. You didn't respond to him, you had no words to say.

"Do you need some help with your bags?" He asked.

"No I'm perfectly fine" you said as you shook his hand away and began to walk off to the small town which you once called home.

As you walked down the long street you saw everyone watched you, their eyes all filled with hate. The town was almost dead silent until a gunshot erupted, you could feel the bullet just brush past you.

You looked to your left to see a gruff male with a rifle in hand.

"McGavin... Couldn't even fire a sling shot properly, now look at you, can't even fire a gun... If you want to blow my brains out then I'd suggest moving to the right a little" you said in a cocky tone.

"You bitch-!" He yelled before a lady exited the house. You remembered her as a skinny blondie but the years of being married had obviously gotten to her.

"Oh Mary Ann, you really let yourself go" you commented about the fuller figured woman causing her to let out a gasp.

The town was now filled with howls and hollering, all of there mean comments directed at you but you didn't care, you'd dish out a full banquet of revenge upon them all at some stage.

As you walked down the street you noticed the blonde male following you, he only spoke after you left the chaos of the main street.

"I'd suggest you not to stir the pot if this town hates you, you were nearly shot" he said, a small amount of worry coated his calm voice and you laughed in response.

"Nobody told you?" You asked.

"About what?" He replied.

"I was forced to leave this town at the age of eight after I murdered the mayor's son Jimmy Jones..." Yo said as you turn to face the sheriff.

He looked at you in shock as he  heard such a confession come from such a young and refined woman.

"You don't think I could have done such a thing do you?" You asked him.

"No ma'am, it doesn't seem like something a young girl would do" he replied.

"My point exactly, now I must head to the house, I need to start unpacking so the house is pristine when my husband comes" you said before walking to a decent brick house at the end of the street.

👗👗👗

Those bitter first words were undeniably the same as the words over his chest, right on-top of his heart. It was a sigh of fate that you two were meant to meet.

A few weeks had passed since then and no matter where he'd go he'd always find you in some way. From what he had learnt, your name was (Y/n) (L/n) and you were an opulent dress maker that lived in France with your aunt and uncle and that you had moved back to your small hometown to start up a small business.

Everyone in town would talk about you like you were a monster in human form, a creature that brought pain and misfortune, a woman with a heart of stone or ice but when he looked in your eyes he could see a poor soul who seeked a peaceful life, a poor girl wearing a mask to hide away her emotions to all those who seeked to destroy her. It's like he had known her for all his life. Like he had watched all the times you had been kicked down and thrown around as a child.

Now he stood at the front door of your home. He knocked on the door.

"(Y/n) are you home?" He asked.

"Yes come in, if your here because June told you I stole from her shop then she's lying!" You yelled.

"I know, I saw the stolen goods at the back" he said as he walked in

"My Mama would do such a thing?" He heard another female exclaim before gasping. He walked into the living room to see you sitting at the coffee table with a younger female that held your sketch book in hand.

"You want me to wear that!" She nearly yelled at shock.

"Of course, do you think I would have gone to all the effort to sketch something I'd tell you not to" you calmly replied as you took the book back before looking towards him.

"Then what brings you here?" You asked him.

"I just wanted to see you, is there anything wrong with that?" He replied.

"Well you've chosen the right time, my husband is preparing some afternoon tea as we speak. so take a seat" you said and he complied, sitting on the chair beside both you and the ginger haired female.

"Honey we have another guest so could you please grab another plate and cup" you called out.

"I'm not that hungry so there's no need to spoil me with your hospitality" he replied.

"Nonsense, it would be impolite to not let you eat" you insisted before focusing on your first customer, Betty Marshalls.

"I'm sorry, where were we?" You asked her.

"Could you maybe-" she was about to speak before you cut her off.

"Oh that's right, I haven't shown you the fabric yet" you said as you pulled out a basket with various snippets of different fabrics. You hands dove in with absolute determination to find the right one before pulling it out.

"Now this one, it screams elegance" you said as you showed her a piece of black silk with red oriental patterns.

"Um isn't this outfit getting a little risque..." She shuttered which caused you to give her a stern glare.

"You asked me for something eye catching, so that is what I'm going to give you" you growled.

"But if my mama saw-" she was going to say before you stood from your chair and leaned towards here and gave her a harsh poke on her chest.

"You are twenty years old for Christ sake, your Mama is a delusional, psychotic mess that wants you to suck on her teat for the rest of your life! I'm sure as hell that she's only keeping ya because she lost her son in the Civil war! So if you want to have at least a speck of a chance to marry Harry Conners and live your own life I suggest you let me do the designing and keep ya big mouth shut!" You yelled out in a banshee like screech, causing the poor girl on the receiving end to sink into her chair with a horrified expression on her face.

"Bit harsh don't you think?" Tim piped in. You let out a sigh as you slumped back into your chair and rubbed your face with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, I just get a little too revved up sometimes" you sighed to the two.

"It's... It's alright" Betty squeaked out like a little mouse.

"I know how much you love your Mama Betty... I'm still a little emotional about my mother but what I'm saying is true, your mother is a two faced bitch... You may see a wonderful lady who wants to protect you but she's doing more harm then good... I know because I saw how she manipulated your older brother" you explained to the poor girl.

"Honestly the only good thing about her I can point out is her chilli con carne..." You continued as you remembered how good the hot pot mixture was whenever you managed to steal a little at various town gatherings.

"Actually... You could pay me by telling me her recipe... I've been trying to cook it for my husband for years but I just can't seem to make it the way she does" you said as you leaned in towards her.

"No... I can't just tell you!" she exclaimed.

"O come on... No one will know, I'm only going to make it for me and my husband" you said.

"No"

"Fine then the initial price of sixty dollars it is" you sighed as you grabbed your sketch book and began to rework the design before handing it to her again.

"I've just made it a little more subtle but I'll let you choose the fabric this time, ok?" You asked.

"Yes, but are you sure your going to make this before the fair?" She asked.

"Of course four days will be a breeze" you said before looking to the blonde male.

"Sheriff Mountain Tim, this will be a secret amongst us, I can't have anyone knowing about this... Especially June" you said as you twirled your slender finger in a circular motion before placing it over your lips.

"Of course ma'am" he replied as a smile appeared on his lips, despite your cold exterior he knew you were a compassionate woman deep down. He just couldn't help but fall hopelessly in love.

"Oh honey what took you so long?" You asked as a man approached the coffee table with a large tray of savouries and sweets. He had dark hair and eyes that were typically associated with Asian descent but his skin and the way his features were contoured were more European.

"I was just making sure that the food was suitable for our guests darling" he said as he put the tray down before kissing you. Tim couldn't help but feel the jealousy stab into him like a knife. He knew that you were the wife of another man but he couldn't help feel that I should be him.

The rest of the afternoon you all sat down and ate and drank. You talked about your years in France and how you had met you husband Han Cresswell during a family vacation to Vietnam at the age of sixteen and that you both married a eighteen. Mountain Tim couldn't help but feel jealousy stir inside of him, threatening to boil over. He just couldn't help but feel that he was more deserving of your love.

👗👗👗

"Honey I'll stay home with you if your really that ill" you said as you sat beside your husband on the bed.

"No I'll be fine, I just need to rest up... You go out and enjoy yourself at the fair" he replied before letting out a horrible cough.

"Are you sure... I'll stay if you aren't feeling well" you replied before a knock on the bedroom door alerted you to see the ginger hair girl who had appeared without much warning.

"God don't scare me like that Betty" you exclaimed in shock as you held your chest.

"Sorry..." She muttered.

"How hard was it to shake your mother off?" You asked, she only gave you a disgusted expression as she showed you a crinkled and  yellowing dress that had enough frills to suffocate anyone in a three foot radius.

"Oh god, I'm guessing that was her tacky old dress" you nearly choked out in disgust and she nodded a yes in response.

"I'm sorry honey but I need to help this poor girl out..." You said before kissing his forehead and standing up.

"No it's fine" he said as he gave you a smile before you guided her to your dressroom.

Betty's eyes were filled with wonder as she saw the mannequins and fabrics, mirrors and draws as well as everything in-between. You were like the fairy godmother that would make her a Cinderella.

You pulled out at dress for her and showed it to her. It was a stunning black of the shoulder dress with silver detailing, the bottom of the dress went down to her ankle and had a slit up one side that would allow her to move freely while keeping the slim figured design.

It took forever to get her out of the tacky dress but once she had the new dress on she couldn't help but look at herself in suprise. It's like it was the first time she had seen herself with administration of her form. You quickly grabbed a brush and undid the horrible twin braids and brushed her hair before draping her hair over her right shoulder and pinning it on the left to hold it in place. Her natural wavy hair gave it the bounce it needed.

Now she was a completely different person. She looked like a starlet.

"Such little changes can make a big difference" you sighed, you could even say she looked more beautiful then you. She opened her mouth but no words could escape, she was speechless.

"Now you wait down stairs, I'll be ready to go soon" you said as you shooed her as you grabbed one of your dresses.

👗👗👗

Throughout the afternoon you sat smugly as you watched all the ladies look at her and feel like shit comparison. Of course you had June confront you and go absolutely mad. Screaming on how you turned her daughter into a witch, which made you laugh before responding with a few simple words

"You'll see the real witch in the mirror... You daughter wants to live her own life now"

As night fell you sat and watched couples dance away and Betty was not dancing with Harry Conners but instead with dashing stranger who's charm couldn't be compared, it reminded you of when you first met Han all those years ago.

You were finally pulled out of your thoughts by a familiar voice.

"What are you doing sitting here all by yourself tonight?" The blonde asked. You looked at him, staring deep into his blue eyes.

"I just wanted to see how everyone reacted to Betty's dress, my husband would of come but he got sick" you explained.

"What about you?" You asked him.

"A sheriff's duties are never over, I've been patrolling the town all afternoon, everyone seems to be here but who knows if some thieves were to show up" he replied.

"So what brought you to this place in the first place?" You asked.

"I've been wondering through America for most of my life, one day I found this little struggling town and I decided to help out, I don't consider this place a home but I'll stay as long as the town needs me" he explained and you gave him a nod as you continued to watch everyone dance with their partners. Mountain Tim noticed this and extended his hand.

"I know it's wrong to ask a married woman this without her husband's permission but would you care to dance with me?" He asked and a smile appeared on your face as you took his hand.

"I'd be delighted, I'm sure my husband would be fine with it" you replied as you stood up.

👗👗👗

"I really appreciate your offer but I think I'll be fine walking home myself" you insisted to Mountain Tim.

"Are you sure? I couldn't bare the thought of you getting hurt" he replied.

"I'll be fine, my move isn't that far away, but thank you for the offer" you said.

"No need to thank me"

"Then can I tell you at least that I appreciated your company tonight, I'll admit it was daunting to be somewhere full of people that hate me..." You confessed.

"I'm glad I was, I don't see why the town could hate a beautiful woman such as yourself" he commented causing your face to turn a light shade of pink.

"I hope you have a safe trip home" he said.

"You too" you said as you began to walk.

Mountain Tim watched you fade into the distance and let out a sigh before lifting his shirt to reveal the bandaged wound he had, his blood slowly seeping through the layers of cotton gauze pads and bandages. He wished you had taken him up on the offer, he could of just followed you anyway but that would only draw suspension. He knew what he had done will add fuel to the town's fiery hatred towards you but after all, love makes a man a fool. Love makes a man do crazy things.

You felt sick as you felt your guys turning, something was off but you simply thought it might be your suprise to his compliment. You walked through the dark town that was only illuminated by the moon. When you got closer to your home you notice something was hanging from the large tree out the front.

With each step closer fear began to solidify until you realised what was hanging from it was a body, your husband's body. You ran quickly and screamed in horror. You tried to untie the end of the rope that suspended your husband's body but you couldn't.

You looked around for something and found his small dagger on the ground near his body. You picked it up and noticed the crimson liquid that stained the blade before you desperately sawed at the rope for what seemed like minutes. You cried out in fear and pain as you desperately hoped that you could save him. You occasionally ran the blade over your hands by accident as you tried you hardest to cut the rope.

Eventually the rope gave in and his body fell with a thud. You ran over and screamed out his name and cradled him in your arms as you prayed for him to still be alive, but it was no use... Had been dead long before you had arrived.

👗👗👗

"So... Everyone thinks I killed him" you sobbed into your hankerchief.

"I'm afraid so (Y/n)..." Mountain Tim responded.

"But... I loved him" you cried.

"I know, I don't think you did it but I'm investigating, I have to set my thoughts of you aside and look at the facts" he explained as he leaned forward and wiped the tears on your cheek with his thumb. Your attention caught was quickly caught by the blood dyed bandages you could only just see as the front of his shirt slightly draped as well as a tattoo over the left side of his chest, they seemed to form words but you couldn't make them out in that particular angle. For some reason your intuition was telling you something was up with whatever lied underneath the bandages.

"Why are you in bandages?" You asked.

"You shouldn't try to get involved with my personal matters, besides you need to tell me what you know" he replied in a stern tone.

"No, I'm not going to tell you anything until you show me what your hiding under those wraps" you responded in a peeved tone.

"You seem eager to avoid the subject" he responded.

"And so do you... You know I don't have the drive to commit murder" you replied.

"I never said I believed you did it, nor that it was a murder..." He replied.

"It was... As a matter of fact I found my husband's dagger at the crime scene with someone else's blood on it..." You explained. Then it clicked in your mind. The bloody dagger, Tim's injury and the time frame. He was the only one that hadn't been at the fair for the entire afternoon.

But rather then burst into tears or go rampant you sat quietly and looked at him straight in the eyes.

"What would bring a man such as yourself to take another's life in such a slow and painful way?" You asked him in a monotone voice. He simply slipped further into the lounge and let out a sigh as he shook his head.

"I'd be lying if I told you that I suspected you would figure it out" he sighed.

"I learnt a lot more in France then just sewing sheriff" you hissed.

"So what drove you to murder my husband?" You asked as you folded your arms.

"(Y/n), jealousy can drive a man to do crazy things" he explained as he took his hat off.

"So what did you want? Was it money?" You asked and he simply let out a chuckle in response.

"No, nothing materialistic ma'am" he said before you were pulled in towards him with a rope.

"Just a lonesome man such as myself would kill to have a passionate woman such as yourself to call their own" he cooed before planting a soft peck on your lips.