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some-bunniii · 10 months ago

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My Charming Red Savior [4]

・❥ A friend revealed, and warm feelings.

x: pronouns are she/her. no use of y/n.

xx: decided to change the saving fem!reader to its AO3 title, so all parts of this fic have been updated for this change as well!

~6.8k words

warnings: depictions of blood/injury

“Did I miss anything?”

Those were the first words the King of Hell had spoken atop the large patio, as you stood in awe, battered, with dust and debris sticking to your body. You blinked, frozen in place as your eyes scanned over the pearlescent man’s figure, who grinned charmingly across from you.

He leaned lazily against the gold railing, now partially destroyed from the small explosions that had peppered the front of the hotel. The screams and snarls from below were all but silenced now, except for one or two stragglers who could be seen making a run for it in the distance. But, not before a large, swamp-green tentacle snaked around them, and began beating them into the ground. It wasn’t long before your gaze was back on Lucifer, a million thoughts racing through your head.

It wasn’t until Lucifer’s smile faltered slightly at your silent staring, did he clear his throat, nervously tapping against the apple-tipped cane in his grip. “You look a little shaken up, are you doing good over there?”

You were about to open your mouth to speak, until your eyes darted to another small, cylindrical object flying right towards Lucifer. You recoiled, throwing your hands in front of your face as it closed in on the fallen angel.

“Watch out!” You cried to him, squeezing your eyes shut as you waited for the familiar boom of the grenade to shake the patio. Lucifer whipped his head around, eyebrows raised as the grenade soared towards him. Lifting his arm, he caught it in his hand before it could hit him in the face, before raising it to get a closer look.

You splayed your fingers, peeking through the small gap when you realized once more that your heart was still beating. Raising an eyebrow, your face contorted into surprise as your gaze rested on the object in Lucifer’s hand.

The bomb ticked quietly in his palm, slowly increasing in speed as the seconds went by. It vibrated in his grip, and Lucifer only inspected it casually, rolling it between his fingers with interest.

Was he just going to hold it until it exploded? You watched silently with wide eyes, unsure of what exactly was going to happen. If it went off, would the King of Hell even have a scratch on him? Maybe, that was why he seemed so confident holding a bomb in his hands. Watching Lucifer catch it casually in the air a few times only cemented that thought.

The perks of being immortal, you supposed.

“Hm, seems they got the timing off on this one,” Lucifer observed, just as the ticking seemed to increase to every millisecond. Right when you were sure it was about to go off in his palms, Lucifer’s fingers curled around it. It looked like he was squeezing the cylinder like a balloon, as the black, metal surface contorted, shifting from the pressure.

Instead of lighting into a ball of flame, the bomb exploded in a burst of multi-colored confetti. Which sprayed across the patio, a few stray pieces landing on your face as they settled onto the floor. You were silent, in awe at the magical display. Lucifer only grinned at you, a silent boast of his powers as he caught you gawking. He adjusted his collar, still leaning against the railing as he brushed some confetti from his shoulder pads.

Realizing he had noticed your staring, your cheeks began to heat in embarrassment. You lay your eyes for the first time on the most powerful man in Hell and all you can do is stand there and look dumb, get it together! Leaning forward, your head practically hits the cracked tile flooring as you bow.

“Your Majesty, I apologize for my rudeness!” You quickly pipe up, your eyes still locked to the floor as you keep your head down, “Thank you for saving my life, I don’t know if I’d be alive without your intervention.”

“It was no biggie.” Lucifer shrugged, waving his hand in the air in a sweeping motion, as he brushed off your compliment. He lifted himself from the railing, taking a few steps forward as he began to cross the patio. “Can’t have my daughter’s friends be attacked by a couple of low-life thugs.. again! What kind of a father would that make me?”

You straightened, lifting your head to meet his gaze. Your brows furrowed as the words left his lips, mouth opening slightly as if you were about to question him on his statement.

‘Daughter’. Was he talking about Charlie? Of course, he must be, she looked like a carbon copy of him! But, that would mean… it wasn't an imp that had approached you yesterday morning during your shift. At least, not any normal imp. Does that mean you had been talking to…?

It was in the same instance that Lucifer leaned in closer to you, his eyes squinted in thought as he inspected your face. He placed a finger on his chin in thought, as he regarded you with a curious expression through those soft, yellow eyes of his.

“Wait a second… do I know you from somewhere?” He questioned finally, raising an eyebrow in anticipation. You smiled as you thought of a response, your hands rubbing together in a soothing motion. Lucifer’s eyes lit up in recognition before you could say anything, and he snapped his finger as connected the dots.

“That's right! You were that sweet worker at the formalwear store yesterday, weren’t you? The one that opened early for me!” He beamed, taking another step closer as your eyes widened at the proximity.

“Y-yes, that was me, Your Majesty.” You stammered out, cursing yourself so being so godamn nervous. “Except, I wasn’t really aware that you were... well, you?”

“Oh, heh, yeah, my impish disguise. Pretty good, eh?”

Yeah, it was. There wasn’t anything that would have made you guess that imp was actually Lucifer, at least before you had met the man. Except, for the height. That hadn’t seemed to change between the two appearances, as you still had to lower your head to meet his gaze even now.

You took a deep breath, calming your jittering nerves as you again realized who was standing right in front of you. Never once did you think a lowly citizen of Hell like you would be this close to the Lucifer Morningstar! Should you have kneeled instead when you greeted him? What was the proper etiquette for this kind of thing? Alastor would have surely known.

That thought made you lean over slightly to get a peek past the fallen angel’s brimmed hat. Your eyes followed the slender, shadowy forms of tentacles snaking around the last two criminals, who were trying to shoot the large masses.

“Aren’t you, um, going to go help..?” You pointed behind him, and Lucifer turned to follow your finger just as another thug was flung past the large fence that surrounded the hotel. Their squeal of fear faded as they disappeared from view. Static-laced laughter filled the air as the tentacles began to dissipate.

“Nah, I think your… friend down there has it covered.” Lucifer shrugged after a moment, turning back to face you.

You nodded slowly, taking a deep breath to calm your jittering nerves. Between last night and this, you were about ready to lay in your bed and hibernate for the next three months. Life was exhausting, it seemed.

“Well, that was fun!” Lucifer smiled, nodding along as he clasped his hands together. “Didn’t think I’d find drug dealers trying to knock down the walls, though. Looks like I really have to up the security around here.”

You nodded along half-heartedly, and watched as he strolled past you towards the door. He only made it a few steps before he halted, and you jumped slightly as he pivoted to face you. He waggled a finger at you, mock suspicion in his gaze as he leaned in. Now that you could get a better look at him,

“I also was not expecting to find you here, either. Only yesterday, it seemed like you had no idea the hotel even existed. Now, I find you in the raging path of a feral tea table. An odd turn of events, don't you think?”

You smiled, heat creeping onto your cheeks in embarrassment. You probably looked pretty pathetic when Lucifer was saving you, curled in a ball while you accepted your grim fate. You wished you had some kind of badass demon magic, so you didn’t have to be so helpless. Did Alastor ever feel helpless? No, probably not, he seemed so confident in every situation you saw him face.

The way he strolled down the stairs so casually when the thugs had first attacked, made it seem like he had done that kind of thing many times before. But, it seemed like that was true, since you patched up one scuffle on his coat, and were told of his encounter with Sir. Pentious–which you simply couldn't believe would attempt such a thing, now that you’ve met him–a few months prior.

You wondered what made him and Lucifer struggle to get along, had something happened in the past between them? Maybe, you could get Alastor to budge with that with a little prodding. For now, you were unsure of what to tell the King. How would he react if you said the only reason you were here was because of Alastor? You didn’t want to lose the friendliness you had with Lucifer, it probably wouldn't be fun to be on the King of Hell’s bad side.

Plus, it seemed like Lucifer liked you. Did that have something to do with the fact that he claimed you were a ‘rare gem’ when it came to being a nice person in Hell? He did give you all that money.. which you lost. Maybe, he’d give you some more if you played your cards right.

And, if it was as friends, you wouldn’t mind getting closer to the fallen angel. He was just so funny and charming, you couldn’t imagine the kind of gossip he had to share, and you wouldn't be bothered if he shared it with you.

“Oh, well, beeeecause I was interested in redemption! Ha-ha, yeah. When we talked earlier, your words just struck something in me! So, I took a tour and stayed the night.”

“Really? I inspired you to come to the hotel?” Lucifer asked incredulously, tilting his head thoughtfully at you. He raised an eyebrow, doubt written across his features.

“That’s right! I mean, you even gave me a bunch of money like it was no big deal. That was very kind of you!” You nodded enthusiastically. That wasn’t exactly a lie, since the conversation with Lucifer yesterday did lead to Alastor revealing more about the hotel, which in turn piqued your interest enough to even consider staying for an extended period.

Slowly, Lucifer's eyes lit at your response, a gleam of happiness that you hadn’t noticed before. He seemed to be standing a little straighter too, as if that was some kind of confidence boost for him. Did Lucifer not… genuinely help people often? Was it something he wished he could do more often?

Seems like ruling a realm full of demons that continually commit the worst atrocities known to mankind would break an angel’s will to want to make a change.

“I wanted to thank you again for your generosity,” you started, your tone genuine as the glint in Lucifer’s eyes only seemed to grow, “All that money you gave me would have really helped,

“Would? What happened?” Lucifer inquired, tilting his head curiously.

“Some guy mugged me,” you stated bluntly, rubbing your shoulder awkwardly. It felt weird telling people about your most vulnerable moments. You found no enjoyment in retelling any of these scary events, and hopefully, your bad luck would end soon.

“And they stole everything from you?”

“Yeah…”

Lucifer huffed in annoyance, his teeth baring slightly as he exhaled a hot breath. He couldn’t exactly be surprised, it was Hell. Not to mention, the guy has been neglecting his kingly duties for a while now and has only just started going to meetings for crying out loud.

“Jeez, I’m sorry about that. Here, let me jus–”

“Where did that new girl go? What do you mean you haven’t seen her?” You could hear Vaggie’s voice from downstairs, as the gaping hole in the side of the hotel made it much easier to hear their conversations now.

You heard multiple inaudible responses to the question, before Vaggie’s rose above them with renewed anger.

“She’s still up there?! you’re telling me none of you numbskulls went to get her after that big explosion?”

“₩Ⱨ₳₮?!” You heard a snarl of static at Vaggie’s words.

Tensing, you kept your eyes trained on Lucifer as you strained your ears to eavesdrop on the voices below. It seemed like they were looking for you now, did they even know whether Charlie’s dad was here?

“Alastor, hold up!” You heard Angel Dust’s call from the bottom of the staircase, which made you pivot to face the closed doors not too far away. Lucifer, who was standing a few steps away from you, looked up curiously as the doors swung open.

Standing there, chest heaving slightly, ears twitching, was Alastor. His eyes instantly landed on you, before quickly scanning over your figure for injuries. Did he just leap up all those stairs? That wasn’t a very short distance by any means.

His arms were outstretched beside him, as he gripped both doors. Alastor’s claws slightly dug into its wood frame as he observed the smoking, half-burnt balcony with a tight-lipped smile. It wasn’t until his eyes met Lucifer’s–you swore you saw a flicker of surprise cross his gaze–that something seemed to flip like a switch inside the demon, and Alastor straightened instantly, his ears returning to their normal placement as corrected his posture.

A large, toothy grin appeared on his face, but you didn’t miss the way his gaze darted between you and Lucifer only a few feet apart. His eyelid twitched as Lucifer sent him a deadly grin behind you, the tension in the air thickening to the point where you felt like you’d suffocate even in this open space.

You only smiled brightly in return, sending Alastor a finger wave as you sidled a step away from the fallen angel beside you. Lucifer, on the other hand, seemed to be having fun as he pivoted slightly to face you. A mischievous glint in his eye as he cocked his head at Alastor, a haughty look on his face.

“Can I help you?” He feigned irritation, an eyebrow quirked as he sent the demon a pointed glance. As if Alastor had just barged in on the two of you deep in discussion, souring the mood.

Alastor wasn’t able to get a word out when multiple footsteps echoed from behind him, noisily clopping up the long staircase as they bickered amongst themselves. A familiar pink spider popped his head over Alastor’s shoulder, his eyes widening as he caught sight of the pearlescent face beside you. More heads appeared around, their eyes scanning across the balcony as they observed the scene.

“Dad?” Charlie asked, squeezing through the clump of nosy demons, surprise written across her face as she passed Alastor.

“Honey!” Lucifer beamed, a smile gracing his features as he met his daughter halfway. Charlie extended her arms, ready to accept Lucifer’s large hug as he returned the gesture. He held her for a moment before he released her, backing up a step as the others pushed past Alastor’s figure to get a better place behind the princess.

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at that art auction?” Charlie questioned, tilting her head at him.

“That ended last night.” Lucifer nodded, “Now it’s some kind of celebratory artist-only afterparty, which means even the King of Hell cannot attend, unfortunately. So, I thought I’d drop by. Good timing, it seemed, or else your friend here would not be standing here any longer.”

Lucifer turned to you, gesturing to the dust and debris hanging to your clothes, as you stood there silently with that same awkward smile.

“Oh, yeah. She’s interested in being a resident of our hotel, for redemption!” Charlie smiled excitedly, proud to be able to show her father that her dream was slowly expanding. You nodded along, your hands clasped together politely as they discussed you.

“Yes, I heard! We’ve been having a nice discussion these past few minutes, her and I. A real doll, this one is, just like when I met her previously.”

“You two... have met before?” Charlie finally asked, confusion laced in her voice as she looked between the two of you. The demons behind you shot curious glances in your direction, silently waiting for more juicy details.

“She was there when I bought your tuxedo! I was in disguise, though, so nobody saw me as.. well, me. She even opened up early for me, just out of the kindness of her soul!” Lucifer scooted beside you, nudging you in the arm playfully as he spoke. “Guess you could say I owed her a rescue after that considerate gesture.”

“Did you throw a party up here, too?” Vaggie piped up from the doorway, kicking away at a few stray pieces of the colorful confetti that was sprinkled across the floor. Charlie’s eyes were glinting as she processed her father’s words, before glancing down at the new red suit that she was wearing. She looked up at you with renewed interest, a blooming on her face.

“That was all His Majesty, actually,” you finally spoke, lifting a hand to your mouth as you giggled, “It was pretty impressive, to be honest, I’ve never seen a party trick like that before. I thought the confetti was kinda funny.”

You purposely avoided looking at Alastor as you spoke, so his reaction to your praise was a mystery. Lucifer only smiled proudly beside you, your words boosting his ego.

“Well, that’s not the only trick I’m good at,” Lucifer chuckled. Before he sent you a wink, then a playful smirk that he swept across the small crowd. Their eyes were locked on him, captivated with anticipation for the charming angel to display some of his magical talents.

Except, for Alastor, who only smiled widely, his eyes crinkled in annoyance at the theatrics. You didn’t pay him much mind, instead keeping your attention on Lucifer. During your time in Hell, you hadn’t come into contact with many figures that could harness demonic magic so effortlessly, apart from Alastor.

The King of Hell, however, was on a whole different level, he had pure angelic power. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and you were not going to miss this for anything. However, it seemed your admiration was a little too evident, as you missed Alastor's squinted gaze analyzing your expression.

Lucifer finally rested his gaze on Alastor, who met his eyes, just as he tapped his cane against the ground, a flurry of golden sparks igniting from the touch. a vortex of golden eaves began to swirl around his cane, before flooding across the destroyed, cracked floor of the balcony. It was like a small ocean pooling at your feet, and it felt like the ground was shifting underneath you.

Sticking a finger gun towards the split table, Lucifer shot an explosion of magic against its surface, and it crackled with energy. Before you could blink, the two pieces slid together, attaching like Lego pieces back onto their legs. Fresh color adorned the wood, a lovely shade of peach with matching chairs. It settled onto the ground, with not even a scratch from the abuse it had just received.

He aimed a few more magical-loaded digits towards the broken railing, and the spilled flower pots, making pew pew sound effects with his mouth as he did so.

The balcony began to shift back into even better condition than it originally was, the broken scenery straightening itself back into form. Slowly, the golden waves against your ankles dispersed and were pulled back into Lucifer’s cane.

The large, white marble tile beneath your feet was perfectly sealed, not a single crack upon its surface as it sparkled with a newfound shine. You lifted your leg, surprised finding your figure to be completely dry.

The demons around you stood mesmerized by the display, their eyes glowing and lips puckered in a small o. Alastor only tapped his claws against his cane impatiently.

“How is that for a party trick?” Lucifer turned to you, sending you a charming grin.

You were about to open your mouth before Charlie appeared at your side with a happy squeak. Her blonde hair cascaded down your shoulder, the silky strands like feathers against your skin.

“Thank you for the help, Dad!” Charlie beamed, squeezing her cheeks as she stared lovingly at her father, “it’s so great to see you make new friends, too!”

“And, new clients!” Lucifer boasted, adjusting his bowtie with a grin “Last time we talked, I told her all about the hotel and what it offered. Seems like my salesmanship charm prevails once more.”

“How funny,” Alastor’s voice crackled with static as he strode up beside Charlie, planting himself into the small group’s discussion with a grin, “but it appears His Majesty is mistaken, for it was I who persuaded our darling belle here to take a chance at redemption.”

“Pfft! You? Please, you couldn’t even convince an angel to redeem themselves. At least, not with that haircut!” Lucifer laughed, and your mouth dropped open, your gaze flicking to Alastor, who seemed to hesitate for a moment in shock at the bold insult.

Your eyes darted to Charlie. She returned the look, before slapping a hand over her dad’s mouth.

“Okay, moving on!” She replied cheerfully, pinching her dad’s lips closed as she turned towards the staircase. Vaggie shot a glare toward the rest of the onlookers, who began to sadly shrink away.

“I’m afraid Your Majesty is uninformed!” Alastor ignored Charlie, as he walked closer to stand right beside you. Sweat beaded on your forehead, your heartbeat quickening at the realization you were directly in the middle of the two dueling forces.

“Of what?” Lucifer questioned.

“Why, of our association, of course,” Alastor said sweetly, grasping your arm gently as he gestured to your figure. Heat crept onto your cheeks, as you let him slide in closer to you.

“You two know each other?” Lucifer asked, doubt laced in his face as he shot you a questioning stare. You only averted your gaze, unsure of how to respond to all of the prying eyes.

“Indeed! I’m sure you’re familiar with a charm like this?” Alastor smiled innocently, before gingerly holding out your hand, gesturing to your ring finger. That golden ring glinted in the sunlight, and the small rose-gold engraving of the letter A was on full display.

Lucifer’s eyes widened after a moment, and his gaze shot to you, then to Alastor, before landing back on the ring. He seemed to reel back slightly as it finally dawned on him, before his face settled into a look that silently grumbled ‘You gotta be kidding me.’

Charlie gasped, clutching her cheeks as she leaned in closer for a better look. The ecstatic look on her face was a complete inverse to her father, who only averted his gaze at the sight.

You stood with an awkward smile, heat creeping onto your cheeks as you sidled slightly away from Alastor. You did not expect him to be sprinting it back onto these guys, in front of Lucifer no less.

The King only turned to you, disbelief in his features as he sent you a pointed stare.

“You’re telling me you work at a formalwear store, and you picked a guy with this bad of a wardrobe?” He gestured subtly to Alastor’s suit, a grimace on his face as he eyed the demon’s style with contempt.

Alastor only adjusted his bow tie, throwing his hair back as he straightened. He shot you a pointed look too, prodding you with a ‘Are you really going to agree with him?’ stare.

You said nothing, so Alastor only turned to face Lucifer, clasping his hands with a large smile, “I’d take your fashion advice to heart, Your Majesty, but it seems your taste lies at the bottom of a bargain bin, so I must respectfully disagree.”

“Bargain bin?!” Lucifer gasped, a hand shooting up to his chest as he recoiled. A growl rose from the fallen angel’s throat as he opened his mouth to retort, only for Charlie to grab him from behind and pull him away from Alastor.

“I’ll pay you triple the amount from yesterday if you just take that ring off!” Lucifer begged as Charlie dragged him down the steps. “Do you fancy goat horns? I know of someone in the Wrath Ring that is available!”

The father-daughter duo disappeared from view, their voices muffled as you watched the doors slam shut with a crackle of green energy. Turning to face Alastor, you find a smug grin dancing on his lips. You frowned, did this guy really just insult the King of Hell like the man couldn’t stomp him in a moment?

“Your arrogance knows no bounds,” you chastise the demon, waggling your finger as you spoke, “speaking so comfortably with the King in such a condescending manner. He could smite you for that, you know.”

“Verbal sparring with the monarchy is a favorite pastime of mine, sweetheart! I’m sure our dear king enjoys it just as much as I.” Alastor shrugged, twisting the cane between his claws as he regarded you with playful eyes.

“You are such a pain in my—”

Your words died in your throat when the outline of a dark-red rose was thrust towards you, Alastor’s fingers gently curled around its stem as he held it up for view.

“For you.” He smiled, his lips curled in a soft grin.

“Me? But, where did you get this?”

“Some bumbling oaf down there was going to stomp on it, so I stomped him, instead,” Alastor shrugged, extending the rose closer to you as he spoke, “I thought it would be something you’d find interest in. It… reminded me of you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, gaze lowering towards the wine-colored flower. It was beautiful, even with its slightly jagged petals, and the much larger thorns that covered the black stem.

But, for Hell, it was such a relieving sight. To know that something that presented emotions could exist in such an apathetic, pessimistic environment like the realm around you. Honestly, it didn’t have that many similarities in comparison to Earth’s rose, but its mere resemblance made nostalgia pull at your heartstrings.

Old emotions began to boil inside you, and your throat tightened. Even after all the hardships, you still missed the trees and the smell of real, fresh air. The feeling of the sun against your skin, kissing you with a warmth that always stirred a smile onto your lips. Hearing the morning doves in the early spring morning, their gentle coos echoing through the thin veil of fog that settled onto the dew-filled grass.

Now, you were stuck here. A dark, dirty realm that gave you its fair share of grief too. A lot in the span of two days, even. But, the good in it, was seeing the genuine smile that greeted you every time Alastor drank in your presence. Like this morning, when you agreed to join him on the patio, and the way his ears seemed to stand even taller when you said yes.

It was also the fact that Alastor was so intent on presenting this lovely gift to you, that he killed someone just so the rose would survive the chaos, that made you feel so warm and giddy inside.

A smile bloomed across your face, and you gently wrapped your fingers around the stem, right above Alastor’s own. The top of your hand grazed against the softer texture of the rose’s petals, but its sharp thorns nicked at the skin on your fingertips, causing you to grimace slightly. You adjusted your grip slowly, the pain ebbing as you found a comfortable hold.

Your hand brushed Alastor’s as he released his grip, pulling his hand towards him, his gaze traveling to your arm lifting as you inspected the rose closer. All the memories of long, forgotten experiences made years prick at your eyes.

“I.. don’t know what to say. This is so sweet of you,” you replied softly, eyes still locked on the rose and you gently caressed its petals, “thank you, Alastor.”

Alastor watched the emotion flood across your face, and for the first time, he didn’t know what to say next. The look on your features made him feel.. strange.

As if, this was a reaction nobody in Hell has ever given him before, excluding Charlie. It was fear and anger that only ever greeted him. Which he preferred, it made him feel strong, made him feel powerful.

Your soft, sweet smile, however, was something Alastor could get used to. The way the dimples on your cheeks deepened slightly as your lips curled delicately. As if you too were a rose, your petals softly opening for the new day.

His gaze still rested on you as the tip of your nose inched closer to the petals, before you inhaled a deep breath.

It smelled surprisingly sweet, but also with a warm, earthy scent. A hint of smokiness underneath the layer of the sugared aroma. It reminded you of a wood-burning stove, or the smell of firewood that clung to your shirt after a night in the wilderness.

But, also… the faint metallic tang of blood.

Brows furrowing, you pull the flower away, your eyes traveling to the barely visible glistening substance coating part of the stem. It almost mirrored the color of the dark-red petals, and you lifted your gaze to Alastor.

When your eyes traveled up his figure, it was the small trails of red liquid that dripped from his fingertips that made you recoil, a hand to your mouth as you gasped.

“Alastor, you’re bleeding!” The worry in your voice was obvious as you stepped closer to him, trying to get a better look at the small gashes on his skin. He regarded it with indifference, as if it was just a simple bother. You frowned at his reaction, there was no way that didn’t hurt!

He was a sinner, just like you, and almost everyone in the hotel. Mortality was still present in his afterlife, including the sensation of pain. No matter how hard he tried to present himself as a powerful being like Lucifer, he was still just a man who felt the same things you did. If not, with a little different... perspective.

“It is nothing, do not fret about me, my doe,” Alastor brushed off your words, beginning to pull his hand away from your view. You saw a drop of blood leave the tip of his claw, falling onto the cracks below your feet, “they are just feeble scratches, nothing I, the Radio Demon can’t handl–”

Alastor’s words died in his throat, the last of his sentence coming out in pure static as his pupils dilated on your hand wrapping around his wrist. Your grip was firm, preventing him from shielding the wounds from you, as you tugged his hand closer.

This was the boldest move you had made since the two of you had first met. It was usually Alastor who made the first gesture, who took your hand and touched you softly. As if you were a fragile doll that could crack at the teeniest bit of pressure.

The man was so used to control, having complete say in who touched him—which was never, unless you count Angel Dust whenever he tried riling up the demon—and why. If you were some normal face in the crowd making such a move, he’d probably have torn them apart.

But oh, the warmth from your touch that greeted his cool skin had him yearning for more. That blissful feeling that seemed to bloom from inside his bones, that traveled like a river through his veins, filling him up with a strange, yet awfully familiar feeling.

Like, when his mother would sit him down at the table for dinner, a bowl of hot, steaming Jambalaya in her hands that she made just for him. Anytime she noticed he had a hard day, she’d cook his favorite meal.

As a child, he had eagerly scarfed it down, impatient to fill his stomach with such a treat. When he grew older, however, he learned to slow down and savor the explosion of flavors that tickled his taste buds in every bite.

He remembered the way the delicacy traveled down his throat, and how it felt like a fire was igniting in his belly. The warmth emanating from your skin reminded him so much of that.

And that smile that always graced your features at the sight of him? Alastor remembered that from somewhere too. His mother’s lips always curved into a soft, gentle grin that would make anyone butter up in their presence.

Your lips seemed to curve just the same, and the demon was sure if the two of you would have met before the afterlife. His mother would have loved to meet you.

Alastor remained deathly silent, his muscles tense as you splayed out his claws, turning his hand over to have his palm face up. There was dried blood across the smooth skin, which meant he had been bleeding for a while now.

How hard was Alastor holding the rose during the fight that he cut up his hand like this? If it wasn’t for the bickering between him and Lucifer, you surely would have noticed it earlier.

Your fingers gently brushed against the small cuts, blood still slowly seeping from beneath the demon’s skin. You nudged his wound softly, inspecting it with worry.

“Does that hurt?” You asked softly with furrowed brows.

“Does it matter?” Alastor scoffed, averting your expectant gaze.

“Yes! It does, actually!” You retorted, before your gaze moved to your outfit with a determined look. Quickly, you reached down, taking a fistful of fabric in your grasp before pulling it hard. With some friction, it began to tear away from the rest of your garment.

Now, you had a large piece of cloth in one hand, and Alastor’s wrist in the other. Reaching forward, you began to cover his cuts tightly against the fabric.

“Must you ruin such a pretty outfit for something so insignificant like my hand?” Alastor inquired, exasperation lacing his voice, “You’re treating it like some kind of battle wound, I am fine, my doe.”

He didn’t pull away from you, however, as you finished patching up his injury. Inspecting his hand closer, you eyed work for a moment, before you shook your head, dissatisfied.

“I forbid you from doing any activities for the rest of today until you address your wounds,” you declared, crossing your arms sternly.

“Forbid?” He inquired, quirking a brow in amusement.

“That’s right! If you don’t take care of your injury, or let me do it for you, then I’ll have no choice but to put my foot down.”

Alastor squinted at you for a moment, that grin masking his thoughts as he regarded you. Was he going to argue? Sweat beaded on your forehead as you anticipated his answer. It wasn’t like you could exactly stop the powerful demon from doing what he wanted, but you also couldn't just let him strain his wound further because of pride.

Alastor didn’t argue. Instead, he simply shrugged, a pleased smile gracing his features. He closed his eyes thoughtfully, before holding a limp hand towards you.

“Well, if you insist,” he hummed, cracking one eye open to watch you expectantly.

“Really..?” You asked in disbelief, regarding his hand with suspicion.

“If the lady wishes to fuss over my health, I suppose I could heed her demands,” Alastor responded casually, lifting his hand closer towards you, “and, how could I refuse such a generous offer?”

You smiled playfully before slowly wrapping your fingers around the makeshift gauze, trying to get a good grip around his cuts as you held his hand.

“Is there somewhere I could get medical aid inside? Baindaids, alcohol solution… ibuprofen?”

Did Ibuprofen even exist down here? There had to be something similar at least, the Pride Ring was full of mortals that could still feel pain. Was Alastor in a lot of pain? Even if he was, you probably wouldn't get a straight answer from him.

Now, you understood why Alastor and Lucifer didn’t like each other. They were just fighting for who was really the embodiment of pride.

“Hm..” Alastor tilted his head in thought, before his ears twitched, and a sly smile graced his lips, “I do believe I know just the place!”

Without a word, he returned your grip and pulled you closer to him. Your breath hitched, your chest almost bumping against Alastor’s as he took your other hand. The two of you looked as if you were about to start a waltz, as the demon looked out towards the railing, his chest still facing yours as his smile grew.

“Hang on tight, my dear!” He stated chipperly, and you fastened your grip hastily. The air began to crackle with energy, goosebumps rippling across your skin as static seemed to tickle at your figure. Green smoke pooled at your feet, and that familiar tingling sensation overtook you, just like the first time you were teleported.

Alastor only pulled you closer right as the smoke blasted up, cold air hitting your face as you were pulled into darkness. The presence of the hand against yours was faint, but at least you weren't alone this time. You kept your eyes squeezed shut, your heart racing as you waited to feel the floor against your feet once more. Then, you felt a thumb brush softly against your knuckles, it circled soothingly across your skin, and you relaxed slightly.

What felt like minutes really only took a couple of seconds, as you felt soft lighting hit your eyelids, and Alastor stir beside you. His hand didn’t leave yours, as he waited for you to join reality.

“Not so bad, hm?” He prodded you slightly, beckoning you back into reality.

Letting your pupils adjust to the light, the familiar wallpaper from the hotel corridor met your vision. Did he really just materialize the two of you across the building? You didn't have any problem walking, but perhaps Alastor was trying to avoid the small crowd that would have met them at the bottom of the patio stairs.

“I feel kind of queasy,” you responded, shaking your head of the fog in the back of your mind.

“After a few times through, it won’t bother you anymore,” Alastor assured.

Trying to get a better estimate of your location, you turned your head to one side of the hall, taking in the sight of a dark, oak door. The familiar numbering made you quirk a brow, tilting your head towards the smiling demon. He met your gaze, a soft, lipped smile on his face.

“We’re going in my room?”

“Not quite..” he hummed, gripping your shoulders and pivoting you to the opposite side. Your eyes widened, gaze locked onto the matching door of Alastor’s room.

You stayed silent, feet frozen in place as you watched him take a few steps, his good hand wrapping around the spherical doorhandle. Slowly, he twisted the knob until it clicked softly. The hinges creaked with age, and the hallway lights began to spill into the darkened room as the crack in the doorway widened.

You couldn’t see anything through the slightly opened entryway, but your heart quickened as the second passed by. Your eyes flicked up to Alastor, who regarded you curiously, his gaze gentle as your nerves began to display on your face.

“Ladies first!” He beamed, his smile an assurance to your heated skin.

He obviously wanted you to go inside, and part of your brain was nudging you forward with excitement. Alastor was inviting you into his quarters, he was allowing you to take a step inside his world, to get to know him!

The other part whispered hesitation. What lay behind that door? Surely, more than just medical supplies.

It was as if you wrapped a sheet around the reluctance that was beginning to plague your mind, stuffing it underneath the floorboards of your brain. You weren't going to let your flustered mind get the better of you, and have you miss such an opportunity to get closer to the charming demon.

Exhaling a quiet breath, you banished your nerves into the air. Straightening your back, you sent Alastor a warm smile and took a step forward.

wingman!lucifer anybody? ✋

let me know what you think! ☺️ comments and reblogs are appreciated!

tags 🏷️

@the-tortured-poet @anonymousewrites @coleisyn @froggybich @chewbrry @watchinthestarz @mechanicalmari @luxmessorem @plapperlapapp @wonderlife974 @kottenox @cherry-cola-100 @the-shark-named-sharon @rae-pottah @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @corpsebridenightamare @pweewee @nijiru @ourfinalisation @anuttellaa @nonetheartist @bunnypeew @cryptidghostgirl @hxzbinwrites @lunaramune @enigmatic-blues @thytorturedpoet @vanhelsingsbigtoe @mixplara @blue122 @zardward @loser-bby @sirens-and-moonflowers @diaouranask @luzzbuzz @theredviolets @the-attention-whore @rayanicaraynbow @katiebwalczak03 @girl-nahh-two @moonmark98 @asianfrustration13 @thenocturnalreadingotaku @just-here-reading @taintedgenre @fairyv-ice @aisling1985 @missam @funkyexistence @summerofregret@beezgobuzzbuzz @valentique @dory-98 @mo-0-o @willow404 @karolinda007-blog @thehybridprincesshatedchild

#hazbin hotel #hellaverse #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader

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mermaidgirl30 · 9 months ago

Text

✨Just Breathe: The Dinosaur Diaries✨

✨Part 1: Introductions✨

Series Masterlist

A/N: One of my favorite things is writing about the first time Joel and reader meet, so this is how their story starts off 💚

Chapter Summary: It’s your first day at Sauros Corporation as a research assistant, but what you don’t know is you’ll be working under one of the hottest paleontologists that you’ve ever laid eyes on. Can you keep your wits about yourself, or will you fall fast for your smooth talking boss?

Pairing: paleontologist! Joel x fem researcher! reader

Word Count: 3k

Rating: 18+

Chapter Tags: Reader starts her first day as a research assistant, feelings, Joel being a casual flirt, Joel in a lab coat and glasses, mentions of Jurassic Park, allusions to smut, eventual smut, Joel is so broad, Jurassic Park au, science terminology I had to look up

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Your palms sweat as you enter the intimidating glass building of Sauros Corporation. One of the biggest, most well known science businesses that specializes in paleontology. What you got your master’s in. You strive to continue on to get your PhD, but first you need to get a little work experience. So that’s why you’re here in this massive corporation that might just eat you alive.

Your black heels click against the polished white tile as fluorescent lights reflect off the cascading glass windows. You pull at your pressed pink dress and flex your fingers around the soft cotton as nerves rush down your body. Today was the most important day of your life. A gateway to your future, your dream job that you’ve wanted for your entire life. This was it. It was finally here.

When you walk up to the pearlescent marble front counter, a bubbly blonde girl smiles and stands from her office chair. “Hi there. How can I help you?”

You show her your work ID badge that you had gotten in orientation and respond, “This is my first day here. I’m here for…”

Her eyes brighten the moment she sees your name on the shiny badge. “Oh! You’re the new research assistant. Doctor Miller has been so eager to meet you! Your interviewer, Kylie, couldn’t stop talking about you to him. He’s already spoken so highly of you. He looked at your resume and everything,” she gushes as she comes around the bright desk and smoothes her pencil skirt down.

“He’s talked about me? Who is Doctor Miller?” you ask as you knit your eyebrows together and step back as she passes in front of you. You knew of Doctor Kepler, who you thought you’d be working under. But Doctor Miller? You never heard of him before, at least you don’t think.

“He’s who you’ll be working under,” she smiles warmly as she nods her head and signals for you to follow behind as her blonde hair bounces down her shoulders. “He’s our best scientist in the department, I’m sure you’ll love him.”

“How long has he been working here?” you ask as you pass through the lavish halls that are covered in glass framed pictures of dinosaur bones and biology cells.

“Over five years, he’s the best of the best. If you want to be a great scientist then he’s the perfect one to practice under. And you’re so lucky,” she beams as she looks back at you with big crimson lips.

“Why’s that?” you laugh as the click of heels echo down the lit up halls.

“Because,” she stops before entering the pad locked doors where only authorized personnel can get through, “he’s ridiculously good looking, but don’t tell him I said that.” She winks at you before turning to the glowing padlock.

Just what were you getting yourself into? Doctor Miller? Was he really all she talked him up to be? And was he really impressed by your resume and talks of your interview? Guess you’d find out.

She scans her badge and with a click of the door, they part open as she pushes herself through the strong metal doors. Your eyes scan over the expansive lab as your breath hitches in your throat. The lab is absolutely enormous. Colorful test tubes fill various racks on the metal shelves along the cream colored walls. Microscopes line the tables that fill the center of the room. Petri dishes with different organisms in them sit in glass refrigerators, sturdy dinosaur bones sit displayed in glass cases, and expensive scientific materials cover the room. It’s all intimidating as you step through your new work space.

“Right over here,” she smiles as she leads you to the middle of the room where two men stand around a fluorescence microscope.

Your eyes peel over the tall man that adjusts the lense while he talks confidently to his coworker. You listen as his deep voice carries through the room. “There we go. Think I got it just right this time. The edges are perfect, can actually see the cementum where those tiny black dots are. Fascinatin’,” he says in awe as he adjusts the microscope lense again to get a better look.

You study the man in front of you, watching the way his broad shoulders shift everytime he moves his arms. The white lab coat seems to cling to large muscles. He’s so very large and tall, very tall. Standing just above six feet. And his hands. Big, thick hands of a paleontologist for sure.

Just when you start to get lost in his words, the girl who had brought you back into the room interrupts their conversation. She clears her voice and steps forward as platinum blonde hair swishes behind her shoulders. “Doctor Miller? Sorry to interrupt, but there’s someone here to meet you.”

He turns quickly and adjusts his thick, rimmed glasses against his curved nose and smiles gently. You suck in a breath when you see his face, his smile, his eyes. He’s so gorgeous that you think you might fall over and knock a bunch of expensive lab equipment over.

He has the most beautiful chocolate brown eyes that you’ve ever seen before. His hair is tousled, curls spilling onto his forehead, dark brown with strings of grey twisting around each strand. His facial hair looks soft to the touch, salt-and-pepper scruff patching along his sharp jawline. And his smile. God, his smile. It’s so gentle and bright that it lights a fire inside your core. And he’s so broad. Strong muscles pulling against the white lab coat that clings to tanned skin. He’s the hottest scientist you’ve ever seen in your life, and you’re working under him?!

“Oh, you must be my new research assistant, yeah?” he asks as he smiles gently and says your name, pushing himself off the metal table as he starts making his way over to you. You feel like you’re about to topple over at any moment.

“That’s me,” you say shyly as you push a lock of hair behind your ear, a nervous habit you wish you wouldn’t do.

“Well, so nice to meet you,” he drawls, a Southern accent that rings through your ears like a sweet melody that was made just for you. He sticks his arm out and opens his palm for you to take. You automatically reach out to shake his hand, your own hand shaking as you’re completely intimidated by the hot scientist that stands in front of you.

When he clasps his fingers over yours and squeezes, you gulp as you look up into beautiful honey glazed eyes. Eyes that you could wade in and get lost in. His hands are so big, calloused fingers grazing against yours as you feel nerves pulling at every fiber in your body. He probably does a lot with those hands. Hands of an experienced, successful, gorgeous paleontologist.

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Doctor Miller,” you say in a daze.

“Jus’ Joel is fine. You don’t have to call me Doctor Miller, unless you want to,” he mutters softly.

“Oh okay, Joel…” you answer barely above a whisper, your palm sweating from how close he is.

He lets his hand linger in yours for a few seconds too long, and you swear he’s staring deep into your eyes as you see the glint of a sparkle flash in the flecks of light brown. When he releases his grip, he runs a hand slowly through his tousled, thick curls and just for that moment you wonder what it’d be like to be underneath his large body, running your own fingers through messy, soft curls…

“I took a look at your resume the other day. I was quite impressed by what I saw.”

Your eyes go a little wide at what he just said. “Impressed? Of me?” you ask, floored by the obvious compliment. He was impressed with you?

“Mhm,” he smiles as he pulls at the sleeves of his pristine lab coat, “straight A student, top of your class? And you went to the dig site in Montana to do some research last summer? Very impressive.”

He stares at you a moment with one eyebrow cocked up, his eyes flicking over your figure as you swear he checks you out. Your cheeks burn red as he looks so intently at you, and it’s in that moment that you don’t know how you’ll ever work with this man. He’s so distracting, all you want to do is get lost in those syrupy brown eyes.

“I umm... I’m not that impressive,” you say shyly as you look nervously up at him.

“Oh, but you are. M’sorry if you were lookin’ forward to workin’ with Doctor Kepler, but I kinda convinced him to let me take you under my wing instead. Yours was the most impressive resume of them all, and trust me when I say I read them all.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widen and every bone in your body stiffens as you take in what he just said. He thinks you’re smart? He wanted you to work under him. Oh, fuck. “No, I… I’m sure I’ll enjoy you just as much as I would him.” Your cheeks glow red as you turn your head when you hear him chuckling under his breath. Did you really just say that out loud? Christ.

“C’mere. Wanna show you somethin’.” He nods his head as a tousled curl bounces against the side of his forehead, and you follow him over to the table that has the microscope all set up with a tiny fossil underneath.

“Go ahead,” he says with a nod to his head, asking you to look through the ocular lense.

You nervously walk up and dip your head down as you close one eye and focus intently on the fossil that sits beneath the lense. You take in the yellow tint of the amber, examine each particle that makes up the masterpiece of what sits beneath you, study exactly what you think it is.

Joel’s honeydew voice comes out deep and raspy as it stirs you to jump in your skin. “Let me pick your brain a minute. I wanna know if you can figure out what fossil that right there is,” he says as he comes to stand right beside you.

His hand presses against the base of the microscope, and you feel his warm breath run down the side of your neck. You can feel his body heat reverberate against yours as you start to breathe faster. Your mind is a blur as his body weight shifts against the counter, his lab coat brushing against the side of your arm as you hold tight to the tube of the microscope. It’s so hard to focus on what’s in front of you when his large, all consuming presence is right next to you. He’s not even touching you, and you’re already all worked up, and you know your thighs are sticky from sweat. What the hell is wrong with you?

“Hmm, let me think a minute,” you say as you try to depict what sits in front of you. You squint your eye as you try to register what sits underneath the glow of the fossil. There’s a small beak-like impression as you assess dark lines that almost looks like a hummingbird.

“It almost looks like… wait, maybe if I can get a closer look I can see,” you murmur as you continue to assess the shiny fossil.

“Here, let me jus’ fix this.” His large hand comes to sit on your shoulder as he pushes you carefully away from the eyepiece. His patchy scruff brushes against the side of your cheek, and you gasp at how close he is to you. You feel tension in your shoulders as you watch him adjust the dials to the right on the lense as he carefully looks through with one eye closed.

You watch him with bated breath, your eyes lock on his broad figure, thick fingers brushing against the crevice of the lense. You wonder what it’d feel like to be pinned underneath those strong arms, his thick fingers exploring every inch of your sweltering skin as he consumes you with the entirety of his mouth.

Fuck. This man is your boss, you can’t be having wet fantasies about him. He’s off limits, it can’t happen. You need to be professional, but why is it so hard to clear your clouded mind? He’s good looking, smart, nice. That does not give you the right to fantasize about him. Get a fucking grip on yourself for Christ’s sake. Enough.

“Ahh there we go. Go on now, take another peek.” He places his hand gently over the small of your back and pushes you forward as your breath hitches at the hand that burns through your dress and goes straight down to your skin that’s tingling from him.

You shake your head and get yourself composed as you lower your head and focus back on the fossil that’s waiting for you to examine. Your eyes widen as you see so much more clearly, the bright light shining straight through the yellow glow of the fossil as you can see exactly what’s in front of you now.

You gasp as you realize what it is. “No way! Is that an Oculudentavis? The smallest dinosaur to ever walk the planet?” You hear him chuckle and look up to see him smiling down at you.

“Very good,” he smiles as he gives you another once over glance, making your heart thump loudly in your chest as his honey eyes slip over you. “Now, how did you know that?” he asks curiously as he ticks his jaw and cocks an eyebrow up.

“I read a lot,” you shrug as you bite your lower lip. His eyes drop down to your glossy lips, and it makes you burn with need. Focus.

“Yeah, I’m sure ya do,” he chuckles as he leans against the table and crosses his arms over his broad chest.

“How old is this fossil?” you ask wondrously as your eyes flick back to the ancient fossil.

“Over fifty million years old,” he replies as his eyes weigh carefully on you. “Y’know, it’s not really a bird like everyone suspected it to be. It’s actually a genus of a lizard.”

“Fascinating,” you say dreamily as you lean up against the table and bump the side of your hip as your eyes train solely on him.

“It came from the domain Eukaryota, and the phylum it belongs to is Chordata. Funny how the Latin words revolve around a bird when really it’s a reptile. Some scientists even argue whether it was really a dinosaur or just a large lizard. But if you wanna hear my voice on the matter, I say it was a dinosaur.” He winks at you, and you feel your cheeks flush crimson again as you slip another lock of hair behind your ear and clear your throat before you decide to be a complete puddle on the floor.

“Think you’re right, Doctor Miller,” you respond shakily.

“Jus’ Joel, darlin’.”

Darlin’? Christ, a pet name? Or maybe it was just his Southern hospitality. But whatever it was made you weak at the knees.

“Joel…” you repeat, letting the name slip against your tongue as you swallow all feelings of want and desire down your throat. You are not falling for your boss.

“Attagirl,” he smirks.

Fuck.

“So, you want to be a real paleontologist?” he asks as his eyes flicker down to yours.

“Mhm,” you nod as you shift your weight in your heels.

“So tell me, how do you feel about real dinosaurs?” he asks as he shifts his weight to stand in front of you, his arms still crossed tight against the fabric of the button-up green flannel underneath his lab coat.

“Real dinosaurs?” you question as you knit your eyebrows together and try to decipher his question.

“That’s right. Real dinosaurs.” He smirks and the glisten in his chocolate coated eyes are pressing into yours like he knows something you don’t, and he’s chuckling about it in front of your face.

“Ummm I mean, I’m in the field trying to study them. I’d say I love them?” Your answer is hesitant as you still question him. What does he mean real dinosaurs?

“Well, guess it’s your lucky day cause your first assignment is about Stegosauruses.”

Your eyes shift to his as yours widen just a smidge. “What’s the assignment about?”

“Guess you’ll find out when we get there,” he chuckles as he adjusts his glasses and moves just enough to brush his arm against yours. You step out of the danger zone and pull yourself together instead of staring down into forearms that are filled with thick, twisting veins against tanned skin.

“Get where?” you ask carefully as you slide your tongue against the bottom of your teeth.

“To Jurassic Park. Home of the dinosaurs. Real dinosaurs,” he smirks as you see trouble brewing in those dark eyes of his. He’s going to get you into trouble with those honey eyes and sly smirk, you just know it.

“Real dinosaurs? But they’re… they’re extinct,” you whisper as you raise your eyebrows in question.

“Not at Jurassic Park they’re not,” he teases as he crosses his arms again. You just stare speechless at him as you get the feeling this man would never lie to you.

“So, how ‘bout it? My new research partner wanna go on a little adventure with me? Promise I’ll make it worth your while,” he smirks as you taste trouble on just his words alone.

And that’s where the adventure started, right there in his gigantic lab. Right when you saw those gorgeous brown eyes. You knew. This is where it’d all begin.

Tags: @amyispxnk @sawymredfox @burntheedges @mountainsandmayhem @littlevenicebitch69 @vivian-pascal @pedrostories @survivingandenduring @msjarvis @syd-djarin @mothandpidgeon @eugenedream @cozylittlepigeon @marvlstark @rav3n-pascal22

Please consider reblogging or leaving me a comment if you enjoyed. Reblogging is the only way for our work to reach others 🩷

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel x female reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller pedro pascal #jurassic park au #jurassic park #paleontologist! joel #dinosaur au #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller au #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #no outbreak au #no outbreak!joel miller #no use of y/n

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embossross · 1 year ago

Text

From His Mind to Hers

chapter 13 >> Chapter 14>> masterlist

✣ Pairing: Hanma x AFAB fem!Reader

✣ Warning: 18+, minors DNI; unhealthy relationships & dark content

✣ Chapter CW: Processing trauma from abuse and sexual violence (rape aftermath), unhealthy coping mechanisms, revenge porn, slut shaming/misogyny, suicidal ideation (sort of – threats)

✣ Story CWs: patient/doctor relationships; smut (oral, ptv, pta, etc.), degradation, stalking, torture (not of y/n), murder, dubcon & abuse in c13, discussions of trauma and abuse, drug use, and more

✣ Synopsis: Forced into therapy, Hanma expects to waste his time and yours, but you’re not about to let the chance of a high-profile and higher paying patient slip through your grasp. The fact that you’re both attracted to each other doesn’t hurt either.

✣ Word Count: 5.5k+

The janitor deserves a raise.

The floors gleam, pearlescent and buffed to a shine that threatens to serve your reflection back to you. Where you sit, elbows to knees, staring at the floor, you notice every shoe scuff and dropped luggage tag. Fleeting messes that the janitor is quick to erase from existence. A few sweeps of the mop and everything returns to its former state, beautiful and shining.

“Flight NH451 to Okinawa is now boarding,” a crystalline voice announces first in Japanese, then English, then Mandarin.

No one else has time to study the floors. Compared to the bustle of Tokyo-Narita, Haneda Airport is calmer, but all airports in your experience share an atmosphere of restrained anxiety. For many people, it’s the one time they must completely surrender any pretenses of control over their lives and accept that they are subject to the whims of weather, technical failure, fate.

You know a thing or two about that.

Fussy babies burp and cry while their older siblings fare little better. The line for the Hong Kong Express baggage check stretches around the corner, creeping forward at a pace that promises a missed flight for whichever fool arrives with only two hours to make it to their terminal. A group of college-aged girls kneel on the floor, bags spread out as they shuffle the contents around, trying to find the magic formula that will sneak them below the weight limit. Hunched like they’re already exhausted from standing for so long, an elderly couple waits in mute silence, in a place beyond words. Nearly everyone else stares at their phones, willing the minutes to pass. It’s a fair difference from the energy you’d find over in arrivals, where half the passengers are haggard from a long day of international travel and the other half sprint, energized, into the arms of waiting loved ones. It churns your stomach to think about all those people, crying through tears of joy.

It may appear like the line isn’t moving, but it’s like the Argonaut. From where you’ve sat to the side watching for the last four hours, you know an assemblage of new faces will gradually replace these, the line somehow never shorter but its components entirely new.

In all this time, not one person has taken note of the woman rooted to one spot, the perpetual observer of the thousands of people who all have better places to be.

The promise of invisibility is what drew you to the airport this morning. Amid the minutiae and petty concerns of the mob, you may as well be furniture. Surrendering to that invisibility evokes a blissful relief.

It is your natural habitat.

As a child, you mastered the art of being there and not there at the same time. You remember miserable days spent locked in your room whenever you caught so much as a sniffle. Your mother would banish you to the narrow three tatami mat room, terrified that your germs might spread and infect her.

At first, every minute would tick by with the weight of eternity. Staring at the ceiling, phlegm draining back through your sinuses and stomach in a pounding knot, you would count each tile one by one. The trick was to stretch the count as long as possible, to sit and savor each number in your mind’s eye, because you knew when you finished it would be back to one again. No windows opened to the views outside, no toys to distract you. The most the little room offered was its thin walls through which you could hear your mother move about the house, her loud laugh down the receiver of the phone, the hum of the TV. All while you shook from fever, unattended.

Time would pass so slowly in that room. Gradually, impossibly, it would slow even further as your stomach grumbled, your throat spasmed from thirst. Your mother never thought to leave you any food or water to survive those long days in that room.

The thirstier you grew, the less you could ward off the realities of the body, thoughts fixating on each ache and pain, until finally, you learned to stop your thoughts altogether. To be there and not there at once.

Then, time would resume in a sprint, a long blink and night would fall. Once the sounds of your mother’s untroubled life ceased, you would make your move. On sock-covered feet, you would slip from your prison and edge your way to the kitchen, praying for invisibility, for no one to spot your midnight heist. You never dared fetch a glass, mimicking a thief’s caution as you leaned into the sink, mouth closing around the tap, where you would turn it onto a trickle and let the life-giving water permeate your cracked lips. In those moments, you would be there, brilliantly, blindingly there in spirit, but your body remained locked away in that room.

The tricks you learned in those days in that house have served you well over the years. Invisibility sometimes feels like a curse, resigning you forever to the periphery of life, but it also greets you like an old friend when you are most in need of protection.

How traumatizing then to search for it last night and find that old friend missing. When you needed it most, the old detachment abandoned you.

Hyper-present, you suffered every moment of Hanma’s pain and perversion. Countless times, you reached for your invisibility, hoping to slip out of yourself like a specter and leave your body to Hanma’s cruel hands, but you were only left twice as terrified to find yourself trapped inside yourself. Your mind, body, and soul were devastatingly one as you experienced the certainty that Hanma would shoot you dead as he brutalized you, as he held you with the gentleness of a lover, as he…

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You know it’s him. It must be. His smell still lingers on the fine hairs of your nostrils, singeing them with the stench of bourbon that bled from his pores. In the blue-black dark, you could barely make out his features as he threatened you – a masked intruder hovering above you – but fuck if you couldn’t smell him, stinking up your once safe, sterilized bedroom.

Just thinking about it makes you want to…

With trembling fingers, you hunt through your purse until you find a wad of tissues to wipe the sweat that beads across your brow. It is swelteringly hot in Departures, a mix of the unseasonably warm weather and the heat of hundreds of bodies thronging together, their every exhale warming the room.

Searching through the mass of bodies, you find the janitor still at work, fix on the friendly lines of his face. He gives no indication that he notices the heat, the throngs of people, or anything else but his work. The janitor mops the floors, contented. Like you, he has no designs to go anywhere else.

The line moves several meters forward while you watch the janitor. Eventually, he lifts his head and notices you for the first time. The muscles in your face ache as you summon a smile. The result must be obscene or hostile because he hurriedly returns to mopping, a few half-hearted brushes just for show before he scurries away entirely.

Now, you are alone again.

You put your head between your legs and try to breathe like they suggest people having panic attacks do in the movies. The position does help chase back your rising gorge and settles your rolling stomach. It does nothing for your thoughts.

You remember when Hanma’s long fingers found your clit, how he exploited his knowledge of your body to rub you to a forced little orgasm, like he wouldn’t be content until you were made an active participant in your indignity, his forever accomplice, the Stavrogin to his Fedka.

A thundering accompanies a plane taking off from the tarmac, loud enough to chase away the memories. You watch the massive passenger plane soar north until it becomes a speck on the horizon. It will never cease to amaze you how for the hundreds of people aboard that plane, each knows exactly where they are going and why. Their destination is well and truly decided. Too late to change their minds or second-guess.

Whenever you try to think of where you will go next – because surely you can’t live in the airport departures lounge, surely someone, anyone, will eventually realize the ghost of a woman has made a home there, will recognize that you’ve overstayed your welcome, will chase you out, right? – your brain throws up nothing but roadblocks. You imagine returning to your cold, hostile apartment, and the contents of your stomach dance in protest. Your apartment is no longer a safe space.

Your phone vibrates again, and this time, you don’t have the strength to ignore it. Fished from your pocket, you stare at the characters in Shuji’s name, tracing them one by one. Your finger hovers over the button to answer.

What he did last night – did to you – is unforgivable. You may not know what happened to Haitani, but it doesn’t matter. You did not deserve that.

And that should be that. A definitive break with Hanma is the only logical next step. Everything you built together is decimated, just so much sawdust stamped beneath his paranoid feet.

But where does that leave you? You know there will be no returning to your old life? The apartment will never be safe again now that Hanma’s been inside, not since you invited him inside. It will never be clean after what happened.

And maybe you won’t be either. Something inside you is fundamentally changed. Because even now, some part of you wants to go to him. Perhaps want is the wrong word. Without the old survival tools that carried you through the years, you feel cast adrift, weaker than when Hanma found you.

Eventually, Hanma will escalate from ignored phone calls and, vulnerable as you are, will you be able to say no to his face? Worse, will you lean into him, longing for his protection from the demons he himself unleashed on your life?

You don’t take his call, but you don’t leave the airport either. Nothing can change so long as you stay here, but then again, nothing can hurt you either.

Stuck, your return to staring at the floors.

You choose to take the elevator up to your apartment, spending the better part of the ride convincing yourself that no demons will await you, so all five senses revolt when you find the hallway outside your door laden with cardboard boxes. They’re not taped up like a delivery would be, and besides, you pick your mail up from the mailroom downstairs. Peeking into one box, you see it’s filled with your old textbooks from university, the ones that should be neatly shelved and collecting dust in your bedroom.

Inside, pornographic moaning greets you. Stopped in your tracks, you almost miss the changes: the photographs in the entry hall have been removed, your shoes are missing from the alcove. There is no mess, just gaps where your life should be.

While taking an itemized inventory of what’s missing appeals to you, the lewd sounds coming from the living room force you forward. On the TV, a naked woman rides a man. She carries on like it’s the best damn dick of her life, touching her own body like something sacred as she cries out.

The woman is you, of course you can see that much, but your brain struggles to play catch up and process this baffling, foreign view of yourself. It’s almost harder to comprehend how wanton you appear in the video rather than that such a video exists in the first place.

“I think we can agree there’s no need for a scene.”

Emerging from the bedroom, Takashi’s doesn’t spare the screen a second glance. It would only take one to confirm that the woman in the video is you, and that the man is decidedly not him.

Between self-indulgent rounds of sex with Hanma, you often wondered how you would feel if Takashi discovered your affair. Secretly, you longed for guilt. A great tsunami of devotion to Takashi and the concept of monogamy would rise within you, the tears would fall, and seconds later, apologies would follow. You hoped for a scene out of the soap operas, something normal.

The reality is less fraught as you are too stunned to summon up any response at all. If only Takashi would turn the video off. Then, maybe your brain would work again. There is no room for coherent thought around the wet, slapping sounds intermixed with moans coming from the TV.

“I knew you were sleeping with patients for months now. It never bothered me too much. So, when I saw the videos, I didn’t understand at first why I was so repulsed by it. But then, I put it together. I had figured some fat, rich fuck at work offered you enough money, and I could hardly blame you for that. If a client offered me money to fuck, I’d do it, too. But watching the videos, I realized, you weren’t just fucking this yakuza creep for money, were you? You liked it.”

There is a forcefield around Takashi that repels your gaze. You can test its parameters by starting at the juts of his knees and slowly climbing upward. It’s around his neck, the first bit of exposed skin, that the forcefield kicks into effect, and you find you cannot bring your gaze higher than the hollow of his throat, and even that takes a supreme effort. You turn back to the video playing out on screen.

“So you’re leaving me, then?” you say because it must be said if things are to continue from here.

“Things are busy at work. I don’t see why my life should be disrupted when I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m sure you’ll take responsibility as the offending party and move out without a fuss.”

“That would be sensible,” you agree.

Heady with the realization that this is actually happening – you are truly breaking up with your boyfriend – you force yourself to look at him, one last look to imprint forever in your mind. Immediately, you wish you hadn’t.

Takashi looks past you to the video on screen, where the you of only a few weeks back is loudly and visibly announcing how much she likes every stroke of dick before erupting into a shaking orgasm. Lips curled as if tasting something foul, Takashi regards the woman in the video like something subhuman. You try to watch the video through his eyes, but you can’t break free from the chains of your own perspective, a fuzzy migraine cresting in your temples at the sight of Hanma’s body, memories of this pleasurable tryst weeks ago mixing with last night’s events until you feel like the edges of your brain are collapsing inward.

There is no point to torturing yourself with the video or further conversation. Ignoring the shame in your gut, you follow numbly a step behind Takashi as he finishes packing your things. Most of your meager belongings are already stacked in the hall, but still, there is something stunning about how quickly your life is packed up out of sight. After living together for eight years, you would have left such an indelible mark that only industrial strength tools could strip your essence from the walls of this place. There are a couple overlooked items: the vase of artificial flowers Shuji gifted you, a box of tissues if you care to be petty, the spoons with scalloped edges, but, functionally, your life is stripped, relegated to boxes, and pushed aside within a measly half hour.

All the while, the video plays on. When it finishes, autoplay kicks in and offers up a second to continue your humiliation. The second is slightly preferrable as you make less of a spectacle of your delirious pleasure in it, yet worse because it shows Shuji more clearly, the dragon tattoo on his back flexing as he pounds into your prone body, face crinkling in animal pleasure. You can’t stand to look at him.

These videos…the only explanation for their existence is Shuji. They’re an abomination, something that shouldn’t exist and can’t be allowed to continue to exist. The gall of their existence builds in you until you discover enough anger to break the silence that’s drawn tight between you and Takashi.

“Takashi, if I go quietly, will you please delete these videos?”

“Sure,” he agrees simply, but at their mention, Takashi then looks back to the sex tape on screen, and that same revulsion morphs the contours of his face into something unfamiliar. “I suspected it for months, and then after reading your diary, I knew it for certain, and still…seeing it? When I watched the first one, I debated if it was even real. It had to be some kind of tasteless hoax. Because that’s not you in these. You’re like a stranger. I mean, look at it,” he says, gesturing to the screen. “That’s not you. And that guy…How does touching that criminal freak not disgust you? It’s like watching a pig take a mud bath. Disgusting.”

The shelf where you once stored your medical magazines is barren. Naked. There isn’t much dust though. You had spent a few hours cleaning last Sunday. That’s good, you think, one good thing. Everything Takashi says about you is true. Your lack of fear or righteous hatred of Hanma signals a great moral failing on your part. You are a failure, Monstrous.

Spinning out in self-loathing, you stand mutely for a solid minute before your brain hooks onto a single detail and everything clicks firmly into place.

“Wait, you read my therapy diary?”

“Don’t go crying about privacy now. I could tell you were running around on me and wanted to know,” Takashi snaps.

The finer details of what you recorded in that diary escape you, but you know you frequently wrote about your conversations, encoding but not entirely skipping over references to his business. It was stupid, of course, but the diary was intended for your eyes only, an exercise in self-reflection. The same Takashi who told you he was coming into an unexpected windfall of money at work. The same Takashi who had ripped your bedroom apart, supposedly looking for signs of your infidelity. The same Takashi who had demanded details about your patients. If that same Takashi had read your diary months ago he would have known about the HKJ deal, about Haitani soliciting you, about far too much.

“You weren’t reading my diary because you were jealous. You were paid to spy on me, weren’t you?”

And you know just who paid him as well. Based of your three interactions, you should have predicted that Haitani is not a man who accepts defeat easily. He is like a river. When he can’t force his way through an obstacle, he finds a way around.

“I did what you should have done in the first place,” Takashi sneers.

It is not defensiveness, at least not as far as you can tell, that spurs Takashi to confess. In his mind, you’ve already been reduced to something subhuman, a creature undeserving of consideration let alone sympathy, someone he could justify the worst abuses against, so convinced of his own righteousness. But whatever grievance Takashi may imagine against you, nothing can compare to what Takashi cost you. If he hadn’t betrayed you to Ran, then last night…Hanma…

You think you could gouge Takashi’s eyes out and he still wouldn’t understand the hurt he caused you. Minutes prior, you felt completely extinguished, like your flames had been put out forever, but now a pilot light flickers and it’s enough to bring forth an inferno, a heat you didn’t dare hope you would ever feel again.

“How dare you! You want to lecture me about getting into bed with the yakuza when you’re climbing into the bank with one! What if you had gotten someone hurt or killed? Did you even think about what would happen to me? You’re a slimy, despicable, cowardly –”

Shouting over you as you continue to levy every imaginable invective against him, Takashi spits, “Like you’re some paragon of virtue. Were you thinking about your patients when you started screwing them? Or did you not give a fuck who you hurt? Last time I checked, they don’t let yakuza whores keep their licenses. Speaking of which, you should know I’ve already sent these videos to the Japanese Psychological Association. You can look forward to a call from the ethics board.”

The bomb drop has the desired effect. It collapses the floor beneath your feet, gobbles up the words in your mouth, and implodes the tiny sliver of security that you still clung to. A life gone in a moment.

You are going to lose your license.

No job.

No home.

No friends.

No boyfriend.

No security.

Nothing.

The last box of your things and the vase of flowers are shoved into your hands. They feel weightless in your arms. On autopilot, you accept them and Takashi’s pushing hands on your back as he shepherds you towards the door.

This is the last time you will see this apartment that you called home for so long: the warped wood that’s risen under the heat of the window, the lightbulb in the kitchen that flicks if your run the dishwasher at the same time, the dent no bigger than a thumbprint, or more accurately, a door handle in the wall from where the front door slammed into it with too much force.

You want to press pause, to slow down the moment. You would take a final photo if you could, breathe in the smell of this place and bottle it for a future date. Anything to linger for one second longer before you are cast out into the unforgiving cold.

Takashi does not take mercy on you.

“You should be thankful you don’t have a family to shame,” he hisses.

And then the door slams shut. With you on one side and your life on the other.

Everything you once were is gone forever.

On second look, there are fewer than a dozen boxes stacked in the hall. Such a small life. You thoughtlessly heft a small, light-seeming box onto the bundle already in your arms. Dazedly, you stumble past the rest, leaving them behind with no plan for when or who will come to collect them, and even less of an idea of where you’ll send them.

There is no hurry. Nowhere to go. Yet, you too quickly find yourself pressing through the revolving doors that lead out onto the street and the blinding midday sun, which fittingly leeches the color from the world, so that everything’s cast in long shadows. On instinct, you raise a hand to shield your eyes, dropping the little you own to shatter on the sidewalk. A pitiful relief wells in you as you drop to your knees to retrieve your belongings; it is something to do.

Since Takashi cratered the foundations on which your entire existence rested, the normally persistent voice in your head – the one that would caution you against calling a taxi when a subway ticket cost less than 200 yen or would push you to stay that extra hour in university, the one that essentially kept you alive – has been traitorously silent, and so you know that you ought to figure out a place to stay for the night, to calculate how long your savings will last, and brainstorm a strategy to fight the ethics board, but you can’t keep any one thought in your head long enough to develop something concrete. Each stirring of a thought drips through the cracks between your fingers, like trying to collect water in the cup of your palm. You can’t make a plan. What you can do is kneel on the dirty sidewalk and clean up your mess.

First, you right the little box you scooped up from the hallway. Peeking inside, you see it’s mostly filled with socks and underwear. The second box that Takashi forced into your hands is less useful. Inside are shattered picture frames, the photos inside detailing the lives you shared or, at least, lived in parallel. You can’t tell if they cracked in the fall or if Takashi ritualistically broke each as a parting gift. Even less useful somehow is the vase of fake flowers Hanma gave you, now lying scattered, a collection of jagged ceramic shards.

You herd the broken pieces into a little pile, careful as you do to avoid slicing your fingertips against the sharp edges. As you delicately lift one piece, you feel out something small and round affixed to the inside. With an emotion milder than curiosity, you peel the coin-like anomaly off. Holding it to the light, you puzzle at what looks like a microchip.

And then, all you can do is laugh, as your memory offers up an old spy movie where you saw a device just like this, hidden in a flower vase. It’s a bug.

Of course, he bugged your apartment. Even a gesture as simple as gifting you flowers in apology is warped, twisted into something malicious with Hanma. He’s been laying the foundation for your downfall for months now. Just waiting to crumble you to dust in his hands.

A familiar car pulls up to the curb where you sit, laughing maniacally to yourself. You laugh harder when you spot it. Perfect fucking timing.

The window rolls down, and for one terrible second, you lock eyes with Shuji. Terrible, venomous eyes, the gaze of a viper, hidden away behind glass lenses as if without that layer of protection, he might penetrate you to your core. No, not a viper, a basilisk.

The way he’s dressed, hair perfectly coiffed and in the tailored suit that is his work uniform, offends your sensibilities. From his height advantage, he peers down at you like a scientist watching a bug through a microscope. You feel as small as a mite.

“You can spend the night at my place,” Hanma says, without so much as a greeting because he need not dignify you with niceties. A person needn’t spare a termite a hello before stepping on it.

A plane flies overhead, so low it tricks the eye for a moment, makes you think it’ll crash into the skyscrapers dotting the cityscape. You follow it with your eyes until it’s long out of sight, retracing the chemtrail it leaves in its wake. You almost forget Hanma is here, watching.

Pressed through a sigh, Hanma says your name. His voice, toneless and impossibly deep strikes you like a whip, a thousand times worse than seeing him. It is the charge you need to act.

Bursting to your feet, you leave all but your box of underwear and march determinedly in the other direction. Adrenaline courses through your veins, a jittery but appreciated focuser, and for the first time, you are able to think outside your fugue state. You will find a hotel for the night, something cheap that pays by the hour. If you walk for five minutes, you’re sure to find something.

Anything is better than Hanma’s offer.

“Get in the car.”

You ignore Hanma’s first call and his second, pretending his voice doesn’t make your hands shake so hard you fear you’ll drop the box. The Bentley keeps pace with you to the right. At the first intersection, a redlight stops the Bentley dead.

“For fuck’s sake!”

The curse is a warning before Hanma charges out of the car, arms extended as if to grab you and drag you into the cavern of his Bentley. The dark interior beckons ominously, hinting at a cacophony of horrors. To go into that car is to die.

His fingers don’t so much as graze yours before you start to scream.

Hoarse, guttural screams that turn the necks of every passerby in the area emerge from your bruised throat, a scream that must be tearing your throat apart, but you can’t feel the pain through the adrenaline rush. Heads pop out of nearby shops to see who is making such a ruckus and why. Amid the animal shrieks, the occasional curse takes place, a well-timed “motherfucker” or “waste of space.” To anyone watching, you appear unhinged. A lifetime of pain and rage unleash in one concentrated exhale of agony. If you could bottle the force behind your bellows, they would blow a hole through Hanma’s brain and vaporize what’s left. You scream in his face like you hope to erase him from existence like he did you.

Time holds no meaning now, and you think you might black out or suffer a psychotic break that blacks over just what you say or do in those precious moments of freedom. Whether Hanma is appalled by your behavior, if it makes him want to hurt, fuck, or kill you is irrelevant. Blissfully blank, you become the beast Takashi thinks you are and growl and rage and bare your teeth.

Stunned into stillness by the spectacle, Hanma’s gaze darts between you and the spectators who could intervene, but as no one steps forward to help the crazy woman having a breakdown, Hanma loses his patience.

He slaps a hand over your mouth, muffling your hysterical shrieking. His body is so much larger than yours, something you once craved, but now it crowds and bullies you toward the parked door, where the wide-open passenger door signals your doom. You go silent. You transfer every bit of energy from your throat to your body. Biting and bucking, you fight him with every ounce of strength you possess.

No amount of thrashing could overpower Hanma at full-strength, but he treats you gently with none of last night’s brutality. Kid gloves try to handle you with care as if he would never think to harm you, no not you, his precious, beloved pet. How could you even think such a thing? Unwilling to hurt you, Hanma grapples against your flailing arms for a full minute before backing off, hands tugging at his hair in frustration. He is panting though not half so hard as you are.

“Would you fucking stop!” Hanma snaps. “You should be grateful for what I did. You should –”

Whatever lovely suggestion would have topped off that sentence, you don’t wait to hear, lashing out with a closed fist before he can finish.

You aim for his cheek, but Hanma sees the blow coming, so your fist glances off his neck.

The next punch is somehow more pitiful. Powered by your righteous indignation, you throw your full-body weight behind it, but Hanma bats you aside, so that your shoulder collides into his chest and the punch dies out against the air. Hanma folds the leftover arm behind your body and pins you to his chest, so that all the bucking in the world won’t be enough to break free. He is a titanium wall of muscle and violence, and he has you in his grasp. You think you might vomit.

All the energy in your body evaporates, and you slump into his embrace.

“Finally,” Hanma mutters but without frustration. There is a hint of satisfaction there. A hint of humor at your suffering.

“Let me go,” you whisper.

“Will you behave like a good girl if I do?”

“Let me go.”

Hanma sighs, “Oh, Doc, come on. All this carrying on over limp-dick Takashi? He’s not worth it.”

“Didn’t you hear? While you were eavesdropping, didn’t you hear?” you chuckle a little, a sound strange enough that Hanma eases up on his grip, enough so that he can peer down at your face. You are both equally surprised to discover that you are crying, little matte tears slipping down your cheeks. “I didn’t just lose my boyfriend and my apartment. Oh no! I’m also going to lose my fucking license!”

“What? Why would you lose your license?” Hanma visibly startles, and on any other day, you might have enjoyed one-upping him, but not today. And never again.

“Is this what you wanted from the beginning? To lay me completely low? Did you think that when I was broke and starving, I’d have no choice but to rely on your limited generosity? To let you play with me until you get bored? Because I have nothing left to give, Hanma. I’m not even a human being anymore. I’m nothing.”

“Listen, Doc, relax. This is a panic attack. I’ll take care of Takashi and whatever he did. I’ll make it go away. You just come home with me, and I’ll take care of you and –”

“I may be nothing, but I’d rather be nothing than be with you,” you spit in his face.

His hands slacken for a moment, and you use that moment of weakness to break free.

Once more, Hanma’s hand reaches out as if to grab you, but you turn to him and with every bit of solemnity in your soul, so that the words read with all the gravity of a blood oath, you swear, “If you force me to go anywhere with you, I swear I will find a way to kill myself.”

The fingers on Hanma’s hand flex. The veins pop and strain like his body is rebelling against him, urging him to clutch, grab, cage. But then that hand falls to his side, stills.

This time, when you walk away, he doesn’t follow.

#hanma shuji #hanma x reader #tokyo rev smut #tokyo revengers smut #hanma smut #tokyo revengers x reader smut #tokyo revengers x reader

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deadboyfriendd · 1 year ago

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Mele Kalikimaka

Summary: Just a little blurb I wrote to try and break myself of this awful rut I've been in for months! I even made a cute graphic! You accompany The Harringtons on their yearly Hawaiian Christmas extravaganza.

Content Warnings: Despite a lack of smut, all of my content is 18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI, Steve'd dad is a creep and inappropriate on a plane, Steve's mom is on substances, Steve feels bad about it, suggestive content but no smut.

To put it bluntly, the Harrington Family Christmas Extravaganza was a vapid and obnoxious display of money and status. Steve aptly apologized for this a seventh time this week.

The head of the Harrington household pressed a crisp hundred into the hand of the mousy flight attendant, “For your troubles, honey.” He’d said to her, boldly, and in the presence of his wife– who had dosed herself well before the plane ride and followed the flow of the crowd with glossy eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Their son would whisper, both to you and the girl on the plane. Eight.

Honey sounded much different coming out of John Harrington’s lips than it did Steve’s– saccharine sweet and in abundance. You had learned this in the few times you had spent with Steve’s family, their rotating door of involvement in his life, even as an adult, still left an unease stirring in your chest. But they would never dream of missing the holiday extravaganza, especially not without their son.

Hawaii was pleasantly warm this time of year, the blankets of snow that fell in heavy sheets back home replaced by humid air and soft white sand. The hotel was grand, you had expected nothing less from John and Martha Harrington. Creamy white tile artisanally chosen to match the sand surrounding the hotel expanded from the lobby to the outside curve of the grand entrance, where pretty women with olive complexions and long dark hair and pearlescent smiles waited for you with thick leis.

Hawaii seemed like a far away dream. To Steve, this was just another year away from home.

“Mele Kalikimaka.” The woman would say to you as she placed the lei over your head.

“That means Merry Christmas.” He whispered through a kiss pressed to your temple, arm finding itself firmly around your shoulders.

“I’ve also heard that song, Steven.”

“I’m sorry, that was pretentious.” Nine.

It was an accepted fact that Steve Harrington was inherently beautiful, moreso in the presence of the beach. However, there was something about him, be it the remnants of sun bleached caramel in his hair a reminder of this past boating season, the soft petals of the lei pressed into the course curly fur that escaped the open buttons of his floral patterned shirt, or the almost unreal dew that formed on his skin and his skin alone, that stirred the silt that settled in the bottom of your stomach once more.

The hotel room door clicked behind you, the flat plane of your back pressed against the cool composite. You watched Steve carry the bags in without exerting much effort, and you tried to picture the way his skin stretched over his back with each movement— even beneath his shirt it was so clear in your memory.

“I’m sorry about them again. My mom is just so—”

You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself off of the door with your own weight, arms folded in front of you, “Stop apologizing, Steve.”

“They’re just weird and it's so embarrassing to be with them sometimes.” He closed the gap that existed between your bodies, pleasant heat radiating off of him even in this humid weather. He pressed his forehead to your shoulder, pulling your body into a tight embrace.

You rested your forearms across his shoulders, twirling the overgrown lock of hair at the nape of his neck around your finger in a half-hearted figure eight, “Steve, their weirdness doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

He pulled his head from your shoulder to look at you, hands still affixed firmly around your waist, “Do you think I’m weird too?”

“Yes.” You chimed, your faces growing closer.

“Oh, really?” The smile grew quick and wide across his face, the early essence of crows feet creasing the delicate skin of his cheeks.

“An absolute freakshow.”

#stranger things #stranger things s4 #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington blurb #steve stranger things

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all-about-kyu · 1 year ago

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Summary: Sometimes life is about a quickie in the club bathroom with a stranger. Pairing: Ming x fem!reader Tropes: hook up au (?), non idol au Genre: smut Rating: R 18+ Warnings: mentions of alcohol, language Smut Warnings: unprotected sex, quickies, finger sucking, big dick Mingi, cum eating Word Count: 425 Note: for the Tarot Card Drabble Event Requested by: @smallfrye

Four of Pentacles ➾ frugal, quickie, no care

“Oh, fuck!” you moan loudly, breath hitting the tiled wall of the bathroom.

The man behind you chuckles and keeps the pace he’s had for a bit now. You don’t know anything about him. All you know is that he’s fucking you into next week right now. It’s not like he’s doing extraordinary. He just knows how to use what he has. It does help that he’s absolutely massive. At first, you wondered if you could even take him fully. He was polite enough to take his time and let you adjust to his size before making you see stars moments later.

“Fuck,” he groans lowly, “You’re so wet and tight.”

“P-please!” you practically beg.

He doesn’t respond. He had both hands on your hips to pull you back against his every thrust but let one wander north and tapped two fingers against your lower lip. You instantly wrap your lips around his fingers. It’s not doing much to muffle your moans, but it keeps your mouth occupied. You can hear the bass of the music vibrating through the walls, and his thrusts match the pace of it. You came here as the designated driver for your friends, who are likely all trashed by now, but here you are getting the dicking of your lifetime from some random tall, handsome man. You don’t even get time to process your orgasm. It hits you like a ton of bricks. Your walls convulse around his cock. Your thighs go shaky as well. Had he not been holding you, you definitely would’ve definitely crumbled to the ground.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum,” he growls, “Where do you want me to cum?” he pulls his fingers from your mouth to allow you to respond.

“My mouth, please, please!” you whine.

He pulls out of you, and you immediately kneel in front of him and put your tongue out. He jerks off against your tongue. Every so often, his tip hits your tongue and gives you a taste of his salty precum. After a bit, he lets out a strangled moan and cums on your tongue. A few streaks land across your lips. Once you notice him starting to come down, you happily lick the cum from your lips and swallow the pearlescent liquid.

“What’s your name?” you ask, slightly shy, as you adjust your dress to be back on properly.

“Mingi,” he chuckles, “You trying to do this again?” he asks, tucking himself back in his pants.

“Follow me back over to the bar, and I’ll give you my number.”

Networks: @cultofdionysusnet @kwritersworld @k-vanity

Tag List: @sanjoongie @jaehunnyy @ericssmile @anyamaris @almondmilkeu @shinestarhwaa

#mingi smut #cultofdionysusnet #kwritersworldnet #kvanity #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez smut #mingi fanfic #mingi x reader

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maisonaime · 1 year ago

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Ilithyia's Blessings - Part 2

Warnings: mentions of past trauma, depiction of a panic attack, pregnancy trauma

Part 1

Part 2:

Mor was still on her knees in shocked silence when Amren finally snapped out of the daze of power Feyre had wielded against them. Bad. This was very very bad.

“Up girl, we have to find Nesta.” she snapped. Failing to ignore Mor’s trembling shoulders she added “I’m sure she didn’t mean it Morrigan. Wounded animals bite.”

You couldn’t keep your own from being desecrated. An iron nail, a note fluttering in the crisp Autumn wind, the crunching of boots retreating back through the fallen leaves. Agony.

Mor shook her head, tears falling freely. “I know she didn’t mean it, I could feel that her words — those words — weren’t her true feelings. I just… never thought she could…” words failed her.

Amren sighed and looked at the disarray around them, sniffing distastefully. “It seems we underestimated her. Feyre was raised in a pit of vipers, thrown to the wolves and then made an incredibly powerful Fae. She’s survived this long by the skin of her teeth, they were bound to be sharp.”

Mor wailed “She’s my sister. She’s our sister, Amren.”

Amren ran a hand over her face exasperatedly “And we’ve betrayed her, all of us. Her words were vile and you didn’t deserve them, but they are just words Morrigan. Feyre is wielding your trauma, as I suspect she’ll try to do with all of us, as a weapon to protect her from her own. All we can do is show her that no matter what she says or does, we will still be here waiting for her.”

Mor laughed bitterly, without a hint of humor, wiping at her face and rising to her feet. “I suppose no one knows how to hurt us quite like our own.”

Amren was already moving towards the door. “Yes. And one of our own is going to wipe Nesta off the face of this world when he learns of what happened here, if he hasn’t already. I won’t pretend the bitch deserves our protection after that fucking stunt, but I will not let this court be plunged into civil war because our High Lord mists the sister of our High Lady in a fit of rage.”

“Nesta deserves whatever comes to her.” Mor snarled, rage awakening her features.

Amren paused at the door, then turned to Mor with a determined glare. “Then so do we all Morrigan. I won’t pretend to have been any less a participant in creating this mess, but if we’re going to undo it we can’t hold to the pretense that any of us have acted correctly. No matter our intentions, the results have been disastrous.”

And since Mor could hardly deny the truth in that statement, she set out after Amren into the streets of Velaris. They winnowed along the path of Nesta’s scent as quickly as possible, noting the way black clouds above tracked them, roiling and crackling with the power of the High Lord of Night.

—

The world was cleaving, air would not pass into her lungs, and she was sure that if she wasn’t dead already she would be soon. Panic, cloying and thick, choked its way out of her stomach and onto the pearlescent tiles in front of her.

The thick bands of power pulled even closer around Feyre, blinding her surroundings and pulling oxygen from the air around her, folding the room into her. She could hear nothing above the roaring in her ears, her words played back to her at deafening speed and volume. Nothing made sense, nothing was as it should be.

She could feel the aching spot behind her ribs where the mating bond was smothered away, could feel the last dregs of Rhys tearing desperately across that mind bridge as she slammed the gates shut.

To be served, to be feared. She just wanted to be respected.

The iciness that she allowed to surface for her persona of cruelty. This is not the Court of Nightmares, this is your family. Stop. Stop. STOP.

What the hell had she said to Mor? Invoking her trauma like a dagger.

They lied, they lied to you. And now your child will die, and now YOU will die.

Not their fault, their fault, THEIR FAULT.

Warriors armed with tridents blasted powerful jets of seawater at the black vortex of power that had materialized in the middle of the room, holding it in place. Summer Court officials were already sounding alarm bells across the city and raising flags on the warships in Adriata’s port. Surely this was an attack of some sort.

Tarquin stood from his throne of shells and beachwood, assessing the violent haze of power that stifled the room and peeled through the layers of scent — panic, rage, confusion — until he stumbled across something familiar. With a start, he drew back into himself and sunk deep into the sea of his power. He drifted down and down until like called to like and he opened unseeing eyes to gaze at the pebble of his power, shrouded in darkness.

As if recognizing the soul stare he had pinned her with, the blackness released its protective, suffocating grip on Feyre, dissipating across the floor in every direction like the tide back out to sea. She was hunched over, heaving her lunch onto his floor. As she rose, Tarquin’s eyes widened at the sight of her swollen belly, the scent of new life radiating off of her.

He threw up walls of water around the two of them before the rest of the room could register that the High Lady of the Night Court had collapsed into their court, pregnant and distressed. Effectively sequestering them in a rippling fishbowl, for her safety, for the safety of his court, and if he were being perfectly honest… so that when Rhysand ripped through his mind in the moments before killing him he would see that at least Tarquin had tried to help his mate.

Feyre sputtered and gasped, hand still braced on her knees. “I need… I seek asylum in the Summer Court.” oh so now she was going the diplomatic route. “My life is in danger, my family and Court must not know where I am.” not a lie, just shocking .”Please grant me temporary protection and anonymity in your jurisdiction.”

The language she invoked demanded an answer, and Tarquin shuddered as the weight of her request settled between them.

“Feyre, are you quite su–” He began.

“Tarquin… please.” she met his eyes, he had never seen such despair, and before he knew what he was saying…

“Yes, I grant you asylum in the Summer Court with all associated protections.” he breathed.

He felt a tingling burn creep around his wrist as the promise was sealed in ink. Without another word he approached Feyre and winnowed them both to his office, releasing the walls of water with a burst of magic that would wash away the memory of the disruption before it could reach prying ears.

—

Cassian landed at the River House, wringing his hands as he approached Rhys’ office. He prayed Feyre would be there too so that they might rally Elain to go to Nesta. He had left the House of Wind when he sensed her in the bathroom and heard the tub running. A part of him thought twice about leaving her alone but it would be mere minutes before someone was at her side.

He pushed open the unlocked door to Rhys’ study, finding his brother bent over correspondence, looking older than Cassian had ever seen him as he rubbed at his temple.

“Cassian you won’t believe what these Autumn fucks want– what’s wrong?” Rhys snapped, his eyes narrowing at his brother’s evasive gaze.

“Nesta, she – fuck Rhys I fucked it all. I wanted to know what she would name a weapon and the godsdamned woman is too fucking insightful. She saw right through me and pried everything out about the weapons and the vote we took. I think it undid every bit of progress we’ve been trying to make, and I just… FUCK.” he slammed his hands down onto the desk and then resumed his pacing, tearing at his hair.

Rhys was just about to start dousing this newest little fire with a word to his mate to send Elain to the House of Wind when he felt two sets of wards shattering in rapid succession. A deep tug from behind his navel alerted him to the old wards on the Townhouse tumbling down. The second set of wards fracturing set his skin on fire.

Feyre.

The careful netting of protection he had placed around her the moment he learned of their son, was unraveling. As he shot a frantic message down their mental bridge, he was met with walls of obsidian. Silence stretched and burned down their bond as he felt unholy might smother his connection to his mate. Rhysand clawed his way across the unsteady path toward Feyre’s mind, but each drag forward seemed only to push her presence further away. Moments later he choked on his horror as he realized her couldn’t feel her at all.

The clouds over the River House coalesced into black ether snapping with rabid lightning and quickly spreading out from Illyria to Velaris, blanketing the world in darkness. Seeking out the source of this mayhem for the hunt to follow.

Cassian somehow knew, as he gaped at his brother, that Nesta had most certainly not been in the bath, and was most certainly not going to be found at the House of Wind. His feet were moving before his mind could catch up with the scene around him

He was already soaring through the air towards Velaris when Rhys unleashed his power in a roar that nearly sent Cassian tumbling out of the sky.

As he was rolling through the air on the shockwave, Cassian faced up at the sky and saw the storm clouds of Rhys’ manic power surging in a path over the town. As he shot along their path, he recognized the exact part of town they were leading to.

He knew exactly what – who he would find there.

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rotworld · 1 year ago

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31: Dead End

(previous)

even after everything that's happened, you are still a child of the road.

->contains brief body horror/parasite appearance.

You don’t dream, but you don’t feel awake. Everything is soft. Hazy. You’re falling, or maybe you’re floating, and everything is dark. There’s a voice somewhere far away, muffled wailing. Something stirs the water around you. A hand finds your arm and another joins it, pulling you to the surface. There’s light, bright and blinding. You squint and try to cover your eyes but your limbs are weak and heavy. You feel yourself draped against someone, your arm slung over their shoulder. You can’t walk. They drag you slowly across the floor and up a flight of stairs, one step at a time.

Then there’s another hand. Another voice. Someone else slides against your other side and you’re moving faster now, your feet knocking against the steps. You smell blood. Death. You hear footsteps. Shadows pass overhead like clouds. Someone touches your face and you lean into the warmth of their palm. Your vision is still blurry. Your head feels like it’s full of water. One of the steps crumbles away and you’re shifted, moved around a hole in the floor.

You smell fresh air. Sea breeze. The salt of the ocean. Home. There’s a fullness in your heart you’ve never felt before, a bone-deep certainty. This is home. You’ve finally made it, after all this time. Stairs turn to carpet and carpet to tile, and finally you feel the scrape of concrete. You’re outside and there are people all around you, laying you down in something soft and grainy. Sand? It feels nice.

“...shift shock, probably. Must’ve been right at the center…”

“...still breathing, it’s just shallow…”

“...things on their neck? Are those…”

You open your eyes again and the world is still a gray smear, but you see a cloudy sky. Drift fog. People crowding around, talking quietly. You groan, struggling to sit up. There are hands on your back, your shoulder, the back of your head, cradling you gently and helping you sit up. Jamie is closest, wide-eyed and weeping, Iridesce keeping them steady with a hand on their shoulder. Malachi is on your other side, letting out a long, relieved breath, and Glenn is right beside him with a grin on his face. The Singer kneels in front of you, his pearlescent mandibles lifting slightly in happiness. They’re all worn and ragged, covered in blood, but they’re here with you, alive.

“Where—?” You can’t quite get the words out, your throat feeling raw.

“We’re still in Anchor,” Iridesce says, smiling wryly. “It has a stunning coastline, believe it or not. For all their talk of normalcy, half the anchorware in the city was only there to maintain all the construction they put over the natural landscape.”

“That last shift split the city apart. Half of it fell into the ocean. Good riddance, honestly,” Glenn mutters.

At the mention of the ocean, you glance at the water. The tide is coming in, each wave caressing the beach climbing slowly higher, closer to your toes. Something stirs not far from shore, a ripple emanating from a growing shadow. Something colossal breaks the surface, sprinkling water across the beach like rain. You stare up in shock. The thing—your kin—smiles down at you, no longer in the dark.

“Finally,” he whispers. His voice is just the way you remember it from your dreams but even sweeter now, low and velvety. “I get to see you here, where you came from.” Like John Doe, his body is complex and always moving, tendrils and bristle-like hairs all swaying slightly, as though following the motions of a current. He only has one visible eye, the other half of his face concealed by a draping, curtain-like membrane, curling and colorful like part of a jellyfish bell. He drops slightly, bringing his face closer to you. A ribbon-like tentacle extends towards you, curling out of the water. You reach out and it curls around your fingers gently, a suckling kiss to your palm.

“I remembered how to breathe,” you tell him.

“I know,” he says proudly.

“Am I going to change?”

“You have always been what you are. Now, you will see what I have always seen.”

You’re aware of the others behind you; the Singer and Glenn on the shore. Malachi and Iridesce standing in the wet sand. Jamie, wading in deeper, splashing behind you. They stop just short of touching you. The air is tense with words they want to say. “Would it be hard?” you ask. “If I kept going…”

“You will need to be careful. Diving too far, too fast will still harm you until you have fully adjusted. Shall I stay in the shallows with you for now?”

You lower your hand. The tendril follows like an affectionate animal, still seeking your touch. “No, I mean…if I kept going here. On land. Will I stop being able to breathe the air?”

He tilts his head, his gaze softening. “No. You will need to keep your gills damp, but…” You expect him to be angry, but he chuckles. “Truly? You are leaving? Lorne will be disappointed.”

“I’ll come back,” you promise him. You’ve never meant it more than before. “I want to. Maybe I’ll even stay, someday. But right now, I…”

“You are the closest thing I have to kin in this world. I understand. You must go where the current takes you. This is also our way.” The tentacle slips away with one last affectionate squeeze of your fingers, vanishing beneath the surface. He makes a rumbling sound—a song you remember from the ferry, calling out to you. Before, it was a slow, mournful noise. Now, you hear joy. “I will eagerly await your return. Whenever it is. However long it lasts. I will be here, always, to welcome you.” He sinks slowly, vanishing beneath seafoam and the rising tide, swallowed up by the blue, shimmery depths. You feel tears wet your cheeks; tears of happiness. Of relief.

You turn around and Jamie collapses into your arms, sobbing against your chest. You hold them, swaying back and forth as the ocean flows around you like a comforting embrace. You walk back to shore with them and they cling to you the whole way, as though afraid you’ll drift out of reach if they let go.

You sit together at the top of a sandy hill, watching the water. People trickle by to see you, offering gratitude and heartfelt embraces. There’s a lot left to salvage of Anchor, sensor arrays and stabilizers, things that could make the roads much safer. Malachi and the people of Nelton have already begun going through the labs, cataloging and organizing anything of use. The Verlindans are heading straight for the University, having found files that suggest a cure for the sickness Anchor inflicted on them. Iridesce kisses your cheek before she leaves. She has a funeral to prepare for, but much more to look forward to. The Singer is returning to Compass Hill and he invites you to stay, as he always does, though doesn’t look quite so worried when you gently decline.

“So,” Jamie says.

You laugh. “So?”

They lean their head against your shoulder and take one of your hands, toying with the joints of your fingers. “Now what?”

You hum thoughtfully. “Should probably get you to a hospital.”

“Eh, I’ll live. The Verlindans aren’t too shabby at field surgery.”

“The University, then. Somebody needs to explain what happened here. When Compass Hill changed, there was all kinds of legal stuff we had to go through, but ultimately, they gave the town to the weavers.” You smile sadly, thinking about that now. “I wonder what’ll happen this time. There aren’t many of us. Seems like a waste to have a whole town for two or three people.”

“If they wanna give you the whole town, take it,” Jamie says, shrugging. “Seems like the least they could do.”

It almost feels strange to get back in your car now. It’s right where you left it, the windshield still cracked. It feels like a relic of a different time. The engine stutters but starts up. You’ve never felt this way at the start of a journey. This isn’t a chore or just another job. There’s no urgency. You could take the scenic route. Stop in Prismville or Compass Hill, maybe visit Glenn’s neck of the woods of Nelton. “I’d want the fences to come down,” you say thoughtfully. “The gates, too. The lab should be torn down once we’ve stripped everything useful. I think it all needs to go.”

“Where would the courier house go?” Jamie asks, sounding almost cautious.

“Hm. Maybe where the lab used to be? I don’t know. It could go anywhere.”

“Anywhere?”

“Yeah, anywhere. Where would you want it?”

Jamie looks at you with wide, watery eyes and a trembling smile. “Come on. That shouldn’t be up to me.”

“It’s at least half up to you. How am I going to run a courier bed and breakfast if the in-house barista doesn’t like the view?”

You have to slam on the brakes when Jamie tugs you over by the collar of your shirt, kissing you breathless. “We need to stop in Prismville,” they say breathlessly. “We’re gonna book the nicest suite in that huge, fancy hotel and we’re gonna fuck like it’s our honeymoon.” You shiver at the pleasant sensation of their fingertips teasing your gills. “And then we’ll deal with the serious stuff. Go back to the University, file whatever reports we need to file. Then we’ll come back here and you’ll finally have your proper homecoming—”

“Too late,” you say between hungry, nipping kisses, the fluke darting out to taste your tongue. “Already had it. You missed it.”

“What do you mean I missed it?”

“I mean you missed it. Sorry. I’ve been home for a while now.” You pull back far enough to look Jamie in the eye, sharing a soft smile and savoring this new pull at your heart.

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: MY DAY BY BLUE FOUNDATION]

#rotpeach writes #goretober #the drift #thank you for coming along for the ride this year!! i really enjoyed this project #going to try and do some art of the characters but first things first ive got a post-goretober vacation to enjoy lol #no writing for a bit but i'll try and get through my asks soon

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spurhill-n · 5 months ago

Text

@dreamscapesalesstore

Feet fell heavy on the tiled floor. The pearlescent white of it's former glory stained by pools of red; smears and prints trailing along down the hall toward a specific room. Blade had been told he'd find someone here, that it was important he did. Such was the writing of his Script.

There is no knocking on the door, no politeness in it's opening, and he walks through casually as if the loss of life for this single interaction were not great.

"You." He comments, red eyes staring pointedly at the other. "I am here.. for you."

#muse; blade #dreamscapesalesstore

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bontenholly · 10 months ago

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-an excerpt from inui's perspective-

synopsis: koko & inui meet for the first time in twelve years during the bonten timeline.

word count: 1.8k

note: all angst. & this is my first time writing a fanfic. <3

This is where he asked to meet me. I knew I couldn’t go to him. From everything I’d heard on the news, by word of mouth of the local business owners. I didn’t need him to explain it to me. It was after hours at the bike shop, and my heart was racing as I sat on the floor, back against the counter. There’s no way I could stand up with the way I felt so faint. I could call it off, could leave before I let the anxiety overtake me…

But it was already too late. The side door opened, and I knew it was him by the clacking of his heeled strappy sandals against the lacquered wood floor. I bet the Bonten lobby had marble tile sprawling over the expanse of their floors. I gazed up at him, quiet.

He wore a crimson velvet ensemble — flowy wide leg pants and a high neck coat that draped over him and fell in a straight silhouette. There was careful gold embroidery along the edges of his coat and at the hem of his pants. It matched with the gold of his delicate tennis bracelet and the earring exposed by his undercut. That was the same dyed white hair and the same tattoo on the side of his head that I’d seen when he appeared on the news, blurry and nearly unidentifiable in the footage.

But I could identify him.

I’d never met him with this new look, but I’d always know him. I’d know him in any light. I’d know him in all the darkness. I’d know him in any and every lifetime. That’s just the nature of these things, isn’t it?

He took in my gaze, not letting any expression escape him. I think he understood that I wasn’t gonna stand to greet him. I looked at him with almost pleading eyes, telling him without telling him to just sit beside me. And he did.

“For how long?” I started. There was so much I wanted to say, so much I wanted to ask. But my thoughts were moving too fast, and that was all I could bring myself to say.

“What do you mean?” He asked, moving his silken white hair to one side. It cascaded over his shoulder, soft and shining pearlescent in the moonlight streaming in through the square windows. I could tell he took great care of his appearance.

“You know…” I said, “You’re the one who asked to meet up, right? To talk about it?”

“Well… Yeah…”

“So?” I went on. I didn’t know how and when I got the courage to ask. “How long were you keeping tabs on me? Having people follow me and—”

I trailed off. It was only recently that I caught on to the private investigators and what was essentially a personal bodyguard.

“So straight to it, huh?” He said evenly. “The whole time.”

“The whole… twelve years…?”

I didn’t know if I should have been upset about it, but this wasn’t the time to contemplate that. It also wasn’t the time to contemplate why I felt flattered at the thought when…

“Since the day I told you my life would be different,” he went on, “and I told you I’d have to leave you… You remember.”

That wasn’t a question. He said that like it was a fact. And it was. It killed me that he still knew me enough to know that moment is branded into my memory.

“Yeah… I do…”

“I didn’t want to leave you… believe me, that’s the last thing I wanted… At least I looked for ways to… protect you.”

He didn’t look at me. He toyed with his tennis bracelet, nervous. Even in the dimness the rose-cut diamonds shone clearly.

“Protect me,” I repeated, mostly to myself, “from what? This doesn’t make any sense—”

“Bonten isn’t something to take lightly,” he explained. He sounded serious, firm. “The path I chose to follow Mikey is — it’s dangerous.”

That much I already knew. It was all over headlines. Everyone knew the elusive Manjiro Sano, Mikey. Top gang lord, untraceable by all manner of cybersecurity and total rule over his subordinates. It was kept on the down low, but everyone knew. There was the unspoken tax over all the businesses in their gang’s territory. Everyone was too afraid to do anything about it. They knew the violence and worse things Bonten was capable of. The bike shop was safe, as I knew I was under special protection. But otherwise you couldn’t be caught mentioning Bonten around here.

If you were smart you’d keep that name out of your damn mouth, they’d all say.

So in part, I understood.

“Okay?” I still said. “So why would I be in danger if I wasn’t involved?”

“That’s the whole point,” he said. “You weren’t in danger because I didn’t involve you.”

“Oh…” was all I could say. Because it made sense, logically. But there was something else still bothering me. Because logic wasn’t enough to justify what happened with us, wasn’t enough to justify the hurt. I wouldn’t be satisfied by any justification because those twelve years apart… they should’t have happened.

“If you were in my life… If anyone knew you mattered to me,” he hesitated, not wanting to say what I already knew, “they could have used it against me. They could have…”

Hurt Me? Killed me? Kidnapped me?

“They could have…” was all I said, but we were both thinking the same thing.

“I couldn’t let anything happen to you…”

I already knew all that, but I would have taken that risk if it meant we could be together. And he could have done everything to protect me, right? But I knew he’d never go for that. He did what he thought was right.

“So from the beginning,” I started, “if the choice was between a life with me or Bonten… why did you choose Bonten? You could have gotten out of all the gang shit while it was still early. Because if I was more important to you, then—”

“It was never a choice.” He rolled his eyes, cut me off quickly. “It’s never a choice with you, dumbass.” He caught my gaze once again, smiled like the way he used to tease me, and for a moment I felt a tenderness through all the hurt.

“Then why…?”

I spoke softly to hide the pain behind my words.

“Mikey was different… Back then, I mean.” And he got serious again. Too soon.

“After Izana?” I remembered the way he grieved.

“Yeah… I guess he wanted to honor his legacy the only way he knew how. I think he couldn’t lose the last thing tying him to Izana. Couldn’t bear to lose him completely, you know?”

“Yeah… I wonder why Mikey felt such a close connection to him.”

“It’s… complicated. I think they shared the same pain only they could understand, but it’s not my place to say.”

“So you followed Mikey,” I tried to understand, “because you felt sorry for him? Or you felt obligated to him?”

“I didn’t feel obligated,” he clarified. “I was obligated.”

“Oh?”

“Like I said,” he went on, “Mikey was different. Said he needed me. That it was less to do with the money and more to do with the fact that I used to answer to Izana. Said I was to be Bonten’s financial advisor. That if I refused, I’d rather like to die. And I believed him too…”

“I don’t doubt that he would kill you…”

“So I joined… and did everything I could to keep you away from what I got involved in.”

He stared at the ground, pensive. Eyebrows furrowed. I could tell he was remembering all matter of things he went through in all his time with Bonten. Things I couldn’t begin to imagine.

“But why didn’t you just tell me what was going on?” I pressed, and he snapped out of it.

“It’s not that simple—”

“An explanation would have been nice—”

“I thought I could find my way back to you.”

“Yeah, after twelve years…”

“But by the time I thought we could be back together, I was already in too deep—”

“And I waited, and waited until—”

“By then I couldn’t be let out of Bonten anymore—”

“You don’t know the sleepless nights I had, wondering where you were, wondering if something bad had happened to you—”

“I couldn’t go back to normal. This isn’t a lifestyle you can just be blessed out of after—”

“And I thought you just dropped me like I was nothing!” This time I raised my voice, desperate, and he stopped cutting me off. “I thought I’d never hear from you again… I didn’t know about the way you tried to keep me under your protection. You made me believe that you had just forgotten about me… that you could forget about me…”

I blinked a lot, trying to hide the tears that were starting.

“How could I…?” His voice went soft. He leaned closer into me, by now his shoulder was against mine. “I thought of you all this time…”

Such a simple thing as that made it hard for me to breathe. I longed to be this close to him from the start. Closer, even. Longed to hear those words for years…

By now he was looking at me. Not just like I was the only thing in the room, but like I was the only thing he wanted, needed to see. He had a soft, half-lidded gaze about him, and I was starting to understand that I wasn’t the only one who was still infatuated between us. I don’t think there was any remedy for our feelings for each other.

Everyone else could see it, the way we were always meant to be together. And yet… And yet after all these years, here we were. Still trying to sort our shit out to try and be together. Because for some reason we made it harder than it had to be.

“So why…” I asked again, even after all the answers, because it would never make sense to me why we couldn’t just be together. “Why did you… do this…?”

“I didn’t want to…” He kept his eyes locked on mine.

“It didn’t have to be this way…” I nearly whispered.

“It shouldn’t have…”

“And now…”

“And now…?”

“What are we… supposed to do now…? After everything?”

“Start again?”

I knew behind everything he didn’t say, there was so much more he wanted. As if he saw the chance now to make up for the past twelve years, and keep making up for it as long as he lived.

And maybe he might. Maybe it wasn’t too late for us. Maybe those past twelve years could stay dead and now could be enough for us. If this is what it took for us to be together…

“I think… maybe…”

“I want to.”

I paused.

“So does this mean…?”

“I’m sticking with you, obviously.”

He rested his head on my shoulder, and I let him, waiting for him to finally tell me exactly what I needed to hear.

Just say the word, Koko...

"I promised, remember?"

#holly's bonten au!#bonten #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #kokonoi hajime #inui seishu #koko x inupi #koko x inui #inui #kokonoi

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