#why yes this drabble does come with visual aids

[kingofdirtandnothing]

wemultitudinous asked: Even 700 miles away, John's shit at texting back, and their calls are short and infrequent. Hence, an honest to god letter. Or several. “Laurens – since I can’t demand your attention by using you as a pillow, guess I have to use my words to tell you that NY sucks without you. Didn’t really notice until you were gone just how much of my day you are. Pretty fucking rude to wriggle your way into my affections like that, but since you’re already wedged all up in there, I guess I’ll let it slide..."

Jeanine brings him the honest-to-fucking-god bundle of letters up to his room, and John’s torn between about three different shades of embarrassment from ‘my parent’s maid brought me my mail’ to ‘my boyfriend literally sent me like eight letters over Christmas break’. But Jeanine doesn’t seem like she suspects anything, and once John controls that instinct to hide the papers any time his parents come near him, they start ignoring them too. 

It doesn’t hurt that there’s a letter tucked in the middle, a fucking decoy of peak Alexander Hamilton pettiness that talks about finding him a girlfriend while he was down here, and the length of his nose. 

His nose. John chokes on his orange juice at the kitchen table over that one and ends up having to go change his shirt because he gets it all over his sleeve. 

He tells himself that he’s going to be good. Only read one every couple of days, the way they’d probably been written. Or at least the way they would have come in the mail if Alex hadn’t forgotten until the last one to even put them in the mail. 

But he’s full of shit, and apparently a fucking teenage girl because he tucks them between the mattress and the box spring when he isn’t in his room and he lies on his bed and traces the heavy pressure of a pen and Alex’s scrawling handwriting when he’s trying to go to sleep. 

John won’t go home until after the new year. And it’s fucking something, to think of New York as home and South Carolina as some nebulous other place, but he can only deal with so many existential crises in a day. So he picks one, and makes a plan of attack. 

For the first, he goes all out. Gotta make that opening salvo count. John has to go to three different antique stores, which delights his mother to have the company, and he finds it on a spinning rack in the third. Obnoxious. Bright. Gaudy. His mother says ‘oh, that’s...nice, Jack’ and he knows it’s the right one. 

There’s no return address on it, because Alex would have to be blind to not know where it came from. (And it’s not like Alex didn’t have the big house’s address anyway.) John doesn’t even sign it. He slaps a stamp on it, and scribbles across the open space on the back. 

You shouted down a drunk argument in a bar to tell both people they were wrong. And then you danced with Herc. You did the butterfly, because apparently it’s 1995 forever. When we had to pull you out of another argument and onto the street, you looked at me and said ‘I never had a group of friends before. I promise that I’ll make ya’ll proud.’ Ten seconds later, you were chatting up a girl waiting for a cab. 

The next one is postmarked the next day. John Laurens might have surprising patience when it comes to a particular someone, but he’s never been great at delaying satisfaction. And honestly, trawling gas stations for ugly postcards kills time and gets him out of the house, and away from the press of well meaning questions about his career, about his dating life and everything else. There was only so many times that pictures of Lafayette’s basset hound would get him out of trouble.

This one is a little more generic, but a little more local, too. Close to home, so to speak. John’s pen is red today, and there’s spirals in the corner of the postcard where he’s had to lick the end to get it going again. 

First time I got into a fight sober around you, I laid out a guy on Tremont Ave for calling me a faggot. I thought you were going to bail. You got napkins from the taco truck and a water bottle, and you cleaned my hands. You didn’t ask. You just said ‘fuck that guy’ and that was it. Like nothing else mattered. 

The third is postmarked Christmas Eve. They still sneak a phone call that night before his parents have their big party, but John says nothing about the postcards. Alex was a smart kid. He’d figure them out. 

The words on this one are wobbly, blue ink that was held up against a brick wall to do the writing. The outer wall of the post office to be exact. No way in hell was John leaving this written anywhere his parents could see. 

We were at the Boiler Room because the drinks were cheap and Laf and Adri were off again. The guy looked like Idris Elba if you were drunk and it was dark. You fucked him in the bathroom. I went and washed my hands so I could hear you. It wrecked me to know you were as bossy getting fucked as you are any other time.

The last one is delivered on New Year’s eve. A single, cramped line. 

You kissed my hand and all I could think about was that it was somebody else’s skin on your lips. 

John flies in on the afternoon of New Years, hungover as fuck and regretting every life choice that brought him to this point. He drops his bag near the front door, keys in the bowl and kicks his shoes towards the couch. 

And he has every damn intention of going to bed, until he sees a dark head poked out from under Egyptian cotton sheets, knees turned towards the wall. 

There’s one of Alex’s yellow legal pads on the other side of the bed. John flips past page after page of nearly fucking encoded notes to get to a blank page. 

I knew I loved you a long time ago. But those are the times it hit me hardest.

He puts the notebook back down on the bed and pads out into the living room. He could catch a nap on the couch. 

[sunlightandsuffering]

HAHA YES. Thank u other anon for that visual it’s soo good !! Hard to get mikasa and smug af eren, a combo. Eren after his win smirking and signing autographs for all of these new fangirls right in front of mikasa. Mika, though a little jealous, can play at this game, she chatting up porco, Eren’s biggest rival, talking about what to do for dinner lmao

im finally here with my drabble!!

Mikasa honestly forgets about the bet, it slips her mind in all the excitement, and too many almost drownings.

At first, when she sees the judges give him all 10s for riding out his wave, she's somehow elated. She might have rebuffed his attempts to come on to her, but part of her is thrilled at the attention, she likes him. He's hot, and despite her rejection, there's something about his cocky assured attitude that just does something to her.

So, for a moment, she'd been excited about him winning both the competition and their bet, had daydreams of him waltzing right out of the water and towards her, ignoring medals and fans trying to get his attention to throw her over his shoulder and whisk her away. Eren Yeager, star surfer stealing away the hot lifeguard.

But in the commotion of Eren somehow, miraculously winning the competition, none of this happens and instead, she watches with a perfect view from high up in her lifeguard's chair as Eren is accosted by excited fans, mostly girls, and he does absolutely nothing to deter them. He's signing autographs, taking pictures, and as Hitch, a more promiscuous reporter appears, leaning in, hand on his arm, to ask about his great win today, Mikasa fumes.

So much for dinner, so much for the rookie who was different than all the rest, interested in the lowly lifeguard. Jean arrives to take over her shift and she's quick to throw her whistle and rescue aid at him angrily, stomping off as soon as she gets down the ladder. "Have a good shift," she smarts before shoving past him and poor Jean is left confused as hell.

She leaves Eren and his growing group of fans in the dust, stomping off towards her locker to grab her shit and leave, a fucking date. 'dinner, that's what I get if I win, you, me and dinner tonight on the beach, in the moonlight Mikasa, i'd love to get to know you better.'

That's what he'd said, his voice all seductive as he'd leaned over her, crowding her against the lifeguard's hutch, his voice promising dirty things if she played her cards right. A night with a cocky surfer, one with something to prove and a thing for her. She should have known, this is why she doesn't fuck with surfers, she'd learned her lesson with Porco long ago. Which, speak of the devil, is currently glaring out at the surf where Eren is still with his admiring fans. Her ex is rather furiously scrubbing himself down over his wetsuit, tugging it down his torso to expose a set of delicious abs that lead tantalizingly down towards his happy trail, where she knows exactly what's hidden underneath, she has personal experience. And although she never normally fucks with Porco anymore, occasionally they have some fun, there is comfort in familiarity and if nothing else their on-again off-again two-year relationship sure gave her that.

If nothing else, it'll make her feel better, if the hot new surfer doesn't feel like giving her the time of day, whatever, she has an old one she can call upon. "Porco," she greets tersely as she begins spinning the code into her lock. "Mik," Porco greets back, tugging his wetsuit down slightly farther and Mikasa bites her lip slightly and she wonders if today he's wearing anything under that wetsuit, she knows from personal experience, sometimes he opts not to, especially if it's just a short ride and won't have to worry about too much chafing.

She finishes keying in her code, grabbing her bag from her locker before she turns to lean back against the cold metal. "So, doing anything later?"

Porco raises an eyebrow at her as he looks up from washing himself down with the spray, he smirks, "No, why? You feeling a little lonely 'Kasa, wanna grab dinner with your ex? You know I'm always open." Ugh, he's so condescending, she remembers exactly why she left him so many times, but nonetheless, maybe it'll make her feel better.

She opens her mouth to retort, when very suddenly there is a very angry new surfer standing between them, crowding her back against the lockers and staring at her with intense green eyes. "No, she's coming with me." Her mouth parts in shock as Eren's hands cage her against her locker, his head turning back only briefly to shoot Porco a glare, "I won, tonight she's getting dinner with me."

Porco shrugs nonchalantly, "Whatever Yeager, 'Kasa and I go way back, have fun with my sloppy seconds." Mikasa shoots Porco a murderous look, this is exactly the type of shit she's broken up with him for so many times, but Porco only smirks, before leaving the hut to grab his board. She looks at Eren nervously, will he not want her anymore knowing her history, but it seems to have only made Eren more serious, his eyes raking over her figure.

"So that guy? Really Mikasa?" She shrugs helplessly, "I have a thing for surfers." "So I see," he murmurs, leaning in closer and fuck are those eyes ever intense, roiling green storms and her breath hitches at all the trouble they promise.

Eren smirks, wicked, "Did you think I'd let you get away so easily Mikasa? Did kitten come over here to soothe her ego with her ex, did you wanna make me jealous?" She gasps slightly as he recognizes her intentions right away and his smirk widens, leaning in to whisper against her ear, "Well it fucking worked Mikasa." And after that it's all over, rough hands gripping her hips, teeth nipping at her neck before kissing his way up to her mouth. She moans into his mouth as his tongue slips inside, he tastes of seawater and gum, and she can't help when her hands wind around his neck, fingers threading through the long hair at his nape, ruining his bun.

His kisses are rough, angry and claiming as he presses her up against the lockers, one hand moving to grip her thigh, press her closer against him, his wetsuit soaking her flimsy beach shorts. And she's reminded of another perk of dating surfers, one she hasn't felt in a while, the fact that they absolutely love to go nude under wetsuits, and the fact that the thin flexible fabric outlines Eren's dick so fucking perfectly she can feel every inch against her.

She's not at all sorry when she gets carried away and fucks Eren in the secluded back of the lifeguard's office, and even less sorry when she takes him in the car again an hour later on their way to dinner.

Eren is insatiable, and hot, and high off his win, and fuck, does she ever have a thing for surfers.

[whosxafraid]

Meme: Send a word and I will write a drabble or headcanon based on it Status: Open URL: @brooklynislandgirl​

If there is one thing above all others that he understands, it is that there must be a presence made and kept. A kind of visual aid to sustain the belief of what and who he is. That unlike some kings and would be princes, he has his feet on the ground. That where he can not physically be, because at the end of the day he is simply mortal, he still has eyes and ears. That there is nothing within his own house that he isn’t aware of. Because there is a wisdom in learning from the errors of your elders. Wisdom and understanding in being the one piece of another house who’s master is none the wiser of his own deceit. Though it begs the question if it really is that, given he wasn’t the one to make the first blow.

And it is that omniscient kind of presence that he does his best to maintain that’s seen him to his current situation. Dealing with a problem. Someone skimming despite the fact he’s been generous, at least from where he’s standing. And while there’s a certain kind of discretion that must be maintained...the message sent must be clear. To both the messenger as well as the rest. Because stepping out of line...can not be tolerated. No matter how far or how little the infraction.

So it would neither sit well nor be proper to allow any one else to carry it out the thief’s fate. But he does so dislike the feel of hugging plastic on his skin. The way it leaves his hands smelling. But he can’t risk leaving any trace at all he was ever here, can he? Not when those that watch him very much believe him to be relaxing at home. Idiots. They really should have taken better care of understanding why he bought the abodes he did. Why the places of businesses he’s acquired were chosen. But he supposes not everyone can be quite as historically knowledgeable as he’s become inclined to be. Can’t possibly be expected to look at the city with older eyes, because the stories and tricks had to come from somewhere.

A twitch of an unseeing eye, as his head tilts just so to one side. A plastic covered finger selecting a preference of tool. The bound man behind him, relieved of the hood over his head by other hands. The silent moments only broken by feared breathing, as Luka turns about. No time at all to waste with the mind games, his uncle so much prefers, he crosses the pitiful amount of space between them. One hand locking down on the man’s jaw, forcing his head back against the chair backing. The thief's fear echoing off the shipping container walls.

           “Ye saved me ta trouble o’ havin’ ta look where ye stashed me money...me d’anks...bu’ now oi’ be needin’ ta interest ye owe.”

And somewhere in the distance a dock worker looks up from his clip board. A slight wrinkle to his brows. Yet it only last a moment before he’s returned to his check list. The creaks and cries of the ship and loading equipment drowning out the screams. And tomorrow the runners will be a collection of whispered buzzing. All of them a repeat : Did you hear what happened to Tim Moran? And the breathed answer that grows more grizzly in its detail with every telling.

[atutsie]

Title (for now): Of Beagles and Closets

Pairing: Ren Tsuruga/Mogami Kyoko

Drabble request: maybe one where they get stuck in a closet? nothing nsfw has to happen i just love that trope

Words: 4181

A/N: Technically, this is not my first ever Skip Beat fanfiction, I wrote some stupid crossover fic 5yrs ago. But anyway, this is going to be the first time I’ll be writing for RenKyoko. I hope you guys enjoy this, esp closet anon who requested it~! Special mention to @justanobodie for helping me with this fic!

FFN / AO3

That beagle!

Kyoko grits her teeth, anger seeping through her every pore, she feels the mobilization of  Grudge Kyokos whirling around her. She has to calm them down as soon as possible lest she wants her hiding spot to explode and be discovered right away. She breathes in, the sound of her breath reverberating through the metal walls, breathes out and fails to stop the poisoned grumbles to escape her lips. An ear-splitting sound then echoed, almost deafening her. Unbeknownst to her, her fingers had moved and clawed the metal wall.

Cancel all your plans tonight,  Kyoko remembers the clicks of platform boots resounding in the studio. No visual confirmation was needed because the chills in her spine and the shift in the atmosphere was more than enough to know.  Kyoko, who was at a mobility disadvantage at the moment together with the shock of facing the bastard again, remained rooted to her spot. Reino stopped midway, eyeing her from head to toe. A mocking smirk before he said:  As unappealing as you are in that chicken costume, we’ll have our d—

And he was never able to finish his sentence because Kyoko, whose common sense finally kicked in, threw Bo’s head towards him, sprinting towards the opposite direction as fast as her chicken legs allow her. Now she is stuck in this broom closet until that beagle’s presence was completely gone.

Truly, the bastard defies common sense and Kyoko holds onto the belief that he is not human. Perhaps a demon in a human vessel who’s simply having his vacation here on Earth. Just go back to the demon world, you beagle! Or go to big countries! Why don’t you dream bigger?! Japan is too small for you! You won’t feel accomplished dominating this country!

Because really, there is no logical explanation as to how that man was able to recognize her while in the guise of Bo.

And I can’t even remember where I left Bo’s body,  she thinks, gloom now surrounding her. If that costume ever gets destroyed, she’ll have to pay for it. The gloom weighs thicker and heavier on her as she is reminded of her current debts.  I will curse him!  She thinks with vehemence. Just who does he think he is, demanding to free her schedule for him! And he was even insulting her! What did he even want from her?

Whatever it is I will make sure he descends back to the depths of hell and follow him there to settle this.

She then moves with her back and palm against the wall, thankful of the small opening from the door aiding her every step in the darkness. She peeks through the hole.  Safe,  she thinks. No denizens of hell in sight. But just to be safer, she pushes the door to have a better view of the hallway. 

Or maybe she can send one of the grudges outside to act as her watchout—

“Mogami-san?”

Her eyes widen. That soothing, deep sounding voice. She’ll never mistake him for anyone else.  He’s back,  she thinks. And she feels all her anger dissipating into thin air, even her grudges have retreated back to her being. She allows herself to smile, to embrace the warmth elicited by that voice. As long as it’s hidden. Behind the door, behind the guise of a kohai, behind her pride as an actress.  But if I have to settle this cursed emotion in hell, does that mean I’ll be stuck with that beagle and Shotaro?  She freezes at the realization.  No no no no no. I’ll just have to be careful not to slip—

“Care to explain?” Ren asks, raising a brow at her.

She freezes again, she might as well be the ice itself, as realization dawned to her that greeting your senpai while hiding inside a broom closet is not normal.

Ridiculous, she must say. She won’t even be surprised if he gets forsaken by him, wishing he never met her. 

Of all the people, it has to be him to see her in this shameful state.  The gods truly hate her. Kyoko wishes to dig a hole and bury herself to the deepest part of the Earth until her existence is forgotten. Except she still has to act as Momiji from “ Lotus in the Mire”  whose shooting is already way behind the schedule so erasing her existence at this moment would be a bother to everyone. So now, she has no choice but to deal with the humiliation head on.

She swallows a non-existent lump on her throat, trying to stabilize her voice. “Uhm—” she begins, failing magnificently as her voice got caught in her throat. “Ts-ts-tsuruga-san—” 

She bites her lips, feeling the heat spread on her face. Then she hears a light chuckle, she looks up and sees Tsuruga-san covering his mouth to hide it.

“Before anything else, Mogami-san, “ he says, his hand reaching out to the door of the closet, ” we have to get you out of there—” 

“No!” she screamed promptly, slamming the door shut in that instance. “Tsuruga-san, I have to stay hidden or else—”

“Or else?” 

‘Or else the beagle will find me’ I can’t tell him that! He’ll get mad at me because he is my enemy!  She pauses. An idea pops into her head.  But wait— Maybe I can use Tsuruga-san as demon repellent—

“Mogami-san?” 

Noooooooooo!  She screams internally, banging her head in the process.

“Mogami-san, what is that loud banging I hear? Are you okay?” 

How shameful of me to even think about using my mentor as a human shield—

She hears the familiar clicks of platform boots.

Kyoko had to decide her fate in that crucial one second that followed: either she goes outside to die a cruel end facing the wrath of Demon Lord Ren-sama for falling prey into the hands of her enemy yet again or she drags Tsuruga-san inside the closet, dying a shameful end because her ugly secret might be revealed in that constrained space where personal space is damned, might as well lay bare her heart and let Tsuruga-san mince her disgusting soul to pieces. 

She chooses the latter.

Ren thinks this is a curse. Another prank played by the gods. Perhaps a whimsical test on his (not really)  ever-trusted self-control. Or maybe, if he were to allow himself to be optimistic just this moment, it can be seen as a blessing.

Like Seven Minutes in heaven,  he thinks. 

Except he cannot and will  never  even dare to do anything he  wants  even with the dangerous proximity between them where his hands could easily wander from her face, down to her neck and to her waist or when he’s heady with her floral scent that permeates his nostrils he might as well bury his nose in her hair then to her throat to the junction of her shoulder, then he’ll bite her just as she did to him and mark her—

More like Seven Minutes in Hell,  Ren thinks, immersing his mind with the image of a scared Kyoko —the slightest twitch in her body, the trembling in her voice or worst, the subtle disgust with the lightest touch.  It’s a curse,  he thinks, holding onto this conclusion and onto his arms, clutching them so tight it might leave bruises, just so his hands would behave and remained restrained.

Footsteps still resound in the hallway, going farther from their position. Kyoko has been silent, not even her breathing can be heard. He feels her apprehension in the air despite the darkness.

“Mogami-san,” he says, hearing the shuffling of clothes before him, “are you alright—” 

“TSURUGA-SAN I’M SO SORRY!!!!”

Her voice engulfs the whole closet. Ren had to cover his ears because he knows there will be an onslaught of apologies to follow. If they were not in this confined space, she will probably be on the ground, prostrating herself. 

“I deeply  deeeeeeply  apologize, Tsuruga-san! I just dragged you inside without any explanation! To think I had the audacity to force my mentor to be locked in such a stinky and grimy place! Not to mention we’re like sardines in a can in this small closet! I fail as your kohai! Nay! I fail as a hum— “ 

“Mogami-san,” he says, firm and clipped, submerging Kyoko’s barrage of apologies. ”Please calm down and tell me what happened.” 

Silence.

“It was…it was because...” 

A pause. Ren Tsuruga feels the shift in the atmosphere. First was the harsh gritting of teeth, he felt the crackles of Kyoko’s metaphorical anger around them, then there were the incomprehensible grumbles that followed.

“....demon…….beagle…...hell…...” 

The words almost slipped his ears, if not for the undivided attention he had for Kyoko at the moment (and all other times.) Those words were more than enough for him to understand what had probably transpired that led to this awkward situation.

“Were you being chased?” he asks. 

Kyoko does not respond. 

“Is it the Vie Ghoul vocalist again?”

More silence. 

“...yes.”

It was the softest whisper, such tiny sound swelling with guilt and shame even when she did not do anything wrong as if she was an inconvenience to Ren. A sigh escapes his lips, smiling to himself.  I wish she’d rely on me more,  he thinks.

His face softens. The grip on his arms tightened as his desire to touch her intensified.  It’s always easier if I were Corn,  he thinks, except  that  is to be handled when the right time comes. He might’ve prepared himself for that revelation but the situation does not call for it.  Not right now,  he tells himself. 

“Mogami-san,” he says, his voice gentle and reassuring. “I’m here. You don’t have to be scared anymore.”

A pause before she says: “I’m really sor—” 

“You are not a bother, Mogami-san,” he counters promptly, before Kyoko could even finish her second batch of apologies.

He wonders if she’ll ever see her true worth.  You mean the world to me,  he thinks, dismissing the thought right away.  You really are a playboy,  he imagines Kyoko muttering this the moment those words escape his lips. 

Let the wounds heal first. It’s better this way, for now,  he reasons to himself. He’ll just bask in  ‘the joy of some small and trivial progress’  as Yashiro has quoted before. 

”So, are you on your way home now?” he asks, trying to lighten the mood.

“I am. What about you, Tsuruga-san?” 

“I was about to. Now that we’ve come across each other, I’ll just drive you home, Mogami-san.”

“But what about Yashiro-san— Oh! I forgot he has his own car now!” 

“Shall we go now?”

“Yes. Thank y—” 

And then she was vibrating. It was that violent shivering of her body that would concern any passers-by to witness it. Except Ren is not a stranger to her quirks, he’s well acquainted with the worst of them. An endearing side of her, if Ren were to be asked.

A phone call,  he thinks, smiling to himself. 

Just as he guessed, Kyoko pulls out her phone, illuminating a part of the closet. Kyoko’s eyes landed on the phone screen and so did he.

He sees it all too clearly, he wants to smash the phone right away. 

Unknown Caller ID.

He’s been careful, really  really  careful not to tread along this landmine when he sees her. Because he knows of the whirlwind of emotions he’d fail to restrain if he even dared to speak of  that  incident. Jealousy and perhaps a tad of betrayal pricks every pore of his body.  No,  he tells himself.  Don’t disappoint her again. 

Kyoko stares at her phone dumbfounded. The question  ‘why is this bastard calling me now’  was written all over her face. 

And then there was a thump on the closet. Heavy breathing, catching up to one’s breath. A click of the tongue. Nervous fingers drumming on the closet door. When did the footsteps get closer?

“C’mon Kyoko answer the phone.”

Fu— 

“Shotaro?” she says, whipping her head towards the door. ”What is he doing here?”

Ren breathes in. He clenches and unclenches his hands, open and close, close and open, simultaneous and alternate. Just to distract himself from the budding anger inside him. At least she does not see his face. God knows what horrifying expression he’s wearing right now. He remembers that day. He remembers the burning jealousy that has unlocked and released Kuon to the surface. It was awfully similar to now. Might even be worse. 

A lot of scenarios came to mind, and he submerges them to the bottom right away. He does not even allow the images to emerge. It will be dangerous. Too dangerous.

No way,  he tells himself.  There’s no way they have gotten back. Kyoko will not— 

But the kiss was real.

Beep.

The sound pulls him out of his reverie. The light from Kyoko’s phone screen is gone, plunging the closet into darkness once again.

Another click of the tongue, Ren feels more irritation seeping through it. He listens closely to Kyoko’s grumbles. ‘ Stupid Shotaro. Always the worst timing. He’ll know right away,’   she says under her breath.

He does not feel the usual animosity, no raw hatred that would swallow the whole place with its intensity. Just a conditioned annoyance towards his presence. 

“Oi Kyoko! Why are you being followed by that beagle again?! Is he stalking you?! Did he— Did he do anything to you?! Are you alr—” 

A disgruntled grunt. Hasty fingers ruffling his hair. Ren does not miss the worry in Fuwa’s voice, the desperation for her safety guising it with anger.  Too late, Fuwa.You’re a decade late to be doing this now.

“Just answer your damn phone!” 

Beep.

Another grumble, gritting his teeth, before Fuwa’s footsteps are heard. Farther and farther until they receded into the background.

Truly, there‘s a palpable change in their relationship. Fuwa and Kyoko.  Something  has happened between them. 

Perhaps that kiss is the trigger,  he thinks grimly.

‘Ren Tsuruga’ is slowly slipping away. He’s barely holding onto his mask.  I don’t want to scare her,  he thinks, pushing down Kuon to the depths of his soul. He’s tolerated his existence, perhaps accepting  him  to some degree. But he can’t let him berserk. Not now. Not ever. 

I don’t want to hurt her.

“-san?” 

He freezes. A tiny voice and his thoughts were silenced.

“Tsu...ruga……….san?” 

He’s reminded of BJ’s preys, scared and desperate to escape their deaths. She does not scream or beg for her life, yet her softest whisper —the uncertainty and dread, the disbelief contained within that tiny sound— it was deafening.

Ah, now she’s scared. 

But it’s too hard to tame them now. His emotions are wreaking havoc inside him, scenarios playing inside his head, demanding to act on them, to just  feel  them.

He needs some  release.  Something. Anything to hold onto. 

“Tsuruga-san, are you…..okay?” A gasp. “Is he—” 

And she was silent again.

He breathes in, allowing ‘Ren Tsuruga’ to slip from his grasp, and now he’s free. The strain in his shoulders loosens, hands on his pockets as he tilts his head to the side. Low tension, yet danger and darkness bleeds in his presence.

A soft  thump  is heard when his head leans on the wall, just above her hair. His hands blindly reach out to her warmth, wrapping them around her waist. His voice is deeper, impassive but dripping with anguish. 

He nuzzles her, kissing her hair so tenderly. She pulls her closer to his chest, and he whispers:

“I missed you, Setsu.”

Kyoko thinks she is going to die of heart attack. 

You playboy! Don’t torture my heart like this!

But the thoughts remained sealed inside her mind. 

Her ears are ringing so loud. She feels too dizzy to function and think properly.  Too close!  She screams internally, stopping herself from burying her nose in his chest.  TOO CLOOOOOOOSE!!!!!!!  Her heart beats so fast, she won’t be surprised if it suddenly jumps out of her ribcage to run away from Ren Tsuruga. She would too. Probably sprint to the other end of the world. ‘ Follow your heart!’,  as the saying goes. Except this is too literal and the worst time for bad puns. 

She wanted to call him out, give him an earful for his mindless Casanova tendencies yet again. Moments ago, the man was just smoldering the narrow space with raw anger, her Grudges were out-of-control, jumping and wanting to dive to admire the rare appearance of Demon Lord Ren-sama in his most evil state. Thankfully, they have calmed down now.

And I was so worried that the ‘dark’ Tsuruga-san was here again!

But her body seemed to have ceased operating because of the deadly proximity. And really, does he have to smell  this  good when they are literally inside a broom closet? It was really unfair to be Ren Tsuruga.

But it’s not Tsuruga-san anymore. Why here? Why now? I don’t….understand. 

It was faint but she felt it. There was the gradual shift in his atmosphere, dragging her unwillingly. She feels Setsu poking her, peeking, or rather violently wanting to push her aside,  ‘Back off,’  she says,  ‘Give me my beloved brother.’

She holds onto herself. Tightly. Because she does not trust Setsu  at all  to behave properly. Her mind is blaring with warning bells if  she  takes over completely. And yet  his  mere presence  — strong and intimidating —  is more than enough to pull out Setsuka Heel. She’s reminded of that time when he had manipulated her into acting  his  way. 

She squeezes her locked hands, perhaps praying to any of the gods out there to remain as ‘Kyoko.’ She also has to make sure they stay on her person.  Not the other person,  she reminds herself.

She knows it was futile, especially when she felt the warmth of his lips, brushing against her ear as he whispers: 

“ I missed you, Setsu. ”

A grin spreads on her lips, easing into her brother’s body. 

She leans into his mouth, her hand searching for his face, delicate fingers now cupping his cheek. Teasing, she says: “Poor  niisan,  to be deprived of your cute,  cute  little sister for weeks. It must be torture.” 

He sighs. “The most boring weeks of my life. I’m not doing that again.” 

“I bet,” she says, her fingers wander until they reached his shoulders. She tiptoes and wraps her arms around him, letting them dangle in the air. She purrs, “I missed you too,  niisan. ”

It was silent for a while. Just the two of them relishing each other’s warmth. Cain then cradles her head while she tightens her grip around him. None of them plan to separate anytime sooner.

Setsu giggles, breaking the stillness  — a little dark, a little cheeky while exuding with amusement. 

“ Nii-san,  Isn’t this perfect?”

Cain does not move. “Hmm?”

“Just as you promised. A locked room where I feel no one else but  you. ” 

His grip slackens, completely withdrawing from her. She almost whined because of the lost warmth. She feels his hands hover over her head then gentle fingers are already cupping her face.

“No one else, Setsu,” he says, his right hand crawling up, moving her fringe away. She feels his breath coming closer to her face. 

“Just me.”

His thumb caresses her cheek, forming idle circles. A pause before soft lips brush against her forehead. The kiss stays longer, as though leaving an invisible mark on her skin.  A mark of possession,  she thinks, swelling with pride.

“ Only  me,” he whispers, leaving another peck on her hair. 

“Ofcourse,  niisan,”  she says, raising her head as she leans her forehead to his, their faces are but an inch away.  ” You are the only person that matters to me.”

He cradles her face again. 

Kyoko feels like suffocating, because in his voice and in his touch, there was too much affection, too much...lo —

“You mean the world to me, Setsu.” 

It felt like a punch in her gut. Even though this was just an act, Kyoko can’t help but delude herself into thinking there was  more .  Just like that time,  she thinks. 

Silence. 

Kyoko wants to get out of here before she lost control of herself.  These ‘hopeless feelings.’ Cast them aside.  She thinks, allowing Setsu to take over once again.  After all, his heart belongs to Morizumi-san already— 

A loud  bang  followed, accompanied by an  ‘Ouch!’  spoken under one’s breath.

Kyoko feels being pulled back to reality once again, the whole act dissipating into the air, belatedly noticing that Ren was no longer ‘inappropriately’ holding her.

Her hands flail in every direction, trying to reach for her senpai. “TSURUGA-SAN WHAT HAPPENED?! Are you okay?!” 

“No harm done, Mogami-san. I’m completely fine. I just hit my head when I straightened myself,” he replies, stripped off of Cain’s impassive tone.

She crosses her arms. “Then what was the ‘ouch’ a while ago?!” 

“A conditioned reaction.”

“I don’t believe you.” Using her elbow, she nudges the door open, squinting when the light assaulted her eyes. “We should go outside and see if your head would need an ice pack.” 

She pushes a little more, peeking out her head to examine both sides of the hallway.  Clear,  she thinks. Finally, the door opens and she steps out of the closet. She hears Ren’s footsteps behind her.

She looks back, hands on her hips with her face silently reprimanding him. 

“Bend your head. I want to see it.”

And he did. Kyoko tiptoes, placing her hand on his head with caution. She combs her fingers through his hair, searching for any bumps or blood.  Nothing. No signs of pain where I touch him. And it’s soft. His hair is so soft and smells so good.  Her fingers now unnecessarily wandering: front, back, left, right, left, front.  Two more seconds. No. Five more— 

“Feel anything?” 

She retracts her hand right away, placing them on her back. She shakes her head too fast, she might’ve scrambled everything inside her skull. 

“And Mogami-san…” 

Kyoko halts her movements, facing him. 

“..about the impromptu act a while ago, I must apologize. I…..” He scratches his cheek, flashing a meek smile. “....had a little bit of role hangover from  Actor X .” 

Oh,  she thinks, trying to bury the disappointment, which should not even exist in the first place because she swore not to expect anything.  Of course that was it! Tsuruga-san gets immersed in his character more than everyone else!  After all, didn’t she experience it with Natsu before? That one time in her dressing room? Also there’s that incident with Amamiya-san in TBM. If an amateur like her was able to experience it, what more if it’s  the  Ren Tsuruga! Her eyes begin to sparkle with admiration, holding her hands together.  It just means he’s really an elite of the elites in acting! Tsuruga-san is truly an actor to be worshipped— 

“Because seeing you had me long for our siblings’ act once again and I really….” 

Danger! Danger!  Her mind tells her, yet she remains rooted on the spot, waiting for his next words. 

“….miss my little sister.”

And there it was, the dazzling,  godly  smile that could annihilate her whole army of grudges. Kyoko freezes, willing her melting heart to do the same. This man should really stop saying such misleading things, lest he wants to leave trails of maidens’ broken hearts behind him. 

He really is a playboy— 

“Who’s a playboy?” 

—The Emperor of the Night guised in that Gentleman facade. The ruin of all women. Truly a dangerous man. Must be approached with caution— 

“Mogami-san,  I can hear you.” 

Every sparkle of that  fake  gentleman smile pricks her body, Kyoko knows better than continue provoking him.

“Shall we head home now?” 

She nods, peeking at him to see that his smile is harmless now. They turn on their heels, walking side by side. He stares ahead, hands on his pockets while she just trails along.

“Tell me about your Momiji audition,” he says, now staring at her.

 She pauses. A pang spreads on her chest, twisting her heart like it’s a cheap cloth. She squeezes her hand, digging her nails deeper.  I’m really turning into a despicable being,  she thinks. She stops the thought right away.

When she faced him, her smile was the brightest, utilizing her whole body for a more animated storytelling of her audition, purposely leaving the unnecessary parts.

Just for today,  she tells herself. Even if it’s selfish, even if it’s unfair to her senpai whose heart belongs to someone else, just for today, she will allow herself to indulge into this illusion of happiness,  to hope for something. 

Love truly turns you into a fool. A very, very happy fool.

She smiles to herself. Tomorrow, she will be back to hiding, back to numbing herself of this emotion. She won’t be a disappointment. Not to herself, to her mother, even to Shotaro and most of all to Ren Tsuruga. She will stake her pride as an actress — 

Wait. 

Aren’t I forgetting something reeeeeeally important?

A/N: As much as I wanted to delve deeper into that blasted second kiss, this fic is just one shot so I’m unable to fully explore it, plus it’s supposedly just a prompt request. I accepted this thinking I’ll be able to finish it in one sitting, but No! Kyoko, being Kyoko, kept on dragging the fic until it’s gotten too long. I love writing her sooooooo much.

[lettalady]

Prompt from @ourladybinxthings: Fight Me, Loki & agent. 

Leave a “FIGHT ME” in my ask, and I will write a drabble out one character fighting with/or against another. 

Characters/ story: Loki & agent, WISH [oh yea, I created a WISH series compilation page! When did I do that?...]

I know it’s been awhile since we’ve seen Loki & his agent. I definitely used the excuse of wanting to see where the next Thor went before getting anything written beyond where we left them in A Dream & A Wish. Of course that turned into not really knowing what to do with them cause I wrote us in one direction and Ragnarok took us in another. [And we’ll not even get into what happened in IW.] Writers block or simple refusal to rewrite what I’d plotted out, take your pick. Why am I saying all this? Cause I have 10,000+ words already written for the next installment and still haven’t gotten all the good bits in there, yet. 

Anyway, here’s a bit from the upcoming installment in the series, A Wish Too Far, with Loki and our agent doing one of the things they do best. Fight.

“Sit. Rest.”

The first he’s spoken in however-the-fuck-long-it’s-been and it’s the same damn thing he said when he rushed you aboard. A curt command he clearly expects to be obeyed.

Yea. Uh-huh. Right. Shame you’re not in the mood to do any such thing.

“No. Tell me where we’re going.”

Maybe if you inch forward to position yourself better in his eyeline, maybe then he’ll be tempted to glance aside and engage with you again. Two words does not a conversation make.

He frowns even as he attempts the request again, still notably not looking in your direction. “It would help. If you would sit. And. Rest.”

That’s so not an answer. It may be a slight improvement from before, but still not going to fly with you. You do your best to keep from accidentally getting too close to the console, which proves a challenge for the turbulence you’re currently enduring. Is this turbulence, or evasive maneuvers to keep from being detected, or just him being an asshole?

Make it look easier on you than it is. Fake it, because it doesn’t seem to be bothering him in the slightest. It’s just like riding a skateboard, or a very very very tiny version of the helicarrier you used to call home. You flinch at the thought, of the home – and people – you haven’t seen in so long. Not that that was by choice. Mostly. Overlooking the fact that it was you that did the uncovering of the disc and you that touched it, sending you off to hell.

But only this man, this asshole, only Loki cared to come looking. Only he cared enough to get you the hell out of hell.

What had SHIELD done?

It doesn’t appear that he’s relying too heavily on his left hand for navigation so you reach out and touch his forearm. Maybe the contact will get his attention. Just a moment, one moment where he will look somewhere other than straight ahead. And maybe that cold mask will slip and allow a familiar face to show beneath? Where had the man gone that had kissed you before promising to take you away, to take you elsewhere? “Loki…”

His eyes dart from the landscape down to your hand resting on his arm. Something about its sharpness makes you jump to sever the point of contact again. Maybe that was too much to hope for. Suddenly you’re missing the warmth of the golden light of the medical chamber within the palace, or – even more than that – the warmth of something you had taken for granted until the day you were removed from its influence: the Earth’s sun.

You wrap your arms around your torso again, applying pressure to your side to amplify the dulled tenderness where the asshole currently too occupied with flying the ship to talk to you very recently stabbed you. If he wants only sharp edges then, fine. He’ll get what he gives. “It hurts more to sit than it does to stand.”

“You’re feeling pain.” A ripple of concern passes over his features, finally something that pulls his attention away from navigation for a few seconds.

You rush to reply while you have his focus, “Starting to. But don’t magic it away. I need it.”

He gives you a quick visual appraisal, even if he doesn’t fully turn to complete it. His deep scowl returns as he shifts his attention fully forward again. “We moved you too soon. I’d suggest laying down, or will you argue against that, too?”

Now he’s angry that you don’t want him to use his particular skillset to help you? Where does he get off acting so damned superior? And damn it, is he purposefully jostling the pair of you in an attempt to get his way? You narrow your eyes at him, “Suggest? Or demand?”

But the comment comes too late. His focus is gone, back to the terrain ahead, the mask returned to his features. A pause passes, long enough for you to wonder if he’s going to bother replying at all.

When his response comes it is spoken through his teeth, his jaw clenched, his eyes presumably locked on the landmarks he needs to find to get the pair of you where you’re going. Wherever that it. “How are we supposed to get safely away if you don’t obey? If you don’t rest?”

Obey? “Obey?”

Maybe his prolonged silence this whole time is rooted to his regret over bringing you along. Because you don’t listen, ever. He might have cared enough at the time to rescue you from that hellhole but now that he’s had time to weigh his options it seems he’s starting to rethink his actions.

Fuck you too, then, asshole. Maybe he should just stop and let you off, then. Thor will find you quickly enough with the aid of Heimdall, or the palace guards. Someone will pick you up and then you’ll be taken back to Earth, just like Thor said, back to face those that left you to die in hell. It’ll be a blast. You’ll answer any and every question they have regarding the research you squirreled away, and if you’re lucky enough to keep out of a deep dark hole of their making maybe you’ll get to figure out what’s next for an ex-agent of SHIELD.

You almost do it. You almost open your mouth again and suggest the very thing burning through your brain at the moment, but concern that he might actually do it keeps you quiet. Would he? Toss you out? Drop you off somewhere and then be gone? After everything?

He is, at least, still saying we. And in a way he’s still expressing concern over the wounds that he, in point of fact, inflicted.

You’ll argue a bit longer before giving in just to save face. Reroute that fire and try to subdue the throbbing in your side that you were yearning to feel just a little while ago. Why were you so intent on feeling pain, again? Hopefully the act of being contrary isn’t going to make you pass out. You just want to know what the plan is, see where it is that he’s taking you. “Maybe if you tried asking instead of telling.”

To your surprise Loki slowly exhales and begins again, his voice steadier. “Will you go and----” you cut him off, interjecting the word NO before he can finish his sentence. He utters the final word in a stumbling half to his request, “rest.”

His shoulders jerk and he swivels his head to argue further, but you’re quicker with your reply. “I said you could try asking. I didn’t say I’d listen.” It could all be in your head, but it seems like it’s getting harder to maintain your balance. The pain in your side is getting worse very quickly. Have you torn something and the strength of that is finally breaking through whatever the Asgardian medics did to numb you? Damn the turbulence. Damn him apparently being right, that you started moving too soon after being tended to. Damn him! “Ask again. And this time say please.”

He does have manners. He’s royalty for fuck’s sake. They’re in there, somewhere.

He rolls his eyes, once again gritting his teeth as he deliberately maintains his hold on his temper. “We’ve discussed the way you speak to me.”

Yep. So he really shouldn’t be surprised by your tone. You keep your head held high, determined not to back down.

“I’ll ask once more.” Loki risks more time from his task of steering the ship to pointedly fix his blazing eyes on yours. “Keep in mind you won’t enjoy being forced.”

Forced.

Right.

Just because you think he might have removed his influence already doesn’t mean he actually has. Or – a worse thought follows – he could be tempted to make it worse.

You swallow, which was apparently the effect he was hoping his words would have, or else he notices the strain you’re trying to hide in order to remain standing close by. His frown eases, and he emphasizes the very next word uttered. “Please. Rest.”

Nodding, you turn your back on him, the stranger’s cloak draped over your shoulders turning the small motion into something with more flourish than it deserves. For the record you’re keeping internally it isn’t because you’re beginning to obey him. No, you just need to let the what-you-assume-to-be-a-siting-area do the work of supporting you rather than your feet.

He speaks again, his voice softer. He isn’t quite gloating, but only just. “I’ll have us settled by the time you wake.”

Is that a promise?

“Where?” You question, not bothering you glance back over your shoulder.

He doesn’t answer.

It’s in your head. It’s all in your head, and you know it, but the moment you come into contact with the seat the lightheadedness returns. It’s the vibrations of the ship that pulse through you, stronger than merely standing. Yes, you’re sure that’s what is doing it. Leaning forward helps a little with your head, though it has the opposite effect on your side. You grit your teeth, not quite willing to lay all the way down, not quite sure what the result will be when you close your eyes and attempt to rest.

Pride keeps you from asking Loki for help in forcing you to sleep. Developing a dependency on magic is something that gives you chills. Or maybe that’s the pain in your side. But no. The point is no. You refuse rely on him, or his magic, to help you through this. This is something you must face on your own.

Begrudgingly, you recline. Slowly doesn’t mean you experience less pain, but you’re not entirely sure you could manage to quickly swivel to lay on your back. You mutter at his back, because that’s all he’s affording you at the moment. “You’ll owe me answers, when we’re there.”

That one at least nets you a grunt. Maybe. Unless that was a low-pitched noise emanating from the hull of the ship.