#Young me would be so proud to know how to draw Kai's hair LOL

[yhwcomeback]

The Smiths

[ahkaahshi]

a parenting moment [miya atsumu x reader]

pairing: miya atsumu x fem reader

genre: fluff

warning(s): none

word count: 2.3k

overview: when yours and atsumu’s five-year-old daughter gets into trouble at school, it’s up to him to practice his good parenting skills

note: though this is a reader insert story, it focuses more on atsumu’s relationship with his daughter and sheds some light on how I think he would be as a dad :) also I wrote this months ago and am just now posting lol hope you enjoy

Atsumu’s features settle into a look of discontentment as his honey colored eyes scan his young daughter’s short figure, taking note of her dirtied shoes and the slightly disheveled appearance of the French braids he’d woven into her dark hair that morning. Wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead and letting out a small sigh, he asks, “What happened, girly?”

She turns her (e/c) gaze towards the polished wooden flooring of the large gym and mutters, “I got in a fight at school and they made Mommy pick me up.”

Instead of towering over her, as he had inadvertently been doing before, Atsumu kneels down in front of her and places his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, look at me, (daughter’s name),” he requests, making her tilt her chin up the smallest amount so her eyes can meet his. When their gazes connect, he purses his lips before saying, “We’ll talk about it when we get home, ‘kay? Right now, Daddy’s gotta practice, so jus’ sit tight with Coach Foster for a bit ‘n hang out.”

She nods slowly and Atsumu lifts her light blue backpack off of her shoulders to carry it with him over to the bench beside the court where his team is currently running through serve-receive drills. The head coach gives him a small nod of acknowledgement and a promise that he’ll protect her from any rogue volleyballs as she takes a seat.

Knowing that his daughter’s safety is in good hands and that she’s occupied--since she had pulled out a notebook from her backpack to doodle and write in--gives Atsumu a sliver of comfort as he returns to his practice. It takes himself some time to get his thoughts off of her, however, given the situation.

Minutes earlier, you had appeared at the gym with (daughter’s name) and offered a brief explanation of the matter at hand. You’d had to pick her up from school after receiving a call that she’d gotten into trouble, but, because of your own responsibilities at work, you’d had to drop her off with your husband. According to what the teachers had explained, she had gotten into a physical altercation with another student that had ended in tears, screaming, a few scrapes, and a dropped popsicle--your daughter’s, unfortunately.

(Daughter’s name) was a well-behaved, studious girl--though she did have a bit of a wild, energetic streak in her, thanks to Atsumu--so to hear that she’d been involved in a fight was understandably shocking to both of you. Sure, she enjoyed roughhousing with her dad and her uncle, but you’d been adamant about reiterating that real fighting was not allowed.

Atsumu hated seeing his daughter so distressed. It broke his heart. Usually, she was upbeat and full of life, but, now, she looks so defeated and ashamed. In an attempt to cheer her up in any way he can, he enlists the help of Bokuto and Hinata to tell her funny stories during each water break; and while they provide her some temporary relief, the cloud of sadness casting a shadow over her still lingers.

Though she holds onto his hand and clings to his side during the commute back home, she’s unnaturally quiet, and goes straight to her room upon returning to the house. He decides it best to leave her alone for a bit, but he can’t ignore how quiet the house feels without the sound of her favorite show blaring from the television in the living room. To busy himself for some time while you’re at work and she’s in her room, Atsumu sets himself to whipping up a snack after he’s taken a shower, and icing his aching joints.

After preparing some onigiri that looks rather sloppy compared to that his brother always serves, Atsumu shuffles down the hallway towards his daughter’s room. Her door is open, so he can see her sitting on her bed with a selection of colored pencils strewn across the comforter, and one in her hand that she’s using to color in a project she has to complete for class.

“Hey, girly,” he greets her and stands in the doorway, “Wanna eat some onigiri with me?”

She doesn’t respond verbally, but nods her head without lifting it to look over at him. So, he walks into her room and plops down on the bed beside her, setting the plate down in front of him. Before he can even get so far as to offer her one of his homemade creations, he hears her sniffle loudly.

Turning his honey-colored gaze to her brings him to the realization that she's stopped coloring and, instead, has her hands pressed against her face as her body shakes with quiet sobs. His paternal instincts to protect and comfort her immediately kick in, and he pushes the plate aside so he can sling an arm around her shoulder to pull her closer to him.

“Hey, hey, li’l princess, what’s goin’ on?” he murmurs.

She leans closer to him but keeps her hands over her face. “It wasn’t my fault, Daddy,” she whimpers softly, the sound of her strained voice nearly shattering her father’s heart, “There’s a really, really mean girl in my class. She always pulls my hair, a-and takes my markers, and cuts in line so she gets the last orange popsicle--and that’s my favorite flavor--and... I hate her!”

Atsumu grabs a tissue to dab at the tears spilling down her cheeks once he gently moves her hands away from her face. He’s silent for a moment as the previous sadness he felt at his daughter’s suffering morphs into anger upon hearing that she was being bullied. “Didja hit ‘er 'cause she was bein’ mean?”

She nods and cries, “S-She pushed me during recess ‘nd I got mad and pushed her back,” before finally lifting her head to gaze up at him with watery, (e/c) eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, Daddy! I-I was just scared she was gonna hurt me!”

Wrapping both of his arms around her small frame, Atsumu brings her face to his chest and holds her tightly in his embrace in an attempt to comfort her. “It’s alright, (daughter’s name). Mommy ‘nd I will make sure this gets fixed, ‘kay?” The grip she has on the back of his t-shirt tightens slightly as she presses her face into his shoulder. One of his hands rubs her back to calm her down while the other smooths down any stray hairs sticking up from her head.

After a few minutes of crying, whimpering, and venting, she’s finally relaxed enough to let her dad lead her into the living room so they can sit and watch a few episodes of her favorite show together while snacking on onigiri.

“Hey,” he calls out to her, making her tear her wide-eyed gaze away from the television screen, “I know me, Mommy, ‘n Uncle ‘Samu always say that fightin’ ain’t the right way ta go about things, but I’m proud of ya for stickin’ up for yourself, girly.”

A small smile sprouts across her lips that’s made even cuter by the fact that her cheeks are puffing out from the amount of rice she has in her mouth. The sight makes him chuckle and ruffle her hair.

“But don’t go tellin’ Mommy I said that. Instead, use yer words, find one of the teachers, ‘n let ‘em deal with whoever’s givin’ ya trouble, alright?”

When she’s finished chewing her food, she replies, “M’kay.”

“Mind tellin’ me what started the fight in the first place?” he asks, one of his thick eyebrows raising in curiosity.

She twiddles her thumbs and slowly directs her gaze back to the television. “She made me drop my popsicle when she pushed me.”

“And it was your favorite flavor, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah...”

With a hearty laugh, he comments, “Man, you really are yer mom’s daughter, ya know that? She don’t mess around when food’s involved.”

The sounds of his daughter's giggles ripple through the air, sending waves of warmth over him as he continues telling her stories about all the times he’d dealt with you getting on his case about food or treat-related issues. He made sure to include an anecdote about a time when you’d nearly knocked him over after he’d jokingly swiped your candy bar during lunch in high school. 

Needless to say, he never did it again out of the fear that Osamu wouldn't let him live it down if he got destroyed by a high school girl over food. However, the passion and unrelenting desire he’d seen in your eyes that day had made him absolutely sure that you were the one for him.

By the time you step into the house a few hours later, your daughter--being the mature, young girl she was--has moved her schoolwork from her bedroom to the living room table to do her assignments while her dad snoozes on the couch. Upon noticing that she’s in a better mood than she had been when you’d dropped her off at the gym with Atsumu, your heart lifts slightly.

“Hey, honey,” you greet her as you slide off your shoes and set your purse down on a table in the entryway, “What’re you up to?”

She holds up a piece of paper with colored markings on it that vaguely resemble Atsumu’s tall figure holding what you assume to be a volleyball, along with a few, familiar faces in the background. “I have to draw a picture of what you and Daddy do at work to show my teacher.”

You smile at her and plant a kiss atop her head before commenting, “Looks good so far. You drew Bokuto-san’s hair perfectly.” She chuckles and quickly returns to her masterpiece, since your compliment seems to spur her to keep creating. “I’m gonna talk to Daddy, real quick, okay? I wanna see how you draw Omi-san’s hair when we’re done.”

With that said and your daughter on a mission to produce her version of the prickly, outside hitter on Atsumu’s team, you rouse your husband from his nap so the two of you can head into your room to talk about the situation. Once out of earshot, he explains what your daughter had told him and the two of you work together to devise a plan and time to speak with her teacher about the true story. Amazingly enough, this entire exchange occurrs without your usual, good-natured--but sometimes cumbersome--squabbling.

“Hey, ‘Tsumu,” you call out to him, reaching for his hand and wrapping your fingers around it gingerly. 

He had been on his way to the bedroom door so he could head to the kitchen and start making dinner while you showered, but he stops in his tracks and turns to face you once more. When your eyes meet, your heart skips a beat, like always.

Taking a deep breath, you tell him, “Even though we may argue from time to time about parenting, and you sometimes let her have just a tad too much sugar before conveniently deciding to take a nap so you don’t have to deal with her going berserk, there's nobody else in the world that I’d rather share a kid with than you. She loves you so much, and so do I.”

His unoccupied hand finds your waist to pull you closer to him, and he leans down towards you to plant a gentle kiss on your lips. As per usual, the tender moment you shared doesn’t last long, since he always has something smart to say. “What’s gotcha all sentimental, (f/n)? Does seein’ me doin’ fatherly things give ya the hots for me, or somethin’?”

“Oh, yeah, sleeping on the couch while our self-starter of a child does homework by herself is so fatherly.”

He frowns. “I had a long practice. Bein’ a professional athlete is hard work, baby.”

 With a sardonic smile on your face, you mention, “Working a nine-to-five is pretty tiring too, baby.”

“Fair,” he groans and slides his arms around your back, “But, seriously, what’s got you feelin’ all in love with me, huh?”

You snicker at his tone and the mischievous look on his face as you brush his golden hair away from his eyes before letting your hands come to rest on his cheeks. “It’s just that when I picked (daughter’s name) up from school today, she was all sad and mopey. Yet, when I come home after dropping her off with you, she’s all smiles and rainbows again. It just reminds me of how good you are to her and it makes me happy that she has you as a father.”

A genuine smile rather than a sly one appears on his lips, and you press your own against them to give him a few, affectionate kisses.

“You know I’d do anything for my favorite, li’l girl, (f/n). She’s only as good of a kid as she is 'cause of you, anyway.”

Your lips form a giddy grin, as if he’s a high school crush who’s just delivered the sweetest of compliments to you, and you allow him to pull you closer so he can shower you with more kisses. “I love you, baby,” you murmur as you plant another peck on his cheek.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

There’s a short moment of silence as he pulls you into a tight hug that seems to wash away all the stress that you didn't even realize had been building up within you at the day you’ve had. His breath fans across the tender skin of your neck when he nestles his face there and allows his hands to roam up and down your back. However, after the two of you release each other, you notice a sneaky smile playing at his lips that oftentimes makes you wary.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna go see (daughter’s name)’s rendition of Omi-Omi?”

Chuckling and following him out of the bedroom, you agree, “Wouldn’t miss it.”

masterlist ⭐︎ treat me to a coffee!

taglists (see pinned post on my blog for form)

general: @krynnza, @yamagucji​, @tendo-sxtori, @dinablossom, @newfriendjen, @devlovesramen, @ohbyunhunn, @aftcrlust, @mister-future, @kyleclxin, @kac-chowsballs, @osamusmiya, @nit-sir-hc, @arixtsukki, @shinsurou, @ichorizaki, @dominikmagnus​

atsumu: @pretty-setters, @misora-msby, @why-aminot-dead, @lotsoffandomrecs, @tsumue, @heyhinata

[theolddarkmachine]

I’ll Take the Blame, You Take My Conscience- Ch. 5

“You love him.”

It wasn’t a question. Panic burned the back of Shiro’s throat as his eyes widened at the statement. He had known his feelings for Keith for some time now, but he knew better than to act on it, aware that he was nothing more than a friend in his best friend’s eyes. It was better for everyone if he just kept it to himself. At least, that’s what he had thought. Then he’d started noticing small things, like how sometimes Keith would let his hands linger on his skin for a fraction longer than he needed to, or how he could feel his gaze tracing the long line of his body when he thought Shiro wouldn’t notice. He’d been planning on telling Keith how he felt at the party. It was amazing how quickly things could change.

“Let him go, Shiro. He’ll need a tool, not a lover. And your love will only make him weak.”

AKA the one where Keith is the leader of a Yakuza clan, Shiro is his ever loyal tool, and they’re caught in a gang war.

Amazing commission by prllnce!

AO3

I just finished The Song of Achilles. This is important to you because it has got me feeling some type of way, which in turn means my poor characters are feeling some type of way. Which means you may also end up feeling some type of way. SUFFER AS I SUFFER. Lol no but really, I poured a lot of feelings into this chapter. So if you hated it, please wait till tomorrow to tell me because today I’m feeling really proud over how this came out.

That big ol' italicized section at the beginning is a memory.

Some helpful terms: Sumiyoshi-kai- The second largest Yakuza family and the Shinku no Raion's family. Rivals of the Yamaguchi-gumi family. Yamaguchi-gumi- The largest Yakuza family and the Murasaki no Akuma's family. Rivals of the Sumiyoshi-kai family. Oyabun- Clan leader. Saiko-komon- Chief advisor to oyabun. Waka gashira- Middle men between oyabun and clan members. Toyohashi- A city in between Kobe and Tokyo. Tantō- A short traditional sword carried by samurai.

***************************

They’d gotten into a fight. Another in a string of stupid, inconsequential arguments that had stained their friendship in the six months since Keith had ascended as the leader of the Shinku no Raion. After Daiki’s death, Shiro had been there to help pick up the rubble, applying the mortar to the crumbled bits of the clan that had been blown apart by the explosion of the Akuma. It hadn’t been until Keith started to resemble a whole human being again that he’d started to withdraw behind his own wall that he’d started to build in the process.

His retreat had been slow. So slow, in fact, Keith hadn’t noticed until he had already slipped away through his fingers. Gone were the days when Shiro would catch his eye from across a room and hold it until the heat in his belly had nearly blinded him. Where the man would once be standing, crowding the space around him with everything that he was, was a vast emptiness that chilled him to the bone. It was a strange thing, to miss someone that was still very much there. He could look up and see Shiro conversing with Lance or Hunk just feet away and yet it felt as if he couldn’t be further. The pain of it left a wound in Keith’s chest that had begun to fester.

When they’d had their first fight, it had been Keith that had started it, if only so he could draw Shiro’s attention to him.

And what would you have me do, he’d nearly sneered. The anger had taken them both by surprise as he eyed his saiko-komon, waiting for his resolution for dealing with the clans that had started to bleed into the edges of their territory. The news of Daiki’s death had traveled quickly and clans from both the Yamaguchi-gumi and Sumiyoshi-kai families had their eyes on the prime areas the Raion had control over. This had made things even more dangerous for the young oyabun. He’d already kept his head down, only conversing with his most trusted advisors and staying within the temple as the dust settled, and he was starting to go stir crazy. Added on top of the pain that consistently ached in his chest whenever he received a hollow eyed stare from Shiro, he couldn’t help the way he’d lashed out. I’m already hiding, Shiro. What else would you have me do?

For a moment he could have sworn he’d seen the small spark of that familiar steel fire he had become accustomed to over the years, but it was quickly snuffed out as Shiro set his jaw and returned the exchange in a calm tone that only cut him deeper. Keith held onto the shrapnel that had fallen from the saiko-komon’s mouth as they’d aimed at each other’s weak spots. Though they had eventually come to an agreement for Shiro to pass as the oyabun in public, neither had escaped unscathed, and it’d only served as the first shots fired.

Since then, Keith pushed at Shiro in hopes he could get him to push back and Shiro continued to hold him off, shooting to maim but never to destroy.

At least, that had been until earlier when Shiro had stormed out, gun and tantō in hand to take care of a single thug that had been tormenting a shopkeeper near the temple.

You can’t let people walk all over you, he’d said with an exasperated sigh and a hand rubbing at his temple as if Keith was giving him a headache. The small, vindictive voice within him purred at the thought only to be chased away by a louder, guilty voice.

I’m not, Shiro, his name was always a caress on his lips and he hated himself for it, I just don’t think he’s an issue. He’s only one person.

As Keith paced the length of the old meeting room of the temple that they’d first met in, he replayed the scene in his mind, attempting to pick apart the exact words that had finally served as the blow to Shiro’s wall. He’d seen the moment the calm facade of his had snapped like a brittle twig beneath a foot. The change had been instantaneous as the dulled grey of his eyes suddenly shone with a ferocity that bit his skin.

One person is all that’s needed to influence more.

The words were spat with near disgust as he’d turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving Keith alone yet again. It had been four hours since and though he felt the seething anger bubbling in his core, the cool edge of worry batted against the flames. If it was just one person that didn’t even have ties to a clan, he should have been back already. What if he’d been blinded by his anger? A moment of disregard was all that would be needed for someone to get the upper hand, even if he was the best fighter he knew.

All he’d wanted was to know Shiro still felt anything at all.

The sound of the paper screen door sliding open jolted him from his thoughts as he turned towards it, fear and hope pushing against each other as his eyes searched to find a pair of steel ones. He filled the space of the doorway with his broad shoulders and grim expression, a crusting red line of blood cutting down the fullness of his bottom lip from where it’d been split during the altercation.

“You’re back.” Keith hated the way his voice cracked as relief buzzed through him.

“Did you doubt I would be?” Shiro’s eyebrow arched in questioning as he fixed his vacant eyes on him. His voice was tired and filled with something Keith couldn’t quite place. Regret?

“If you were yourself, I wouldn’t.” Now that his fears had been sated, he let the earlier anger bleed back into his voice. Accusation colored his tone as he fixed his flaming jewel stare upon his saiko-komon. He watched the way Shiro’s jaw tightened at his words before he stepped into the room and slid the door shut behind him. Though he was just on the other side of the room, Keith became aware of the infinite space that seemed to stretch between them.

“I am being myself,” Shiro said lowly, eyes burning into his oyabun’s chest as if he was trying to make him understand something. All he managed to do was set a match to Keith’s fury.

“Who do you think you are, Shiro?” A pause as his voice betrayed him again as he said his name. “Because I’m sure I know who you are, and this isn’t it.” He threw as much vehemence into his tone to mask the way he wobbled over the sentiment. His heart ached as he looked at this hollow version of his best friend and his fingers longed to run over his skin.

Do you feel anything at all?

“I’m just a tool for you, Keith.” He finally said as he took a steadying breath, his gaze boring deep into him. “That’s all I was ever meant to be. Give me and order and I’ll follow.”

Another pause.

“I need you to be my leader.”

The words twisted like angry snakes in his stomach. The divide that stood between them was built upon those words, and Keith wanted nothing more than to tear them apart. With just two long strides, he closed the gap between their bodies and grabbed a fistful of Shiro’s shirt. It had all happened quickly, the sharp tug of a hand that pulled the saiko-komon down to him as Keith pressed their mouths together. The initial shock of it was immediate as the taste of metallic blood filled his mouth from the impact against Shiro’s already split lip.

He opened into the kiss, inhaling him in as he ran his tongue across his best friend’s bottom lip. Keith couldn’t remember a time where he hadn’t dreamed of what it would be like to finally press himself against Shiro like this. Long had the images of hands in hair and teeth on flesh burnt themselves onto the dreamscape of his mind, but never did he imagine them tasting of blood and desperation. The skin over his knuckles ached from where it’d been pulled tight over the bone with the intensity of his grip on the black fabric. A tentative swipe of Shiro’s tongue against his own raised a sunburst behind his eyelids before strong hands landed on his shoulders and pulled him back, the soft pop of their mouths dislodging filling the otherwise silent room.

“Is that an order?” Shiro asked, the brusque anger in his voice conflicting the gentle pleading in his eyes. Keith watched as a war waged between the two differing emotions. His saiko-komon was leaving the decision to him, laying the opportunity to undo the wall he’d put up between them at his feet like a gift at a shrine. The realization only made Keith hungrier.

“Is that an order?” He demanded again as his hands slipped from Keith’s shoulders and down to his biceps, leaving forest fires in their wake.

“You want an order?” Keith’s voice was filled with the blaze that was racing through his body. Staring up into the angry grey sea of Shiro’s eyes, he made his decision.

“Then fucking kiss me.”

Their second kiss was just a crushing as the first as Shiro pulled him in, the grip of his fingers sure to leave bruises on the soft skin of his arms. Biting at each other as they had done with their words, they threw themselves into their passion. A small huff of air escaped Keith as he was pushed against a wall. The hands that had held him so strongly loosened before brushing back up his shoulders and cradled the square of his jaw. Shiro’s warm palms pressed against his pulse as his thumbs grazed the peaks of his cheek bones. Gently, the previous roughness fading completely from his touch, he tilted Keith’s face upwards as he slowed their rhythm to a languid pace. The oyabun’s skin tingled wherever Shiro touched him, each caress adding another ripple on the surface of his composure. Pulling away slightly, his saiko-komon brushed the tip of his nose against his and filled Keith’s vision with endless steel plains.

“I guess I can’t disobey orders.” His voice was honey, thick and sweet.

“No,” Keith said breathlessly as he turned his face just enough to press his lips to the inside of Shiro’s wrist. “I am your leader.”

I am yours.

The true meaning of his words danced across the veins beneath his lips. He felt as the pulse within them quickened slightly at the implication.

“Another order?” Shiro ask, his voice hitching as Keith dragged the soft bow of his lip against the fragile skin again. Mauve galaxies glittered in his oyabun’s eyes as he turned his stare back towards him.

“Take me to my room.”

They filled the hall with the sound of heavy breathing and stolen kisses as they made their way to Keith’s room. In the darkness, they painted their names across skin with their tongues and teeth, leaving their marks on the other’s flesh. The air of the room became cloying and heady as they pressed into each other, exploring the uncharted expanses of muscle that lay between them. Pleasure crashed around them in waves and dragged them below its heated waters as they lulled into the embrace of arms and moonlight.

As the echoes of their desire faded from the darkness of the room, Keith pressed a feather light kiss to the sharp ridge of Shiro’s collarbone before melting into the halo of his arms. The shadows in the room shifted as the light slowly moved through the night as they finally spoke again as they always had. It felt like Keith was welcoming him home as he listened to the musical laugh that rocked through Shiro’s chest and pulled the corner of his lips into a small smile. Only when stray beams of sunlight started to chase the moonlight away did the saiko-komon fell into a deep sleep, leaving Keith alone with his thoughts. Pulling away slightly, he let his eyes wander over the man next to him.

As he looked at Shiro’s sleeping form, the white dash of hair caressing the bridge of his nose and his mouth slightly agape with small snores, Keith felt something pop into place within his chest. In that moment all the stars and planets of his being aligned to reveal to him a fact he’d always known.

He would always bring Shiro home, whether it be from conflict that waged around the clan or from within himself, and he would burn the world to the ground if he needed to.

***

Lance was struggling against fatigue when he finally threw himself down onto the king sized bed in his and Hunk’s room. Dull pain still radiated from the flat of his jaw as he tried to ignore the aging bruise that discolored his skin. It had been a little over a day since Keith had punched him, and though he still wished nothing more than to return the favor, he’d already forgiven him. Had forgiven him the moment Hunk had pulled him away because, though he wasn’t prepared to admit just yet, he understood.

Exhaling loudly, enjoying the way his hissing breath filled the room around him, Lance pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. The image of the furniture store welcomed him against the darkness of his eyelids. He could smell the stomach turning scent of the rusty liquid that drenched the place. Could see the bodies strewn across the ground in disarray.

He saw Keith laying alone on a cleared halo of ground.

It was all he saw whenever he’d closed his eyes, which was the reason he’d spent the past four nights staring into the darkness as he lay wrapped around Hunk with his nose pressed to his hair. That first night after they’d brought Keith home, he hadn’t even been sure he could stand to spend the night in his room for fear the image would taint the one place he truly felt safe. The only reason he’d even come had been because of Hunk’s reassurances and gentle smile.

He’d move mountains for that smile.

A yawn cracked his jaw as he dropped his arms outwards to either side of him, eyes still screwed shut as he battled against the blood soaked image.

After Keith had awakened the day after they’d brought him home, he’d thrown himself and everyone around him into the search for Shiro. That first day, he and Hunk had ended up back in Toyohashi where they’d picked apart every building that could possibly hold some sort of Akuma activity. Each time they’d kick in a door and search the area, Lance would steel himself against the worst possible outcome: Shiro lying dead in the middle of a forgotten warehouse.

Each time they were met with emptiness or the occasional Akuma that they’d quickly dispose of.

That night, he held tightly onto Hunk as the weapons specialist fought against his own fitful sleep.

The next day, as the unforgiving fingers of fatigue had started to make his body heavy, they were ambushed by ten Akuma that had heard the Raion were looking for them. His mind shifted away from the scene at the furniture store to that of Hunk caught beneath one of the rival Yakuza with a knife to his throat. Fury had seized him then, attaching itself to him like the strings of a marionette as it yanked him forward in a blaze of bullets and primal screams.

It was that fury that had carried him into the room Keith had made his home as he unleashed his fears on him, disguised behind a thick mask of rage.

You can’t risk the rest of the clan for one person. Shiro would understand that.

Lance’s words had found their mark and for a moment he’d almost reveled in the way the oyabun’s mouth had twisted into an angry snarl that had mirrored his own. His darkness recognized Keith’s darkness that was barely containing itself under the surface of his crushed velvet eyes.

Yes. He understood.

The light sound of the bedroom door opening and closing pulled him from deep within his thoughts. Springs creaked as a new weight caused the mattress to dip beneath the addition to its surface. Hair tickled his nose as Hunk’s head found the crook of his neck, his even breaths dancing across Lance’s pulse point and the minty scent of his shampoo filling his senses. A strong arm wrapped itself around the sharpshooter’s waist and pulled him in closer so that their bodies aligned.

“You alright?” His voice was a near whisper as it brushed against his skin. Lance hummed deep in his throat as he curled his arm around Hunk’s shoulder just to feel the solidness of him.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. With his eyes still shut to the world, he started to count the breaths on his neck as the flashing images of blood and anger started to retreat back into the shadows. If he was alright, he would be able to sleep. If he was alright, fear wouldn’t blemish his intentions with its inky black stain. If he was alright, he wouldn’t see visions of Hunk’s arm in the place of Shiro’s tucked inside that cardboard box. But he had no right to not be alright. Keith’s grief was for him to feel and he wouldn’t diminish it with his own.

Hunk made a small sound as he nuzzled his nose against Lance’s skin. The moment stretched between them as they lay together in silence, both enjoying the solid feeling of the other just being there.

“I’m worried about him,” Hunk finally said, breaking the silence. “He didn’t even look like himself earlier.” As soon as Keith had opened the box from the Akuma, his features had contorted into a monstrous mask of brutality and wrath. It was the look of a true devil and had sent a shiver of fear down Lance’s spine, though whether that fear came from the bloodthirsty stare or the familiarity of it, he wasn’t sure.

“I get it, you know.” His voice vibrated against Hunk’s skull as he spoke. A beat passed before the weapons specialist started to pull away from Lance’s embrace. Cool air rushed against the heated points on his skin where his love’s had brushed against it.

“Lance,” Hunk’s voice was filled with an immeasurable sadness as he looked down at the lanky sharpshooter. The very sound of it tightened around Lance’s heart. With a sigh, he finally opened his eyes and sat up besides him. His gaze scanned over Hunk’s face, taking in the darkly tanned skin that reminded him of summertime. A small quirk at the right corner of his mouth permanently pulled his full lips into a small smile, and Lance had to fight against his own being to not lean forward and kiss it. A hundred different scenarios ran through his head all at once as he traced the lines of Hunk’s square jaw, and each ended with him turning to the very same rage Keith had boiling within. His eyes were sharp sapphires that cut straight through the skin as he stared at Hunk, trying to convey what he felt through sheer force of will.

“If you were ever-” he started, tripping of his words.

“I know,” Hunk shushed as he brushed his fingertips across Lance’s cheek, wiping away the tears he hadn’t even realized he’d begun to shed.

“You don’t!” The cry tore from him as he grabbed the hand from his face and held it firmly in his own. Steel hardened Hunk’s chocolate gaze as Lance shut his eyes and took a steadying breath. He carefully slotted their fingers together as he tried to search for the right words. How did he properly convey the way his own heart bled at the thought of being in Keith’s shoes? That the mere idea of Hunk in Shiro’s place tore him open and left his entrails bare for the vultures? They’d all gotten a glimpse of the demon that was slowly picking apart their leader and stood like a deadly imposter wearing his skin. Yet, he understood. If it were him, he’d already have handed the reins over to his darkness and let it eat him from the inside out if that’s what it would take to bring his love home.

“It takes a demon to fight a demon.” He finally murmured, his voice low and broken as he squeezed their fingers together.

Hunk’s other hand trembled as his large palm hugged the square of his jaw, his fingertips tickling his hairline and his thumb caressing the crest of his cheek. Lance pressed into the touch, blue gaze on him as he searched for a sign that he understood. A small fist squeezed his heart as Hunk nodded before he pulled his hand from his grasp and placed it on the other side of his face. Ever so slowly, he pulled Lance into him and pressed their foreheads together, his even breaths melding with Lance’s harried ones in the space between them.

“We aren’t them, and I’m not going anywhere,” he paused as he searched for his next words. “They’re going to be okay.”

The brunette heard the true meaning of his words.

We’re going to be okay.

With timid pressure, Hunk pressed his lips to Lance’s. The kiss started as a gentle graze before blooming with heat, tongue and teeth. As they pressed together and their breathing came in ragged gasps, Hunk attempted to dull the bated beat of his heart. Carding his fingers through the dark brown strands of his lover’s hair, Lance let him fill the cracks that had started to develop under his skin as he let his words replay on repeat in his head.

We’re going to be okay.

***

The grainy footage of ten separate CCTV feeds flickered across the laptop screen, emitting its strange colorless glow over the room and draining what little pigmentation Pidge had from her skin. In the darkness of her room, she looked like a specter as her eyes focused onto the video and she chewed on the corner of her thumbnail. As she stabbed a finger into the return key on her keyboard, the feeds went blank before flickering back to life in ten different locations. She continued clicking through the different footage as she worried the nail between her teeth.

There were hundreds of thousands of CCTV lines she had connected through her computer programing, and she’d been painstakingly picking through them ten at a time since they’d found Keith alone in that furniture store. Another program that she had running on a desktop computer in the corner of the room was scanning traffic cameras, social media posts, and all other forms of digital media, cross referencing what few photos she had of the clan members with what it found in hopes of pinpointing their location.

She’d placed her faith in her technology the same way some placed their faiths in Gods, and it had never failed her before. Yet as she pressed the return key once again, eyes flickering over the camera footage that revealed nothing at all, she couldn’t help but feel if this was something even technology couldn’t help them with. There was a reason that after three years of searching, she still didn’t have an exact location for the Akuma’s headquarters. They were impeccable about keeping their faces from the panoptic view of the cameras that watched over major cities and ports. What few Akuma slipped up almost always ended up found dead in an alley or floating in a waterway. The only images she had that could still be used had come from the temples own cameras on the night of the attack that had killed Keith’s father. A shudder ghosted over her as she remembered the footage of that night, horror gripping her throat as she’d watched her friends scatter for safety as their oyabun lay dead in the dirt.

Pushing the memory away, she continued her search for Shiro within the black and white world of the CCTV footage.

Waves of all too familiar fear had continuously beat against her since they’d received the call from the Okazaki contact about the gunfire at the shop. That same fear had nearly sucked her under and threatened to drown her when Lance and Hunk had returned with Keith held between them and grave expressions darkening their gazes.

It was the same despair that had stalked her ever since her father and brother had been taken.

Pidge hadn’t realized anything could cause her the same type of pain she’d felt when she’d returned home that fateful day to find the door kicked in and blood smeared across the walls. Yet when they’re reported that Shiro was gone and Keith had been found alone, the same aching burn of desperation had thrown its needlelike claws into her throat.

The Shinku no Raion had accepted her as family, and Shiro had become another brother to her. When she’d given up hope on ever finding her family, he’d always throw an arm around her shoulders and fix her with his grey eyes before repeating his favorite mantra.

Patience yields focus.

She always pretended to hate it, but as she stared holes into her computer screen, she knew she’d give anything to feel the weight of his large arm on her while his voice laughed around the words.

Losing him had left the door open for her demons to crawl through and bury themselves deep into the dark recesses of her mind. Not that she was the only one. Pidge drew in a long breath before letting it go through her teeth as she thought about the way Keith’s eyes had darkened when he’d stared at the Akuma that Allura had brought to them, or the inhuman nature of his expression when he’d returned from where he’d taken the man.

It was the expression of a feral animal that had been backed into a corner and was ready to fight to the death.

That very expression helped push her on in her search as her eyes fought to keep themselves open from the lack of sleep.

Another click. Another ten screens without any answers.

Another click.

Ten more screens.

Click.

Screens.

With a loud cry, she slammed the laptop shut and threw it across the cream comforter on her bed. The silver machine skittered across the plush material before it stopped precariously close to the edge of the bed. She was just so tired. Tired of helplessly clicking through useless camera footage. Tired of the way her eyes burned as she stared at the lit up screens of her computers. Tired of losing the people she cared about most. She felt useless. This wasn’t a world she was meant to be in, and no matter how hard she pretended she did, Pidge knew she couldn’t do as much for the clan as Lance or Hunk or Shiro. Her breath caught in her throat as she bitterly thought his name, shame flooding through her as she quietly sent a prayer to the heavens for his safety.

The small, electronic ping of the desktop pulled her golden gaze across the room where a pop up screen obscured a black and white image. Hopping out of her chair, Pridge tripped over her feet as she scrambled to get to the computer as if the screen would disappear. Her gaze danced across the words on the screen, screaming against the brightness of the white background, before she moved the pop up out of the way so she could look at the image. A blistering ray of hope burnt her insides as she traced the faces in the image. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she typed up quick notes about the location of the camera that had captured the photo before she hit print on the information.

Grabbing the pages as soon as they fell from the printer, she flicked through the paper as a barely there smile turned her lips upwards.

“Gotcha.”

***

The metallic sound of his daggers against a sharpening stone kept Keith company in his otherwise silent room. His glare bore into the sharpened edge of the blade he was working on, thrusting as much of the rage that bubbled like magma under his skin into his work.

We want the real Crimson Lion.

He would make them regret those words. After running a deft finger over the point of the dagger and receiving a smooth slice across the pad, he tucked it gently into its sheath and pulled out another. As he dragged it quickly across the stone, his mind flickered quickly over the contents of the box. The fingers of it were purpled and twisted from having been broken, and a raw circle from a restraint had bitten into the flesh of its wrist. In the crease of the elbow, a blackened ring of burnt skin in the shape of the Akuma insignia.

His stomach turned as he threw a bit more aggression into his movement than he’d intended, the blade stuttering over the stone. Keith’s hands trembled as his mind filled in the events that had occurred before the limb had been dropped off at their doorstep. A mallet to the fingers, each cracking under the weighted head of the hammer. Metal restraints would be what caused the kind of cuts against the wrist as Shiro had tried to pull against them.

The oyabun swallowed bile as he could smell the burnt flesh as they pushed the brand into his skin.

His insides were sawdust as his anger continuously spun against them. First the Akuma had taken his father, then they’d taken his heart, all in the name of a war that wasn’t even his own to fight. Testing the tip of the next dagger, he spun the small blade through his fingers.

It wasn’t his fight, but he would finish it.

Roaring loudly, he threw the dagger into the wall ahead of him, the loud thunk of it impaling the surface resembling that of a blade against flesh. Fiery tears of fury spilled from his eyes as he glared at the knife as if he could will the wall into a human form. The things he would do if Zarkon stood before him. He would carve his fury into his flesh before pulling it from his bones. He’d core him and leave him empty and bare for his clan to find, strung up to exsanguinate like an animal. It was more than he even deserved. If Keith could, he would bring everything Zarkon had ever touched to an end, and only after he’d seen everything he held dearly crumble, would he send him to the hell he belonged.

A small knock interrupted his venomous thoughts and dragged him back to the world. He turned towards the door, teeth bared like a wild dog before he saw that it was Pidge. She stood in the doorway, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed as she attempted to catch her breath.

“Pidge?” Keith’s voice was thick with emotion as they both pretended they couldn’t see the tears that still glistened on his cheeks. She lifted a small hand with a fistful of papers covered in images and ink. One particular image of what looked like a shadowy figure caught his eye.

“Keith,” his named mixed with the hush of her breath. “I found him.”

*******************