#possessive behaviour

He says he doesn’t need protection — but quietly tightens his grip on your hand when the streets get crowded. It's subtle, but telling.

He tries to stay low-profile, but you? You radiate protective energy like a solar flare.

When you snarl at a merchant for “looking too long,” Dan Heng mutters, “You’re going to scare the tourists.”

He definitely blushes when your wing folds over his shoulders like a velvet shield.

At your knife-sharp glare after Jing Yuan says "Dan Feng", he actually chokes on air. He might never admit it, but that was the highlight of his day.

He’s genuinely nervous about Blade. Not for himself — but for Blade, because you’re itching for violence.

Feixiao loves you. The sass, the posture, the claws-out vibe — she sees a kindred spirit.

“Protecting your man with a wing, huh? Cute. Ever tried drop-kicking someone through a wall?”

She challenges you to a spar within an hour of meeting you. Not out of hostility — respect.

She watches you correct Jing Yuan with that “Dan. Heng.” and howls with laughter. You just earned her eternal friendship.

“I like this one,” she says, clapping your shoulder. “Sharp talons, sharper tongue. A Vanquishing General’s favorite kind of ally.”

If anyone starts trouble, Feixiao’s already throwing punches while you flex your wings behind her like a looming stormcloud. Iconic duo energy.

At first, Moze finds your open hostility disconcerting — it clashes with his quiet, covert approach. But… he respects the hell out of it.

Your constant looming presence around Dan Heng reminds him of a sentry hawk. You don’t speak much to him at first — perfect. He likes that.

After watching you slice through a would-be pickpocket with one flick of your wing, he simply says, “Efficient.”

He sometimes sidles up beside you during missions, not because he needs backup — but because you’re one of the few people whose chaos he can predict.

You once told him: “You operate in shadows. I am the shadow.” Moze didn’t know whether to be impressed or mildly concerned. Possibly both.

He sees the way you ground Dan Heng — and quietly respects the bond. Maybe even envies it a little.

Jiaoqiu is fascinated by you — not just your form as a Wingweaver, but your emotional intensity. You're a medic’s nightmare, honestly, with how fast you rush to defend Dan Heng.

“Ah,” he says mildly as you glare at a passing Cloud Knight, “so this is what ‘radiating murderous intent’ looks like.”

You terrify him a little, but he also wants to make sure you’re eating properly and not pulling a wing muscle by holding it over Dan Heng’s shoulders 24/7.

“You know, I can mix a balm for that possessive tension,” he jokes.

You counter: “You know, I can dislocate a kneecap with one twist.” He never jokes about that again.

But in private? He admires your devotion. There’s something deeply reassuring about someone loving another so protectively. It reminds him that healing doesn’t always come from medicine.

Jing Yuan should have known better. He did know better. And yet, he said “Dan Feng” anyway.

When you hit him with the most polite "His name is Dan. Heng. Do try to get it right." he actually winced.

“Of course. My apologies,” he says. That little bead of sweat on his temple? You saw it. Victory.

He doesn't underestimate you. In fact, he mentally notes you as a Class S potential threat.

You’re polite — but deadly. You say "hello" with the energy of a guillotine in standby mode.

He admires your protectiveness, but does quietly warn Dan Heng, “Your partner may be the fiercest creature on the Loufu right now.”

He isn’t wrong. You’d fight gods for Dan Heng, and you probably have a plan to do so.

The Head knows how much she was holding herself back from dragging your ass back to her side by blackmailing you and ruining your life, but unfortunately that wouldn't do.

If she was struggling this much over you breaking up with her, Alfonso doubts she has the strength to deal with you hating her. Her having power on you and thus facing you to pretend that you loved her wouldn't even mean anything now, not when she knows what your genuine love and care for her — something she hasn't felt since the death of Stephanette — feels like.

So it's with a forced smile and a bitter feeling that she allows you to leave her side. It's with a dread she hasn't felt before that she allows you to quit working for K Corp while putting in a good word for you to increase the chances of you being hired elsewhere. Somewhere worse, undoubtedly.

Alfonso doesn't let this be farewell though, she couldn't handle that either.

She sends people to spy on you in hopes of bad news regarding your new life so that she can swoop in to save you just as she had when she first got with you. Unfortunately for her, you seem to be doing well and taking the breakup much better than her. Hell, you seemed to be thriving without Alfonso by your side.

All this time she thought herself to be cruel, but you moving on se easily from her proved that you were the cruel one in her eyes.

In the end, there's nothing much she can do besides drowning herself in her work and wallowing in her misery as she hopelessly waits for you to return to her.

Some Wing CEO she is.

The Beach at night was loud.

Music pounding, bodies pressed together at the pool, somebody screaming-laughing near the bar, glasses breaking, Hatter's voice echoing from somewhere like a bad reverb. It was noise on top of noise, and Niragi usually loved it. Loved the chaos, the excuse to bark orders at his guys, the way people scrambled when they heard his boots on tile.

Tonight it made his teeth grind.

Because every time he glanced over at the far side of the lobby, the noise blurred out, and all he could see was Chishiya.

Chishiya in his stupud white hoodie and board shorts, hood down for once, pale neck bare. Sitting on one of the lobby couches with his legs drawn up, ankles crossed, like the world was a waiting room and he was bored of waiting. Kuina was laughing at something next to him, one arm thrown over the back of the couch, hair sticking to her shoulders from the pool. Arisu hovered at the edge of their little circle, looking wrecked and eager and easy to move around.

Chishiya had his head tilted, eyes half-lidded. Listening. The corner of his mouth was doing that faint twitch that meant he'd just said something shitty and smart.

Niragi wanted to put a bullet between his eyes and also put his thumb in that little crease of a smile and pull it wider just to see what it looked like.

"Boss," one of the militants said, jogging up, breathless. "We got a situation at the bar, some newbie's—"

"Handle it," Niragi snapped without looking away. "That's what you're for."

The guy swallowed and ran.

Across the room, Kuina bumped her shoulder into Chishiya's. He didn't flinch. Just cut her a look from under his fringe and said something low that made her throw her head back and cackle.

Niragi's jaw clicked.

He slung his rifle more comfortably against his back and started walking.

He cut through the crowd like a knife, ignoring hands that grabbed at him, idiots trying to haul him into their drunk orbit. Someone tried to slap him on the back, he shrugged them off without even looking.

By the time he hit the couch area, Kuina had stood up to go grab drinks. Perfect.

Arisu opened his mouth like he was about to say something to Chishiya, some dumb question, some whiny little plea for mentorship or comfort, and Niragi stepped between them before he could get a word out.

"Beat it, kid," he said.

Arisu blinked. "What—"

"You deaf?" Niragi grinned, all teeth. "Little exec meetin'. You're not on the list."

Arisu's eyes flicked to Chishiya, like maybe he'd get rescued.

Chishiya just blinked back, slow as a cat. "You heard him," he said mildly. "Run along."

Arisu's face did that hurt-puppy thing that made Niragi's fingers itch. He backed off, glancing between them, then disappeared into the noise.

"You're abusing your authority," Chishiya said, not bothering to sit up.

"Only got it if I use it," Niragi shot back.

He grabbed the front of Chishiya's hoodie and yanked him up before anyone could really clock what was happening. Chishiya let himself be hauled to his feet, eyes narrowing just a fraction.

"Walk," Niragi said in his ear.

He didn't wait for agreement. Just turned and dragged him toward the service hallway behind the lobby, away from the main flow of drunk bodies.

Chishiya didn't resist. That almost made it worse.

"You're being very dramatic," he observed as they slipped into the dim corridor, music muffled by concrete. "Are we going to shoot someone or fuck or is this something else entirely."

"Shut up."

Niragi shoved him through the first door on the left and kicked it closed behind them.

The stairwell was half-lit and smelled like dust and chlorine. The thump of the party was a dull heartbeat under their feet. Nobody used this place unless they were sneaking a smoke or a fuck. Or both.

Niragi pressed Chishiya back against the cool cement wall hard enough that his head tapped it, forearm across his collarbones. Not enough to choke. Yet.

"You got a problem with my face?" Chishiya asked calmly, looking right at him, as if his spine wasn't being introduced to concrete by a very loaded man with very bad impulse control.

"Yeah," Niragi said, too fast. "Actually. I fuckin' do."

"How tragic for you."

His eyes were doing that thing. That look that slid over Niragi like he was being inventoried, broken down into parts and prices. Condescending. Always.

Niragi slammed his palm into the wall right next to his head. "Stop fuckin' looking at other people like that."

"Like what."

"Like that!" The words tore out of him. "Like they're—interesting. Like they're in on some joke with you. You don't look at me like that."

Chishiya blinked.

Niragi realised too late what he'd just said.

"Oh," Chishiya said.

"Shut up."

"I see."

"I said shut up."

He grabbed Chishiya's chin, fingers digging in, thumb pressed hard into the hinge of his jaw. "You think I don't see you? Huh? Pretty boy sittin' in your little corner, pickin' people like toys. You think I don't notice when you smile at them. When you waste that shit on them instead of—"

He bit it off.

Chishiya's lashes lowered a fraction. "Instead of what."

"You know what."

"You're going to have to be more precise," Chishiya said, voice softening in that dangerous way. "My attention span's not what it used to be."

His hoodie was bunched in Niragi's fist, fabric stretched tight across his chest. He was smaller up close, bony under the cotton, throat pale and thin and right there. Niragi had a sudden, vivid image of putting his hand around it. Not to crush. Just to feel.

Fuck.

"You think I don't see you," Niragi said again, lower now. "Watchin' me. Every time I crack someone's skull for mouthin' off, every time I point my gun at some dumb bitch who doesn't know when to stop talking. You're always there. Smirkin'. Like it's funny."

"Sometimes it is," Chishiya said. "You have a certain... performative flair."

Niragi shoved his forearm a fraction higher, pinning him more securely to the wall. "You like watchin' me hurt people."

Chishiya's eyes flicked over his face, down to his mouth, then back up. "Are you looking for moral condemnation, Niragi, or a yes."

"Yes," Niragi spat.

Chishiya huffed a tiny laugh. "Then yes. It's entertaining."

"Yeah?" Niragi leaned in, close enough that their breath mingled. "Still funny if I tell you half of 'em got their skulls cracked 'cause they were starin' at you wrong?"

He felt the slightest catch in Chishiya's pulse under his wrist. Barely. But it was there.

"Ah," Chishiya said softly. "So that's what this is about."

"Guy from the card room yesterday. The girl at the pool bar. That freak from the light bulb game." Niragi's voice dropped to a growl. "You think they tripped? You think they just stopped comin' around?"

Chishiya watched him, quiet.

"I don't fuckin' like people lookin' at what's mine," Niragi said.

It hung there, ugly and bare.

The word tasted like acid and sugar in his mouth. Mine.

Chishiya's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Something smaller. "Possessiveness is such a flattering quality in a coworker."

"Don't start," Niragi warned.

"In a subordinate, even."

Niragi's fist hit the wall next to his head again. "I will shoot somebody, pretty boy, don't test me."

"You already have," Chishiya pointed out. "Several somebodies, according to your own admission. Should I be touched?"

"You should stop lettin' 'em think they can." His hand slid from Chihiya's chin to his throat without him deciding to move it. Fingers warm against that thin, fragile column. He could feel Chishiya swallow, slow and careful. "You wanna play with their heads, fine, whatever, I get it. But you don't let 'em touch you. You don't let 'em talk to you like they're close. You don't—"

"—let them think I'm available?" Chishiya supplied. "Is that what you're trying to say?"

Niragi's grip tightened, just for a heartbeat.

"Yeah," he said, rough. "That."

Chishiya's eyes were very dark now. His hands had been lax at his sides this whole time, now one of them came up, fingers brushing the inside of Niragi's elbow, light and cool.

"You're assuming," he said, "that if I was available, you'd be the one to cash in."

Niragi laughed, sharp and disbelieving. "Who else is gonna handle you? Arisu?" He sneered the name. "Kuina? One of those meatheads in the bar? You'd eat 'em alive in a week. I'm the only one here who's not scared of you, pretty boy."

"That's not true," Chishiya said mildly. "Plenty of people aren't scared of me. They're just stupid."

"Well I'm not," Niragi said. "I see you for what you are."

"And what's that."

"A fuckin' viper in a hoodie."

Chishiya tilted his head against the wall, the line of his throat shifting under Niragi's palm. "That's flattering. I do so hate being miscategorised."

"They don't get to look at you like they know you," Niragi muttered, thumb pressing right over his pulse now. It jumped, once, hard. "They don't get to stand that close. They don't get that smile. That shit's—"

He cut himself off again.

"Hmm," Chishiya said. "Mine?"

Niragi's lip curled. "You got a problem with that?"

"Not particularly," Chishiya said. "I just like hearing you say it."

"You're fucked up," Niragi said, hoarse. "You know that?"

"Of course." Chishiya's fingers slid up his arm, very lightly. "Let me reframe this for you, Niragi, because clearly you're having trouble articulating your feelings."

Niragi narrowed his eyes. "Don't."

"You don't want them to think they can touch me," Chishiya said, voice dropping. "Because you're going to be the one who does. When you decide the timing is right. When you're done playing with your food."

"Yeah," Niragi breathed.

"You don't want them flirting with me," Chishiya continued, as if cataloguing data. "Because you like knowing you could put a bullet in their head any time you want and nobody would question it, and it makes you feel something. Alive, maybe. In control."

"You like it."

"Of course I do." That not-smile tugged again. "It's tedious, being the only one here worth the effort."

Niragi huffed, half a laugh, half a helpless exhale. His hand on Chishiya's throat loosened, just a little. Enough air. Enough room to talk.

Chishiya didn't move away.

"You're gonna get yourself killed," Niragi muttered. "One day you're gonna pick the wrong mark and they're gonna—"

"You won't let them," Chishiya said simply.

"Damn right I won't."

"There you go." His fingers flexed once on Niragi's arm, the closest thing Chishiya had to a squeeze. "Problem solved."

"It's not fuckin' solved," Niragi snapped. "You're still sittin' out there lettin' idiots think they've got a shot, lettin' 'em think—"

"Who said they think that," Chishiya cut in. "You're projecting."

"I saw the way that girl was lookin' at you. At the bar. The one with the stupid hair."

Chishiya's eyes slid sideways like he was scrolling through a mental list. "Ah. The one you shoved into the pool."

"Yeah."

"She was talking to Kuina," Chishiya pointed out. "The fact that you read that as interest in me says more about you than her."

"Don't care," Niragi said. "Don't like it. Don't want it."

"And yet," Chishiya said, "you seem to like the fact that I know you're doing it."

Niragi's mouth twisted. "Maybe I do."

"That almost sounded like honesty." Chishiya's gaze dropped to his mouth again, then back up. "Careful. People might start thinking you have depth."

"I'll shoot 'em before they get the chance."

"I'm counting on it."

For a second, the stairwell was just breathing and far-off bassline and the tiny crackle of fluorescent lights.

Niragi realised his thumb had started stroking Chishiya's pulse point without his permission. Slow. Back and forth. Like checking that it was still there.

Chishiya let him.

"You don't change how you act out there," Niragi said suddenly.

"No?"

"No." He leaned in closer, until his nose brushed the side of Chishiya's. "You keep doin' your little smirks and your head tilts and your eyes. You keep lettin' 'em think they're in one something. But you don't let 'em touch. You don't go off alone with them. You don't let them stand where I'm standin' right now. You get me?"

"It sounds like you're giving me permission to keep teasing everyone," Chishiya said. "As long as I remember whose gun is pointed at their backs."

"Yeah." Niragi bared his teeth. "Exactly."

Chishiya considered that. Them, finally, slowly, he smiled. Properly this time. Small, sharp, visciously pleased.

"Deal," he said.

Niragi's brain shorted for a second. That smile. Given to him. On purpose.

"Good boy," Chishiya added.

Niragi choked on nothing. "The fuck did you just—"

The stairwell door creaked.

Both of them froze.

Footsteps on the landing above. Someone giggling. A couple, by the sound of it.

Niragi's hand dropped from Chishiya's throat to his chest, flattening there. Chishiya smoothed his hoodie with a lazy motion, as if he hadn't just been pinned.

The footsteps paused, then retreated. The door closed again.

"See?" Chishiya said softly. "They don't get to see you like this either."

"Like what."

He shrugged one shoulder against the wall. "Worked up over me."

Niragi snorted, but it came out a little shaky. "Don't get used to it."

"Oh, I already have."

He pushed off the wall, ducking under Niragi's arm with infuriating grace. Opened the stairwell door back into the hurricane of sound.

Over his shoulder, he added, "You should get back to the lobby. People will start to wonder if their watchdog has abandoned his post."

Niragi stared at the empty space where his body had been for a second. Then he followed, boots loud on the stairs.

In the blast of light and music, Chishiya slipped back onto his couch like he'd just gone for a piss. Niragi took up position on the balcony over the pool, rifle across his shoulders, gaze sweeping the crowd.

Every time it passed over the little white shape on the couch, it lingered. Just a second too long.

Nobody touched him.

Nobody tried.

He remembered where he was buried, though. He could see the path leading to the forest behind the manor from the window in Lord Gethin’s room. He’d been mostly confined to Lord Gethin’s chambers ever since. Without restraints, though the manacles still hung from the wall like a silent threat.

He had become merely a phantom to the other servants, only acknowledged by them when Lord Gethin needed him to tell them something. Which was also one of the only times he was allowed to leave his chambers. Other times was when Lord Gethin asked him to fetch him something, though usually he would summon one of the servants to do that for him.

Only at night did he ask Ian instead of the servants. Humans needed to rest every night, after all. They didn’t. It was a strange sensation and Ian still wasn’t used to it. He still longed for his bed once the sun set, but instead that meant it was time for his daily meal.

One of the servants would come in. Lord Gethin would either lead him to the bed or ask him to approach. Ian was to wait where he happened to be standing or seated. The first sip was always for Lord Gethin and only after he was satisfied he would call Ian over and allowed him to drink what was left. Sometimes it was only a sip or two before he was ordered to stop. Enough to keep him sane, but not enough to satisfy him.

He couldn’t complain, though. Literally. Lord Gethin forbade it. Once he had gotten over the shock of his transformation, Ian realised quite fast that he couldn’t disobey Lord Gethin’s commands, even when he wanted to. (Which wasn’t often.) Whatever he ordered, Ian’s body always moved before his mind could and Lord Gethin knew it all too well.

Lord Gethin didn’t like to share. That’s why he stopped Ian from drinking more blood than he needed at the least. At most he would share…himself, after the feeding. Make Ian and the half-conscious servant take turns.

“Show him how to do it properly.” he would say.

And Ian obeyed.

He didn’t mind being a phantom so much anymore. He wasn’t proud of the things he helped them do. That he forced them to do… It was the only time he considered to disobey and the worst time to find that he couldn’t. But the servants didn’t seem to remember even seconds after and Ian told himself the limited interaction he was allowed with them would prevent them from remembering as well.

A small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

If he wasn’t doing tasks for Lord Gethin or entertaining him otherwise, Ian spent his days reading the books he was allowed to borrow or staring out the window, watching either the clouds or the stars in the night sky slowly pass by. He also kept the room tidy and the fire in the hearth burning.

Some days, Lord Gethin gave him a lesson. Either about Ian’s new condition or just anything that happened to come to mind. About the book Ian asked to read or its author, or about the stars he caught him staring at. Ian liked those lessons, they were a kindness. The “vampire lessons” however…could go either way.

Sometimes they were simple. Lord Gethin merely answered a question when Ian asked it. Like why he wasn’t allowed to go out during the day, after Lord Gethin explicitly forbade it.

“Are the stories true, my lord?” he had asked, “Do we perish in the light of the sun?”

“No, Ian, the sun is not that powerful.” Lord Gethin had replied, not looking up from his book, “But it darkens our skin like peasants spending all day in the sun for the entire harvest season in merely a few hours. And we are not peasants.”

Other times he liked to demonstrate and that usually meant he was going to teach Ian what could still harm him as a vampire. Like when he asked why he couldn’t see his reflection in a decorative mirror in the library, but could still see it in the window that night…

Ian glanced down at his wrist. There was still a red burn on it, from the silver bracelet Lord Gethin made him wear til sunrise. The sun was setting now and the burn still hadn’t healed. Lesson learned. Avoid touching silver.

“It gets worse as you grow older.”

Ian looked up. Lord Gethin, who had been warming himself by the fire, had suddenly turned and addressed him.

“It…will not heal, my Lord?” Ian asked, looking back down at his wrist.

“Have your ears ceased to work?” Lord Gethin chided, “You shall be healed come morning, I already told you this. But the older you get, the more severely silver will burn you. I daren’t even touch it through cloth…”

Ian struggled to imagine Lord Gethin being hurt so easily. And supposedly worse than what he experienced the other night. He’d been sobbing and begging for mercy within the hour. He was sure something that would harm Lord Gethin would have him begging for the final mercy of death.

Lord Gethin stepped over to him, putting a hand under his chin and making him look up.

“Best not dwell on it.” he said. His fingers kept pulling at Ian’s chin, as if he had them hooked around his jawbone, so he stood up and followed the pull until his face was merely inches from Lord Gethin’s. Ian parted his lip, knowing a kiss was next. He tilted his head exactly the way Lord Gethin preferred it…and then they both froze.

A crack echoed through the manor like a crack of thunder in a clear blue sky.

Once. Twice. And then again.

“Someone…at the door.” Lord Gethin slowly said, finally recognising the noise.

Someone was using the heavy cast-iron knocker on the front door. Ian was surprised it was useable at all. He was sure it had rusted into place. They had never had a visitor ever since they moved in. He suspected Lord Gethin made sure the nearby village was unaware the manor was even there and the staff had only used the back entrance by the kitchens. The front door was only for Lord Gethin and Lord Gethin never left. At least, not that Ian could recall.

He looked back at Lord Gethin, still so very close to his face, so he made sure to speak in a quiet voice as to not upset him.

“Shall I answer, my lord?” he nearly whispered.

“Yes.” Lord Gethin said, “I shall meet them in the parlour, we might get a decent meal out of it…”

Ian regretted his suggestion to answer, but he stepped back and inclined his head, before heading towards the door. The servant’s door, out of habit, still. Lord Gethin didn’t protest. He just told him to hurry, before one of the servants beat him to it.

The main hall was deserted. Ian realised all the servants were sat down for supper, so they probably hadn’t heard the knocker at all and there was no bell connected to the door to alert them either. The door was locked firmly shut and if it hadn’t been for his recently increased strength, Ian was sure it would have been impossible to open.

The lock opened with a crack that rang in his sensitive ears and the hinges creaked in such a way that it appeared the very house was moaning as it finally got to stretch a very achy joint. Ian couldn’t stand the sound, so he only opened it about halfway, standing in the opening and observing the lone figure on their doorstep.

It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. The figure was clad in rich reds, golden and brown fabric. They looked soft and velvety and sturdy. Sewn and embroidered with golden thread. The sleeves of their doublet and their hose were puffed, giving them an almost comically round appearance. A white, lace collar rested on their shoulders, upon which some curled locks of auburn hair rested.

But Ian only got a brief glance of the figure’s absurd outfit as his eye was quickly drawn by their face…or lack thereof. The man wore a mask that resembled a painted face, with an exaggerated smile formed by golden lips and eyes surrounded by nearly hypnotic swirls of black, red and gold. It was tucked against the figure’s face securely by a red velvet hat adorned with some plumage.

Hands clad in black gloves and adorned with bejewelled rings gracefully rested on the head of a cane, the figure tilting its head as Ian appeared to be at a loss of words.

“Will you not invite a weary traveller inside?”

It was a man’s voice. He spoke with an accent that Ian couldn’t quite place. And hearing him speak while the mouth on his mask stayed still was rather unsettling.

“I am begging your pardon, master.” Ian said politely, “We rarely see travellers here.”

“And that is a reason to leave them out in the cold?”

“Only if they have no business here.” Ian said curtly.

He hoped he could deter the stranger from wanting to enter so his life may be spared. But then he leaned forward and in the shade of the mask that fell over his eyes, Ian could have sworn he saw a glint of red in the dark void where his eyes should be.

“I assure you, I have business here.” he said, his voice akin to a purr, “I wish to see Reverend Gethin…or does he go by a different title these days?”

That changed things.

“You know Lord Gethin?” Ian asked.

“In-ti-mate-ly.” the stranger emphasised, before straightening up again and tapping his cane on the floor and demanding, “Invite me in!”

“Your name, if you please.” Ian responded, refusing to be intimidated.

“Well, if Colin goes by Lord Gethin presently, I suppose you may call me Lord Leander Nikolić.”

“…very well.” Ian said, opening the door properly and gesturing for him to pass through, “Do come in, Lord Nikolić.”

“Lord” Nikolić stepped inside with a smooth gait, his boots tapping quietly on the stone floor. He carried his cane, before thumping it on the floor with a definitive click as he stopped in the middle of the main hall and looked around.

The house groaned as Ian closed the door again, the lock closing reminding him of a cough. After that he turned back to Lord Nikolić to find him reaching for his mask and pulling it down, revealing his eyes…and pausing there. They were indeed red, like Lord Gethin’s and Ian’s and suddenly the young man realised how this man might be related to Lord Gethin.

“Lead the way~” he said, the glint of a smile in his eyes.

Ian inclined his head and headed towards the left.

“My lord shall see you in the parlour.” he said, before knocking on the door and opening it.

Lord Gethin was stood by the window next to the fireplace, a small fire had barely gotten started. Ian briefly wondered if Lord Gethin had started it himself or whether he had rushed one of the servants while Ian was talking with their visitor. Then he cleared his throat and announced him.

“My lord…a Lord Nikolić is here to see you.”

Lord Gethin suddenly whipped around, his glare making Ian very nervous. Had he done something wrong? Or was he not as familiar with Lord Nikolić as their visitor claimed? Or was he perhaps…too familiar?

“Leandros?” he said.

Before Ian could answer he was pushed aside, the tip of Lord Nikolić’s cane poking painfully in his back as he forced him to step forward so he could enter the room.

“Colin!” he greeted, the way one might greet an old friend. He dramatically spread both his arms, cane in one hand, his mask in the other.

Ian circled the room past the wall until he stood behind his lord and he could see why Lord Nikolić hid his face behind a mask. He was smiling unconservatively, sharp fangs glinting in the light from the fire.

He was a vampire. Like Lord Gethin.

“What on earth brings you here?” Lord Gethin asked, not greeting the man with the same enthusiasm.

“Can a man not simply wish to see his dearly beloved brother~?” Lord Nikolić said, before sitting down uninvited.

“Simple is not and adjective I associate with you.” Lord Gethin said dismissively.

“Oh you wound me!” Lord Nikolić cried out, draping himself dramatically over his chair.

“Why are you here?” Lord Gethin asked again, “Last I heard you returned to Greece.”

“Yes and it has been awful. They are all Christians now!” Lord Nikolić said, “Not an ounce of fun to be had! I travelled from country to country for a few centuries and wound up in Venice and it has been perfect!”

“They dress like that in Venice now?” Lord Gethin just asked.

“The elite do.” Lord Nikolić replied with a shrug, “Which is why it is perfect. Men and women already throw themselves at me because it looks like I have money and they are not deterred until it is already too late because my mask hides my fangs~ And if I allow them to live…they will not even recognise me next time because I can just wear a different mask~”

“And yet. You are here.” Lord Gethin deadpanned.

“Well yes, you can only slaughter so many lambs each carnival season before the sheep panic.” Lord Nikolić said with a shrug.

“So you have overplayed your hand once again and you have come to seek shelter?” Lord Gethin asked.

“I merely need to lay low for a while and I figured my darling brother is always so proud of his flock he may shelter me until I can safely return to Venice~”

Ian’s chest tightened. His heart didn’t beat so it couldn’t skip one, but it should have in response to the anxiety that suddenly washed over him. This man, who kept referring to humans as animals, wanted to stay and live off of the servants as well.

Ian had accepted that he wasn’t human anymore, but he couldn’t let go of the feeling that the servants had once been like brothers to him — They still were. Which was part of why he didn’t enjoy to feed from them, even if it was a necessary evil.

Even Lord Gethin cared for them in a way. Knowing every death would impact their food security. He only took what he needed and made sure Ian did the same. But he didn’t appear to have the same hold over Lord Nikolić as he did others and Lord Nikolić appeared to hold no value for human life at all.

Or at least, too little to not draw attention to himself. Lord Gethin had taught Ian that while humans were weaker than them in every regard, there was one way they did have an upper hand on vampires and that was sheer numbers. Numbers that could be used against a lone powerful creature if they were aware enough that there was something to be afraid of.

That was why they only fed from the nearby town as a last resort. And Ian wondered if that was what they would need to placate Lord Nikolić.

“My lord?” Ian quietly spoke up, “I could fetch your guest something to…eat from town?”

“Why go all the way back there when you have plenty of warm blood under this very roof?” Lord Nikolić asked, “I can smell them~ Your deliciously docile pets~”

Ian’s stomach churned and he gave Lord Gethin an anxious and pleading look.

“My lord?” he asked, only able to pray that he would choose to protect his servants.

“You forget yourself, Ian.” Lord Gethin eventually said, “Show our guest to his rooms, I’ll ask one of the servants to arrange a meal for him.”

Ian quickly looked down and bowed his head apologetically.

“I am begging your pardon, my lord.” he said, before turning to their guest, “Whenever you are ready, I shall show you to your rooms, Lord Nikolić.”

“I knew I could count on you, Colin my dear brother!” he said as he got up, “And after I have fed you simply must tell me about your little thrall~”

He eyed Ian with a smirk and suddenly Ian didn’t want to be alone with this man.

“He can tell you himself.” Lord Gethin said dismissively, “Off you go now.”

Ian reluctantly obeyed, heading back towards the parlour door and holding it open for Lord Nikolić. At least it wasn’t a direct command, so he could simply tell him nothing if he didn’t want to, which he didn’t.

He waited for Lord Nikolić to step out into the hall before closing the door to the parlour and leading him up the stairs. They had guest rooms, only they never used them. Still, they were frequently cleaned and maintained, simply to make sure the staff kept busy. And conveniently for Lord Nikolić, they had been cleaned recently again.

The guest rooms were a bit smaller than Lord Gethin’s rooms, but they still had everything one might need: A comfortable bed, a dresser for clothes, a fireplace to keep warm, a chaise longue to rest on, and in the corner a close stool to more comfortably use the chamber pot.

“I shall make the bed for you, if you allow.” Ian said, noticing the bed had been left bare while Lord Nikolić looked around approvingly.

“How long have you been a thrall?”

Ian paused on his way to the door to fetch some sheets and paused, turning back.

“How long have I been what, my lord?” he asked, confused.

“A thrall.” Lord Nikolić repeated, “You are enslaved to Colin, are you not? As a result of your transformation?”

“I agreed to serve him for eternity, yes.” Ian said.

“Yes, well, that is called a thrall. You are bound to Colin. You are his thrall.”

“I see…” Ian said, “As for how long…I am unsure. Some weeks, I believe, perhaps even moons.”

“Well surely you have already realised that we do not require sleep then, silly boy.”

“My apologies.” Ian said, “Lord Gethin likes to rest on his bed and prefers it made. I assumed you might prefer that too.”

“Oh, so you were being thoughtful?” Lord Nikolić asked with a chuckle, “How delectable~”

“So…you do not wish for the bed to be made?” Ian asked.

“Later.” Lord Nikolić said, “I’d rather you get a fire going. It is freezing in here.”

Ian inclined his head and knelt down by the fireplace to get a fire going. Lord Nikolić hovered behind him, probably just hoping to catch the first warmth as soon as Ian got a decent flame going. Ian paid him no mind, making sure the fire was ventilated properly before getting back up. He turned to ask if their guest wanted anything else, only to find he had been standing right behind him.

Lord Nikolić was wearing his mask again, head tilted slightly as his fabricated nose nearly touched Ian’s. Ian blinked, but other than that he held still, glancing at the red glint behind the mask’s eye holes.

“Is there anything else I may help you with, my lord?” he asked.

“Tell me…” he purred behind the mask, “Why did he choose to transform you?”

“So I may serve him for eternity.” Ian answered.

“Serve him how?”

“However he needs, of course.” Ian said. He wanted to step back, but he could feel the hearth’s mantle against the back of his head.

“However he needs, huh?” Lord Nikolić repeated, “Are you just an easy lay then?”

“M-my lord?”

Lord Nikolić chuckled underneath his mask, but before he could elaborate, there was a knock on the door. He looked at the door over his shoulder and Ian took the chance to slip away and headed over to open the door. It was Ruben, one of the servants. He was nearly Ian’s age and usually oversaw the room cleanings.

“Oh, Ian!” he said, sounding surprised, “Lord Gethin said we have a guest and asked me to see to him.”

“…of course.” Ian said, “I had just finished showing him around.”

He opened the door further and let Ruben in, only for the boy to pause in the doorway as he saw their guest’s appearance. He seemed at a loss for words, until Ian gave him a nudge.

“Don’t be rude, Ruben!” he quietly hissed, nudging him inside so he could close the door again.

“My apologies!” Ruben quickly said, bowing his head.

“Ruben, this is Lord Nikolić, he is Lord’s Gethin’s guest. My lord, this is Ruben.”

“It’s a pleasure to have you, my lord.” Ruben said, bowing his head again, managing to keep his cool so long as he didn’t look at their masked visitor.

“Oh the pleasure is all mine~” Lord Nikolić said, his artificial face unmoving, but the tone of his voice betrayed he was looking the boy over.

“Would you like a late dinner, my lord?” Ruben offered, “Our cook can make you a tray.”

“Dinner sounds delightful, but a tray shan’t be necessary.” Lord Nikolić replied, “Come closer, let me see you in a better light.”

Ruben didn’t move. Instead he glanced at Ian questioningly. And Ian wasn’t sure what to tell him. He knew what Lord Nikolić really wanted for dinner, but he was only familiar with Lord Gethin’s methods, who would have already put Ruben in some kind of trance at this point to ensure he would be perfectly obedient.

A calmer human’s blood tastes better, after all, Lord Gethin had said.

Ian didn’t know what Lord Nikolić preferred, but he knew interfering would upset Lord Gethin, so he nodded and gestured for Ruben to do as requested. With Ian’s permission, Ruben stepped over to Lord Nikolić, still making sure to keep a respectful distance as well and trying to look anywhere but at the creepy mask.

“Do not fear, boy…”

Ian could hear the smirk in his voice and he wondered if he should slip out and pretend to have been dismissed. But he couldn’t do that to Ruben, so he stayed. Stood silently by the door as he watched the scene unfold.

“Would you prefer it if I removed my mask?”

“W-what I prefer is not important, my lord.” Ruben respectfully said.

Lord Nikolić chuckled, reaching for his mask and pulling it down. His eyes peeked over the edge, the lower half of his face still covered.

“I see Colin trained you well~” he said, “Do you know any other tricks? Turn for me.”

Ruben shot Ian another confused look as he began to slowly turn around, but Ian was conveniently focussed on wiping a speck of dust off of his sleeve and didn’t look back up until Ruben had already turned further and was facing Lord Nikolić again, who chuckled behind his mask again.

“Delightful~” he said, “Come. Sit.”

Before Ruben got the chance to politely decline, Lord Nikolić already essentially swept him off his feet and laid him down on the chaise longue and pinned him there.

“M-my lord?” Ruben gasped, trying to shuffle back, but his back was against the armrest. He looked at Ian for help, but Ian seemed to be looking directly past him, with a vacant look in his eyes.

“Hush, boy…” Lord Nikolić said, removing his mask entirely and putting it aside.

Ruben looked back at him and saw his fanged grin. And he screamed.

There was no reassurance, no gentle touch, no merciful mind control; Just Ruben screaming and Lord Nikolić’s deep, guttural hiss before he tore into the boy’s flesh…

Ian had planned to take Ruben to Lord Gethin afterwards, hoping he would allow him the mercy of forgetting this night. But then the screaming abruptly stopped and the sweet smell of blood quickly turned rotten and Ian knew it was too late.

He stared at the back of the chaise longue, watching Lord Nikolić slowly sit up, licking the blood off of his lips. Ruben’s arm, which had been gripping the back rest in terror, now hung limply over it. Lord Nikolić looked at Ian with a bloodied grin.

“Yes~?” he asked.

“Y-you killed him…” Ian managed to say.

“Oh, my apologies. Had you wanted a sip~?”

Ian hesitated at first, before coming to his senses and shaking his head.

“Well then don’t just stand there.” Lord Nikolić said, “Clean this up before it stinks up the room.”

He got off of the boy, heading over to the washing basin to clean his face, while Ian slowly stepped over to the chaise longue and viewed the carnage left behind. Half of Ruben’s throat had been eaten away, his face twisted in fear, still wet with tears, his eyes wide and bloodshot.

Ian felt his own eyes begin to water as he knelt besides the boy and stroked his hair. And for the first time, as far as he remembered, he likened Lord Gethin to a monster — In his mannerisms, not his nature. It was impossible that he didn’t know Lord Nikolić would murder Ruben. He chose to send him, knowing his friend would have no mercy.

Lord Gethin sacrificed Ruben.

Ian buried Ruben in the forest behind the manor, among the shallow graves of others whose names he didn’t remember. He didn’t have the time to dig a deeper grave for Ruben either. He had to hurry back and remove the chaise longue from the guest room. Much of Ruben’s blood had spilled into the fabric and he knew it would stink up the room as badly as a corpse would.

Something about blood from a deceased person was inherently disgusting, though he wasn’t sure why, but he assumed it was bad for them one way or another and he also couldn’t stand the smell. So he stopped in the now-deserted kitchen to wash the blood and mud off of his hands before heading back to Lord Nikolić room.

However, when he returned, he found the doors open and he could hear Lord Gethin’s voice. So he ran the last few steps and stopped in the doorway, holding his breath. Lord Gethin was talking to Lord Nikolić, pressing a handkerchief against his nose against the smell from the chaise longue.

“I offer you a room and a meal and this is how you repay me?” he said, “His life was not yours to end, it was mine.”

Lord Nikolić shrugged, seeming rather unimpressed by Lord Gethin’s lecture.

“Did you not choose to end it by offering it to me?” he reasoned, “If it pleases you, I did rather enjoy it~”

“I gathered that.” Lord Gethin said, gesturing at the blood stain on the chaise longue, “Do not let it happen again.”

“Or what? You will sic your precious thrall on me~?”

Lord Gethin glanced back at Ian, who was still stood in the door opening and, for a moment, Ian feared he was considering the option, but then Lord Nikolić continued.

“Go ahead.” he said, “I shall thoroughly enjoy putting him in his place~”

“You will do no such thing.” Lord Gethin said, “Perhaps one day if you have a thrall of your own you can put that in its place, but you shan’t touch mine.”

“You might wish to remind your thrall of that~” Lord Nikolić teased, “He did not seem inclined to reject any of my advances~”

Lord Gethin’s glare now fixed on Ian and the boy instinctively took a step back, before realising that Lord Nikolić was being untruthful.

“M-my lord,” he said, “there were no—”

He promptly stopped when Lord Gethin held up his hand, anxiously awaiting his reaction.

“Go to my chambers.” he said, “I shall speak with you when I am done here.”

“Y-yes, my lord.” Ian said, bowing his head before backing out of the room and closing the door.

Lord Gethin’s chambers were on the opposite end of the manor from the guest room, but by the time Ian reached it he could still hear the argument between him and Lord Nikolić. He couldn’t understand it, however. They spoke in a language he didn’t recognise.

Ian closed the door and waited by the window, staring at the path leading to the forest behind the manor until he heard the voices or Lord Gethin and Lord Nikolić subside. A door closed and he could hear Lord Gethin’s footfalls approaching the room. So Ian turned away from the window and looked down as he waited for the door to open.

As soon as it opened, he bowed his head properly, tensing up a bit as Lord Gethin closed the door rather harshly. He marched over to the fireplace, pausing there, probably warming himself a bit by the flames, before turning around.

“Come here.”

Ian stepped towards him, suddenly feeling anxious about what Lord Nikolić might have said. Lord Gethin’s hand brushed past his cheek and over the back of his head and Ian relaxed a bit. But then Lord Gethin suddenly gripped his hair tightly and forced him to look up. Ian gasped a bit in surprise, but he knew better than to protest, so he stayed quiet as he peered up at Lord Gethin.

“Tell me the truth.” he said, “Did my foolish brother touch you the way I have touched you?”

“No, my lord.” Ian said.

“And if he had…what would you have done?”

Ian thought for a second, before assuming Lord Gethin still wanted the truth.

“I-I am unsure, my lord.” he said, “It never occurred to me that he might. O-or anyone for that matter. All my life…there has only ever been you, my lord.”

“And don’t you ever forget that, Ian.” Lord Gethin said, thankfully letting go of Ian’s hair and cupping his cheek instead, “You are my most perfect creation. And no one gets to soil that. You were mine the second I encouraged your father to first speak to your mother. I gave you life and eternal life and all I am asking in return is that you remain loyal so long as we both walk this earth.”

Ian wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He felt warm and loved, but he also felt guilty as he still questioned Lord Gethin’s decision to send Ruben to Lord Nikolić’s room…but then he also seemed upset that the boy’s life had been cut short, so had Ian been in the wrong to judge his decision?

Lord Gethin’s thumb brushed over his cheek before he retracted his hand and Ian realised he had shed a tear. Though whether it was joy or regret he couldn’t say for sure. Fortunately Lord Gethin didn’t seem to know either and paid it no mind altogether.

“Disrobe.” he just said, gesturing towards his bed, “Show me how loyal you are.”

Ian undressed slowly, taking off one piece of clothing at a time as he slowly stepped towards the bed, only arriving once he was fully nude. Then he first walked around, carefully untying and closing the drapes around the bed, except for the last one. He untied the last drape by the headboard on the side that faced the hearth and held it aside for Lord Gethin.

Lord Gethin shed his robes before he approached, pushing Ian rather harshly onto the mattress and crawling in after him. The curtain fell closed, leaving only a small crack through which Ian could see the flickering of the flames in the hearth, reflected in a thin stripe on the canopy. Something to focus on while he had his head tilted back so Lord Gethin could kiss his throat, slowly working his way up and over his jaw before forcing him to tilt his head back so he could kiss his lips.

The room was silent, other than the crackling from the fire, the rustling of sheets, and quiet gasps. Lord Gethin positioned Ian more to his liking, digging his nails into his skin to prompt the boy to move, whilst simultaneously still pinning him down with a long kiss.

When he eventually broke the kiss, he sat up, tracing a finger over Ian’s lips until he opened his mouth. Lord Gethin pushed his finger in. His middle finger first and his ring finger second, pressing down on Ian’s tongue and holding them there, while with his free hand he prompted the boy to spread his legs further as he nestled between them.

Ian thought he could feel Lord Gethin’s nails scrape against the back of his throat and he gagged, squeezing his eyes shut as he knew how Lord Gethin usually responded to that. Instead of pulling out, he pushed his fingers deeper until Ian calmed down. It wasn’t so bad now that he didn’t really need to breathe anyway, but suppressing the reflex still took a lot of effort.

By the time he managed to hold still long enough for Lord Gethin to finally pull his fingers out, Ian had fresh tears rolling down the side of his face and seeping into the velvet blankets. Meanwhile Lord Gethin simply took his fingers, drenched in saliva, and positioned them between Ian’s legs, pushing into him once again.

It was unpleasant and cold, but Ian knew it was just temporary. He would forget about this soon until the next time. Usually as soon as Lord Gethin pulled his fingers out before he finally——

Ian moaned and the last bit of tension in his body dissipated as he essentially melted in Lord Gethin’s hands. Hands that pulled at his waist until he couldn’t get closer and he was lifted off the mattress instead. Lifted until his whole body was pressed against Lord Gethin, chest against chest, arms wrapped around, and his face pressed into the crook of his neck.

For a moment Lord Gethin held Ian like he never had before, arms wrapped around him tightly, nearly squeezing the air out of him. But then they loosened, his hands drifting down to Ian’s waist, holding him in place while he began rocking his hips. Ian moaned again as Lord Gethin thrust in and out of him at a steady pace.

Steady, but slow.

And Ian knew it would be a while before he would see beyond the drapes of the bed again.

THIS ONE IS SO LONG SORRY LOL

Not actually sorry, I had a lot of fun introducing Leander Nikolić (even if I did spend about two hours figuring out how to type the ć without having to copy and paste the character every time and ended up learning some coding oh my gawd).

Gethin refers to him as Leandros as that's what he first called himself when they met, but he goes by Leander now :3

@unwholesomeocweek

Taglist: @sug4rgal | feel free to ask to be added!

Masterlist | Main account

"Yeah."

"You've never killed before? Or since?" Katsuki blurts out, clearly surprised by that little titbit and Hitoshi turns his head around, rests his chin on Katsuki's chest to be able to look at him.

"No. I'm still, on paper, a licensed hero. One of the main goals is to not kill and I'm a very good hero, despite everything."

Hitoshi doesn't quite feel as if he has to justify himself, because it's not as if he kept it a secret from Katsuki that he killed and Hitoshi wouldn't, anyway. He killed for Katsuki and he doesn't feel anything about that except that he'd do it again.

No one gets to lay a hand on Katsuki, not like this, and it's important that everyone knows it.

"You are," Katsuki easily gives back, resuming his scratching at Hitoshi's scalp and clearly not at all bothered by Hitoshi's admittance. "I didn't mean anything by it, I was just wondering."

And he truly sounds curious which is something Hitoshi can't fault him for, but he's also pretty certain that Katsuki can't understand why he did it.

The possessive beast inside of Hitoshi is something Katsuki can't comprehend because Hitoshi is pretty sure he doesn't have it.

It's something he quietly laments because being possessive and protective of Katsuki is one thing but having it reciprocated is an entirely different thing. Hitoshi would never hold it against Katsuki that he is probably never going to kill for Hitoshi's sake but—

"You're mine," Hitoshi says and he means it down to the very last atom of his being. "You're mine and that means you're mine to love and my fine to fuck and mine to protect. And if I have to kill for that, then I will."

Katsuki clearly doesn't have words for that, but before Hitoshi can worry that maybe his crazy is a bit too much for Katsuki, he's being pulled into a heated kiss that is more reassuring than anything else.

Because even if Katsuki is never going to do the same, even if he’s never going to say “Me, too” he clearly doesn't mind it at all and that's all Hitoshi could possibly ask for.

~*~*~

Hitoshi wakes up with a pounding head and so it takes him a moment to take stock of his surroundings. He's in a room he doesn't recognise and his hands are cuffed together.

Well. He might not immediately remember what happened, but it's more than obvious that he's been captured by someone and instead of tensing he stays relaxed.

There's no use to fight his way out until he has a better grasp of what's going on and until someone comes to talk to him, he's not going to do that from inside this room.

Hitoshi doesn't have to wait long because he has barely taken anything in before the door to this room opens and a man steps in.

Hitoshi immediately dislikes him, because that smile is smarmy and upsetting and Hitoshi bites back a sigh. He's so tired of cliché villains but there's nothing to be done about it.

"Welcome, Nighthide," the villain greets him as if polite manners could make up for the situation and Hitoshi gives him a biting smile.

"Hi. Listen, I know you're all great and evil and all that shit but would you mind letting me go? I have other things to do than be a prob to a d-grade villain plot and I'm missing dinner with my guy. So, be a dear, and uncuff me and we can all go back to our evening plans, alright?"

He didn't have much hope that it would work, but he reaches out with his quirk while he talks but just like expected, there's nothing.

"Such poison from a pretty honeyed mouth," the villain mutters, eying Hitohsi in a way that makes him feel like a slab of meat and Hitoshi does his best not to shudder. "I'm pretty sure you've noticed by now, but those are quirk-supressing cuffs, so don't even try it. Additionally, don't even hope for rescue because we dug that tracker right out of your skin, so no one is going to come for you."

Hitoshi can't help the brief frown, but a more thorough check of his body reveals a dull ache at the backside of his thigh, exactly where the tracker should have been.

Well, nothing to be done about that, Hitoshi drily thinks, because it's inconvenient, but not really the end of the world.

The tracker is the easiest way to be saved, but Hitoshi's agency is hardly reliant on fallible tech like that. His agency has a dedicated abduction team, with specialised quirks that do nothing but track their heroes.

It might take a while longer to get saved like this, but Hitoshi's agency hasn't failed him once yet and he's absolutely certain that they are not going to start now so there's hardly anything to be worried about.

"Wonderful," Hitoshi drily says, and the villain frowns at him, clearly not pleased by the lack of panic on Hitoshi's side but Hitoshi is not going to play into this. "What do you want?"

It's important that he figures out why he's here, what they want from him, and gathering intel has always been something he's exceptionally good at.

Still, he could have never predicted this.

"You killed my brother," the villain gives back, unfiltered hate flashing over his face and Hitoshi has to admit that he's surprised by that answer.

"Your brother," he repeats and there's only one incident the villain can talk about because Hitoshi doesn't kill, usually, but when Katsuki's in danger, all bets are off and it's almost laughable that this is biting him in the ass now.

"Wonderful," Hitoshi sighs out, mentally bidding a quick rescue goodbye, because if he's not here because of his hero work then his agency will be slow to react.

Still, nothing to be worried about but it's something to keep in mind and Hitoshi is more than aware that he at least has to try to get himself out of this situation.

"You'll regret what you did," the villain promises him and going by that crazed gleam in his eyes, Hitoshi is in for a painful death.

"Sure," Hitoshi glibly gives back because he's not going to give this idiot the satisfaction of being afraid and his reaction only seems to make him even madder.

Well, there's nothing to be done about that, not right now; Hitoshi just has to play for time here.

Once the villain has stormed out again Hitoshi takes proper stack of himself, tensing and flexing every limb but apart from that ache in his thigh and his pounding head, there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with him.

Small mercies, he thinks and then flexes his arms, but of course the cuffs don't give.

There's a lockpick he can get to so he's not too worried about this, but until he knows how many people are involved in this he's reluctant to get started on that but getting tortured first is also not something Hitoshi is looking forward to.

The villain didn't seem stressed though, so Hitoshi guesses they are going to let him rot for a little while, so Hitoshi allows himself a moment of relaxation.

He knows he'll have to get himself out of here, or wait for his agency, but that doesn't stop him from fantasising about being rescued by Katsuki for a moment.

It's one of the fantasies he would never admit to but he daydreams about Katsuki coming in, hands blazing, killing for his sake, more than is probably healthy, but Hitoshi can't help it.

It's one thing to be absolutely insanely crazy over someone and have that be accepted but to have it reciprocated—that would scratch an itch Hitoshi can barely put into words.

Still, he knows that it's not going to happen because Katsuki doesn't kill, he isn't insane like that and that's fine.

A daydream hasn't hurt anyone though, so Hitoshi indulges himself for a while, before he shakes those thoughts off and gets going.

The lock on the cuffs is easily picked and soon enough Hitoshi cracks the door to his room open.

He expected to be met with quiet hallways, or maybe an entire organisation buzzing around but he wasn't prepared for the absolute pandemonium he steps into.

There are screams ringing out, filling the hallways, closely followed by the unmistakable sounds of explosions and it only takes a moment until the horrible smell of burning flesh reaches Hitoshi.

He freezes in the doorway, completely taken off guard and for a second, he thinks he's hallucinating, because those sound like Katsuki's explosions and that simply cannot be.

Katsuki wouldn't know to come for him and he certainly wouldn't kill like this so there has to be another explanation for this.

Hitoshi is not going to wait for that explanation though, because he's just a sitting duck in this hallway and he knows better than to simply wait for rescue, so he cautiously makes his way down the hallway, closer to the explosions.

The area seems to be bigger than he first expected, but Hitoshi doesn't come across a single person until he peeks into another room. It looks like a warehouse and for a moment, Hitohsi is completely taken off guard by what he sees.

Katsuki is smack dab in the middle of the room, charred bodies littering the floor and Hitoshi watches in awe how he burns another body to a crisp before he turns towards a cowering person on the ground.

"Where is he?" Katsuki asks, his voice even and controlled and so chilling that a shudder runs down Hitoshi's back and his own darkness preens at what Hitoshi sees.

Katsuki came for him.

Katsuki killed for him.

It's everything Hitoshi always wanted and he's unable to keep himself hidden.

The villain on the ground starts to stammer out some directions and Hitoshi watches how Katsuki stares at him as if he's dirt underneath his booth, his hands popping with explosions and there's no doubt about the fact that Katsuki is going to kill this guy, too.

"Angel," Hitoshi breathes out as he moulds himself against Katsuki's back, uncaring of the danger he puts himself into by sneaking up on Katsuki like that, but Katsuki doesn't even tense.

He immediately melts back against Hitoshi's chest, even as he lets off an explosion big enough to instantly kill the guy in front of them and Hitoshi smothers a groan in the juncture of Katsuki's neck.

"You came for me," he breathes out, the cloying smell of charred flesh filling the space, and Katsuki turns around in his arms, his expression suddenly relaxed and open.

"Of course," he says as if there could have been any doubt about it and he cups Hitoshi's cheek in his hand.

The one that just killed for Hitoshi and Hitoshi thinks if he were a cat he would be purring up a storm right about now.

"Are you hurt?"

"No. How did you find me?"

At that, Katsuki briefly hesitates before he finally just shrugs.

"I just knew," he admits and pulls Hitoshi into a gentle kiss. "My agency is right behind me. You wanna get out of here?"

"Fuck yes," Hitoshi breathes out because there are about a dozen things he'd rather do than deal with Katsuki's agency right about now and going by the heated look Katsuki gives him, he's on the exact same page.

Katsuki gives him a wicked smile and then laces their hands together but before he can tug them along, Hitoshi stops him.

"Kats, are you good?" Hitoshi asks, because he feels he has to, because Katsuki never gave any indication that he would do any of this for him and if Katsuki ends up hating himself later because of this then—it’s not what Hitoshi wants for him.

"You're mine," Katsuki says simply, his voice and gaze steady, and Hitoshi is reminded of what he said a while back.

Mine to love, mine to fuck, mine to protect.

He never thought it went both ways.

"Fuck, angel," Hitoshi breathes out and pulls Katsuki in for a heated kiss.

It should be gross, with all the corpses around them, but it's the hottest thing that has ever happened to Hitoshi and for a moment he forgets that other people are on the way to them.

Katsuki has to remind him of that, physically pushing him away for a second and Hitoshi lets out a breathless laugh.

"I love you."

"I love you, too, you freak, but let's get out of here," Katsuki replies and Hitoshi dutifully follows him out of the warehouse and towards their home.

The one Hitoshi shares with someone who feels just like him.

Link to the series on AO3