Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4671104.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      終わりのセラフ_|_Owari_no_Seraph_|_Seraph_of_the_End
  Relationship:
      Hiiragi_Kureto/Hiiragi_Shinya
  Character:
      Hiiragi_Kureto, Hiiragi_Shinya, Sanguu_Aoi, Jujo_Mito, Goshi_Norito,
      Ichinose_Guren
  Additional Tags:
      Alternative_Universe_-_Modern_Setting, the_hiiragi_are_kinda_like_mafia
      here, Fluff, lots_of_fluff, eventual_gureshin, Spanking, Bondage, Loss_of
      Virginity, Kidnapping, Blowjobs, Praise_Kink, Age_Difference, Anal_Sex,
      implied_non-con/rape, Implied_Child_Abuse, Implied/Referenced_Rape/Non-
      con
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-08-28 Chapters: 1/? Words: 3542
****** A Tyrant's Love ******
by amanya
Summary
     The world is painted in colours. Colours of black and white.
     For one like him, it was hard to imagine purity, such that it would
     be a true light. But within the bloody path paved in his way, a
     little white sparkle shone, casting magic that turned the monochrome
     painting of his life into a variety of colours, too many to count.
     And each shade is another stroke of raw emotion on his heart.
Notes
     This is basically the result of kureshingure Skype-chat needing a
     group visit to the church where we might hopefully be purified of our
     age-gap fantasies and kinks. I'll give you a little note: the actual
     sexual intercourse won't come until Shinya is sixteen, okay? But
     there WILL be some less-than-innocent thoughts and actions going on
     before that too. Read at your own risk.
     The difference in age between Shinya and Kureto is eight years. In
     this chapter, Shinya is ten while Kureto (and Aoi) are eighteen. The
     rest of the ages I will mention later.
See the end of the work for more notes
Theworld is painted in colours. Colours of black and white.
It's an old saying, a deformed philosophy created by the nativity of those who
clung desperately to the ideals of chivalry and nobility. Those who fooled
themselves or others or both by presenting their own visions of morality and
evil, of sin and virtue. Those who condemned others for crossing rules made not
by the wise but by charlatans who called themselves righteous.
In a more correct manner, one could say there was black in this world, but not
white.
Good and bad. Right and wrong. Those were principles dictated by humanity
itself. And humanity, whether by a higher being or a by work of nature, was
made to sin, to taint this earth they walked upon. When the core of such
concepts is corrupted, what would become of it?
It will turn into a defected figure, losing its meaning and licitness, the pure
essence it once retained. The disease of hypocrisy will impair it, and once the
line between what is virtuous and what is corrupt is questioned, so will the
line between the "black" and "white" in the world. Purposes and ideals will
entwine, the brave who could make good only through methods looked down upon
will be shamed, and the nefarious whose pretentiously kind words gain them the
allegiance of simpletons that are too blinded by the pretty phrases and empty
gestures to see the underlying desperation for glory.
And between evil committed for goodness and goodness done for selfish reasons,
is there one who is just?
Thus there are those truly wise that can see; there was no white in this world.
Only black and varying shades of grey that end towards colourlessness, but
never true pallor.
===============================================================================
 
"Kureto-sama, the car is waiting."
The soft click of a book being shut echoed in the silent study, the opulent
room alit only by the orange lamplight emitting from the large mahogany desk
sitting at the far centre, directly in front of the grand windows that had
their elegant red and gold curtains drawn. Before it sat a young man, leant
back against the lavish chair he occupied, closed book held in one palm and
deep cerise eyes trained towards the view exposed through clear glass. Night
had long fallen, the sky darkened into an expansion of black dotted with little
sparkling stars, the full moon a bright round spot within it.
A rather pretty sight, indeed.
The sound of the chair being pushed back as its occupant stood from it was a
muted one, and yet clearly hearable in the rather spacious room that was
otherwise empty of sound. There was no unease in the silence, the two presences
being comfortably familiar with plain quietness.
Book dropped down on the desk, Kureto Hīragi stood to his feet, eyes meeting a
pair of violet ones that returned his gaze firmly, with neutral respect.
He gave a curt nod, striding across the room to where the young woman stood by
the doorway, a black trench coat held neatly on her arms. He took the cloth
from her, pulling it on. Door pushed open, he left his study, followed closely
by his subordinate.
"Is everything as it should be?" He questioned, mostly being aware of the
answer, for he knew knew well about his closest attendant's capabilities.
The blond-haired young woman—Aoi Sanguu, a girl by any means, but carrying an
air of maturity that far outweighed her age—nodded primly, answering in her
usual solid tone, "Yes , sir. The location of information holder is secured. As
for the group itself, they are relatively average, with approximately thirty
members now gathered at their main house. The information, as we've already
suspected, was gained through a stray member of a bigger organisation already
pulverised by us."
Kureto hummed, nodding. His gaze remained trained forward as they travelled
down the hallways, walking down a grand staircase to reach the double doors
leading outside the beautifully embellished Hīragi manor.
A black car was waiting.
Kureto smiled as he approached it.
It was time to reassert their might once more.
===============================================================================
The dark alleyways and streets in Japan were no more safe than they were in any
other country. Thief, rapists, thugs and the like could be encountered,
sometimes were and other times not. Criminals that could be normal office
workers at day and filthy as rats at night.
It had been a while since the nights of Japan were taken over, however.
In a country where the most prominent families tipped the balance of power in
their favour through means less than legal, there was little to be done about
blood being spilled at the doorsteps of unsuspecting people. About wealth being
greedily gained not just through work and heritage, but through biting fangs
and manipulations hissed through threats of shame and poverty. And when
politics blend far too deeply with the underworld, there's little to be done
about crimes so clearly committed with hands that had their fingers interlaced
with those whom had to watch over the state.
And the Hīragi, whom intimidated the public with their generations-long success
and influence, and the underworld with their prowess and apt, stood at the top
of that chain. Imposed their power on every rank in society. Underestimated by
none, feared by all.
And then Mahiru killed herself.
Kureto's face twisted slightly in an expression of disgust, which he carefully
smoothed back into an unreadable look. Even now, her memory was fresh in his
mind, as though it was only yesterday that he saw her. Saw her in all her
glory. Bright, beautiful, promising.
Kureto hated her. Hated every single inch of her.
Her delicate face, unblemished and pretty. Her red eyes identical to his own,
but larger in size, wider, surrounded by long eyelashes that brushed blushing
cheeks. Her long tresses of ashen purple hair, similar to lilacs in both colour
and texture. Her small hands that gripped her sword with unrivalled strength.
Her sharp tongue that gave voice to her endless wit.
He hated her, hated her brilliance. Hated the little sister who seemed to
exceed him in everything. He hated her when she smiled and mocked him. He hated
her when she scarred him. He hated her when she was favoured. He hated her when
she held Shinoa in her arms and looked as though she owned all the happiness in
this world when she already had everything. He hated her when she stared with a
forlorn gaze towards the sky, looking cracked and broken when she was so often
said to be wholesome. He hated her when she stood outside his door and told him
she wanted none of this, expecting him to understand what she meant.
But above all else, he hated her when she laid at the centre of her room,
delicate face and pretty hair stained crimson with blood that cascaded from her
head, embedded by a bullet.
He had been happy. Happy at having the one person that suppressed him, him who
had been the first to be titled a prodigy, defeated by that which no human
could ever defeat: death.
And yet, he'd also been angry. Been furious, disgusted. At her, for giving in
to something unknown, being a fraud who displayed strength and yet carelessly
took her own life. At himself, for trying to understand why.
It all mattered no longer though.
Now, what mattered was to re-establish the dominance of the Hīragi, which was
now being questioned because their heiress had disposed of herself through
suicide.Because people were foolish enough to misunderstand.
The Hīragi did not depend on a single daughter to lead them.
Whether a small group or a larger one, those who dared to challenge them, to
attempt to turn the wheel of power between the families towards themselves
during a period which they deemed was the Hiragi's decline, they were either
crushed by force or silenced through threats and alliances that were more of
slavery contracts than anything.
And tonight, standing before a traditional Japanese house, Kureto knew that
blood will likely be shed.
The knowledge brought him little excitement. To crush a pathetic bunch's hopes
of overthrowing the Hīragi had become a type of entertainment, one that
eventually will be almost regrettably lost as other families finally learnt
their place. But there was little fun to be gained when the opponents were so
pathetically weak.
He nodded towards Aoi, and then crossed over towards the entryway. It was time.
===============================================================================
 
Kureto would've thought the aghast expressions he saw when he made his way into
gang leader's personal office to be pathetically amusing if he hadn't seen such
looks so many times by now. Still, it was quite laughable, seeing those
men—seeming so proud of themselves, their crass laughter echoing down the
hallway, sharing sake that immediately dropped from their hands when he stepped
in—pale and sputter, eyes so wide from fright, as if a god of death himself had
descended on them.
He supposed he was one that night. He certainly was here to deliver them their
demise.
The men made a move, drew swords and guns— quite brave, for people who looked
like they were ready to collapse from a cardiac arrest at his mere sight—but
they were dragged down to their knees nonetheless, as anyone who stands before
the heir of the Hīragi must.
 
"H-how… How did you find out?!" One of the men, the leader, cried out at him
wildly, looking almost crazed with his glassy eyes and trembling figure.
Kureto walked towards him, ignored one of the other men's attempt at clinging
to his feet and begging for his life, to stand before him. He looked down, at
the man that was supposed to be a leader yet was now beginning to grovel as
well once he stood before him, similarly to his desperate comrade.
It disgusted him, but he also knew there was no more to expect. Every single
one of them equalled no more than a piece of garbage, after all.
He looked down at him, and spoke his words with a tone less of a question and
much more than a demand, an order that brook no argument,"Where's the
informant?"
The man trembled, and hastily replied, "Th-the last room down this hallway."
Kureto turned, not sparing him another glance, not bidding their desperate
cries and pleads an ounce of attention as he gave his command, "Silence them."
He stepped out of the room as the first bullet was shot.
Kureto walked down the hallway, the wooden floor creaking slightly under his
steps. His hands were placed inside the pockets of his trench coat. The
hallways were dark, but not enough that he could not easily find his way.
He reached a sliding door, and stood before it for a moment. It was possible
that the informant had heard the ruckus outside, and may be in a position to
attack. It was unlikely, but still a possibility. He moved aside, grabbed the
door, and pulled it open, ready to avoid a potential.
There was nothing. Absolute silence, no sound of any movement.
Kureto stepped closer, positioning his hand over on the gun strapped to his
belt. He peered inside the room for a moment, then slowly stepped inside,
walking past the door and taking note of its small size and the general absence
of any noticeable furniture besides a small closet and a bed situated in front
of the windows at the wall facing him.
The moment Kureto eyes settled themselves on that particular spot, however, his
brain seemed to become unable to grasp anything else. Rather, it was impossible
for anything in that room to be of as much significance as what he was seeing
right now.
It was a child, one that couldn't have been more than ten or so of age. A child
who, bathed in the moonlight as he was, he seemed unearthly, as though he was
made of a different essence, a heavenly light. Ethereal, with hair like snow
and skin even paler. And his eyes—oh, his eyes. Kureto could hardly remember
seeing such beautiful shade of blue. Delicate and pure, an embodiment of what
humans perceived angels to look like.
Kureto was breathless for a moment, as fathomless eyes of sapphire met his
stare, beckoning him to become blissfully lost in his gaze.
(He was a mere child still.)
The child blinked, his eyelashes—also white, just like his hair and skin and
everything else about him that displayed chastity in a physical form—shutting
over the blue of those orbs once, and it was like Kureto was pulled of that
spell, and he found that he'd unconsciously begun to step forward towards him.
He immediately stopped, and it was then that he finally begun to heed other
things that he ought to have noticed first.
Namely, the lanky figure draped next to the boy on the mattress, the look of
death written on a pallid face that had blood streaming from its mouth, as
thick and fresh as it was from his throat, where a knife was firmly embedded.
Kureto slowly looked back up at the child, who met his gaze with one of his
own, with his pretty eyes that were tired—so tired—and pensive, perhaps a
little curious but also afraid.
Stepping a little closer, the Hīragi heir recognised the lines of tears running
down his face, the slight redness of his eyes he'd been unable to see before.
The child did not flinch as he approached him, did not say anything, merely
continued to stare at him. There was only two feet between him and the bed
left, and Kureto ignored the corpse of the informant nearly falling off the
bed, speaking up to break the heavy silence without actually knowing why he
asked what he did in the first place.
"What is your name?"
The boy blinked, stiffened, and then relaxed. He slowly raised small hands to
wipe away his tears, failing to notice the stain one of them carried, and
smeared glaring red across his cheek instead. Blood. He lowered his hands, and
then seemed to realise what he did. With a pout and an upset furrow of his
brows, he raised his clean hand and wiped it over his cheek, mostly succeeding
in spreading the blood further which seemed to make him even more annoyed and
frustrated.
Amidst his struggle to polish off the stains—his actions adorable, really—the
boy did answer his question, "Sh-Shinya…"
The voice was gentle, soft , a little raspy. Kureto took a moment to rehearse
the name in his mind, and then spoke once more.
"Do you belong to this family?"
Finally seeming to give up on his little self-given task, the child—Shinya,
looked up at him in wonder, head tilted to a side.
"Family…?"
Kureto rose an eyebrow, clearly hearing the underlying, genuine confusion
hidden beneath that one, softly-spoken word. Perhaps the child did not
understand what he was referring to? He knew that there were parents who liked
to preserve their children's innocent naivety and sheltering them from the
dooms of facing the truth of this world, but he doubted that this family cared
enough to do such thing. He was certain they didn't, actually, as he noticed
the torn collar of the boy's short-sleeved shirt.
Unless he really didn't have anything to do with these scum. Then why was he
here?
"I'm… I guess…?"
Kureto was startled for a moment, having been lost in his own thoughts of
trying to figure out who this child exactly was. He met those blue eyes, and
narrowed his own red ones.
"You guess?"
The boy shifted, lowing his gaze. His face twisted a little in a conflicted
expression. "I… guess… Because mother didn't come back, so I'm always here.
Always. Inside this room and father won't come to speak to me anymore and if he
does he's so angry. But I'm still here…"
The gears in his head turned as he begun to figure out what this boy was, more
or less. An unwanted child, rejected by his mother and later his father, and so
he was left here, imprisoned against a will he has yet to understand he has. A
child used as a tool when useful, and he supposed that, with beauty like that,
he could be proven so, even from such a young age.
He was dubious as to how useful he could be in those respects of though,
looking at the fate of one who tried to take advantage of him.
"He was scary."
Kureto blinked. He looked back at Shinya, who was now eying the dead body next
to him with barely disguised discomfort and weariness.
"He was scary… was doing scary things, so I…"
"… Killed him." Kureto answered, nodding.
It was hard to deny his interest now, hard to believe he was glad that this boy
was apparently truly untouched by the vile acts and deeds done right outside
his door. He felt, looking at such raw purity, that this rare being had to be
preserved. And yet, looking at the way he was more tired than fearful at the
concept of killing a man, Kureto found himself unable to look away from this
boy who was indeed diving through darkness, just like him, but instead of
blending in with it, he shone brighter, casting his light upon the shadows and
making them one with him until there was no sin left unforgiven.
He found himself unable to leave this one boy behind, knowing well he could
keep him by his side.
Kureto closed the distance between him and the bed completely, still ignoring
the corpse, and reached inside his coat with a gloved hand, pulling out a
handkerchief. The boy stiffened when he brought it towards him, but stayed
still as he cleaned his face. Once the stain was gone, Kureto pulled his hand
back and tossed the cloth aside.
He felt his lips slowly curve into a smile, and looked at the boy with gleaming
red eyes.
"Do you wish to go elsewhere, Shinya?"
All at once, the darkened expression lit up to reveal amazement, excitement. It
still carried uncertainty, but even so Shinya looked like one who was about to
discover the truth of this universe.
"I-I… can?"
His smile widened, and he offered his hand.
"Come with me, and you will."
The boy opened his mouth, and then closed it again, still uncertain. Kureto
waited, still kept hand up, and when he finally felt a small one settling on
top of it, he felt something akin to relief, knowing that the boy will come.
(As though he couldn't have forced him.)
Kureto held his hand hand as he stepped over the corpse and down from the bed.
Still held it as he lead him outside the room, through a blood and over more
lifeless bodies that Shinya spared no glance, his eyes staring up at Kureto
instead. He continued to hold that delicate hand as he stepped into the main
hall, saw Aoi and number of his men as well as several captured gang members,
most of whom collectively turned to stare at the boy with surprise.
"Sir…" Aoi hesitated, stepping forward a little, "This is…?"
Kureto did not answer her immediately as he often does, mostly because even he
knew saying something like "something I desperately felt that I needed to have"
was a little strange, seeing as he himself could not quite understand what that
meant. Instead he settled with a smirk and a simple, "A treasure I found on a
barren island."
He didn't say anything more on the matter, merely giving his instructions on
what to do with those captured and such. Shinya stayed silent, but seemed to
have pressed closer to him when the gazes of some—or several—people refused to
leave him.
Kureto eventually stepped outside the house, followed by closely by Aoi who
remains silent behind him.
"Kureto-sama…"
The name and honorific were uttered in a curious voice, and he glanced down at
him as they made their way towards his car.
"That's what they called you." Shinya said with a little shrug.
Kureto smiled, and then reached down with both hands, placing them under the
boys armpits and lifting him up, carrying his weight on one arm. "Indeed, my
name is Kureto. Kureto Hīragi, and soon, you shall be Shinya Hīragi as well. So
you should call me 'nii-san' instead."
Shinya blinked at him a little. Then, slowly, his lips curved into a sweet,
sweet smile, the very first one, and it looked so natural on him, like it
belonged there. Like every smile and expression of happiness had to be
reflected on him. A giggle escape him, and it seemed to send a vibration
through Kureto. Thin arms—lined with bruises, but soft-skinned—wrapped
themselves around his neck, and Shinya leant down to rest his head on his
shoulder.
"Okay, nii-san."
And Kureto knew, right from that moment he heard those quietly, happily spoken
words, that never will anything be the same for him again. He found little
regret in the realization.
End Notes
     Lame. I suck.
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