#I can remember every single word that was said in that quote. its clear in my mind

[caluupin]

Im back to ramble abt the event bc i rewatched the clip.

"They say that the earnest thanks should be given thrice, so... one more time, please?" what if I c

[lucky-clover-gazette]

kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 5

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

Meetings of this kind could take months to arrange; the speed at which it happened now was dizzying, if you did not know Laurent.

i like how damen has immediately fallen back into his book 1 & early book 2 habit of giving laurent backhanded compliments

He sat on the audience throne, with a single oak seat empty beside him and Nikandros standing behind him.

you know, damen, i can think of someone who has recent experience with oak chairs…

When prince met prince there were protocols to observe. You did not greet each other alone in a diaphanous tent. Or thrown to the ground in chains in a palace viewing chamber.

and yet, given the choice between protocol and hanging out with laurent in a tent… i think damen is seriously struggling with which he would truly prefer. if not already decided, in his heart

The last time Akielon and Veretian royalty had met ceremonially had been six years ago, at Marlas, when the Regent had surrendered to Damen’s father, King Theomedes. Out of respect to the Veretians, Damen had not been present, but he remembered the satisfaction of knowing that Veretian royalty was bending its knee to his father. He had liked it. He had probably liked it, he thought, about as much as his men disliked what was happening today, and for the same reasons.

“he had liked it.” ouch. but also showing the subjectivity of damen and laurent’s shared history

It was not like the ecstatic entries Laurent had made into the towns and villages of Vere. No one swooned or cheered or threw flowers at his feet. The camp was silent.

Laurent strolled in, beautifully;

He came down the path that was cleared for him, as though walking unmolested through an Akielon camp was simply his right.

because it is, because he made it so 💅

Damen’s own men watched as a man might watch his enemy sauntering into his house, unable to prevent it.

“sauntering” perfect word choice

‘My brother of Akielos,’ said Laurent.

i know the “brother” thing is part of the “language of kings,” but it’s extra awkward between laurent and damen because 1) damen killed laurent’s actual brother and 2) they’ve literally fucked

Everyone knew that in the Akielon language, princes of foreign nations addressed each other in the fraternal.

and everyone also knows that damen killed laurent’s brother, and that damen and laurent fucked, so it’s weird for them too!

‘Our brother of Vere,’ said Damen.

oooh, damianos has to use the royal “we” since he’s king, further removing himself from his individual identity as damen. part of the kingship/“kingdom or this” theme, which we’re seeing a lot in book 3, for obvious reasons

He recognised Guion, the Regent’s most loyal Councillor, who, sometime in the last three days, had switched sides.

don’t worry about it

Damen lifted his hand, offering it palm up, with fingers outstretched. Laurent lifted his own hand calmly, resting it atop Damen’s. Their fingers met. He could feel the eyes of every Akielon in the tent on him. They proceeded slowly. Laurent’s fingers rested infinitesimally above his own. He felt the moment when the men around him realised what was going to happen. Reaching the dais, they sat, facing outward, the twin oak seats now twin thrones.

of course they had to make this announcement in the most dramatic, shocking, and tense manner possible. like idk, someone could have explained the alliance with words first, just to make sure everyone’s on the same page when the two leaders sit down beside each other. i get that this wordless performance might simply be the appropriate protocol, but damen and laurent still somehow manage to make it feel inappropriate for the occasion.

‘We have called you here today to witness our accord,’ said Damen, in a clear voice that carried over the noise.

i think i read somewhere that pacat compared this scene to a wedding, and that would totally make sense, both with the way its written and the way damen and laurent are allergic to conventional romance story plot beats. like yeah, this WOULD be their wedding, wouldn’t it.

‘Today we mark the alliance of our nations against those pretenders and usurpers who seek to assail our thrones.’

same energy as suspended twitter user donald j trump saying “i would like to extend my best wishes to all, even the haters and losers, on this special date, september 11th.”

Laurent settled in as though the place had been made for him, and adopted the posture he typically favoured, one leg straight out before him, a fine-boned wrist balanced on the arm of the throne.

cunt (affectionate)

Explosions of outrage, furious exclamations, there were hands on the hilts of swords. Laurent did not look particularly concerned by this, or anything.

Coiled and personal, Laurent’s gift was a Veretian whip, made of gold.

i remember reading this for the first time and saying “GIRLLLL” out loud to my cat

He remembered Laurent’s hand giving a little tug on the rod, infuriating, more than that. He remembered having his legs kicked apart, his hands bound, the thick wood of the post against his chest, the lash about to fall on his back. He remembered Laurent, arranging himself against the opposite wall, settling his shoulders there, positioning himself to watch every slightest expression on Damen’s face. His gaze swung to Laurent. He knew he had flushed, he could feel the heat in his own cheeks. In front of the gathered generals, he couldn’t say, What have you done?

there is a strategic advantage to this move on laurent’s part (to be revealed in a minute), but it’s also just him being a petty bitch and trying to make damen flustered/triggered on the throne

Inside the tent, Akielon men and women were looking at one another questioningly, others craning their necks to see.

and actually, this gesture from laurent also tells damen something else: “you thought i was evil for flogging you, my brother’s killer? then refuse my offer for revenge against men who murdered your people, in front of your bloodthirsty nation who want to see it happen. where’s your moral high ground now, bitch.”

‘The whip and the men are Vere’s gift to Akielos,’ said Laurent, and then he turned his melting blue eyes on Damen. ‘The first fifty lashes are my gift to you.’

wouldn’t be the first time laurent gifted damen laurent lashes out of spite. which i’m sure laurent is very smug about, saying this now.

He couldn’t have stopped it, even if he had wanted to.

i do think some of laurent’s revenge here is putting damen in the same powerful/powerless position he (laurent) had been in for seven years in arles. just because laurent was a prince, doesn’t mean he wasn’t a captive too. ultimately, it was laurent's innate responsibility to his people, felt as a prince, that kept him from just leaving entirely. but in order to stay and survive, he had to play dirty and adapt with his uncle's depraved court.

now a king, damen finds himself similarly bound to his duties, in a time of war without the support of his father. and laurent gets some kind of satisfaction in reminding damen of this fall from grace by forcing him to endure the depravity of his own court.

A part of Damen’s mind recognised how perfectly this gift had been judged, the exquisite virtuosity of it: Laurent was delivering him a backhanded blow with one hand, and with the other, caressing his generals as a man scratches a dog under the chin.

isander foreshadowing. the ethical implications of that entire thing are going to be soooo tricky to unpack when i get to it

Damen heard himself say, ‘Vere is generous.’ ‘After all,’ Laurent held his gaze, ‘I remember what you like.’ The stripped men were tied down.

jesus FUCKING christ.

okay. here’s the thing. there’s literally no plausible interpretation of “i remember what you like” that makes this diplomatic or professional. the contrast of damen being so careful and disciplined with his language, and laurent just shooting out these insanely personal disses like it’s no big deal, is SOOOOOOO…

like. what the fuck is the audience thinking when they hear that line. it would be like watching a broadcast of two real-life world leaders doing a diplomatic ceremony, and one of them is like "i look forward to our partnership" and the other goes, at full volume and in the same exact tone of voice, "i know. you told me that last night."

Damen felt his pulse speed up as he realised he was going to watch Laurent have ten men flayed alive in front of him.

although i do seem to recall damen saying to himself back in like book 2 that he’d seen plenty of akielion soldiers flayed (flogged? is it the same thing?) as punished, and even commanded it once or twice, so…

‘Furthermore,’ said Laurent, his voice pitched to carry, ‘Fortaine’s bounty is yours. Its physicians will tend to your wounded. Its storehouses will feed your men. The Akielon victory at Charcy was hard-won. All that Vere gained while you fought is yours, and it is deserved. I will not profit from any hardship that befalls the rightful King of Akielos or his people.’

laurent is so smart. he knows how to work a crowd, even when it’s full of people who despise him. and he’s not even breaking a sweat.

You will lose Straton. You will lose Makedon, Nikandros had said, but he hadn’t counted on the fact that Laurent would arrive, and begin, dangerously, to control everything.

Bloody and pulped, the men, who were no longer men, were cut from the whipping blocks. That took time too, because more than one handler was needed to lift each man, and no one was quite certain which of the men were unconscious and which were dead.

you know, maybe no one should flay or flog anyone else. like, as a general rule. have we thought of that?

Damen said, ‘We have a personal gift too.’

the return of the antagonistic lamen “yes, and!” one of the few things from book 1 i truly miss

(also, i’m glad damen didn’t come into this tableau full intending to be professional and respectful. like he planned some petty freak shit too, in advance. he is still ant with a bindle, but he has his pride. he’s always had pride, even as a slave, especially as a slave. and if damen can’t have laurent as a lover or a friend, he can at least “enjoy” engaging in weird mind games with him instead. in a way, it’s kind of enrichment for them both.)

Last night, in the evening darkness of the tent, he had pulled this gift from his packs and looked down at it, feeling its weight in his hands. Once or twice before, he had thought about this moment. In his most private thoughts, he’d imagined it happening with the two of them alone together.

okay, never mind, i massively overestimated the spiteful pettiness from damen here :( he wanted to do this in another way, lovingly and privately. he's only doing it here and now because he has to, in order to earn his army's respect. ant with a bindle, through and through.

it’s okay buddy, you can marry laurent again post-canon. and then you won’t even be figuratively divorced while doing it!

He hadn’t imagined it like this, the private made public, and painful. He didn’t have Laurent’s ability to hurt with what mattered most.

and that's why this series works. see my long essay about damen as the heart of the series in chapter 4.

‘Every man here knows that you kept us as a slave,’ said Damen. He said it loudly enough that all those gathered in the pavilion tent could hear. ‘We wear your cuff on our wrist. But today, the Prince of Vere will prove himself our equal.’

THE ROYAL “WE” 💀 💀 💀

you know, technically it was kastor, an akielion, who made damen a slave and gave him specifically to laurent. they didn’t even have slaves in vere before akielos gifted them one. just sayin

He gestured and one of his squires came forward. It was still wrapped in cloth. He felt the sudden tension in Laurent, though there was no outward change. Damen said, ‘You asked for it, once.’ The squire drew back the cloth to reveal a gold cuff. He felt rather than saw the tightness in Laurent. The cuff, unmistakably, was the twin to the one Damen wore, altered last night by a blacksmith for Laurent’s finer wrist. Damen said, ‘Wear it for me.’ For a moment he thought Laurent wasn’t going to do it. But in public, Laurent had no recourse to refusal. Laurent extended his hand. And then waited, palm outstretched, his eyes lifting to meet Damen’s. Laurent said, ‘Put it on me.’

the fact that this isn’t even damen being mean, but just painfully earnest and hurt and yearning, clearly not what laurent expected at all… :( damen is refusing to play dirty, no matter how hard laurent goads him. and he doesn’t even want to hurt laurent, in fact he almost seems to long for him. that’s probably what surprises and confuses this self-loathing mean girl era laurent the most. he keeps trying (and succeeding) to push damen away, but damen still refuses to push back.

also, lamen hr complaint #7, made by everyone present besides damen and laurent. nothing specific, but just a vague feeling of "uh, was it professional to make us watch and participate in this?" after the fact

Every pair of eyes in the tent was on him. Damen took Laurent’s wrist in his hand. He would have to unlace the fabric and push the sleeve back. He could feel the devouring gazes of the Akielons in the tent, as hungry for this as they had been for the whipping. Rumours of Damen’s enslavement in Vere had spread like fire through the camp. To see the Veretian Prince wear the gold cuff of a palace bed slave in turn was shocking, intimate, a symbol of Damen’s ownership.

i love how these books manage to make things unbelievably hot, even when they have nothing to do with sex. they might as well be fucking right now and it would feel less intimate and personal. which actually might be the entire point of the veretian pets and akielion slaves being so horny on main all the time, to serve as a contrast to the deep eroticism of this.

Laurent’s blue eyes remained cool, but under Damen’s thumb, Laurent’s pulse was rabbit fast.

laurent came here expecting to control a crowd, not to be emotionally compromised and vulnerable in front of one. and he’s probably even more flustered/upset about the fact that damen was able to make him feel and react like this so publicly, without even appearing to have malicious or vindictive intent. what laurent serves as poison, is what damen serves him back as medicine. and while laurent can handle an angry crowd just fine, he has no means with which to defend himself from damen’s endearing love and care.

He pushed back the fabric. It was more bare skin than Laurent had ever shown in public, on display to the entire tent.

“you look like a whore” <3

another accidental damen reverse card, calling back to the way damen was publicly exposed in book 1. not even meant to hurt laurent but still probably landing like revenge.

‘Help me regain my kingdom, and I’ll see you King of Vere.’ Damen fitted the cuff to Laurent’s left wrist.

his teeny tiny little wrist…

‘I’m overjoyed to wear a gift that reminds me of you,’ said Laurent.

he may be flustered, but he’s still That Bitch.

The cuff locked into place. He didn’t withdraw his wrist, just left it leaned on the arm of the throne, laces open and gold cuff in full view.

it’s like they have those matching t shirts that say “i’m hers” and “i’m his,” except damen’s would say “i’m his” and laurent’s would say “i’m terrified of attachment” and then “i’m his” in significantly smaller text

Horns were blown the length of the ranks, and refreshments were brought. All that had to happen now was for Damen to endure the rest of the welcoming ceremony, and at the end, sign their treaty.

damen and laurent just invented divorced marriage! truly trailblazers of their time

A series of display fights were performed, marking the occasion with disciplined choreography. Laurent watched with polite attention, and underneath that, possibly real attention, as it would suit him to catalogue Akielon fighting techniques.

they should have a homoerotic fight sequence instead of a first dance

Across from Makedon, Vannes was taking refreshments. Vannes had been the Regent’s Ambassador to the all-female court of the Vaskian Empress, who it was said ripped men apart with her leopards for public sport.

VANNES HIIIIIII VANNES!!!!! THE GIRLS ARE HEREEEEEEE!!!!!!

(can you tell that i'm getting tired of the almost entirely male cast)

He thought of the delicate dealings with the Vaskian clans that Laurent had engineered, all along their ride south. He said, ‘Are you going to tell me what won Vannes to your side?’ Laurent said, ‘It’s no secret. She is to be the first member of my Council.’

laurent feminism win. any person of any gender can be politically valuable.

(i have more complex thoughts on women in this series, which i’ve written about before. i do think laurent feels a genuine sense of solidarity with most women in this series, specifically the disempowered ones like loyse and the sex workers at the brothel. but vannes is a special case, because she’s cruel and sadistic just like the men in power, so i don’t think laurent promising her a place in his council has anything more to do with her gender than the fact that the misogynistic regent wouldn’t do the same.)

‘And Guion?’ ‘I threatened his sons. He took it seriously. I had already killed one of them.’

“i had already killed one of them.”

laurent says this flippantly, but it's kind of freudian slip. laurent admits here that he sees himself as directly responsible for aimeric’s suicide. which is… a very laurent thing to think, and then to weaponize against himself inside his own head. i think a big part of the reason laurent is able to take insults so carelessly, and even insult himself as a deflection, is that he knows that nobody knows him better than himself, and that he’s thought worse things of himself than anyone else possibly could.

‘If this is truly an alliance between equals,’ said Makedon, ‘it’s a pity we can’t see a display of Veretian fighting.’ You are seeing one right now and you don’t even know it, thought Damen.

wait the first dance thing was a joke, but maybe i just vaguely recalled it actually happening??

also, love that thought from damen. perfect read of the scene, although i think people are probably a little more aware of their freakiness than damen seems to assume.

‘Or a contest,’ Makedon said. ‘Veretian against Akielon.’ ‘Are you proposing to challenge Lady Vannes to a duel?’ said Laurent.

kind of a desperate thing for laurent to say. a weak snarky deflection, basically admitting that he does not want to fight damen in front of everyone right now.

Blue eyes met brown. Laurent was relaxed on the throne, and Damen was too aware of what Makedon saw: a youth, less than half his age; a princeling who shirked battle; a courtier with lazy, indoor elegance.

despite appearances, damen knows that laurent is an excellent fighter and a suitable match for himself. again with the backhanded compliment!!

‘But we are like brothers.’ Laurent smiled. Damen felt Laurent’s fingertips touch his; their fingers slid into one another.

“alive brothers, to be precise. not that i’d know anything about having one of those, right, husband?”

side note, i 100% see post-canon laurent calling damen “husband” just as much as his actual name. it’s the perfect mix of condescending, performative, affectionate, and possessive. between them it would almost feel like an inside joke, which we all know damen and laurent enjoy. perfect.

He knew from long experience when Laurent was repressing everything into a single hard kernel of distaste.

for a second i was like, “why is laurent so against this, when he’s a good fighter?” but then i remembered that he got fucking stabbed in the shoulder like two days ago

Heralds brought the document, ink on paper, written in two languages, side by side so that neither one was atop the other. It was simply worded. It did not contain endless clauses and subclauses. It was a brief declaration: Vere and Akielos, united against their usurpers, allied in friendship and common cause.

not the marriage certificate…

He signed it. Laurent signed it. Damianos V and Laurent R, with a big loopy L.

oh of COURSE laurent makes a big loopy L, and of course damen makes specific note of it.

also, help. what the fuck do the letters stand for. they don’t have last names. i thought “V” could be like a roman numeral or something, but what the fuck is “R.” i know i could look this up and probably figure it out on my own, and so i will momentarily, but i did just want to say here that i’m stumped.

okay, got it. apparently R stands for “roi,” the french word for king, and v stands for “vasileus,” the greek word for king. fair enough!

‘To our wondrous union,’ said Laurent.

CUNT

And the Akielons were filing out too, the officers and the generals, the dismissed slaves, until he was alone with Nikandros, whose eyes were on him, furious, and with all the flat knowledge of an old friend.

nik private twitter vent #9, he livetweeted the lamen divorce wedding. also, a note on the nik private twitter bit: damen follows him, and is just happy that nik has a space to express himself :)

‘You gave him Delpha,’ said Nikandros. ‘It wasn’t—’ ‘A bedding gift?’ said Nikandros. ‘You go too far.’

to be fair, laurent would totally be down to negotiate land ownership with weird sex games

‘Do I? I remember Ianestra. And Ianora,’ said Nikandros. ‘And Eunides’s daughter. And Kyra the girl from the village—’

HE HAS A LIST.

‘That’s enough. I won’t talk about this.’

nikandros: why does the prince of vere call you babygirl damen: that’s enough. i won’t talk about this

‘You don’t need to talk, I have seen him,’ said Nikandros. ‘I don’t care what you’ve seen. It’s not what you think.’

nikandros saw that laurent was blonde and immediately heard the vine boom sound effect

‘I think he is beautiful and unobtainable, when your whole life, you’ve never had a refusal,’ said Nikandros.

not wrong, but not right either. damen genuinely loves and respects laurent, like as person and not just as a fuck. and pretty much anyone damen has wanted to have sex with in life has immediately agreed, because he’s a prince. being disinterested in sex without deep personal connection, and being a prince himself, laurent is different from damen's previous partners. he's less unobtainable, and more just, like, evenly-matched.

‘You have committed Akielos to an alliance because the Prince of Vere has blue eyes and blond hair.’

… multiple things can be true. those aren’t the only reasons.

damen likes blondes #9

And then, in a terrible voice, ‘How many times does Akielos have to suffer because you can’t keep your—’

nik private twitter vent #10:

Damen was angry, he wanted to smash the glass beneath his fingers. To let the pain of the glass cut into him.

having a “hurt” by nine inch nails moment. a “no children” by the mountain goats moment. yeah, i should make the lamen divorce playlists

‘Do you think—for a moment that I’d . . . Nothing,’ he said, ‘is more important to me than Akielos.’

i don’t want to be neglectful of the “kingdom or this” theme, because it does come up a lot. it’s just that, at this point, i don’t have much to add.

‘He is the Prince of Vere! He doesn’t care about Akielos! Are you saying you aren’t swayed by the thought of having him? Open your eyes, Damianos!’

nikandros, the slave sex user, should shut the fuck up about damen yearning for his “unobtainable” equal. damen isn’t the only one here with a blind spot.

‘You want him. It’s natural. He looks like one of the statues Nereus has in his garden, and he’s a prince of your own rank. He dislikes you, but dislike can have its own appeal,’ said Nikandros. ‘So bed him. Satisfy your curiosity. Then, when you have seen that mounting one blond is much like mounting another, move on.’

this is fucking infuriating. laurent is so much more than his pretty appearance, and a lot of his insecurity and problems with vulnerability revolve around the way people view him as a sexual object. his relationship with damen was founded on mutual respect and personal understanding. and damen knows this, and i’m sure he’s infuriated too. looking forward to his response.

The silence went on a moment too long.

looking forward to his response.

He had no intention of putting any of it in words. I told him I was a slave, and he pretended to believe me. I kissed him on the battlements. He had his servants bring me to his bed. It was our last night together, and he gave himself to me. He knew all the while it happened that I was the man who killed his brother.

right, damen is still confused by laurent more than anything else at this point. he doesn’t know where either of them stand. the only thing he recalls here is a sense of disorientation, trying to align what he’s learned about laurent’s internal workings with the way he’d interacted with damen physically and emotionally. and the puzzle pieces don’t fit, so he doesn’t want to think or talk about it. and he doesn’t really blame nikandros for his confusion or crass description of laurent, because damen still doesn’t understand how laurent could have even allowed any of the sexual things between them to happen in the first place.

also, unfortunately, i think we can gather from the way nikandros speaks here that damen has spoken this way about partners in the past. and that’s probably part of why it doesn’t bother him as viscerally as it bothers me.

‘Yes I lay with him,’ said Damen. ‘It was one night. He barely relaxed the whole time. I will admit I—wanted him.

and this probably isn’t how damen is used to talking about sexual partners, so it comes out awkward and insecure and weirdly earnest. better than being a douchebag, so i’m calling it character development.

'But he is the Prince of Vere and I am the King of Akielos. This is a political alliance. He approaches it without emotion. So do I.’

ngl this is frustrating, esp when i’m reading so slowly and taking notes… not a problem with the writing at all, but just 😬 😬 😬 how many times do i have to point out that these two men are emotionally unintelligent and needlessly evasive before they figure out their shit, put down their defenses, and talk to each other

‘It’s not the same.’ ‘Laurent is not Jokaste?’

😬 😬 😬

i am trying not to waste too much of my time with this scene but he’s wrong, we all know nik is wrong by implying they’re the same because we know laurent better than nik does etc etc etc oh my god this is exactly why there’s a trial scene at the end and damen gets to be laurent’s defense attorney isn’t it

‘I do. I know,’ said Damen, ‘who he is, and that it means I cannot have him.’

you’re literally a king, if anyone is qualified to CHANGE THAT it’s you

‘No. Listen Damianos. You trust blindly. You see the world in absolutes—if you believe someone a foe, nothing will dissuade you from arming up to fight. But when you give your affections . . . When you give a man your loyalty, your faith in him is unswerving. You would fight for him with your last breath, you would hear no word spoken against him, and you would go to the grave with his spear in your side.’

this is true, at least. nik knows damianos well, he just doesn’t know laurent or our damen. but as i myself have commented, damianos and damen are ultimately both the same guy, even though he’s evolved throughout the series.

‘And are you so different?’ said Damen. ‘I know what it means that you are riding with me. I know that if I am wrong you will lose everything.’

“i will fight for him just as you fight for me, so i suppose that makes us both noble fools.”

He said, ‘The Prince of Vere.’ When he looked at Damen again, it was a sidelong glance under his raised brows, and for a moment they were boys again, on the sawdust, throwing spears that fell six feet short of the men’s hide targets.

“i can’t believe you hit that.”

‘Can you imagine,’ said Nikandros, ‘what your father would say if he knew?’

this feels more playful than the previous conversation, a bit lighter. both an admonishment and like a “ooooooh you’re so baaaaad >:)”

‘Yes,’ said Damen. ‘Which girl from the village was called Kyra?’ ‘They all were. Damianos. You can’t trust him.’

having a hard time reading this. my best interpretation: damen’s question is a reference to the chillest part of the previous conversation, nik’s list, in order to un-harsh the vibe. poking fun at nik for keeping a list, and poking fun at himself for having a type.

nik’s response is still pretty unchill, implying that all the people on that list are interchangeable and harmless. unlike laurent, who damen needs to get over because he’s untrustworthy and dangerous, despite also being pretty and blonde.

‘I know that.’ He finished the wine. Outside, there were hours of daylight left, and work to be done.

damen has been pretty consistently self-aware about the fact that he can’t trust laurent to be entirely honest about his intentions or plans, but he (damen) still cares for him (laurent) regardless. and he’s been living with that conflict and just kind of saying “this is fine” like the dog in that meme. this scene, i think, is nikandros basically walking into the room and trying to extinguish the fire. which nik is uniquely capable of doing, because he understands damen enough to notice the things that his friend is ignoring.

‘You’ve spent a morning with him and you’re warning me off. Just wait,’ said Damen, ‘until you’ve spent a full day with him.’ ‘You mean that he improves with time?’ ‘Not exactly,’ said Damen.

damen loves his blonde nightmare malewife so much <3 nik is going to scream into a paper bag

[48787]

I keep thinking that like V1 is like a non-sentient feral beast that has sudden flashes of genius to solve the occasional puzzle, but it's all just following its programming like a state machine. Like even with the Terminal lore and V2's very clear sentience, I keep thinking V1 just is like different being, like an older bot who doesn't have all the sentience as the other robots which lets it be much more efficient with its murder. This is all wrong, of course, V2 and the other robots are practically feral beasts too and are just as blood thirsty (just not as efficient), the Terminal lore obviously applies directly to V1, yadda yadda. But what inspired this post, and why I think I keep having this weird perception of V1 despite the fact that I know it's wrong, is because I keep forgetting the fact that V1 directly speaks! It only happens once (at least as I'm remembering, this whole post is about me forgetting shit so like who fucking knows), but I keep forgetting the "You're not getting away this time" line. Like with all the lore it never is in your face with how it actually applies to V1 and we never get anything direct about V1's personality (I wanted to brain rot about how this is wrong too and we actually do get a lot of V1 personality through the gameplay and animations n stuff but i am so tired and this post is getting so long), so when I first saw that line it felt a little jarring, especially because it only happens later into the game and doesn't happen again, and my brain just sorta didn't know how to slot it into the game's story.

EXCEPT THAT'S ALSO NOT CORRECT! (Extreme brain rot territory that might just be me looking too much into it but I don't care) It's not, like, a special dialog prompt or anything and V1 does not audibly speak, it's the SAME text box that appears throughout the entire game in tutorials!!!!! This can mean either two things:

One (which is what i currently believe) is that ALL the text is ACTUALLY V1 speaking, at least to itself. Like the "Sentries can be interrupted by shooting them with the revolver, railgun, yadda yadda" is like V1's computers making a little "mental" note of a new enemies weaknesses, perhaps because V1 knows about these enemies beforehand or V1, bein a lil robo dude, did a scan or something about V1's computer knows how to figure that stuff out. Not to mention other game-y things such as the scoreboard and cyber grind are continually proven canon so it wouldn't be out of the ordinary. This makes the sudden dialog less jarring in my mind because it's not sudden!

Two (which i don't like as much but whatever) is that all dialog in the game isn't, like, real. Like the tutorial stuff is just tutorial stuff, has nothing to do with V1, and by extension the "You're not getting away this time" line isn't actually V1 dialog. There's a little bit of evidence to support this one as well (even though I'm gonna refute every single piece in favor of my preferred interpretation). Jakito's lines are also in this dialog box, which would go against it being V1's dialog or internal monolog. However, that could just be because words are being communicated in a way other than speech and V1 is translating this, sorta like some kind of telepathy, not to mention the words were a different color (I THINK?? I THINK IM REMEBERING THAT RIGHT). There's also the "Something wicked this way comes.... Just kidding :)" line, which wouldn't make sense for V1 to say to itself. I'm tempted to write it off as a funny little goof, there's so fucking much I want to write off as a silly little goof, but Hakita said before that all secret levels besides 2-S is canon (I MIGHT BE LYING I JUST SPENT AN HOUR LOOKING FOR THIS QUOTE BUT COULDNT FIND IT, DID I IMAGINE IT??? GOING CRAZY) so I don't know! But that could've been a meme as well!! It could also be similar to the Jakito thing. Maybe it could've also been V1 being like "wouldnt the be funny lol" to itself. whatever. point being the "youre not getting away this time" line could just be non canon and just a silly little line.

I obviously really prefer my first interpretation, stuff that seems like its just game-y stuff keeps being made canon so like it just makes sense that something we'd take for granted like tutorials is also canon.

I can't tell if I am looking too far into all this or if this is just something everyone already knows or noticed i am so tired and potentially at that stage of insanity where you think its all so obvious and everyone is on the same page and then you talk about it and realize everyone actually thinks your crazy but also maybe it is so obvious and im just dumb or maybe this is all stupid i am so tired and have so many feelings about this fucking game. I had so much more i wanted to say but forgot it all because its so late. when looking for references for this stuff i thought i knew like most of the lore but realized i was actually probably wrong because i havent seen a bucnh of hakita quotes about shit. the one quote i was trying to find just stopped existing and i dont know if it ever existed. This post is a mess, i dont even know if any part of this will make sense to another living soul or if there is a single sentence that isn't completely incoherent.

[burnedbyshoto]

the bodyguard

— Kirishima gets assigned to be the bodyguard to one of the worlds greatest idols: you. —

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pairing: bodyguard!kirishima eijirou x idol!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, brat taming, authority kink, spanking, blowjob, slapping, choking, brat taming, brat!reader, modern!au, no quirks, bodyguard!kirishima, idol!reader, PTSD portrayal, anxiety, war flashbacks, implied minor character death, drugging, alcohol consumption, size difference: kirishima is 2 feet taller than you, regardless of the reader’s original height. If you’re 6 ft congrats he’s 8 ft.

word count: 20,500

a/n: this is for the bnharem collab.... im so sorry, it’s 4:30 am and I have a plane to catch in 2 hours to get back to school. thank you jo for proofreading this for me because lol I am a mess. if the paragraph spacing did not work as I wish it does, please let me know so I can go in and edit in visible paragraph spacers!

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“I’ll be okay.”

The smell of dirt, sweat, and blood clung to the air.

The sun was setting, its blood-red shine illuminating against the destroyed earth, making the already bloodied soil even bloodier. 

There was no telling if the land was quiet, if the reason why the world's silence was because the world just for this moment had gone silent, or if the earlier explosions were still ringing in his ears.

Kirishima sat wounded, his back pressed to the wall, his eyes wide, breathing erratic. He can’t move, can’t bother picking up the gun that lays abandoned by his knee as warm, sticky liquid spills onto his clothed knees and continues to soak the fabric of his jeans.

What had he done?

What in the fucking world had he done?!

BOOM!

Kirishima stills, his eyes stilling on the floor and looking at the clear moisture. He doesn’t need to touch his face to know it’s a combination of both sweat and tears. 

His ears sing with white noise, the erratic beat of his heart, and his pained breathing.

“I’ll be okay,” the ghost taunts his mind.

But I’m not okay, Kirishima tries to speak, but knows with how his tongue is sitting like a thick dried sponge in his mouth, he won’t be able to speak. Pushing off the cold floor, flops onto his back, his arm flinging over his closed, shaken eyes until the ringing in his ear disappears into his alarm clock. 

05:30.

Kirishima lays there for a bit more, his chest still heaving heavily with the weight of lead.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Better?

No, not yet.

Kirishima runs through breathing exercises, his chest never stopping in it’s hiccuped, broken pants as his memories continue to haunt his mind. If only he was smarter, more observant, better.

“Time to get up, time to get up, time to get up,” his phone screams with his second alarm set at 06:45. The sound does what it’s intended, jolting Kirishima out of his own head. His labored breathing shallowing just enough for his lungs to finally grasp ahold of its required function.

Today was an important day for him; he needed to be on his tiptop game, according to what Toshinori said yesterday.

I’m okay, he convinced himself as he does every morning after having this dream. Kirishima flings his arm off his eyes, the morning purple sun shining softly through his blinds. I’m okay.

Date: 4/2 Time: 08:00 Location: UA Services

“And in other news, music industries princess Y/n has been attacked by yet another round of masked perpetrators. Fortunately for the music idol, she was left unhurt but was clearly rattled. This is but the fourth attack on Y/n since three weeks ago. It’s leaving many of us fans, spectators, and civilians wondering just what is being done to ensure her safety? Y/n is reported to not have a single bodyguard to her name, wanting to quote-on-quote ‘experience her fans to the fullest’, but with these recent attacks, we can’t help but hope something is done. At least until something is done about these attackers—”

Kirishima’s eyes tore away from the screen, his lips pressed into a deep frown as he took in the story. There was deep worry about it, not only because he hated the idea of people getting hurt, but because he was a big fan of yours.

Your debut album had come out during his training camp for the military. Not only was it an instant billboard smasher breaking every standing record, but his commanding officers were obsessed with the album and played it continuously until they graduated. Most of Kirishima’s comrades came to dislike your music solely because they remember throwing up, bleeding, and suffering while you sang about love and whatnot, but Kirishima? Kirishima fell in love.

It was a bright spot in his life, and he was grateful for your music, even if it has been ten years and six albums since the training camp.

“Yo, Kiri!” a voice cheered out happily as a hand clasped onto his shoulder from behind. Kirishima held the flinch that threatened to rip through his bones. Kirishima turned to find Kaminari grinning up at him, a cup of steaming tea in one hand as he grinned brightly at his coworker. “I heard you’re finally getting a good case today!”

Kirishima found himself relaxing at the sight of his rather spontaneous friend, a warm smile easing onto his face as he raised his fist for a greeting fist bump.

“We’ll see, I know Toshi’ said it was going to be important, but he also said escorting the paranoid old lady was important,” Kirishima sighed, his smile softening a bit.

Kaminari laughed, his arm slinging around Kirishima’s shoulders as he remembered that.

The little old lady was sure that the government was out to kill her and wanted protection until her son returned from his vacation. Needless to say, Kirishima had thoroughly enjoyed his time with her, even if she was a bit scary. It was a low-risk job, and he only was paranoid by her cane, which she used to thwack his back many times as she talked about how plums extended your life.

“God, I remember subbing in for you for one hour because of your family emergency, and she was so scary! She still haunts my nightmares!” Kaminari shudders, placing the cup of his tea to his lip and taking a long, slow drink. His eyes shift over to the TV, which is still broadcasting the story of your attack. “What a bunch of bastards,” he growls, eyebrows scrunching as the news reporter ends the segment. “Thinking they can go after such a beautiful and talented idol… I’ll kill them.”

Kirishima was more than well aware of Kaminari’s plentiful budding romances. The blond man fell in love with just about any smiling woman who happened to waltz in front of him. Still, unlike most times, he found himself agreeing with him.

“It sounds really serious. I hope that she really considers some type of security team,” Kirishima inputs too, taking the teacup in his fingers with a nod of thanks. “There’re too many weirdos in Japan and in the world, I wouldn’t want to hear the news the day something bad happens.”

Kaminari hums, his face nearing Kirishima’s as he takes a small sip of the apparently black tea. His eyes scrunch, and Kirishima smiles awkwardly as the blond studies him intently.

“W-Wha—”

“You like Y/n!” Kaminari exclaims (accuses, maybe?), his arm leaving Kirishima’s shoulders as he points a finger accusingly at him. “I thought I was the only one in this department who did!”

“Don’t be an idiot, Denki,” the familiar voice of Sero responds for Kirishima. “Everyone in the world is in love with Y/n; she was voted the favorite artist of the year in our company. Everyone but Bakugou voted for her if I remember correctly.”

Kirishima looks over at his black-haired friend who is rummaging through his locker, his mouth curved into an easy, teasing smile as he looks between the bashful Kaminari and sneering Bakugou, who also seemed to just walk in.

“Her shit is basic and overrated,” Bakugou defended himself. “Nothing special and bad for your brain and ears.”

“Your go-to music playlist is fifty percent death metal and alt. rock. I don’t think you have ground to say that it’s bad for your brain and ears,” Midoriya’s snicker sounded from behind Kirishima, and he looked around to see the freckled man grinning at the snarling ash blond.

“And how does your stalker ass know that, shitnerd?!”

“‘Cause I’m a stalker, duh.”

“Oh, Bakugou-kun, Midoriya-kun! You’re both here! Todoroki-kun is looking for you!”

“I’m just saying that Y/n’s dates to all the award shows and premieres have been blond. She’s into blonds, so she would totally be into me!”

“Deku, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to kill you myself.”

“You wouldn’t even be able to protect Y/n, bro. The only thing you performed well on in the application process was the tasing part. You can’t even tase people repetitively! She’d be dead in a second.”

“Can you believe my client dropped me because I couldn’t cook a five-star meal correctly? Hello, I can make 7-11 into a five-star course; it’s not my fault they’re not refined.”

“Kirishima-kun, are you okay?”

“I deadass got into a dance competition on the way to work. That’s why I’m late, why would I lie? Of course, I had to compete; my reputation was on the line!”

“Kirishima-kun?”

“Yo, he’s not looking too hot?”

“Kirishima?!”

“Can you hear us?!”

Silence.

Kirishima found himself opening his eyes — when had he closed them? For a moment, the air turned coppery, his body feeling weak, and he thought he felt something heavy on his lap. But that wasn’t right; he was standing up, he wasn’t sitting down. Most importantly, he was in Tokyo, Japan. He was alright. He was safe.

The sweat that clung to the back of his neck was cold, clammy, and intrusive. His chest felt tight again, his hands shaking so harshly the tea's warm, dark liquid was sloshing onto the floor.

There were seven pairs of eyes on him, each a different color, each swimming with concern and other emotions. Kirishima knew his ears weren’t working right now, his face unable to meet his brain's screaming demands to smile, and he watched as their mouths moved as they questioned his sanity.

He was okay.

He was okay.

He was okay.

“Kirishima?”

Kirishima looked up, his neck craning to the side to see a tall, skinny man standing at the doorway. 

Toshinori Yagi was an esteemed bodyguard, one of the best in the industry, which was saying something considering that most bodyguards went unknown and unnamed. According to Google, Toshinori gained the nickname All Might after saving multiple political and celebrity lives when the government could not. It was long after his prime, and the man had retired but has since filled as the company’s head — thus why this job was near impossible to get.

Kirishima heaved a breath, realizing that he hadn’t taken a single breath when Toshinori’s bruised eyes narrowed in his concern.

“C-Coming,” Kirishima smiled, the blood rushing to his ears mostly ignorable now, but the scorching concerned gazes of his friends feel like cinders on his shoulder.

He straightens his tie, fingers curling when he feels the cold sweat penetrating through his clothes, but Kirishima doesn’t let it show. Smiling like he does, Kirishima pushed through his friends and followed Toshinori out the door.

They walked down towards the conference rooms, rooms that held their contractors, in complete silence.

“This is an important case,” Toshinori began, his voice gentle and poorly hiding his concern. “I chose you because you are a great asset to have, Kirishima. You are strong and smart, and most importantly, are personable.”

Kirishima looked at the man, his face contorting with his anxiety. He didn’t want to be treated like glass.

“Honestly, you being so personable is why I chose you for this assignment. Todoroki-shounen was a contender at first, but he’s not much of a talker; the same goes for Bakugou-shounen. Midoriya-shounen was probably the best choice, but there’s a new assignment that asked for three, so I gave up those three,” Toshinori explained the current assignments. It both delighted Kirishima to hear that he could keep up with arguably the three most qualified workers here as it did, at times, make him feel lesser. 

“Oh.”

But he was obviously not the first choice still.

“The only reason why you weren’t the first choice is because of what I walked into just now,” Toshinori interrupts Kirishima’s thoughts and words. Kirishima finds his eyes tearing away from the smooth, polished wood floor to see Toshinori stopping in front of Conference Room A, his gaze intense on him. “To be frank, I wasn’t too sure if we should have hired you all that time ago. You are excellent on the field, your skills are phenomenal. Something to be proud of, truly, but you are clearly not completely healed from your time on the force.”

“Toshinori—”

“Kirishima-shonen, I’m not saying that there’s shame in your current struggles,” Toshinori once again interrupts, his hand a soothing warmth on Kirishima’s shoulder. “I’m still not healed from my past injuries, and as many people have undoubtedly told you, it’s okay to not be okay. But you barely passed the psych evaluation and only passed your field training because you scored so phenomenally on the other things your lack of a shooting score passed you.”

Kirishima felt unable to look away from the piercing blue eyes, and the lump in his throat never tasted as bitter, as sad.

He had barely passed the admittance test.

“I just need to know, are you ready to take on this assignment?” Toshinori asks in complete seriousness. “It’s a high stake, big-name client. We do not expect anything untoward to happen, but we never know in these cases. I think highly of you, Kirishima-shonen, and if you are ready to take this on, I’ll believe you, but likewise, if you’re not, I will gladly give this to someone else.”

Kirishima swallowed, his dry tongue passing through his equally dry lips.

Without question, he was not okay, not when he nearly broke down twice in a matter of hours, but it was just a bad day. He wasn’t as shaken as he was two months ago; he was going to his mandated therapy, talking to people who could assist him. Kirishima just didn’t want to be treated like glass anymore; he wasn’t glass; he was an unbreakable force.

Steeling over his nerves and ignoring how his stomach twisted and turned, Kirishima raised his gaze to Toshinori.

“I can do it.”

A smile.

“Good.”

If Kirishima was sweating because he was on a mental slip earlier, he was now sweating because he was beyond petrified and embarrassed. His hands raised up to brush against his red spikey hair, praying to God that it didn’t look dumb. His legs bounced at a speed that was bordering insanity, but he could only hear the sound of his racing heart as he stared at your frowning form from across the table.

It was you — the Y/n, the world's biggest music idol, an absolute legend in the making.

“This is our very own Kirishima Eijirou, age twenty-eight. He has been with U.A.Services for approximately six months now and is without a doubt one of our most capable and well-serviced men,” Toshinori began the introduction to the three people on the other side of the table. Kirishima could feel a blush rising up his neck and settling into his cheeks as what he presumed to be you, your manager, and your lawyer shuffling through paperwork that was very thorough on his background. “He was enlisted in the military before joining our ranks and was honorably discharged at the age of twenty-six as First Sergeant Kirishima Eijirou due to extreme injury. He excels in negotiating, scouting, and is, as you know, a skilled close combatant and was skilled in handguns—”

“I don’t think he’ll need firearms,” you interrupt, a frown on your face in contrast to the bright smile Kirishima was so used to seeing on your face. He tensed in worry.

“Y/l/n!” your manager, Sato Kimiko, scolded.

“What? It’s true! We’ll be around my fans for the majority, if not all the time! How is that right? For him to have a firearm around defenseless, and may I add, harmless individuals?!” you argued, your eyebrows scrunching in your fury.

Kirishima felt frozen in his chair, his eyes seeking Toshinori for guidance, but found himself unable to look away from you. He knew nearly everything about you, he could admit with a proud grin that he was a super mega fan of you, and he might have, at one point, looked your height up to imagine how you would appear beside him. Kirishima had known this entire time that you were two feet shorter than him, but it hadn’t hit what that meant until he was shaking your hand when he first entered.

You were tiny.

His dick and mind really liked that, and seeing your own passion spilling out for your fans was making him fall deeper into this hole he had for you.

“You don’t have a say anymore? Do you understand? You were nearly assaulted yesterday, and we are all done waiting around for something serious to happen!” Kimiko yelled, her face contorted into a look of both frustration and fear. “Either you take this, or we all leave you. I won’t have you murdered in front of me! You’re twenty-six now, stop acting like a damn brat and grow the hell up!”

The words scorched the table, blistering heat filling the conference room as you met Kimiko’s glare.

Kirishima watched with a dropped jaw as your nostrils flared, your lips pursing, and your eyebrows furrowing with unspoken distaste and anger.

“Six months tops.”

“Uh, yes,” Toshinori interjected. “Our contracts only last up to six months for new clients, but if you find yourself wanting to extend your contract after those six months, we are very much open to negotiations.”

You nodded your head, your eyes falling back onto the booklet in your hands that exposed all the information available on Kirishima. From his likes, dislikes, to his allergies and the reason why he was discharged. Each in disturbingly deep detail to make sure all things were up on the table.

“So, you can’t shoot your gun, Kirishima-san?” you speak, your voice tight, a pleased, almost taunting tone.

Kirishima stills, embarrassment bubbling in his chest as you drop the booklet onto the table, exposing his military history to him and you. 

“...no,” Kirishima answers truthfully.

The lawyer shifts from the other side of you, his eyebrows scrunching as he too comes across that piece of information. 

“He won’t use firearms?” the lawyer scoffs, his semi-permanent frown deepening. “How will we know that he will keep Y/n completely safe from any sort of danger that may come her way? We’ll be paying six months for a glorified security guard? We want a bodyguard.”

“And we clearly have one,” you snap back, your eyes narrowing. “If my bodyguard isn’t Kirishima-san, I’m not getting one. I mean, isn’t that what you said earlier?”

“When we were assuming that the person Toshinori was assigning to your case was a well-rounded bodyguard. Not one that was still clearly haunted by his past.”

Fuck, that one hurt.

You scowled, your head tilting as you bared your teeth slightly, “And what? He managed to get into the best agency in all of Japan in spite of that. Sounds like he’s competent. I already told you I won’t take on a team, just one individual. I trust in Toshinori-san’s guidance and his choice in picking Kirishima-san. If you disagree, that’s too bad for you.”

“Y/n! Please stop this! You’re being ridiculous!” Kimiko huffed, slamming her own booklet down, her eyes drowning with her exhaustion. “I’m so sorry, Toshinori-san, Kirishima-san.”

“H-Hey, it’s okay!” Kirishima immediately imputed, his hands raising in a sign of retreat. “I know that Y/n has always enjoyed her independence as a solo star, and how me being involved now is imposing, especially after multiple attacks.”

Kirishima felt that his smile was a bit strained, a bit too forced, especially as your eyes hawked onto him. He felt like you were examining him, like a lab rat going through its initial trial and not knowing just what was to be expected.

“Six months?” you spoke, your gaze not leaving Kirishima’s own.

“Six months,” Kirishima agreed.

You hum, your head nodding. “Fine, six months tops unless the Lieutenant Colonel can apprehend these assholes faster.”

It had been ages since Kirishima had been called by his title, and for some reason, he found himself blushing. His mouth, for the first time this entire meeting, curled into a wolfish grin.

“You got it.”

The lawyer groaned, entirely aggravated and insulted. He stood up, “You’re asking to be murdered, Y/n. Don’t come haunting me when you end up dead and mutilated. You deserve all the shit you’re getting.”

Kirishima watched with his lips parted in a bewildered expression as the lawyer walked out of the room with a loud slam of the door.

You were unfazed, and Kimiko groaned, exhausted and embarrassed as she mumbled a weak, sullen, “I am so, so sorry, Toshinori-kun.”

“Ah, Kimiko-chan, it’s okay!” Toshinori shook his head and smiled knowingly. It wasn’t as if the long time famous bodyguard hadn’t seen his fair share of childish fights between clients. “Thank you for coming as always, and we’ll do our best to make sure that Y/n is in the best of hands.”

“Thank you… and so, the rest of the contract?”

“Ah, yes, let’s continue.”

So, the contract was discussed to full detail.

For six months, Kirishima would be attached to your side. He must always remain at most three meters away from you when there is no one around, and during fan interactions no more than one meter. He had a full say about your safety. If things got rough, you were to follow his every command. Your agency would pay for his room and lodging. He was to wear black pants and a black long-sleeved cotton tee. He would be working with every venue, every hotel, every conventions security team. He would lead them and never leave your side. He was to be awake an hour before you, rest when you were asleep so long as it was safe to do so. He was your guardian angel of sorts, and you would do nothing but adhere to him. 

Most importantly, according to Kimiko, there was one thing they were hoping for: Kirishima's help and discretion. For the next six months, they would be relying on Kirishima’s support to figure out who the group behind the assault was and who the mastermind was behind it all is.

Or so the contract said.

“Y/n!” Kirishima called when the papers were signed, and the day he was set to start was printed. He will begin tomorrow. “Wait!”

You stopped at the door, Kimiko and Toshinori chatting merrily between them as they exited the conference room, Toshinori’s booming voice asking if it was true that Kimiko was attending to a near forty clients to which she bashfully admitted to. You were dressed in a creme knit long-sleeved shirt, faded ripped jeans, and a pair of nude heels. The heels were big, undoubtedly giving you inches, but you still barely got to his shoulder.

“I-I’m looking forward to looking — I mean working with you!”

You looked at him closely, your eyes dragging to the top of his toes to the tallest spike in his hair before your lips pulled into a contemplative pout. You looked back to his eyes, and you steeled over, your head tilting to the side.

“I mean no offense, Sergeant, I thank you for doing your job, but I have no intention of looking forward to working with you. I don’t want you here, so do your best to ignore the contract and realize that I am the most important person, so you will follow my demands.”

Kirishima can do nothing but stare as you turn on your heel and leave.

Well, so much for a good case.

Date: 5/2 Time: 14:00 Location: Tokyo Music Stadium

If you would have told Kirishima Eijirou that he had been working for the grand, the perfect, the fantastic music idol Y/n for a month now, two months ago, he would have laughed so hard he’d cry. Not only would he have not believed it, but he would only think of a million and two scenarios where he would go the entire day flirting.

Now a month into knowing you, of being your bodyguard on a contract for six months, Kirishima could say that of that entire thought, the only thing he had been right about was that he was, in fact, crying. Not only has he never managed to speak an entire conversation with you despite being attached to your hip seven days a week, but despite your much shorter stature, you had managed to get away from him.

You always managed to sneak away from him.

Kirishima could admit that the no more than five meters rule had been wholly and utterly demolished.

And now, Kirishima was crying, not out of joy, but of pure manly fear as he raced through the backstages of the stadium, desperate to find your short-ass anywhere.

“Go, Kirishima!” someone yelled as Kirishima whizzed past him, “Find Y/n!”

“T-Thank you!” Kirishima screamed as he continued onward, the yellow-lit concrete hallway seemingly haunting the further he went into it. The earpiece in his left ear shrilled, the telling sign he was getting a call. Putting a finger to the circle in his ear, he answered the car. “Hello?!”

“Ah, Kirishima-san!” Kimiko’s voice chirped on the other side of the line. “Wonderful to hear your voice again! I’m calling to let you know that the tour bus is parked outside of the venue now. The concert was a smashing success, and she’s come out unharmed for the past month! To make matters even better, since your arrival, there have been no more assault attempts! Oh, um, sorry, where are you guys?”

“We’re just, um!” Kirishima tried not to pant into the microphone; he was still racing ahead, his head peeking into every door and room he passed. “Y/n needed to use the restroom?!”

“Oh, wonderful. Okay! Let me know when you two are on your way over!”

“Ya, okay, bye!”

“By—”

Kirishima hung up as he crashed through the doors at the end of the hallway.

It was night out right now, the full moon reflecting down on the dirty concrete with the same intensity as the streetlamps overhead. And in the middle of a crowd of around twenty people was the person Kirishima was trying to find: you.

You were still dressed in the final costume change of your concert. Even from a distance, Kirishima could see the glitter and highlight on the tip of your nose and the curve of your cheekbones. The crowd around you was clearly not hostile. Each face was bright with broad smiles and sparkling with fresh tears, each voice high and pitchy as if they were talking with some goddess and not you. 

There was a slight longing in Kirishima’s chest at the sight of you interacting with your fans, your smile was so beautiful, and he wished just for a moment that he was the one that it was directed towards. If he had met you as a fan, and only a fan, he wonders if you would look at him as you did the others. Would he see the pure joy in the depths in your eyes, the love, wonder, and pride as they asked you questions and answered your own?

He wanted to be just a fan.

“Y/n, the tour bus is here,” Kirishima finally found his voice, the tenor of his voice spreading through the narrow alleyway. “Say your goodbyes.”

He had to ignore the way you stiffened immediately, the unsolicited joy in your face breaking and becoming bleak as you met his gaze. Kirishima absolutely did not feel pressure behind his eyes when you rolled your eyes and began to say your goodbyes; he did not!

The group of fans waved goodbye as you walked backward toward Kirishima; you didn’t stop waving and continuing your parting conversations with the group until the metal doors of the stadium doors closed behind the two of you. Kirishima let out a sigh, his eyes closing for a brief moment before looking down at you. You were expressionless, eyes cold as you looked dead ahead.

“You’re not supposed to run away like that.”

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t tell me what to do, Sergeant.”

“You know I can’t do that it’s not—”

“Part of your contract. Yeah, I know, but that’s your contract, not mine.”

“Oh, okay. Um, Kimiko? ...yeah, we’re heading out now. Five minutes, till.”

And then there’s only silence.

Neither Kirishima nor you bother talking the entire walk towards the tour bus, and you ignore Kimiko’s call that your lawyer would be meeting briefly before tomorrow's fan signing event. You walk into the bus and go directly to the beds, throwing yourself into the terribly padded bunk and passing out without so much as a sound.

Kirishima sinks into his own bed, it’s too small for him, but there’s nothing he can do about it. Sleep overcomes him easily these days; he’s always way too exhausted in chasing you down like some spoiled toddler you’re behaving like to dream. But that’s okay, he thinks as the comfort of sleep begins to dig its skeleton fingers into his side, at least the exhaustion stops the night terrors.

Date: 5/3 Time: 10:00 Location: Tokyo Music Tower

Now, Kirishima knew that it was a common belief and a nearly proven theory that when you met your idols, you should never ever have your expectations high on who they are as a person. Celebrities were out of touch, cruel, rude, nearly jaded. They weren’t exactly the common folk. With people willing to forget things like them being human beings themselves or the common thread of celebrities being too rich to care, any type of famous person was cold, rude, and ruthless.

He knew that.

He also knew that you weren’t like the nearly proven theory.

You were kind, sweet, a practical angel to anyone who dared to approach you. You were the exception to the rule, an outlier to them all. You spoke politely to all your fans, domestic and foreign, and you treated each fan like the most special person in the world.

You were a good person.

But Kirishima knew, just as you reacted to any cruel person you encountered, you had an edge. Your words were as vicious as your name was known. He genuinely enjoyed watching you put assholes into place, but he sulked, knowing he was always at the receiving end of the sharp, bitter tongue of yours.

For a month and a day now, he had been the number target of your bitter words and scorching hate, but he admitted that he enjoyed it when it wasn’t directed at him, if but a little bit.

“I’m not renegotiating my contract!” you groan, your palms slamming into the depths of your eyes. “I already told you that I don’t need all that money!”

“And I’m telling you that you need to increase the wages that you pay the rest of your team instead of all those charities or else people will begin dropping you!” the lawyer countered with similar fire, his scowl angry enough that Kirishima felt like he had to tear his gaze away from this horrible battle. “You won’t be the best of the best forever, y/n, get over your stupid savior act and look over the changes!”

Kirishima looked over at you, his eyebrows pinching as he watched you fold your arms, your cheeks pushed out to a puff as you looked at the stack of papers with the title page fully covered with the word Contract of Y/n and Co. on it. Well, it seemed that the rumor of you spending your paycheck on things that weren’t you was right, how entirely manly.

“Oh fuck off,” you growl, pushing out of the chair and storming away.

Kirishima glanced over at Kimiko, who was looking pale and exhausted, undoubtedly exhausted from the past thirty-minute battle between the lawyer and the idol that neither made a single step forward nor a step back. How you had the energy to fight so passionately was beyond him. Kimiko nodded minimally, her lips parting in a sigh as Kirishima stood up and followed after her.

“The only way that brat is going to listen is by force,” the lawyer sneered, his voice fading into the room that Kirishima exited. “If that’s how she wants to play, so be it.”

Fortunately for Kirishima, he catches up to you. There are tears of fury dripping down your cheeks, and he feels unable to speak as he discovers a new layer to you.

...how interesting.

“It’s my money,” you speak, but Kirishima is unsure if those words are meant for him or for the void, the earth that you would much rather converse with than him. “I already pay them all a much greater paycheck than they should be getting considering their client pool. Why do I have to bend to their stupid will when I’m the one making the money.”

Kirishima blinks, wondering just what people might want to raise with their contracts. But, he knew you were right. By her account, Kimiko had a client list of many successful individuals, and he may not know anything about the lawyer, but if he worked with Y/n, his name must be good. Guess they weren’t like you.

“People are selfish assholes,” was the only thing that Kirishima could think of, and was something he spoke before he could stop himself.

But you stop in your storm, the anger that clouded you somewhat dissipating, clearing just enough for you to turn to him, your sharp, beautiful eyes for the first time filled with rage that was not pointed at him, and an emotion that made him think of… amusement?

“Yeah,” you agree, a half-smile cracking onto your face, and Kirishima feels his soul begin leaving his very body. “People are selfish assholes, huh?”

“Very much.”

There’s a calm, a snorted chuckle, and Kirishima finds himself stumbling further into the abyss of his feelings for you.

The next ten hours seem to pass in a blur, Kirishima feeling like he was on Cloud Nine as he stood behind you, three meters as he watched fan after fan approach you. Signatures were made, pictures were taken, and Kirishima found that he never once had to approach.

Maybe, he thinks, just perhaps, the two of you can overcome this.

Ten minutes after the official signing is done, Kirishima can’t find you, and he curses loudly into the echoing floor.

So much for change.

Date: 5/17 Time: 23:00 Location: The Parking Lot - Mt. Lady Studios

Kirishima was, for the lack of better words, completely fucking done with you.

Don’t get it wrong, he still was a complete and massive fan of yours. He would never once betray his loyalty to you and your musical career, but he was slowly starting to realize just why the lawyer was set to dying of a heart attack any time soon. Despite your early entrance to stardom and the stuff of legends, you had kept your fiery, stubborn individualism.

Kirishima thought it was absolutely hot and sexy at times, especially the times where you strut around in revealing clothes because ‘this is your body,’ or the lingerie campaign you completed two days ago as part of some fundraising event. There were significant perks to your strong handle and claim to keeping your indestructible personality, but it came back to rub them all back in the worst of ways when once again, you escaped from Kirishima’s side.

To be fair, most of the time, Kirishima was a very level headed individual; he was near impossible to rile up despite popular initial belief. I mean, he was good friends with Bakugou Katsuki, who riled up just about anyone he talked to! He needed to have steel calm emotions, or at the very least portray that he does. But even the unbreakable after tireless attempts can, at times, be broken.

It had been a hard morning.

Kirishima had woken up in a panic, the sweat of his night terror soaking through the sheets of his bed, and his head felt like lead. They had been in the tour bus for the entire day because you were going from the tip of Japan to the bottom of it, thus meaning that you couldn’t run away from him, concluding that when he went to bed that night, he was merely tired, not exhausted.

“K...Kiri...shima?” the voice whispered in his ears when he bolted from his bed and tumbled to the ground, his chest heaving in his panic as he cried.

He only slept for four hours that night, the ghost of his comrade haunting him too much for him to ever drift back to sleep. The only thing he was grateful for when he stumbled down to the hotel lobby for breakfast was that he had an attack while in his own room and not in a tour bus with ten others.

But the lack of sleep and the twisting of his guts from his still unburied memories meant that his exhaustion was dialed up larger than he thought was capable. Today was an interview day plus a miniconcert at said interview.

That meant that for an hour before your interview and two hours afterward, Kirishima lost you and had to hunt you down. You weren’t making it easy on him and had started moving with the crowd you gathered to evade him.

But today, Kirishima was exhausted.

Today, Kirishima wanted to sleep.

Today… Kirishima broke.

“Let’s go,” Kirishima spoke in a low, commanding voice. His eyes were hooded as he looked down at you, the crowd of fans parting like the red sea as he stands behind you, larger than life, imposing.

You ignore him.

“We’re leaving, now.”

“Aw, did you make that just for me?! This beading is gorgeous!”

To be fair, Kirishima isn’t really sure if he’s crying right now or if steam is protruding from his ears like some stupid cartoon. The only thing he knows is that it's been a bit longer than a month, and his client is the most perfect person in the world except to him and some lawyer. All he knows is that he has been continuously mocked, shamed, and disrespected by his client, and at this moment, with his mind and body aching with the memories of the morning, he can no longer stop the tsunami of emotions and thoughts that shove out of him.

He grabs your wrist and begins pulling you away.

“We’re leaving now, sorry to disrupt your time. Come see Y/n another day.”

Kirishima isn’t even aware of your screams, the banging of your small fist against his back as his hand encompasses your bicep easily. He walks and walks and walks until he stops, his mind slightly put back into place.

“—FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?! LET GO OF ME, SERGEANT!”

Oh, right.

He lets go of you immediately and nearly snorts at how you stumble into his back. So small, so delicate, and so completely weak.

“You want to know my problem, y/l/n?” he asks, voice eerily calm, much calmer than he actually is. “My fucking problem is that I signed onto this case with a single rule: keep you in sight and protect you. It’s simple, almost too easy, isn’t it? But easy and simple is everything that this assignment is!”

Your face contorted into a flash of anger and embarrassment, your nose scrunching as you found your footing, “And I told you that I don’t give a crap about that contract! I didn’t want it in the first place, but no one listens to me!”

Kirishima snorts, his body shifting so that he can look at you properly; your face is seething, your teeth bared and eyes wild, but Kirishima has faced worse.

“It’s not in my contract to listen to you, unfortunately,” Kirishima points out, his eyes narrowing. “I would have a better time listening to you, trying to find an agreement that worked if you used that brain of yours and figured out a way to compromise with me.”

“Compromises aren’t—”

“You think I wouldn’t?” Kirishima almost whines, his voice tight with emotions, fingers fisting in his hair, “You really fucking think that after a month and how many days of me spending stupid hours trying to find your ass, most of the time never knowing if you’re dead or not, I wouldn’t want a better solution?!”

“Like hell they’ll kill me! And if they do, I don’t fucking care!” you stubbornly insist, finger buried against the swell of your chest.

“Oh my god,” Kirishima can’t stop the bitter laugh from escaping, “you’re ridiculous.”

“I’m ridiculous?! I’m not the ridiculous one here!” you cry, your eyes bursting with unshed, bitter tears. “So what that I run away from you? Can you imagine living the past ten years of your life trying to be something that the media wants you to be? No! You can’t, Sergeant! Those times where I’m running away isn’t to be some dick, but to give me time to be me!”

“You’re a goddamn idiot!” Kirishima barks, his anger curdling in his chest like a raging fire. “If you had looked at my damn file correctly, instead of focusing on the stupid shit like me not being able to fire my gun correctly, you would be more than aware of the fact that you are one of my favorite artists!”

“Wh-”

“I am one of the best in my company! I am easy to get along with, personal, manageable, flexible even, but from the very first moment you laid eyes on me, you’ve hated me! You talk down on me, you shit on me, my job, the reason I’m here! Listen, I would fucking love to be anywhere but here right now. I have literally never hated my job before, but you just made that a reality. But the worst part of this all is the fact that you seem to think I would have kept you away, prohibited you from doing things that I already know you love! You stand there and tell me that I would try to force you to do shit you don’t want when I have merely been asking for you to take me there with you! I don’t care if I have to stand away and watch, but I want to be there! I’m supposed to be protecting you, but you’re being nothing more than a stubborn brat who refuses to see the efforts I’m trying to make, and frankly, I’m done.”

Kirishima’s chest is burning with the lack of oxygen, his eyes narrowed and filled with raging fire as he stares down at you, his neck craned so that he could be closer, more daunting, intimidating.

“Fuck o-off,” you snap suddenly, a lone tear, your voice tight and shoulders tense as you storm off.

“So predictable,” Kirishima calls after you, but it’s not filled with the previous anger he had but the sinking misery and regret.

And for a moment, it’s quiet.

Until a single name is screamed.

“SERGEANT!”

And then the all too familiar sound of a fist colliding with skin.

The anger in Kirishima’s blood evaporates immediately, and horror sinks in as he turns towards where you had stormed off. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

The parking lot is filled with an ugly yellow light that seems to set the stage for what was to come down. His footsteps crashing down against the black pavement were mute in his ears, and his eyes were focused on your limp body slung over somebody's shoulder. There was one person behind him, the other one already hopping into a van; Kirishima was the devil on their heels.

“Come on! Let’s go!” the one in the van screamed, his voice full of gruff apprehension and fear.

The van turns on.

Kirishima grunts, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he sidesteps the man who was lingering behind the one carrying you and quickly slams his shoulder into the man's sternum, knocking him out the moment he collapses onto the ground. 

He lets out a roar of such, his eyes glowing with anger and a single mind track to take down the person who held you, ready to throw your unconscious body into the back of the van.

Kirishima doesn’t even know when he manages to get to the man's side, one hand on his shoulder, the other on you, and with the strength and anger of a million fighting warriors, he ripped you from his hold and sent him stumbling into the trunk. Your shallow breathing brushes against his neck, and Kirishima is hyper-aware of the cursing men who chose to abandon their unconscious comrade on the floor. 

With his arms filled by your unconscious body, Kirishima can only watch the van scurry out of the lot, the license plate immediately burning into his mind.

T082-23

When the man on the floor finally wakes up, he’s in police custody, and you’re just waking up. There's a bruise on your cheek, and you begin crying immediately.

Kirishima watches from the distance, his heart aching and guilt climbing up his throat as he watches Kimiko hold you close, her arms warm and tight.

Well, shit.

So much for the month of no attacks.

Kirishima sits in a waiting room, his head relaxed against the wall as he waits for your discharge from the hospital. They suspect a concussion, and they’re running some tests right now. The police are there too, trying to get information from you on the failed kidnapping attempt as well as beginning the initial trials of interrogation of the abandoned kidnapper with a broken sternum, ruptured spleen, and three cracked ribs.

He was not surprised when the police officers came to talk to him, and he gave them the license plate.

But they also gave him an essential piece of information.

(“Well, when we asked for a motive, it seemed that it wasn’t his idea,” the detective admitted, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “His boss said that, and I quote, Y/n will end up dead and mutilated as is deserved. She deserves all the shit she has coming her way, end quote. Any ideas of who it could be”

Kirishima rubbed a hand across his face, the words striking a bit too familiarly to him, but from where. He shook his head, his eyes focusing on his bouncing knee.

“Thank you,” Kirishima said, his tone pointed in a clear indicator that this conversation was now over. The detective nodded, his frown slight as he left. The moment he was gone, Kirishima pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Kimiko? Yeah, I think we might have our first suspect.”)

For now, he was waiting for you.

An hour passed before you shuffled into the waiting room. There was a bandage on your swollen cheek, but besides the obvious attack, your eyes looked strong, and it seemed like there was no concussion.

“I should be fine,” you speak first, your jaw tensing as if it physically pained you to speak (whether it was because you hated talking to him or because of the injury, Kirishima had no idea). “I will be fine; I just need some sleep.”

Kirishima nodded, his body completely exhausted, and his mind filled with nothing but regrets on how he handled his anger earlier. He needed to apologize. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but he had definitely crossed a few too many lines.

“Should we go?”

You chewed on your lip, your eyes looking down at the white tiled floors of the hospital — so bleak, so anxiety driving.

“I actually wanted to talk before we left.”

Oh?

“Of what, if I may ask?”

Your eyes raise back up before looking away again, “the contract.”

Kirishima finds himself nodding, his hand gesturing towards the empty seat in front of him.

“Sure.”

And with a heaving sigh that sounds like you were on the verge of tears, you sit before him.

The contract was then discussed.

It was decided that you could continue to interact with fans as you wish, so long as you took Kirishima with you. He didn’t care about the long hours, the manic fans, or the impending doom of a group of people who meant business. He needed to be there.

Everything else stayed the same, but Kirishima looked at you one last time that night in the hospital, his body leaning towards you as he did his best to keep his face void of emotion and any lingering teasing.

“I’ll only accept this new negotiation on one term.”

“W-What?!” you pause, thinking. “Fine, say it.”

“From here on out, I think we should be friends, yeah? I’m on your side, after all, it’s a bit weird if we stay just acquaintances.”

The tension and horror leave your body, and Kirishima, for the first time ever, bears witness to the most relaxed, meaningful smile he has ever seen you give. It had been one hell of a shitty night, but at that very moment when the seventh turned into the eighth, Kirishima felt a new warmth flood through his chest, his heart racing at the sight of your glorious smile.

“Of course, Kirishima.”

“Oh, and y/n?” 

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry about all that I said. It was unmanly of me and out of line.”

“It’s okay. To be fair, I was a bit of a self-absorbed brat, too.”

The next day, a picture of Kirishima holding you bridal style is trending.

Date: 6/12 Time: 19:00 Location: Hime Onsen

An Interview with Y/n | Vogue Japan 4.5 million views • Premiered 2 hours ago 874k [liked this] 12.3k [disliked this] Timestamp: 05:32 / 10:33

[Interviewer]: Now, Y/n, we must congratulate you on your latest achievement! Your latest self-titled album, ‘Y/N,’ has been nominated for a record high of twelve awards for the upcoming Japan Record Awards, which will be coming up in about a month! Tell us how you feel about this?

[You]: It was quite a surprise actually! I didn’t realize that it would have done so well in the critic's eyes to get this type of award. I am proud of myself and am excited to see all the other amazing artists and musicians who were nominated as well.

[Interviewer]: Now, your album is all about staying true to yourself, whether that be in love or war. It depicts your own highs and lows while also highlighting beautifully universal things many of us face. Without question, you have always been adamant on staying connected with your fans and keeping a simple rule: no bodyguards.

[Y/n]: Oh, (laughs) yes! That is definitely a new thing, huh?

[Interviewer]: A new thing and a beautiful thing at that, too! Look here!

[captioner notes: interviewer displays many photos of Y/n’s bodyguard, including the most famous one where he’s holding y/n after the failed kidnapped attempt]

[Interviewer]: This is a beautiful — don’t giggle! — a beautiful man, Y/n! What do you have to say for yourself?! Did you finally succumb to keeping untrue to yourself for this beautiful man?! If so, it is perfectly acceptable. By chance, is your contract with him done? I would personally love to have this man on my team.

[Y/n]: (laughing) By all means, take him! (Y/n looks behind her, her bodyguard is there) I’m kidding, I’m kidding! (pauses) No, actually, sorry. Kirishima is an outstanding bodyguard, and I have no intentions of leaving him so soon. Uh, while I did say I had no wish or intentions to have a bodyguard, obviously that was not the best solution, so I hired Kirishima. He is a wonderful addition to my team and still allows me to be authentically me, so it’s still all good.

[Interviewer]: Ah, okay, well, Kirishima-kun, if you ever need a new client, call me. But moving on, yes! Would you like to discuss the series of increasingly concerning attacks?

Kirishima stood in the softly lit hallways of a sauna.

Today was one of the last remaining days you had off, and in celebration of your upcoming award season, you had decided that it was mandatory to visit the hot springs. Everyone on your team — the backup dancers, band, and hair and makeup — were ecstatic to learn that they were being involved with it too.

This high-end resort had accommodated your entire team to receive their own private spring with an all-inclusive menu too. 

It was thanks from the owner for the free PR and, of course, because they were some of your biggest fans. So, in thanks, everyone got to enjoy the springs.

Well, everyone but Kirishima, that was.

As of the past month, things between Kirishima and you had improved a lot.

With Kirishima no longer needing to run a marathon daily to find where you were, he would find himself walking at your side. He no longer felt like you hated him. There was respect and actual friendship between the two of you. You joked with him, showed him memes and TikTok, sent him snapchat streaks, and invited him to watch weird shows with you. You even complained to him about the things that annoyed you, namely Kimiko’s attention being stolen by other clients and the rude conversations you would have with the lawyer.

It made Kirishima’s chest warm up knowing that you were friends now.

A stressful month had passed into a friendlier one.

But there were some things that Kirishima would not have expected to… arise.

Namely you growing to be comfortable enough to walk around with nothing but a thin pair of panties and a large shirt. You curling into his side whenever you watched a show together in the bus, the way your lips brushed against his neck when he leaned down to hug you, or the very so not obvious teasing you would do when you changed in front of him. It was as if you were watching his every reaction, enjoying the way that his eyes horribly tore away, or the silent hitch in his throat whenever you speed his heart up.

The biggest surprise arose the night after the failed kidnapping attempt:

You had come to his room, hours after you were supposed to have fallen asleep.

Your eyes were sunken, still a bit tired, and the bruise on your cheek was looking bad. In your arms was a white binder undoubtedly filled with the introductory packet you had received at your initial meeting. Kirishima had opened the door in his sleepy state in nothing but gym shorts. He had barely started dozing off, his mind wouldn’t stop thinking of what could have happened if you hadn’t managed to scream, and so he kept tossing and turning.

Seeing you outside of his room, his head dropped down to look at you properly, and his fist rubbing at his eye fell, “Y/n?”

“Did I wake you?” you asked, your face filled with a shocked, near uncomfortable, and embarrassed expression he doesn’t recall ever seeing on you. “I’m so sorry! I’ll wait until—”

“No,” Kirishima grunts while he shakes his head, his voice raspy and dry from his lack of use. “I’ve been tossing and turning, um, what is it? Do you want to come in?”

“I-If that’s okay?”

Kirishima breathes out a bit, his shoulders relaxing as he smiles softly, “Come on, let’s talk about what’s on your mind.”

The door clicked behind your tentative steps with an echo, and Kirishima watched as you walked into the hotel room with wariness and caution.

“Would you like some tea?” Kirishima offered, picking up a shirt from his dresser and pulling it over his body. The fabric was tight against his chest and shoulders, but felt more appropriate to wear around you.

“No, I’m okay,” you politely decline.

You stood in the center of the room, unsure of where to sit, stand, or lay.

“Go ahead and make the bed,” Kirishima offered, taking the chair by the desk. “I promise it’s still clean.”

You laugh slightly, smile strained but grateful as you sit at the edge of the bed, binder resting on your lap.

“Thanks, I wouldn’t want to sit on a dirty bed,” you joke, but it sounds weak to Kirishima’s ears.

“So, what questions do you have?”

“Hm?”

“You have my portfolio,” he shrugs, leaning forward so that his forearms rest on his knees. “I have a feeling you have some questions.”

“Oh, right,” you whisper, your eyebrows scrunching as you open the binder to the first page, but your eyes are focused on the desk. “What’s the medication for?”

Kirishima turns his head to follow your gaze and comes across the yellow tinted medicine containers.

“My PTSD,” Kirishima answers honestly, his voice soft with emotion, but there was no shame in it. “My service had a difficult end.”

“That’s actually… that’s what I came to talk about,” you rush, your hands slamming the binder closed. “If you don’t want to talk about it, obviously I won’t push it! God, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s okay,” Kirishima interrupted, his smile sad, but he stood up, his body a tower in front of yours as he urged you to sit back down. “It’s okay; I don’t mind talking about it.”

“B-But what if I say something that makes it all worse?”

A pause.

“Then I’ll tell you that it’s too much.”

A nod.

“Are you… are you still experiencing a lot of symptoms?” you ask, your fingers tightening and untightening around the binder.

“Some days are worse than others,” Kirishima admits, his shoulders shrugging. “I don’t experience much anxiety while in crowds anymore; I don’t have many flashbacks to those days anymore, not since February at least. I do still get… I still get night terrors and dream of that day. It’s nowhere near as bad as the first few months after the accident, but it’s still here.”

“What happened?” you asked after a bit, morbidly curious.

The file had all the details that proved Kirishima to be a master of firearms during his entire time on the force. He was a powerful combatist, and his ranking was a clear indicator of the respect and skills he had. Still, it was the quick honorable discharge, the near year-long hospitalization, and the current inability to use a firearm that concerned you.

What had happened?

“I was involved in a grenade explosion on my last day on tour. I was the only one who managed to survive the blast,” Kirishima easily stated, his voice quiet.

“Oh my god, I… holy shit, I’m so sorry.”

“Nah, it’s all good. There were only two others around, and one of them was already dead.”

“Was that um, Major—”

“We called him Crimson Riot, actually,” Kirishima smiled, a chuckle light on his tongue as he leaned back onto the chair, nodding. “Yeah, that was him.”

“Crimson Riot,” you repeat, nodding. “Did you watch him… watch him die?”

Kirishima presses his lips tightly together, and for a moment, you’re unsure if he’s going to cry, answer you, or tell you to leave. There’s a whirlwind of emotions on your optimistic and typically jubilant bodyguard despite your asshole tendencies that make your stomach twist.

“Yes,” Kirishima finally answers, and you nod.

It’s hours into the morning before you finally depart back to your room, the horrors of Kirishima’s past still pounding into your ears. Kirishima wouldn’t notice, and neither would you, but on his shirt and yours, there’s a few drops of tears the both of you shed when you said goodnight.

Sergeant Kirishima Eijirou, while on an active warzone, had accidentally struck and killed his superior officer, his friend, his role model Crimson Riot, thinking that he was nothing more than an enemy target as he sat wounded behind a wall. He died on his lap, and as someone came to help, a grenade landed two meters away before detonating.

“K...Kiri...shima?” Crimson Riot had whispered as he fell to his knees, blood gushing and seeping through his clothes, spilling onto Kirishima’s lap. “I’ll be okay.”

For whatever reason, since that night, Kirishima felt something in him shift. He still took his medication, still had his virtual therapy sessions when he could fit them in, and even had painful night terrors of that moment, but it was becoming less frequent.

He wasn’t made of glass.

There had been more instances after the kidnapping attempt, but unlike the last times, Kirishima was prepared. He had stopped each one, keeping you safe and sound. As of one week ago, he had officially been given a firearm to keep strapped to his thigh at all times now.

It was an unfamiliar weight, one that still twisted his stomach and made him nervous, but he knew the reason why it was needed. Since the gun had been added to his gear, the attacks stopped. He was definitely not ready to be firing it anytime soon, but it had deterred the attackers for the time being.

Kirishima paused when he heard his earpiece ring, and he dropped his phone where he had been watching your interview despite being there himself.

“Talk to me,” Kirishima answered, his finger pressing the accept button.

“Kirishima!” came the distressed voice of Kimiko, “We just got a tip!”

Kirishima stilled, his eyes scanning the empty hallways that stretched throughout the private hot springs.

“I don’t know, but a person with connections with this mastermind said something about how there were two more events he was staging. Today is one of them!”

Kirishima’s eyes widened, his lips parting to answer Kimiko when instead there was a large, loud crash in the water from inside your room. He assumed the worst.

“Y/n!” Kirishima shouted, hands throwing open the sliding door and racing through the storage room, the shower, and exited out into the hot spring.

Steam curled through the wind, the white wisps of steam feeling warm and light against Kirishima’s skin, and Kirishima panicked when he couldn’t see your shadow or figure in the hot springs.

“Where is she?! Is she alright?!” Kimiko panicked, her voice panicking already. “I’ll call the—”

Kirishima turned on his heel, ready to complete a full sweep of the outdoor hot spring when he crashed into something smaller than he was… smaller, softer, and definitely the shape of a woman. Kirishima felt his entire body stiffen when his rough palms felt the undeniable feeling of wet, warm skin.

“Oh my god,” he heard you shriek. “KIRISHIMA!”

“She’s all good, Kimiko,” Kirishima stifled out, his voice tight, his head slamming backward so that his eyes were concentrated on the starry night sky.

“...sorry… uh aha! Another client of mine is calling, goodbye!” Kimiko’s apology was meek and small before she hung up.

Kirishima’s mind was racing a mile a minute, but his body was frozen, unmoving like a rock when he realized that pressing to his stomach was, without a doubt, your breasts.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“What are you doing in here, pervert?!” you splutter, your hands pressing to his stomach as you step away. “Are you a pervert or something?!”

“I, no! No! Of course not! Fuck, shit, I’m so sorry! I’ll go! There was a tip that something was going to happen right now, and there was a crash and—”

“What are you looking at?” you exclaim, squeaky frustration heavy on your tongue. “There’s nothing wrong with the sky! Look me in the eyes? Have you never been to a co-ed hot spring before?!”

“Y-Yes, sorry!” Kirishima apologized, bowing slightly in apology before he peered down. Still, his face bursted in a flame as he watched the way your jaw dropped in disbelief, the dewy wetness of the hot spring clinging to your body. You were, obviously, soaked, and Kirishima bit his tongue as hard as he could to keep the whimper from expelling past his lips when he saw the light gleaming off your breasts. But he watched your face shift between a million emotions, each one appearing too fast for him to read, too fast to register, but he saw the way a single-arm wrap around your breast and the other shoving into his stomach.

“PERVERT!”

“What?!”

“That was a test! This is my private room! I have the right to not be willing to be looked at right now!” you shrieked as Kirishima spun around, allowing you the complete privacy of his gaze.

“You told me to look at you!” he squawked. “Y-You told me, and I listened because of our contract!”

Kirishima could feel his body trembling, his mind reeling in disbelief that he definitely saw you in your entire nakedness, and if the swirling heat in his stomach had anything to say about it, he liked it. Fuck.

There was a soft laugh and the sound of sloshing water as you probably (he wouldn’t know because he wasn’t looking) reentered the spring.

“I know, I was teasing,” you sing, and he can tell the water is gliding around your body. “Turn around, Kiri, let’s talk.”

“Haha, um, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” Kirishima admits, although sitting in this steam-filled space with just you sounds so very nice. 

“Why not?” you asked, voice sounding a bit upset.

“I’m supposed to be outside, doing my job?”

“Augh, but these private springs are so boring alone,” your voice whines; the water sloshes, and Kirishima winces at the slight throb on his tongue as he continues to look at not your direction. “Turn around, Kiri.”

Not too long ago, you had taken to calling him Kiri, a subtle change, a not unusual nickname people gave him. But just because it was you, his stomach flipped and twisted, and now with the image of your tits in mind, his dick throbbed. 

Gulping, Kirishima turned, his gaze bashfully looking down at you before glancing away. You were chest-deep in the hot springs, tendrils of your wet hair sticking to your neck. Was he dead? Maybe dreaming?

No, his dreams were never like this.

“Do you want to come in?” you continued to ask, your body moving towards him in the water until you reached the edge of the pool, arms testing into the black rocks. “You’re the only one not in one, and since I hate being in these alone, I figured you’d like to join.”

Kirishima wanted to join. More than anything, he wanted to take his clothes off and jump into the springs with you, for you, but that would be unprofessional. Entirely and utterly unprofessional.

“Please?” you ask softly, pleadingly, and Kirishima makes the mistake of locking his gaze with yours. 

“...fine, but I’ll be on the other side of the spring,” he concedes, his steps near clumsy and oafish as he stumbles backward to the shower and closet.

“Such a gentleman pervert,” you tease, fingers curling as you wave at him until Kirishima finally closes the door behind him.

The empty room is nearly deafening in its silence and the future as Kirishima slumps against the sliding door, excited apprehension rippling through every cell of his skin as a smile spreads across his face. He walks to the storage room, and despite it being a private room, there were two closets. The closet not already occupying your clothes had the things needed for him, and thankfully, it fit. 

He undressed slowly, folding his clothes and placing them into the cubbies. Fully naked, he approached the showers, and under the lukewarm showerhead, he cleaned his body of any grime, dirt, and sweat. 

Feeling refreshed and clean, Kirishima began his descent to the hot spring, his heart hammering when his fingers grabbed the handle of the door.

“I’m coming in,” he announced, a healthy amount of fear, excitement, and heat drumming through him.

“I’ll keep my virgin eyes away from your body, don’t worry,” came your slow tease, and Kirishima snorted softly.

Kirishima stepped back out to the hot spring.

Just like the first time, the entrance to the spring was warm, the steam seeming thicker than last time, clouding the outdoor room and his sight. You were at the furthest out part of the pool, your back towards them as you worked your fingers through your scalp.

Discarding his slippers at the edge, Kirishima climbed into the pool.

The pool only went as far as his thigh, and he sank into the warm water. It felt wonderful on his body, relaxing his muscles just enough for him to wonder when was the last time he had managed to visit a hot spring.

“I’m in,” Kirishima said, his arms rising up out of the water, resting onto the black stone. “You can turn around now.”

“God, took you long enough,” you tease, your body twisting so that you were facing him again.

To Kirishima’s complete and utter surprise, you stilled, eyes dragging up and down his exposed chest, eyes locked on the series of tattoos all over his right pectoral, and trailed down his right arm. His lips felt dry as your eyes shifted back to his face, to his arm, and back to him. The smile on your face felt weak, but it sent a spiral of dizzying heat through Kirishima when he noticed the hushed lust.

For a while, the two of you remained at opposite ends of the hot spring. Eyes closed, hummed melodies passing through the song. You asked Kirishima about how he felt, if his medication was due for refills, if therapy was okay (he was doing better, a refill was due in two weeks, and therapy was going the same). He asked you about your relationship with Kimiko, with the lawyer, and if you had any real friends within the music industry (Kimiko was like an older cousin to you, the lawyer was a pain to deal with at times, and surprisingly, you did meet some genuine friends). You questioned how his friends were doing, if he had any contact with them despite their busy schedules. 

So Kirishima found himself retelling stories of his coworkers turned close friends. Each story he told left both of you with sore stomachs from laughter, and tears at the corner of your eyes from laughing too hard. 

“Was the tip story true?” you asked once the quiet overcame and grew old. You shift through the water, getting a bit closer to Kirishima.

Kirishima coughed, suddenly feeling a tad bit shy about his posture, but decided to keep from moving.

“You honestly think I would have barged into here just because I wanted to see you?”

Truthfully, had Kirishima been a man without morals, chivalry, or disrespect for you, he would have. Definitely would have.

“Let a girl dream,” you smile, like a luring siren as you wander closer by just a step. “It would go against everything I know about you, but it’s fun to tease.”

“You’re a bigger brat than I thought you would be,” Kirishima smiles back, trying his best to not show the way goosebumps were bursting against his skin, his eyes locked on yours, trying to not get distracted by the way your wet skin made his mind spin.

“I don’t think I’m a brat,” you counter, getting close enough that he could feel the currents of the water with your movement. But you were far enough that Kirishima felt like pointing out the fact you disregarded his keep apart rule would be a mistake. “How am I a brat?”

The sound of the water rippling through the springs along with the growing noises of the bugs began a melody around the two of you, and all Kirishima could do was stare at the way you blinked your eyes slowly — like a feline stalking a prey.

“A lot of ways, really,” Kirishima breathes, his heart rising up to his throat as he felt your hands gingerly place themselves on his knees.

“Yeah?” you ask, parting through his naked legs, and Kirishima felt his breathing stop when your exposed chest pressed against his. Your lips were ghosting so far from his but tantalizingly close enough that he felt drunk off your sweet breath. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Kirishima sucked in air, his arms resisting movement, and his eyes glanced down at the way your mouth was millimeters from his. His dick was very much interested in what he could do about it, and when your hands grazed up his thigh and onto his chest, Kirishima could feel something rumble in his chest.

He moved to eliminate the space, but there was a crash in the following spring, pushing you away from him long before he could claim your mouth.

“FUCK!” the person in the opposite spring screamed, and Kirishima’s eyes closed in his muted annoyance as you sighed.

His eyes dropped to the water, giving you the privacy to rise out of the water and make your way over to the wall.

“Jenny, are you okay?” you called.

“Give me a warning the next time you try fucking your hot bodyguard in the middle of a private onsen!”

“We weren’t fucking you prude!”

And with that, Kirishima took this as his embarrassed cue to leave.

He stood at the entrance of your private spring for about twenty minutes, entirely uncomfortable with the still hard dick in his pants, rubbing and chaffing against his jeans as he stood there. Eventually, you exited the hot spring, face glowing from the steam and eyes avoiding his gaze as you walked back to your room. Your robe was tight on your body, the hair on the nape of your neck pressed to your skin.

Kirishima sighed as he watched you enter your room, your smile short as you nodded a simple goodnight before letting the door slam shut behind you.

Rubbing his face, Kirishima listened to the voices in his intercom talk about how nothing had happened tonight. An attempted unwelcome visitor tried to get into your room, but they had stopped him. They didn’t fight, but they had run away the moment they caught on to the fact that they weren’t exactly authentic.

Kirishima sighed as he slumped into his room, collapsing on the too small bed as he found himself looking at the ceiling in deep concentration.

What was he going to do now?

That was undeniably sexual, his still semi-hard dick damning evidence to the known fact that he wanted you. By god did he want you. Wanted you beneath him, over him, splitting yourself down onto his cock while you gripped your arms and legs around him, fucking down onto his driving cock. 

Kirishima groaned low in his chest, guilt blooming in the back of his throat as his palm rubbed his pulsing cock.

Bad, Kirishima, bad.

“Kirishima-san?” a voice broke through his earpiece, and Kirishima nearly jumped out of his skin. “Are you there?”

“Hi Kimiko,” Kirishima sighed, his dick deflating instantly. “Everything all right?”

“Ah, yes! Sorry about earlier, the false tip and the sudden abandonment!” Kimiko embarrassingly apologized. “My client was ringing for the fourth time, and while I care deeply for y/n, I had to take it!”

“Mm, no worries, Kimiko,” Kirishima smiled politely despite the lack of visual contact. “How can I help you?”

“Ah, yes,” Kimiko asserted, her tone changing from apology to one of formality. “So, about the visitor incident I’m sure you were brought attention to, it seems that the vehicle they came in was with the driver's plate: T082-23. Does that sound familiar?”

“Not currently,” Kirishima sighed, his body stretching into a sitting up position. “Does it to you?”

“No…” Kimiko admitted, and Kirishima could feel the worried frown on her face. “Well, I just wanted to call and give you that information. It was passed along to me, and they mentioned they hadn’t told you. And since I was going to give you the schedule for the upcoming JRA’s award day, I figured I’d let you know!”

“No problem! Let’s go over the schedule now?”

“Yes! I have a client meeting in America right after this! Can you believe it? An American celebrity wants my help?!”

“That sounds amazing, Kimiko!”

“Okay, so this is how the day’s going to go!”

Date: 7/10 Time: 18:00 Location: Tokyo Hotel Room 101

Kirishima watched as an entire team was getting you dressed up.

Two people were doing your hair, three people doing your nails, one person doing your makeup, and five getting one of your three outfits for the night ready.

According to you, as you had strutted around in these outfits nearly two weeks ago were your red carpet and beginning of the award show outfit, your performance outfit, and of course, the after-party outfit. Each one was different, yet when adorned on your body was a perfect replica of who you were.

Most importantly, the two of you had decided to ignore every single instance of tremendous sexual energy and desire that basically leaked from both of your pores. It was for the best to ignore it. There was no point in pursuing it, especially when there was a known hunt for you, and Kirishima was the last line of defense between you and whoever it was.

Whoever it was, pfft.

Kirishima was willing to bet on who it was already.

Since the night of the initial kidnapping that finally closed the gap between you and Kirishima, there was something that the caught criminal said that stuck with him.

Everything you had coming your way, you deserved, he had said in bitter spite.

The interesting thing was that it was the lawyer who had said that, multiple times at that. The lawyer seemed to have everything to fuel him to rage against you. Everything you said or tried, the lawyer was on your heel, barking at you that it was wrong. Kirishima had also seen the contracts between you and the lawyer, and the amount that he was paid to be your attorney was not large at all.

The mass majority of the funds you earned were always funneled towards charities and organizations you trusted to help people in need — in fact, it was almost 80% of your total earnings. A meek, barely larger than 20% was split between you, your lawyer, Kimiko, your music crew, and any other unforeseen expenses. The lawyer was also in a situation where he was not in demand with clients, and if you weren’t heeding his expensive tag, he needed a new contract with you.

A contract he was always demanding to discuss with you that you denied to change.

Attacks tended to happen days after you and the lawyer tumbled, not enough to rouse suspicion if you weren’t looking, but Kirishima was. He just needed damning evidence now.

Something.

Anything.

And for some reason, his gut was screaming at him that something big was going to happen tonight, that tonight was going to be the last attack—the one to end everything.

So he had told everyone about it. Kimiko, the security at the JRA’s, even you. It made him nervous.

It made his hand sweat, the gun strapped to his thigh feeling like hot iron as he stood about as you laughed with your makeup crew.

Kirishima swore, promised, and vowed he would protect you.

He was going to.

And when the gold dress was tied to your body, fitting you beautifully, Kirishima found himself unable to look away like strands of your hair framed your temples.

“What do you think, Kiri? Will I be on the Best Dressed List?” you asked, tearing Kirishima’s attention away from the bodice and skirt of the dress. Your eyes were bright, hopeful, yearning for a positive reaction from him.

“How could you not be?” Kirishima admitted, his grin toothy, and he shifted against the wall.

“You’ll make me blush,” you grin back, eyes batting just a bit as you clasp your hands together. It takes everything in Kirishima to keep from striding across the space between the two of you and kissing you silly. “Are we ready to go?”

Kirishima wet his lips, unwillingly tearing his gaze from you, and whispers into the intercom.

“Ready to move out?”

“We’re all clear.”

Straightening back up, Kirishima smiled at you, his head motioning towards the door.

“Alright, y/n, let’s see you make some history?”

“Damn right I will.”

Kirishima smiled as he exited first, carving the path for you. 

Paparazzi were on you immediately, the lights flashing and terribly bright as he helped you through the throngs of them. His hand pressed to your back as they screamed demands, most of which you complied with until Kirishima stated that you would be late. You, unfortunately, couldn’t be late to the awards show.

Ushering you into the limousine, Kirishima follows in shortly after you, scrunching up in his seat as he sits opposite of you. However, your typical light and bright demeanor are gone; instead, you seem almost anxious as you open your handbag.

“You okay there?” Kirishima asks as he realizes you pulled out a distinctly obvious metal flask.

“Awards make me nervous,” you painfully admit; you're weakly smiling as you knock back a shot of the drink. “I hate winning and losing; the alcohol makes me less… of a wreck. Do you want some? I think it’s apple soju, I don’t know, a good luck gift from Kimiko.”

Kirishima grins, his eyes rolling as he decides to decline the drink. “Sorry, love, I think that I need to be completely sober for today.”

You scrunch your nose, obviously displeased, “Lame, who shows up to these awards sober?”

“Me,” Kirishima laughed, his head tilting back and scraping against the ceiling of the limousine. 

“Such a prude, sober, pervert,” you sigh, taking yet another swig before putting the flask back into your bag. 

“Such a brat.”

Just like every previous instance, your eyes seem to glow in glee at that name, your lips curling into a pleased smirk as you shrug. It's a sight that makes Kirishima’s mouth dry and heart racing. Fuck, he should not be thinking about fucking you in the limousine right now.

But before the heat in the limousine could simmer to one of undeniable boiling, you had arrived.

Kirishima cleared his throat, sending a quick wink your way as he exited the car first. The first stop was for him to join the lineup to guide you through all the different photo and interview sessions. No one wanted pictures of him emerging from the limo after all. 

There's a moment where after Kirishima closes the door, your eyes filled with worry and excitement as he winked goodbye, that things changed. He stood up, his eyes already scanning the area for anything suspicious, when he saw the all too familiar van.

T082-23.

His eyes widened, his head looking around for anyone else, but there was no one to help. No one could do anything as the car continued to drive away, disappearing from Kirishima’s line of sight. His heart hammered in his chest, and his hands instinctively went to his thigh. He had his firearm… he had it.

With nothing but a quick report to the head of security via his com, Kirishima pushed on ahead, waiting for your descent down the red carpet.

When you eventually emerged from the limousine, Kirishima found that at this moment, the entire world faded away as a gloved hand assisted you out of the vehicle. You were elegant, stunning, a realistic vibrant portrait within his world of greys. As you took photos for the cameras, he was by your side a few strides away as you talked to reporters.

You really came to life right now.

You were beautiful.

“For all the pain in the world that she is, she’s quite charming from a distance, huh?” a voice spoke to his side, and Kirishima froze. His eyes widened completely when he noticed that standing beside him was none other than the lawyer.

The lawyer was dressed in a nice suit, glasses perched on his nose, and for the first time Kirishima had seen, the scowl was not quite so hard.

He was here.

Every warning bell sounded in Kirishima’s head.

This was the man he was so sure was the reason behind your every attack. A man fueled by insufficient funding, a need for a new contract that would never be approved without your signature.

“What are you doing here?” Kirishima asked, subtlety never being something he was ever good with. “I’ve never seen you anywhere except to argue with Y/n about contracts. This doesn’t seem like the appropriate time to be discussing it.”

“Kimiko wanted me to give her a new contract proposal to give to y/n. However, to be fair, it’s quite easy for anything to come down to an argument with y/n,” he shrugs, and Kirishima watches a cloud of emotions pass between the man’s eyes. “At least between her and me, we’ve never gotten along, but I suppose that’s how it is for any type of family who works together.”

Wait.

“What?! Family member?!”

“Yes, I know it’s strange to believe. I am quite ugly, and she is not, but we’re family.”

Kirishima’s mind was racing now. It didn’t make sense. If he was family, why would he be in such pursuit of potentially murdering you? If you were family, he was sure that you would help out? If he needed a raise like he thought, wouldn’t you have helped?

There was no way you wouldn’t.

Was he wrong?

Who was it?

“Kiri!” your voice broke into his mind and tore him back to reality. You waved at him, then passed a stuck-out tongue to the lawyer in a teasing fashion. “Let’s go in?”

Kirishima looked over at the lawyer who greeted a woman, who was also walking down the red carpet, a celebrity he could name no less, with a warm kiss. 

Oh fuck.

He needed to call Kimiko; he was so very wrong.

You had won two awards so far, and at this very moment, Kirishima was being ushered back to his seat in the audience as you were being escorted to the main stage to perform your latest song. You had removed your gold dress for a black, sleek gown. Your lipstick changed to a dark red, and your hands trembled in the white lace gloves you wore.

“Oh, Kiri,” you wheezed almost, your hands shaking as the announcers on stage were announcing the last awards before your performance. “I’m getting nervous. What if I mess up or sing off-key? I’d be the laughing stock!”

Kirishima laughed gently, his hands easily encompassing your waist as he stilled your frantic moves. “Y/l/n y/n, if there is anything I know for sure about you is that you are one hell of a singer and a performer. The awards you’re nominated for tonight speak for themselves! You never fail at your performances, and even if you somehow manage to sing off-key, I’m sure that no one would notice! Your biggest fan in the world won’t notice, at least.”

Not more than seven days ago, when you had cried about the impending nerves of being an artist, Kirishima had come to claim the title of being your biggest fan in the world. It had made you chuckle through your tears before coming near a hysterical laugh as the two of you held each other close.

“You’re a nut, Kirishima Eijirou,” you laugh, hands resting on his lower ribs, but your smile was bright, warm. You paused a bit, fingers pulling at the fabric of his shirt. “I’ll sing just for you then, but I think I should take another swig of that soju.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Could you tell that Takeyama is completely drunk off her ass?”

“...she’s drunk?!”

“Exactly, I’ll be fine,” you breathe, taking a new smaller flask from the purse Kirishima was holding for you and taking the final swig. Your face contorts at the bitter liquid. “Ew, Kimiko really fucked me over with this one. Why is it blue?! Have you ever seen blue apple soju?!”

“No?” Kirishima startled, his eyes looking at the indeed splash of blue liquid tainting a small part of your gloves. “Who gave you that one? What happened with the other flask of yours?”

“Oh, Kimiko sent it along after I lost my other one; it’s her own flask,” you said before the backstage crew whisked you away to begin your set, and without you, Kirishima was sent to the audience.

Kirishima felt trapped as he was ushered into his seat, his eyes scanning the entire audience for something suspicious, a familiar face perhaps. His broad shoulders continued to bump into his neighbors, their disgruntled noises doing nothing to stop his worry.

“And now, Y/n,” came the strong voice of the male announcer, and the light dimmed.

Kirishima watched as the spotlight came down upon you, a golden halo of colors against your darkened gown as the instrumentals began to play in the background. And he saw you take a step forward, the building motifs suddenly silencing when you finally sang the first note.

Despite the panic arising in Kirishima, the unknown of who was behind it all, what was going to happen, he stilled at the unmatched strength and ambiance of your voice.

You sang as you did at every stage, to every audience.

There was a reason why you were considered a legend.

And then, with one last sound, one last melody, and your hand holding your microphone dropped. Your chest heaving, tears falling down your face, and the roar of the audience was silent. You looked through the audience, unable to see, but for some reason, you just knew where Kirishima was.

You smile.

But as the looming sounds begin to fill your ear again, you find that the world is hazy.

You swallow, eyes unfocused as you bowed, hurrying to leave the stage.

Kirishima watched as you took a final stumbling step off the stage, something he felt was going to be written off as you stepped on your dress. But his mind whirled.

The lawyer felt like a setup; the contracts made no sense, the blue soju.

How were they related?

What connected them?

“Oh, fuck,” Kirishima whispered, horrified, and immediately his finger pressed to his earpiece. “Find Y/n! Now!”

Kirishima was racing through the back of the venue, the announcers' voices still ringing through the dirty, bleak hallways. You had just won but was written off as being somewhere backstage; after all, the show must go on.

Voices screamed in his earpiece, each declining to have found you. No one had seen you after you stepped off the stage. No one knew who had taken you.

Kirishima noticed the doors closing at the end of the hallway, and with a dreading sense of doom, Kirishima removed the gun from his harness. And with the devil on his heels, he ran.

Kirishima panted as he looked before him.

You were passed out, draped limp, confused, and woozy against Kimiko’s body, and two men knocked unconscious beside them. To anyone else, it looked as if Kimiko had saved you, some guardian angel within this world, but if Kirishima’s gut meant anything, he knew better.

“Kirishima-san!’ Kimiko squeaked as Kirishima raised his gun, his body tense, unwilling to take a chance on her. “I don’t know what those two were doing! I was saving her, I swear!”

“Don’t do this, Kimiko,” Kirishima whispered, his head shaking. “I figured it out.”

There was a shift in Kimiko’s face at that; the scared unknowing hero melted into one of anger, resentment, one of someone who knew they had been outed.

“So, you figured it out,” she bitterly spoke, her arms that were supporting you from behind revealing to be a firearm of your own. “I didn’t expect you to.”

“I can’t say I figured out your reasoning; honestly, it doesn’t make sense to me, but I felt like it was you,” Kirishima carefully states, his heart roaring at the implied danger of the firearm against your chin. “Don’t do anything stupid, Kimiko.”

Kimiko stares, her lips forming a small o before changing into one of a large, near unattached grin.

“Anything stupid? If anyone is doing anything stupid, it's this selfish prick!” Kimiko spits, her arms tightening around you, making you whimper ever so gently in pain. “She thinks she’s so great, so rich, so smart! Just because she wastes most of her money on stupid shit like charity! Everyone thinks working for her is a dream, but they’re all blind idiots!”

Kirishima’s eyes widen as he notices the glazed, unfocused of your eyes as you shift your attention over to him. Were you listening?

“What’s wrong with the contract?” he asks, a small attempt to diffuse the situation.

“The fact she pays me next to nothing, and yet she works me half to death!”

“You have multiple clients, don’t you?” Kirishima splutters, unsure as to what was wrong. “Why is this one contract so important you wanted to frame her lawyer?!”

Kimiko laughs; it’s pitchy, almost hysterical as she bends over, your body slumping further onto the floor. “That was a lie! All a fucking lie! Do you know that I knew no one when I first started? Y/n is a name everyone wants. I don’t need to do anything to get her things! The world wants her! But the other clients? None of them stayed, none of them wanted me past a month! The salary was okay when she was a snot-nosed brat, but ten years later?! NO! She won’t fucking listen. She never fucking listens to anything but herself! So she has the option to give me the eighty percent, or fucking die here!”

Suddenly the gun in Kirishima’s hand feels like a ton, the skin on the back of his neck crawling and slicking with sweat.

“You know how much those charities mean to her,” Kirishima whispers. “She won’t do it.”

Kimiko trembles for a second, her arm holding the firearm lowering as she looks at the wall, shaking.

“Oh my god… you’re right,” Kimiko realizes, horror and uncertainty flashing across her face. “I guess… she has to die, oh my god, she has to die.”

At that moment, the world slowed down, and Kirishima swore he could see the atoms, the electricity flowing through the space between them. Kimiko’s arm holding the gun raising back up to your temple, her smile detached, horrific yet gleeful.

His body trembled as he doubted himself, his mind unsure if the finger on the trigger was going to be strong enough to fire away. Could he do it?

Was he ready?

Actually ready?

Save her, his past whispered.

Save her, his nightmares screamed.

Save her, his heart yelled.

Kirishima raised his arm, his focus blaring, his past just for a moment, forgotten.

BANG!

“The effects of the rohypnol have already worn out. Thankfully she wasn’t given a whole pill. If she experiences any nausea or throws up, please bring her back, should anything else happen, she’ll be okay.”

The words of the doctor rang in Kirishima’s ears. For tonight, they were going to be discharging you to him. Thankfully, it was all happening in Tokyo, so Kirishima’s apartment was near, and if Bakugou was true to his word, it was clean.

With the help of hospital security, he had managed to get your tuxedo concealed body into a car, and the two of you rode off to his apartment. You’ve been silent the entire time, eyes downcasted as you sit pressed to his side, feeling like a small child compared to him. You knew that he was much larger than you, a near two feet taller, but this felt unmatched. 

Kirishima’s jacket was warm around you, it’s sheer largeness another dress on your body, and despite the horrific turn of events, you were feeling warm. You couldn’t remember much of what transpired after stumbling off stage, but you did remember Kirishima bursting through the doors, a look of anger and fear blistering off his person in such a way that made you whimper when you remembered.

You remembered the onsen basically every night, cursing your stupid makeup team for interrupting a night that definitely would have ended with you fucking Kirishima. You cursed yourself for being a coward and not just saying fuck it and fucking him afterward despite the brief awkwardness.

He wanted you, it was clear as day, and you wanted him as well.

Tonight.

“Sorry about how small my apartment is, or if it’s messy, I don’t actually know if my friends have been keeping up with it,” Kirishima apologized, guiding you into the apartment by the small of your back. “You’ll be safe here tonight, and I promise we can get back to your own place tomorrow!”

“Oh, don’t apologize, it’s okay,” you smile, feeling flushed as you cross the entryway to the apartment. His apartment, despite not being home in so long, is clean. The halls aren’t messy, and a hint of lavender is saturated to the air. The dim hallway lights were barely bright enough to cause you to squint as it was dark out. “Thank you for having me tonight, especially after everything.”

At the hospital, you had been given a pair of sweats and a cotton t-shirt. The change in outfit from your event dress was definitely needed, and even though you were sure your makeup was streaked down your face, you felt good hidden in the depths of Kirishima’s jacket.

“Are you hungry?” Kirishima asked, handing over his guest slippers, which you gratefully accepted. “I might have some microwaveable food leftover.”

“Ramen doesn’t sound too bad,” you admit as Kirishima unbuttons the first few buttons on his white dress shirt. You were instantly captivated by the movement, your eyes shifting back to his face when he began to walk off towards the kitchen.

Kirishima talked warmly, keeping the conversation going merrily and bright throughout the entire time in the kitchen. He undoubtedly knew you weren’t entirely okay, and at moments like this, you were entirely grateful for his sweet personality. 

To be fair, you knew that you had been quite unfair to Kirishima in the beginning. Looking back at the first entire month of knowing him, you were horrified and impressed that Kirishima didn’t demand to be dropped. You had been selfish, stubborn, a bottom line brat, and he took it day after day. It wasn’t that you disliked him back then; hell, you had been in a near state of delirium when he entered the door during your first meeting because you had no idea such huge men existed to the caliber of his hotness.

But you resisted and might have been harsher than needed.

It was okay now; after all, if he was genuinely bitter about that entire month still, the onsen said otherwise.

It didn’t take long for your stomach to be filled with warm broth, soft boiled eggs, and ramen noodles. Kirishima did, in fact, have ramen, fresh eggs, and some vegetables. In a grand act of preparing you the most sufficient dinner he could, Kirishima presented this under budget ramen and laughed when you said it was terrific.

But it was growing late.

The two of you still sat at his table that was full of a card game, your empty ramen bowls, and cups of water. The clock on the oven read 23:38, and the city lights were slowly dying.

“Are you ready for bed?” Kirishima eventually asked you. 

You looked up from your joined hands; your fingers had been playing with his thick and long fingers for some time now. The apartment grew steadily quieter as you studied and attempted to memorize each callous and scar on his hands. They were definitely marked and nicked, the sign of the warrior he once was.

“Depends on the bed,” you tease, lips rising into a small smile as you compare your much tinier hands than his. Your fingertips barely passed the edge of his palm. “What does a big guy like you sleep in? A twin? Tatami mat?”

Kirishima laughed, his hands twisting in yours, wrapping it around so that he raised your hands up to press a kiss to the center of your palms. 

“A futon, brat,” Kirishima explained, his smile small but sharp with his humor. “Let’s get you to bed?”

You frown. 

“Where will you be sleeping then?”

“My couch is just fine.”

“I’m sure your stuffing in a trash bag had holes in it.”

“That’s okay,” Kirishima laughed, standing up and quickly taking you to your feet as well. “It’s just for a night, I’ll live.”

Your face warmed immediately as he guided you down the hallway of his apartment before finally coming into what was definitely his room.

Kirishima’s scent was faint in this room, cinnamon, wood, and warm spices. It made your eyes flutter as you observed his room from the entryway as he began to set up the room. 

His eye for interior decoration was quite… different. You smiled brightly as you glanced around; the diverse and rather boyish decorations around the room warmed your heart. It seemed exactly like what you would think of for Kirishima. 

“Well, that’s all!” Kirishima exclaimed, his hands landing on his hips in triumph as he looked around. “The bathroom is the next door over, and I’ll leave a toothbrush out for you. I also left out a new t-shirt of mine if you want to change!”

You nod some more, watching as Kirishima seems unsure of what to do next. He looks around, coughs a bit before nodding.

“Okay, I’ll be leaving—”

“Um, can we talk?” you interrupt, arms wrapping around your body. “I have some things I want to say.”

“Oh, sure!”

“You can sit,” you say, motioning toward the bed. “I have a few things to get off my chest.”

Kirishima pauses for a bit, his eyes looking you over before he eventually nods, and he sits down. The bed slightly creaks under his weight, and you feel your body warm-up at the sound. You want to hear the bed creak more, to rock under the weight of you and him pressed against the sheets as you cried his name.

“What is it?” he asks gently, observing you.

“I just…” you huff, words failing you, your tongue feeling heavy. “I wanted to say thank you for saving me.”

“It was my job to do that,” Kirishima smiled warmly, his arms crossing again.

He was relaxed.

“I mean, I can’t even begin to believe that it was Kimiko who was behind all that, even though we know it was… I know it was,” you trail off, shivering slightly as you remember your ex-managers demented laugh in your ear. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Nothing would’ve happened to you,” Kirishima spoke with finality. “I promised to myself at the first meeting I was going to protect you, hell the entire world would. You’re not going to be taken down by pathetic people like that, not you.”

“Really?”

“One hundred percent.”

“I feel like I should repay you in some way, though,” you rub the back of your neck, eyes fluttering just the slightest bit flirtatious. Kirishima looked at you with full mooned eyes, his arms unfolding and his palms resting onto the bedspread.

“You repay me plenty already,” came his whispered answer, so quiet, so pure you almost smiled. “You don’t have to do anything.”

Your tongue pushes past your lip, wetting the drying skin as you take a step toward him. The shoulders of the jacket slowly fall from your own shoulders, pooling just above your elbows as you stop before him, hands resting daintily on his broad shoulders.

“And what if I want something?” you ask, finding yourself stemming with energy as his legs part, allowing you closer access to him. 

You step in closer and closer until your outer thighs are ghosting against the inner part of his.

“I think it’s in our contract for me to do everything that you request if I remember correctly,” Kirishima whispers, his bright clear red eyes turning a burnt shade: dark and ever consuming. 

“And if I want you to finish what you started over at the onsen?” you press, fingers curling against the muscles of his shoulders before locking behind his neck.

His nose was brushing against yours, cold yet burning against your own skin.

“I’ll gladly show you what I wanted to do that night,” he grunts, eyes deadly, and for the first time, his hands held your waist.

You took a second to recover, your skin sparking with the electricity of his touch, and you suppressed a shiver as you opened your eyes.

“Do it,” you cement your fates, “coward.”

And just like that, in a movement so euphoric, Kirishima’s mouth crashed against yours.

His mouth was hot, dangerous against yours -- a live wire sparking with uncontrollable energy and heat as your mouths danced. Hot puffs of air were passed between your mouths, your fingers shaking with an undeniable release of tension and want. 

The kiss was sloppy, desperate, so needy with unspoken frantic determination to fuck each other until the other could no longer move. 

Kirishima’s hand removed the jacket from your arms, letting the expensive material fall onto the floor with a heavy thud. Despite the lack of warmth the clothing provided, the feeling of Kirishima’s hands rubbing against your bare arms sent your mind spiraling.

“Get on the bed,” Kirishima commands against your mouth. “Let me fuck you.”

The words were nearly embarrassingly desperate, but the tone of his voice spoke of the absolute domination he wished to assert on you. He wanted you in one exact way, and you had a feeling you knew what it was. But if he had been paying attention, Kirishima should already know that getting you to listen was not easy.

“No,” you grin against his mouth.

Kirishima pulls away instantly, his lips red and swollen as he replays your word in his head. He looks frazzled, absolutely delirious already at the simple, passion-filled makeout. As soon as his eyes clear away the fog, your grin drops, and instead, you look at him with fierce determination and defiance. 

“No?” he repeats.

“No,” you confirm.

Your chest feels light, your head spinning as the hands on your waist tighten, and his eyes flash dangerously. The tip of his tongue pushes past his lips before quickly disappearing again. 

“Of course, you’re a brat in bed too, such a fucking princess,” Kirishima shakes his head, but his mouth curving into a shark-like grin. 

Menacing, promising, sending chilling shivers down your spine.

The world spins faster than you can keep up, your mouth opening to shriek as Kirishima easily lifts you up, and has you lying against his lap. 

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret, princess,” Kirishima begins, his large fingers hooking into the waistband of the sweats you have on and the panties you’re wearing. “My princess gets rewards for being good. If she can behave properly, she gets to be fucked with dick, her pussy gets to be fucked just the way she pleases.”

You can’t help but stifle a moan that threatens to spill out with his words and the way his hands move down the curve of your ass, exposing the naked skin to him. The waistband of both your panties and sweats stay high up your thighs, and it’s almost embarrassing to know you’re still so clothed despite what’s to come.

“And just what does the Sergeant do to bad girls?” you ask, unable to keep your tongue down, your hips rolling against his lap in undeserved friction.

Unexpectedly, abruptly, a hand comes down harshly onto your bare ass.

The contact is rough, stinging against your ass as you cry out in slight pain.

The hand not currently rubbing a warning circle into your ass twists the hair at the top of your head, lifting your head up so that your ear could near his mouth.

“Bad girls get punishments. They get what I want to give them. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Holy shit,” you whimper, heat flaring between your thighs at the thought of Kirishima doing anything to you regardless of if you were good or bad. You rut your ass back against his hand, longing for a heavier touch, a plea for something more.

“What does the princess want?”

“Nothing,” you bite, and the crashing smack of another spank has you moaning loudly at the stinging pleasure-filled pain. 

“You moaning like a whore at a simple spank says otherwise,” Kirishima chuckles darkly, his fingers pinching your stinging ass as your body bucks against him. He spanks you again, again, and again. Each slap is intentful, powerful, wanting to get you to admit what you want, and you cry against your hands each time, your eyes fluttering as the pain feels good. 

“Of course, a slut like you would be getting off on this,” Kirishima seems amused, his thick finger pressing to the slit of your cunt, spreading your dripping essence against your cunt. He presses against your entrance with just the tip of his finger, and you shriek in a sound for more, your hips jerking backward to get his finger into you, to fuck you with those thick fingers to do something about the growing desperate heat. 

“Kirishima!” you scream, your body sweating and twisting on his lap, desperate to find some way to get him to finger fuck you. 

“Ah, there we go,” he sighs in delight as his fingers swirl at your entrance, increasing the teasing and making your mind spin. “Tell me what you want, brat.”

“You!” you wail, two of his fingers carting between your wet, sloppy heated lips. They graze your clit, stimulating you further as you can do nothing but instinctively jerk against his hold, trying to get him to give you the needed pleasure to build up to an orgasm. “I want you to fuck me so good! Please, Sergeant, please, I want you to fuck me until I can’t remember anything but your name.”

“But you haven’t proven to be a good princess,” Kirishima tuts, his hands disappearing from your pussy despite your crying pleas. His hand grabs your ass, though, massaging the abused skin, grasping it tightly.

You moan, embarrassed at the sensation of his massive hand easily cupping your ass cheek, your fingers fisting into the fabric of his pants as you shake your head.

“Are you going to prove that you’re good?” he asks you, his tone like that of a parent chastising a child. “Gonna prove to me that you can be good?”

You shake pathetically against his legs, but you can’t keep yourself from shaking your head. You can’t prove to him that you would be.

“I can’t!” you whimper loudly, your body twisting on his lap to look up at him, your eyes filled with tears and pleading need. Kirishima looked down at you with lust filled eyes and an undeniable need to be followed.

“You can’t?” he repeats, his head tilting, eyes narrowing, and his fingers dug into your ass. “Or you won’t?”

You tremble on top of him, unable to answer because you weren’t ready to hand over the reins just yet. You didn’t want to submit so fast, you wanted to make his own head dizzy with need but the stubbornness to continue punishing you the way he was promising.

“I won’t,” you gasp, eyes fluttering at the way he finally drops your head.

You gasp loudly as you find him shoving you off his lap, and with your panties and sweats sitting so awkwardly high on your legs, you find yourself tumbling off his lap and onto the floor.

“Guess if you don’t want to behave, I’ll treat you like some fucking pussy pocket and dispose of you once I’m done,” Kirishima easily breathes, and you look up at the now standing man as he tears his shirt off.

Your mouth waters, your cunt throbbing at the sight of the rippling muscles and dark lines of his tattoos on his upper body. You watch fascinated, like one does to a masterpiece, as he undresses until he’s in nothing but his socks. And at the sight of his dick, you can feel at once all the blood in your flushed face drop directly into your throbbing cunt.

He was fucking enormous, his girth barely fitting into his hand, and the angry red head spilled its precum against his abs. A black happy trail connecting Kirishima’s abs to his vein throbbing cock.

Holy fuck, he could quickly kill you with that.

Kirishima doesn’t ask any questions as he watches your awkwardly dressed state of a body on the floor. His head is tilted upwards, a small pleased smile on his face as he looks down on you, his hand slowly, leisurely fisting his cock as you can do nothing but stare.

You make some insane noise at the back of your throat at this sight, your thighs trembling with need, and you're pushing off your side, your ass burning, and your balance off as you open your mouth, offering all you could to him.

And thankfully, Kirishima allows it.

He’s much too tall for you to suck him off on your knees, so he sits back down onto the bed, letting you scamper between his legs, mouth open wide like some needy pet.

“Such a good little slut,” Kirishima sighs, sinking his cock into your wet, hot mouth. “Such a fucking cockwhore, all it took was a single glance for you to lose your will.”

You whine against his dick, your jaw tight with the stretch, your tongue lapping so desperately around the cock that was no more than halfway in yet couldn’t go in any further.

“Suck me right, and I’ll reward you by fucking that pretty little pussy of yours,” Kirishima grunts, his fingers pressing into the side of your neck as he ruts his hips up into your mouth, shoving his cock even further into your mouth. “And don’t you dare look away from me while you suck me off.”

It feels like fire.

His cock driving down your throat hurts, the taste of his salty pre-cum slathering all over your tongue and dripping out of your mouth with the saliva you can’t control. His cock hits the back of your throat, and you continue to bob your head, continue to fuck him with your throat as animalistic, praiseworthy noises begin spilling from Kirishima’s mouth.

You whimper at the sight of his head dipping back, and you nearly whine when he shoves the fingers he had gathered your juices on into his mouth. He moans at the contact and with his pleasure with your actions so obvious as you choke against his girth. That was hot, holy fuck, you wanted him to fuck you, please fuck you. 

Your eyes close as he begins to fuck faster into your mouth, his delight in hearing you choke around him his driving force. Tears start pouring from your eyes despite your best efforts, your throat and inner thighs burning with lust and need as Kirishima groans, his cock twitching deep in your throat.

Slap!

“Hey!”

Slap!

You gag harshly as your cheeks sting with his heavy slap, your teeth grazing underneath his cock, right against a thick, twisting vein.

“Did I tell you to close your eyes?” Kirishima practically growls, his hands grasping the back of your neck, the other one slapping you across the face yet again. “No. I said… fuck… I said, keep your eyes on me!”

Tears weep down your face, your eyes struggling to keep focus on him as he continued to fuck deep and intensely into your mouth, shoving himself further into you until you could feel his thighs grazing your chin. Oxygen wasn’t flowing anymore; your gags and chokes the only time the burning element could manage to flow through you, but Kirishima doesn’t seem to care. He seems to delight in the way you are, despite it all, are moaning and looking at him in a pleading way for more.

More, you plead.

And he delivers. 

Kirishima pulls his still hard, not yet cummed, dick out of your mouth and stands. 

You splutter with the sudden intake of oxygen to your lungs, burning you from the inside out as you splutter on the ground.

“W-What’s going on?” you hoarsely stammer, your jaw and throat aching from its prolonged abuse. “E-Ei?”

However, Kirishima seems dead set on getting you naked, and you squeal in flustered excitement as he rips the shirt off of you and his mouth pressing against yours again. His mouth crashes against yours, and you moan into his mouth immediately.

His tongue curls into your mouth and your tongues press and rub against each other. Each passing second growing more desperate, needier, more intense as your clothes are ripped one by one off your body.

“Holy fuck, I’ve wanted you for so long,” Kirishima nearly whines, his mouth trailing down your neck, biting and sucking against every centimeter of skin he passed. “Wanted to fuck you against the wall, in my bed, and now I get to do that.”

“Please, please, fuck me, please,” you beg, your voice bordering a wail as your arms wrap around his neck, letting him lift you up off the floor. Despite you being so much smaller than him that when he held you to him, your cunt wasn’t pressed to his angry leaking cock, you continued to desperately roll your hips against his abs, the friction welcomed and easing the building pressure. It was an action conveying just what you wanted. “I need you in me, Sergeant!”

“Just cuz… holy fuck,” Kirishima breathes ragged, his body twisting around, and you cried when the cold sheets pressed into your back. “Imma fuck you, Imma… god, just fucking watch.”

Your head thrashed back onto the pillow as Kirishima’s teeth sunk into your collarbone, then captured your sensitive nipples, his fingers dancing against your clit and teasing your center. 

“Now!” you cry, fingers digging into his shoulder. “Put it in!”

This time, Kirishima didn’t need to be told twice.

His larger body was suddenly pressed entirely against yours, dwarfing you immediately as your arms wrapped around his back as his cock slammed into you. You screamed at the sudden intrusion, your pussy stretched beyond its typical limits by his girth, his size, his power.

Your cunt throbbed around him, your face buried within his pecs as you, despite the searing pain, shove your hips up towards him. Fucking into him, sucking him further into you.

“Holy shit,” Kirishima groans, “you’re amazing.”

“Talk less, fuck me more!” you screech, your body spasming, twitching so hard from the splitting pleasure and the lava pit in your stomach, and Kirishima does that exactly.

His hips begin to meet yours in equaled power, slamming into you so that the bed creaked beneath you. He fucked you until he had to hold a hand on your hip so you could stay there, and you kept a hand on the wall to continue to push yourself down onto his cock.

You screamed with pleasure, cried for more, Kirishima’s shark-like smirk getting bolder, darker, hotter with every slam of his hips until his tattooed right arm shot down. His hand wrapped around your throat, choking you.

“You’re so loud, princess,” Kirishima moans, clearly liking your loud noises, “but you’re going to wake everyone in Tokyo.”

His hand around your throat is enough to have your legs trembling around his waist, your choked and muffled moans and splutters drowning out even more as he pressed a kiss onto you. He kissed you, licking your mouth, and devouring your every word and thought. Your core twisted, tightened, and burned. It throbbed and clenched with it’s impending orgasm, and your body began to tense to the heavens as his cock throbbed deep within you.

“Who saved you?”

“E-Ei did,” you garble.

“Who’s fucking you?”

“E-Ei is!”

“Who’s going to fucking cum when I tell her to?”

“Me! Fuck, me!”

Kirishima laughs, his arms wrapping around your waist, and in one final, fleeting burst of strength, fucks into you with his own power, needs, and desire, and you can only take it. “Cum, princess,” he whispered almost sweetly against the top of your head, and it was all over. Your teeth sink into his chest as you scream, a blinding white light erupting through your vision as you cum around his cock.

Kirishima whimpers, his cock still pushing deep into your cunt, until you can feel the warm spill of his seed in your womb.

He collapses to the side of you, taking you with him so that you were resting on his sweaty chest.

“Holy shit,” Kirishima whispered after a bit, your body already warm and too lethargic to notice the star-like tone to his voice. “That was fucking… holy shit.”

“Does this mean you like me?” you half tease, half wonder.

There’s a pause, a silence, and you wonder if maybe he had fallen asleep.

But he didn’t.

“I’ve been in love with you for some time now, I think,” he admits, his hand beginning to rub small circles into your back.

You find that despite the exhaustion, warmth floods your cheeks.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I guess we’re going to have to discuss a more… permanent and maybe different contract tomorrow morning, huh?”

Kirishima chuckles, and you find yourself smiling into his chest.

“I think we do.”

[alectology-archive]

I finally finished the book ha. Speaking of the sanderson books specifically, I don't ever see myself rereading ToM or AMoL again (I can fully see myself rereading even CoT) because they were painfully bad. A couple of things in AMoL were done well - this might still be a generous take on it because it was mostly the epilogue that I really liked and I'm still Reeling even if I already had rand's ending spoiled to me beforehand.

I'm just dumping miscellaneous thoughts under the cut. It mostly started as a rant post about chapter 37 but covers my thoughts on the epilogue as well.

- Demandred is now entering into a swordfight with galad. Even if this is because galad has a foxhead medallion, the demandred from RJ's books would literally never fight another person with a sword bye.

- I've already made a post about this but brandon doesn't get galad. Galad always tried to do what he thought was right - whatever we get from brandon is suspiciously similar to dragonsworn/whitecloak ideology (essentially cult-like behaviour) which is what rj was trying to critique in the first place:

The right thing had always seemed clear to Galad before, but never had it felt as right as this ... The Light itself guided him. It had prepared him, placed him here at this moment.

- demandred literally does not look like rand. He looks like taim:

Demandred was a proud man; one needed see only his face to know that. He looked like al’Thor, actually. They had a similar sense about them.

- Mat has done nothing to offend Bashere. Bashere doesn't talk like this either:

“Matrim Cauthon, you bloody fool. You’re still alive?”

- My eyes are bleeding this is not how command structure works - why couldn't Deira or another ranking officer of Saldaea take command???

All he had said was that Saldaea fights alongside Malkier, and told the troops to look toward Lan. The throne would be sorted out if they all survived the Last Battle.

- This sounds so corny I don't like it tbh ajshejdhdj. Balefire is neutral and doesn't really know Sides like the Light and Shadow but the anti-balefire Flame is... not? It's irritating:

The balefire vanished. A multihued, beautiful crystal grew from him [Taim]. Uncut and rough, as if from the core of the earth itself. Somehow Egwene knew that the Flame would have had much less effect on a person who had not given himself to the Shadow.

- Come ON Asmodean hasn't picked up a single weapon in his LIFE. why would he assume lan is asmodean in disguise.

Demandred blocked Lan’s attack, but he breathed hoarsely. “Who are you?” Demandred whispered again. “No one of this Age has such skill. Asmodean? No, no. He couldn’t have fought me like this. Lews Therin? It is you behind that face, isn’t it?”

- ngl rj would hate having a battle described as 'exquisite' instead of 'terrifying'

“Exquisite," Thom thought. That is the word. Unexpected, but true. Majestically exquisite. No. Not “majestically". Let the word stand on its own. If it is the right word, it will work without help. If it’s the wrong word, adding other words to it will just make it seem desperate.

- These two quotes read like everybody including the dark one think mat is very Important to rand <3

THE SON OF BATTLES. I WILL TAKE HIM. I WILL TAKE THEM ALL, ADVERSARY. AS I TOOK THE KING OF NOTHING.

....

“Not the tree, Gambler,” Hawkwing said. “Another moment, one that you cannot remember. It is fitting, as Lews Therin did save your life both times.”

“Remember him,” Amaresu snapped. “I have seen you murmur that you fear his madness, but all the while you forget that every breath you breathe—every step you take—comes at his forbearance. Your life is a gift from the Dragon Reborn, Gambler. Twice over.”

- I got Major rand/mat/elayne vibes from this passage <3 :

“The Queen of Andor is dead,” Arganda said.

Bloody Ashes! Not Elayne! Mat felt a lurch inside. Rand. . . I'm sorry.

... "This is the end!" Demandred’s augmented voice washed across Mat from the other end of the plateau. “Lews Therin has abandoned you! Cry out to him as you die. Let him feel your pain.”

- kind of irritating that perrin is the one who makes his way back to rand when he's heartsick over faile because we know faile is on top of his priority list whereas mat is the one who walks away? Mat has always been a lot more attached to rand than perrin but this book completely reverses that and chooses to make perrin the Closer friend. And my god mat doesn't meet rand again after that tuon/mat/rand conversation earlier in the book 😐

- where is olver going to go? He's just a kid wtf.

- I hate the tuon pregnancy plot lmfao

- Mat not being present at rand's funeral... I WILL cry.

- mat doesn't see the band again, doesn't attend rand's funeral, doesn't have olver around, doesn't meet his other friends from emond's field again and I am MAD. I imagine it's going to happen anyway eventually but ugh. I'd have liked to see that on-screen.

- sanderson making rand even CONSIDER that he'd be content with only one person out of his three gfs following him is annoying. He loves all three of them.

- I think the only chapter I enjoyed fully was the epilogue. I'm still Sad about rand not being able to kill the dark one and facing the bleak future of being reborn as the dragon again and again but it's a sweet pain, I think. I'm glad he gets to live his life now and thinks of going on adventures (you know who else likes adventures. Mat.)

- I DO kind of dislike that rand can't channel anymore though. I don't really care that he can will things to happen as he pleases now - he struggled with accepting that part of himself for so long and he even cleansed saidin for him to eventually just be shut away from the source like that... it takes away from all the queer readings that it allowed.

- I'm such a sucker for doppelgangers and body snatchers and acts of mimesis and anything that vaguely falls under the genre so the fact that moridin and rand switched bodies fully turned out to be my favourite part of the ending ha.

- cadsuane being chosen as the amyrlin is so stupid bye. The white tower needs a new visionary who's capable of fixing its institutional problems not somebody who bullies people all the time and is stubbornly set in her old ways - she's only had her ego reinforced in all the 300+ years she's lived.

- I think moghedien should have been allowed to run free and commit gay crimes. More reasons to hate the seanchan in my opinion.

- tbh I find myself envisioning mat running from the seanchan the moment tuon has her back turned to him and... good for him? I will forever mourn the potential that tuon had - sanderson chose to not give her much of an arc, I'm guessing, since it wasn't even rj's choice for egwene and siuan to die but harriet's (plus idk I got the impression that he was writing tuon like she was never going to become a better person and still excuses her behaviour while rj specifically writes like tuon is going to become a better person most of the time). I feel like early tuon is very much firmly a fave - I just can't stomach her later because she just keeps having her ego boosted and sanderson plays it off as if it's funny that she's off ordering atrocities to be committed. He just doesn't know how to read the room whenever he picks up mat's povs. Mat never made jokes during the battles he fought in rj's books.

- I hate that I don't really have any thoughts about elayne, aviendha, egwene or nynaeve but they're almost non-characters in this book except when sanderson brought them out for Epic Fights? I was especially let down by the lack of politics in the book.

- the endless battle sequences are just so fatiguing to read that even Good Fight Scenes don't leave a mark on the reader. This was not a good book, lol - I think a lot of my positive thoughts are fully influenced by how good I feel about the epilogue.

- and I definitely did expect rand to die even while I was reading the series around book 5? It was some time then that I managed to spoil the ending to myself which was unfortunate, but I think the ending managed to satisfy readers who'd have liked for him to die as well as the ones who'd have liked for him to live (I am both people)

[capevans3000]

The reader is the fiancé of chris evans, and its the Day of the wedding and the reader is nervous, and the ceremony is cute , they have written there own vows, and the reader announce that she is pregant , and chris like you joking right, the reader so like i found out 2 weeks ago, and i waited till today to tell you, with a lott of fluff thanks and if its ready you tag me right

Hi @maximeevansblog, my friend. Sorry for the long wait for this one. I had a really fun time writing this! Thank you for the request, it’s really such a sweet idea. <3 I hope this does your request justice, and that you’ll love it!

A/N: You may find the vows really familiar, that’s because it’s mostly made up of different Disney quotes, haha! I’d imagine Chris’ wedding would be Disney themed, or least Disney inspired? He’s such a huge Disney fan after all! While reading this, you may want to listen to this, which was kind of the song I was picturing the reader walking down the aisle to. Also the ring that Chris gave to Y/N looks something like this.

Comments and feedback are really appreciated! Pictures are not mine, but all mistakes in this are mine. Stay safe everyone!

All that months of preparation had finally led you and Chris to this day. You sat alone in one of the dressing rooms of the Concord Youth Theatre, reminiscing the journey you and Chris took, just to arrive on this very day. It was clear right from the beginning of your relationship that you were both meant to end up together forever. But that didn’t mean it was easy. You learned the hard way, what it meant to date someone as famous as Chris. The media weren’t always the kindest with their words and their judgements, and you admitted that you had fallen into dark moments more times than you were proud of reading articles about your relationship with him. Still, Chris had never let the media be in any way of your relationship. He remained a constant rock, a strong foothold and a protector of you. Words weren’t necessarily needed at all for him to show you his love for you. He did it all through his actions, his time, his patience. No matter how much you loved Chris, he always seemed to love you a whole lot more.

You smiled as you thought back to the day he proposed. Chris had brought you and Dodger on a camping trip, one that you have had many times before. You just had no idea that the camping trip was when you’d become his fiancé. There were no frills, no theatrics. There were just the two of you and Dodger, in the rain, under the mellow moonlight when he popped the question. The rain was soft, but plentiful, on the day he asked you to be his wife. You could still remember the smell, the feeling of the rain pelting on your skin when you answered his proposal with a kiss. That was all that mattered.

You looked up and saw yourself through the mirrors. You were tearing happy tears, as your hand naturally moved up to your tummy to rub it gently. You could feel your heart pounding so loudly it was almost audible in the quiet room. You had requested to be alone for a moment so you could prepare yourself to announce the important news to Chris.

You dabbed your tears away with a napkin, straightened your dress, and exited the room. You passed a few of your close friends outside the dressing room and smiled at them. You further excused yourself to make your way to Chris’ dressing room. Taking a deep breath, you knocked on his door.

“Hey, what’s up, sis-in-law!” Scott greeted cheerfully as he opened the door with a wide grin on his face. You smiled cheekily as he gave you a quick peck on your cheeks. “My brother is so lucky, look at you!” Scott took a step back to look at you.

“Thanks, Scott.” You laughed. “Can I have a moment with Chris?”

Scott nodded and winked at you when he closed the door behind him, leaving just you and Chris in the room. You looked up and your gaze met with Chris’. He was wearing a maroon tuxedo with a bow tie, and your heart almost gave out at the sight. You may be becoming his wife in a few hours’ time, but you’d never stop fangirling over him.

Chris looked at you, his gaze soft and tender. He right hand was clutching on his chest, and you could tell he was trying to form words with his mouth, but nothing came out. You stepped forward to him and placed a hand on his face before tip-toeing to plant a kiss on his lips. “Hey.” You called out.

Chris kissed you back. It was the first time he had seen you in your wedding dress, and you could see from the look on his face that he loved it. “Y/N… You look… amazing.” He finally found his voice. You could hear a catch in his voice as he fought back his tears.

“You look really handsome, too.” You smiled, trying to stop your tears from falling as well.

You stood there with Chris, holding hands, unspeaking, just revelling in that very moment. It was a while before Chris finally spoke again. “Scott’s right, I’m a really guy to have you as my wife.” His voice was firmer now. You buried your face in Chris’ chest and smiled. “I love you, Chris.” You spoke against his chest, almost as if you were speaking right into his heart. You felt Chris’ chest moved and through vibrations from his voice, you heard him telling you that he loved you too.

“I’m really glad we’re having our wedding here.” You whispered, your head still resting on his chest. It was the most natural decision. When you were planning your wedding with Chris, you both had the same thought in mind to hold it at Concord Youth Theatre. This theatre held a very special place in Chris’ heart, and it was also the place where you met him. It was only natural to begin the rest of your life with Chris here.

“Mm, me too.” Chris replied, his hand tenderly rubbing your back.

You had no idea how long the two of you had stood there in each other’s embrace when you finally took a deep breath and gently pushed yourself away from Chris so you could see his face.

“Chris…” Your voice choking slightly. Chris looked at you, a hint of curiosity flashed across his face.

“I can’t believe we’re going to be married in just under an hour’s time. I’m so grateful for you, and I am so grateful you’re going to be walking this life journey with me.” You continued. “I am not perfect, but I promise I’ll use the rest of my life to love you as your wife… and... as the mother of your baby.” You were tearing again as you said those last words to him.

Chris looked at you, his face changing from curious to disbelief. You were almost whispering at the end of your sentence. Although Chris had heard you, he was afraid he had understood you wrongly. “Are you…” Chris held up your face with his hands to look at him, his eyes watery.

“Mm.” You cried as you raised your hands and took both of Chris’ hands to guide them over your belly. “That’s our baby in there.”

“Y/N…” Chris was crying too. He pulled you into his chest and embraced you tightly. You laughed, an cried at the same time, throwing your arms around Chris to return the embrace. "I wanted to tell you this before we head out there." You said, as Chris' chest heaved with a happy sob. He looked at you once again, and kissed you deeply, yet so tenderly. "I love you so much, Y/N."

You only had a little bit of time left to clean up your make up before the actual ceremony. It was easy to forget the concept of time when you were with Chris. Had Scott not come knocking on the door earlier, both of you would have continued to stay in that embrace.

Your girlfriends had rushed in to help you arrange your dress and to ensure you were ready. You had composed yourself by the time they saw you, so they had no idea you were just crying. Your father had come to your dressing room to bring you to the main theatre hall so he could walk you down the aisle. Behind the closed doors of the theatre, you heard the live instrumental music and choir singing of The Little Mermaid’s Happy Ending. The doors swung open, signalling for you to march in with your father. You looked at your father with tears in your eyes. He held out his arm for you to hold it, and gave your hand a little squeeze. Your father walked you down the theatre aisle towards Chris, who was standing at the end. The theatre was beautifully done up on this day with Disney inspired theme – where both of you were avid Disney fans.

You marched past all your close friends and families, throwing them smiles along the way, until you finally reached Chris, who had extended his arm to hold yours. Your father lightly gave you a peck on the cheeks and handed you to Chris. The both of you stood in front of the Minister, facing each other and holding gaze. Your heart was pounding as hard, if not even harder than the day Chris proposed to you. You were about to be his lawfully wedded wife.

The Minister called for Chris to read his vow.

“Y/N…” Chris choked back his tears. “You mean more to me than anything in this whole world. You are my greatest adventure and my dream wouldn’t be complete without you in it. I promise to love you forever, and always be with you. I promise to be the best husband I can be, and I promise to always take care of you. I want to promise you that I will love you and every single future children we’re going to have… starting from this one right here.” Chris vowed, and did a little point at your tummy at the end. As he said this, you heard an echo of gasps across the whole theatre floor. You laughed and smiled at Chris, tears forming in your eyes.

There was no time for your friends and families to fully react to the news as the Minister called for you to read your vows. “Chris, thank you for showing me that love is putting someone else’s needs before yours. Thank you for always putting me first in everything, for loving me so wholeheartedly for who I am. When I look at you, I can feel it. When I look at you, I’m home. I promise to be the best wife I can be, and I promise to always take care of you. And I promise to love you, as much as I’ll love our children.” Your tears were falling freely from your eyes now, just as Chris’ was.

You didn’t look at anyone else, but around you, you could hear your parents and Chris’ parents crying. Nobody else was talking, but the sounds of sniffing were all over the theatre, and you were sure there weren’t any dry eyes at that very moment.

The Minister’s voice gently broke through the sounds of crying, as he announced for the two of you to exchange rings. Just as he announced this, Dodger came running down the aisle with a ring pillow tied around his collar. He came forward to the both of you and sat down with his tail wagging excitedly. Chris bent down to pat Dodger on his head and removed one of the rings from his collar. Chris took your hand in his and slid the ring through your finger. The ring, inspired by the Little Mermaid, was specially designed by Chris himself, which held a seashell and a green gem in it.

It was then your turn. Dodger had stood up so you didn’t had to bend down too far to get Chris’ ring. You had also designed Chris’ ring for him. It was the same colour theme as The Little Mermaid, a movie both you and him loved. You took the ring and slid it through Chris’ finger.

With that, the Minister announced you and Chris as man and wife. The both of you were in tears, as with everyone else in the theatre, when Chris brought your face close and sealed the deal with a kiss.

[ruvatia]

Sorry if this is a bit much with everything going on, but could I request a scenario where the Paladins + Matt & Lotor have a black s/o and they’re scared abt everything that’s happening in their country and are sad that racial injustice is happening? I’ve been rlly worried the past few days, but if this is smth too uncomfy I understand ;w; Thank you 💖💖💖

This got really long, I apologize but I turned it into half-headcanons with just the main paladins-- i apologize for not doing all the characters you’ve mentioned, but I don’t think they would fit all in a single post anyways www

On another note I hope you and every other reader take good care of their mental health; it’s important to be aware of what’s going on but it’s also important to be in the right mindspace to be able to tackle everything that’s being shared. It’s pain that’s been boiling for a very long time and there is absolutely no shame in taking some downtime to recover before heading back into current issues.

SHIRO:

If you were saddened, Shiro would suggest that maybe you switch to something else; if there was something that he knows will distract you and temporarily have you be a little more at ease, he’d do that!

But also maybe add a little twist-- extra soft blankets (fresh out of the oven! Screw the bills you’re worth it), extra cheese on your favorite dish, whatever it is that can make your smile a little wider, bigger or brighter just let him know!

Would give you hugs if you asked, but usually Shiro pets your head and brushes your cheek for comfort

He also does this when he wants to ask something of you, but thats another story

Why the TV was still on was a mystery to you, you’d stopped listening a long time ago. Your partner besides you noticed, and you felt the hand around your shoulder tighten his grip a little, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Hey, maybe we should watch something else?” he asked softly, brushing your cheek with his hand. “I can’t really listen to this anymore.”

“Yeah… Sure.” you replied, though it felt like an automated response more than your actual opinion.

“Okay, I’ll switch to that weird show Pidge recorded the other day, we agreed to watch it, right?” he replied, quickly grabbing the remote to change the program.

The first episode started playing, but the moment that it did, you felt cold as Shiro left your side.

“Where are you going?” you asked, your interlaced fingers the only thing keeping him close.

“Ah, I thought I’d make us something. We both kinda skipped dinner….”

He’d thought about putting something together that you’d like, maybe order dessert to surprise you but seeing the look on your face, leaving your side was the hardest thing to do right now.

So he gave in, and your both fell asleep until the doorbell rang with your delivery.

KEITH:

I have this headcanon that Keith isn’t very good with physical touch but after the end of voltron and after enough time of humanitarian relief, he learns how important it is for someone that’s in a specific state of mind

So the best he has to offer when his words fail is physical touch

Over your time together he’s learned what you need depending on your mood, and it helped him out lots when you were more vocal about it-- if anything he liked it when you asked for things that he could easily deliver, he’d do anything to see you smile

A hand came over your phone screen, Keith’s fingers lacing into yours and making you drop the device onto the crevices of the sofa.

“Why did you--”

“You’ve been staring at that thing for the past hour, biting at your nails.” he said in a worried tone. “That’s enough. We’re going to bed.”

“But it’s just--”

“We’re going to bed.” he repeated in a harsher tone, lifting you off your seat.

Keith sat down onto the bed first, pulling you into him. You both fell onto the bed, Keith quickly pulling the covers over your shoulders before his arms came around you.

“My alarm is my phone.”

“That’s nice, but we both know we have nothing to do tomorrow.” he replied right away, making you chuckle.

“Keith…” you called, your hands sneaking up to his face.

You brushed away some of his hair from his face as he gave you a complicated expression, unable to reflect the small smile you wore. He knew things were shit outside, that being apart from your family and other loved ones was a toll on both you and that lately negative thoughts have plagued you more often than not but Keith, despite his good intention was still somewhat of an awkward man.

“Thank you.”

He kissed you in reply and you both left it at that, glad that he had someone like you to meet him halfway.

LANCE:

Lots of hugs the moment he feels something is off with you

Will be a brat™ for the sole purpose of distracting you, bET

I feel like post-series Lance tries his best to be as observant as Allura and tries to understand others better-- but it didn't take a genius or incredible empath to know why your eyes looked like they were about to overflow at the sight of the news.

I’d like to think that Lance, with a big connected family is one of the paladins that very easily gets what you’re going through, wouldn’t be surprised he’s been called one or two things in his past either

That being said it doesn’t mean that he completely understands your personalized struggles with racial injustices that you encounter everyday; as another minority himself + coming from a culture and upbringing that might be different than yours, its a very different experience.

Memories flooded as the news anchor spoke about “lootings” and as you scrolled down your feed to see feeble attempts at sympathy from local peacekeepers. You sigh and retweet another thread, only to find something equally as shocking right after. You stopped commenting in quote retweets a while ago, you felt like you were constantly repeating that none of this was okay and that a reform was desperately needed. Rather than typing out your thoughts you typed out your name, address and email over and over again, signing one petition after the other.

Hearing sigh after sigh, Lance eventually put an arm around your shoulder. He startled you, but his soft voice made both your shoulders and your guard lower.

“Hey, do you want to make a midnight snack with me? I’m getting kinda hungry.”

“What about that new rule we were talking about? Not eating 4 hours before we went to bed?”

“Every diet has one or two cheat days, don’t they?” he replied, kissing one of your eyelids. “Come on, I’m sure your neck is sore from being like that for so long.”

In the end you both made some soul-food until a food-coma knocked you out until tomorrow. In the morning, you realized that Lance must’ve woken up in the middle of the night because you remember cuddling on the couch, and yet you’re waking up on the bed. Of course, still in his arms.

HUNK:

Having a sensible heart, I feel like both you and hunk would struggle a little about maintaining a healthy distance with current events.

Though overtime he would understand that keeping in touch with everything that’s going on is important, but not at the sake of burning out

His best bet, to him, to pull you out of a such a dark space is with comfort food

“Ok ppl feel like they want to eat a horse but they actually cant when they’re in that mind space Hunk, let’s make something sweet and small; something direct and straight to the point! Let’s add smiley faces on it!”

Your turned down the volume from the news, let your head fall backwards and brought up your forearm over your closed eyes. It felt warm and made it you realize that you had probably been staring very intensely at the screen as a wave of comfort hit your eyes the moment they were drowned in darkness. Letting out a deep breath, you stilled and let yourself bask in your thoughts until a familiar voice brought you back.

“Maybe a little bit more sugar? No, then it would be disbalanced. The base is already so sweet-- Ah, I have to take the cupcakes out or else they might get burned!”

You felt a smile grow on your lips, making you ignore the horrid news being broadcasted to turn to your partner that as usual, seemed to juggle ten thousand things to create a whole meal.

“What’s going on over here?” you asked, leaning over the counter to note that one of your favorite dishes was made and machines that were mostly used for baking had been brought out.

“Oh you know, just a little pick me up for my most favorite person ever.” he shrugged, but a smile soon came to his face. His hands were full but he leaned over, his lips meeting your cheek. “Things outside are a little dark, so I thought we could both use a little something nice.”

He turned on the machine after dropping a drop of dye to make it your favorite color and within a few minutes the icing was finished. Hunk scooped up a small amount on his finger and brought it to his lips and nod.

“Wanna taste?” he asked you, his finger dipping into the icing.

A mischievous grin spread on your features as you took his wrist and let his finger fall on your tongue, the sweetness quickly spreading through your mouth. The yellow paladin shivered as you let his digit hang in your mouth for longer than necessary, letting out a satisfied hum when you returned it to him.

“Tastes perfect.”

PIDGE:

She knew what could be fixed, she knew how to fix it but this meant she was also aware of how long such a transition would take

I think Pidge would be similar to Shiro: whatever she remembers that helps you be at ease, she would defect to that in hopes to maybe distract you for a while.

I don’t think Pidge is a very touchy person either, so if she reaches out to you _physically_ in worry, it’s a very clear sign she’s serious/anxious

I feel like she would reach out in other ways and then if she knew you were in a specific state of mind where touch was not useful, or if she just also wanted to try things out lol

As you watched the twisted information that was being shared on screen, another message caught your attention. Rather than a small red icon in the corner, a small window appeared in the middle of your computer screen.

<I found a way to modify notifications sent to another device.>

The video had stopped, every horrible gif about police brutality was paused and there was nothing else but the small window pidge had thrown onto your screen. You chuckled, and felt a pressure behind your working chair.

Another message popped up.

<You’ve been catching up with twitter for the past two hours. Surely you’re done now?>

A soft laugh came from you, making Pidge release a breath she didn’t know she was holding. You typed out an answer:

<Is it possible to be completely caught up with twitter? I follow like 500 accounts.>

<Okay, but half of them are just cat videos and the other half are just retweets of said videos.>

<Oh here I was thinking that this was an intervention to brighten my mood. We’re dragging each other’s follows now?>

<Oh please like you don’t want to be dragged, with that kind of follow list.>

<I can’t believe you’ve done this.>

You both laughed, before Pidge turned around and tapped your shoulder. She let her hand float in the air, yours coming to join it as a soon as your turned her way.

“Wanna take a nap?” she asked, letting her head fall onto your shoulder. “I had Chip make some hot chocolate, Hunk style.”

You squeezed her hand, putting your computer on sleep mode.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

[littlesniggy]

Hi! How are you doing? I'm the anon who asked for the underage character and yes, obv I wasn't thinking about any nsfw since he is underage ^^ So can I ask you a scenario for Dellinger x fem reader? His reaction when a stranger try to flirt with her, and she's clearly uncomfortable with the situation

Thank you, hope you're having a nice day :3

Hey Anon! Thank you so much for requesting for Dellinger. First time writing for him and I think I'm not quite sure how he'd behave just yet but it's not too shabby either. I hope you enjoy it! Dellinger is a little shit but we all know this. If you are in a relationship with him, be prepared for a lot of questionable things lol.

Warning: maybe mention of blood, mild swearing

Pairing: Dellinger x female reader

Word count: 1.6k

You two haven’t been dating for long yet and it was your very first relationship. To think it would be with someone like Dellinger surprised even you. Especially since you had no idea he would actually feel the same way about you in the first place. He was like an odd-ball: either hit or miss and luckily for you it was a total hit. It had taken all your courage to tell him how you felt; you’ve always been on good terms and had a lot for fun together, even if you not always agreed with the way he loved to torture his enemies (or even his allies).

“You like me, Y/n? Of course, you do!” he laughed and put his arm around your shoulder, looking at you with an excited yet shit eating grin. “You’re fun to hang around, too! Wanna be my girl?” and that’s how you two started dating. It’s been challenging from time to time, peculiarly when it came to other boys looking at you. You never thought of him as being the jealous type but in hindsight you could’ve presumed as much; he didn’t like to share his stuff, he got mad when he wasn’t the center of attention, let alone when he got ignored, and he loved showing his things off to others. So, it was only natural for him to be protective over you.

“Ne, Y/n! Where you going? Why aren’t you asking if I want to come with you?” you heard his voice behind you, close to your ear. You jumped a little in surprise at his words, turning around to look at his naturally hungry looking eyes and the same old grin on his lips. “I didn’t think you would want to come with me. Told you I’d go to town and look for this book I’ve wanted for a long time. Remember? Your answer when I first asked you yesterday was: “As long as it’s not book with pictures of people getting tortured or some magical book where I can summon a gigantic beast, I’m out.”. Ring any bells?” you quoted him, crossing your arms in front of your chest, grinning at the young man in front of him.

“I’ve changed my mind. Let’s go!” and with that he grabbed your hand and lead the way. Stunned, you followed your boyfriend, wondering what has gotten into him all of a sudden. But you’d get your answer sooner than later…

At the book store you had chosen to look for the wanted item were a lot of people; women, man, children, toys – it seemed like everyone from this kingdom was here today and you could barely look at any of the books, let alone move forward to the section where you assumed the book to be. Surprisingly, Dellinger didn’t complain once; he had his hands crossed behind his head and was even whistling! What was wrong with him today?

A sudden shove had you bump into some guy standing next to you. “Oh, I’m sorry.” You apologized and lifted your hands as well as a sign you didn’t mean to. “Oh, no worries. It’s not too often a pretty young lady tries to flirt with me.” He laughed and you chuckled awkwardly. “Oh, I wasn’t trying to-“

“I’m just joking. I know you it was an accident.” He winked at you. Relieved you gave him a genuine smile, apologized once more and tried to make your way over to your destination.

“That was a weird guy, right?” you mumbled. When you were given no response, you turned around and saw – no one; at least no one you knew. “Dellinger?” you called out but couldn’t make him out in the crowd. With a shrug, you moved on, assuming he’d probably gotten annoyed and was now waiting outside or doing God-knows-what.

While looking at the different book titles in hopes of finding the one you felt as if someone was looking at you intently, and it made your body shiver. An uneasy feeling became more and more present in the pits of your stomach. As a consequence, you decided to slowly turn around and be prepared to find some old creepy man eye your body.

You were relieved to see it was not an old man but your relief turned into concern when the guy watching you turned out to be the same guy from earlier. He was holding a book in his hand and acted all surprised to see you here as well, smiling at you and putting the book away. From where you stood you couldn’t get a clear look on the title but you were pretty sure he wasn’t actually reading this book.

“And here we meet again. One could think you’re following me.” He said this cheesy line and you wanted to vomit but didn’t dare to upset him. Where was Dellinger anyway? He was always over you when anyone even seemed to be interested in you in the slightest. And now, that someone was actually flirting with you, he was nowhere to be found.

“It seems more like you are following me.” You said in a polite yet distant tone. “What makes you think that?” he asked, crooking his head to the side. You pointed behind him to the book shelf where he had put the book. “Cause either, you have a baby on the way and need some last-minute advice from a book since the section over there is for parents to be or, which is much likelier, you just pretended to read it.” You said, putting the book you were holding back in its place again. Your eyes flashed over the spines of several books but it seemed like you had no luck in finding the wanted one here.

“I guess you got me.” He admitted. You turned your gaze over to him again, seeing him practically stare at you. There was a silence after this for a while and it made you feel even more uncomfortable. What did he want?

“Well, is there anything I can help you with then? Since you made all this effort to follow me?” Please say no and just leave, you thought to yourself.

“Would you go on a date with me?” he straight out asked and put you on the spot. You weren’t the best at turning people down but in all fairness, it rarely happened anyways. “I…I have a boyfriend.” You said, sounding not very convincing.

“You don’t have to lie to me. Don’t be shy, I won’t bite. Besides, ever since I first saw you, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Please, give me one chance to prove myself to you.”

Anxiety took over more and more and you stepped a step back, bringing some more distance between the two of you. “No, really. I’m in a relationship.” And what do you mean ever since you first saw me? That was five minutes ago…”

“Maybe it’s not the first time I’ve seen you. I’m just saying; please give me one chance and I swear I won’t disappoint you.” He tried again, trying to reach for your hand, a warm smile on his lips that creeped you the fuck out.

All of a sudden, there was a different hand grabbing his and the guy winced a little. “Ouch, what the-“ but he was cut off when he looked at a maniacally grinning Dellinger, showing off his sharp teeth. “Didn’t you hear what she said? She’s taken.” He chuckled, his grip almost crushing his wrist. “Let go, man! Damn, it hurts! What’s your problem?!” he complained, trying to pry his hand off of his wrist. “What my problem is? I really, reeeeally want to tear you apart and see drown in your own blood.” A high-pitched giggle accentuated his threat and the guy’s face turned white, finally recognizing the young, flamboyant officer of the Donquixote family in front of him.

“I give you ten seconds to get out of here and never show your face in front of her or me again, understood?” he whispered, his eyes glowing red, hoping the guy would defy him. But he was way too scared and took the first chance Dellinger gave him to get out of there.

You watched the guy run for his life before you hooked your arm into his, smiling up at him. “Thanks.” You said. “How dare he try anything like this.” Dellinger cursed. “You shouldn’t have left me here in the first place. Where did you go?” you demanded to know. Your boyfriend’s grin became wider and realization slowly hit you.

“You knew what was going on.” You stated dryly and he couldn’t suppress the small giggles. “Did you also know he had seen me before?” your suspicions were confirmed with his next sentence. “Ever since we went to this stupid café two weeks ago.” You weren’t overly excited hearing this from him. “Did you also know he would come here today?”

“You know I hate book stores. Might as well make the whole thing fun to me.” He chimed, already pulling you out of the store.

“I can’t believe you! So, instead of telling me about this, you just watch him flirt with me and ask me out? And now you even let him get away with it?” your voice grew louder and louder, almost furious at his little stunt. Your anger, however, vanished within the next second.

“Who said I’d let him get away…?” If death had a name, it would most certainly be Dellinger. This boy will rip the other guy’s guts out and eat every single piece of him. This little game was just to fuel his anger and get the revenge you both deserved.

[jostepherjoestar]

Ah I was sitting on this idea while waiting for requests to open! I loved your ask that had La Squadra meeting Risottos daughter from the future that got me thinking what if La Squadra had a memey s/o from present time? Would they ask lotta questions about the future and get confused when they speak in vine or tiktok references? 😆

La Squadra with a meme-y s/o from the future

gn reader // sfw

ahh that was such a cute ask and glad it made you think of this idea! thank your for requesting this and omg so so so so sorry it took so long, hope you’ll still enjoy it none the less! 💖✨ (you and your LS bf have a good comprehension of each other’s timelines and are used to traveling back and forth a bit :D)

Risotto

He knows the complications are endless and at times it all seems incomprehensible- having an s/o who can literally time travel; but your sheer knowledge of memes and the way you seem to effortlessly drop them into everyday conversation is astounding to him.

He doesn’t understand them that well, no amount of context or explaining will help. It’s simply a language he does not understand that well. And the memes or slang he kind of does understand, he just doesn’t find that funny. 

However, he will never actually find it a bother when you drop a few weird jokes. The way they make you laugh and sometimes even dry-heave from the hilarity makes him love you even more. 

In moments like that he’ll dryly let out a few slang words he remembers. You will never forget the time he let out a serious and deep “yeet” when you were already hysterically laughing, his addition might have made you stop breathing for a minute. It still makes you grin when you remember him shaking your shoulders and telling you to “breathe dammit!!”

Overall this man does not really get it or find it that entertaining himself, but he’ll gladly tease you and make you smile with the stuff he picks up. Risotto just can’t stop staring at your beaming grin.

Formaggio

Although he doesn’t truly grasp the layers of certain jokes or memes, Formaggio is your man! He’ll start using jokes and memes he learned from you and is so pleased when he makes you laugh with them. 

Formaggio is great at continuing a bit but once he loses interest he just...stops. Which is kind of perfect since your knowledge of vines is a lot bigger than those of tiktoks so those quick six seconds are easy to get the point across. 

He’ll still get some stuff wrong but he gets the gist of them. He loves annoying his teammates with his newfound references and they all can’t stand him. The second he opens his mouth with that smug look in his eyes, they all sigh in unison and prepare for the incomprehensible babbling that’s about to commence. 

The rest of the gang likes you but when you and Formaggio are hanging out at headquarters together, they tend to keep conversations quick because they know once you two team up, the suffering will never end. 

“Babe, wake up! New meme just dropped!” 

You two are a menace to deal with but god if it isn’t sickeningly cute and funny when he calls you his baby, his cinnamon apple!

Illuso

Don’t get Illuso wrong, he loves you but dear heavens you are on thin ice with him. He isn’t the most joke-y type, he likes a good chuckle but please do not oversaturate him with references he does not get. 

He has little to no interest in the videos you wish to show him and even less interest in remembering the ones he begrudgingly watched. 

At this point you’re allowed a couple jokes a day, he doesn’t count or literally prevent you from saying them, but you know each other well enough to see when he’s actually getting annoyed. 

To shut you up he’ll try and fluster you! He’ll look into your eyes so intensely as you continue talking about a meme, one eyebrow cocked and one side of his beautiful lips curled up into a smug grin. 

He’ll place a single hand on your cheek, his thumb gently swiping across it while the rest of his large hand and fingers rest on your scalp. As he hears you stumble over your words and can feel your cheeks heating up he’ll get in nice and close to your lips. Ghosting his over yours and placing a single kiss that you wish would last longer. That’ll keep you quiet for a bit 😌

He accidentally (re-)invents “that’s cringe” without your help. (he’s referring to you, sorry bestie)

Prosciutto

Why are you saying these weird words AT him? Why must you crease his brows even further?

Prosciutto’s patience is getting tested with you and your innate need for adding incomprehensible colourful commentary to everyday things and situations. He truly doesn’t get it and there is no amount of explaining you can do to change his mind. Even after the memes make even a little sense, he won’t find them funny.

He does love you, so much in fact, that he knows asking you to stop isn’t going to work and it wouldn’t be a fair thing to do. He sees how your smirk feeds into the satisfaction of landing a joke in your present time where most of your friends know what you’re talking about. 

However when you come around his part of the space time continuum, playtime is over. Well mostly. He does enjoy being a bit goofy around you, his snarky comments get a sarcastic edge that parallels your need for adding a fun flair to mundane things. 

The only time you made him laugh with a meme was when you kept repeating “i can’t believe you’ve done this” over and over while poking his cheeks during a playful mood. After a final poke, Prosciutto’s resolve finally breaking, he couldn’t help but snicker. With one final addition of the line, ever surprised by the wonderful sound he makes when he finally breaks, you stop and stare. Enamoured by your wonderful boyfriend and his gorgeous smile. 

Pesci

He’s the most supportive partner out there! Anything that makes you laugh and giggle, like the memes you keep showing him, fills his mushy heart with joy. 

Pesci will kind of get them? They all make sense in a way, but some of them just go above his head because of the layers of internet knowledge he does not possess. Although he really loves it when you show him stuff that reminded you of him.

🥺🥺🥺🥺 <-- his face the entire day after you show him cute pictures of animals and said they made you think of him. He’s just so in sickeningly smitten with you.

He’ll try out a couple of internet slang terms and blush really badly when they make you laugh. If Pesci could, he’d play your laughter on loop 24/7. Him baby, ok?

When the whole internet was debating their existence and that of every object because everything is cake, you quizzed Pesci on his cake-recognizing skills. He failed horribly, they all looked way too realistic and he might have had a small existential crisis. 

You playfully bit his wrist to show he wasn’t made of cake, planting some kisses along the sensitive spot. He shivered at your tickling pecks, relieved he wasn’t just a tasty confection and even happier that you’d love him regardless. 

Melone

Your meme comrade. 

The first mistake was showing him what the internet was like in your future timeline. He got so invested in its machinations and the entire culture surrounding it. He studied every single social media outlet. Every niche he could find only fuelling his curiosity. 

Pandora’s box has been opened and there is no turning back now. Not only does he get all the memes and vines you show him, he memorized them too. Melone will artfully display his knowledge in daily life when you’re around and show off.

Do you regret showing him? Maybe...but is it hilarious to hear him quote terribly long copy/pastas? Yes. Yes it is.

He will steal your phone so he can feed into his meme needs, saving the most fried up images that barely make any sense, to your gallery. You sorted the ones he saves into a special folder so you wouldn’t have to strain your eyes so much. 

It’s all fun and games until he starts referencing stuff during more intimate times. At first they made you laugh but as time went on you had to ask him to stop. 

Hearing Melone whisper “eeby deeby” while kissing his way down your neck might not be the mood you’d preferred. (hearing him sigh and say “so, no head?” was pretty hilarious tho)

Ghiaccio

To your surprise, once he understands the memes and gets the references, he becomes quite good at using them as well. Steering clear of the misspelled ones, of course. (one bad gloop might actually kill him)

Ghiaccio is such a big softie once he’s alone with you, letting his guard down and finally calm, not irked or stressed by his surroundings. 

He loves it when you show him new weird pictures you saved because they made you think of him. You don’t allow him to have a smartphone no matter how much he wants it (it’ll mess up sensitive time stuff) so when you’re scrolling through your preferred meme gathering app with Ghiaccio alongside you, he’ll point out ones and snicker a “that’s you”. 

It makes your heart melt how cute he can be with the stuff he picks out. Once he actually said “you’re baby” and you felt your soul leave your precious body as his cheeks turned redder than plush tomatoes in summertime. 

When he’s around the rest of the squad or in a more public setting, the usual stressors return. But with you around to offer quick witty jokes, things tend to become less focused on irritation. 

You are 100% sure you’ve heard him yell the famous words “AM I WRONG?!” during a heated argument with Melone. You had to leave the room to prevent worsening things, holding in your laughter and silently dying as you heard him rave on. 

[elvish-sky]

The Grumpiness of Uncles Does Not Outweigh the Drunkenness of Nephews {Fíli x Tullaina}

A.N: Ok, so first of all I’m 15 (almost 16 though!) and I have no clue how alcohol or being drunk works. I also don’t know if cold water sobers you up but I decided for the purposes of this fic it didn’t! Also- I had a total blast writing this. Fili and Tullaina are one of my favorite couples, and I loved these prompts because I just got to have so much fun with them! I hope I wrote Tullaina okay, and I really hope you like this!

Requested by @guardianofrivendell for my 1K celebration: 💜 - 1 and 11 from the general prompt list with Fíli (can be x reader or an AU with Tullaina, whatever you prefer!) 1. "I love you.” “Tell me that when you’re sober.” 11. "Did you know that you talk in your sleep?”

Summary: Fili gets rather drunk the night the elven delegation arrives. Shenanigans ensue.

Pairing: Fili x Tullaina, mentioned Thorin x Bilbo

Word Count: 1,318, because @guardianofrivendell picks the best prompts so I can’t resist writing longer stuff!

Warnings: Alcohol, Drunken Behavior

*****

The Grumpiness of Uncles Does Not Outweigh the Drunkenness of Nephews {Fíli x Tullaina}

“Fíli! What in Mahal’s name are you doing?”

Tullaina stood in the doorway of the best pub in Erebor, watching her fiancé- the prince of Erebor and heir to the throne- dance along the tabletops.

The issue wasn’t that he was a bad dancer. It wasn’t even the embarrassment this would cause him in the morning (he knew what would happen when he got drunk! It happened every single time). The issue was that, firstly, Fíli had a big meeting in the morning and would not do well hungover, and secondly, the elves were going to be arriving for said meeting any minute (Thorin had grumbled for hours about how Thranduil had “No respect for sleep,” and that “Some of us can’t stay up all night and then look fresh as daisies in the morning.”)

After the fiasco that had happened the last time the elves visited, which had involved Fíli, Kíli, several jugs of ale, and a game of catch, Thorin was determined to keep everything under control for this visit.

“TULLAINA!” Fíli exclaimed, jumping down from the table and drunkenly making his way over to her.

“I love you,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Tullaina giggled for a moment, then shook her head and pushed him away. “Tell me that when you’re sober. Now c’mon. The elves should be here any moment.”

“ELVES! Where?” He crouched into a battle-stance and looked around warily.

Tullaina laughed, grabbing his arm and dragging him out the door. She rounded the corner of the pub, entering the alleyway behind it.

“Did you get it?”

“Yes,” said a figure, stepping forward out of the darkness.

“Kíli!!” Fíli greeted his brother with a wave. “Did you know I Love Tulls? I. Love. Tullaina.”

“Oh, wow. He really is drunk,” Kíli said.

Tullaina nodded. “Yup. Now let’s do this so that we can get to the gates and not have Thorin scold us.”

Kíli nodded, reaching down and grabbing a large bucket. Tullaina knew what was in it- ice cold water.

“Ready?”

Tullaina let go of Fíli and backed up. “Ready.”

Kíli hefted the bucket over his head, dumping all the cold water over his brother. Fíli starting shrieking as the cold water rained down over him, jumping and squirming and generally just not looking very pleased as his brother and fiancé both cackled while watching him.

Tullaina waited until Fíli had shaken most of the water off, then approached him. “You at least slightly clear-headed now?”

“Huh? Oh, Tullaina! Kíli, did you know I love Tulls?”

Kíli sighed. “Ok. That didn’t work at all.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” said Tullaina. “We need to figure this out.”

Kíli walked up to his brother, placing a hand on each of Fíli’s shoulders and looking him directly in the eyes.

“Fíli,” he began.

“Yes?”

“Yes, hi. It’s me. We’re about to go see Uncle Thorin and Uncle Bilbo, and we’re going to be greeting the elves. You need to act completely normal. Got it?”

Fíli nodded, suddenly looking very serious. “I’ve got it.”

Tullaina and Kíli let out simultaneous sighs of relief, each grabbing one of Fíli’s arms to frog-march him to the front gates.

As they walked, Fíli asked, “Do you think Thranduil will let me touch his ears?”

“No,” Kíli told him.

“Awwwww,” Fíli pouted. “But they’re so pointy. I want to touch them!!!!!”

The next morning, Tullaina sat on the window seat in her bedroom, watching F​​íli blink his eyes open in the spot he’d collapsed last night- spread eagle on her bed.

“Did you know that you talk in your sleep?” She asked.

“Tulls?” Fíli shot up to a sitting position, blinking his eyes in confusion.

“You collapsed in here last night because you were very drunk,” she told him. “Anyways, did you know talk in your sleep?”

Fíli looked wary. “I did not know that. May I ask what I said?”

Tullaina giggled. “Let’s see, there may have been a fully formed dream-plan to prank Thranduil’s son for revenge-”

“Did you write it down?”

“I- what?” Tullaina was confused by the sudden interruption.

“Tullaina. Focus. Did you write it down?”

She shook her head, and Fíli’s head sank back in disappointment.

“I remember it, though!”

Fíli’s head shot back up. “Great! We’ll discuss it later. What else did I say?”

“There was also a whole lot of grumbling about ‘the grumpiness of uncles,’ and how ‘ever since Uncle Thorin had married Bilbo he’d gotten supremely worse about manners.’”

Fíli groaned. “I hope I didn’t say anything like that in front of my Uncles!”

Tullaina smirked. “Well, you actually did a whole lot worse.”

Fíli shot out of bed. “What?! What did I do?!”

Tullaina sat back against her pillows with the air of someone who was taking entirely too much delight in telling someone else something.

“Well,” she began. “You started off an abysmal night by commenting on the pointiness of the Elven-Kings ears. In front of the whole elven delegation- and like ninety percent of Erebor.”

Fíli flopped back onto the bed in despair. “I really hate to ask, but… did I touch them?”

“Welllllllll, no.”

He sighed in relief.

“However, you did somehow manage to touch Legolas’s ears. And then Legolas caught a whiff of your breath and commented on how drunk you must have been. And then Thorin… well, let’s just say Thorin was not pleased. Especially not when you started yelling at Legolas.”

“What did I yell at Legolas about?” Fíli looked like he wanted to shrivel up and never be seen again.

The smirk on Tullaina’s face was growing. “You said, and I quote, “C’mon, Leggy!! Bros don’t rat out other bros for being drunk at a diplomatic thingy! And you! I thought you were a bro! How could you?”

“So that’s why I wanted revenge in my dream?” Fíli asked.

Tullaina nodded.

“It’s official,” Fíli declared. “I will never leave this room again.”

“I would say that was a good idea,” Tullaina said. “Except for the fact that as of right now, you are officially late to the ‘crisis management (the crisis being your behavior last night) meeting that Thorin scheduled for this morning. The one that all the elves will be attending.”

Fíli shot into the room where Thorin usually held all important meetings, skidding to a halt in shock as he saw the faces of the people inside.

It was everyone. All the elves, Thorin, Bilbo, even little Frodo! And- was that-

“Tullaina?”

Everyone in the room started laughing.

Fíli stood there in complete bewilderment. “What- what is happening?”

Thorin approached him. “Last night, when you were behaving so ridiculously, we figured out that if dwarven-elven relations could withstand that kind of diplomatic fiasco, we could withstand anything.”

Thranduil stepped forward. “Exactly. However, your Uncle still felt you deserved some punishment for last night. So, your all-too-willing fiancée stepped in.”

Tullaina gave Fíli a little wave.

“So- so I’m not in trouble?”

Thorin laughed. “No. We thought that the fact that everyone, until the end of time, will remember you asking to touch an elf’s ears was enough.”

Fíli was blushing like crazy.

“Fine,” he said. “But my retribution for this will be legendary! They shall mark this day as the day when Fíli, Prince of Erebor, came up with his greatest prank ever!” He spread his arms wide to punctuate the declaration.

And then promptly stopped, holding out his hand. “Now, c’mon, Tulls. I’m hungry. Let’s go to the kitchens.”

As the two left the room, Fíli turned around just long enough to yell one more thing.

“There will still be repercussions for this, never fear! There shall be RE-PER-CUSSIONS!”

The large double doors to the conference room slammed shut in their wake, and everyone in the room could hear them walking down the hallway on the other side, Tullaina giggling as she teased Fíli and him good-naturedly replying.

Everything tag: @entishramblings @itgetsatadhazy @boyruins @anjhope1 @kumqu4t @katbby16 @thewhiteladyofrohan @kirstenscaffeinateddisaster @beenovel @shethereadinghobbit @guardianofrivendell @hey-its-nonny

Fíli tag: @laurfilijames @claraofthepen

[lixiehan]

stress reliever

pairing: chan x self insert (female)

description: college au! school was hard and you often find yourself taking life a little too seriously - that’s where chan comes in. after being paired up for a science project (that’s worth a lot of your grade), you become irritable and stressed. the problem being, chan doesn't like attitudes. 

warnings: fluff and smut themes, lots of dirty talk, male receiving oral, dom!chan, bratty and sub!reader, degradation and public sex ig???

word count: 2.5k

requested by: @coffeechangbeanie​ (slightly adapted the plot - not by much) also based on this unholy gif of chan. ur welcome

“and that leaves chan and y/n” your professor said, nodding at you both. “i expect every single person to do their part in this assignment, is that clear?” he continued. the class acknowledged his wishes, despite half of them being asleep. 

you looked to your side to see your project partner, chan, who coincidentally happened to be your current fuck buddy. you had absolutely no idea how this came to be. you were a quiet, quote-on-quote ‘nerd’ and most boys at your school didn’t look at you. at least, that was the case, until you caught chan’s attention. of course, you found him insanely attractive. after all, his big lips and buff body ran around in your mind most days. you mostly saw him at school, as well as the very few parties you attended. you never considered approaching him, though. he’s usually found beside dozens of girls (hotter and more popular than you), pretty much begging to ride him. 

you also never considered the idea that chan, of all people, would approach you and offer you help. the very few times that boys spoke to you, it usually consisted of them for help with the work that had been set. yet, the ‘relationship’ between you two started the day he saw you staring at the paper in front of you with utter distress in your eyes. 

-

“y/n, right?” he spoke from behind you, his hand making an appearance on the table next to you. instantly you felt a knot in your stomach as he leaned over you, “you are looking particularly stressed” he continued. 

“u-urm, yeah a bit” you choked out, trying to swallow your nerves away. “maths is hard” you near enough whispered, not daring to look at him. 

“hmm, that’s not good. is it?” he sympathised, which sent shivers down your spine. the deep tone in his voice made it sound more like a groan, one that you had daydreamed of frequently. you shook your head frantically in response, acknowledging his words but fearing what your mouth would blurt out. this was quickly noted by chan, who radiated confidence like you had never seen before. you felt him bend over, his mouth now level with your ear. “can’t you use your big girl words?” he whispered. “want me to help you?” 

you gasped quietly at his seductive words and although you may be shy, you certainly are not stupid. his choice of words gave away exactly what he was offering you and as nerve-racking the experience may be, you were certain that a man as fine as him was going to know what to do in the bedroom. 

and well, you were right. 

-

“so when do you wanna get this out of the way with?” chan asked, snapping you back to reality. he noticed the dazed look in your eye, it was very apparent you were daydreaming about something. “thinking about last night?” he smirked, his hand now placed firmly on your thigh. 

you tutted in response, “no actually, i wasn't”. you tried to suppress your emotion, considering his guess wasn't too far off what you were actually thinking about. “stressed” you explained in attempt to change the subject. his hand moved to your lower back, rubbing gentle circles to soothe you. although chan was strictly your fuck buddy and stress reliever, he always provided you with comfort when you needed it. “relax, y/n” he told you, “we’ll get it done and we will get a good grade for you”. 

although he wasn’t the type of student that particularly cared about his grades, he at least tried to get a half decent grade - to some extent, at least. “can we meet up in our free period tomorrow?” you looked at him, wanting to get this stupid project over and done with. he nodded, secretly knowing it meant he would get some alone time with you. 

“cool, thanks”, you smiled forgetting where you were for a second, too busy staring into the chocolate brown eyes next to you, until the loud ringing of the bell made you jump. you were relived to have an excuse to look a way from him. 

without fail, every time you made eye contact with chan you were left with a pool of wetness between your legs - he knew it, too. he would stare at you, his head slightly titled back with his perfect pink lips begging to be kissed. he would lick his lips while staring at you, making them glisten in the most beautiful way possible. from his point of view, you looked desperate for his touch and he thrived off it. he often laughed at the expression on your face when you frantically deny that you aren’t turned on - you both know he can read you like a book. 

you hopped off the lab stool before bending down to pick up your bag, making sure chan had a good view of your ass. you heard him chuckle, “already wet from a bit of eye contact?” he teased. you smirked as your back was facing him, not offering him a response to his question but rather throwing your hand up to wave him goodbye. most likely, you were going to pay for that behaviour later. chan made it clear from the very beginning that he wanted you to be verbal and most of the time you were, except the odd occasion when you felt bratty. 

although you could count on chan to help with the project, ultimately you never split assignments with anyone 50/50. there had been one too many occasions of classmates fake promising you that ‘i’ll do it later!’, for you to fully relax. you headed towards your usual spot in the library, a table that was slightly hidden away amongst the endless shelves of books before setting your books down on the table. 

you picked your phone up which led you to the realisation that only an hour had gone by. you sighed, throwing your head onto the table in frustration. this project was a lot harder than you thought it was going to be and will all due respect to chan, if you didn't understand, he wasn’t going to either. 

your entire body had been screaming for you to go home and sleep for the past four hours, yet you refused and continued to sit there in complete and utter annoyance. it wasn't until the clock read 11pm that you decided enough was enough and picked your bag up with significant force, stress seeping from every inch of your body at this point. 

when you arrived at your apartment you immediately ran to your bed, not bothering to change - sleep was your priority right now.

*buzz, buzz* 

your eyes flickered open to the painful sound of your alarm, desperately throwing your arms around until you found the sounds source. you sighed, staring at your ceiling, contemplating if the pain of going to college was worth it after all. 

forty-five minutes later you were ready and heading out of the door, ready for another day of stress. you felt your phone buzz in your pocket, smiling to yourself knowing exactly who it was going to be.

[08:49am] chan: still on for later baby girl?

[08:49am] y/n: yes

you thought by now you’d be used to the pet names he called you, but you sure as hell were not. 

[08:50am] chan: ok. excited to see your little pretty face. 

[08:51am] y/n: science project, remember? 

you rolled your eyes in annoyance and shoved your phone back in your pocket. yes, as much as you wanted to ride chan’s face and be fucked into oblivion by him, you had other priorities right now. you barely slept last night because of this stupid project, the last thing you wanted was chan to be all over you when trying to complete it. 

-

"you’re late” he teased you as you walked into the science lab where you agreed to meet. your eyes gazed at your watch, which showed 1:33pm. you scoffed, “hardly”.  

you took out your laptop and textbook, tossing both onto the countertop next to chan, before making your way over to the stool to this right. he noticed your demeanour straight away, usually you would have apologised for being late - even if it was only three minutes - and you would have crawled to his side offering to make it up to him. he decided to remain quiet for the time being though, the longer your attitude lasted, the more reason he would have to get his way with you. 

you opened up the textbook to reveal the notes you spent hours on last night. “you already started?” he queried, pulling the book closer to him with a confused look on his face. 

“yes and it’s going to be a hard essay to write so we better get on with it” you noted, opening up a word document on your computer. 

“and you started writing it?” he asked, this time in disbelief. 

“only a few hundred words” you shrugged like it was nothing, even though it took you hours. he sighed, “its a project for two people, y’know?” 

“yes chan, of course i know that. i was in the class with you when it was given, was i not?” you snapped at him, running your hands through your hair in frustration. he meant nothing by his words and you knew he was right, you probably should have waited to start it but your inability to cope with stress takes over you sometimes. 

“attitude, y/n” he warned you sternly. alongside the rule of always being verbal and answering his questions, chan also had a rule against bratty attitudes. if he sensed an attitude on you, he would fix it via a punishment - something you were *somewhat* familiar with. the few times you were bratty it was usually because of how irritable you become when stressed. “was just saying”, he defended himself. 

you ignored his warning, continuing with “you weren’t gonna be the one to do the background reading, were you chan?”. 

once you made the mistake of turning to face him and realising he had an eyebrow raised at you and a dark look in his eye, you knew you well and truly fucked up. 

“get on your knees” he ordered you, which for some reason, took you by surprise. you gulped, hesitating for a moment before he told you for a second time. “don’t make me ask three times, princess”. 

you scrambled to the floor and placing yourself under the desk and in-between his legs. “what have i warned you about multiple times?” he asked, placing his finger on your chin, forcing you to look at his eyes. 

“n-not to be a brat” you stuttered, his gaze making you nervous. 

“that’s right” he hummed. “and what do you continue to do?” 

“b-be a brat”, you admitted. with deadline season around the corner you hadn’t been able to help your attitude lately. 

he nodded, appreciating your honesty. “now, i’m going to fuck that attitude right out of our mouth” he told you as he slowly lowered his jeans. “and you’re going to take it like the good girl i know you are. isn't that right?” 

you nodded frantically and bit your lip, scared you may end up saying something you shouldn’t. “remember princess, you gotta be quiet otherwise we’ll end up with an audience” he warned you. “but something tells me my pretty little slut would like that” he hummed, running his hands through your hair before grabbing it in order to control your head. you instantly felt the heat rise in-between your legs as you listened to his filthy words. 

you opened your mouth wide in anticipation for him, hoping it would work your way to his good side. he teased his member at the end of your mouth, knowing you probably wanted this more than he did. you felt his grip tighten on your hair as he pushed his way into your mouth with no warning. you battered your eyelashes up at him, hallowing your cheeks and trying to suppress your urges to gag. 

“you like being used like this, don’t you” he groaned in a low tone. your mouth felt insane around him, there was no way he was ever going to get used to this feeling. you hummed in response, sending vibrations down his member and earning another honey glazed moan from him. 

you tapped his leg and he pulled back, knowing that was your indication that you needed to breathe. you still hadn’t learnt to take him like this fully, his sheer size being too much for your petite mouth, but he loved the way your mouth looked so full as he thrusted in and out of it.

“god, look at you” he appreciated, “you're taking me so well after that bratty little outburst of yours” he groaned, his head rolling back in pleasure. 

although you could hardly ignore the pool of wetness that was growing in your underwear, you were aware chan would catch onto any slight movements you made to try and release yourself. right now, you had to focus on your breathing and making chan cum. 

although he was being careful not to be too rough with you, his pace picked up slightly as you drew him closer to the edge. you moaned around his member again, adoring the sight you saw above you. “fuck baby” he moaned, i'm gonna cum all over that tongue of yours”. 

you wiggled in excitement at his words. you adored the taste of him (considering he ate exceptionally well), but you adored the fact that you were the one that made him feel that good. 

his thrusts continued to pick up pace as you coughed slightly around him, but moments later he came undone all over your mouth. “hold it” he told you as he bent down to pick you up from the floor. he did this a lot, he liked to watch and make sure you swallow his cum - otherwise there’d be another punishment over his lap. 

you obeyed, waiting for his instructions. “okay, you can swallow”. you promptly swallowed his mess, opening your mouth wide to prove to him it had all gone. 

“that's my good girl” he cooed, pulling you onto his lap into a gentler manner. “what’s with the attitudes, huh?” he asked. now he punished you, it was time to make sure you were actually okay. 

“sorry, channie” you apologised, twiddling with your thumbs. “been really stressed. shouldn’t have taken it out on you” you admitted. 

“yeah, you shouldn’t have” he nodded, “but it’s okay. feel better now?” he asked, brushing your hair behind your ear. you nodded in response, your stress levels now significantly lower. “talk to me properly next time princess. i’ll help you” 

you agreed to approach him next time you felt like this, knowing it would be better for both of you. you placed a small kiss on his plump lips, hoping off his lap and sitting next to him - suddenly remembering someone could enter at any second. he giggled at you, considering you didn’t care if someone entered 5 minutes ago.  

“thanks chan” you smiled at him, picking up the pen in front of you, ready to give this project another go. 

“no problem princess. i like being your personal stress reliever”

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The Regular (Part 1.5): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: Geto is back for more, but innocence and sincerity isn’t something you’re used to.

word count: 2k

tw: none 

a/n: This is just a brief interlude between part 1 and part 2! It will get steamier in part 2 for sure. 

The squeal of the hinges alerts you to someone’s presence in the dressing room, and you look up from your phone and into the blue eyes of Mrs. Lampton. She’s wearing a shit-eating grin and holding out a wad of cash, obviously very excited to speak to you. “This is for you! VIP room tonight. You know the deal.” Before you can stretch out your hand to warily accept the cash, you raise a brow in question. “Oh, it’s the man from last night.” She answers quickly, a blush fanning across her fair cheeks. 

Geto. 

You stand to take the cash from the manager, noting the thickness of the stack and the way that the bills were pressed smooth - not crumpled like the ones thrown at you in haste. Someone had counted this money and stacked it with you in mind. 

“This is--” 

“It’s more than enough to cover the nightly operating fees for a week,” Mrs. Lampton waves away your observation, disappearing as soon as she finishes speaking. The hunter green two-piece you wore was no longer appropriate, and you take a look at the small offerings of clothing you had at your disposal. He had already seen the red lingerie, and that left you with the only other thing you had bothered to bring: a baby blue silk slip dress. Sliding the flimsy thing over your head, you think about his intentions tonight. Would Geto touch you? Would there be any sign of his arousal beyond the uncomfortable shifting? Or would he perform the “I’m going to save you from this place” act? You didn’t want to be saved from the club, that much you knew. The club had saved you. This environment provided you a well-needed distraction from the constant chaos that was your daytime life. Compared to that, the strip club was absolute heaven, and nothing would change that. Not even the wads of cash you were bound to receive from the mysterious man. 

It’s the main reason why you empathize with your clients: escapism isn’t just a luxury they could afford. It’s one you desperately need, and they just bring the money for you to enjoy the feeling of being someone else for a change. On stage, you were someone everyone looked at with lust and desire. The attention on you there was rarely negative and if you could trade your daytimes for your night times, you would do it in a heartbeat. 

Before you can slip back into your true self, you look at yourself in the mirror and fluff your natural hair. No wigs, that’s one of Geto’s rules. You take one more look at your reflection, decide it’s enough, and slide the thin black robe over yourself before exiting. 

“Come here.” The request is met with immediate obedience, and you feel your legs magnetically pulled to the man sitting cross-legged on the couch, dressed in a dark blue shirt and black slacks. The top three buttons on his shirt are open, letting you catch a glimpse of the strong, pale chest beneath. “You look alluring, as always.” 

Geto extends a hand out to you, and you tenderly take it, sliding your fingers into his large palm. Surprisingly, the pads of his fingertips and palm aren’t rough and calloused. That’s the sign of a man who doesn’t have to work hard for his money, your aunt would say. And you found that to be mostly true. Yuma never had calloused hands, not with his late father’s money cushioning him from any hard labor. 

When Geto pulls you into his lap, you perch yourself on his right leg precariously, letting his right arm wrap around you and settle onto your hip. Instinctively, you lean into his frame, resting your head on his massive shoulder. His smell is different tonight. It’s earthen and full of some essential oil you can’t quite identify, but it suits him. 

“Talk to me,” he murmurs over the soft music. He had the selections changed, you notice, the usual songs sexual and explicit. Now, you were surrounded by jazz, which changed the entire environment of the VIP room. You no longer felt like you would have to dance around sensually for him. Now, you felt like you were in a fancy, upper class yacht club, except in a robe and a night slip with no shoes on. Was he trying to save you? “Tell me about your day.” 

“I’d rather not,” you whisper, thinking of the tension-filled morning and the afternoon you slept away. “Tell me about your day.” Geto rests his cheek against the crown of your head, inhaling deeply before exhaling; his chest rising and falling exaggeratedly. 

“I’d rather not.” A moment of understanding passes between you, but he squeezes your hip suddenly, laughing a little. “Tell me, y/n… you seem well-adjusted. Did you choose this career path or did this career path choose you?” 

“Well…” you think about the question deeply, and choose accordingly. “I chose this.”

“Do you enjoy what you do?” 

“I do,” you breathe, remembering Yuma for a second. “I enjoy it here. Do you enjoy what you do?” When the man doesn’t answer, you lift your head off of his shoulder and look into his onyx eyes. There’s a certain stare in them - not a long stare, but enough to make you wonder - and it isn’t until he blinks that his lips part to answer. 

“I do what I have to in order to survive.” 

“You make it sound like you’re a mobster.” The laugh that resonates in his chest is deep and thoughtful, like he was just considering the prospect of it all. He reaches out a hand to touch your cheek, which you shy away from slightly. It isn’t unusual for a man to attempt to touch you in a more intimate way, but all of this coming from Geto feels too familiar. He clears his throat and drops his hand, looking away from you and at the lamps on the wall. 

“If I said I was, what would you do?” 

“Nothing,” you admit. “There’s not much I could do. Who would I tell?” The thought that this man could actually be a mobster just needing a break sticks a little harder than it should. It would explain the cash, the nice outfits, the need for privacy… 

“No, I don’t associate with the underbelly of society. It’s not my game. Gojo, though…” You frown at the name, and he looks at you with a blank stare. “My bad; my friend from the night before.” 

“Blue eyes?” 

“Yeah,” he begins, looking away. “He brought me here to ease my nerves… I thought a few drinks would do the trick. But here I am.” He gives you a half-shrug, lips turning back up into a smile. That’s when the question you’ve been dying to ask falls out of your mouth without caution.

“Why do you pay more than you have to for... this room?” For me, you want to add, but decide that’s a step too far into personal details. Geto blinks, no doubt sensing your unspoken addition, and tilts his head to the side. “I mean, you could have an escort come to you every single night for the amount you pay for all of this…” You wave your hand around at the furnishings as if to prove your point. “And you could have sex with them.” 

“That’s not what I’m looking for right now.” He replies, and you squint in disbelief, moving off of his leg. 

“You’re telling me you don’t want to have sex.” 

“Is that a question or a statement?” He asks, chuckling a little at your wary expression. 

“Both.”

“Can’t I just get to know a beautiful woman in the privacy I can afford?” 

“You could date a rich woman and take her out to fancy dinn-” 

“That’s a lot of commitment.” Geto interrupts, holding a hand up to cut you off. “I don’t think that’s something I want splashed across every gossip rag.”

“And this is?”

“No one comes here to gossip. The focus is you and your co-workers, and they know what I come here for. It’s not as headline-inducing as taking out the heiress to a billion-dollar company to eat overpriced scallops in a five-star restaurant that pays its workers too little.” He hasn’t raised his voice a single octave, instead looking at you with a soft gaze and planting his hand on his now-abandoned leg. You take in all of the information he’s offered, uncrossing your arms and now standing akimbo, unsure of how to respond. 

Gossip rags… Heiresses… Headlines…?

Geto wasn’t just rich. People had their eyes on him. Why hadn’t Mrs. Lampton warned her? Who else knew about his status in a world that she couldn’t truly occupy? 

“Please,” he begins, stretching his hand out once more. “Sit with me. I enjoy your company.” You take his hand again, and this time he slides you in next to him, your bare leg touching his soft pants. “Now, tell me about the day you wish you had.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

Your alarm goes off at exactly seven am. It isn’t ideal, but you know that in order to even get to your aunt’s flower shop on time, you had to give yourself an hour head start. Waking up was hard enough, and with the situation you were facing, it seemed like times would be getting even harder. 

It isn’t until you get into the shower that you recount the details of the last night. 

“I’m going to be away for a few days, but here’s a little something that might warm your hands while I’m gone.” 

The impossible had happened yet again, and the thick stack of twenty dollars bills Geto handed you sat in your safe - untouched, uncirculated, and the seal around them remained unbroken. You had tried to look him up and find out what exactly he did during his day life, but the search results turned up absolutely nothing but an article from four years ago proclaiming the winner of a chess tournament in India named Geto. When you clicked on the article, you couldn’t read it, but the thirteen-year-old champion was absolutely not the man that had lavished you with cash. 

You tried looking up his white-haired friend, Gojo, but found nothing on him as well. Whoever they were, there was not a single gossip rag that published a photo, quote, or mentioned them. 

Because they paid them off, stupid. 

You nod to yourself at the realization, and wash yourself completely before toweling off in the steamy bathroom. You’re in the middle of wondering what kind of people actually paid to have their names taken out of magazines when the door shudders violently under someone’s fist. 

“Fucking hurry up,” one of your housemates yells from the other side, and you gather your things before rushing past the man in the doorway, ducking your head so he couldn’t accost you. But you’re roughly yanked to the side, making you drop your dirty clothes to the floor. Rough, calloused fingers bite into your arm, and you gasp, staring at the unfriendly face of the only male in the house.  “Stop using all of the damn hot water in this house, y/n. I’ve told you that you get only three minutes of hot water, or else you’re paying the entire water bill, got it?” 

“Sorry, Ryo…” you shrink away from the man’s harsh gaze, and he lets go of your arm silently, storming into the bathroom and slamming the door shut. This. This is what you needed saving from. 

Ryo’s girlfriend, Hasia, timidly shuffles into the room and gives you an apologetic look. She always did that, coming behind Ryo to apologize with her face and never her words. But it was almost over. Soon, you’d have enough to move out and be on your own - and if Geto was going to stay, then all of his money would trickle into your savings for rent, utilities, and new furniture. As it stood, you had enough to purchase something halfway decent, and with the rest of the incoming money, you would be able to fix it up to appear quite nice. You just had to time everything right, and keep your new regular coming back for more.

[let-the-dream-begin]

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 31: Home For Christmas

Chapter 30

Read on AO3

Christmas morning began with a solid weight on Claire’s back that knocked the wind out of her. Eyes still closed, she let out a stifled oomf, and heard a low chuckle beside her. (They’d both made sure they were fully clothed before falling asleep for this exact reason.)

“Aye, good morning, leannan.”

Claire groaned; of course the man was already awake, and had probably been more than capable of stopping Faith from pouncing on her. When the tiny slaps to her head began, he finally intervened.

“Alright, alright, let’s be nice.” The weight was removed, and Claire finally opened her eyes, rolling over to see that Jamie had lifted Faith bodily off of her, and was holding her up on his shins, holding her hands: playing airplane.

“Merry Christmas,” Jamie crooned up to Faith, and she squealed, kicking her legs. If Jamie didn’t have her hands, she’d have toppled over. But Claire knew he’d never let her fall. “Aye, merry Christmas, lass.”

Claire sighed heavily and forced herself to sit up, smiling lazily at the pair of them. “Merry Christmas, baby girl.”

Claire might as well have not said a thing; she was still giggling at Jamie and kicking her legs. Claire gave him a look, and he winked at her before letting Faith gently plop on the mattress between them. 

“Hi,” Claire said, bending down to kiss her. “Merry Christmas.”

Faith hummed in response, squirming out of bed by climbing over Claire.

“Merry Christmas, Sassenach.”

Claire looked up to see Jamie sitting up, hair tousled, clothes rumpled from playing with her daughter, a lazy, peaceful grin on his face. Even as Faith relentlessly tugged on Claire’s hand, groaning impatiently, Claire leaned over to kiss him.

“Merry Christmas, love.”

Faith could be held up no longer, and soon both adults were being led to the tree, crouched over so as to have one each of her little hands. Gillian, thank God, already had coffee brewing, having already been trampled by Faith herself on the air mattress. Gillian had offered to get a hotel room this year, not wanting to overcrowd Claire now that she knew Jamie would be joining them, but Claire would not hear of it, and neither would Jamie. Both ladies were wearing their matching set of Christmas pajamas, and Jamie dramatically remarked how left out he felt to not have received his own pair for this year.

“I’ll remember that fer next year,” Gillian said wryly, handing them each their own festive mugs of coffee.

Air mattress out of the way and coffee distributed, Faith was tearing into the first of three bigger boxes before anybody could stop her.

“That’s from Auntie Gi, darling,” Claire said, nestled tightly against Jamie, laying her still sleepy head on his shoulder, smiling contentedly. Claire knew exactly what was in those three identically sized boxes, and she fully expected the joyful stimming that erupted from Faith. It was an Animator Doll, the Anna one. Claire had seen them in the Disney store and decided that Faith absolutely had to have one, then Gi had offered to get her one, and so had Jamie.

Faith handed the unwrapped box to Gillian without so much as looking at her before she moved onto the next one, a gesture that very clearly meant: free her from her box immediately.

The three adults chuckled, Gillian muttering to herself as she headed to the kitchen to get scissors.

“That’s from Mummy,” Claire said, though she was sure it was falling on deaf ears. Claire had gotten the Elsa one, and the box was shuffled over to Gillian, still just beginning to open the Anna box. Faith moved onto the third box, Claire reminding her it was from Jamie as she got up from the couch, abandoning his warmth to help Gillian with the boxes before they fell behind and Faith had a fit.

The third doll was Merida, the one Jamie insisted he get for her. Faith hummed loudly and flapped her hands, squealing with delight. She looked over to see Auntie Gi and Mummy busy trying to free Anna and Elsa, so she picked up the box to shuffle over to Jamie in her silent request.

“D’ye like it, Faith?” Jamie said, setting his mug down to take the box. “She’s our lass, aye?”

Faith nodded, then bounded back to the tree.

“Faith Julia,” Claire called. “I won’t finish opening these until you say thank you.”

She hastily kissed Gillian’s cheek, to which she replied, “Ye’re welcome, Pipsqueak,” then Claire’s, answered by “You’re welcome, lovie,” and then Jamie’s.

“Ye’re very welcome, mo chridhe.”

The next few gifts were from Santa: a few DVD’s Faith had been asking for (one day she pulled up a list on her tablet of every single Disney film ever made alongside their DVD cover and started pointing to the ones they didn’t own, some that Claire hadn’t thought about in years) and a few she had not, a plush of the pig and chicken from Moana, a new puzzle, and a set of Merida pajamas. By the time Faith got through tearing all the wrapping off, all of her new treasures were freed from their boxes and plastic wrapping. The pajamas had come last, and before anyone could stop her, she was pulling her nightgown over her head.

“Faith, wait, that’s not — ”

Before Claire could remind her that she was to get dressed in her bedroom, and that anywhere else was inappropriate, Jamie was already holding the shirt over her head, smiling at her as she poked her head through. Claire shook her head, trying to suppress the smile that insisted on making its way across her face. She just sighed, letting Jamie finish dressing her, and Gillian snorted into her coffee mug.

While Faith got started arranging her dolls and toys on the coffee table and finding spaces for her new DVD’s among the rest of her collection, the adults began their own gift exchange. Gillian and Jamie exchanged gifts first, each giving the other Scottish-themed holiday baubles, causing all three adults to laugh. Claire got Gillian a shot glass with a bawdy quote that served her all too well, and Gillian got Claire a small potted succulent, the pot having been hand painted by her.

Claire was nervous; she was always a terrible gift-giver. Frank had been content to receive the most generic man-gifts known to humankind, but Claire knew full well that Jamie deserved more than that. Yet even as she handed him the box, she was worried she’d still gotten just another generic man-gift.

Jamie grinned at her as he took the box, opening it with care, as if to not disturb the wrapping. He would be the type to open presents that way. He set the paper aside and opened the box.

“Open the card second,” Claire said quickly as he picked up the envelope. He looked at her sideways, then set the envelope aside. After unfolding the wrapping paper, he pulled it out: a gray Scottish tweed cap.

Jamie was grinning ear to ear, examining the fabric. “It’s authentic,” Claire chimed in. “Made sure of it.”

“It’s braw, Sassenach.”

“I saw on Facebook your father had one in a lot of your photos, but I never saw you with one. So I thought I’d give you a bit of Scotland for Christmas.”

His grin spread wider, if that was even possible. “Thank you, Sassenach. I love it.”

“Put it on,” Claire demanded. “I want to see.”

Jamie chuckled, but he obliged, and Claire’s heart fluttered.

“What d’ye think?”

Claire leaned in so their faces were inches apart. “You’re as dashing as ever.”

He captured her lips sweetly, both of them grinning into the kiss.

“Oi,” Gillian barked. “Ye’ve an audience, here.”

They broke apart, still grinning, and Claire rolled her eyes. “Alright.” She swiped the cap off of Jamie’s head and put it on herself. “Open the card now.”

Jamie chuckled, taking up the envelope. “Ye dinna look bad yerself, lass.”

Claire stuck her chin up proudly. “A girlfriend always ensures she looks good in the clothing she buys her boyfriend.”

Jamie shook his head as he tore open the envelope, a blush creeping up his neck.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

“What?” she demanded, shoving him by the shoulder.

He glanced at Gillian and then sighed in resignation. “I was thinkin’,” he whispered in her ear so that only she could hear, “what ye might look like wearing just the cap.”

Claire’s stomach flipped, her breath stuttering. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

He bit her earlobe in response, and she squealed.

“Oi!” Gillian shouted. “There’s a bairn. No’ to mention me.”

The pair of them just laughed, and Jamie continued tearing into the envelope. Claire remembered exactly what she’d written; she’d agonized over it for hours and days:

Merry Christmas, Jamie. You’ve changed my life for the better in every imaginable way. I love you.

Your Sassenach,

Claire

He kissed her again, and Gillian was no doubt rolling her eyes.

“Trust me, mo ghraidh,” he said. “Ye’ve changed my life, too. Made me whole.”

Claire briefly indulged his beautiful words, stroking his jaw, before pulling away so he would look at what was inside the card.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a subscription to something called Flaviar,” Claire explained. “Once a quarter you get all these samples of rare whisky. Right up your alley.”

Jamie beamed. “This is unbelievable!”

“You can go on the website and customize your account with your personal preferences,” Claire went on.

“Sassenach…” he laughed. “It’s great. It’s so great.”

Claire smiled back at him. “I’m glad you like it.”

With one final kiss (and an eye roll from Gillian), Jamie picked up his gift to Claire and handed it to her, a large square box. He looked just as antsy as she had felt giving him her gift. She tore open the paper with no such grace that he’d possessed when opening his. There was a plain white box, and Claire opened the lid and gasped. She reached in and pulled out a miniature greenhouse of sorts: a white framed structure of clear plastic, open on one side. There was tissue paper packed inside the structure, and Claire unburied a box labeled: Medicinal & Herbal Tea Indoor Herb Garden Starter Kit.

Her heart positively melted as another small gasp escaped her lips. “Jamie…”

“I noticed yer wee balcony garden a while back, Faith’s party I think,” he said. “Figured ye missed yer wee herbs in the cold months. So.”

“Oh, Jamie…there’s so much here!” She turned the box over and rattled off the list of seeds included. “Chamomile, Lavender, Lemon Mint, Calendula, Yarrow, Sage, Rosemary, Fennel, Lemon Balm, Peppermint, Hyssop…” She trailed off, realizing no one else had any bloody clue what she was saying. “This is more than I was even able to find myself.”

He shrugged. “Amazon has it all.”

“It’s perfect. It’s wonderful.” Her heart was fluttering; she felt like a kid in a candy store. “This, did you get this on Amazon, too?” She gestured to the greenhouse.

“Oh. I made that.”

Claire was gobsmacked, her mouth falling open. “Made it?”

“Aye. Wasna too difficult. Ye could just put them on the windowsill, but I thought it would be nicer in something a bit more decorative.” He suddenly looked very shy, as if apprehensive of the quality of his own handiwork.

“It’s beautiful.” She cupped his face in her hands, having put the box of herbs in her lap. “All of it. You are amazing.”

He was blushing, and Claire wanted to kiss every inch of his face that was splotching red. He still had no idea how bloody wonderful he was.

“There’s, ehm, one more thing.” He pointed to the packed tissue paper inside the greenhouse, and Claire reached inside, pulling out a small, long and narrow box. She tossed her head back, laughing out loud. It was a little dirt poker with a ceramic heart on the end that read: “I Dig You.”

Claire tossed it to Gillian, who also began snorting with laughter. “Oh, that’s awful.”

“Aye, aye,” Jamie said, laughing. “I couldna resist.”

“Oh, God…” Claire said, still laughing as she cupped his face again. “I dig you, too, love.”

Claire felt very much like Faith with her toys, wanting to tear into her gift and begin planting everything immediately. Sadly, it would have to wait, as there was much to do today before they met the Murrays at Jamie’s apartment.

“Faithie,” Claire crooned. She had finished filing away her DVD’s and was now surveying the dolls and toys she’d arranged atop the coffee table. “It’s your turn, lovie. Remember your gifts?”

She did not respond at all or give any indication that she’d heard her.

“Faith, come here,” Claire said, getting an idea. She took off Jamie’s cap. “Do you want to wear Jamie’s hat?”

She immediately picked her head up and scampered over to them, grabbing greedily for the cap. Claire let Faith feel the textures inside and out before plopping it on her little head.

“You look lovely,” Claire said, poking her nose. “This was my gift to Jamie. Where are your gifts, baby? Do you remember?”

Faith just giggled, spinning around with her hands on her head, on the hat. Claire sighed with a laugh, taking her by the shoulders and redirecting her to the tree. “Here, darling. See? Give one to Auntie Gi, one to Jamie, and one to me.”

Claire knew what was inside the shoddy wrapping; Faith had brought them home from school and they’d wrapped them together. She watched as Faith obeyed, handing one to each of the three adults, and Claire had to pull her into her lap to stop her from bolting off. They all opened them at the same time, Claire letting Faith “help” to keep her engaged.

“Oh! Look at that!” Claire said with exaggerated excitement, despite having seen it already. The other adults gave similar verbal reactions. “Oh, who is that? Who’s that, Faith?”

It was a large foam snowflake, each of the three decorated generously with glitter of all festive colors, a photograph in the center. The teacher had asked how many adults were in Faith’s life that would need one, which Claire appreciated. Faith still did not like to be photographed, so only half of her face was visible, due to the fact that she was hiding in Angus’s fur. But, it was better than the ones with her hands covering her entire face. And it was rather sweet, really, the way she was hugging her dog.

“Who is that, Faith?” Claire said again, pointing. Faith jabbed her finger into the picture, humming and bouncing in her lap. “Yes, who is it?” With an explosive squeal, Faith poked herself in the chest over and over. “Yes, good job!”

“Good girl,” Jamie echoed, and Gillian said, “Yay!”

“Who else?” Jamie chimed in, pointing at Angus in the photograph. “Who’s that, Faith?”

Faith gave another little shriek and pointed at Angus, chewing at his Christmas treat in the corner of the room on his bed.

“Ah! Good job!” Jamie gave her tiny thigh a squeeze, and the women cheered quietly as well.

“Thank you, baby,” Claire crooned, hugging her tightly and kissing her temple. “I love my present. Go give hugs.” She passed Faith over to Jamie, who held her tightly to his chest in his lap.

“Thank you, m’annsachd. I love it very much. I’m gonnae put it right on my tree when we get to my house.” He gave her one final squeeze before sending her off to Gillian, who had to call Faith’s name several times to get her to actually come to her.

“Thank ye very much, my sweet wee lass.” She gave her a loud kiss on the cheek. “Best present yet this year.”

Presents all distributed and Faith’s ornament hung on the tree, they moved into the kitchen for their Edible Arrangement breakfast. When Claire had explained to Jamie the Christmas traditions, he’d offered to pick up the ingredients for the cookies. When he’d asked, “What don’t ye have?” and Claire had answered: “Uh…the cookie mix and the icing?” he’d laughed out loud. Evidently, he’d thought they’d be making them from scratch, which was quite bold of him to assume, considering who he was dating. In the end, Jamie brought over ingredients for homemade sugar cookies, and the four of them had a grand old time forming the dough, rolling it out, and using the cookie cutters, all with Christmas music playing, of course.

While they were baking, Jamie encouraged Faith to pick out one of her new Christmas DVDs to watch. Claire had mentioned that she was not a fan of using streaming services, wanting to feel the physical copy in her hands and have a space where it belonged that was in her control. So Jamie purchased half a dozen movies that were already streaming somewhere, being that he wanted to watch a Christmas movie with his girls, but wanted to do it in a way that Faith would be happiest with.

And so, Jamie sat squished into the corner of the couch with Claire curled into him like a kitten, Faith at attention between the cushions with Gillian on the other side of her, with Home Alone playing on the tellie. Claire was nursing her second mug of coffee, warmed by it head to toe, along with Jamie’s occasional kiss to her head, or the deep rumbling in his chest that echoed against Claire’s back when he laughed.

Last Christmas, Claire had confidently told Gillian that it was the best one she’d ever had. And now, the future was bright with possibility, the promise of each holiday getting better and better with Jamie there. Hell, each month, each week, each day, every hour, minute, and second was better than the last with Jamie in her life.

God, she was never letting him go.

——

Jamie had given his sister a key to his apartment for her to use in the event that they were late coming from Claire's apartment because of Faith or any other mishaps. They were, in fact, perfectly on time, arriving at 1:30 exactly, giving them plenty of time to get things in order for the arrival of Jamie’s family.

And yet, Jenny’s rental car was there waiting anyway.

Jamie sighed, rolling his eyes as he parked his car.

“Shoulda known,” he said. “Maybe she’d come when I wanted her to if I told her four.”

Claire squeezed his knee, and he could tell she was trying not to laugh. “She’s going to have all the food out already, isn’t she?”

“Aye, that she is.”

Faith insisted on being carried by Jamie, refusing to even let herself be unbuckled from her car seat until Jamie tried. This left Claire and Gillian to handle the presents and Angus. Gillian had driven over Claire’s car so Jamie could spend the night with his family after they had to go back to Claire’s.

Jamie announced his presence as he unlocked the front door, but there was no need. Everyone was sitting in his living room, everyone except Jenny. Before he could ask, his father cut in:

“We tried tae offer help,” he said wryly. “Yer darling martyr sister shoved us out of the kitchen and told us she didna need us mucking anything up.”

“Out of my kitchen,” Jamie grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Aye, well, Merry Christmas, everyone.”

“Merry Christmas, son.” Brian stood up out of the recliner to embrace his son, cupping Faith’s head gently as he pulled away. “Merry Christmas, lassie. Great to see ye again.”

Jamie took note that his nephew was playing the Wii again, and he briefly wondered which of the three adults had known how to set it up. Unless the wee imp already figured it out.

“Merry Christmas, Claire,” Brian said warmly, embracing Claire tightly. “This is Gillian?”

“Yes! My best friend, and a Scot to boot,” Claire stepped aside.

“Pleasure,” Gillian said, shaking Brian’s hand. “Thank ye so much fer having me.”

“Any family of my son’s lass is family of mine,” he said, genuine as anything.

Ian greeted everyone next, and it only took a few seconds before Maggie was on Claire’s hip. Jamie watched with weak knees as she babbled to the baby and made adorable faces at her, reveling in the sound of their mingled giggling. Offers of playing with the baby was the only way to get Faith to allow herself to be put down, and then Jamie was off to the kitchen.

“Merry Christmas, Janet,” he said, watching as she finished arranging appetizers on a large serving plate.

“Merry Christmas, brother,” she said, her voice chipper.

“I see ye’ve got yer son on more of those mind-numbing video games.”

“Och, come off it. It was the only way to get him out of my hair.”

“Ye could have waited fer us. I could have helped.”

“Nonsense. I’m used to being the host on Christmas. Why should that change?”

“…Because ye’re not the host this Christmas?”

She shot him a dangerous look, and he gave up, putting his hands up in surrender. “We’re just inside when ye’re finished, o gracious host.”

Jamie produced the ornament Faith had made him and let her place it on the tree, and Ian and Brian remarked how lovely it was, how fine it looked on the tree. Shortly after, Jenny fluttered in with the tray of arranged food, and then the whisky and wine was flowing. Wee Jamie was pulled away from the Wii so the repeat marathon of A Christmas Story could be put on, and the adults sat and talked and laughed while Faith went back and forth between her mother’s lap, Auntie Gi’s lap, Jamie’s lap, and the baby mat that Maggie was playing on.

Jamie was going on and on about how great Faith was doing at the stables, how well her transition had gone between therapists. He knew full well that around this time last year, Jenny had been overly concerned with the propriety of this relationship, whether or not it was a relationship back then not mattering in the least to her. He emphasized how important it had been for there to be a boundary set between mom’s boyfriend and horse therapist. Jessica and Faith were developing a really special bond that was really lovely to see from the outside.

Not to mention that standing there with Claire and cheering her on together was one of the highlights of his entire week.

“What day of the week did ye say she goes?” Ian asked.

“Fridays,” Claire answered.

“Oh, and there’s a break fer the holidays,” Ian said, sounding sad. “I would ha’ loved to see her ride. We’ll be flying back before it starts again.”

Jamie’s chest warmed, and he felt Claire melt against him, and looked down to see her genuinely touched.

“I…I have videos, if you want to see,” Claire said tentatively.

“Oh do ye?” Ian lit up, and Jenny and Brian beamed.

“Yeah, hold on…”

Jamie watched as Claire clicked through her photos and found all the ones grouped by location at the stables. She scrolled all the way back to last September, and Jamie’s heart flipped.

“I’ve never seen these,” he said, leaning in.

“Oh,” Claire said, and he could feel her blush before he saw it, heat radiating from her sweater-clad form. “Well, at the time it didn’t seem appropriate to show you. But yes…there are quite a few that you…haven’t seen.”

Before long, Claire was sitting back as Jamie and his family combed through every photo and video of Faith at the stables. There were hundreds from her first day alone, and when they got to Halloween, Jenny smacked her brother’s arm.

“Oh, come on! Dinna tell me that wasna planned!”

“It wasn’t,” Claire said. “Faith chose it because Merida rides horses.”

“She’s sae smart,” Brian said, oozing with pride. Jamie’s eyes twinkled.

“Oh…look at this one…” Jenny put a hand on her heart. “The way he’s looking at her, even all the way back then!”

Ian and Brian nodded in agreement, smiling. Jamie leaned in and felt his breath catch in his throat. He remembered the moment clear as anything.

“Could I get one of her with Pippi before you put her away? Without the helmet?”

“Aye, of course.”

Faith hadn’t wanted to move just yet, and Jamie hadn’t seen the harm in letting them have one more moment together. And apparently Claire had snapped the exact moment where Jamie was struck by how amazing it was that the stars had aligned just so to allow him to have even the smallest part in this child’s life, remarkable as she was.

Even all the way back then.

“I used to stare at that one,” Claire admitted sheepishly, quietly, as if trying to confess to Jamie alone. “Random times during the day, I’d find myself looking at it. And I still managed to convince myself until July that that wasn’t strange at all.”

Jamie chuckled wetly, blinking away unexpected tears. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and fervently kissed the crown of her head.

“It’s like I knew,” Claire said, even quieter, as Jamie’s family started playing a video on the phone. “Like I knew that someday she’d be yours.”

Yours.

Jamie’s eyes lifted up to see Faith rocking and flapping her hands on Maggie’s play mat, bottom lip tucked firmly under her teeth, humming.

Mine.

“That,” Jamie whispered into her curls, “is the greatest gift you could give me, Sassenach.”

She kissed his cheek, and they returned their attention to the phone. After several minutes and several repeated, “Oh, beautiful!” “She’s a fine rider!” and “What a braw lass!”, the conversation steered in different directions. Jamie noticed that Claire kept turning her head toward wee Jamie, and during a lull in the conversation, she called out to him.

“Your uncle told me you play football, is that true?”

“Aye!” the lad burst proudly, eyes immediately lighting up. He shuffled closer to her, standing in front of where she sat on the couch.

“That’s amazing.” Claire beamed. “I wish I could see you play. I bet you’re so good.”

“I am,” he said, nodding curtly. “Ye can come next Christmas, and watch me then!”

Claire looked up at Jamie, who nodded encouragingly. “Yes, I’ll have to do just that.”

“I’ve got videos of some of his games,” Jenny chimed in. “If ye really want to see.”

“Of course I do!” Claire’s voice was filled with genuine excitement, and little Jamie was alight with joy.

“I want tae see! Let me watch!”

“Dinna crowd her, now.”

“No, it’s alright. Do you want to sit with me?”

The boy bit his lip and scrambled into Claire’s lap, and she accepted him into her embrace like it was the most natural thing in the world. Jamie watched, his heart melting as his nephew snuggled closer and closer into her, giggling every time Claire cheered for him on the screen. When he was able to tear his eyes away from them, he looked up to see Jenny beaming at them as well. She looked up, and their eyes met over Claire’s head, and Jenny’s smile widened.

It struck Jamie that of course his wee nephew would feel left out with all this talk about Faith, and he was far too young to understand that her achievements were all the more special because of her disability. So naturally he would feel like nobody cared as much about him as they did about Faith. And it was just so like Claire to notice that, and to take the initiative to make him feel included, make him feel special.

“Oh! What a save!” Claire exclaimed, and little Jamie laughed. Apparently he’d been playing goalie that day, and had actually managed to toe away the ball that was headed at him at about half a mile an hour. “You saved the whole game!”

Jenny flicked her eyes back to the screen. “Aye, that’s one of my favorites.” She ruffled her son’s hair, and Claire smiled at her. Jenny glanced up at Jamie once more, and she winked at him. In that moment, Jamie heard her loud and clear.

She's a keeper, brother.

Before long, dinner was served. When Claire complimented the ham, both Jamie and Jenny answered with thanks, and Jamie shot Jenny a look.

“Just because you put it in the oven doesna take away the marinating and seasoning I did.”

Claire just laughed, shaking her head at the two of them. “I can’t imagine what it was like to have raised those two,” she said, leaning over to Brian.

“Aye, ye’ve no idea.” They shared a laugh like lifelong friends cracking an inside joke, and Jamie had to laugh, too.

Could she have fit in any more perfectly?

After dinner was present time. Wee Jamie was bouncing off the walls nearly as bad as Faith. The kids of course went first, and Jamie made sure to emphasize that his nephew’s gift was from him and Claire both. She had helped him pick it and they split the cost. It was a wooden train set, complete with curves and ups and downs and Thomas and a few friends. Jenny chided both of them for buying something so expensive, but Claire waved it off.

“It’s from both of us,” Claire insisted. “And look how happy he is.”

“Thank you, Uncle! Thank you, Auntie!”

Jamie’s stomach flipped. “Lad—”

“You’re very welcome,” Claire interrupted, accepting the crushing embrace he was squeezing around her legs. “I’m so glad you love it.”

“Aye, you’re welcome, lad. But—”

“No, Jamie, he can call me that. It’s okay.” Claire said quickly. “If that’s how it makes sense to him, then I don’t see why not.”

He looked back and forth between the lad’s shining face and Claire’s flushed cheeks, then up at Jenny, who shrugged with a smirk.

“Aye. That’s…that’s fine.”

By the time Jamie’s head stopped spinning, Faith was already halfway finished tearing open the first box that she’d reached for. It was a horse for a barbie doll to accompany the rest of the gift in another box. Wee Jamie tore open the gift from his grandda while Faith reached for the other box, and Jamie watched with bated breath, knowing exactly what was inside. Claire crouched down next to her daughter, cheering on Faith’s paper tearing excitedly.

“Oh, Faithie, look!”

Jamie met Jenny’s eye; she looked nervous.

“It’s a barbie with a dog, and he looks just like Angus!” Claire opened her mouth to keep talking, but her breath caught in her throat, and her fingertips rested tentatively on the fabric taped to the plastic of the box, right over the dog inside. Her mouth hung open, and she looked up at Jenny, her eyes glistening.

“Where…did you get this…?”

“I made it,” Jenny said sheepishly.

Claire’s mouth fell open wider, and she blinked rapidly. Faith, completely oblivious to her mother’s emotion, thrust both boxes toward her, demanding they be opened. Jamie stepped in to help, having already grabbed the scissors in anticipation of this request. He sat down next to Claire and put his hand on her knee.

“I sent her a picture of Angus,” Jamie explained, poking the fabric on the box. “And Jen hunted down a small enough print, made a pattern, everything.”

Jamie freed the plastic dog first and untaped Jenny’s creation, then slipped it on.

“Look, Faith, see?” Faith took it in her hands eagerly. “Now he’s just like Angus.”

Barbie’s dog now proudly wore a rainbow, puzzle piece-patterned vest that read, in tiny, carefully stitched lettering: “Autism Service Dog.”

“See, lass?” Jenny chimed in, kneeling in front of Faith. “This barbie is just like you.”

Jamie’s heart was fit to burst as Faith flapped her hands with glee, and Claire half laughed, half sobbed beside him.

“Jenny…” Claire croaked. “This is…beyond…” She sniffled and swallowed, quickly swiping tears off her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater.

“Every wee lass deserves to see herself in Barbie,” Jenny said it like she was reciting a cheesy toy advertisement on the tellie, but Jamie could see the emotion behind her eyes.

Claire leaned forward and threw her arms around Jenny, and she squeezed right back.

“That means…so much to me. More than I can ever say.”

“You’re very welcome, Claire. So very welcome.”

Jamie felt tears pricking his own eyes, and might have succumbed to them if Faith hadn’t been moaning impatiently about freeing her doll and its horse from their confines.

Jamie’s girls pulled away from one another, each smiling wetly.

“If my son can call ye Auntie, d’ye think it’s alright if I call ye Sister?”

Claire’s smile grew impossibly wider, and she nodded. “I would be absolutely honored.”

And suddenly, for Jamie, every single thing was right in the world.

[where-our-stories-start]

How to Write Dialogue, Part 2: Formatting and Dialogue Tags, or Being Clear About Who’s Talking

So, we’ve all struggled with dialogue tags. In short, they’re a headache. We need them to tell our readers who the hell is talking, but it’s easy to get bogged down in exactly what verb you want, where to put the tag, etc. Do you use ‘said’ over and over? Do you vary it up with ‘exclaimed’ and ‘shouted’ and ‘inquired’? Do you just say fuck it and leave them out altogether?

I’m going to write a second post about how to effectively make decisions about your dialogue tags, but for this post, let’s just tackle formatting.

1. Placement and punctuation of tags

Dialogue tags can go before or after the spoken text; it’s largely a matter of preference and style. They can also go in the middle of a longer quote.

If the tag comes at the beginning, it should be separated from the quote by a comma.

If the tag comes at the end, it should be separated from the quote by a comma unless the quote ends with something other than a period, like a question mark or an exclamation point.

If the tag is in the middle of a single spoken sentence, there should be commas before and after it. The first letter of the resumed quote should be lowercase.

If the tag is between two spoken sentences, there should be a comma before it and a period after it. The first letter of the resumed quote should be capitalized.

So, some examples of correctly formatted tags:

Shanti said, “I can’t wait for school tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait for school tomorrow,” Shanti said.

“I can’t wait for school tomorrow!” Shanti said.

“I can’t wait for school tomorrow,” Shanti said, “but I know you’re nervous.”

“I can’t wait for school tomorrow!” Shanti said. “My presentation will be awesome.”

Remember that you should only put a tag in the middle of a quote if the character is taking a beat there, because it will break up the speech for your reader. Take a look at these two examples:

“Do you want to join the staff baseball team?” Fred asked. “I think you’d like it.”

“Do you want,” Fred asked, “to join the staff baseball team? I think you’d like it.”

In the first example, the dialogue tag is placed correctly. It falls in the gap between the two sentences, where Fred would naturally take a breath. In the second example, we’ve got an unnatural pause in the middle of Fred’s first sentence, and it makes the line feel clunky. That doesn’t mean there’s a hard and fast rule about breaking in an unusual place, but you should do it deliberately, when your character is actually pausing for emphasis.

At that moment, Sonya came running into the room. In her arms, she held the biggest, hairiest, ugliest cat her friends had ever seen.

“What,” Simon said, “do you call that?”

In this case, Simon is actually pausing after just one word. Putting the dialogue tag where it is helps convey his tone.

2. You can use actions as dialogue tags

One of the ways to avoid the dreaded “I feel like I’ve used ‘said’ a million times” problems is to use actions as dialogue tags. Basically, this means that instead of specifically saying the character said/asked/exclaimed/etc. the text, you simply place their action next to the dialogue. This can also happen before, after, or in the middle of their spoken text, but unlike an actual dialogue tag, it should always be treated as its own sentence. Where you put it depends on both your style and on whether your character acts before speaking, after speaking, or while speaking.

Pedro grinned and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Oh, this is gonna be awesome. I cannot wait.”

“Oh, this is gonna be awesome. I cannot wait.” Pedro grinned and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

“Oh, this is gonna be awesome.” Pedro grinned and slung his backpack over this shoulder. “I cannot wait.”

3. Each new speaker/actor gets a new paragraph

This is one you probably vaguely remember learning in elementary school, but it’s a lot simpler when your characters all speak one at a time in basic [subject-verb-object] sentences.When you’re writing complex conversations, it’s easy to get muddied up.

Basically, every time we switch focus to a new character, they get a new paragraph. Mostly this means when they speak, but it also includes nonverbal forms of communication. For example:

“Are you coming to the movie?” David asked.

“I think so,” Shaun said, “but I have to double check with my dad.”

David frowned and said, “He can’t still be mad about your math grade, can he?”

Shaun shrugged.

“Whatever, man,” David continued. “We’ll help you figure it out somehow.”

Notice that Shaun gets his own paragraph even when he’s just shrugging. If we put that action in the middle of David’s speech, our reader has a hard time keeping track of who they’re “watching” at any given moment. With more complicated actions, they might even get confused about who’s acting and/or talking.

So what happens if a more complex action comes from a character who’s also talking? Well, it kind of depends. If the speech and action are pretty interspersed, you can put them all together:

“I don’t know why you listen to her,” Naomi said. She put the phone on speaker and set it on the counter as she began to unpack her groceries. “It’s not like it’s any of her business.”

“I know, but she just won’t quit calling,” Tina answered.

This works, because Naomi is talking while moving around, so we want to experience both together. If she pauses, however, or if the action gets too unwieldy in our paragraph, we can give it its own paragraph.

“I don’t know why you listen to her,” Naomi said. “It’s not like it’s any of her business.”

She put the phone on speaker and set it on the counter as she began to unpack her groceries.

“I know, but she just won’t quit calling,” Tina answered.

When written this way, Naomi speaks to Tina and then moves on to unpacking the groceries, rather than doing both at the same time.

One thing to be wary of: your reader will expect focus to shift back and forth with each paragraph. That’s not a hard-and-fast rule--you can see above that Naomi gets two paragraphs in a row--but it does mean you have to be careful about splitting up a single character’s actions. A character can have two or more consecutive paragraphs if they’re carrying most of the conversation, but one character should never speak in two consecutive paragraphs. Dialogue in separate paragraphs must always be split by action. Consider this example, and note the confusion we run into:

Kiara bounced the basketball a few times and then tossed it to her sister. “I just don’t know if I want to be the editor, you know? I mean, I’ve liked writing for the newspaper, but editor’s a big responsibility.”

“You’d get to work with Alexa, though,” Alicia argued. She shot at the hoop, missed, and passed the ball back to Kiara.

“Yeah, I mean, I guess,” Kiara said. She raised her eyebrows at her sister in a challenge. Dodging Alicia easily, Kiara dribbled up to the hoop and sunk the ball through it.

“I guess I could say yes,” Kiara decided.

Alicia shrugged. “Just think about it is all I’m saying.”

See how after Kiara sinks the basketball, we expect the next statement to come from Alicia? It’s jarring when Kiara speaks again, because we’ve used the format to indicate we’re shifting perspective, but then we don’t actually shift away from her. Instead, we should either put it all in one paragraph, or give the action between her two statements its own paragraph.

Next time, I’ll get into how to choose your dialogue tags and what your different options do for you. Full series of these can be found here. I hope people find them helpful!

[scones-and-texting-and-murder]

if you would’ve been the one

(1300 words, rated T, read on ao3)

When it happens, Dean’s so hyped up by the adrenaline still coursing through his system that he almost doesn’t notice. It’s not until Sam dispatches the last vamp and Dean sags a little in relief, only to realize he can’t move. He’s pinned, like a butterfly in a display case, like he’s back on the rack.

It’s almost funny. That he could battle every sort of evil creature out there—demons, monsters, even God for fuck’s sake, only to be taken down by a bit of unfinished carpentry. He ponders the cosmic significance. Maybe there’s the start of a Jesus metaphor here, with that single nail between his flesh and the wooden post, like he’s only up to C-R-U in a fucked up game of H-O-R-S-E.

Then he remembers there is no God, no universe sending him signs or trying to teach him a lesson. Just his own free will and, apparently, shitty fucking luck that’s brought him to this inglorious moment.

Sam doesn’t get it, not at first, promising he’ll run and call for help, do what he can to patch him up but Dean stops him, asks him to stay. Yeah, they could probably do all that but Dean realizes something: he’s tired. And not only that, he’s ready.

Each night since Cas has been gone, Dean lies in bed and turns his name around and around in his mind, like a rock in a tumbler, smoothing all sides of it with his thoughts. It’s not praying, not quite, the intention isn’t there, but if Cas can still sense his longing, well, he's got that in spades. Cas gave his life for Dean, professing his love in a way that couldn’t have been more clear and Dean…he just stood there processing it all.

Dean tried to do what he always does and tucked the stunned grief he felt at losing him deep inside where the jagged edges couldn’t harm him. He rededicated himself to powering Jack up, to killing God, like finishing that would somehow make Cas’s sacrifice worth it. And when Jack became whatever it was that he became, Dean didn’t ask about Cas, even though the question was right there, trying to force its way out of his throat. Instead, he swallowed it back down. Cas had said that moment was the purest happiness he’d ever known and Dean didn’t know what to say next without defiling it.

It’s the shittiest version of waiting too long to text back until so much time has passed that it’s become awkward.

But now, with this piece of metal jabbed into what sure as fuck feels like some important organs, he finds he has some time to think. He’s got nothing left to lose, so he lets Cas’s name become an honest prayer.

The whoosh is nearly instantaneous, somehow closer than even the rushing of his pulse in his ears. It seems fitting that they’re back in a barn, although this time Dean’s the one being impaled. He hears a crackling, but it isn’t the lights showering him in sparks, just the anger flickering off of him, electricity as blue as his eyes.

He doesn’t even say it, no Hello, Dean, and yeah, Cas is pissed and Dean deserves that.

As Cas approaches, Dean realizes Sam doesn’t seem to notice him, in fact he’s faded out into the background so it’s just the two of them.

“You called?” His tone is cold, much closer to the first time they met in a barn than the last time they were together. Cas had been so human, then, emotion choking his words and filling his eyes with tears.

“I, uh, find myself in a bit of a pickle,” Dean says, and already that’s wrong.

Cas raises an eyebrow. “More like a piece of art hung on the wall.”

Dean’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. “Was that a joke?”

“What is it you need from me, Dean?”

It should be obvious, but Dean can’t seem to say it.

“The stories they will tell,” Cas begins, “of Dean Winchester, the greatest hunter of his time, brought down by a lowly nail.” He sighs, and holds out two fingers. “I can do this but it would’ve been nice if you’d at least kept up to date on your tetanus shots.”

Dean feels a grinding in his teeth that he probably can’t yet blame on lockjaw. He tries to duck out of Cas’s reach. “Okay, stop.”

With a look of surprise, Cas does.

“Listen, I know I should’ve contacted you earlier. I get you’re mad, I do, but all those things you said…I didn’t want you to come back and realize how wrong you were.”

“So you’ve been looking for a way to ‘let me down easy’,” he says, air quotes and all, and goddammit Dean loves him. He loves his cranky angel ass and his wild hair and stupidly blue eyes the way he’s insisted on leaving Dean affixed to this pole while they talk.

“I love you, too. I have for so long. I never dreamed you could feel the same way, not like that.” Dean can barely breathe now that he's said the words out loud.

“You’re a hard man to pin down, Dean Winchester.” There’s a small smile playing around Cas's mouth now, and the relief has Dean laughing much harder than he would at the terrible pun. It hurts and his laughter turns to a grimace. Cas touches his arm. “Let me heal you.”

But Dean shakes his head, reaching to take his hand instead. “I’m ready, Cas. Ready for what’s next. If you heal me, Sam’s going to stay and keep hunting and maybe that’s what he wants but maybe it isn’t. Either way, he’s never going to decide for himself while I’m still here.”

Cas’s face is as serious as Dean’s ever seen it, but he sees a flicker of hope in his eyes. “And you?”

“Thought maybe you could escort me upstairs and we could spend eternity making up for all we missed down here.” Cas’s face goes soft and Dean bring their joined hands to his mouth, kissing his knuckles gently. “I wish it would’ve been you,” Dean says softly. “Nailing me from behind like this.”

At that, Sam suddenly zooms back into focus, his face anguished. “Cas! Oh, thank God you’re here. Dean’s—“

“Sammy, stop. I’m okay. We got a change in plans, though.”

Confused, Sam looks between them, finally noticing their joined hands.

“We’re free now. Free to make our own choices and for once in my life I’m going to be selfish. I choose Cas. I dragged you back into this life and now I’m shoving you out of it again. You want to keep hunting? That’s up to you. But if you want to go find Eileen and settle down, that’s up to you, too.”

Sam blinks, clearly caught off guard. “Dean, are you sure?”

Dean catches Cas’s eye and they share a smile. “As sure as I’ve ever been.” Dean tries to reach for his brother to hug him, but he’s brought up short. “Cas, could you…”

“Of course, Dean.” With a wave of his hand, Dean’s free and he steps forward to embrace Sam. “Go have the life you always wanted. Have a bunch of fat babies and name one of them after me.”

Cas furrows his brow like maybe he’s seeing the future. “But don’t plaster his name on his clothing. That’s just basic child safety.”

It hurts him to see his little brother cry, but Dean knows this isn’t the end for them. “Tell them how I was the coolest and better looking brother.”

Sam nods. “I will definitely not do that.”

They hug one last time and Dean murmurs in his ear. “I love you and I’m proud of you. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Sam gives him one last bone-crushing squeeze before releasing him. “Take good care of him, Cas.”

“I will,” Cas promises.

Dean gives Cas his best blue steel. “Oh, he will.”

With that, Sam leaves and Dean knows he could never bear to watch him walk away without Cas strong and steady at his side.

Cas must sense the hesitation. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Dean answers him with a kiss.

[k-s-morgan]

Hi! This isn’t an ask, but more of a rambling that I deemed too long for the comments, that stems from your post claiming Book of Circus as your favourite Black Butler episodes. and to that I say - YES. Book of Murder is a masterpiece. It houses one of my favourite scenes - the one where Sebastian says: "This wasn't a scenario decided by God or fate, but one decided on by my master, with timing decided by my master. I was killed by the criminal expected by my master, by the Hione who came to torment my master", which really captures the essence of whole 'Ciel vs God' dynamic that's woven into the duration of the show.

Throughout the plot, there are three major instances in which an offering is made to Ciel - offerings of redemption. The first is from Angela - a chance to purify himself and have an afterlife - which he so vehemently rejects in the knowledge that he quite literally *is* his darkness, and therefore refuses to rid himself of it.

The second is comes from Abberline in his death, where in his final words he tells Ciel he has a chance to take back his future. And Ciel has to watch him die with the knowledge that he has already made up his mind about his fate. I don't think he's so affected because he regrets selling his soul. I don't think he suddenly wants to live, or no longer wishes for revenge. But I believe the reason he is so affected by Abberline's death is because he holds a sentimentality for him that is not dissimilar to the one he feels for Elizabeth. Ciel is cruel, I don't think he regrets the steps he has taken to get to this point, nor the ones he knows he must take in the future. But though he is cruel, I believe he has a sort of fond curiosity for the untainted goodness that characterises those like Abberline and Elizabeth. Like you said before, he feels condescension towards the man perhaps due to the naivety his blind heroism implies, but I think his attachments to him come from an underlying curiosity to see if such goodness can exist in such a corrupted world - a silent hope to be proven wrong in his cynicism. When Abberline dies, that very hope he didn't even know he had gets shattered. It brings about a sort of forced perspective that makes Ciel question himself in ways we haven't seen before.

Abberline's death had been avoidable and it was certainly in vain. Abberline had died for someone who had already made up his mind - someone who had rejected God once before and would do it time and time again as proven in the anime. Ciel is such an interesting character because, although he is dark, he still values the light and makes some sort of effort to preserve it in spite of the contempt he feels for them. It is the thought of dying in vain that seems to bother him so greatly, not death itself. No, Abberline dying isn't enough for him to want to live again, or to even think about throwing away his revenge - that was never in question. But it is enough to extinguish the lingering flicker of hope he had for humanity (despite being so distanced from term himself).

This, combined with the disappointment he feels at Sebastian's actions, causes the existential haze of uncertainty that leads to the third and final offering. And the most surprising thing is that this offering comes from Sebastian himself. He senses the doubt in Ciel and, like every thought the boy experiences, fails to understand it. He mistakes it for him second-guessing his revenge and decides to discontinue their contract. But he isn't angry - that much is clear. Instead, he wishes him to "forget everything and have pleasant dreams", with a rather wistful expression on his face. What this line ends up reading as is a bittersweet  goodbye from the demon - an offering for Ciel to let go of his revenge and find happiness in the afterlife with his now soon approaching death.  There is almost a strong disappointment in him, but is not resentful of it - Ciel is human and he can't keep expecting him not to be. His offering almost acts as a thank you for the moments of excitement their contract had given his monotone life and I believe that is why he makes it.

He sticks around to see if Ciel accepts his offer, though already expecting him to, and is there to witness the very moment the boy rejects it. Gone is the uncertainty of Abberline's death and the Paris crisis, and Ciel, the Earl of Phantomhive, returns to him - sharper, colder, more ruthless than ever. Sebastian realises his misjudgement and returns to his side, ready for the final battle. Killing an angel. It's laughably symbolic.

The rejections of God, the evasion of the Hope Diamond's curse (where he even wore two rings as if to taunt the fates), the references in Book of Murder - they all depict this metaphorical sort of battle between Ciel and God. And the ending of Kuroshitsuji II is the depicts how he triumphs over fate, claiming his rightful place as an immortalised creature of Hell.

I know I've gone on a bit of a tangent here in your inbox, but that one quote from Book of Murder is so symbolic to me in the way it sets up the comparison between Ciel and God (in which 'God' represents power over fate).

Before I sign off, though, I just want to make light of the existence of the show's final offering, occurring in the last few minutes of the series. This last offering has nothing too do with God, nothing to do with any complex battle between the Phantomhive and fate, but is much simpler than that. In fact, the final offering of the show comes from Ciel, and he gives it to Sebastian - it's almost poetic, is it not?

"Are you sure you don't want to pull it any tighter?"

In this single, unassuming line, Ciel is asking Sebastian if he wants to kill him, and release himself from the eternal contract they've found themselves in. Such a noble and dignified soul as Ciel would always be sure to make through on his word and, despite the loophole that now extends their contract, he would still be willing to let Sebastian kill him should he wish to do so. The man may no longer be able to take his soul, but the boy can still give the order to kill him and free himself. Ciel's respect for Sebastian is complex and contradictory at times, but what never changes is his willingness to die by his hands and see through to his side of the contract.

“Is it over? The one who plunged me into bottomless darkness… I don’t even know why she did it.”

In the episode where Angela is crushed by the Church, Ciel offers his soul to Sebastian. Even when unsatisfied with the result, his unwavering nobility led him to make good on their deal and fulfil his end of the contract. The earl faced the demon, his expression calm, and with a steady voice said “A promise is a promise. Take it.”

This unwavering dignity and nobility he holds in himself I believe is the reason for this offering and Sebastian's turn to reject it is almost a 'love confession' (as you have brought me to see it) in itself.

As a final sort of note - I just wanted to let you know that, since reading your reply to my comment on TGSTLTH (from a while ago), I brought myself to rewatch Kuroshitsuji II with your interpretation in mind and ended up really enjoying it. You've singlehandedly made me do a complete 180 on a season I previously hated - looks like I had just watched it from the wrong perspective. So, for that, I thank you

Hey! Sorry for getting to your ask just now. I absolutely loved it :D And yes, Book of Murder is a masterpiece - I still remember watching it for the first time. It was late at night, I had to go to bed, everyone was sleeping, but I kept watching because stopping just wasn't an option, I had to know what happened next.

Ciel vs God is such an interesting topic. In some ways, Ciel and Sebastian exist in their own universe where there is no place for anyone else. There is a God aka Ciel and a demon aka Sebastian. And they are both allies and adversaries at the same time - they are tormenting each other and uniting to torment others.

I agree absolutely that Ciel holds a fondness for certain people, with Lizzy and Abberline being a good example. He has a degree of contempt and irritation for them, but they do mean something to him. Ciel's curiosity is a big and detached thing, and this places him on Sebastian's level in such an interesting way because sometimes it's almost like Ciel isn't human himself - humanity intrigues him as if he doesn't belong to it. His fascination with the light just underlines his affinity with the darkness.

I have many thoughts about Ciel's behavior during the days following Abberline's death, and you certainly introduced many excellent points! My general opinion on Ciel's motives is... complicated. I agree that he never felt like really giving up his revenge and trying to live a 'happy' life - he knew it's not for him at that stage already. However, I feel like Abberline's parting words affected him a lot, even if briefly. When Abberline tells him that he can start everything from the beginning, Ciel sounds absolutely heartbroken when he confesses, "I don't have a future." The way he acts later, telling Sebastian to stop and not kill the angel, hesitating, reinforces this idea to me. I think you described it best - Ciel is having an existential crisis. It's not like he suddenly regrets his decisions, but he's temporary unanchored and unsure what he wants and what he should do. Having a dream where Abberline urges him to give up his hatred also seems to affect Ciel, but it's so telling that he wakes up and immediately says, "Sebastian." It's a fascinating arc and I can't wait to explore it.

I love your words about three offerings - so true. And I'm so happy you liked S2 when watching it from a new perspective! I used to be so confused as to why people hated it: it's not perfect, but I thought it was amazing in many ways, especially its bittersweet ending.