#alt name: sorry about the blood in your mouth

[karlachismylife]

Total eclipse of the heart

re-posting this since it was buried by that shadowban, so sorry if you've already seen this, i appreciate every one of you!!

Dog tags can be so many things, learns Karlach when she spots an unfamilar piece of jewelry among other alien things Soap brought from his world.

Second part (NSFW) here - Worshipping the Sun

Everything about these four men was foreign and piqued curiosity: from their clothes and ammunition to the way they spoke and treated every task given as a unit. Believing they came from another world wasn't that hard given the unfortunate circumstances, what's news about some other dimension after you were literally carrying a "gift" that travelled through space in your head? If there were illithids, githyanki, devils and gods, was it really so unbelievable that somewhere else there was a world with buildings that could house hundreds of people and weapons able to kill that same amount of people in mere seconds? Yet somehow these four very mortal, very normal men were more of a mystery than whatever Gale was hiding under his robe or Shadowheart kept in her pocket.

It was mostly in how different their reality seemed to what everyone else in the party knew. No matter how well they were trained to adapt to anything and everything, coming to terms with magic, shapeshifters and pacts with devils was much harder for those who called themselves "task force 141" than it was for every other member of the party to get used to their unusual arsenal of (mostly useless now as it turned out) weapons or tales of "tanks" and "helicopters". They surely tried to hide it, but the wariness that showed in their stances when approaching the most mundane things like a little water creation scroll was noticeable even in the less readable Ghost, even moreso in the expressive Soap. He would curse, mouth agape, thick accent and wide open blue eyes, no matter if he saw a goblin horde charging their way or Halsin having a thoughtful conversation with a random squirrel. At the beginning Johnny even had a bruise on his tanned arm from earnestly pinching it every time he witnessed something out of the ordinary; Ghost kept chastasing him for putting on a full comedy yet not even once refused to pinch his sergeant when asked.

To be honest, Karlach thought it was very funny.

She was a whole bunch of unbelievable things put into one for him; from the devilish appearance to the god forsaken engine, and her quickly growing friendship - or comradery - with the task force and especially Johnny allowed for the longest conversations consisting mainly of questions about every single thing they found odd in each other. She would sit next to him, a safe distance to keep poor lad from cooking alive, smiling cheeks propped onto big red palms and tail curling and swishing as Soap told her about random Earth bullshit - grenades, football clubs, obscure scottish alt bands... and Karlach definitely tried her best to imagine all those wild things, even if her interpretation sometimes was slightly off.

"What's that?" Her claw pointed at his chest, making Soap glance down. Was she talking about his vest? He pushed his thumbs under the heavy weight and lifted it slightly off his shoulders, cocking a bushy eyebrow. "No, I meant this... is that an amulet? You better keep an eye on it, soldier, I heard Gale's getting hungry. What's it for?"

His dog tags. He almost forgot about the dangling pieces, two non-reflecting circles with an engraving that wouldn't make much sense to Karlach even if she could read it. With a chuckle, Soap pulled the chain off and wrapped it around his fist, showing off dark letters to the tiefling's marvelling gaze.

"Nae, lass, these aren't an amulet. Tis 'n identification tag. So that they'll ken what name tae put on a grave even if mah handsome mug is in ten different places." Karlach scooted even closer, narrowing her tiger eyes in an attempt to look properly. "Tis here mah name, mah blood type, mah service number... the whole lad in five lines. Quite concise, isnae it?"

Concise it was. Those little characters stamped into firm steel were unreadable to her, yet they were everything that would be left of Johnny for sure in this world. No one would remember him as a kid playing football, not a crying widow clutching her wedding band, no devastated mother with a family picture in a black frame, no bookshop keepers that used to scold him for sneaking a peek or two into the adult magazines at the age of fifteen. Even when the whole party would be gone, failed to preserve each other, turned into tentacle-faced mosters or buried in a desolated place, there would be someone to remember, someone to mourn.

Yet everything Johnny and his lads would have are these little steel discs that will never tell anyone how deep the northern sea in his eyes was, how invisible the formiddable mount of Ghost could get in any environment, how fast Gaz could solve a puzzle even in a temple of an unknown god in a land he didn't know even existed, how lush was Price's beard... a number, a name and a religion no one in Faerûn even heard of. Here, in a whole another world, these tags danglng over Soap's knuckles were nothing more than just a constant reminder of impending death. A part of his grave already hanging down from his neck.

"Not much use of it here then, is there?" Karlach couldn't keep the flooding thoughts inside. She looked up at Johnny's smiling - still smiling, like he was proud to show off how little would be left of him - face. "They didn't give us anything like this in Avernus. Probably just as useless anyway, no one's burying anyone there. No one cares."

"Take 'em." He said it with such ease. Reached out his hand and let go of the chain, allowing it to slip right into Karlach's catching grasp. The tags were still carrying that barely noticeable warmth of his palm, and Karlach squeezed them instinctively, savouring this surrogate touch with eyes shut and breath slightly wavering. "I'm in no rush to die, eh. "'N ye get to ken wha' it's like to be a part o' a team tha' cares."

Karlach opened her eyes and looked at the slowly heating up tags on her big palm. The initial devastating thought of wearing your own death around your neck slowly withered away, like a large piece of ash on the wind. Being a part of the team, knowing there were other soldiers to have your back... that was a thought she could get behind.

"Doesn't feel right, mate. They're yours, your name and everything..." Before she could even give them back, Soap stood up, grabbing his gun like a kid dragging a toy by its little plush paw.

"Och, tis right if ah give them to ye. C'mon, just wear them until we make ye yer own." Johnny checked one of the straps on his thigh and then suddenly winked at Karlach. "Besides, maybe ah just wanntae see ye sportin' mah name around tha' bonnie neck, soldier. Fur protection purposes, ye ken."

She blinked, feeling her cheeks - and engine for that matter - slightly heating up, and then quickly slid the chain over her head, careful not to catch it with horns. Hanging on her chest, the dark round plate in front of glowing sunshine of her engine looked like a solar eclipse.

"So it is an amulet after all," she muttered, touching now warm metal with clumsy fingers. Soap smirked, unable to hide his own blush. Despite a heavy tactical vest his chest seemed vulnerable and bare without the tags. Like anyone would be able reach a hand and rip his heart out as they did to Karlach.

Well, they would be able if his heart wasn't already snatched.

"Aye, bonnie. Fur ye it is."

[ethanlvndry]

Ghostface!Wolfstar x fem!black!reader

Notes- This is an alt universe where wizards don't exist. It's just a boring 'ol human world. They, however, are still British in this fiction, but this did stem from the Woodsboro murders. Moony and Pads are both open with their relationship. Everybody envies their bonding tbh. They all suspect nothing from them when the murders started happening. This is a modern AU, so cellphones exist. Art by likeafunerall on ig

Warnings- blood, murder, gore, bloody s*x, Oral m, and f receiving. Crying, dub-con, noncon Padfoot watches his little evil bf enjoy himself. Double Penetration(anal/vaginal, Oral), Anal between Remus, and Siri. slapping, bruising. A whole bunch of dark shit. You get the point.

Summary-You get a text message from Lily, begging you to ditch your studies for one night and come to her boyfriends stupid party. You ended up going before the news would've prevented you from going when they showed another one of those silly costume murders. You end up enjoying your time there...but somethings off. You end up stemming off into a room where you see the unthinkable...

Word count-3.6k

⚠️DARK CONTENT BELOW⚠️

*Ring* Pause. *Ring* Pause. *Ri-*

"I'm still not going."

You say flatly.

" Ughhh, c'mon [Name]! You need to have some fun at least once a week!"

Lily yells into the phone, causing your mouth to upturn into a slight smirk.

"I'm having fun studying for the exam. I know I'll pass tomorrow."

You tease while twirling one of your braids around your freshly done acrylics.

"You always study, c'mon [Name] let's get you out and mingling, maybe you can get yourself a partner"

You laugh at her choice of using a partner to be inclusive to your other side, as the huge but greatly homophobic country of England would describe you.

Don't get confused, Lily, along with the other girls, have been very supportive of your coming about. But even though Dorcas and Mary are in a similar situation to you, they still act confused.

"Yeah, that can wait. I'm not even sure if I'll survive these murders long enough to get a hookup."

You can almost see Lily's scowl as she spoke her next words.

"Please [Name], don't say stuff like that. It isn't funny, nor is it charming."

You feel a pang in your heart as you remember what she felt like after the injury of Severus Snape, her little ex-friend. Even though their friendship had ended a while back. She still had a soft spot for him. Her heart especially broke when the doctors told us that he was lucky he survived.

"Sorry Lil's. That was stupid."

"It's fine, just please be careful. You know we all worry about you living the furthest from all of us. Even the boys!"

You roll your eyes at her naiveness. The only reason why they make it seem that way is because they care about Lily and her feelings. They don't give a shit about you. They ignore you whenever you hang out. And for some reason, that Sirius guy just rubs you the wrong way. He's always looking at you making faces, like he's wondering why you're still with the group or something. You choose to distance yourself from The Marauders and their silly reputation.

The only tolerable one was the one and only Remus Lupin, who just so happened to be Sirius' bf of 2 years. Even though he knew that some of the stuff Sirius did was problematic, he just let it happen. But at least he never joined in on their annoying pranks.

You double take at your study work on the desk, and then think about how going out one night wouldn't be so bad. Yeah, so what Sirius and his minions 'll be there, you're not gonna let some immature human beings the same age as you keep you from having fun.

"You know what, Lily? I think I'll actually go. What should I wear though?"

You should've braced yourself from the excited squeal that broke through the sound barrier and pierced your eardrums.

"Oh my gosh [Name] yes!-"

She began to ramble on how excited she was for you and then quickly went back to your other statement.

"Wait a minute...Did you just ask what to wear when it is LITERALLY THE 31st OF OCTOBER? You're not dense, are ya love?"

You roll your eyes at her sarcastic question and threaten her with not coming, to which she quickly apologizes profusely. You end up asking what everyone is wearing and end up getting an idea of what to wear yourself. You bid your goodbyes so that the both of you could get ready and end up going into a box of a costume you were supposed to wear Halloween. It was a Lola Bunny costume that came out around the time of the recent space jam movie. You decided to pair it with your Jordan's because they were both from the same universe in a way.

As you're getting your stuff ready for your shower, you realize over 20 minutes have passed since you've been looking for a specific pair of panties. The shorts were a little see-through, so you still wanted to match. For some reason, the underwear that you wear the most frequently seemed to be disappearing. However, it wasn't just your favorite pairs. It would be the ones that you wonder why you haven't gotten rid of them.

You finally find a pair that can replace the ones you desired at first and get in the hot steamy shower, as you're rubbing yourself down. You swear it feels like something is watching you. You look out the blinds, covering the frosted glass that would've distorted anything in front or behind it.

"Lemme stop before I scare myself"

You continue on with your shower, still a little uneasy. You dry yourself off, oil your body up, get your costume on, and put your braids in a half up, half down style. You spray yourself with some perfume, brush your teeth, and wash your face. But while you brush your teeth, you realize that your toothbrush looks like it'd been brushed against concrete. Which wasn't out of the ordinary for them to eventually get that, but you've already had it for like 5 days. It's kind of weird...

You finish up and text Lily, who said she's pulling up to your flat. You walk up to her car to see that Marlene is in there with her, her blonde, and pink highlights sticking out immediately

"Hey loves, anymore people to pick up or just us 3?"

You ask.

"We're all set, love."

You nod your head in understanding and start to observe both of their costumes. From what you could see, Lily was red riding hood. Typical redhead. James was no doubt the big bad wolf since they always coordinated their Halloween costumes. Marlene was a witch, and it looked like she bought the broom, especially for this equation, because she never cleans.

Unbeknownst to you, Lily decided to take a shorter way to James' house. And you only noticed that when you see flashing lights, a long with loud booming music.

Lily announces your arrival with an excited tremor, and you all get out, the chilly autumn air blowing right by you three.

"Lil's, I was wondering when you'd get here!"

You hear a voice that you almost instantly recognize.

James Potter.

To your dismay, they get a little handsy in front of you and Marlene, so you decide to leave them and actually join the party. Once inside, you two are almost immediately hit with a wave of drugs, sex, and alcohol.

You see people making out and grinding on eachothers laps. You and Lily decide to go to the punch and see that there are pieces of fruit in it.

"Whoever eats the most fruit wins €50."

Marlene proposes. You both fill up cups of punch first and cling them together, then you guys eat fruit. It was no surprise she got 10 while you got 5. You knew you couldn't handle your liquor, but neither could she.

While you were at your 5th one, Marlene got stuck on her 6th one and told you she was done, you'd taken her cup, and ate the last 4, and won the challenge. Her giving you your money, and you sticking it somewhere safe.

As you 2 are talking and slurring your words, Sirius walks up behind her and sneaks her a hug, instantly taking her attention away. You roll your eyes as they start talking as if you aren't even there, and you end up on the dance floor with a bunch of sweaty bodies, some not even going To 'Hogwarts, Math and Science Academy' As you're enjoying your time dancing, you end up moving your hips to a song by 'The Weeknd' and a boy ends up coming up behind you to dance with you. His hands guide your hips to grind against his crotch. And while looking at him, you can't even lie he looks gorgeous. He looks the perfect amount of feminine and masculine.

You decide to tease him and leave the dance floor, causing him to break out into a smile and shake his head. You both end up in a closet, his hands groping your body. You, however, stop him from continuing.

"Meet me upstairs in a room that has the door closed."

You laugh at his frustrated groan of being denied again.

You make your way into a room. That has posters of bands and instruments in a corner. You decide to take your shoes off and wait for the boy with your legs crossed on the bed. After a while, you start to get worried, but that worry turns into annoyance. If he changed his mind, he could've at least told you. You end up hearing odd noises in another room, like moans, they sound awfully similar to his and you think he's either trying to give you a taste of your own medicine, or he found somebody else to fuck.

You really hope it's the first one. You knock on the door to make sure it isn't somebody else, but you get no answer. Probably because the moans were getting louder. You decide to count to 5 before opening the door.

That was your first mistake.

You walk inside the room, that consist of a made bed, along with professional clothing like button ups, but some band tees lie on the floor.

Remus.

You see that there is a bathroom that connects between Him and Sirius' rooms and end up not taking any precautions to opening the door.

That was your second mistake.

You opened the door and saw the unthinkable. Blood. Everywhere on the floors, the sink, the shower door. And in the middle of it all, 2 people in black cloaks with that stupid costume on, you turn around as they notice you and bolt for the door that you unfortunately decided to close. As you sit your hand on top of the know, you get pulled back by your hair, tears coming out of your eyes, which brings a light chuckle that you would've missed had it not been for the knife pressed to your throat pulling out the smallest trickle of blood causing you to hold your breath.

"You weren't supposed to see that."

You hear the voice say with what was no doubt a voice changer that was used in the Woodsboro murders all those years ago

"Please! I don't even know who you are!"

You beg both killers, the one pointing their knife to you toying with you on purpose.

"You look so pretty when you cry...What a shame I won't be able to fuck you're sweet lil pussy before we kill you."

You see that the one pointing their knife at you seems the more dominant of the 2, the other staying quiet and only paying attention to their partner in crime.

It's embarrassing how fast you thought up of a way to get them to let you go. You can't even deny how you feel yourself getting wetter by the second. Your nipples poking through the thin shirt and gaining the attention of the 2 killers.

"Wait! Wait! I have an offer for the exchange of you letting me go...Ill give you anythingyou wa-"

Just then, you get a pang in your head, no doubt from those liquor packed fruit pieces.

"Hmmm, what do you think love, is she really worth it, or should we just slit her pretty throat?"

You wince at the thought of that, and wait for them to decide whether not to take you up on the offer.

As you're waiting, you don't notice that the quiet one has a visible tent that is extruding on his cloak.

The other Ghostface does, though, and instantly gets a sadistic idea that would surprise the both of you.

"How about this? My little partner over here takes his mask off, and I blindfold the both of you?"

You were in no room to deny an offer like this, so you agreed with no hesitation.

"Good girl." You can hear this Ghostface's smile through the voice changer.

He digs into one of the drawers and finds a blindfold. You realize that he's been here before if he knows exactly where the blindfolds are. He first walks over to you and stares at you through the black abyss that's placed over his eyes. He surprisingly is gentle, but firm when wrapping the thick cloth over your eyes.

Being depraved of one of your senses causes you to hear stuff better. You can hear the killers speaking in hushed whispers as if they really cared about each other. You could hear a clear moan. The quiet one must've taken his mask off.

You then hear 2 sets of footsteps coming towards you, on instinct you back up, but a tight hand pulling your hair stops you causing you to cry out.

"Behave slut."

You hear the masked on say. You apologize, and he caresses your cheek, giving it a few firm slaps before pushing your head forward into what feels like a belt buckle.

You and the unmasked one both groan, you think he tried to touch you, but his hands were slapped away by the masked one.

"Hands to yourself, baby."

Your head is continuously pushed into the buckle, and then you come to your senses what he wants you to do.

"All you want me to do is suck him off, right?"

You ask, hoping this doesn't lead to you getting your cherry popped by 2 killers simultaneously.

"Mhm, that's all ya have to do love"

The masked one assures you.

You feel his hands reach around your face and start bunching up the fabric, and then you feel both of them working to remove the cloak from the quiet one.

You feel a hand caressing your face, before it's replaced by what you can only assume is the cock of the quiet killer.

You accidentally let out a little moan that causes the masked one to taunt you.

There's a prodding at your lips before you reluctantly open your mouth for his cock

The tip leaks sticky pre, and you hate how you enjoy tasting it. His warm pre ends up, pushing its way down your throat, making you gag at the sudden action.

You reluctantly choose to keep a pace that would me up to his and your standards. At least, you thought so.

You're surprised when he takes your head and pushes you towards one of the walls and starts going to pound town on your poor throat.

"You little vixen, you're really getting off to a murderer's cock ruining your throat?"

You whimper from the words that exit his mouth. You hope he doesn't notice, but your caught off guard by the thick cum that spurts from the killer using your throat.

You sputter as he tauntingly and slowly eases out of your battered mouth.

"Guess that tired the poor thing out, huh Moony?"

The aggressive killer states...wait-MOONY?!

"R-Remus?"

You sputter out weakly.

"In the flesh sweetheart."

You hear chucklees from the other one through his voice changer, and instantly connect it to the one and only, Sirius Orion Black.

You startle slightly as the blindfold around your eyes is loosened, and your eyes adjust to the light being taken in. You see that they both sport their masks again, and feel vulnerable as you see how disheveled the struggle left you. Not that your costume was covering much up in the first place.

"I d-did what you wanted me to do, so now you can let me go..."

You struggle to get out the simple sentence out of fear.

"We aren't done yet."

Remus finally speaks.

They both start to advance on you, throwing you onto the bed, and ripping your cheap costume off, while you squeal out of fear from rough manhandling.

"Please! I won't tell anybody, if you just let me go! I'll even stop hanging around with you guys, I promise!"

They grow tired of hearing your whines and decide to stuff your mouth with cotton panties. But not just any cotton panties...THESE WERE YOUR FAVORITE PAIR!

They went missing back in May, which is super far now that you think about it, which means they've been eyeing you for at least 6 months, which scares you to think about.

Your thinking is cut off by fingers being stuffed in your untainted asshole. You bite down on the panties as soon, as Sirius slips it into the knuckle. You start crying from the pain that weighs less than the constant threat of being murdered.

You hear slight coos coming from the both of them, but decide not to listen too hard. You just wanted to focus on you to make it seem like it wasn't too bad, but then it somehow got worse when you realized your cunt might as well have been drooling from how aroused it was.

Unfortunately, Remus doesn't notice too long after you do, and instantly gets active by closing his lips around your glistening clit. You almost cringe at how pornographic of a moan he let out. Shit, you'd expect that from Sirius maybe, but Remus?

You're brought back to Sirius when he slips 3 of his fingers out of your prepped hole, and watch as he sucks them like his favorite sweet. Don't ask how you know. You just do.

You begin to buck your hips into Remus' face as he sucks harder and harder, hoping you squirt all over his face. His mask continues to scrape over your skin as he goes in on your dripping cunt. You tear up at the blood that has since then dried all over your skin, creating a sticky mess that makes you feel guilty about the guy you met.

"You know, we've always wanted to have you to ourselves. You were always confident in the way you talked, and the way you dressed. You just never would give us a chance, it was like you hated us, love."

You almost roll your eyes at the gaslighting Sirius' attempts to do, but you choose to just look up and prepare yourself for the rest of their abuse.

Remus stops sucking on your cunt just as you're about to come, making you reluctantly let out a whine that has both of them chuckling amongst each other, and you blushing at the vulnerabiltiy you showed. But you seem to forget how vulnerable you are when you're exposed like an animal in the wild.

"Cunt or her ass Moony?"

Sirius asks his lover. He situates himself after Remus chooses the former, and tucks his robe so that his bottom half is free, leaving the cloak to drape a little bit. He then lets Remus hold you while he gets his lap ready for you, and steadily sinks your ass down onto his cock making you whine at the expected, but unprepared for intrusion, Even though he used his fingers, he was still so long. You feel a slight weight on your clit, and look back to see Remus lining his thick cock up with your unprepared hole. You try and speak but it comes out muffled from your stuffed mouth.

"No!-Pweth, I cont tek et!" You try and tell him, but he only laughs at your words and continues to breach your poor cunny. You cry as they both alternate their thrusts, one going in, the other going out. Sirius takes his mask off, followed by Remus, as they both pant speeding up their pace. You're left to whine and beg for mercy as they both use you like you aren't even a person. You're embarrassed to admit how fast you came on Remus' cock, but you quickly realize that they both won't stop until they finish.

You find yourself being purposely overstimulated by Sirius, as his nude hand reaches down to stab at your swollen clit while Remus continues his assault on your poor hole. Leading you to squint all over Remus' lover stomach, and drip down onto the soaked sheets that now sport a grey color, instead of the silk white it was once. You feel both of them finish inside of your holes, but are startled when they start switching positions right after their highs disipitate.

They communicate through short curt words, and you find yourself on all fours with Sirius situated behind you, and Remus situated behind Sirius. They simultaneously line their cocks up with their targets, and both sink in at the same time making all 3 of you let out loud moans.

Remus maintains a steady pace, while Sirius prefers to go as fast as his hips can take him, making him the first to finish, which leaves you, and Remus. Remus continues using Sirius' hole, while Sirius is riding his high out inside of you, but he pulls out and hurrying over to your face, and pulls your panties out of your mouth, to unexpectadely shove his cock down your throat once again, causing you to choke and whine at how much you've been used this night. He only uses your throat for a few seconds before he pulls out and comes all over your face, getting some especially in your mouth. You hold it before he reaches in and presses down on your tongue, forcing you to swallow his seed. He and Sirius crach down at the top of the bed together, while you've sunk into the mattress by the foot of the bed. You try and get up to get away, but you're stopped by 2 pairs of hands pulling you towards the connecting bodies.

"Where do you think you're going? We haven't even decided if we wanna keep you alive or not."

Sirius questions, you open your mouth to answer him but end up bursting into tears, and you just lay your head down on the both of them to drift off to anything, but a restful sleep.

___________________________________________

My fanfic after almost a year of no writing, that writers block really hit me hard, but I honestly feel it coming again. I actually started writing this fic in october, and it was supposed to come out halloween night, but I was too lazy.

Please let me know if I've made any mistakes, and I hope you enjoyed!

Likes, Reblogs, and comments are encouraged and appreciated!

[princess-of-purple-prose]

[ID copied from alt:

Three edited panels from Trigun Maximum, volume eight, chapter five. In the first, child Wolfwood is kneeling and shooting a training target with a large gun. The second panel is a close-up of the training target. Below is the text "1. you weren't raised to love tender." The last panel is a close-up of Wolfwood staring up intensely through his hair.

Two edited panels from Trigun Maximum, volume two, chapter seven. In the first panel, Wolfwood stares straight ahead. Sweat drips down his face, and his eyes are wide and unnerved behind his sunglasses. His mouth is set in a tight line. On his left, is the text "2. when he's around all you do is tremble." To his right, is the text "when he's around you want to get on your knees." The second panel is of Vash's face, his eyes out of frame. In the center, over his mouth, is the text "look how much power he has over you. it's dangerous."

An edited panel from Trigun Maximum, volume two, chapter four. Vash is seen standing from behind, his gun held up to Wolfwood's forehead. Wolfwood is gripping the gun, and frowning deeply at Vash. Left of center is the text "3. he's too good at forgiving". Right of center is the text "and you're too good at violence."

An edited panel from Trigun Maximum, volume eight, chapter four. Wolfwood and Vash laying against a wall. The ground and Wolfwood are streaked with blood. Wolfwood is sat up and gripping the punisher in one hand, staring up with a harsh frown. Vash is unconscious and shirtless. In the bottom half of the panel is the text "you know what happens to boys who love them."

An edited panel from Trigun Maximum, volume seven, chapter five. Black silhouettes of Vash and Wolfwood standing on a hill, against the sky. Below the panel on the right side, is the text "are you going to do that to him?"

An edited panel from Trigun Maximum, volume two, chapter five. A pair of hands, covered in blood, are held up in front of the camera. Beyond them stands a group of children, staring ahead with shocked expressions. Above this panel is the text "5 your hands don't know how to be gentle. think about the last beautiful thing that shattered in your palms." Below is the text "the fresh rosebuds crumbling between your fingertips like a bruise."

An edited panel from Trigun Maximum, volume ten, chapter three. Close-up of Wolfwood staring intensely up at the viewer. His sunglasses rest low on his nose, and steam rises from him. On his left is the text "you wolf-boy," and on his right is the text "you war machine."

A panel from Trigun Maximum, volume ten, chapter two. Miss Melanie stands with a group of children behind her, all of them framed so they're upside down. Their expressions are shocked and confused. At the bottom of the panel is the text "you wouldn't know how to hold something magic and not destroy it."

An edited panel from Trigun Maximum, volume ten, chapter four. Aerial view of Vash and Wolfwood walking away from each other. In the center, between them, are the words "I'm sorry… …needle-noggin…" In the top left is the text "6. if you hurt him it might kill you." In the bottom left is the text "7. if you hurt him you might kill yourself."

Two edited panels from Trigun Maximum, volume nine, chapter six. The first is a close-up of Wolfwood's face, laying on the ground. Blood covers him and pools on the ground. His expression is vacant. Below is the text "8. you are very bad at rehabilitation." The second panel shows Vash's coat trails and his hand fisted at his side. Below is the text "this is one addiction you'd fail to give up."

Four edited panels from Trigun Maximum, volume nine, chapter six. The first panel is of Vash smiling slightly, his face above his mouth shadowed. The rest of the panels are blacked out with text on them. The first says "he's going to ruin you for all other kisses", the next says "and all other boys", and the last says "and you'll spend the rest of your life trying to forget his name."

An edited panel from Trigun Maximum, volume 9, chapter 6. Vash seen from behind, as if he's striding through the frame. Above him is the text "9. you still aren't sure he isn't a dream."

An edited panel from Trigun Maximum, volume three, chapter seven. Close-up of Wolfwood's face, with two bandages on it. His expression is smitten. Under the panel is the text "reasons to kiss him:"

An edited panel from Trigun Maximum, volume three, chapter seven. Vash standing in plain clothes and smiling at the viewer. He's holding his detached prosthetic arm and a shirt in his right arm. He has a question mark next to him, and he says "You've got a funny look on your face, Wolfwood." In the top left is the text "1. because he's beautiful."

An edited panel from Trigun Maximum, volume ten, chapter seven. Close-up of Vash hunched over himself, an anguished look on his face. He's holding a shot glass, and text over him reads "2. because he asked."

An edited panel from Trigun Maximum, volume six, chapter two. Vash is seen from behind, walking away. His left hand is raised in a half wave. On the left, in two sections, is the text "3. because he preceded please with," and "i'm not afraid of you." End ID]

[Plain text: yes & no by Natalie Wee | Trigun Ultimate Overhaul. End PT]

yes & no by Natalie Wee | Trigun Ultimate Overhaul

[fauveshumankaiju]

Jet Jaguar stops a crime

Nothing - no sound - except for the rumble of the patrol car's engine and the crunch of tires on gravel, as the station wagon headed down the street that demarcated downtown Monsuta from the beachfront. Gigan's head was pounding, and he squeezed his eyes shut as the wedge of pain pressed against the inside of his temple. He leaned his head against the window, cool from the night air.  There was hair in his mouth, and blood in his mouth, too.

The cop sitting behind the metal net hadn't spoken to him since he'd cuffed him and gallantly invited him into the back seat to take him down to the station. Gigan joked that he needed his frequent flier card stamped, since it would be the third time he'd spend the night in the closet-sized holding cell for getting into a fight during which Jet Jaguar appeared, like magic, to intervene in other people's business yet again. The cop couldn't take a hit worth a damn, but he had a wicked left hook and a police baton that really left a mark. Gigan used to mock him about it before they started grappling - buy me a drink first before you pull out the toys, big boy - but tonight they'd just gotten right down to it. Fights were always fast with Jet Jaguar, he didn't showboat like Goji and Gigan. All business, no play.

Do you ever take a night off? Iron your underwear? Darn your dickies? Gigan'd sneered. Then he'd gotten knocked out for, like, five seconds, with a club upside the head. He didn't even remember that Megalon'd been there when he came to.  He’d been left alone against fucking Goji, the human grain thresher. Megalon was a big guy, he'd grown up in Monsuta and he knew how to protect himself, Gigan knew, but still, it was always the two of them against Goji until Gigan had let himself get distracted by his favorite new toy.  And Megalon? he'd do whatever Gigan told him to. As usual. 

Gigan looked over at the seat next to him, empty, flashing as they passed by streetlamp outside.

"Did you see where Megalon went?"  He asked.  His mouth was flooded with thin coppery blood and stinging pain again. He'd bitten his cheek. "After you arrested me, you know."  Silence from the front seat.  Gigan exhaled through pursed lips. 

"Hey, it wasn't his fault. I dragged him into this shit. I just hope he didn't get piledrived back there. Do you ever get bothered knowing that Goji's better at keeping the peace round here than you ever will be? Huh?"

More silence. Oh, this was the game he was playing. Gigan was in a mood, though, and he was pretty good at getting what he wanted.

"What are you even here for, man? We never had any cops here when we needed them, now as soon as we're cleaning up our act they stick the most useless pig in the bunch here to slap us around. And you can't even do your job! You got taken out by fucking Megalon! If you meant business, you could have cleaned up this whole city by now! How many times have you taken me in then let me out with fucking community service? Jesus christ, when are you gonna suck it up and do something about all of us monsters, the villains, the ghetto, illiterate unworthy - the scum that you were sent here to put in jail so that you all can lead your perfect little bougie lives and forget about the people that got beaten down and left behind? But you're not gonna do that, are you?"

Still no comment. The heater in the front seat hissed quietly.

Gigan continued, leaning back into the chair vituperously. "You're too nice. No, you're too weak, Jaguar. You wanna get kittens down from trees and shit, eat donuts and get fat, get a nice cushy job where you can forget the guns and tasers and batons that keep you guys in power, but god forbid you actually have to get off your ass and use them. You're just going to keep letting Goji do your dirty work because you're too precious to do it yourself. You're never gonna get our town's respect. You're never gonna get her respect. You don't deserve it. But thank god, you can die alone and useless knowing that you got to be nice."

He let that hang in the air. His cheek was bleeding again, staining his gums with the taste of salt. Jet Jaguar moved, behind the metal screen, and Gigan saw him slowly adjust the mirror above him, fidgeting with it so that he and Gigan could see each other's eyes.  Gigan still had his visor on, glowing faintly in the night-time darkness, and he could just barely see the cop's face.  He shifted back into his seat, feeling anger and bitterness clawing at the inside of his chest.

"What?" He spat.

A moment.  Then, "Do you feel any better now?"

"No. I think you concussed me. I need to get medical attention."

Jet Jaguar's eyes flicked forward and he continued driving. Gigan licked the front of his teeth. "Did you hear me?"

"... Megalon's okay. Goji doesn't have a problem with him, she'll leave him alone."

"Don't fucking talk about Megalon."

"You asked, Gigan."

Gigan rolled his head back. The leather headrest was cool and tacky against his bare scalp. ".. Yeah."

"If you want, I'll call him and have him pick you up at the station if you can make bail."

"Doubt it."

They stopped at an intersection. The rest of the street was completely deserted, illuminated by the ghostly red glow from the streetlight. The adrenaline was wearing off, and as it slipped out of his veins it took that inchoate anger with him, too. He was tired, now, aching all over. His head rang, his meat-arm was bruised, his prosthetic arm needed to be sanded down. 

"He must really care about you."

Gigan blinked. "Megalon?"

"Yeah."

"Mm."

"Good friend."

Gigan closed his eyes. "Don't talk about him."

"Why?"

"Because!" he snapped. "You don't - ugh!"

"I don't deserve too?" Jet Jaguar asked, softly and with no accusatory inflection. Like it was a normal thing to say.

Gigan pursed his lips. "You don't know how it is, man."

Silence from the front seat.

"You just don't. I don't either." Another moment, more rasping breaths. "He's good. He's a good person."

"Yeah?"

"Not like, not like - nice, you know. You're nice. He's good.  There's a difference." Gigan gesticulated, rattling the handcuffs. "The main difference being that he doesn't piss me off nearly as much as you do."

Jet Jaguar huffed in what Gigan thought might possibly be amusement. 

Gigan looked out the window, watching the telephone poles roll slowly past. The cop sure wasn't burning rubber on the way to the station tonight, was he? "I mean, he gets on my fucking nerves sometimes. He's not the brightest, book-wise - or street-wise, either, really. I dunno how he's survived this long with nothing going on up in the old skull. I guess he always found assholes like me to hang out with and keep him safe."

"It doesn't seem to me like you're keeping him safe."

"Hey, don't start with me," Gigan grumbled. "You're the one who beat us up."  

No response. "Sure, we were committing a crime, but come on."

Jet Jaguar didn't respond.

"Okay, yeah. I don't always keep him safe. But this is Monsuta, nobody's safe. Even the people that are supposed to keep us safe -" he gestured to Jet Jaguar, clinking his cuffs together "-are more worried about knocking us down than helping us up. You've got to be smart and tough and he's only kind of tough."

"He's good."

"N-yeah, I mean, he's a good person. I think he wants to do the right thing, he wants to help people, but that's not really possible here.  Not that I make it easy for him."  He thought for a moment, looking out the window at the streets he'd stalked through so many evenings. "I don't think I'm a good person, you know. Megalon, he wants to help people. He wants to do his thing at Seatopia and keep all his animals safe, I don't know, teach people about aquariums and shit and keep to himself. He doesn't want to hurt people. I just-" he sighed. "I'm not like that. I like hurting people. I'm a bad person. I don't always wanna be, even though it keeps me safe here it makes me feel like shit when I get him into trouble."  He tried to say it in a matter-of-fact tone, but it came out a little warbled, a little raw. He'd thought it plenty of times before; it was a mantra in his head, you're a bad person, you're a bad person, but he'd never said it out loud like he meant it.

"You don't sound happy about that," Jet Jaguar said conversationally after an awkward amount of time had passed.  Gigan blinked.

"What, should I be proud of the fact that I'm a monster that ruins everything in my life?"  He wiggled his prosthetic fingers weakly. "I can't even keep myself in one piece, man. I don't know why I keep trying to hold onto things, hold on to people, when I'm just going to destroy them eventually. Useless."

"Seems to me like a bad person wouldn't be worrying about whether or not they're a bad person, right?"

"Oh, fuck off it," Gigan sneered. 

"Just saying."

Gigan picked at one of the scratches across his prosthetic arm, worrying at the edge of a tear in the plastic. "I want." He took a breath, then started again. "I wish I could be better. I don't care about being nice, niceness never did anything for anyone. But I wish I could've been born a good person. A better one."

The car rolled to a stop. Gigan was still looking at the ceiling, wondering why the hell he was having a heart-to-heart with the police officer that knocked him out and arrested him (again) at three in the morning.  He looked out when he heard rustling. Time to get out and head to the cell for the night. Ah, he could already feel the metal bars of the cot there digging into his shoulders from under the wafer-thin mattress. Thank god there was only one cop in town, who only had enough time to arrest one person per night.

Jet Jaguar was looking at him, framed by the heavy metal mesh, barely visible in the low light. He looked tired, a little resigned.

They weren't at the police station, Gigan noted.

"Did you take me out here to kill me?" he asked, annoyed. They were by the beach; the concession stand was only a few yards away.

"You aren't born a good person, Gigan," Jet Jaguar said, with the tone of voice that an exhausted parent would use for their inconsolable baby. "It's not genetic, and it has nothing to do with where you grew up. Megalon grew up here - Mothra grew up here - and they're good people, Gigan, right down to the very core. And it's not because they were born that way."

Gigan wanted to interrupt, but something about the cop's tone - how it was sad and a little desperate instead of how preachy it usually was - quieted him.

"You make choices every day, little choices, big, life-changing choices, and you have two options. You can to the good thing, or the less good thing. You get to decide what rules you use to tell which one's good and which one's less good, the golden rule, some kind of religious scripture, but you get a choice, and the good one's almost always harder. Good people are just the people that look at that choice and decide to do the thing that's a little more good and a little less easy, or less pleasant, or less remunerative. And you keep doing that over and over until you don't have any more choices. Most of those choices aren't ever going to count for anything, but if you practice with the little things - recycling your coffee cup, that kind of thing - then the big hard good choices are easier. That's all it is. Choices. Making the good choice as much as you can."

He turned back to the steering wheel. "Birth doesn't have anything to do with it, thank god. You've got your choices, Gigan, you can choose the better thing whenever you want. Any time you're ready to start.

Gigan rubbed his eye. His hand came away with a streak of motor oil.  "Hate that, chief."

"It's the truth." The cop turned back around and undid the latch to the door of the screen separating the two of them and leaned into the back seat, grunting with exertion.

"Seriously, are you gonna kill me?"

"Nope." He held up his little key so that Gigan could see it glinting red in the light from his visor. "Hands."  Gigan presented his handcuffs, holding them up so that Jet Jaguar could fumble for the keyhole in the darkness and unlock them with a deafening click.

"What's this?" Gigan asked. Everyone in Monsuta knew that gifts like this didn't come without a price, especially from cops. Jet Jaguar took the handcuffs and maneuvered himself back into the front seat, still facing Gigan like he was peering through a little window.

"This would be your third felony physical assault on a police officer. You'll be tried in the state court instead of the local one this time, and I can tell you, they don't look very kind at all on violence against the force. You're looking down the barrel of 10 to 15, more, if they decide to make an example out of you for your preexisting record. There's nothing any of us could do to stop it if you got booked for it tonight."

Gigan looked out the window. He vaguely remembered being warned about the three strikes policy last time he was brought in, but he was too worked up about Megalon leaving his precious Suzuki in the middle of the road when he'd gotten arrested that he didn't pay much attention to it.

"... Yeah, that sounds about right."

Jet Jaguar sighed. "See, this is my choice. Jail's not going to do anything good for you. It'll make me feel a hell of a lot better, but really, you didn't do 10 to 15 years' worth of damage to me. You might hurt other people in the future, but.. I don't know." He shook his head. "It'd be a lot easier to put you in jail and forget about you. It's what I'm supposed to do. But I don't know if it's a good thing to do. I think - and I'm not trying to be your youth pastor or anything - I think you could give the whole being a good person thing one more real, good try. It'd be a lot better for the world to have you out here trying than in jail, failing."

There was a click as Jet Jaguar unlocked the cars' doors.

"So go on, get out. I need to go home and ice my head."

Gigan gave him a long look, clenching his sore jaw, torn between spitting this aching, condescending pity back in his face, and taking what scraps of decency he'd been thrown and running with it. He deserved to go down. He'd committed enough crimes to warrant jail, definitely. It'd be an honorable way to go, in Monsuta, put in jail for the rest of your life for punching too many cops. But that would be the easy choice. Easy to give up, because bad people could never change and it wasn't worth the extra few weeks he'd scrape by with before he got his third strike. Easy to accept that petty thievery and violence was the best that his life was going to come to; honestly, who expected any better from him? Not Gigan, that's for sure. 

Would it be the good choice to make, though?

Oh, for fuck's sake, he was already starting to think like Jet Jaguar. You beat a guy up a couple of times...

He leaned over and snapped the car handle defiantly, heaving up a leg to kick the door open and lurching out into the cool night air. Jet Jaguar had driven them up to the curb on the beach - Gigan could see Goji's house from here, the lights inside flickering in the distance, Monsuta spread out beyond Jet Jaguar's patrol car. He slammed the door closed after himself.

"Hey," Jet Jaguar said collegially, rolling down the window an inch and peering out. He was smiling. "Have a good night. And don't do anything Megalon wouldn't."

The cop rolled up the window and started the car, rolling off down the driveway and back onto the street. Gigan watched him go, not entirely willing to believe that he wasn't going to turn  right around and pick him back up again once Jet Jaguar realized what he'd done. But he didn't, and Gigan was left out on the beach next to the darkened concession stand, listening to the waves lapping at the shore.

Megalon would be making his way back to his apartment now, if he wasn't back already, Gigan thought. Probably waiting for Gigan to call him from the holding cell asking for bail again. He thought of his open, eager face and his soft broad shoulders, his soft broad decency, and suddenly wanted to bury himself in the fuzzy lining of his oversized jacket.  Don't do anything Megalon wouldn't.

Okay, he thought. I think I can do that.  Okay.

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Whumptober Day 10 (Aaron Hotchner x y/n Hotchner)

No. 10 POOR UNFORTUNATE SOULS

Taser | Whipping | Waterboarding

Alt: tears, whimpering

Warnings: child abuse (straight after the cut), alcoholism, homophobia, f-slur, homophobic parent, internalised homophobia 

Word count: 1629

A/N:  we’re bending canon a little, Hotch joined the BAU a lot sooner (like 8 or so years before aha hope yall don’t mind, we’ll say after he got his law degree thing, he did a few years of law-ing until aged 24?)

@whumptober-archive

“No, no, no, no, no, I’m sorry- I’m sorry, I s-swear-” Your words are rushed and messy as you say them, scurried back.

"Shut up, boy," Your father slurred. “My son, the faggot,”

You gave a sob, your stomach dropping. You felt like you were going to be sick. You had been cocky and it got you caught. His car wasn’t there, how were you supposed to know he was home? You had kissed your best friend, Michael, after the two of you had decided to test the waters into being more than friends and gone on a date (to see a movie). And he had seen through the blinds.

“I’m sorry, dad, I’m sorry, I swear-” The strike was expected, but still took you by surprise. You didn’t fight back, knowing that there was no point, that he was too fueled by hatred and alcohol to care.

When the hits eventually stopped, you waited, curled up on the floor, waiting for him to leave the room. You heard him wander upstairs, shutting his bedroom door loudly behind him. You drag yourself up, wincing in pain as you do. You climb the stairs slowly, knowing that moving any faster would cause more harm than good. When you enter your room, you shut the door gently behind you.

You limp to your bed, throwing yourself down, whimpering as you did so. You reached blindly under your bed hidden at the bottom of a box of photos is the cellphone Aaron got you, telling you not to tell your father about it. He'd just take it away and right now it was your only link to the outside world. You pause when you’ve got the phone in your hand, letting your emotions flood through you for a moment, sobbing loudly, hand covering your mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle them. When you’ve recovered, you dial Aaron's number, you knew that because of his work he had to keep his phone on at all times.

Aaron’s phone woke him up, turning over with a roll, he saw at the time. 3 AM. His stomach dropped seeing your name flash on his phone. “(Y/N)? What happened?”

“I pissed him off,” Came your pained reply. “I just wanted to hear your voice. Calms me down,”

Aaron gave a sigh at his brother’s words. “I’m coming to get you,”

“I can take it, Aaron,” You mumbled.

“I don’t care. I’m coming to get you,”

“I can take it,”

“(Y/N), I’m doing what I should have done at eighteen,” Aaron said strongly, “I’m picking you up and you are going to live with me and Haley,”

"No, Aaron, it's fine, really, I'm fine,"

"No, (Y/N), it's not. You're not fine either," Aaron said, "Lock you door, pack your things. Don't open the door unless it's me, okay?"

You nodded, mumbling an okay as you walked to the door, locking it. "I've locked the door,"

"Good, now pack everything you can." He said, you heard shuffling, assuming it was him getting out of bed. "I will be there soon, pack as much as you can, we'll come back for the rest."

"Okay," You whispered, "Are you sure this is okay? Haley won't mind?"

You heard Aaron quietly explaining the situation before another voice popped up, "Of course I don't mind, (Y/N)," Haley responded. You relaxed, okay, Haley didn't mind. That was all that mattered. If she didn't mind then it was okay. Everything would be okay.

"How long until you get here?"

"I'll be there in half an hour, okay?"

"Okay,"

“How bad is it?” You paused, wincing in pain. “(Y/N)?”

“I’m fine,” You hear Aaron sigh on the other side of the line.

“(Y/N)-”

“I’m fine.” You don’t mean to snap, but you do.

"Are you going to be okay until I get there?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

"(Y/N), come out, come out wherever you are," Your blood ran cold at the slurred voice from the hallway.

"Aaron, please hurry," You whispered.

"I will." You gulped as your father slammed his fist against your door.

"Come on (Y/N)!" He yelled, "Just open the door,"

Ignoring the voice of your father and the pain spread throughout your body (motivated by the time limit Aaron had given you), you looked around your room, gathering your school work from your desk and floor, shoveling it into your school bag. When you had finished with that, you moved on to your clothing. You knew that if push came to shove, Aaron would let you steal some of his clothes if you needed it. You were just hoping you didn't necessarily need to.

You don’t reply, trying your best not to listen to the comments he yells through the door, the threats, taunts, you block them out the best you can as you continue to pack. You’re nearly done, school work all in your backpack and you’ve got the majority of your clothes in another bag.

You hear the front door open and slam shut and you know it’s Aaron. Your father is silent on the other side of the door as Aaron loudly climbs the stairs, letting you know he’s here. Perfect timing, you’ve just finished packing all of your essentials into the bag. You zip it up, clutching it and your backpack in your hands tightly.

“What are you doing here?!” His slurs are more pronounced now and you imagine he’s also swaying on his feet.

“I’m taking (Y/N),” Aaron’s voice is tight and leaves no room for argument.

“You want him? Have him.” Your father snarls. There’s a soft knock on your door.

“(Y/N)?”

“Aaron?” You ask, wanting to make sure it’s him before you open the door.

“Yeah, come on,” He says, you give a small ‘okay’ as you unlock the door. You can tell that Aaron’s trying not to react to the sight of your face, littered with bruises and cuts (some of which are slightly bleeding). “You all packed?”

You nod, holding up the two bag. “Alright,” He says, “I’ll take them, you go sit in the car.” You give him an unsure look but nod and do as he says. As you’re making your way down the stairs, you hear Aaron beginning to talk. “You come near him again, I’ll kill you.”

“Shouldn’t be talking to me like that, boy, I’m your father,"

“You never were a father.” Is his response before he, too, makes his way down the stairs. “Come on, I’m taking you to the emergency room.”

You shake your head, “Aaron, no, I’m fine,” You argue as he places your bags in the boot of his car before the pair of you climb into his car.

“I just want to check, alright?” You huff but nod, knowing he won’t let it drop (and because if Haley finds out you wouldn’t let Aaron take you she’d give you her signature look of disappointment).

You watch the nurses and doctors eye Aaron up with caution at your condition. They think he’s the one who did this to you, you know it and Aaron does too - you watch his hands tense at his side. He hates the idea of people thinking he hurt you. “Are you alright?” You ask softly.

He turns to you, giving you a strange look, “Should I be the one asking you that?”

You grin, giving a small laugh, “You look worse than me,” Aaron laughs and you join in, wincing as you do and concern flashes across Aaron’s face. The nurses and doctors, seeing this realise that he couldn’t have been the one that hurt you.

You’re called in not long after that, into a small room, you sit on the bed, Aaron stood close to your, hand protectively on your shoulder, letting you know that he was here. “I think it would be best if you gave us a minute alone,” The doctor says as she looks at Aaron. Aaron nods, removing his hand from your shoulder.

“Please don’t make him leave,” You whisper, looking at the woman with wide, pleading eyes. “It wasn’t him, please don’t make him go,” She nods and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Who was it?” She asks, you look at Aaron, unsure whether you should answer.

When Aaron nods, you turn back to her, “My dad,” You say.

“We’re looking into ways to press charges.” Aaron adds.

“What? When did we agree to that?” You ask, looking at him in confusion.

“I meant me and Haley,”

You scoff with a smirk, “Of course, she’s got you wrapped around her finger, you know,” Aaron merely rolls her eyes.

Severe bruising, bruised ribs, and a mild concussion. But otherwise you’re fine. You’re still sat on the bed, Aaron sat next to you, waiting for the discharge forms.

“What set him off?”

“I-” Aaron’s heart broke as your voice cracked and you took in a shaky breath. He knew that you were unsure whether or not to actually tell him what had happened.

Aaron gently rubbed circles on your back, “Hey, I’m not leaving - not again. I’m your brother, through thick and thin,” He soothed, “Nothing will push me away, okay?”

You nodded, “He saw me kissing Michael.” Aaron wiped the tear that had fallen, carefully guiding your head to his chest.

“It’s okay,” He whispered, you gave a sob. “It’s alright, I promise. I won’t let anything bad happen to you again.”

“I- I tried not to like him, I promise, Aaron I promise,”

“Hey, (Y/N), I need you to listen to me,” Aaron paused, waiting for you to nod. When you do, he continues, “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter who you like as long as you both treat each other right, that’s all that matters.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

[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!

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“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.”

[apocalypticgargoyle]

WAIT I HAVE AN IDEA FOR THE NEXT E!K,

WHAT IF THE READER STARTS OPENING UP TO HIM (maybe she has daddy issues or something), AND WHILE SHES OPENING UP THEYRE AT A RESTAURANT AND THEY RUN INTO A!D (her ex) AND HE STARTS A CONVERSATION W THEM AND KARL GETS A LITTLE POSSESSIVE AND JEALOUS, AND KARL STARTS TO REALIZE THAT HE KNEW DREAM THE WHOLE TIME, AND WHEN THEY GET HOME HE TRYS TO PROVE TO HER THAT HE’S BETTER THAN HIM AND SAYS THINGS LIKE “I bet he could never make you feel this good” WHILE HES RAILING HER OR SOMETHING IDKKKK AHSISJSJ

also sorry for saying “and” so much😭

THANK YOU FOR THIS REQUEST! I changed it up a smidge and I hope that's okay but I'm more well versed in mommy issues and um

edit by 🐿 anon <3 [he looks so good IM SOBBING]

𝙈𝙊𝙈𝙈𝙄𝙀 𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙍𝙀𝙎𝙏. | 𝙠𝙖𝙧𝙡 𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙤𝙗𝙨 (18+)

∘ pairing: edgy!Karl Jacobs x fm!reader

∘ cw: mommy issues, smut (18+), angst, alt!dream just vibing, language, mentions of verbal abuse, biting, possessiveness, fluff, smoking weed, L-word moment, mentions of masturbation

∘ wc: ~4.3k

∘ Chances Are masterlist | playlist (add your music :))

You leaned back against the seat cushion, closing your eyes slightly as smoke drifted from your mouth in elegant spindles. You attempted to calm your nerves as Karl’s fingers drew soft shapes on the inside of your thigh to relax you. You passed the blunt to him, angrier than anything at what had transpired an hour prior to your escape to the grocery store parking lot in your hometown.

Your heart pounded in your ears as your grip tightened around the bouquet resting in your arms, Karl’s eyes drifting from the red front door to your face. He seemed to notice your worry, stepping closer to you and wrapping an arm around your waist. He pressed a kiss to your temple; a quiet reassurance that no matter what, he would be on your side.

Because of how swimmingly things had gone with his parents, it seemed only fair that Karl would meet your own. But you had agreed reluctantly after remembering how horribly your mother had chewed you out the last time you had been home. You held your chin up despite this, prepping him for what he would come across in the hell house where Satan herself resided.

The door clicked open with excitement, your mother’s beaming teeth flashing at the two of you as she instantly cooed over Karl, pinching his cheeks and fawning over his hair. He blushed slightly, making her gussy up to him even more. Your blood boiled at the façade she was using to win him over. As she pulled him against her in a tight hug, he flashed you a furrowed look as if to ask about the severity of the situation. How could you not have predicted this happening?

She roped him into the house, giving you a once over with a tight-lipped smile before looping her arm around your boyfriend’s. Before you knew it, the two of you were stuffed into seats across the table from your brother and the childhood sweetheart he had recently married; her stomach plump and almost distracting with her pregnancy.

Your mother rattled on about how nervous she was to meet Karl, emphasizing how he was the first guy you had brought home since Clay---who wasn’t really a surprise or someone with the formality they “had the privilege” of hosting because of his family’s standing with your own. Karl chuckled nervously as she touched his arm and then it dawned on you.

Your mother was flirting with him.

She took her place at the end of the table to Karl’s right, resting her chin in her hand. “So, Karl,” she began, his name rolling off her tongue almost seductively. “I hear you’re in a frat. KA, right?”

His eyes darted to you nervously, seemingly feeling the heat rolling off your shoulders. He nodded quickly. “Yeah, I’m a legacy so it’s not really anything too exciting-“

She cut him off with an over-exaggerated gasp. “Don’t downplay that! Being a legacy is incredibly formidable!” She leaned to the side to take a sip of her wine, letting the liquid roll around in her glass as she thought of ways to insert her on story adjacent to his. “Your little darling would have been a legacy,” she sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “If she had any initiative,” she quipped, laughing as if she wasn’t genuine. Your brother’s mate tittered alongside her.

Karl scoffed. “Not only does she have initiative, but she’s smart too. Greek life is a waste of money and resources,” he countered, calming looking your mother in the eye. Her head tilted. “If I could drop it without being scraped of my family name, I would.”

Her eye twitched. “But surely money is no object to you and your family?”

“Mom,” you bit, furrowing your brows as if to question her sanity as Karl let out a dry chuckle. She looked at you with a sarcastic expression.

Her lips were tinted with a deep purple. “I’m so sorry. It’s the wine. Tell him how loopy I get with the wine, honey,” she backtracked, motioning for you. You rolled your eyes slightly, thinking of all the times her ‘loopy-ness’ got you in trouble. “Anyway, your brother sold three houses this month,” she boasted, making your brother mock his humbleness.

You kicked your feet up on Karl’s dashboard, lacing your fingers with his. He leaned on the console more, just to be touching your arm and as close as he could be without sitting in your lap. You watched his eyes drift to your thighs again, watching your dress ride up your legs. “I’m so sorry for the way she treated you…” you muttered, turning your head to look into his dark grey eyes. The lights from the parking lot were distant enough to keep the car mostly dim.

He nudged the radio down a few notches, pressing his lips to your shoulder before tapping his fingers against the blunt to shake a few stray ashes out of his window. “She’s totally into me. Mom’s love me,” he chided, making you elbow him. He chuckled. “I’m irresistible, I guess. It has to be the tattoos.”

You hummed in response, enjoying the utter peace you felt when it was just the two of you. “She’s living vicariously through me. I get my horrible taste in men from her,” you jested, making him feign a pain in his chest.

He wet his lips with a soft chuckle. “I’m not that bad,” he whined. “I don’t hit you, so I’m better than my uncles,” he offered; a joke that felt bitter on your tongue. You were positive he wouldn’t have said it if he hadn’t been sharing a blunt with you. It always tapped into a bit of his dark humor. “Speaking of… Can I ask why you flinched when I yelled at you?” He questioned gingerly, giving you every opportunity to turn him down. Your mind involuntarily sent you back to sitting in her car the night after prom, an event which she brought up hours prior.

Her finger jumped to point at one of the pictures on the upmost bookshelf over Karl’s head. She practically crawled into his lap to reach it before sitting between the two of you and cozying up to his side. You held your tongue as she handed it to him. You peered over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of your frilly dress and an unrecognizable Clay.

As you looked back at the baseball game streaming in front of you, you heard Karl chuckle softly, a noise he made when you usually told him about the nameless guys who would gallantly offer to be your partner to ‘keep you away from the creeps.’ Your mother smiled again, leaning closer to him and dragging her finger along your frame. “Look at her! She looks like such a dork doesn’t she! I told you; she’s always looked a little wonky, even when I tried doing her makeup,” she mused. She chewed the inside of her cheek. “I always tried to get her to drop more weight,” she mumbled.

Karl tsked at the fourth side comment she had made about your appearance. You hadn’t been counting, but after you got in the car, you found out he had been. “No, she’s gorgeous. Even when she’s done up like pre-rehab Linsey Lohan,” he ragged, a sweetness in his tone that masked the insult. You bit your lip, knowing full-well he was grinning to himself without even seeing him.

“Oh, you’re just a sap! She can take the teasing! What did we talk about after that,” she paused, nudging your arm with a whimsical look in her eye.

You swallowed what you could of an emotional tone as the argument echoed through your head. “How I should let Clay get me pregnant because I’d never find someone else to deal with my fat-”

She cut you off with a slap on your knee. You hissed quietly at the impact. “Stop being such a spoilsport! I was joking; it was a joke. You just can’t read my tone that well. Remember how we laughed at that?”

You shook your head. “No, I remember you telling me to break the condom, mom,” you quipped, sending her a slight smile. You could see Karl out of the corner of your eye as you turned to her. His gaze was bright and encouraging almost as he grinned at you out of her line of vision.

“That didn’t happen!” She defended, a chuckle struggling to leave her lips. You heard your father turn the subtitles on for the game. “Your memory is so silly. I think it’s all those books you read, putting these fantasies in your head. HA.”

You shrugged, giving her a mock smirk. Karl pretended to be invested in your prom photo. “You know what they say: girl boss, gatekeep, gaslight,” he teased, making your mother laugh. You secretly found it hilarious that he could say whatever he wanted, and she would drool over him.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek. “I mean… You met my mother. She’s unstable,” you muttered, casting your eyes out into the bare parking lot. “There were times when she would go off the rails. She never hit me but, Jesus Christ, the woman can yell.” You let out a venomous scoff before accepting the blunt back and inhaling the smoke slowly, trying to expel the thought. The weed was becoming a sage to smudge your mind of the witch at least for tonight.

Karl’s fingers moved to brush against the knuckles of your free hand. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he mumbled, unable to meet your eyes.

You drew in a soft breath, sitting up and threading your fingers into his hair so he was looking at you. “Stop apologizing to me for it. I deserved it, anyway,” you grumbled, pressing your lips to his briefly before pulling back to settle back into your previous position. “I couldn’t get the taste of Todd out of my mouth for hours and he’s completely ruined the smell of cloves cigarettes for me, even if I don’t mind him now.”

He chuckled at your words, finger pads grazing your jaw to draw you into another kiss. “I’m glad you learned your lesson then,” he hummed, brushing his nose against yours. You bit back a giggle. “Can I buy you food now?” He asked, his eyelashes fluttering sarcastically. You shoved him away from you, but agreed, pulling him into the grocery store behind you.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and leaned his weight on you as you decided, occasionally brushing his nose into the crook of your neck and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. You wanted to wear the nodes of his cologne on your skin, quietly dreaming of being wrapped up in a hotel room with him.

Your body was cold as he slipped from you. “Dream?” He asked, making you perk your eyebrows and look up to him. He was staring down the aisle at a tall figure you knew all too well.

“Karl,” he answered back.

“Clay?” It was your turn to be confused about how the two knew each other.

“Clay?” Karl repeated as if putting pieces of his own puzzle together.

Clay took a few steps to be closer to the pair of you. His white button-up and dark pants were a stark contrast to the man you had been so accustomed to. The only signs of him you truly recognized were the tattoos stretching across his forearms, which were proudly on display thanks to his rolled sleeves. His hair was pulled back, more from running his fingers through it than anything else, and the earring dangling from his left lobe; a silver ankh you had the matching one to.

Slight panic settled in as you realized you had worn that same earring around Karl, and he knew Clay probably enough to recognize it.

Without hesitation, Clay pulled you closer to him, hugging you against his side with the arm that wasn’t carrying a basket. You hugged him back, ignore the hardness of his body. “Jeez, I haven’t seen you in so long!” He groaned, making you laugh. You pushed him off as he ruffled your hair.

You wet your lips. “I think the last time was a summer or two ago. I heard you moved to the city,” you stated, kicking the toe of his dress shoes with the sneakers you had ditched your heels in Karl’s car for.

Clay nodded, raking a hand through his blond hair. “Yeah, I have a pretty good setup there. That’s where I met Karl, right?” He stated, sending Karl a look. The boy beside you attempted to mask that he was glaring at him like the two had been up to something prior to this. You nudged your shoulder against Karl’s arm, seemingly snapping him out of whatever he was thinking about. He nodded. “You’re here to meet Mommie dearest, aren’t you?” Clay queried, a knowing look on his face. “I’m doing the same. But I stepped one foot in the door and my sister kidnapped my girlfriend,” he grumbled, sticking his hand in his pocket.

You giggled. “Oh, come on. She’s in good hands,” you defended jokingly.

Clay tilted his head ever so slightly as he looked at you, narrowing his eyes with a smug expression. “Are you high?” He asked, voice dipping into a whisper to keep your secret from the old ladies that went to church with both your families. You chewed on your lip and he chuckled. “I’m so jealous of you, Karl. She wouldn’t let me corrupt her,” he teased sarcastically, shoving your arm.

You pinched his side. “Kinky bastard! He’s not corrupting me,” you defended, making him giggle, the sound almost pitched the same as yours. Before he could respond, his phone started to ring, a small smile coming to his face sweetly. He excused himself with the promise of taking the pair of you out for coffee so you could meet his lady friend.

Karl was quiet until the two of you got back into his car, his teeth making track marks in his lower lip. You looked to him as he drove towards the hotel the two of you were staying in for the night. His hand moved to wrap around your thigh, his shoulders relaxing slightly as the two of you got further away from the grocery store. You chewed the inside of your cheek. “I didn’t make you jealous did I?” You asked gingerly, your interest in his mannerisms piquing.

He scoffed. “Of course not,” his fingers tightened around your thigh, making your breath hitch. “You really have a type though, don’t you?” He mocked, making you fight not to roll your eyes. “If I had known Clay was Dream, I would have fucked you harder last time. I know what you’re comparing me to now,” he quipped smugly, moving his fingers to lace with yours, bringing the back of your hand to his lips.

Your cheeks burned at his words. “I um… What?” You were flustered for the first time ever when it came to him. Your usual cockiness shrank away. “Karl, we were virgins.”

He shrugged playfully. “I know. That doesn’t mean I won’t make sure you know who you belong to now.” He took his eyes off the road for a moment as he met a red light, sights locking on yours. “I can’t wait until you’re on top of me, bunny,” he stated, a sly smirk crawling across his lips as you kept yourself from clenching your thighs together at the look in his irises. One of his hands moved to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “It’s gonna be so awkward when you can barely speak tomorrow.”

The sheets were cool to the touch as Karl’s mouth pressed against yours in a heated kiss, the taste of the blunt still in his mouth mixing with the raspberry candy he had been eating earlier. He ground his hips against yours, his already hard arousal pressing against the inside of your thighs. You leaned into his kiss with your whole body, letting his hands hungrily explore your curves and pressure points with greedy roughness.

Watching him check-in was nearly unbearable as his calm, charming demeanor lured the receptionist. He acted like he hadn’t spent the last few minutes with his finger pads teasing you through your panties, the other hand on the steering wheel with ease. He was making the woman laugh like his hand wasn’t teasing to dip under the hemline of your skirt as his arm wrapped around your waist.

“Yeah, her parents live around here so,” he chirped on, fingers slipping up your spine slowly to wrap around the back of your neck as they chatted.

It was the same devious hands that had discarded your dress, fingers curling around the necklace housing a charm in the shape of his name; a gift you wore like a collar, loving when it would imprint on your skin beneath your shirt. Karl pushed the charm into your mouth, holding you between his thighs as he leaned back to pull his shirt off. Your nails raked up his thighs, palming him through his dark pants as your teeth held his name in place.

He maneuvered so he was between your legs, grinding against your underwear as he hooked your legs in the crooks of his elbows. “Your mom is such a fucking prick,” he growled, lips pressing to your ear as the fabric of your panties wore against the roughness of his slacks. “You’re such a good girl,” he pampered, teeth nipping along your collarbone, intent on showing the world how content he was with you; how good you made him feel. “You’re so smart,” he continued, his tongue trailing across your skin as you moaned around the metal between your teeth. “I fucking worship you,” he groaned as your hips raised to his, chasing the heat spreading through your body at his movements. “Fuck her,” he bit darkly.

He pulled the necklace from your mouth, kissing you with enough fire to make you completely forget about the icy coldness you had felt for most of the night. Your fingers moved to knot in his hair as his hands pressed into your body, blunt nails digging into your ass and hips. One of your hands moved between the two of you, slipping down the front of his pants and wrapping your hand around his cock, feeling him harden further against your hand as he moaned against your lips. The vibrations from his voice sent goosebumps across your chest.

As he throbbed in your grasp, he pulled away from your lips, looking down to watch you pump him, your fingernails painted his favorite color. His bangs barely brushed against your chest as he pressed his knee between your thighs, prompting you to ride him as he ground his hips against your hand. You arched your back, the friction and the sight of his lust-blown eyes sparking your orgasm deep within you.

He was wrong. You wouldn’t dare compare him to Clay, especially when he always looked at you like you were the only woman in the universe.

His hand wrapped around your wrist, removing you from him quickly before swiftly rolling you onto your side. A smile came to your lips as you watched him slip out of his pants, before pulling one of your legs against his hip, teasing himself against your heat as he settled his weight on either side of your head. He leaned down to slip his tongue into your mouth, wanting to taste the pleasure he brought you as he ground himself against you while you moaned.

Karl only broke the kiss to pump himself a few times before easing into you, drawing out mutters of his name from your aggravated lips. You dug your face into one of the soft pillows to stifle your unruly noises as he thrust into you slowly, pace purely experimental as he awaited your praise. One of his hands moved to press against your stomach, the other slipping beneath your pillow to bring him down on his forearm, driving himself deeper into you as his lips were at your ear once again. “Baby, you feel so good, fuck,” he groaned, voice dark and restrained.

You gripped onto the edge of the bed as he picked up his pace, his hips digging into your thighs as you prayed for a new set of bruises to litter your body. He thrust into you, dragging himself in and out of you methodically, his teeth digging into your skin with each of your clenching whimpers as you cling to his closest hand. You missed the feeling of his tongue ring, knowing he had taken it out to impress your parents. You longed for getting back to your apartment where you could do his eyeliner and paint his nails again.

You twisted your body, flipping the two of you over and straddling his hips, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you above him before you pressed a heated kiss to his lips, drawing out a humming moan as you sank back onto him. You leaned back, beginning to ride him as his hand traveled up your chest before resting against your neck, making sure your necklace was draped over his knuckles. He held his bottom lip between his teeth, his hips rutting to meet your pace, eyes hazy from the pleasure as he watched his name thump against your chest with each of your movements.

His other hand pressed into your thigh, making you groan, your hand wrapping around his wrist as your eyes burned into his, feeling him throb inside of you. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he nearly whimpered, fingers digging into your flesh as his other hand threatened to tighten around your throat. A lazy smile painted his lips, cheeks slightly flushed as you brushed his dark bangs off his forehead, knotting your fingers in his hair to anchor yourself as you ground your hips against his, driving him deeper into you.

You leaned down, tugging his lip between your teeth before pressing your mouth to his chest, tongue swirling against one of his thickly outlined tattoos. “All yours,” you cooed unevenly, eyes drifting up to meet his grey irises as you tried to keep yourself from finishing too early. At your words, he pulled you back to his lips, moaning against your tongue as he hungrily kissed you.

You could tell by the way his moans dipped to a deeper octave that he was close, hips rolling against yours as his thumb rubbed against your collarbone. The lust burning in his eyes tightened the coil deep within you. You fell out of your rhythm, driving him deeper to reach where you were itching for him the most, your toes curling as you sped up.

Karl pushed himself up, wrapping his arm around your waist and digging his teeth into your shoulder as his hips snapped against yours, digging into your skin as you raked your nails down his back. His other hand slipped beneath the necklace again, wrapping his fingers around your throat and applying pressure as his lips moved to your ear. You clenched around him, feeling his hot breath fan over the beads of sweat forming on your chest.

His tongue lapped against your neck. “I love you,” he groaned, biting you again as you threw your head back, letting your orgasm flourish with each of his final thrusts.

You held him between your thighs, looking down at him as he caught his breath after his own finish. He drew you into another kiss, this time sweeter with a passion that led you to card your fingers through the curls beginning to form at the ends of his hair. You pulled away from him slowly, his hand tucking a strand of your hair out of your face as you concentrated on his expression.

You wet your lips. “Were you serious?” You whispered, searching his soft eyes.

His face flushed with confusion for less than a second. “I didn’t get the opportunity to say it back. I’ve wanted to tell you for a while…”

You could feel your heartbeat in your ear. “Since when?”

His thumb brushed against your bottom lip softly. “Do you remember when I showed up at your place and you took care of me?” You nodded slowly at his words, enjoying the mental image of being wrapped in his arms, sitting on your fire escape as a storm rolled in from the south. You could practically hear the rain on the windows, the coolness of his tongue ring as you kissed him gently, trying not to aggravate the cut on his lip. “It’s been almost slipping out since then,” he muttered, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You scoffed, pushing him back against the pillows as he chuckled. “Only because I went down on you,” you joked, pressing fluttering kisses against his neck and chest.

He shook his head above you. “You went down on me before we even had sex,” he quipped smugly, making you roll your eyes as you tucked into the spot beside him. He turned towards you as you looked up at the ceiling.

“God, don’t remind me,” you grumbled.

He giggled. “I think about it three out of ten times I jerk off,” he gloated, making you cover your face with the cook of his elbow.

Your mind shifted from his vulgar words. "How do you know Clay?" You asked, looking at him with furrowed brows.

He drew in a sharp breath, eyes widening slightly. "It's a long story..." He nibbled on his bottom lip. “He knows Sapnap, too.”

Tag List in comments (because there are so many of you it’s breaking my posts lol) (lemme know if this doesn't work. this whole account is an experiment i stg)

sike

@madsbbg @idiotinnit @mintmochiii @westyywifee @kiritokunuwu @theholycakehole @itgetsatadhazy @himbobimboeater @karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @twist3dtinkerbell @more-like-reyna @teenage0jealousy @deepestofwaters @honk-izzie-was-taken @froggyy06 @ghoulandghost @instabull @glowstick-cafe @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake @anoaeunoia @little-gremlin-in-the-walls @behzzyboo @jenlouvre @sparkletash @clubfairy @aroyaldarknessblr @camerondiaz48104 @malfoysslutt @rat-poisin @alm334 @pachowpachowbucket @cdizzlevalntyne @phsychopathetic @simpforblockguys @froggerrrr @robinslie @ribbitsworld @jemalovesmarvel @victoria-a567 @bunnylotl @thegirlwhowritesawksh-t @roryann04 @sarcasticmichelle @quivvyintheclouds @book-of-anarchy @kiritokunuwu @sacvf @furiouspockettoad @baddiesforcorpse @b00bm1lk @stxrryb1tch @driverpicksthe-music @hiccupofttea @wreny24 @deepestofwaters @fratbro69 @exenestea @indecisivehusky @fallxnly @cdizzlevalntyne @dolcesnightmare @alm334 @argentsprotection @skaratjung @punzcanrailme @sap-naps @aur0rraa @sapnapslittlewhore @denki-exe @angeltears18 @silvemistxe33 @liljennyx3 @andreamalik6 @kris-stuff @moonfaer @kawaiidemocratsforaoc

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

--This is the Anon that wanted to write about ALT! Mark--

--Tw// Fighting, Blood(?), little sad backstory, Death--

--

Mark has always be a troubled little boy ever since he was in kinder garden. With his anger issues and him getting into fights over little things like: Kids looking at him weird, people calling rude names, etc.

After his 17th birthday and the incident, He got these new "powers" and it just made it worse he kills innocent people.

-Cough, cough, cough-

"Why? Why are you doing this to me?" The girl spat out with blood going down her neck and out her mouth.

The man in the air didn't say a word to what she had said he just floated in midair watching the girl suffer.

The woman knew the man was smiling even without a mouth she could still tell this man was happy with her suffering. She tried to get up, but the man knocked her right back down. her view of the world was getting black.

Next thing she knew she was in a room it looked like. It was filled with TV's and rotary phones. She was on a table and there was a chair in a corner to her surprise a man was in that chair. "D-Dave?" she said softly.

The man looked up. "Oh, you're awake!" Dave got up and walked to the woman. "So how are you. Lynn?" he said with a smile. "I'm good Dave my head just hurts. "Well want an ice pack or something?" "Sure, that would be nice." Lynn laid back down on the table. She was too weak to even get up.

Dave came back with an ice pack in his hand and gave it to the woman. "Thank you, Dave." she spoke "your welcome, Lynn. Want anything else?" "No thank you, but thanks' for the offer though" she smiled at the man. He smiled back and walked away. "What a nice man." she said. "I know."

She looked behind her. It was H. I .M.

--

Wanted to add Lynn and Dave into this lmao. But yeah, she got killed by Mark. Lynn did nothing to him btw he just wanted to kill her for some reason. But hope you liked it!

Sorry if it sucks, I'm too lazy to check so<3

Ohhh that’s kinda neat. Like mark killing Lynn.

[leo-interactive-fiction]

Wait!! What about a mirror World scenerio where the ros meet their counterpart like alter E is a big bully or something and for more angst alter MC died to save the ros please ಥ‿ಥ

Haha, that’s an interesting ask! There might be some slight spoilers, so beware. I’ll just label them as Alt’X’ for each character’s mirror. Let’s see...

E: Though they bare a similar appearance, AltE carries a hollow glare over a blood-flecked face. Each step they take dispairs E, who bites back their sunken dismay. “What happened to you...?” AltE glowers, “Everything that didn’t happen to you. But I still have power, and I’ll use it to take back everything I lost.” “Our power wasn’t meant for that--” “My power is meant for whatever I need it for,” AltE interjects, readying their stance, “Kill me if you think you can. I’m not changing course otherwise.” “Wha-- No, I...I don’t want to kill anyone...” “Then you’ll die more pathetic than most.”

R: a figure dressed in a gold-lined suit passes their brimmed hat to their consigliere, causing R’s expression to sour. “Ran back to him, did you?” “A half-truth,” AltR crosses the threshold between them with a chilling levity, “The family isn’t something to disregard. Not when we all could benefit. Isn’t that what we wanted? A carefree life. Is the price of carrying along with a simple deceit really worth giving that up?” “I’ve heard that before.” “Our father did everything in his power to solidify our family’s stability,” AltR extends a manicured hand, “It’s not too late to return, you know. There’s plenty of uses for people like us, and no amount of comfort unavailable to you. Our father can assure to that.” R turns away the hand, “Your father, perhaps. I think I’ll take chances down my own road.” “I’ve yet to hear a truer misfortune. Your abilities were a keen reason to extend my hand, which makes this an unfortunate loss,” AltR turns away, waving to their partner, “Plan B. Get rid of the outliers.”

L: AltL approaches with a familiar Hospian blade in hand, its polished surface casting light into L’s eyes with a deadly sheen. “So you’ve chosen violence...” “I’ve chosen Victory,” AltL stabs their sword into the ground, raising their fingers to the laurel pin in their hair, “The wisest method of achieving peace is through that selfsame method. To conquer is to unify. This is the future I foresee, and the one I aim to bring about.” “I only see the destruction and pain you’ll bring.” “Then you’re short-sighted. Every fire begets flowers in the spring. The rubble I create will bear materials to rebuild for a better tomorrow.” “Any future built upon the sacrifices and anguish of the innocent, even in the name of a greater good, is one I can not abide by!” AltL reclaims their arms, “Abide in your grave! I see only one path before me, and you stand before it!”

V: V aims their pistol at the slender figure before them, a hesitance resting on their trigger figure as AltV stares at them with an expression of heavy grief, “They’ve done so much to you.” V steadies their hand, “Who are you? A spy? Why are you...” “Don’t you recognize yourself?” “You’re different.” “I never ventured over that hill.” V freezes, losing their hold on Silvy and allow the firearm to clatter unceremoniously to the ground. AltV takes a tentative step closer, a hopefulness in their tone, “I can give you a second chance! Don’t you want to see them again?” “Them...?” “You know...the Nomads. Our--” “No, no!” V covers their ears with an agonizing cry, “Get them out of my head! I don’t want to see it again! It’ll happen again!” AltV watches on in grim sorrow, “They’ve done so much to you...”

P: P’s eyes narrow on the golden wreathed spear their doppelganger carries, their tone very nearly spitting acid. “Seeing myself wield that so easily pisses me off...” “And seeing you still wallowing in your weakness makes me sick. I guess they never taught maturity in this world.” “Shut the hell up before I fucking pike you with that damn spear.” “Is creating a string of expletives the height of your vocabulary?” “You must not’ve gotten a good ass-kicking when you were younger if you turned into such a pompous little shit.” The two of them huff, their words crossing over each other simultaneously: “At least I’m not as insufferable as you.”

M: M’s brow raises at the anguished look their alterego gives them past their glasses, their own eyes gazing over the neatly tied hair and manicured outfit until the alter ego speaks up. “You look like an absolute mess! I don’t know how I feel seeing my own body in such an awful condition.” “I don’t...wear glasses...” “What? I’m...” AltM touches their glasses with a puzzled look, “...You know we’re far-sighted, right?” “I can...see fine...I think...” AltM comes close and holds their hand up in front of M’s face, “How many fingers am I holding up?” “...Four...” “It’s one finger.” “That’s...okay...” AltM gives a scrutinizing look, “Are you an idiot?” M gives a light laugh. “How many fingers...am I holding...?” They ask before sending a solid punch into their doppelganger's face. Wiping off the small patch of blood welling on their knuckle, they hum over the unconscious body, “You had glasses...so...I’m a little...surprised...you couldn’t see that...”

Ra: Raven paces around their alter-ego with a darkened glower. Mirroring them, AltRa backpedals with a fretting look. “Are...you okay?” “Look at you,” Raven seethes venomously, “Still being raised on lies, or maybe they’re now truths to you. By that witch.” “I was glad to have been raised by--” “Don’t!” Raven nearly pounces on them, shutting down their vocalization with their own vehement protest, “Don’t you dare say that name!” “What happened between you...?” “Nothing!” “Ka--” “No!” Raven looms over their cowering alter, their fingers tightening around the grip of their knife, “I’m -- We’re -- Raven, and...we’re going to have an...eventful discussion...”

S: S gives a hard look to the figure before them, adorned in a racing jacket emblazoned with a cogwheel symbol etched in gold. S reacts with a voice of clear animosity. “Well, would’ya look at that. Rightfully sponsored, and by Gear no less.” “Ya gunna get on me for makin’ good on an opportunity? Were ya plannin’ on livin’ in that hovel scrapyard forever?” “That’s home to me! That’s where all our family is!” “Our family was better relocated.” “What?” S’s shock gives way to a rising fury, “Ya sold out the yard?! That was...Everything. Ma an’ Pa gave everything to that place!” AltS’s brow creases into a stony countenance, “An’ it wasn’t workin’ out. Family ain’t just gunna pop our dinner into existence.” “Shut the hell up ya damn sellout. I’d rather starve.” “Guess this world ain’t one for common sense,” AltS mutters, taking off their jacket, “Ah well. Let’s get this over with, yeah?”

F: They cross their arms upon coming face to face with AltF, glancing over their baggy street clothes and unkempt hair with a displeasure at their mouth. They easily recognize the bow hanging over their shoulder. “You’ve come to the wrong place for sport, I’m afraid. Your hunt has ended before its begun.” AltF shakes their head, “I’m here for you. To appease you, as ruler of my own world.” “A ruler who would wrap themselves in pauper’s wear. A testement to the sorry condition of your nation, brought upon by weak ruler. But I will be different.” “You misrepreset me. We have relinquished much of our material wealth, but those still yet present hold spirit beyond their means. But such rulership that you anticipate will alienate our proud people--” “I’ll not have you lecturing me upon the finer points of my actions,” F snaps coldly, “Ruling is my birthright! In the progress of my livelihood have I carried the expectation of my duties, and I will spend the rest of it in assurance that I fulfill them, even should it come at a cost to the rest of the world. My duty is to Frenza foremost.” “I see now that it may be unwise to continue a discourse. You’ve blinded yourself to your place in the world, content to your familiarity.” “You think yourself more righteous than your station, Husk. Morality holds little place here,” F releases a self-satisfied smile, “Should my people call for injustices and bay for blood, who am I to refuse their pleas?”

Thank ya for the ask, it was fun to write though it took some time to come up with stuff haha. I hope ya enjoy

[kaminobiwan]

hush

pairing: captain rex  x  reader

summary: you witness a side of Rex he never wanted you to see.

warnings: nightmares in this one loves, and mentions of death in flashbacks. also the f bomb plus other bad words not found in canon

a/n: more?? angst? I’m sorry??? this was requested by the harbinger of feelings™ herself, @morganas-pendragons (who is partially to blame for all my sad ideas lately, thank you I am LOVING this chaos), as well as an anon who wanted to see Rex being calmed down. the anon request was actually from wayyy back from my first milestone celebration, and the prompt word was ‘hush’, for which this fic is named. I am so sorry that took so long lmao and I’m still not done with all of them. but at least this time, it’s hurt AND comfort?

takes place a little while before Lost in Translation. hope you enjoy the return of Rex :-) bloop here’s my taglist

Of course, the first time you witness one of Rex’s nightmares, it’s one of the worst ones of his entire life.

He’d curse the Maker if he thought there really was one. At least, one that listened to clones.

But not even a Jedi could have consoled him after seeing the expression on your face when you found him thrashing around in his bed. The way your eyes shone with pitiful understanding as you’d realized why he would always keep his hair short, no matter what, from the way he’d been tearing at his skull.

Before this, he’d been having a surprisingly good day. Torrent Company’s recon mission had been a success, and back at base, they’d seen Fives and Echo — fresh from ARC training and beaming with new armor yet again. Fives had protested indignantly at being called an ‘ARC Shiny’ while Echo had promised to buy Rex a drink the next time they were both on Coruscant, and then he’d dragged you to his room at the end of the night in a rare moment of laughter and flirtatiousness.

He should have known better than to think he’d get away with one full rotation of peace.

The nightmare comes unexpectedly, his muscles seizing as gunfire flashes behind his eyelids. He’s back on Kamino, the attack on his homeworld replaying in his memories.

So many clones had died. Cadets had died.

The image in his mind fast-forwards to the aftermath of the massacre. He’s overturning the body of a brother clad in familiar colors — it’s Colt, unharmed save for a single lightsaber singe through the chest and a faint lip print left on his cheek.

And then, he’s screaming.

It was her, the assassin from Teth, the one that had wormed her way into his psyche and moved his limbs for him like a puppet on string, toying with his sanity as his own appendages betrayed him. She did this.

Colt’s hands suddenly reach up and grab hold of his face, dragging him downwards, and Rex screeches in terror. “Let go! Colt!”

“We fight together,” Colt’s eyes are unseeing, reflecting death, but his voice is directed to Rex nonetheless. “That’s what we said. But where were you, Rex?”

Another body rises next to him, but Rex is too wild with terror to turn. He can’t look at another dead brother. “You’re not real! Stop! Colt, I’m sorry.”

“Rex.” The voice calls his name again, but this time, it changes from Colt’s into someone else’s. Not a clone’s. “Rex! Wake up!”

His eyes fly open, his fallen brother’s hands morphing into your own as he takes in your face, frantic and lamenting. It’s still dark, but not tinged with the red of alarm lights on Tipoca. You grip his face tighter.

“This is real. I’m real.” Your voice breaks as you press your palms to his cheeks, forcing him to meet your eyes. “I need you to come back to me.”

He can’t speak — can’t even force his lungs to inhale an ounce of oxygen. His chest and throat burn with exertion, but he’s still gasping for air.

“Breathe with me, yeah? Come on, Rex. Breathe.” Where was Colt? Where were the bodies?

He can tell he’s hyperventilating, but it begins to subside as you hum comfortingly and bring his hands to his torso, instructing him to hold his breath and exhale slowly. Your words barely make it to his brain, but he complies numbly, feeling his stomach rise and fall.

“That’s it — there you go.”

Your voice brings him back to earth, and shadows that rim the edges of his vision slowly fade out. You continue to coax him down from the adrenaline of the phantom threat, and his breathing soon evens out.

It was just a dream.

You help him through the comedown for a while longer, making sure he’s still there. As the fragments of reality fall back into place, Rex thanks whoever is listening for your presence.

But as soon as he’s cognizant enough to notice the tears drying on his cheeks, and realize the fetal position he’d assumed in the midst of his thrashing, the panic is replaced with embarrassment, along with something worse.

Anger.

Immediately, he wrenches out of your grip, flinging your hand away in the middle of you stroking his bare back. He registers the hurt that flashes in your eyes, but he’s too irrational to feel anything but disgust — with himself.

You don’t know that, though.

“Rex?” Your gaze is questioning, positively dripping with concern, and it makes him even angrier. He feels like a child.

“Stop that.” He all but growls, and you wince as if he’s struck you. Rather than apologizing, Rex twists his body from you in a half-hearted attempt to hide his storm of horrible emotions. Guilt streaks the red-hot fury that eats at his chest, but he ignores it all. Pushes everything that isn’t cold-blooded indifference away. Get a grip.

Your voice is tentative and small when you speak again — stars, he hopes you’re not crying. He can’t handle that right now. “Stop what, Rex?”

“That look! Stop fucking looking at me like that.” He waves a hand around sharply as he responds, but still doesn’t turn to face you. “I don’t want your pity.”

A sniffle comes from your direction, and Rex shuts his eyes. Fuck. You are crying, and he can tell you’re holding it in as best you can so he can’t hear you.

He doesn’t mean to be so harsh with you, but he can’t help it. Letting you see what’s going on inside his head means dragging you into his mess of a brain, his mess of a life, and you don’t need that. Nobody needs that. You’re already more involved in it than he wanted you to be.

What he needs right now is to be alone. For you to leave, so that he can compartmentalize. He needs the isolation to numb the panic he feels still shaking his bones beneath his skin.

He needs to hide.

But just as he’s about to open his mouth to ask you to get out of his room, you’re shuffling out from under the sheets and standing between his legs, arms on your hips.

“I’m not pitying you, Rex. I’m just worried.”

“Well, don’t be. I’m tellin’ you not to.”

“Tough shit, Rex. You don’t get to decide.” You cross your arms assertively, and he finally looks up at you with similar ire. You’re glaring now, tears gone, but that patronizing compassion is still there. Rex shoves the thought down.

You’re not patronizing him. And yet, he just feels that way.

See, this is why he has to deal with these things on his own.

You call his name again, demanding him to pay attention to you. “You don’t have to wear your heart on your sleeve, Rex, but don’t hide everything all away just because you’re afraid someone might actually care about you.”

His brows furrow defensively. “I’m not —”

“You are. You always do. Because you think you don’t deserve it.” Although you’re speaking softly as to not wake the others in the barracks, your voice is still colored with insistence. Rex would laugh at the contradiction if he wasn’t so shaken. “It’s not up to you to decide what you’re deserving of. You don’t get to tell me how much I should care. You’re the one that needs to stop being so hard on yourself.”

His head lowers as he tries to escape the weight of your words. “I can handle it. I was bred for this.”

“Stop believing that! It’s not fair.”

“Fair to who? You?”

“To you!” You retort, throwing your hands up to accentuate your frustration. “You’re human, not just a clone. If you don’t quit the one-man-army act and open up, you’re gonna explode.” You seemingly deflate, but come down to sit next to him once more. Your hand comes to rest on his, and he doesn’t move it. “How well will you be able to lead your brothers then?”

You’re met with silence, and he can’t think of anything to say to fill it.

Deep down, Rex knows you’re probably right. You sound like Kix, telling him to take care of himself so he can take better care of others, but Rex has never been good at listening to that kind of talk, never been good at cutting himself any slack. He’s not even sure he wants to.

He doesn’t know who he’d become without the responsibility of command.

You squeeze his hand inquisitively, voice probing. “Rex, it doesn’t have to be me, but it has to be someone.” He looks up at you again, feeling drained. He’s tired. “We all want to be there for you. You just…” Trailing off, you search his eyes for any sign of acceptance, and his pupils follow yours as you pause. “You have to let us.”

He knows you don’t have anything left to say, and now it’s his turn to speak. You expect that from him, at the very least. This connection between you, whatever it was, consisted of a give and take. That much, he understood.

Still, it takes him a while to respond.

“I want it to be you.”

Your head tips in question, but you say nothing as you allow him the time to work through what he’s feeling.

“If I open up…I want it to be to you.” He nods as if he’s confirming the thought to himself, and his eyes find yours once more. “Please.”

You stare at him, and for a second Rex thinks he’s said the wrong thing, but then you let out a wry laugh. “If? Rex, you better believe that I’m not gonna quit until you do. In fact, you’re not leaving this bed until you promise you will.”

The mood shifts to a lighter one as you end your threat in teasing, but Rex still feels the seriousness in your statement. Somewhere inside him, gratefulness blooms, but he’s not yet conversationally equipped to tell you that without it sounding wrong to him. So, he places his other hand on top of yours instead.

“Okay.” He breathes. “I promise.”

That earns him a small smile from you, and in his exhaustion, he leans forward, resting his head on yours and clumsily plants a kiss to your eye. Your arms encircle him right away, and he buries his face into your shoulder. Silently, he catches the familiar scent from the fabric you’re wearing, and a smile of his own spreads when he recognizes his blacks on your frame.

“I don’t know how.” Still nestled in your embrace, he croaks out a warning. “But…I’ll try. For you.”

“For you,” you correct him, and he closes his eyes with at the way your affection overwhelms him. “Like I said before. I’ll help you with the rest.”

When he falls asleep again, cradled by you, it’s not a dreamless sleep.

But the dream is a good one.

[221bsunsettowers]

Geralt/Jaskier: All My Thoughts I’ve Been Saving

For @sparklemagpie, who requested the prompt “don’t move, they hit your head really hard.” Thanks for the prompt, I hope you like this!

A note that there is swearing and some blood in this. Also no one dies, I promise (though I can’t promise that the men who go after Jaskier make it out unscatched when Yen and Geralt get back to them!).

Geralt wouldn’t trade the pain in his neck right now for anything. The uncomfortable tilt of his head meant he could keep his gaze on Jaskier’s face while the bard slept on, his head resting on Geralt’s chest, body cradled in the Witcher’s arms, four legs tangled together under the blankets.

This would be their last day together before they split apart for the winter, Geralt to Kaer Morhen, Jaskier to Oxenfurt, and Geralt didn’t have the words he wanted, only the inability to string together the syllables to ask his bard to come with him, not to leave him. So he lay still, taking in every feature of Jaskier’s face, soft and relaxed as he slept.

"Only you could stare quite so loudly, my Witcher," Jaskier murmured with a smile, nuzzling his face into Geralt's neck. Without even looking, he reached up and laid a finger directly across Geralt's mouth. "And don't you start apologizing, Geralt, I adore that you can't keep your eyes off of me." Finger trailing from Geralt's mouth down to right above the start of the blanket, Jaskier sighed, sitting up and running a hand through his rumpled hair. "We should start getting ready. I worry about you making such a long journey already, let alone once winter truly arrives."

Both men sat on opposite sides of the bed now, Geralt gazing at the wall, Jaskier twisting his hands together and apart. Nodding, Geralt tried to turn off awareness of everything but the muscles in his legs, focus only on the action of standing with no emotions or thoughts attached. 

He found this so much harder than he used to.

By the time he had started getting dressed, Jaskier was finished, pack and lute slung across his back, and heading for the stairs. "I'll go scavenge up some easy breakfast for the road, meet me downstairs when you're ready," he called over his shoulder, closing the door behind him.

One piece of armor on, the next piece of armor on. Checked swords. Checked swords again. Counted potions even though no spots are empty. Sighing, Geralt looked around the room one last time, eyes lingering on the rumpled bedsheets before he too walked out the door and closed it behind him.

As he descended the stairs, he noticed the tavern nearly empty, the crowd of bodies pressed against the front door, almost knocking each other over to see whatever it was occurring outside. Geralt moved towards the door only because he needed to get outside, not because of any desire to know what the group of early morning drunks and curiousity seekers were staring at.

Until he heard a scream of pain, intense pain, and took off running, barreling through the crowd, not even registering the swearing and stumbling that he left in his wake.  

Geralt had seen horror and blood in his lifetime, bodies torn to shreds, innocent children who never even made it out of their beds, but this, this was a thousand times worse, this was the thing that stopped him in his tracks. His instincts stuttered to a stop, his body froze, every lesson that had been beaten into him fleeing from his head.

Because it was Jaskier in front of him, in the middle of the crowd, surrounded by his own circle of men, kicking and punching and stomping on his bard. And there was blood, so much blood. It looked like a battle scene Geralt himself might leave behind when a monster had finally been vanquished. Not all the blood was Jaskier's, that much was clear from the various deep cuts his attackers were covered in. One even had a slash on his arm that went clear through to the bone.

But Jaskier was on the ground, not moving, eyes shut, blood dribbling from the side of his so still mouth, a dagger protuding from his stomach. "Jaskier!" The name burst from Geralt in a growl so terrible it had the men already turning tail to run, in a sob so painful it stunned the crowd into silence. Dropping to his knees next to Jaskier, Geralt gently lifted his head into his lap, horrified to discover more blood surrounding a dent in Jaskier's skull. It took everything he had to swallow the bile rising up into his throat, and the effort made him gasp.

"'alt?" Jaskier mumbled, trying to turn his head towards the sound.

"It's me, Jask, everything's going to be fine," Geralt tried to keep his voice steady, like always, like a Witcher did, but every word was shaking as hard as his hands were. "Don't move, they hit your head really hard."

"They were insulting a Witcher," a woman spoke up suddenly from the crowd still gathered. Geralt could smell the fear radiating off her, but then she looked at him again and he could tell the moment the fear transformed into sadness and sympathy. "They were calling the Witcher a monster, and the young man there, he was packing food into a pouch when they said it to them, and he was immediately on them, he was. He was winning too, I swear he was, until more of their friends came up running to hold him down. They called him a-" The woman paused, blushing, staring down at the ground, her words running together even faster. "They insinuated he-that you and he-together, and he told them he would be so lucky, and that's when the one hit his head with the rock, and the other stabbed him through his stomach, so..." She trailed off, before her next words came out a whisper. "We're right sorry about him, your friend, so we are."

Geralt thought he nodded his head at her in thanks, but he couldn't be sure, every part of his being so completely wrapped up in the weak hold Jaskier now had on him, Jaskier clutching at Geralt's hand with featherlight fingers soaked in red. There would be time for rage later, but now there was only time for Jaskier. "Wouldn't change...not a thing..." Jaskier's voice was fading so fast, but Geralt could hear every gutwrenching word. 

"Stay with me, please, stay right here," Geralt begged, pressing his hands over whatever wound looked the worst, but there were so many, and they were all so terrible, his hands were constantly in motion, trembling and slipping. "I need a healer!" 

"We don't have one here." Geralt thought it was the same woman again. "Nearest one isn't for miles."

"It's..." The pause between words, between breaths was getting longer, Jaskier was being stretched thin. "It's okay...glad...glad you're here, with me."

"I'm not going anywhere." For the first time in more years than Geralt could remember, he felt tears sliding down his face, faster and faster, landing on Jaskier's doublet and mixing with the endless stream of blood. "And you don't go anywhere either, you stay right here with me."

"I love you," Jaskier gasped out, and his fingers dropped, his eyes closed, and Geralt could feel each of Jaskier's breaths getting shorter, coming slower, and Geralt screamed, the sound erupting from his throat one he could not recognize. He was choking on tears, and growling, and screaming Jaskier's name, and then he was screaming Yennifer's name, ripping the xenovox from his bag.

Geralt knew Yennifer had arrived from the push of magic from behind, and the loud gasp she let out when she saw Jaskier. She immediately knelt down next to the bard, her fingers hovering over his body. 

"Please Yen, you have to fix him," Geralt was pleading now, and the look Yennifer gave him was full of sorrow and little hope. "Please, take us to Kaer Morhen, please Yen. He'll be safe there while you heal him."

Nodding, Yennifer tried to smile, but Geralt could see her hands shake as she created the portal. Geralt carefully lifted Jaskier into his arms, cradling his head, supporting his back to not jostle the dagger sticking out of his front. When he took the next step, they were directly outside Kaer Morhen, and there were Witchers running out towards them, but Geralt didn't even register them. Striding past them, he hurried as fast as he dared to his room, gently laying Jaskier out on the bed before turning pleading eyes towards Yennifer.

"You did the right thing not taking the dagger out," Yennifer said, and Geralt gave a tight nod. "But we have to take it out now if we have any chance for the wound to heal." 

"It will heal," Geralt said determinedly, and Yennifer laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing softly.

"Of course," she said, eyes kind, but even she couldn't hide the deep concern that flickered through them. "I need you to hold him down in case he awakens while I'm getting the dagger out. It's not going to be pleasant. We need something to press against the bleeding until I can close the wound too."

Within seconds, Geralt had tossed every blanket and shirt he could find onto the bed next to Jaskier's still form. Outside the room, Vesemir, Lambert, and Aiden had gathered, staring at the scene in front of them in confusion. "What the fuck is going on?" Lambert yelled across at Geralt, but Geralt ignored him completely, climbing onto the bed, wrapping his hands around Jaskier's biceps, pressing his legs against his bard's, and nodded at Yennifer. 

"I've got him, Yen," Geralt promised, and she nodded back.

"I know you do," Yennifer said softly, and then took a deep breath, reaching for the dagger. With a swift move, she pulled the dagger out straight, and Jaskier bucked, a scream of pain erupting from his bloodstained lips. 

"I'm here, Jaskier, I'm here," Geralt chanted, holding Jaskier down as hard as he dared, resting their foreheads against each other. "You're going to be alright, Yen's here, we're going to take care of you."

Jaskier went limp again, and Geralt turned a panicked gaze at Yennifer, but she forced a smile across her face. "That's good, he won't feel this, it's a good thing Geralt." 

Stripping Jaskier's clothes off him, down to his smallclothes, Geralt clenched the destroyed doublet between his fingers. "This was one of his favorites," he said softly, and shook his head quickly, as if trying to jostle the thought out of his mind. Letting the doublet fall to the floor, he grabbed the nearest cloth and pressed it against Jaskier's stomach as the blood spilled out. When one cloth was soaked, he reached for another, and another, continuing on until a shirt came up clean, and he saw Yennifer collapse onto the bed.

"Yen, are you alright?" Geralt called out, looking over to find Yennifer nodding, an exhausted smile on her face. Taking a deep, slow breath, he looked down at Jaskier. His bard's breathing was steady, all blood vanished, skull smooth and whole, stomach marred only by a faint scar. Geralt felt his body sag in relief, adrenaline pouring out of him in waves and leaving him drained and exhausted.

"You saved his life," Yen said, raising herself up enough to squeeze Geralt's shoulder, dipping her head down to meet his eyes with a smile. 

"He almost died because of me, Yen," Geralt choked out, running a soft hand through Jaskier's sweat-soaked hair. "Those men, they called him names because he was with me, yelled at him that he was sleeping with a monster-"

"And of course Jaskier did what Jaskier does," Yen said with a fond chuckle. She lowered her voice so the others couldn't overhear, even with their advanced senses. "Geralt, he chose his actions because he loves you, you know that. And you're not at fault for that. If anything, you actively tried to make him hate you first." This startled a chuckle out of Geralt, who smiled fondly down at Jaskier. "Now, I need to go rest up and recover, and then I need to go see some men about choosing to put their dagger in our bard."

"Not without me," Geralt growled, feeling like he could smell the blood all over again. "I need everyone to know what happens if they lay a finger on Jaskier."

"Of course," Yennifer nodded, "I wouldn't expect anything less from you." She took Geralt's hands in hers and squeezed them tightly, before standing up. 

Reaching over, she took Jaskier's hand in hers, holding it for a moment before gently placing it back down on the bed and turning to leave.

"Yen," Geralt called, and Yennifer turned around. "Thank you. I wouldn't expect anything less from you either." Yen smiled, and exited the room.

“So he fought them because he didn’t like them saying he was fucking a Witcher?” Lambert spat out, crossing his arms over his chest, and Geralt was suddenly reminded of the others in the room. “Don’t understand why you’d give a fuck about someone who would get the shit kicked out of them just to protect their own damn reputation.” Geralt growled loudly, lunging for Lambert.

“Didn’t like that they called Geralt a monster,” Jaskier mumbled, and the Witchers spun around, Geralt hurrying to the side of the bed , dropping to his knees as he reached for Jaskier. “Really like the fucking, quite proud of that actually.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice shook as he grabbed Jaskier’s hand, lifting it to his lips.

“Hello dear heart,” Jaskier smiled, leaning into Geralt's touch. "I must admit, I wasn't sure I would see you again."

"Jask, please don't say that, you-I, I couldn't ever..." With a deep sigh, Geralt lowered his face into the crook of Jaskier's neck, inhaling his scent, taking in deep breaths, feeling his body finally starting to relax.

Vesemir ushered the other Witchers away, Lambert calling back with a deep laugh, "Proud of the fucking, I like that, that bard's got balls!"

"Well if he approves," Jaskier said, rolling his eyes, and Geralt laughed, and then just as suddenly he was crying, great heaving sobs soaking Jaskier's skin. "Oh sweetheart, Geralt, my love," Jaskier mumured soothingly, laying kisses on every inch of Geralt he could reach, opening his arms as Geralt crawled onto the bed and carefully wrapped himself around his bard, clinging to him tightly.

"I love you too," Geralt said softly, feeling the answering catch in Jaskier's breath. Propping himself up on his elbows, cupping Jaskier's face in his hands and bringing their lips together, Geralt pressed their foreheads together. "I should have told you that before. I should have asked you to come with me to Kaer Morhen like I wanted to."

"Well, you have me here now," Jaskier teased gently, smiling when he saw the happy crinkle in Geralt's eyes. "There you are, love. My love."

"Yours," Geralt promised, moving away just long enough to drag the heavy fur blanket up from the bottom of the bed and over their bodies, before wrapping himself completely around Jaskier again. Feeling Jaskier relax, breathing evening out into a healing sleep, Geralt let his aching muscles sink into the bed, his head resting over Jaskier's heart. "Forever, Jask. Yours."

[baka-monarch]

What The Fuck!?

(A.N: before we start with the story I just wanna say that this is based off of this post by @lance-alt​ . Also, alot of creators on here got mentioned in the story, like actual mentions so if you got mentioned just know that I love what you create and wanted to include you because I love your interpretations of the sides, and you do not have to read this at all if you don’t want to and if you want me to take you out of the story please DM me and tell me so that I can)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: SLIGHT MENTION OF VORE FOR LIKE TWO SECONDS, MENTION OF USYEMPETHETIC SIDES, SHITTING N SOME HEADCANONS EVEN THOUGH I MYSELF LOVE THEM

The Sides are lost. They find themselves in a familiar and yet unknown place.

They will soon find someone dark. And someone far too shiny and bright… Too innocent.

The Sides meet…

their fanon-selves.

 ...

 It had started like any normal day. The sides existing as a part of Thomas, helping him with his daily dilemmas, the usual things. Until Thomas took a nap. Then the sides suddenly found themselves in a white void. It wasn’t a dream, they could confirm that much from the other dreams that Thomas had. Also from the confused looks on the twin’s faces who were in charge of dreams, like how Remus had caused Thomas’ nightmare that they had disgusted in Dealing With Intrusive Thoughts.

“Where are we?” Logan spoke up, voicing everyone’s concerns.

“Wherever it is, Thomas has never thought about it before.” Roman muttered as he glanced around.

“Yeah, I know his brains can be scooped out at times, but not even he can have a mind this empty.” At Remus’ comment, most of the others cringed in varying degrees, with Logan being the only one unaffected, only rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“Although your metaphor usage could use some work, you are correct. This place is too empty to be a part of Thomas.” Logan conceded.

“If this isn’t Thomas...then where are we?” Virgil gleaned around wearily, trying to come up with his own explanation for this situation.

“It’s really blank here...maybe Thomas is in a coma?” Roman tried, to which Virgil’s eyes widened.

“Impossible, how would we be active if he is not?” Logan debated.

“I don’t know! Do you have any ideas, Sherlock Drones?” Roman rebutted, causing Logan to roll his eyes and fix his glasses.

“Unfortunately, no. There is not enough evidence...anywhere to make a proper inference on the situation.” Logan finished adjusting his glasses by the time he finished, gaining an annoyed huff from Roman.

“Heya, kiddos? Maybe we shouldn’t argue. We’re all confused right now, and getting upset isn’t going to get us anywhere.” Patton butted in to make sure things didn’t escalate.

“Thank you, Patton.” Logan gave a curt nod of agreement.

“Fiiiine!” Roman whined after a bit.

“It would be wise to explore, to see if we can find any clues as to where we are.”

“I’ll do it!” Remus jumped in. “Who knows, maybe we all died a gruesome death!” He cackled.

“No need.” Janus approached the group from behind, having already explored himself. “Look behind us.” When turning the sides were surprised to find the area behind them was not all whit. On it there were words like what one would find in a google doc currently describing their situation as they lived through it. 

“What the fuck?” Virgil muttered. He had a Tumb.lr so he knew what fanfiction was, and this looked like it. “This can’t be happening…” He groaned, knowing it was happening.

“Aw, they’re writing about us Virge! Like the people on that one app you use.” Patton cooed, only knowing of the fluff part of fanon.

“Pat, you don’t understand. This isn’t good.”

“Oh nonsense kiddo.” Patton dismissed. “Have you guys seen the art they draw of us? It’s so cute!” Virgil internally cringed knowing that not all of it was like that.

“Either way,”-Janus cut off their small conversation.-“We need to find a way out of here.” Janus focused slightly more on Virgil for his next comment. “Whether this is real or not.” Virgil shivered at the thought of them not being real, or even acting like they do in the things that people create. 

Everyone agreed, and soon they were on their way to explore this strange new environment.

 …

 Soon enough, however, the sides are lost. Which brings us back to where this story began. As they searched for their original location, or even the mysterious floating words, they come upon a familiar and yet unknown place. It looks strikingly like a Disney movie kingdom. With one half, filled with bright colors, lush fields, enchanting forests, and a large white castle with a red roof. The other half being dark and dangerous, the colors fading, plants rotting, instead of animals there only creatures of unknown origin, and in the middle, a black, crumbling, castle, with striking green roofing. It was almost as if...it were made for the twins.

In fact, as they got closer they could hear two far off shouts, with simultaneous silhouettes, motioning towards them, as if pointing them out to someone...or something, else.

“Uh...guys?” Virgil trailed off wondering if the others had noticed.

“On it.” Romas was quick to pull out his sword, Remus quickly following suit with his morning star.

It was unnecessary however, as once the silhouettes were in view, they looked exactly like the twins. 

“Wha…” Roman lowered his sword as he saw this. As they got closer more figures came into view. All of which looked like the sides to varying degrees. There were thousands. Some were small, some were even giants, and there were alot that weren’t even human.

“Oh! Hi there kiddos!” A Patton(?) came running past the twin’s doppelgangers. “You’re probably really confused right now, I know alot of us were when we appeared!” The sides just looked at the Patton look-alike  dumbfounded. The first to break out of it was Logan.

“I do not wish to appear rude, but, who are you and where are we?” Logan queried.

“Oh, I’m Patton by @baka-monarch !” Patton chirped. “And you’re in The Imagination!”

“The what now-?” “How did you-?” Both Roman and Virgil asked at the same time.

“Hm?” The other Patton tilted his head confused.

“One at a time now kiddos…” Their Patton silently reminded them. Roman nodded to Virgil to let him go first.

Virgil inhaled, taking his cue. “How did you say a mention? That only works when typed in social medias.” Virgil wondered confused.

“Oh! That’s just my fander creator kiddo!” This Patton didn’t miss a beat as he answered happily. Virgil stared at him blankly as he came to a horrifying conclusion.

“We’re in a f*****g fanfiction.” He jumped slightly at his bleep out. “What was that?”

“Oh, Jan Jan did that I wouldn’t have to hear any vulgar language.” All of them looked back at Janus who looked forward, uninterested, definitely trying not to hide his embarrassment at what this other him did, definitely not. 

“...Okay… My turn!” Roman exclaimed. “What is “the Imagination”?” He used air quotes.

“Yeah, I was wondering that too, Mr. The 6th Day clone.” Remus added.

“Oh! Don’t you know? It’s the place you and Roman can go to to summon anything.You can even change the entire world around you!” Patclone chirped.

“What.” They all said in unison with worry, apart from the twins who were excited.

“Yeah! Isn’t it cool!” Patclone said oblivious to the consequences of the twins having this power could cause. “Oh yeah, do you want me to introduce you to everyone?”

“Please, I am intrigued about how our counterparts might act.” Logan conceded.

“Okie dokie then! Follow me!”

 …

 It had been a few hours at this point and they still weren’t even an eighth of the way through yet. There were so many headcanons, variations, AUs, OCs, OOCs, designs, everything. It was almost too much to handle.

“-this is @tscampfireau ‘s sides from their au-” The Virgil hissed and bit towards them as they almost walked on their pentagram that they were making out of… was that blood? The Patton and Logan were helping them by t-posing as a barrier against the other sides. “-yeah they can be a...fun bunch to hang out with. Oh, and here’s @bleepblopbloop56 ‘s sides.”

“How, and why are they hotter than us..?” Roman mumbled to Virgil, only getting a weird look in response.

“Then there’s @mango-shpango ‘s and @rondoel ‘s ones, he’s got a lot-” Patclone shrugged it off, but King caught all of their eyes. He didn’t have to look like the one they knew for them to know who it was… “Oh, hey there @that-prey-lounge and @tiny-peter-rabbit ‘s sides!” He greeted them. As they turned a corner there was a group of sides that were made of metal like robots. “Oh, there’s @burnadolt ‘s fnaf au!” He waved. As they approached a tavern the last group greeted was, “Heya @nommy-thoughts ‘ sides, how are you adjusting?” there were several positive responses from many of them, and as the sides looked closer they could see that a few were smaller than a human hand not only that but nearby (possibly made by someone else), were the sides they’d seen from afar earlier that were giants.. They hadn't noticed them yet here because of how closely compact the buildings were and how their size made what was visible from their perspective look like buildings.

As they all entered the tavern, they saw that there was only one group of sides here. “Hiya guys! New sides I’d like you to meet @baka-monarch ‘s group.” There were several different hellos. “And my friends, I’d like you to meet… to meet..? I’m sorry but who’s your creator?” Virgil was the one to answer.

“@thatstha-MMPH!” Virgil was only part of the way through before the other’s Janus made him slap his hand over his mouth as the other sides in the room went pale. “What was that for?” Virgil asked, his voice muffled by his hand.

“You can’t say his name. Not here.” Patclone explained cryptid. They all fell into an awkward silence, until Roman changed the subject.

“Why are there...two of you?” Roman observed.

“Oh!” Patclone chirped. “I was created just for this au! Just so I could be your guide!” He paused for a moment thinking before continuing. “I guess I’m like the Monika of this world.” Again, everyone paled, some not understanding, others...understanding too well. “Welp, I guess you want to go explore now! Jan Jan, do you and Patty wanna go have fun while they look around?” Both mentioned sides blushed.

“I told you not to call me that…” Janus mumbled as he took Patclone’s hand and the other Patton stood up to quickly join them as they went off to a separate room.

 …

 Only an hour had passed and the sides had already split off into groups with their counterparts. The Roman’s comforting each other while being completely random, some of them being sad little puffballs that the strong egotistic Roman’s had decided to protect, while others were a mix or just completely unsympathetic and degrading anyone the came in contact with, especially the Virgils. Virgil had kind of separated himself from the other Virgils since 90% of them were cowering away from everything and just having constant anxiety attacks, while the few who were different either had power that they abused, or were fawning over the other sides. The Logans had formed an army of science lead by the Logan from @askdarksidelogan and the other dark sides from his au, this Logan was very robotic looking, cruel, and unfeeling...well, almost unfeeling as the Deceit from his au was his boyfriend and the Remus was really close friends with him. Janus was busy trying to coral in all his different counterparts as some of them made plans to kill everyone around them and end the government, while others were hiding due to PTSD about the angst they have been through. The Remuses just vibed in their corner, killing, being gross, and annoying the other aspects. Finally the Pattons. Patton had basically adopted the ones that were child-like and too innocent for their own good while avoiding the unsympathetics that were teaming up with other unsympathetics and the ones who were...horny… Actually everyone was avoiding the horny ones.

But that was just the simplified version of the chaos. Logans were capturing people to test, Deceits were arguing over their name even though one was already canon, Romans were either being complete idiots or crying silently to themselves, while they were targeted by the unsympathetics along with the Virgils, everyone too scared to even try to tussle with the army of Logans.

Virgil sat back on a hill and watched it all unfold. How had the community gotten this far without this much chaos? He had no idea. A few other counterparts were up there with him but he didn’t mind since they mostly seemed chill. A Virgil approached and sat down next to him exhausted, and judging by the paint he was covered in he had just come from the Romans’ corner.

“Romans a little too much?” Virgil tried making conversation.

“Yeah…” He breathed. “It was getting a little too rowdy and I wanted to get my Roman out of there so he wouldn’t get hurt.” With no Roman in sight, Virgil assumed that he had been unsuccessful.

“So, which Roman is yours?” Virgil wondered.

“Hm?” The counterpart tilted his head confused until it clicked. “Oh, no, he’s not down there right now.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny Roman. “See.”

“Oh…” Virgil was at a loss of words. What does a person say to that? After that they just sat there in silence as Virgil’s counterpart and the Roman snuggled slightly through a hand to body contact. 

“So…” Virgil decided to try again. “What’s it like, y’know, being shipped?” Virgil wondered, seeing how it seemed these two were in some kind of relationship. Virgil had always found it kind of weird, but, maybe there was more to it…

“I mean, it’s like any other relationship I guess… falling in love and deciding to be together.” The counterpart mumbled as the tiny Roman rubbed his hand to comfort him.

“But isn’t it weird how it isn’t real? How, you’re literally just playing out your creator’s fantasies because they enjoy the idea of you being together?” Virgil wondered.

The counterpart just shrugged. “I try not to think about it… but, it really isn’t that weird, even if we’re fictional characters we have memories, motives, morals, opinions, feelings. Those are real. Even if they aren’t created by us, they are real. Every thought, every motion, every breath. That is us. Just because it was written, drawn, or even just imagined, it happened and that makes it real. Makes this feeling real.” He explained as he rubbed the little head of his Roman.

“Huh I… I guess you’re right, I never thought of it that way.” Virgil shrugged.

“No one does. Why do you think people are told not to cry over fictional deaths when they actually had feelings for a character, platonic or not?” The counterpart said. “It’s just a story on the outside, something thought to not affect people even though when our memories are shared with them, it can change them.” Virgil looked at his counterpart, curiosity growing about how he had so much knowledge.

“Who’s your creator?” Virgil finally asked.

“Why do I have to have one?”

“Touche.” 

They went back to a comfortable silence. It was nice. Until this one Janus came.

“Hey, Virgil, does Roman mind if I had him for a bit?” They asked.

“I don’t mind at all!” The tiny side exclaimed as he got on Janus’ hand. They soon left, but when that Janus vired the Roman they weren’t far enough away from Virgil for him not to catch a glimpse. He shivered. 

“Is that normal?” He wondered.

“Depends on the part of the community, but pretty normal and usually safe, so don’t worry.” The counterpart comforted him. It barely helped but at last Virgil knew that that Roman was safe… probably.

“Can I try!” Remus came brelling up the his, straight (heh) to the counterpart.

“Only if you want to.” They replied.

“I do!” Remus wriggled with excitement.

“Alright, let's go find you one of the groups of sides either with the power to shrink you or are giants.” Virgil led Remus off the hill as Remus kept talking about everything that could go wrong but probably wouldn’t.

Weird. Was all Virgil could think as he watched them leave.

 …

 He saw a lot that day but never saw that Virgil again, as if he had vanished mysteriously. It didn’t matter to him right now though as he had been stuck with babysitting duty over all the little kid sides.

“F*** this.”

 …

 Virgil looked over the story he just read one more time. It was written by a small creator called @baka-monarch , who focussed more on reblogging than they did their own content.

“That was trash.”

…

…

…

“Reblog.”

[fallen-angel-92]

Bury the Light

Chapter One: New Beginnings

Warnings: Cussing, Violence and Blood

Rating: Mature

A/N: This fic is one of my old therapy fics and is my first time writing for Cyberpunk 2077. I hope you all enjoy reading and please let me know if you would like me to continue. I would also like thank @tilltheendwilliwrite​ @bolontiku and @henrycavillobsessed​ for being my support and inspirations to continue writing. Thank you.

Summary:  Her life was a hard one. When she gets the chance to heal a person closest to her, she takes it. Now she is a world that is completely different from the one she knew. As if it wasn't difficult already, she is finds her other half and is forced to try and avoid him at all costs, which is difficult considering he is a well known rockerboy by the name Johnny Silverhand.

The moon sat high above the tall buildings while the streets below bustled with life. A lone figure stood on the edge of one of the tall buildings, a single brown eye, glowing with anger and annoyance.

“Sorry Amaya!" A perky female voice called out sheepishly.

Amaya simply closed her eye as she responded back with a cold agitated voice, ”I don’t appreciate being brought to a realm and being made to wait for you. I have better things to do, I trust you have kept your end of the bargain?”

She turned around to face the small flying fairy, who was now giving her a sheepish look. It was then her pointed ears seemed to perk up, as she puffed out her rosy colored cheeks and replied back with a poutiness within her voice, “Yes I have kept my end. She will wake in the morn, with no memory of you, only of him and of their past. He has begun to make his way back to her.”

She stopped, letting her cheeks return to normal as she looked at Amaya, with sympathy coating her honey colored eyes. Reaching up and pushing some of her long blond hair behind her ear, she continued more soberly,

“Are you really okay with this, Amaya?”

Amaya simply turned back around to face her new surroundings as she responded with a monotone voice,

“Yes, Anji. It is better for her if she doesn't remember that she birthed this abomination… Now tell me why I am here in this realm.”

Anji sighed in defeat as she fluttered next to her, looking to the massive city with sorrowness as she spoke again,

“This realm is a very chaotic one. It is similar to the Earth you know of, however, this one is more technologically advanced. There should be no demons here, however, demons have begun to appear, mostly here in this city, and we don’t know why,”

Amaya simply let out a low growl as she gripped her sheathed katana with her left hand and slowly began to walk away. Her right hand bagan to mess with a simple black eye patch that was stationed over her left eye. Her shortened black hair began to dance as the wind began to pick up around her. Just as she was about to answer, she instantly sensed that something was amiss near the building she was currently standing on. Frowning, she closed her eye, focusing on specific sounds, trying to pinpoint what was causing her senses to blade at her

" Johnny! Johnny! Let me go! " A female voice screamed out in fear and anger.

Amaya tilted her head slightly as she opened her eye, looking downward at the small outline of some type of vehicle. It was then she heard Anji sigh sadly as she spoke solemnly,

"Another kidnapping… They have been happening more freq-"

Before she could say any more, Amaya reached behind her, pulling her black hood over her head and allowing it cover most of her face, leaving only her mouth visible, before jumping off the building. As she fell, Amaya made sure that her feet landed upon the vehicle with enough force to crush it. Slowly, she begins to stand straight up, her eye scanning her surroundings until her sight lands upon a broad man holding a brunette haired woman within his grasp. Both were looking at her with awe and disbelief as she slowly jumped off the car and took two steps toward them. Amaya’s boots were the only thing that could be heard within the small little parking area.

The man threw the woman to the side causing her to grunt in surprise as she hit the ground with a loud thump. Amaya tilted her head slightly as she watched the man spring forth blades, reminding her of a praying mantis. However, deciding not to dwell on it, she shifted slightly allowing her left hand and to rest on her hip, showing that she was armed to him. Her thumb sat underneath the guard, waiting for a split second until the man decided to charge her. Amaya shifted her body, moving her right back, bending her knees slightly, allowing her right hand to rest upon the purple and black decorated handle.

She allowed her thumb to lift her blade slightly from the sheath, allowing the deep silver and purple blade to shine underneath the moon. When the man was nearly a few inches away Amaya struck. To the human eye, she was nothing but a single black blur going from in front of the man to behind him. However, just as she used her right hand to push the blade back into its sheath, the man that was behind her stood still as if he had been frozen. Just as the guard hit the sheath the man fell to ground, bleeding from a thousand cuts to his body.

Amaya looked over to where the woman was, only to find her now standing and seemingly staring at her with fear in her eyes. However, before Amaya could do anything, she instantly felt a presence behind her. Just as she turned around, she instantly noticed a dark haired man falling to the ground. Amaya could instantly see blood flowing from underneath him. Instinctively, she went to him. Sliding her katana into a special holder that was strapped onto her waist, Amaya placed her left hand under his head, while her right hand reached for a small star glass bottle that was safely tucked away in the pocket of her long jacket.

Once it was in her grasp, she could hear the man groan while bringing the bottle to her lips and using her teeth to remove the lid from the top. Amaya allowed the lid to be dropped to the ground, shifting the man in her arm slightly so he would be sitting up, she brought the bottle to his lips.

“Alt-” He muttered out weakly, his dark brown eyes seemingly had a hard time focusing on her.

“Alive. Minor injuries. Drink.” Amaya responded, with a hint of command as she tilted the green liquid to his lips.

The man grimaced as he slowly began to drink the green liquid, after Amaya saw him empty the bottle, she looked toward where his wounds were and hummed, contently, as they began to heal and close up. It is then that she feels a hand gently touching her face, causing her to turn back to look at the man, his hand fell away and his eyes closed. Amaya then feels a large sting in the center of her chest, however, she doesn’t dwell on it long as the woman from before screams out worriedly,

“JOHNNY-”

Amaya instantly turns her head to look over at her, watching her with a slight glare as the woman quickly takes the man, whom she yelled the name of, Johnny, from her. Amaya’s slight irritation turns into amusement as the woman then notices that he bore no wounds. Her honey colored eyes turned to Amaya, who quickly stood up as to not allow the woman to see her face, and asked in fear and awe,

“What did you do to him?”

Amaya simply let out a small snort as she responded blandly,

“Healed him. I suggest you gather him and go home. After all you don’t want to be caught by anymore ‘monsters’.“

With that, Amaya pocketed the now empty bottle, turning toward the nearest exit, and left the two there within the empty area. Amaya didn’t know where she was going but she eventually made her way near some water. She scanned the area to ensure there was no one around before ripping off her hood and lifted her shirt away from her chest.

“Fucking shit!” Amaya growled out as she began to pace back and forth.

Anger festered within her. It was then the fairy that brought her to the realm, that was now to be her supposed temporary home, appeared.

“Why did you run off!? It is hard to follow you big people around-”

“What is the meaning of this!? I was not made aware that soulmates were a thing here!” Amaya demanded angrily as she continued to pace back and forth. Her hands were clenching and unclenching trying to keep her anger under control. Anji looked at her with confusion, which infuriated Amaya more. Not bothering to say anything more, she reached for the zipper of her jacket and pulled it down along with her shirt that was underneath, revealing the tattoo that was now present where none had been before.

Anji put her hands over her mouth in surprise and happily stated,

“Congratulations! Amaya you found your soulmate first try!”

“Are you daft!? That man does not know what kind of abomination that fate has given him! I will not allow it!” Amaya growled out through gritted teeth.

Anji puffed out her cheeks as she responded back with a hint of her own agitation,

“Whether you like it or not fate will get you two together! Besides, at least you found your other half, so shouldn’t you be happy with that?”

Amaya shook her head, anger still burning within her very core, knowing that the fairy wasn’t understanding the dangers that the man now faced. Amaya was thankful that the bond was not fully formed, as he was the only one that touched her, and she, thanks to gloved hands, didn't touch him.

“Enough of this. I’ll figure out what to do about this later. Tell me where I am to reside and what needs to be done about these demons.” Amaya growled out as she stopped pacing and turned fully to face Anji.

Anji beamed as she allowed a yellow glow to envelop her hand. She then created a large circle that began to glow completely yellow before the center changed into a large room. Anji then gave a mock gesture for Amaya to enter the portal. Amaya gave Anji a small snarl as she stepped through the portal and into the large room.

“Welcome to your new place of residence! Courtesy of elder Makalius. This penthouse is above a large run down club, which you can make into a headquarters of sorts for new recruits, or change it into a new club to make money.”

Amaya let out a sigh as she walked over to the large bed and sat down upon it, retaking her sword from belt and placing it between her legs just before.

“I trust you have connections to help me get integrated into this world. As for recruits, I am no leader and I will not send any humans to meet their deaths to any sort of demon scum that I can’t eradicate on my own.” Amaya stated, with a glare at Anji.

Anji let out a sigh of her own as she continued onward with a small frown,

“As much as I hate to say it, Amaya Sparda, it will not only be demons you face here. In this city there is no balance. Chaos rules the streets and corruption rules the law. Magic has completely faded from this world, so I am limited on what I can do. You are going to need people who are familiar with different aspects of this realm, especially the cybernetic portion.”

“Cybernetics?” Amaya looked at Anji with tired disbelief.

“Yep, like I told you this world is a lot more advanced than the world you came from. Everything here is more scientific rather than supernatural. The only other worldly thing here would be the soulmates and the connections soulmates develop, but other than that most of these people will not believe that demons, angels, or anything supernatural exists. I can see that you are exhausted though, you can place your weapons on the nightstand. Why don’t you try and get some sleep, Amaya? We’ll start our hunt tomorrow morning.” Anji spoke, when she noticed Amaya slouch over more with her forehead leaning against the handle of her sword.

“Very well...” Amaya replies back with exhaustion coating her voice, standing up and walking over to the table that Anji pointed to, she places her katana and her guns upon it.

Amaya stares at them for a brief moment before returning to the bed, removing her boots and climbing into the middle, laying down before allowing sleep to claim her. It seemed this world was in for rude awakening that came in the form of a being of untold power.

[isolemnlyswearpevensie]

Lovers By Chance, Goth By Choice | Snape x OC

{parody fic, based on my immortal :p another thing I found deep in my google drive. thought it deserved to see the light of day. one of my best friends requested this while intoxicated and I just had to write it. don’t take it too seriously lol} 

Warnings: Smexy Themes uwu

Time/Era: Lightning era :)

Word Count: 1.1k shes long ^.^ like snapes dick

Summary: After Arvil Willow Way Urie gets put into detention by Professor Snape, things happen and no one sees it happen </3

Request: Please write a fic where snape kisses me in front Of everyone and doesn’t care who sees. I have like three names and i am GOTH. 

A/N: Rawr i <3 prof snape SM! Thx for the request </3 enjoy babey!!!!! WEEEEEEEE

masterlist

Hi. My name is Avril Willow Way Urie and I am goth, incase you couldn’t tell. I LOVE panic! at the disco, Brendon Urie is basically my husband. I’ not related to him no matter how similar our names are but I really wish we were because hes the sexiest man I have ever seen in my life. Anyway, I have short black hair that is cut uneven because it is CURLY and it doesn’t matter. The uneven cut represents my chaotic emotions. You wouldn’t understand them. I am gothic, and NOT a prep. If you call me a prep I will get very angry and flip you off everytime I see you. I love fishnets, like I am wearing today. Today I am wearing a ripped mayday parade shirt with a skirt that has planets all over them. I wear planets because i like space and i am SMART!!!!!!!!1 I have my big platform boots with ripped red fishnets under them. My eyeliner is smudged all over my eyes from crying. I am EMOTIONAL that is why i am emo. My nails are long and sharp just like draco likes. Did I mention I’m dating draco malfoy? Aka the HOTTEST PERSON ALIVE besides brendon urie. (A/N: If you don’t like panic! You are a PREPZ and I dont lik u)

“Miss. Way-Urie I will not have someone talk to me like this. Detention tonight at 8!” Professor Snape screams at the top of his lungs. 

“Omg wtf??? I’m just talking to my super sexy boyfriend Draco! What are you? Jealous?” I smirk, tucking a jagged piece of hair behind my pierced ears. I have 8 piercings in each ear and my tongue also has a stud in it. 

“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE THIS!” Prof snape started crying making his black liquid eyeliner drip down his depressed face. Maybe he was emo like me. Prof are NOT emo tho so idk. My face grew sad and I started crying. This made draco angry. 

Draco was wearing a bleach tie died (A/N: get it? Died because im goffick) MCR shirt and acid washed jeans that were half black and half neon pink. Boyz can wear pink, you kno. It’s ok he’s just very in-touch with his emotions. His hair was pulled into big spikes on top of his head n they were died blue. He wore his red contax which made him luok even more goth.

“DONT SPEAK To MY SUPER SMEXY GIRLFRIEND LIKE THAT YOU TOE!!!!!” DRACO sobs, standing up and pushing me behind him. My big platform leather boots jingled and i almost tripped. 

“DRACO YOU PUSHED ME!” I gasped and started crying harder. Big black striped of makeup stroleld down my face like a galaxy. Im like space remember lol

“I”M SORRY BABY I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!” Draco sprinted out of the room but left his chain on the desk. I grabbed it with my long nails and dashed after him. I fount him gasping for air against the piller. 

Herminny Granger came up and shoved me to the ground. She giggled and ran away. Fucking prepz. I put my middle finger up at her. 

~Time skipz to tonight lol~

“I have to go, draco” I gasped, looking depressed. 

“What? Are you inliove with professor snap or something?” draco weaped while singing “im not okay” my mcr. 

“So what if i am?” i said sneakily, closing my closet. I wore a big poofy dress with ripped black material and corset stuff on the front and back. My lips adorned blood read lipstick and my eyes were dead on the inside. I hummed dear maria count me in as i got dressed. Draco turned around so he wouldnt see me change because that is PORN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I pushed draco over so he hit the floor and walked into prof snap’s office. 

“SNAPEY!” I yelled. He was in the corner looking sad and depressed, watching rain fall from the heavens. 

“Oh. hello there.” he ejaculated as his long nose pointed in my direction and i felt tears wheel in my eyes. He stood and pulled off his cloak to reveal a fall out boy t shirt and ripped skinny jeans with doc martens and chains and zippers everywhere. 

I GASPED “YOURE GOFFICK???????” I was stunned and he strutted over, shaking his thick, juicy, greasy ass. 

“Yes, and emo and goth and punk and and alt and and indie and underground and a soundcloud rapper and in love with you.” He towards over my small frame and looked into my dark black and silver with small golden flecks orbs. I gasped and almost fainted. 

“What about draco?” my voice shaked as he started singing death of a bachelor by my favorite band, the hot panic1

“Forget about that dog poop bag. You are all i need please marry me and become Avril Willow Way Urie Snape.” His mouth covered mine and i moaned into his lips. His tongue fought mine for dominance and his long ring covered hand found my ass. I gasped as he squeezed me and looked at his neck. 

“Is that a stick and poke of a safety pin snapey?” I twirl his long, emo black, greesy hair inbetween my fingers. 

“It symbolizes my hate for the patriarchy and my love for you” 

JUST THEN DRACO WALKED IN AND PUNCHED SNAPE

“SHES MINE GRANDPA!” he yelled, throwing me over his shoulder! I moaned at the feeling and sobbed to be let down. He set me down and looked into my dead orbs with his blood red orbs. He was sobbing

“Snapes your gpa?” i groaned

“No” draco said back

“Oh” i winked

“But youre still mine” draco twerked 

“No thanks. I love snap now”

Draco screamed and ran into the wall while hermiomy recorded and ronuld farted in response. Everyone in the hall started laughing. 

“NO STOP I LOVE HIM!” I wheezed, throwing myself onto the floor in a big heap

Then I stood up and decided i had to go. The end

[bldreamer]

I STARTED A JOKE | MorkSun

Dark Blue Kiss : MorkSun

Summary: What if Sun turned up at the cafe that day and not at the hospital later? DBK ep.08 alternate ending. Genre: Hurt/Comfort. Ep Tag. Alt Canon. Warnings: Canon compliant violence. Swearing. Descriptions of blood and injuries. 

A/N: Erm....I’m sorry?

There’s a hand fisted in his hair, arms around his shoulders keeping Mork upright and a calloused hand whipping across his face hard enough his vision blurs.

He tastes blood. Bitter and warm inside his mouth, dripping down from his lips. He’s wet in other places too, but it's hard to tell whether it's sweat or not.

The hands pull him back upright and pain surges through his gut. White-hot and crippling, the force of the punch in Mork’s stomach enough to make him gag and his legs finally give out under him.

You’re all about violence.

His head is spinning and he can’t breathe. It hurts. Every part of him, exposed and raw.

He won’t beg, he’s too proud for that. But he wants to.

I’m really worried about you.

He’s falling, knees buckling towards the floor and Mork thinks this is it. This is the beginning of the end. It’s almost over. The last punch was weaker than the others. The asshole is getting tired.

Mork is tired too. Tired of fighting, tired of being angry. Tired of being a disappointment.

Promise me that you won’t start a fight with anyone again.

I’ll try.

The arms around his shoulders slip away and he hits the ground with a thump, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. He’s wheezing, through bruised organs and broken ribs, he gasps desperately.

His vision is blurred and the sounds of Rain screaming his name seem like they’re getting further away and maybe they are because he’s not in the room anymore. The voice is muffled and there’s a fist banging on the door, yelling, angry, scared. Petrified.

“Mork! Mork!! Fight back! Fuck! Mork!”

That’s not enough. Promise me.

Okay, I promise.

The hits keep coming.

Tatty sneakers kicking into his back and they may as well be hot knives slicing into his spine. He wants them to stop. He needs them to stop. He curls into himself in a pathetic feeble attempt to save his broken ribs from anymore damage. Knees pulling into his chest, arms clinging to his stomach.

It feels like it goes on for hours. Days even. Like the tunnel of red just keeps going and there’s no end and he half wonders if he even deserves one.

The kicking slows down until eventually it stops. The gasps of breathlessness in the room aren’t just his own anymore. 

The coldness from the tiles seeps into his skin and he trembles. Blood splatters onto the tiles as Mork coughs. It’s a new wave of pain he hadn’t seen coming, agonising and Earth shattering, and all Mork can think is how he cleaned the floor not five hours ago, perfectly spotless. For Sun. 

“Most Annoying Barista Award?”

His blood runs cold. 

Mork uncurls himself enough to see the amusement on the man's face as he holds up the paper cup award that was painstakingly handmade as nothing more than a joke. A joke that said so much more than he had the courage to in actual words. A joke only two people in the entire world understood. A joke that wasn’t meant for anyone else to touch.

He hates it. The man’s grubby fingers, stained with his own blood, gripping the paper cup. Tainting it. Ruining it. It makes him feel nauseous.

Mork forces himself upright. His hands shaky and speckled with blood and sweat pushing him to his feet and he reaches out. To take the crappy joke, to hold it and protect it.

Something sharp smashes over the back of his head, shattering against his skull and he drops like a dead weight through the air. This time he feels nothing when he thuds to the floor.  

“Scumbag,” the man sniggers, stomping his foot onto the award, crushing the paper like it’s nothing.

Mork hears faint laughter as they walk away.

Then it’s over. It’s done.

He should be relieved, but he’s not. He feels empty. Worthless. Scum.

Warm blood pours down his neck, sticky and unwelcome. His vision floods in and out. It’s like he’s a thousand leagues under the sea, the weight of the entire ocean pressing down on his beaten bones and he’s sinking. Down, down, down. 

He can’t feel his legs anymore. He hopes it's the shock and not something permanent. 

“Mork? Oh, God.”

It’s a new voice. Familiar but not belonging to Rain.

A blurred figure skids down onto two beige knees inches from him. Touching, feeling, hurting. 

“Mork, can you hear me? Hey. Mork.”

He groans as the hands shake him.

“Mork, stay with me. Hey. Keep your eyes open.” Hands push his sweat damp hair from his bleeding forehead. “God, what did they do to you?”

The hands hover and they’re gentle, so gentle. One weaker than the other. Mork still can’t help but flinch.

“You’re okay, you’re going to be fine. I’m not-, I won’t hurt you. Keep your eyes open, Mork.”

Mork blinks.

Jet black hair hair, slim nose, damp wide eyes.

“Mork, where does it hurt? Where?”

Everywhere.

“Keep your eyes open.”

Tired.

“I know, I know.” A hand finds his. Mork wants to grip tight. Like it's his only lifeline. He can feel the scratchy velcro under his finger pads, the wrist brace. He doesn’t grip. “How many times? How many times have I told you?”

So much talking. So much nagging.

“S-sor-...”

“It’s okay. It’s okay.”

It’s not. It’s not okay. Nothing is okay. 

“You’re going to be fine. Rain is calling for help. Hey, hey, Mork.”

The hand squeezes his instead. 

“Don’t think I’m letting you off cleaning duty for this,” Sun chuckles. “We’re an award winning cafe now. We have a reputation to live up to.” His words are damp and thick. Like he might cry. 

His lips keep moving but not much of it makes sense, the edges of Mork’s vision fading. 

“Mork? ..rk, no no. -p...eyes open. Please. Mork!”

Mork wants to resist. He really does. But his head hurts and everything feels wrong and he’s tired. He’s so tired. 

“MORK!”

The last thing he sees before the world turns black is the paper cup award out of the corner of his eye. A broken and worthless joke. 

Just like Mork. 

~Fin.

[weaverlings]

fresh blood

@lacenet-week day 3!

aka the “lesbians can have a little murder. as a treat.” entry

content warnings: moderate and intense violence, blood, poison/venom

alt link

*

Hornet sat back on her knees, with her fists tight in her lap. The seal glowing over the walls of her cell traced over the darkness behind her eyelids. She knew her soul was there inside, too; the spark that kept her heart beating, waiting for her to spin it into a blaze of silver. Still she could no more grasp it than she could walk beyond the cell door.

They'd even been wise enough to take her cloak this time, and her tools with it. She had no choice but to wait. Not, she told herself, for them to come and do whatever they wanted, but for whatever opportunity they might show her to escape. She would be ready. They had her needle, her tools, even her soul - but it wasn't as if they'd pried her claws from her chitin.

She flexed them now, hearing voices in the hallway outside. They were muffled, which meant that the speakers were shouting, to be heard at all through the thick stone walls.

An urgent plea came down the hall, "Your highness, wait! Please!"

Hornet opened her eyes.

A high, haughty laugh. "You think to tell me  no ? Dear captain, you must consider the consequences of your words!"

"It's only for your safety. If you were to be hurt-"

They were outside the door now. The second speaker, her voice familiar and as clear and dire as a warning bell, commanded, "Then they'd have your head, yes. They will, or I will; someone will have your head, no matter what. You poor soul. Will you open the door, or must I take the keys from you?"

Silence, as far as Hornet could tell. Then the knob rattled, and someone heaved open the door. The seal flashed off for just the time it took the visitors to enter.

There were only two. Some unspoken decree, no doubt, kept the others waiting beyond the door. Hornet could see them, suspicion showing beneath helmet brims, weapons bristling. The guard captain came first, with his pin at the ready. Before either woman could speak, he positioned himself between them and flourished his weapon sternly. "Mind yourself, weaver witch. You're in the presence of Pharloom's noble princess."

Lace stepped past him with a wave of her hand. "I'll put on my own airs, thank you."

Lace looked down at Hornet. Hornet did not rise, but lifted her chin and met Lace's easy smile. Hornet saw, though, the same frigid determination as her own in Lace's eyes.

Hornet asked, "What do you want?"

Lace pressed a hand over her chest, a gesture of supremely innocent curiosity. "To know how they've been treating you. Such a precious prisoner, surely we ought to be doing more for you."

"Your highness, the weaver has-"

Hornet fixed him with a glare that choked him as well as if she'd grabbed him by the throat. She said, "It does not matter. I am a prisoner. They could have showered me with the very silks my family bled to make, and I would still be a prisoner."

"Hm. You never were one to complain, anyway, even when you should."

"I have no interest in such frivolity."

"But you must have an interest in something."

"I want to leave this place."

Lace cupped her cheek in one hand. "I heard you put up quite a fight, before they finally brought you down."

"I assure you..." Hornet stood at last, and declared, "I am far from finished."

Lace's smile turned up on one side, sharpening. She laughed, her delight so visceral that Hornet felt it in her own gut and shivered, a thrill.

The captain stepped forward, once again trying to assert himself between the two women, and said, "Your highness, I told you, this isn't safe - we don't fully know what she's capable of!"

"Oh, captain," Lace sighed, "You really should worry less about her. I'm quite capable of dealing with threats."

The captain grunted. A trickle of blue liquid spilled from his mouth. He stared down, to see the gilded point of Lace's pin, coated in a translucent layer of his own blood. A single drop fell to the floor, and then another.

Lace said, "I did tell you someone would have your head. Ah, well."

Her weapon came free with a wet crackle. She kicked him into the wall of the cell, hard, and he slid down into a misshapen mass of armor and shell.

Finally, Hornet stood. She approached the captain's corpse, and removed his weapon. She swung it, made an experimental lunge, and huffed. "I suppose it will suffice."

"It will have to, darling, until we can get you your needle back." Lace tsked. "Soon, I hope. You really are dreadful with that."

Beyond the seal, the soldiers clamored, shouting threats and swearing vengeance in the name of the captain or Lace's royal parents or Pharloom in general. The group was smaller - some had left, either to raise an alarm and report the princess' betrayal, or unable to bear raising arms against her.

Lace simpled flicked her own pin, and drew the fluttering light from its tip into her palm. "Are you ready, Hornet?"

Hornet nodded, and slid into the best stance she could manage. Lace opened her palm.

An elegant flare of white, and the seal was broken. The soldiers rushed the room.

Everything after that was only movement - Hornet knew Lace's silk-shrouded form, gleaming, dancing; and understood where her own body was; and that was all. Everyone else was only their vital parts - shining shell under armor, gaps for her to pierce, to break. Each only took a moment. Some were lashed with silk, some blasted back to the wall as she exercised her birthright, each strike like stretching a stiff muscle at last.

But some of the earlier guards had plainly gone for reinforcements. There were more, and and more. Hornet's unfamiliar grip on the pin slipped, the weapon clattered to the floor. The guard before her cried out, anticipating victory, and drew back his own blade. He had an angle that would have stuck her neck, and from there, the damage might have been such that she lost her head - an injury well beyond binding.

Hornet struck first. She had to, and she used what she had. Her fangs snapped shut on his arm. Chitin crumpled, a stream of venom flooded her foe's blood. She hissed and threw him back into the last gaggle of other guards, now cowering.

She drew herself up and spread her arms, a posture that would have left her cloak flaring around her, but the blood dripping from her fangs served just as well.

"Yes, I know. You want to live. So do we all - but trust me when I say that my life is more precious to me than yours. Stand in my way, and you'll find no mercy. Or go. Now."

The remaining soldiers, few enough by then, scattered beyond the door.

"Delicious." Lace stepped up to Hornet's side. She clapped her hands, just once. "Let's away, shall we?"

"Do you know where they have my things?"

"Of course. Come along, little spider."

She darted from the cell, beckoning Hornet after her. Hornet caught up in a few strides, and they tore off down the tower stair.

*

Some ways away from the city, they found a stream and stopped to catch their breath.

Hornet dipped a washrag into the water, and set about washing the blood off. Lace peered over in the midst of her own ministrations, and sighed in an obvious request for attention.

Hornet didn't look at her, but replied, "Alright, what is it?"

"You were quite a sight back there."

Hornet allowed herself a half-smile. "That sorry lot seemed to think so."

"Fools, the lot of them. They wouldn't know beauty if it bit them - oh, pardon me." Lace giggled.

Now, Hornet glanced at her, sidelong. "Beauty, is that right?"

Lace mused, "Perhaps it's too bold of me to say."

Hornet wrung out her rag of the water. "You are nothing if not bold, but I might prefer the sort of boldness that leads you to stab captains." She laid the rag over a rock to dry some before storing it, and swung on her cloak. "Thank you. For that, I mean."

"Of course. It's the least I could do."

"Nonetheless, you did it, and at great risk to your wellbeing. Then, and in the future, as well."

"Oh, yes! I'm a traitor now! Well, I always was - I'm glad to have torn the veil myself. So perhaps I should be thanking you."

"That is for you to decide," Hornet told her. "But we certainly have other things to discuss."

Lace nodded, and tucked one knee up to her chin, resting on it. She beckoned to Hornet, and Hornet sat down again, cross-legged in front of her. They plotted together, keeping their voices low under the rush of the stream.