#can’t really hear what people are saying over your own labored breathing

[peapod20001]

Today was so fun I had an anxiety attack in the back of the car and had a panic attack while getting my blood drawn I feel superb /s

[therealslimshakespeare]

Grim Reader here ☠️ I’m wondering about Bucky and his feelings about that baby….and how it plays into his adjusting after the camps and post-war. I assume it’s going to be a painful memory for him and when he finally finds someone, he’s worried about miscarriages….like if someone as noble and good as Ida Brady can lose a baby, then someone with his checkered past and actions doesn’t deserve a child either? Idk, it just makes me think of how self-destructive he’d continue to be in his relationships post war because of the things he’s seen and had to do. And he already feels wildly out of place bc of how alone he is, but add to the fact that he thought of himself as the father and that’s brutal.

Hello my dear, I’ve missed you, *pets head*

I’ve got a rather massive one shot queued up on this very aspect, it’s not the full of it, no, but it’s a massive part of his arc in this story and the bereft feeling that peacetime brought with it. While I have a vague intention for his marriage and family to closely resemble his real one in this AU, it will be postponed, rash as he may be once he marries anyway, it’s simply not at all on the cards in 1945 for this AU, his emotional fidelity is split about three ways in this one, and there was a whole life he has planned and dedicated to himself that didn’t happen, twice over. It is going to be brutal but it’s also one of my fave parts as it explores what a heart this man has, beyond a romantic one.

Here, have a snippet, I haven’t got a title for it yet but it takes place after Jack Brady’s wedding in 1945:

There is a stubborn silence in which she can hear Bucky’s labored breaths practically repeating that he is not, in fact, weeping into her pillow mid morning on a Saturday in Victor, New York. She pats his arm -suit yourself- and pulls away to begin her day. She lights a cigarette, not having fully quit the filthy habit since camp, and grabs a pair of slacks and a shirt from the closet, needing a shower.

“You kept your baby doll.” his voice comes muffled and stuffy from the bed, she glances over and sees he has barely moved, only turned on his side to stare at the threadbare doll propped on her bookcase.

“That’s Minnie.” Ida introduces them with a grin, “Don’t sound so shocked Major, I’d have thought you’ve been in enough boudoirs to know that plenty of women keep their dolls.”

Bucky keeps staring at Minnie morosely, not laughing at her tease. “Did you keep it for your daughter?” he asks.

Sometimes John Egan reminds Ida of a callously curious child, his sympathy sometimes as wounding as his barbs. She refuses to read into it, he is hungover and he is confused by her childish relic; she keeps pace in her routine and replies with honesty, “I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Well I do.” he mutters instantly, bitterly, accusingly.

“Beg pardon?” she cautions him.

“I think about your baby all the damn time.” he turns around in the sheets then, sits himself up in her bed, eyes raw and dangerous.

The frog from Egan’s throat now takes up residence in Ida’s, she thinks she might choke on her own breath. “Why-“ panicked, her chest begins to shutter, ears ringing, hands cold. Why would he say that? “Bucky!” she'd have taken a stab in the heart over this, why would he- “Why would you say that?” she begs hoarsely, forced to sit beside him on the bed as her legs are no longer steady.

“You really don’t?” he begs in turn, looking as wretched as she feels.

“I-I-“ Ida digs her fingernails into her thigh, willing the cacophony in her head to cease, to get a grip back on the lid of that tiny coffin, “I’m not doing this. Not this morning, not when I’ve got breakfast to make for a household of people and -my brother just got married, Egan! Is this really the time to bring it up? They’re going to make jokes about you being in here! God’s sake -can’t you possess a modicum of sensitivity.”

It’s not a question. It’s an insult and he takes it on the chin. He knows that his own question -asking if she even recalls her dead child- was one of his own. That doesn’t prevent one last building tear to slip the dam and join the mess on his cheeks, because his heart is nothing if not on the opposing team.

[aho-dapa]

Chaol and Aelin getting a confrontation scene in queen of shadows I need for personal catharsis. Meant as pro chaol, but I really just wanted aelin to look at her hypocritical views on how she values the lives of others.

・✦・✦・✦・

“This was my home too.” Aelin snaps.

Chaol scoffs, “Some home you must have had. If all you talk about is burning it to the ground.”

“Shouldn’t I?” Aelin asks, dangerously low, “Adarlan conquered my people, killed my family, made us slaves!”

Aelin stalks closer to him, shoulders tight, “Don’t you think that’s worth burning it down for?”

This time Chaol watches her, stares right into her eyes to find her answer—and laughs. Laughs so hard he’s nearly crying, nearly falling to the ground in hysterics.

“Ohhhhh,” Chaol says, stretching out the sound almost maliciously, “so that’s what this is?”

Chaol takes in a deep breath, that damned smile still on his face and asks, “Just tell me the truth. You just want an excuse for all your rage. You want to burn these streets? Fine. But don’t blame the people of Adarlan. They were just as much slaves to this kingdom as you were.”

That rage that Chaol taunted her for boils over into something sharp and the fire in her veins becomes molten.

Chaol’s head turns back with such force that she’s almost surprised that she’s slapped him. Almost.

After a silent, tense moment, Chaol chuckles and the anger in his eyes almost looks like pain, “Is that the only way you know how to treat me, Celaena?”

Her old name whispers against her heart, slithering its way into her soul, biting and poisoning her blood. It feels like an accusation.

Horribly, it feels like the truth.

“Don’t you dare,” she chokes on her fury, “Don’t you dare.”

“Is it?” He asks quietly, all of his previous humor gone like it was never even there, before he begins again with hollow eyes. “My people were forced into this war, and were hunted down when they resisted. Magic was so newly stolen away that they didn’t stand a chance. You’ve forgotten, oh great queen, that the slaughter began here first.”

Chaol steps closer, close enough that his breath mingles with hers, “Did you also forget that Adarlan also used its own people in labor camps, to make the war even possible? Do you know what family names were wiped out on that day? What children were put in chains for? Where they were buried?”

Quietly, almost like a dying breath, he leans in closer and his words gut her like a dagger, “They don’t have graves. Or records. Or even anyone here left to remember them. To know their lives, to know their fucking names.”

Aelin takes in a sharp breath, hating him. Hating him with all her broken heart. Hates the tears in his eyes, hates his last name, hates his grief. She burns and burns and hates.

“If you really hate anyone, Aelin,” and something in her rips apart in the way he says her name, “you should at least hate the right people. After all, if you want to hate me for serving a king I never wanted to serve, just like you, or even if you want to hate me for Nehemia,” Aelin can feel the crack in his voice as his says her dead friend’s name, “alright, I’ll carry that hatred for you.”

“Just think, that when you do finally point your sword at Adarlan, know you’ll kill a beggar’s child before you even reach his throne.”

Aelin gasps as the tears falling down her face scald her cheeks. She stares into his cold gaze and she can’t look away as that part of her she’s achingly fueled her whole life dies out, and she’s left with something worse than hate.

“That is what killing means to me, what the weight of a life means to me. Assassin or not, queen or not, I am sick of hearing of how you only value life when it suits you.”

・✦・✦・✦・

(Here’s some more because I’m being petty)

・✦・✦・✦・

The sword is heavy in his hands as he beheads another Valg.

When his sword stops ringing and everything stills, he pauses to feel the black, rotting blood that stains his clothes, his blade, his skin—he knows he’ll never forget the smell even at his dying breath.

Still, he kneels next to the severed head. Not a guard, or a rebel.

He grabs a large cloth from his vest and ties it closed next to the other three heads leashed onto his belt.

He stands up, the weight of his bones aching, and he continues the hunt.

Step by step, the only thing that can comfort him is the knowledge that he might have a sliver of a chance that he would one day know the names of the heads at his thigh.

As they brush against the scabbard of his sword, he swears to himself and all his wretched dead that he won’t let them die nameless.

・✦・✦・✦・

Did you notice how I didn’t name him once, yeah that was intentional, thank you and goodbye

Also yeah I mirrored aelin’s way of her talking about her beloved dead / his wretched dead all refer to all the people he’s killed

[mayweneverdie]

Dying In Their Arms (1)

—

Summary: In these short stories, how would the rdr2 characters comfort you, or themselves, in your last moments together.

Deaths with characters who canonically die will be based on their own death (I think that made sense?)

Characters: Arthur Morgan and Eagle Flies (more to be added in part 2)

—

Arthur Morgan

—

The day you went to collect Mr. Downes when Arthur couldn’t, was the day that sealed your fate.

The gang was crumbling just before the turn of the century and you were dying in your lovers arms. He knew nothing could be done so he held you like the fragile, wilting, flower your were.

Truly, you were living on borrowed time and you knew that. It just hurt so much to see what was everyones dream to fly away like the dust in the wind. But once you passed, you knew it’d all be peaceful.

Maybe you should’ve done things differently.

Maybe you should’ve just stayed in your home state.

Maybe you should’ve obeyed the law.

Maybe you should’ve just let the lawmen take you in.

Maybe you shouldn’t have fell in love with an outlaw, unfit to start a peaceful life with.

And maybe you should’ve just kicked Strauss out of camp much much earlier for taking advantage of families trying to make do.

You decide the last one was probably the correct one.

But you can’t change what’s already happened, only face whatever is coming your way.

And as your vision darkened around the image of your dear lover whose eyes had glossed over and puffed, you at least tried to smile one last time as your labored breathing faded into one last wheeze.

His eyes never left your still opened eyes. He stared into them, still seeing the life that was now gone. Arthur closed your eyes and held you even closer.

Eagle Flies

—

You followed him into the factory watch his back, which you had done well.

For the most part.

As he began bringing Arthur back to his feet, you had become lazy and let your guard down.

You hear steps but it was too late, he had already shot you, knocking you back a bit. Eagle Flies fired back, but it was in vain. You tried pulling yourself up with the help of the support beam, body shaking like a leaf in the wind.

He swiftly escorted you to his horse and bolted to safety. He had brought you to the reservation, hoping to save you.

You couldn’t really understand what he was saying, it all sounded fuzzy and warped. As he fell to the ground, he helped you down, supporting your body with his.

You weakly met his gaze and pressed your forehead to the nook of his neck.

He begged, for your eyes to stay open, for you to live.

But life was cruel. As you laid near the fire, you raise your wobbly hand and gently rubbed your thumb across his cheek before sleeping for the last time.

He bowed his head, letting tears fall, and letting his shoulder fall limp. Eagle Flies pitifully pulled you closer, holding on to something that now was no longer there.

—

i just did the mission for retrieving the chanupa and im getting nervous for the ending cause i know it wont be good 😭

Rockstar can rot for making me so emotional over fake people!!

(I still luv u rockstar <3)

[ophelia-writes-poems]

I saw a post with bugs A little rolly polly I thought of you instantly But you don't want to hear from me

I want to send it to you 3 days ago i would've But things have changed I've changed them

I wish I could explain myself I wish i could lay it all out Walk you through my mental state And my thought patterns

But you need space And distance And to push you more Would drive you further away

I could blame it all on Sage I wouldn't even be wrong to If you really look at it It is their fault

It is his fault But i'm not angry I hold some fault too I still did it

I am a coward I said i was unsure But it told me it would all work out And I believed them

I wish I hadn't done that I wish I had been an adult I wish I wasn't so afraid Of rejection

It's funny, isn't it? How we got here I was so scared a being pushed away I made you hate me

I was so worried that you would never love me Near as much as I loved you And lookie here Now you hate me

And I deserve it I deserve it all I should've just talked through it I want to go back

But I can't I pray to G-d for forgiveness Knowing damn well he cannot give it I have done nothing to him

And yet what else I can do? I sit and cry And I pray And I walk

I try to shut the thoughts away But my overactive brain Cannot focus on anything else Even If i wanted it to

I can't eat I can't sleep I can hardly breathe My guilt is overwhelming

That's just all isn't it? Guilt? How can such a small word Hold such a strong emotion

You say you cannot feel regret I am not like you I regret everything all the time Even the day I was born

Yes I regret deeply I feel nothing but guilt My emotions are overwhelming I just want them to stop

But they can't And they won't Until either I no longer care for you Or you decide I can be forgiven

Can I be forgiven? Do I deserve it? Of course not I always want things I cannot have

And yet I pray I pray so much G-d must be annoyed But what else am I to do? Where else can I seek comfort

I believe he blessed me today He gave me a chance for labor And so despite how difficult it was I found joy

No, not joy I found relief In the company of weeds And strangers

I wish they would meet again Tomorrow or the day after But It'll be two weeks Before I can meet them again

I will mow the lawn today Or maybe tomorrow And I hope that my mind will not wonder It's way over to you

Who am I kidding? Myself? The dear reader? My mind cannot go anywhere else No matter how I beg

And yet I hope I don't even realize usually That i'm thinking of you at all It's so natural

My understanding of tone is limited I have my brain to blame for that But the tone I find in your words Is hateful and mean

And I deserve that I've hurt you terribly I wish your words weren't for me I wish I was an observer

Please G-d let them forgive me Let me learn and grow and thrive Please don't let them become a lesson Give me a second chance

Let this become a funny story That we tell to new friends Let it be silly lore That we can choose to drop

G-d give them understanding Give them kindness And direct them to give it to me Even though I didn't deserve this

I have no moral authority But if i were them this would be a test Could I maintain my beliefs? Could I practice what I preach?

I believe I could I can't tell how bad this infraction is I have no sense of scale Is this denial?

But it doesn't seem that bad really I've forgiven people for worse And so haven't you? But maybe we all deserve better

If this had happened to __ How would I feel? Objectivity I believe Will prove helpful here

Take myself out of it Place someone else in my shoes Is this crime forgivable? Even in my own mind?

I cannot switch our roles I cannot run a simulation Where this situation occurs If I do

If I were __ in that situation My words would've been kinder My experience shines through here What can I possibly do?

Okay new situation _____ is telling me about This situation her friend is in What do I think?

Her friend was feeling uncared for And one of her friends got real dramatic with it He left the groupchat with no warning And everyone dropped everything

_____'s friend watched her friends Skert their hangout to a complete hault To comfort their friend During his moment of need

______'s friend was feeling uncared for Her brain was being mean to her She cannot ask for reassurance Because she'll be sure it's fake

So she has an idea "What if i go crazy And leave the groupchat?" She thinks

She talks herself out of it She should communicate her feelings But her dearest brother Convinced her otherwise

She knew she was in a bad mental state So she defaulted to him And he said it would work out So it must be true

And she took his advice And defaulted to his judgement All the way through To the other side

She realized half way through she fucked up She apologized the same night Her friends were red hot angry And did not respond

One eventually did Saying they all need space That she needed to be gentle with herself But his tone was mean

That sounds forgivable I think Right? Am I deluding myself? I sure hope not

I am going to choose to believe That they're only so angry Because they're filtering all this through The lens of their traumas

Anybody else Wouldn't be so upset But other people Haven't been abused

I can be forgiven And If I'm not i'm sure I'll be okay I have people who care about me Other than them

G-d thank you for poetry Thank you for the gift of words Thank you for reasoning And thank you for understanding

[angry-geese]

Can I request nsfw+fluff gojo x fem!reader? (established relationships) Just gojo being horny and needy after weeks not seeing reader due to work. (Uuuu and may I add breeding kink too <3 ) Lmaooo what's wrong with me✋🏻😔 I love your works btw and just take your time💕💕 here *slides a cookie 🍪 *

YESSSS gojo + breeding kink is top tier. i got a little carried away with this one lol

When We Meet Again

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Warnings: shameless smut. oral (fem receiving), creampies, mating press, unprotected sex, fingering, fluff and smut. slight somnophilia (kinda??) fem!reader

Word Count: 3.7k

jjk masterlist

It's well past midnight by the time he gets home.

Save for a single light in the kitchen, the apartment is dark. Leftover pastries sit out on the counter, covered with a bowl to keep bugs from getting to them, alongside your keys, and an empty mug of tea. A grocery list has been stuck to the fridge. A rack of dishes sits beside the sink, drying.

You're not in your usual spot on the couch. He's not surprised. It's late. And though you don't have work in the morning, you were never one to stay up so long. You must have gone to bed already. You might have stayed up had he bothered to tell you he was coming home. But he didn't. His plans changed at the last moment, and not even he knew he'd be back so soon.

He hates being gone this long. He misses sleeping in his own bed. Sometimes he forgets just how cold a bed can be without someone else in it.

The door to your shared room is open. Though it's dark. There's a faint green glow from the alarm clock on the side table. The moon is full enough tonight to provide a bit of light; a pale silver glow fills the room. And there you are, curled up on his side of the bed. In one of his shirts. A black button up that’s a bit too big for you, with sleeves that hang well past your fingertips.

It's not like he can refuse. If he’s getting called out to help, then there's probably not someone who can go in his place. The strongest doesn't really have time to take a vacation. He’s on call 24/7. Between his teaching job at Jujutsu Tech, and the major clans of Jujutsu society constantly demanding his attention, he’s rather short on free time.

It was a tedious job. Not worth his time. Not particularly tough, albeit time consuming. But the previous two sorcerers came back with nothing. And so he was sent out. Cleaning up someone else's mess.

The first week he called every day. The job wasn’t supposed to take any longer than that. Or so you both assumed. As the second rolled through, your calls grew shorter, and less frequent. He found himself frustrated with the lack of contact. It wasn't either of your faults. Your work called for you to be out during the little free time he had. Overtime. When you did have time to call each other, you were often exhausted, and short with him. The distance was putting a strain on your relationship.

The worst part of it all; he couldn't fuck you. And for a man that could go multiple rounds in a day, that was miserable. His love language is touch. Not being able to hold you was… well, miserable.

You don't really know the extent of the effect you have on him.

He's too tired to change, and he showered before he left, so he strips to his boxers and pulls his side of the blankets aside. Tomorrow is laundry day anyway. You always choose Sundays for laundry day, because that's the day before you have to go back to work. There's just enough room between you and the edge of the bed for him to slip in.

When something makes him stop dead in his tracks.

It's your voice. You’re calling out his name. You aren't awake, and though you do sometimes talk in your sleep, tonight is different. When it does happen, it's usually nonsense. Soft, endearing babble that he can't help but listen to. He says your name, softly, but you don't respond. Enough moonlight streams in through the window to see your face. Your brows are knit in concentration—possibly frustration—and sweat beads in your hairline.

Are you having a nightmare?

The bed dips under his weight as he sits, resting a hand on your thigh. Your skin is rather warm, he notes. You roll over onto your side, burying your face in his pillow. He pulls the blankets up, tucking them around your shoulders, as you’ve kicked them down by your feet in your sleep.

There it is again. You say his name, but there's a level of desperation behind it.

There's no denying the wetness between your thighs. You squeeze your thighs together in an unconscious attempt to get some relief. Your breathing is labored.

It's only a moment later that the realization kicks in.

The grin that splits his face can only be described as malicious in nature.

His hand creeps higher on your thigh, nudging the hem of your—his—shirt up. You’re not wearing anything underneath. The sight of your slick cunt is nearly enough to make his cock stand to attention.

His gaze falls to the curve of your hips, just barely illuminated by the moonlight. He likes the light of you in his shirt a little more than he likes to admit. Though he’s never been quiet about how much he appreciates your body.

Your body freezes the moment his thumb grazes across your slit. So does he. You’re so wet. Must be a real nice dream. You roll onto your back, your legs parted slightly. The soft gasps and moans that leave you are like music to his ears. Gojo takes this as an invitation to continue, his hand moving further up your thigh, lazily tracing circles into it.

You must've missed him more than he expected.

Your body registers that someone is touching you before it registers just who is doing such. In your sleepy, dream-ridden state you don't recognize the figure in front of you. In the dim light of the room, you can make out a mess of white hair, and the reflection of dark, round glasses shoved up into his hairline. Gojo’s eyes practically reflect in the dark.

You jolt awake, sitting up. “Jesus christ-”

“‘S just me, Mochi,” he says, though it does little to settle your nerves.

If you weren't awake before, you certainly are now.

“What? You watch people in their sleep now?!” You scold. “‘Toru- you scared the hell out of me!”

You flop back on the bed. The blankets pool around your hips. You reach to pull them back up, finding your bed colder than usual.

"You were calling out my name." He says.

"Oh," you say, and though there's little light in the room, he watches your face flush, "must have been dreaming about you."

“Wanna recreate what you were dreaming?” He asks. Rather smugly, might you add.

You roll your eyes. “Go to sleep.”

"Scoot over then. I'm gonna fall off the bed."

This prompts an evil sounding giggle from you, followed by a: "fall then."

"Alright," he says, rolling over to lay on you, throwing his arm around your waist. You’re effectively pinned under him, as the awkward angle won't allow you any leverage to throw him off. He attacks the exposed part of your neck with kisses, sucking hickeys into the flesh of your neck and shoulders. His hair tickles your skin.

“‘Toru- stop!” You squeal. “Let me go-”

“Not until you apologize,” he says, planting a wet kiss on your jaw.

“Never!”

“Then I guess I won't let you go.”

His arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you flush to his chest. One of his hands finds your own, his fingers lacing with yours. His legs tangle with yours in a way that holds them in place. Worming out of his grip in this position would be a near impossible task.

You suppose there’s worse fates than this.

It would be easier to stay awake if he wasn't so warm. Or if he didn't smell so nice. Or if he wasn't softly rocking your body with each breath he takes. His thumb traces soft circles around your knuckles. Gojo’s breath is warm against your neck, making goosebumps rise along the soft flesh. The steady sound of it is almost enough to lull you to sleep.

"I missed you." You say. Your voice is almost too soft to hear.

“I know.” He says. His arms give your midsection a reaffirming squeeze. “I missed you too.”

“How was work?”

“A shitshow,” he says, leaning to nip at your earlobe, “but I get to come home to you, so it’s not all bad. How’s everything been around here?”

“Quiet.” You say. “Kinda boring without you. I wish you told me you’d be home tonight. I would have done something special.”

“It was a spur of the moment decision.” He says. “I didn't expect to be home so soon either.”

“We should do something tomorrow, then,” you say, “a new ramen place opened up down the street. You know where the old bakery used to be? They leased the place out.”

Gojo hums in response. Ramen sounds nice. Especially now. But he’s too tired and too horny to worry about food. Why have ramen when he has a meal right in front of him? Or a snack, as he often likes to call you. To which you roll your eyes, but there's no denying how he makes you blush.

You take back what you said about finding it easy to sleep. He’s moving around a bit too much for that. Gojo isn't subtle about it either. Nothing about the man is. He foregos subtly in favor of announcing nearly everything he does. Loudly. Who would dare stop him?

But you guess it's part of his charm. His dorky, sappy charm. You’ve kind of signed up for it, so you’re not complaining.

You scoot away from the edge of the bed a bit, thinking he needs more room. Gojo pulls you back to his chest, thinking you’re trying to run away from him.

“Quit squirming.” You hiss.

“Sorry Mochi,” he says, “just tryna get comfortable.”

And he really does mean it. But he’s been gone from you for so long that he's forgotten how nice your body feels against his. A little too nice, he’ll admit. Phone sex is nice, but it's not the same as the real thing. It gets old after a while. His hand doesn't quite compare to yours. Or the real thing. Something hard presses against your thigh from behind.

That's when it clicks. You just smell so nice. Your body is so warm against his. You look so nice in his shirt. Can you really blame him for getting hard?

You aren't sure he knows that you know. You shift a bit. It appears you’re only trying to get comfortable. His grip around your waist loosens, allowing you to settle a bit closer to him. You can't help it if your shirt rides up a bit, exposing the perfect curve of your ass. He prefers you in nothing at all, though the sight of you wearing his clothes is certainly a nice one. Any sight of you is. Gojo is shameless in the way he adores your body.

Once settled, his arms return to your waist. His head falls into the crook of your neck. He’s doing little to hide the tent he sports in his boxers. Maybe he thinks you don't notice. Or maybe he’s trying to ignore it.

“Stop that,” he says.

“I'm not doing anything,” you say, with the same evil giggle as before.

“Why do I not believe you?”

His lips find your neck, sucking a dark mark into your pulsepoint. The sudden sensation of lips on your neck makes you squeal. In your ear he coos every sappy nickname in the book that makes you blush.

You hardly notice as his hand trails lower. Your legs part just enough for him to slip his hand between them. He does nothing but seek out your warmth. Yet.

A familiar tension returns to your stomach. It's not unpleasant.

So that's what he was doing. Not that you’re complaining.

“Missed you, Mochi,” he says, gasping at the wet feeling of your cunt, “missed you so much. You have any clue what it's like being around all those weird old men all day? For days on end, no end in sight?”

It always surprises you just how bad the man can be with words, yet how good he is with his mouth.

His fingers find your clit, drawing lazy circles around the bundle of nerves. Your breath catches in your throat. You can't deny how nice his long fingers feel inside of you.

“Seems like you’ve missed me too.” He says, his breath warm against your ear.

“Whatever you want to think, old man,” you say. Though you have missed him. You always do. But there's some fun to be had by teasing him.

“Old man?!” He sounds genuinely hurt. “Don't be like that. I know you like having me around.”

“Oh really? What makes you think that?”

His fingers move to press into the tight entrance of your cunt, his thumb brushing across your clit. The soft gasp that leaves you is practically music to his ears. To give him credit, he is good with his hands.

“Did you think about me while I was gone,” he coos, “did you touch yourself while you did it? I did. Couldn't keep my mind off this sweet cunt of yours. I think I want a taste.”

Your only response is a soft moan. Heat pools low in your stomach, growing in intensity with each skilled movement of his hand. He moves so you can lay on your back. Your hands find the sheets, holding them in a death grip. Gojo nudges your legs further apart with one of his knees.

The kiss he pulls you into is uncharacteristically soft, and needy. He moans nearly as loud as you when you nibble on his bottom lip, hips lips parting, allowing the strong muscle of your tongue to explore his mouth.

Your hands work to undo the top few buttons of your shirt, exposing your breasts. His free hand comes up to grope appreciatively at your tits. Gojo has never been shy about how much he adores them. Or shy ever, to his credit. You’re his, and he would show you off to the world if you’d let him.

But sometimes he prefers to steal you into his domain, and hold you there. Close. Where you’ll always be at his side. The one place in this universe he can truly promise you’ll be safe.

You hardly notice as his kisses trail down your neck. Down the valley between your breasts. Working the last few buttons of your shirt open with his long fingers. What you do notice is the sudden absence of his hand.

Your legs part to give him room to settle between them. His head rests on your stomach. His warm breath tickles your skin.

"You gonna let me have a taste?" He asks, nipping at your thigh.

You swallow hard, eyes locked on him. Slowly, you nod.

You gasp at the feeling of his warm tongue, licking a stripe from your bellybutton to your mound. He's not touching you where you need him most. And that frustrates you. You buck your hips up towards his mouth, eliciting a soft laugh from him. He can't tease you too long. His cock is painfully hard, leaking against his thigh in his boxers. He can only hold himself back for so long.

You freeze at the feeling of a hot tongue against your clit.

Gojo eats pussy like a starving man, presented with his favorite meal. He does nothing short of savoring you. How you smell, how you taste, how you sound. He's shameless in how he adores this. Gojo moans nearly as loud as you at the taste of your cunt. Sweeter than his favorite dish. Meant to be savored.

You can't deny that he's good with his mouth. His tongue works circles around your clit, drawing gasps and moans from you.

Heat builds in your stomach, drawing you closer to your impending orgasm. One that comes upon you far sooner than expected.

Maybe you’re more pent up than you thought.

Your thighs clench around his head as you cum hard. He lets you ride out your orgasm on his tongue, working you through it with his skilled mouth. He’d stay with his head between your legs forever if you’d let him. Which you don't, as overstimulation soon registers in your lust addled mind, and you shove his head away.

The lower half of his face glistens in the dim light, wet with saliva, and your own slick. He’s far from subtle in the way he licks his lips, or groans at your taste. He may have gotten a bit too excited. It's not unlike him to get carried away. How can he resist a fertile cunt like yours?

“I think you should taste yourself,” he says. His hands move to cup your face as he pulls you into a kiss. You taste yourself on his lips. His hardened cock grinds against his thigh.

“‘Toru-” you whine.

“What's the matter baby?” He coos. “Use your words.”

“Fuck me.” You say. “I need you, ‘Toru. I need your cock in me.”

“Why didn't you say so?” He says, though the desperation in his voice is palpable.

He wastes no time in shoving his boxers down his hips, freeing his cock.

He’s not the most intimidating in size, but his cock is nice, and fairly thick, with a slight upward curve. The patch of hairs towards the base are soft, and white. Generally you don't need a whole lot of prep to take him. Which is helpful when he can't keep his hands to himself, and insists on fucking you in the bathroom during dinner. As much as he likes to take his time with you, he’ll take you anywhere you’ll let him. At work, or over every flat surface of your apartment. Not a single room of your home was spared. Not that either of you mind.

“Gotta work you open first,” he says, “don't want you to be too tight, do we?”

Between his saliva, and your own slick, you put up little resistance. He’s able to slide one finger in. Then a second, with no issue. His fingers curve, stroking your g-spot. His thumb works soft circles around your sensitive clit as he works you open with his fingers. Really, this is unnecessary. Your cunt is practically dripping with your own arousal.

He makes a show of licking his fingers, groaning at the taste of you. Gojo really has no shame.

The moan he lets out as he sheathes himself is truly sinful.

It's another moment before he starts thrusting.

Gojo needs a moment to collect himself. He’s been working himself up for hours if not days. All the nights he spent, thinking of what he’d do to you once he got home. He’s gone over this day in his head about a hundred times.

The sound of his hips slapping against yours fills the room. His taunts turn into senseless babble. Strands of praise mixed with Gojo’s overall dorky remarks. Pleas of your name, calling you mochi, baby, honey, and every other sappy nickname he can think of. His head falls into the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at the soft skin. He’s not going to let you leave this bed until you’re thoroughly marked up.

Tension grows in your stomach like a rubber band being stretched tight. Your previous orgasm has left you overly sensitive, and leaves another orgasm creeping up on you sooner than expected. His hand falls to your stomach, working lower until his thumb finds your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub.

He presses your legs further back, shoving them almost to your chest. The stretch leaves a pleasant burn in your hips. Your body isn't really meant to bend this way, though it’s not completely uncomfortable. It's not long before he has you into a full mating press, rutting against you desperately, fucking you into the mattress. The bed frame groans in protest with each of his thrusts. Deep, and unrelenting. Gojo’s cock curves in such a way that hits your sweet spots just right, leaving you writing under him.

“Gonna put a baby in you, Mochi,” he says, “gonna breed this pretty cunt of yours.”

You nod along desperately. You want nothing more than for him to cum inside, filling you completely.

He silences your moan with a kiss, his teeth clashing against yours. His tongue presses past your lips, exploring the wet cavern of your mouth. You can still taste yourself on him.

A line of saliva connects your lips as he pulls away.

“Not gonna ask you to take all of it,” he says, “but take everything I got.”

And with that, he can't hold back any longer, painting your womb white. Gojo’s cum is normally thick, and there's normally a lot of it. Today even moreso. Two weeks away hasn't helped with that. Cum runs down your thighs in streams, ruining your sheets.

The elders aren't going to be happy that he’s so reckless with his precious seed, but Gojo couldn't give a damn. The elders can talk all they want. That's all they're good for. He gets to cum in a warm place, and that's more than any of the others can say.

He practically collapses on top of you.

Gojo shifts so less of his body weight is on top of you. And though the room is rather warm, you find yourself nuzzling into his body, seeking out his warmth. His arms have always given you a sense of security, especially when wrapped up in them. They find your waist, pulling your back flush to his chest.

For a moment the two of you lay there, basking in each other's warmth.

You’ll have to get up in a bit anyway. To clean yourself up, and change the sheets. And get a new shirt. Probably another one of Gojo’s. He’s never been against seeing you wear his clothes. They never stay on you for long, though.

You pry his arms off, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, but he notices, and tightens his grip.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks, sounding rather offended.

“To get a drink,” you say, “I'm thirsty. Why? Do you want one too?”

“You think I’d let you go after just one round?” He asks. “You’re not leaving this bed until I’ve fucked you full of my cum.”

You're in for a long night.

[burnedbyshoto]

the bodyguard

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

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pairing: bodyguard!kirishima eijirou x idol!reader

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

word count: 20,500

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

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“I’ll be okay.”

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

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

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

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

What had he done?

What in the fucking world had he done?!

BOOM!

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

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

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

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

05:30.

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

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Better?

No, not yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Cause I’m a stalker, duh.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Kirishima-kun, are you okay?”

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

“Kirishima-kun?”

“Yo, he’s not looking too hot?”

“Kirishima?!”

“Can you hear us?!”

Silence.

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

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

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

He was okay.

He was okay.

He was okay.

“Kirishima?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

But he was obviously not the first choice still.

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

“Toshinori—”

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

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

He had barely passed the admittance test.

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

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

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

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

“I can do it.”

A smile.

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were tiny.

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

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

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

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

“Six months tops.”

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

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

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

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

“...no,” Kirishima answers truthfully.

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

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

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

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

Fuck, that one hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

“Six months,” Kirishima agreed.

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

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

“You got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, yes, let’s continue.”

So, the contract was discussed to full detail.

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

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

Or so the contract said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, so much for a good case.

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

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

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

You always managed to sneak away from him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ya, okay, bye!”

“By—”

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

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

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

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

He wanted to be just a fan.

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I can’t do that it’s not—”

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

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

And then there’s only silence.

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

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

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

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

He knew that.

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

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

You were a good person.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...how interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

“Very much.”

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

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

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

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

So much for change.

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

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

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

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

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

It had been a hard morning.

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

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

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

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

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

But today, Kirishima was exhausted.

Today, Kirishima wanted to sleep.

Today… Kirishima broke.

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

You ignore him.

“We’re leaving, now.”

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

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

He grabs your wrist and begins pulling you away.

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

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

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

Oh, right.

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

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

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

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

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

“Compromises aren’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Wh-”

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

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

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

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

And for a moment, it’s quiet.

Until a single name is screamed.

“SERGEANT!”

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

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

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

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

The van turns on.

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

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

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

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

T082-23

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

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

Well, shit.

So much for the month of no attacks.

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

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

But they also gave him an essential piece of information.

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

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

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

For now, he was waiting for you.

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

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

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

“Should we go?”

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

“I actually wanted to talk before we left.”

Oh?

“Of what, if I may ask?”

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

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

“Sure.”

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

The contract was then discussed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, Kirishima.”

“Oh, and y/n?” 

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kirishima stood in the softly lit hallways of a sauna.

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

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

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

Well, everyone but Kirishima, that was.

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

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

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

A stressful month had passed into a friendlier one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-If that’s okay?”

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

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

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

“No, I’m okay,” you politely decline.

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

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

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

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

“So, what questions do you have?”

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A pause.

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

A nod.

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

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

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

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

What had happened?

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

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

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

“Was that um, Major—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t made of glass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

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

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

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

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

“PERVERT!”

“What?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, his dreams were never like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kirishima stepped back out to the hot spring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jenny, are you okay?” you called.

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

“We weren’t fucking you prude!”

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

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

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

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

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

What was he going to do now?

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

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

Bad, Kirishima, bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That sounds amazing, Kimiko!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whoever it was, pfft.

Kirishima was willing to bet on who it was already.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something.

Anything.

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

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

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

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

He was going to.

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready to move out?”

“We’re all clear.”

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

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

“Damn right I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Such a brat.”

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

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

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

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

T082-23.

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

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

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

You really came to life right now.

You were beautiful.

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

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

He was here.

Every warning bell sounded in Kirishima’s head.

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

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

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

Wait.

“What?! Family member?!”

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

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

There was no way you wouldn’t.

Was he wrong?

Who was it?

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

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

Oh fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

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

“...she’s drunk?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a reason why you were considered a legend.

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

You smile.

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

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

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

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

How were they related?

What connected them?

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

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

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

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

Kirishima panted as he looked before him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was he ready?

Actually ready?

Save her, his past whispered.

Save her, his nightmares screamed.

Save her, his heart yelled.

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

BANG!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you resisted and might have been harsher than needed.

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

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

But it was growing late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown. 

“Where will you be sleeping then?”

“My couch is just fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I’ll be leaving—”

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

“Oh, sure!”

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

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

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

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

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

He was relaxed.

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

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

“Really?”

“One hundred percent.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” you grin against his mouth.

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

“No?” he repeats.

“No,” you confirm.

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

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

Menacing, promising, sending chilling shivers down your spine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does the princess want?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy fuck, he could quickly kill you with that.

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

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

And thankfully, Kirishima allows it.

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

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

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

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

It feels like fire.

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

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

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

Slap!

“Hey!”

Slap!

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

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

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

More, you plead.

And he delivers. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who saved you?”

“E-Ei did,” you garble.

“Who’s fucking you?”

“E-Ei is!”

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

“Me! Fuck, me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t.

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

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

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

“I think we do.”

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

The Day the Ocean Erupted

Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Angst, Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Allusions to death, drowning, pain, storms, thunder, rain

~ * ~

You remember the day the ocean erupted.

You’d been in your office, at 2 PM exactly, pen in hand and ink spotting your fingers, the culprits a stack of papers in the upper corner. The sun had filtered through your window and casted shining streamers on your desk as you wrote, typical of Liyue’s golden summers. You tapped your pen against your chin- how to phrase this next sentence? Should you focus on one or two types of silk? You hummed contemplatively, then scribbled a few more words. Sturdiness- that was important to mention in a report, especially one about something elegant like silk. The room filled with a comforting silence as you wrote word after word on the paper in the delicate warmth of the sun.

The first drop came and went without attention. But it was soon followed by another. And another. And another, until the sky was shedding all its tears into the streets and ocean of the city. Your pen had fallen from your grasp with a resounding clatter as you stood to peer outside the window, your eyes narrowed. Rain? In Liyue? Now? It was ridiculous.

Then something burst out of the ocean and you fell backwards in shock, pushing yourself away from the window despite being on one of the upper levels of the harbor. You rushed downstairs and pushed your door open, catching glimpses of an enormous serpentine creature rising from the waters as people rushed up and down the streets in a panic. The rain poured down in buckets, drenching everything and everyone, and all around there’s a frenzy of screaming, shouting, yelling, the same phrase reworded a thousand times, The Fatui did this, it’s the Fatui’s fault, the Fatui are to blame, and you could only think of one thing- your associate, your acquaintance, your companion.

Your friend.

Childe. Where was he? Vanished to the Golden House, they told you, but not as Childe, as Tartaglia, the Harbinger. For business, he said.

But soon you were swept up with the waves of screaming, and the thought had been lost.

That was weeks ago, when the Traveler had harnessed the power of the Adepti and defeated the old god Osial, with a final blow from Lady Ningguang’s Jade Chamber to seal him in the sea. The entire nation held its breath as Fatui activity wavered, dropped, then fizzled out completely. Life returned to normal, the seasons rolling by like a sigh of relief as reassuring whispers spread the news that the Fatui were finally, finally stopping their irritating interferences with the harbor.

You finish your final words and set your pen down, a thoughtful frown prominent on your face. You’ve never really been affected by the Fatui. For the most part they simply existed, a rumored plague on the Liyue Qixing with their endless meddling, but to you they were simple guards standing near doors and on the docks. On occasion when you had to wait there you would make conversation, to which most of them would respond to either in earnest or slightly tense surprise. For all their supposed horrid tendencies and practices and nosiness, you had found that many of the Fatui were, quite simply, people; people from a different nation and far away from home. People who had their own interests and likes and dislikes. People who had their own reasons and dreams and realities.

People who had all vanished when the last ripple in the ocean had stilled. And among them, your friend Childe, the Eleventh Harbinger Tartaglia. He was the only Fatui you would really consider a friend, the others being mere acquaintances. He was always teasingly kind to you, offering to get you a meal or asking to spend some offtime together. You, ever-suspicious, had often refused, but he was persistent and determined to chip down your walls one by one. And when they shook and crumbled your friendship had blossomed, despite the odd melancholy in his eyes whenever he looked at you, a question you never knew the answers to.

All this he was. But he was gone now, you suppose, following the tall, elegant woman you had seen exiting the Northland Bank to the mysterious depths of Inazuma. He looked so exhausted, outwardly appearing as tired as you sometimes felt inside, and your brow pinches.

You sigh and set your pen to the side before rising from your chair, cursing yourself for contemplating old memories. You don’t expect Childe to return anytime soon, if ever, so perhaps some thoughts are best left packaged in their pretty boxes scattered around the attic of your mind. The door swings open as you slip on your coat- it’s chilly outside, and you walk to the teashop for a new blend and distraction from the conflicting turmoil in your head.

The rain begins just as you hurry back home, having forgotten your umbrella in a moment of carelessness. Liyue’s winters, while cold and biting, never froze the storms that encroached almost every other day, instead letting icy droplets of slush fall on people’s backs and clothes. The clouds shield the few stars in the sky from view, blocking out the moon and turning the raindrops an inky black. You shove your door open and immediately shut and lock it again with a sigh of relief, shaking out your clothes and rubbing your chilled hands together. Your breathing is the only sound in the house, and your bones soon settle with a deep chill as the pressing quiet seems more and more foreboding. You cock your head to the side and hear an ever-so-faint rustling sound, and you pick up your weapon before making your way down the hall.

When you reach the living room you blink in surprise. Unlike what you expected, nothing is broken, not a dish is out of place, no drawers are flung open and riffled through. Nothing is wrong, nothing is out of order, your limited vision tells you, but a cold breeze sends goosebumps down your arms and you make your way over to the ajar window, very nearly bumping into furniture several times. You fumble with the latch and pull the window shut, dragging the curtain closed as if to cover the rain with elegant patterns and cloth, and for a few moments, you listen to the steady pour outside as it creates a chiming melody on the roof and glass.

Something breathes next to you. You whirl away in shock, clutching your weapon tightly. Something is here with you, watching you across the room, observing your every move as you hurry to light a match for some semblance of sight, the lamps in your house completely useless right now. The match strikes and connects, a yellow flame bursting to life, flickering like a firefly. You hold it up and come face-to-face with a single eye. Enormous and pearly, it gleams softly in the darkness, although whether it is blue or purple you cannot say. Sharp, plated red armor surrounds it, mask-like and curling into twin horns. The creature’s skin is also armored and bony, shades of purple and black with occasional splashes of red or silver, covered by a pair of translucent, sparkling wings like the deepest sea. It towers over you, claws and teeth razor sharp even in the persisting gloom, and you gasp and stumble away in terror. The starry wings and deep, rich colors, and the feeling it emanates, of being crushed and drowned by shining waves…

An Abyssal creature, some sort of monstrous beast from the depths of your world. It must be.

You back away from it, your chest tight with fear and the thought of death, of dying at the hands of this monster, holding your weapon so tightly you fear it might crack in your grip.

You’ve never been a fighter, only practical enough to keep a weapon you could use nearby. Between you and the creature, the creature would win with a simple swipe of its claws, and you would bleed out on the floor until you didn’t exist anymore, just another body lost to the infinite ocean.

But there is no attack, no clashing, no burning, searing pain, only a soft, sad whimper. You open your eyes and see the creature reaching out to you, crawling across the floor like standing causes it agony, as it lets out a broken and desperate wail. You take a step back again, then a step forward, your fear seeping out of you. Holding the match higher, you lean forward and squint, dots of color bleeding into the environment.

Ginger. Wondrously fluffy ginger hair, although it's wet with rainwater, and a single streak of white like snow.

You know who, and you say who before you even think who, uttering out it’s, his, name in a hushed whisper.

Childe.

Your weapon forgotten, you stand shellshocked in a corner of the room, so still and frozen that Childe himself attempts to rise to his feet, only to fall back to the ground with a pained cry, a sound that snaps your thoughts like shattering ice as you rush to support him. He scratches his claws on the ground, hiccupping, sobbing, whining tearfully at a pain you can’t see. You place a hand on the side of his face and he leans into it, almost slumping to the ground as he brings his hand up to cover your own. He stares at you, pained and suffering, with the same melancholy as before, a melancholy you now understand means I cannot love you, even though I so wish to, it is forbidden by fate and stars, and your heart breaks. 

You pick up a distant rumble of thunder, and Childe yelps in fear, wrapping his claws around you and pressing his face into your side, trembling. Your fingers stroke through his hair, running down the sides of his face and horns, and his sobs die to labored breathing as exhaustion finally overtakes him and lets his body relax.

You remember the day the ocean poured down from the sky. It was now, in a dark room with a pinprick flame of light, holding the consequences of the Abyss.

[likeshipsonthesea]

mianmian gets to the lan sect lectures, discovers very quickly that every one of her peers has decided to use this time to figure out how quickly they can get into bed with someone of the opposite sex, and decides almost immediately that she has to pick a suitably unattainable guy to have a crush on.

the thing is, mianmian is lanling jin’s head disciple. she is capable, intelligent, and very very gay. the last of these things she isn’t exactly keen on telling people yet for a variety of reasons up to and including jin zixuan will be so awkward and stubbornly supportive about it and she doesn’t know how to deal with that yet

so when her friends giggle over the other young masters and finally turn to mianmian-- who’s trying to memorize at least some of the fifty-thousand rules before their quiz tomorrow--and they ask her, “who do you like, mianmian?” she says the name that she carefully picked out of a handful of options.

“lan-er-gongzi,” she says, without looking up from her textbook, and she assumes that will be the end of it. 

lan wangji is both incredibly attractive and unrelentingly resistant to all attempts to flirt with him. she, like half the other female cultivators, can moon over him (or pretend to moon over him) all they want and nothing will come of it. it’s perfect. she’s a genius. the worst she’ll have to do now is pretend to be infatuated with him when her friends start gossiping. it’s fool proof.

spoiler: it’s not

it’s not, no, because her friends are horrible and immediately start gossiping about it to everyone, and usually mianmian wouldn’t care but then jin zixuan finds out. jin zixuan, whose marriage complex is being brought to center stage with the forced proximity to his bride-to-be. jin zixuan, who for some reason decided he has to live his stolen crush-addled youth vicariously through his only real friend that isn’t related to him. jin zixuan, who for some godforsaken reason takes it upon himself to contrive situations for mianmian and lan wangji to be alone together incessantly.

it unfortunately takes mianmian longer than she would like to figure out what’s happening. she’d give herself a break for it-- she was being responsible and studying, thank you very much-- but she doesn’t have much sympathy for her own stupidity seeing as she’s currently locked in a section of the lan library with the second jade of lan

and suddenly, suddenly she’s just so fucking tired. of studying, yeah, the tests here are brutal and there’s no one to bribe to make sure she doesn’t lose points on stupid things, but also tired of lying to the people she loves and tired of training this hard and being an amazing cultivator only for people to care more about her eventual marriage-- to a man of all things!-- and also, let’s be real here, she’s been in lectures with beautiful capable intelligent women for like months and she’s losing her gay ass mind

and so maybe, possibly, as she’s locked in a library with a clearly confused and annoyed second jade of lan she kind of, momentarily, loses it and rants all of this at his steadily widening eyes

at the end of it, she realizes with no small amount of panic that she’s just confessed not only her attraction to women but the fact that she’s been letting wen qing’s ears of all things distract her from her studies. if anything, she’s sure lan wangji will fault her for inattention

but the second jade of lan, after a drawn-out moment filled only with mianmian’s labored breathing and rising panic, simply says, “i understand.”

mianmian stops. she squints. she tilts her head. she squints some more. lan wangji’s ears go pink and just like that she realizes -- “you’re a cut-sleeve.”

lan wangji’s ears go even pinker. he doesn’t nod, or agree, or outwardly react in any way, but mianmian is a capable, intelligent cultivator, and she’s sure of it.

mianmian sighs with a relief she didn’t know she could feel. “thank the gods.”

lan wangji doesn’t seem to know what to make of this response, or mianmian’s increasingly frequent trips to the library following their conversation, or mianmian’s staunch determination to befriend the guy, but that’s alright. mianmian is old hat at befriending awkward sect heirs by this point.

it’s not like lan wangji expressed any desire for her friendship, but the prospect of not being the only one with absolutely no interest in the straight shenanigans happening at gusu lan summer camp is enough to let mianmian ignore his obvious confusion. lan wangji is a great listener and only sometimes blushes when mianmian waxes poetic about the beautiful women she’s forced to surround herself with every day

“no but you don’t understand,” mianmian insists, alone in the library with lan wangji, “jiang-guniang asked me to help her with a sword form. i put my hands on her waist. i said something idiotic bc she was so pretty and right there and then she laughed. lan wangji. i’m in love.”

“yesterday you were in love with wen-guniang,” lan wangji says as he impassively turns a page in his book. “has this changed?”

“no, i’m in love with both of them. all of them. lan wangji. they’re all so pretty all the time. it’s horrible.”

lan wangji presses his lips into a firmer line, which mianmian’s come to understand means he’s repressing a smile. “i’m sorry to hear it brings luo-guniang such trouble.”

mianmian groans, fairly undignified, but that’s a lost cause with lan wangji at this point anyway. “i swear, if jin zixuan says one more bad thing about her i’m going to punch him and marry her myself.”

lan wangji says, “mn,” which mianmian takes to mean that he supports her in this line of thinking, which she finds both quite sweet and ridiculously funny.

grinning, she teases, “lan-er-gongzi, if i do end up marrying jiang-guniang, will you bear witness to our elopement?”

lan wangji’s lips press again, this time in the way that means he’s repressing a frown. “jiang-guniang’s brothers wouldn’t allow for an elopement,” he says.

mianmian huffs. “as if yunmeng or lanling will deign to host our wedding.”

lan wangji appears to ponder this for a moment before he says, “gusu will host it,” and it’s at that moment that mianmian realizes she’s actually gone and fucking befriended the second jade of lan.

what is her life.

of course, it’s not long after that that she goes to find jin zixuan and explain that she can’t make their weekly sparring match today because she has plans with lan wangji (jiang yanli tenderly brushed some of mianmian’s hair away from her forehead while they were working on sword forms and if mianmian doesn’t tell someone about it she’s literally going to explode) and she’s trying to be as polite as possible only for jin zixuan to scoff and pout (”i don’t pout”) and say, “i never took you for one of those women who throw themselves so wantonly at a man”

it’s only for having been friends with this absolutely horrible communicator for most of her life that she doesn’t immediately punch him in the face. “what did you just say to me,” she demands, but jin zixuan just sets his jaw and looks away, flushing down his neck in the way his mother describes as unbecoming and--

and mianmian suddenly realizes that her ridiculous best friend is jealous of lan wangji. 

(in a friend way, of course, he’s like her brother, the one time his mother implied that he ought not get too close to women in case it jeopardizes his betrothal to jiang yanli, he insisted he didn’t have any female friends repeatedly as his mother delicately danced around outright saying mianmian’s name until finally she broke and jin zixuan was basically like huh?? mianmian doesn’t count?? she made me eat dirt like six times when we were kids)

the sheer ridiculousness of jin zixuan, to set her up with a guy and then get jealous when she spends all her time with him

and fuck her, but she loves her stupid awkward ridiculous sect heir best friend and she doesn’t want him to think she’s gone and left him for someone else (gods know jin zixuan’s loyalty complex rivals his marriage one (on second thought the two might be connected)) and so, after making a few quick decisions, mianmian grabs her stupid best friend by the wrist and pulls him to the library

he protests all the way there, but he’s been letting her drag him wherever she wants since they were five and it isn’t as if he’s going to break the pattern now. she drags him to the library and sits him down across a startled lan wangji and then finally breaks and gushes about jiang-guniang’s fingertips brushing her forehead and doesn’t look at jin zixuan once the whole time

lan wangji, on the other hand, sends jin zixuan frequent glances, as if worried on mianmian’s behalf, which is super sweet and also how the fuck did mianmian get two awkward sect heirs to care about her platonically wtf. she spares a thought for her poor auntie, who would’ve loved to have a sect heir care about her niece in much less platonic ways.

at the end of mianmian’s rant, jin zixuan is blinking quite a lot. “you like women?” he asks. he’s always been a bit slow on the uptake. mianmian nods. “you like jiang-guniang?”

mianmian shrugs. “more or less. she’s just really pretty and i’m dying about it. it’s fine.”

lan wangji says, “mn,” sympathetically and jin zixuan continues to gape.

mianmian winces. “you’re not going to be weird about this, are you?”

jin zixuan shakes his head quickly. “no, no-- of course not, i--you know that i--you’re my best friend, i don’t care--what does it matter to me, who you want to--to touch your hair.”

it’s probably the most awkward sentence he’s said to her in years, but possibly more articulate than she’d been expecting. it makes her tear up regardless and she punches him in the shoulder to hide it, and that’s basically how the three of them start hanging out in the library nearly every day after lecture.

sometimes they go to the sparring ground, bc who’s better sparring practice than the second jade of lan? and sometimes (once or twice) mianmian manages to convince lan wangji to join her and jin zixuan for lunch in caiyi town when they don’t have lecture, but mostly they meet in a secluded part of the library where mianmian can rant about how pretty all the women at lectures are, jin zixuan can turn pink whenever she mentions jiang-guniang, and lan wangji can “mn” and nod sympathetically at all the right parts

and mianmian thinks that’s going to be the end of it, they’re just going to be friends now and everything else will move on as usual, bc by some ridiculous trick of fate lan wangji and jin zixuan seem to like each other. which makes sense in hindsight bc they’re both awkward sect heirs who care about cultivation and people a lot even if they’re not great at showing it 

(and he’d never say it but mianmian thinks jin zixuan’s easy acceptance of her liking women is probably the first time lan wangji’s ever seen someone accept that kind of thing before (maybe, possibly, other than his brother, lan xichen seems really cool, even if he does smile kind of intensely at mianmian whenever he happens upon her hanging out with his little brother.))

so they’re friends, they’re unexpected friends, and sometimes lan wangji even makes jokes in that dry deadpan way of his and sometimes jin zixuan doesn’t completely trip over his own words and manages to act like a normal human being and mianmian gets two idiots to care about and a perfect place to vent her womanly frustrations, and she thinks that’s the end of it and then wei wuxian accosts her after lectures one day

“do you like lan zhan?” he asks accusingly, eyes narrowed to slits. “what am i even asking, of course you like lan zhan, but do you like-like him?”

mianmian thinks sadly to herself that she’s much too into women to be dealing with all these men’s emotional problems. “lan wangji is my friend,” she says, carefully sidestepping wei wuxian, who continues to squint at her suspiciously. really, he’d been amusing when he flirted with her, but this? this is just ridiculous.

“does he know that?” wei wuxian asks. “because if he doesn’t, that’s just leading him on, and it’s really not nice to--”

“lan wangji knows we’re friends,” she says, trying to enunciate to get her point across clearly. “you can ask him, if you don’t believe me.”

wei wuxian squints a moment longer before he turns and flounces off. mianmian thinks this is the end of it until she’s accosted again after dinner with, “he said you were friends!”

for some reason, wei wuxian seems even more troubled by this than earlier. mianmian tries to suppress her eyeroll. “i told you he would?”

“but how,” wei wuxian says, suddenly whining. “i’ve been trying to be his friend for months and he refuses to acknowledge me.”

oh, mianmian realizes with a quickly dawning horror. she and lan wangji are not the only cut-sleeves at cloud recesses this summer. (she has suspicions, of course, but no confirmations on any of the others, but this. wow.)

she also realizes, decides really, that she has enough repressed sect heirs in her life and she cannot deal with wei wuxian’s cut-sleeve crisis or his evidently large attachment to lan wangji right now. she turns decisively and walks the fuck away. not her problem.

the lectures end eventually, of course, and mianmian and jin zixuan return to lanling with a horde of golden robed disciples, freshly deflowered and not all together more learned. it’s what, she thinks grimly, their sect leader would want.

the first few weeks go by and she realizes that she’s missed unloading about her frequent and fast falling-in-loves. jin zixuan just doesn’t sympathize right, bless him, and so mianmian takes to writing letters. she sends two without receiving a reply and just starts to write the third when a letter with the gusu symbol is delivered to her room.

she’s almost expecting to find a single mn written on the page-- she would’ve been delighted with just that, actually, the sheer hilarity of such a thing-- but instead she finds several pages filled with lan wangji’s perfect calligraphy.

it’s more than he’s ever spoken out loud, but it seems that propriety dictated that he return mianmian’s extensive letter with one of his own and he’s done so admirably. he responds to the events mianmian detailed in her letters-- most succinctly summarized as, woman are gorgeous and i’m dying-- and then writes about his own life in cloud recesses. apparently, he went on a little night hunt with wei wuxian and also nie huaisang and jiang cheng were involved? seriously, mianmian misses out on all the fun.

he’s also apparently taken in some rabbits, which mianmian immediately decides she needs to see. lan wangji, sitting prim and proper, with a bunch of rabbits in his lap? amazing. wei wuxian would die on sight, she’s sure of it.

he also ends his letter with a warning about qishan wen that has mianmian frowning. she takes it to jin zixuan who reads the paragraph and frowns. “i’ll talk to my father about it,” he says, which she can tell by his hunched shoulders he doesn’t expect to do much.

“talk to your father’s general too,” she suggests, because that man at least thinks with his head and not his dick.

jin zixuan nods but doesn’t hand back the letter. he skims it instead with a barely concealed surprise at lan wangji’s previously hidden expansive vocabulary. mianmian snorts and grabs the letter back. “you can write to him yourself, you know.”

jin zixuan flushes down his neck. “i know!” he insists and then turns and runs away because he’s a coward. mianmian shakes her head, smiling. what an idiot.

still, another week goes by and a letter arrives from gusu and, when mianmian takes it, assuming it’s for her, she finds it addressed to jin zixuan in lan wangji’s impeccable calligraphy and she grins to herself like an idiot. look at jin zixuan, making friends

(she suddenly understands why lan xichen gave her all those intense smiles during the lan lectures)

they go on in this way, writing letters to lan wangji from lanling. sometimes mianmian steals jin zixuan’s letters before he sends them so she can squeeze in some ranting in the post script without wasting a whole second thing of paper, and lan wangji replies dutifully, more verbose than he ever was in person, and it’s nice okay, like. she and jin zixuan have been best friends since they were kids but neither of them has ever been any good at listening and lan wangji is just so honest and earnest in everything, like they didn’t realize that people outside of lanling were actually not always plotting your downfall??? who woulda thunk

and then of course the wens go and ruin everything. they go to the wen lectures bc jin guangshan doesn’t want to “anger our trading partner” like the guy isn’t obviously going to burn carp tower to the ground the first chance he gets, and mostly mianmian and jin zixuan are just vaguely annoyed and put out about it

then lan wangji shows up with a broken leg and a burned sect and they are ready to murder some dudes

after years of breaking in and out of carp tower she and jin zixuan are old hats at this breaking and entering stuff and they manage to sneak into lan wangji’s guest quarters and tend to his wounds, ignoring all his silent glares and ranting furiously about how they’re going to murder wen chao by making him choke on his own dick (mianmian) and how they’re going to war with the wen sect even if he has to threaten his father with acknowledging all of his bastards as proper siblings in public to do it (jin zixuan)

lan wangji just says “mn” and makes various muted, distressed expressions, but mianmian thinks he’s touched.

“are your brother and uncle alright?” she asks, when she’s set his broken leg and forced pain medication down his throat.

“brother escaped with our sacred texts,” lan wangji says. “uncle is... unwell.”

mianmian knows lan wangji hates touch but the way he says it, with this horrible little frown, emoting more than she’s ever seen him, his barely suppressed anger and grief literally making his hands shake into fists, mianmian can’t help it, she hugs him. “we’ll make them pay,” she swears into his shoulder, ruining the lines of his robes with how she clutches at them. “i promise you.”

jin zixuan awkwardly pats lan wangji’s shoulder, which is a lot for him and mianmian spares a moment to be proud of his growth.

unfortunately, wen chao seems to delight in torturing lan wangji on his injured leg and lan wangji refuses to show weakness, which both impresses mianmian and pisses her the fuck off. she approaches wen qing (and her still gorgeous ears, sigh) and asks her to tend to lan wangji, since she’s like actually a doctor. wen qing does bc she’s beautiful, intelligent, and kind and mianmian spends most of that night sighing deeply as she relates this to a significantly drugged lan wangji

the cave of the xuanwu goes about the same as you’d expect. wei wuxian saving her from getting her face branded off is pretty rad of him, though he could’ve just like knocked the brand away instead of throwing himself in front of it but whatever, you do you boo. when lan wangji gets left behind the two of them don’t even have to wait for jiang cheng to grumble and ask for their help, they’re already on their way to carp tower for an army, thank you very much

when they rescue wei wuxian and lan wangji and lan wangji immediately turns to walk back to cloud recesses on a broken leg mianmian says, “fuck no, that’s not happening, you’re getting medical attention and then someone will fly you back home, okay, wtf wangji, sit down.”

and lan wangji is a stubborn bitch so obvs he’s like no but he’s also severely starved, dehydrated, and injured, so it’s not like he can just shake off mianmian holding him down and this goes on long enough for wei wuxian to wake up and see mianmian touching lan wangji, and something in his poor little brain just like breaks and he demands says, “lan zhan, come back to lotus pier with us.”

his argument, as he explains it, is that lotus pier is closer (it’s not; they’re just as close to carp tower as lotus pier) and that it’s closer to gusu for when lan wangji has to return home (it’s not; same deal) but then jiang cheng starts yelling, possibly in support possibly not mianmian’s not sure, and jin zixuan starts getting awkward, probably about the whole golden army behind him bc he’s a nerd and hates being overdressed at functions (this is basically the same thing), and mianmian looks at lan wangji and she sees--

something. she isn’t sure what exactly, but lan wangji looks at wei wuxian as he argues with his brother and he presses his lips into a thin line in the way that means he wants to smile and mianmian thinks, oh. maybe wei wuxian isn’t completely unrequited in his lan wangji obsession.

growing up in lanling, she knows how to use information to her advantage, so she immediately says, “young masters wei and jiang, what a great idea. lanling’s disciples would be pleased to accompany you and second young master lan to lotus pier to ensure everyone’s safe arrival.”

everyone splutters, indignant, confused, awkward (jiang cheng, wei wuxian, and jin zixuan, respectively) but lan wangji narrows his eyes at mianmian and doesn’t try to convince her to let him walk to gusu again, so she counts it as a win.

sect leader jiang and his wife seem surprised and annoyed, respectively, to be taking in so many guests, but sect leader jiang merely smiles pleasantly and directs them to some guest quarters and mianmian and wei wuxian ask, simultaneously, for doctors to tend to lan wangji and wei wuxian makes a face at her and mianmian sighs to herself that she really is too gay to be in the middle of his thing with lan wangji.

turns out, walking a lot and fighting a cannibalistic turtle on a broken leg doesn’t do wonders for healing. lan wangji is also the worst patient ever, he keeps trying to sneak out and get up even though word came from his brother that he’s safe and alright and that cloud recesses is starting to rebuild after qinghe nie and lanling jin came to its aid and pushed out the wen

but with the combined efforts of mianmian, jin zixuan, and wei wuxian (and even jiang yanli at one point, bc who could say no to her soup??) they manage to get lan wangji to just rest for a fucking second, really which results in the jin disciples and lan wangji staying in lotus pier for longer than anyone could’ve expected

mianmian spends most of her time (when she isn’t forcing lan wangji to just fucking stay in bed) working with the jiang disciples, practicing archery, sword forms, and mooning after all the beautiful women here.

(”lan wangji, i know she’s scary, but have you seen madam yu? she could whip me with zidian and i’d thank her” “luo-guniang, please don’t ask madam yu to whip you” OR “lan wangji, i’m almost positive madam yu’s maids are a thing, do you think they’d let me join them just like once” “luo-guniang, could you please pass me my sword?” “why” “i’d like to put myself out of this misery” OR “she made me soup. lan wangji. lan wangji, i know you’re not sleeping, wake up, you have to listen to me, this soup”)

they end up staying so long that when wang lingjiao shows up threatening a child about a kite while sect leader jiang is away, she has a lot more to deal with than madam yu. since none of this had been a “sanctioned visit” no one actually knew that there was nearly an entire troop of jin disciples staying at lotus pier, so when the wens attack they are sorely unprepared for what they’re going to face.

(and ofc lan wangji breaks out of bed heroically and keeps madam yu from whipping wei wuxian, which means they aren’t down one of their most powerful fighters and mianmian has to suffer through the moon eyes they’re making at one another in the middle of a battle no less, she knew wei wuxian had no shame but she’d been hoping lan wangji would have some)

after the wen attack (and defeat) on lotus pier and the jin’s inarguable part in it, the war starts in earnest. lan wangji, after his long rest, heals fine and goes back to gusu to help rebuild his sect and plan for war, and mianmian and jin zixuan return to carp tower to plan as well, ignoring jin guangshan and focusing instead on his general to ensure lanling supplies necessary aid in the war effort

and war is always shitty, of course, and mianmian hates watching her sect family die on the battlefield, hates waiting for updates after every battle to see who’s still alive, hates the politics and jin guangshan trying to wheedle his way out of fighting when there’s fucking lives on the line

(and she could never know, how much easier it is, with yunmeng jiang at its full strength, with one of the brightest minds of their generation there to plot and help, with two of the best fighters not out searching for someone and instead focused on the front)

they reach nightless city after months of fighting and mianmian is ready to just fucking stab wen ruohan herself when they’re suddenly trapped. blocked in on all sides by puppets, their fallen soldiers rising again to turn on them, and it--it looks like they’re gonna die.

“this sucks,” she says to lan wangji, stifling her fear and choking it down. “i never even got to kiss a girl.”

lan wangji just says “mn.”

jin zixuan, beside them, says, “i was an idiot about jiang-guniang.”

lan wangji just says, “mn.”

then wei wuxian pulls out a fucking flute and a-- floating piece of metal?  the army of puppets and corpses stops advancing, held in place by-- music, apparently? and wen ruohan emerges from his lair, black energy falling off him in waves, wei wuxian the idiot flies forward to meet him, gets wen ruohan’s hand around his throat for his trouble.

lan wangji yells, “wei ying!” and mianmian thinks, really not fair that lan wangji is gonna get a boyfriend before i get a girlfriend

and then wen ruohan gets stabbed by jin zixuan’s half brother of all people. wen ruohan, along with his puppets and wei wuxian, fall to the ground. lan wangji rushes forward to catch wei wuxian, mianmian runs after him, finds herself in company with jin zixuan and jiang cheng. when they get there, wei wuxian is barely conscious but he’s-- he’s fucking grinning up at lan wangji from the cradle of lan wangji’s arms

“lan zhan,” he says, “you caught me.”

lan wangji nods, says, “mn,” which is basically his equivalent of i’ll always catch you, wei ying.

“really,” mianmian says aloud, “it’s so unfair.”

the aftermath of the war is more annoying than the war itself, what with all the politics and in-fighting and jin guangshan trying to be the biggest dick there ever was. jin guangshan tries to name himself chief cultivator in wen ruohan’s stead but nie mingjue suggests jiang fengmian instead and the lan sect backs him. jin guangshan tries to demonize the wens but at wei wuxian’s loud rebuttal and sect leader jiang’s backing (which is then backed by both gusu lan and qinghe nie) he’s once again shouted down. and then jin guangshan tries to propose to jiang-guniang for his son and the poor woman just seems so awkward and her father doesn’t seem to know what to say and--

mianmian elbows jin zixuan whose eyes widen ridiculously but, after another, harder hit, he suddenly stands. all eyes go to him, which mianmian knows he hates, but he bows to his father, then jiang yanli, and says, “jiang-guniang, forgive my father’s impertinence. this is not the time or place to be making such an offer, but he--” jin zixuan winces visibly. “--he knows of my feelings and wishes to make his foolish son happy. please, do not feel the need to respond.”

then he promptly sits down, flushing down to his neck, and mianmian shares a disbelieving glance with lan wangji from across the horrible nightless city palace room.

she’d really only meant for him to suggest jiang yanli answer privately, at a later time, but wow, jin zixuan really went for it. also no way jin guangshan knows his son has fallen in love with jiang yanli, so nice save face there. maybe he has been paying attention in all of their etiquette and political espionage classes.

jiang yanli flushes way prettier than jin zixuan and nods politely, stands and bows and thanks the jin clan for being considerate in this time of turmoil, perhaps they can discuss this matter at a later date (jin zixuan looks like he nearly faints at this, and mianmian feels vindicated in all her forlorn ranting. overreacting her ass)

when everything has been settled, wen qing has been appointed the new sect leader of qishan wen with promises to return land to those who lost it and pay reparations to the hurt civilians, as well as have the yin iron destroyed for good. during the final ceremony where all the sects have tea and pledge to be loyal to one another (until the next great war, of course) mianmian leans close to lan wangji and sighs, “her ears look even lovelier with her hair tied back by her new sect leader hairpiece.”

lan wangji says “mn” because he’s a cut sleeve in love with wei wuxian and has nothing even closely resembling taste.

mianmian, on her own, decides to make them both happy. before the jin clan departs from nightless city, she goes up to wei wuxian and asks for a moment of his time. wei wuxian seems confused but follows and, once they’re alone, he says, “mianmian, are you about to get me into bed, because i must tell you that i am a respectable young cultivator and you’ll need to marry me before--”

mianmian gives him her best unimpressed look (she’s had much practice with it, thank you jin zixuan) and cuts him off with, “i like women.” 

wei wuxian’s eyes go wide. “but you and lan zhan--”

she cuts him off again before he can say something so stupid she has to stop talking to him to refrain from breaking all laws of propriety. “look,” she says, “you’re friends with wen qing. now that she’s sect leader, your brother can’t go after her. i, on the other hand, very much can. if you promise to figure out a way for me and her to get close, i’ll tell you a secret you’ll like very much.”

wei wuxian seems hesitant for all of half a second before he breaks. “tell me.”

“do you promise?”

wei wuxian raises three fingers. “promise.”

“on your sister’s life?”

begrudgingly, wei wuxian nods.

“on her soup?”

“just get on with it!”

mianmian smirks, pushes onto her tiptoes, and whispers the secret into wei wuxian’s ear. with that, she returns to the pavilion where all the sects mingle as they wait to depart, wei wuxian trailing behind her in a daze, his mouth hanging open.

lan wangji, who had been watching since mianmian asked wei wuxian for a moment to talk, frowns nearly imperceptibly. mianmian grins at him and his frown grows.

ah, whatever. she walks over to him, unbothered by the quickly growing alarm in his eyes. once next to him, she turns around to see wei wuxian staring unabashedly. her smile only widens.

“you’re going to thank me for this,” she says.

wei wuxian shakes himself, his eyes focusing, and immediately starts walking towards them.

lan wangji, voice flat but wavering, asks, “luo-guniang, what did you do?”

mianmian laughs, says, “i get to give a speech at your wedding,” and walks away just as wei wuxian reaches them.

(she does, actually, give a speech at their wedding. she may or may not be drunk during it, jin zixuan gets embarrassed for her, and she starts tearing up and has to hide it in the shoulder of her wife’s lovely well-tailored robes. it’s alright, though, wen qing doesn’t mind)

EDIT: now on AO3 with a real fic version from lwj’s pov!

[wkemeup]

for drabble night- which i am so excited for, by the way!! you're a marvelous writer and one of my top favorite bucky writers- my personal favorite trope is oblivious idiots to lovers (like the love is requited but they're just idiots)

dialogue prompt: “I’m too good for revenge.” “Well I’m not. Give me the gun.” - from anon pairing: bucky x reader word count: 1.4k warnings (provided by @jessalyn-jpeg): idiots to lovers, mutual pining, shouted love confessions, (and warnings from me ->) past torture, descriptions of blood, canon level violence, sorry I made this so dark??? a/n: guess who already broke the 1k rule!!! but hey I loved this one and Im a little sad it's a drabble and not a monster fic. it may not be idiots per say, but definitely two people who love each other who havent admitted it yet and are scared of what it means

A man withered on the ground at your feet, scrambling along the prodding edges of crumbled concrete. Crawling as blood streaked in his wake. This man – this monster – you'd been chasing for weeks was reduced to a helpless, crying mess as you towered over him. His hands shook as they shielded his face, tears streaking over his cheeks. This time, you held the power. You held the leverage. He wasn’t so scary without the table of surgical tools at his disposal – your blood stained upon his hands and a maniacal grin upon his lips.

You didn’t know his name. He was only ever ‘the Doctor’ when you spoke of him in your head. You’d only uttered the phrase once since the team rescued you from his basement two months ago and even then, it had tasted of venom. He haunted you in your sleep, followed you in the shadows of every room, drew screams as he pleased even when he could no longer touch you. Safety was not a luxury you could afford – not after what he’d done to you.

Bucky was your only reprieve. A broken man who had found the pieces of himself again – who had offered pieces of himself to you to soothe the mess you’d become with gauze and tape. It was his arms you woke in when your throat was burning raw, his voice lulling you back to sleep, his hands that had taught you peace again.

Bucky saved what his man destroyed.

“P-please,” the Doctor begged, his trembling hands reaching out for the toe of your boot – like a peasant before a king. You flinched before he could touch you. His back pressed against the wall. There was nowhere else for him to go. You flexed the gun at the end of your grip.

“You ruined me,” you spat, barely able to taste the words as they left your tongue. They did not sound like your own. “You expect me to grant you mercy?”

It only made the man sob harder. He was struggling to breathe – hyperventilating between sobs as his hands curled tight against his chest. Pathetic. Weak. Certainly not the type of man who could orchestrate the kidnapping of an avenger without help. He was sick and twisted and evil down to his bones, but he was not the mastermind behind your abduction. He was the executioner.

“D-don’t kill me,” he whimpered, bowing his forehead to the ground. “Y-you’re an Avenger. You wouldn’t.”

You had every intent to put a bullet through this man’s chest the moment you laid eyes on him again. You’d expected to be afraid, to see the surgical mask over his mouth and the cold, dead look in his eyes. You’d expected him to lunge at you with the scalpel and add to the array of scars he’d drawn upon your body. You’d expected violence from the psychopath you knew him to be.

Instead – you found this trembling, frail man who could not manage the courage to meet your eye. It was only when you were chained and drugged that he felt powerful enough to torture an Avenger. You were disappointed.

“You’re not worth my soul.” Tears welled into your eyes as you stared down the monster who had taken residency within your nightmares. “I’m too good for revenge.”

“Well, I’m not,” Bucky’s voice growled from the edge of the room. He stalked across the floor of the basement, his boots stepping over the stain of dried blood you’d left behind months earlier. His expression was cold, unemotive. The plates of his left arm whirled as he clenched his fist. “Give me the gun.”

Bucky’s hand slid over yours, the gun falling slack in your hand. You parted your lips to tell him that justice was due, that there was still more at play than just the sick mind of the man crumbled at your feet. But the safety was already unlatched and Bucky unloaded the weapon into the Doctor. Blood trailed through the cracks in the floor until they touched your boots. The echo burned into your eardrums.

You gaped, stumbling a few steps back before Bucky could slide the gun back into the holster on your hip. He raised an eyebrow, concerned, but you couldn’t find any air inside your chest. Your gaze flickered back to the Doctor as his body slumped down the wall, sinking into the pool of his own blood. It would stain into the rock amongst your own.

Your stunned stare returned to Bucky as he gently reached a hand towards you. You slapped it away. “Why-- What did you—Why would you do that?”

Bucky stilled, his eyes narrowing. He retracted his hand, genuine confusion upon his features. “Are you serious?”

“We could have brought him in, Bucky!” You threw your arms in the air, pacing over the red stain at the center of the room. “We could have interrogated him! You saw him – he clearly isn’t working alone!”

“We don’t need him, Y/n, we can—”

“He’s a pawn! He deserves a hell of a lot worse than death but we needed him, Bucky!”

“No,” Bucky snapped. His face was growing red, his jaw clenching so tightly the muscle flexed beneath his stubble. “No — that monster should have been shot on sight! I don’t give a shit what he could have been useful for! He got what he deserved!”

“Dammit, Bucky! We’re right back where we started.” You pressed your hands to your eyes. Tears wiped at the edges of your palms – angry, frustrated tears. Helpless tears. A lump burned so terribly in your throat, you thought it might choke you.

“We’re not,” Bucky eased, trying to calm you though his own breathing was labored. “We killed the bastard who took you, Y/n. He’s dead now. He can’t hurt you again. It's a hell of a lot more than we had yesterday.”

“Not when the guy who’s making the calls is still out there!” you cried, shoving away his efforts to reach you, though he kept trying. “We were so close, Bucky! He would have talked!”

“You don’t know that! He could have been manipulating you!"

“He would have rolled over in a second!” you roared, fire and fury and agony coursing through your veins. “And you just—you threw that all away for—what? For revenge?!”

“For you!”

The moment the words left Bucky’s lips he held his breath. His boots carried him several steps back, putting space between you as if it might draw the words back from the air before they could touch you. The anger drained from your body, washing away in a matter of seconds. Bucky exhaled a tensed breath.

“I did it... for you,” Bucky repeated slowly, his voice dangerously quiet. “I couldn’t stand the idea of that monster living another second after what he did to you.”

You swallowed, though your throat was aired dry.

“I can hear you cry at night,” he confessed and your heart clenched. Slowly, Bucky lifted his gaze to you, blue eyes startling through the wash of tears. “I know what he did to you, Y/n. You don’t have to tell me, because I know. I know what it’s like to be stripped of your power, to be helpless. I know what that does to a person. You... You never should have had to know what that feels like, too. It would have lingered over your head, Y/n -- to have that monster in the compound with us. It would have driven you mad. So I did what I had to do. I won’t apologize for that.”

You stared at Bucky, lips parted. “Fury will be pissed.”

You didn’t know why you said that. Perhaps because you were too afraid of what Bucky was really saying – the meaning behind his actions. Why it tortured him to allow this man to live after what he did to you.

Bucky chuckled dryly. “Yeah, I suppose he will.”

Quietly, you inched closer to him, stepping over the wet bloods of crimson as it slithered along the floor. Your arms wrapped around his waist, your head pressing to his chest. Bucky stilled for a moment, surprised, before his arms folded around you. It was warm in his embrace, safe. You listened to the gentle thumping of his heart as a hand circled sweetly over your spine.

And then, so quietly you knew only his advanced hearing could pick up, you muttered, “thank you,” against his chest.

--

this is your reminder that on drabble night I'm barely reading this over after I write it instead of taking weeks to edit and draft and redraft lol so if there's mistakes or the quality is not on par, that is why

[spenciebabie]

this is a long one feel free to elaborate on it 😚😚

so softdom!spence ofc (our faves)

and you guys and the bau gang are just hanging out and obviously sex comes up and they all say that it's obvious your the dom in ur relationship and Spence is like 🤨🤨. And you play along w it cause ur embarrassed asf and they keep teasing him for it cause he seems so submissive. So hes very 😠😠😠

Long story short fast forward you guys get home and he's WRECKING YOU and you left your phone at the bar so a few of them come to return it to you. Blah blah they hear wayyy more than they meant to and Spencer waked up to a bunch of horrified notifications from his friends lmaoo

wow I got carried away

-🧁

i also got carried away 😳

— —

they have this idea of spencer, and watching your dynamic that night they all seem to agree that he’s the type to respond to your every whim. and he is, but that’s only because he likes to treat you so well outside of the bedroom, because you live to make him happy in it.

so when they catch you shaking your empty glass in front of spencer and he wordlessly grabs it to get you a new drink, only placing a little kiss on your cheek, penelope breaks out in a little giggle.

“you’ve got that boy wrapped around your finger” she quirks an eyebrow but you wave your hand to dismiss her

“it’s mutual, we’re both hopelessly wrapped around each other’s fingers” you smile, darting your eyes across the room to see spencer leaning against the bar.

“sure you are, but you’re clearly the one in charge” emily jumps in to clarify, and you shake your head again as spencer slips into the booth beside you and places your drink down in front of you

“what are we talking about?” he asks,

“we’re just talking about how y/n really seems like she’s the one on top if you know what I mean” penelope giggles. but you can almost feel the heat radiating off of spencer next to you. when you turn your head to look at him he’s looking back at you with a confused expression.

“is that so?” he asks, folding his arms and leaning back in the booth

“yup, you’re like her little lap dog, always running around after her” emily says, pointing to your fresh glass of wine on the table with a smirk.

“ah i see, so that makes me the submissive one? just to clarify?” he asks and they both nod

“well that, and your whole personality” peneople says, growing looser lipped with each sip of her drink.

by the time you make it home you hope he’s forgotten, or at least cooled off enough that he doesn’t care. but the second the door shuts he’s got you pinned up against it with his hand wrapped around your throat, just tight enough to cut off your breathing a little.

“im the submissive one huh?” he growls “you like the idea of that? you like the team thinking that you’re the one in charge?”

your chest is already heaving with each labored breath as you look up at him.

“no sir, im sorry sir” you gasp

“you were a bad girl tonight, you know that don’t you? teasing me, riling me up like that” he groans as his other hand slowly creeps up your thigh and comes to a stop right against the fabric of your panties. slowly he runs a finger back and forth along the soaked fabric, watching the way you come undone so easily.

“if only they could see you, such a desperate little thing. fucking soaked and ive barely even touched you. they don’t know you like i do, they don’t know that im in control, always”

“m’sorry— uh— please...” you whimper and he must take a little pity on you then.

“fine, because you used your manners like a good girl” he whispers against your ear before he drops to his knees, hooking his fingers in the elastic of your panties and sliding them down your legs. then he’s spreading them apart and burying his face between them. sucking gently against your sensitive clit for just long enough that your legs begin to shake.

“oh god— fuck— spence!” you moan, your fingers twisting in his hair. but he stops, rising up to his feet again and placing a kiss on your lips, his tongue diving into your mouth so that you can taste your own arousal.

he takes a moment to unbuckle his belt and pull out his cock, it looks painfully hard and flushed in his grip. when his hands come to rest on your backside he leans in close, “im gonna need you to jump for me baby” he growls, and you obey.

and then he’s got you pinned against the front door and he’s buried to the hilt inside of you. you can’t help but press your face into his shoulder to stifle your borderline pornographic moans.

“no” he commands, “i wanna hear you, no holding back”

so you lean your head back against the door, and it bangs against it just a little each time he thrusts into you, forcing a little yelp out of you each time.

“did you like pretending earlier?” he teases, “did the idea of you being in charge make you wet?”

“uh— ah, no!” you moan

“really? i don’t believe you” he almost chuckles, clearly enjoying the absurd time it takes you to form a sentence while he’s so deep inside you.

“i was turned on because— oh god— because i was thinking— uh! thinking about this” you manage to moan.

“about what sweetheart?”

“about what you were gonna do to me—” you have to take a break to breathe, “i wanted you to— uh”

“you wanted me to get angry?” he growls, and you can only nod your head.

“well that’s not something a good girl would do now is it?” for a moment you can see the excitement flash behind his eyes before he manages to hide it again. and then he’s picking up the pace, pounding into you so rough that you can feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“aw are you gonna cry?” he teases, “i thought you wanted me angry, is this too much for you?”

you can’t summon anything more than a meek “no, i— i can take it” as the tears start to flow.

“hm, doesn’t look like it. maybe you’re just too tight, can’t take my cock. you really shouldn’t get yourself in trouble if you can’t handle it” he doesn’t let up as his hips thrust in and out, forcing your body against the hard wood of the door over and over and you grown closer.

“im sorry” you whimper, “im a good girl! i can take it, i promise— ah! please” it’s loud and desperate and almost a cry.

“you sure, you want me to fill up this tight little pussy? you want me to take what’s mine?” he asks, thrusts growing sloppier as he nears his own climax.

“fuck! yes! fill me up, im a good girl i swear” you moan as you cum, fingernails digging into his back through the fabric of his shirt.

it only takes another two or three thrusts before he’s spilling deep inside you, pushing it in further with a few lazy thrusts as he comes down.

the following morning you wake to spencer sitting bolt upright in the bed next to you, his phone in hand. on instinct you look over to the nightstand to grab yours but it’s not there. so you sit up too.

“what’s up, have we got a case? i can’t find my phone?” you grumble, rubbing your eyes and turning to spencer, but his eyes are blown wide and his cheeks are flushed red as he looks back at you.

“penelope’s got it” is all he says before he passes his phone to you and your own eyes bulge as you take in the messages.

penelope:

hey loverboy y/n left her phone at the bar, gonna drop it over on my way home x

i went straight home instead

okay im lying

i went over but i heard... noises. the specific kind of noises that people make while they’re...

i wish i didn’t have ears 😳

tell y/n i hope she survived

[justagirlsearchingforamuse]

Could you write a reunion fic as a sequel to the Heisenberg 'alone time' that you wrote? While smut would be wonderful, I'd just be grateful for apologetic Karl forced to be humble for once in his life.

(Also im DYING to know what he did, did OC/Reader discover his Soldats or about Rose? Im so curious and itching for more)

Your writing is awesome and I hope to get to read more Heisenberg goodness from you!

A/N: Thanks so much and I'm glad you guys are enjoying what I'm writing, sorry if it took so long and I'll be happy to answer more asks (including angst and fluff) for RE8. Sorry if this is so damn long but hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless. Also decided to make it gender neutral as I didn't want anyone to be left out.

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, The reader riding Karl, The reader not afraid to talk back to Karl, Stitching, Cursing/Inappropriate Language, Oral, Kissing, Arguing, power bottom' Karl, fluffy smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, Fluff, and nearly 8000 words.

It's been far too long since you have seen that man and you hoped not to see him for as long as you both may live, for a time you thought it was just 2 people with different paths that force them apart but in a way you couldn't be more wrong. You understood and still understand his need to get rid of his troubling and frankly corrupt family, you both shared a dream to run away from the Village and to live somewhere with beautiful sights. To have some form of happiness even if it doesn't last, sure normal life may seem boring but it's all that you both wanted, happiness away from reminders of Miranda and the rest of his seemingly fucked up family. But what it took to for him to get it, his plan that he seemingly thought was so brilliant only made you boil with rage and painful reminders of your past is brought from the dark corners of your memories and into the light of your mind. Children. They're so innocent, good, and pure ... they bring out everything in people, children are something that you hold near and dear to your heart. Children are everything that the world isn't, at least until they're forced to grow up and deal with the cruelty of the world. This wasn't the first time that you had disagreed or fought with Karl in your mind, but what really caused you to boil over was his plans.

A heavy huff slips from your lips as your heavy steps full of anger echoed throughout the factory, your hands are balled into tight fists and your fingers trembled along with your body, you just couldn't fucking take it. You weren't going to stand by and turn a blind eye to sacrificing an innocent child for your happiness, you weren't going to and Karl as usual tried to convince you into it. Make it seem like it'll be worth it in the end. He's stomping after you, following after you like a dog and you can hear him desperately trying to get you to stay, you keep your eyes forward and keep making your way towards the exit. Just as the door is in sight, he reaches out to grab your wrist causing you to gasp before trying to pull out of his grasp, he pulls you firmly towards him and makes you meet his eyes. His green eyes are clouded with ... desperation, they're soft and vulnerable but it didn't phase you. Not one bit. "Come on, (Y/N) ... you know that I'd do anything for you. ... You know I love you ... that's why I have to do this, kitten. You have to fucking understand ...!" He pleads with you, you turn away from his face, that bitter taste still remains on your tongue and his words fall deaf to your ears. "You don't understand! You don't understand at all! You're in your own fucking bubble ...! I can't do this! I can't live with the fact that the man I'm in love with is willing to sacrifice an innocent child for a chance at happiness." You growl at him, your words are breathless and harsh and it stings like poison to his soul, his expression begins to slowly fade into resentment. A look you had never seen before, especially towards you. "Listen to me! ... The fruits of our labor shall come ... but it all comes with a little sacrifice." He barks, his grip on your wrist slightly tightening with his anger rising as he tries to plead with you, get you to understand but you could care less. "Then I don't want to share that kind of happiness or freedom with you at all ...!" You bark back, your words are dripping in poison and there isn't much care behind them, a huff leaves your nostrils and you once again try to get out of his painfully tight grasp but he wants you to hear him. Fuck. "I thought ... fuck ... I thought you fucking loved me. All those nights, all those late-night talks, the passionate love we made ... I guess it meant fuck-all to you, huh? I guess you never gave a fuck about me ... I wanted you to ... I wanted you to understand." Karl seethes, his words are in a low growl and his green eyes are clouded with bubbling rage and fury. Fuck.

"I did love you, Karl. I still do but you have to leave or do something, I don't fuckin' know but there should be a limit to the price you're willing to pay for a chance at freedom. ... I'm not willing to. This ... this brings back too many painful memories, I would never let myself live if I let her die." You almost sob, your anger that was once boiling and alive was now being put out by the melancholy that rested deep within your soul. That baby reminds you so much of ... your history. You never told him about your past and the trauma you somewhat suffer from it that makes you long and ache for freedom. But now wasn't the time. At all. "I can't do that ...! You know I can't ...! You can't leave me, (Y/N) ...!" He shouts at you, desperately clinging to his relationship that is burning, crumbling right in front of his very eyes, he's trying so hard to save it but the thought quickly floods in what if he can't save what you have? His jaw clenches and his throat begins to tighten, breaths become hard to even get out and you can hear his low growl of rage and sorrow echo through your ears. Your throat had tightened the moment he reached out for your hand and now the tears were swelling in your eyes, leaving them uncontrollably. "I love you, Karl. But this is the end of us. The end of our story together." You managed to choke out as his expression softens yet he's stiff, a frown is plastered on his lips, and doesn't seem like it's leaving anytime soon. Regrets plague his mind, "I regret ever opening up to you. Fuck, I never should've let you into my life especially if you were gonna fuck me over and leave me alone." He thinks to himself and immediately lets go of your wrist, he forces on a blank expression and forces his tears to be hidden away, he pushes away his heartache and goes back to the only way he knows how to not fall apart, to not lose himself and to become weak.

"I never wanna see your fuckin' face again. Leave. Don't even think of coming back. You fuckin' ... you fuckin' hurt me ..." He grunts and growls at you, even lightly pushing you towards the door before turning his back on you as he crosses his arms. Fuck. "I'm sorry for the pain I've caused." You manage to say in a whisper, wiping away your tears and sniffling to yourself before leaving out that door and never looking back, it was hard leaving him behind to wallow and experience his pain alone that you caused. But you stand by your choice that you couldn't stay if he had to use Rose for his plans. Still, he plagued your dreams, still had nightmares about that man, about losing him in so many graphic ways. You tried to live your life, going to work and just trying to find a way to live without seeing Karl ever again at least you thought. You never forgot him. It was around 2 in the morning and you managed to sleep for just a few minutes until your phone rang obnoxiously loud, ringing and vibrating against your nightstand. You sat up, rubbing your eyes, and an annoyed groan left your lips before you picked up your phone, though you had lost his number you knew it was in that village and it meant that he was the only one calling you. You almost want to toss your phone across the room, a familiar bitter taste begins to coat your tongue and you slowly take in a breath staring at the phone in your hand. "God fucking damn it." You curse bitterly, regretfully pressing the answer button on your phone, scratching at your head you answer with a bitter and low "hello" that is answered with heavy ragged breaths. Coughing soon follows after and echoes through the phone. "What the he-" You begin to ask before you're interrupted by his sudden cursing and rage-filled words. "Stupid fucking Ethan Winters ... the bastard ... couldn't even ... finish the job ..." He coughs into the phone, blood pools in his gut, fuck he was ruining one of his favorite shirts and an empty swallowing pain aches through his stomach. But he barely cared.

"The fuck are you rambling about, Karl ...?" You ask harshly, standing up on your feet as you press the phone to your ear, waiting for an explanation. "Oh, fuck off! You wouldn't understand ...! Or care!" He howls back before you can hear him cough once again before a wince soon slips from his parted lips, an agitated expression twists onto your face. "You must've thought I would care if you thought to fuckin' call me. Tell me what's up or I swear I'll fucking hang up." You bark at him, clenching your fists tightly as heavy ragged breaths left your body in the presence of your anger. " ... If you do give a damn ... then your ex is bleeding the fuck out in his factory ... with no knowledge of medicine and shit." He coughs out, he presses his hand firmly onto his large wound, fuck was he in bad shape and Ethan Winters had fucked him up but like a coward left him alive. "I might be there. Keep pressure on the wound and try not to die, dickhead." You huff in a ragged breath before hanging up quickly, in a way you thought it was karma for him wanting to use a baby and possibly murder a baby to get rid of his toxic and frankly not real family.

You sit back down onto your bed with a heavy sigh leaving your lips and a question on your mind. Was it gonna be worth it? He could be trying to trick you, you thought to yourself and really questioned if you should drive there and help him supposedly. As much as you wanted to be bitter, to hold onto that resentment but your heart and soul ached to see that filthy man, it called out to him desperately. Your heart sang to see him, to hear him despite your mind's warnings and reasonable viewing of the situation. Like a dumbass, you listened to your heart and began to get dressed, you threw on some old coat and a pair of washed-up skinny jeans, you grabbed a med-kit and some stitches and quickly rush to drive to the hidden and eerie village. With your foot pressed hard on the gas pedal, you kept wishing and praying that he'd be fine, that the waste of gas and the risk of being pulled over by cops worth it. When you finally make it to the factory, it's grim and dark and seemingly stopped working, the smoke that came from the factory is gone, the noise and the racket that his factory produced every second. You quickly get out of your car, medkit, and tools in your arms as you enter, you can hear his heavy strained breaths echoing through the factory that is now seemingly dead. Lifeless. A series of coughs leave his lips as he sits slumped up against the side of his bed, his blood drips and oozes off his hand, covering his stomach wound as the pain just continued, it still ached and stung like salt on an exposed wound. His head is dizzy with a haze over him, fuck was his head aching like a motherfucker and everything on his body ached and cried out in pain. "Karl ...?!" He hears you shout desperately searching for the man, he could hear the distress in your voice, the panic that came in your hurried and seemingly quick steps. "I-I'm h-here ..." He weakly responds in a low whisper, blood begins to coat his tongue and the unfamiliar taste of iron rests upon his tongue. You hear his cry weakly and you quickly rush to his bedroom, heavy breaths leave your lips in your pursuit to find Karl before he bleeds out or chokes on his own blood. What an idiot ...

He's in seemingly worse shape than when you left, his lips are beginning to become tainted with his own blood, many small wounds were all over him but the most concerning was the one on his stomach. He's coughing and trying to take in oxygen, trying to taste something other than iron on his stomach and he turns to find you, standing there before him. Damn. He forces on a wide toothy grin when he meets your gaze, damn he could feel the tension and could see that dark haze in your eyes, full of disappointment and resentment. "So we f-fuckin' meet again, huh?" Karl coughs out as a short series of chuckles soon follow after, he's trying to keep what little pride he had intact. He couldn't be seen as weak after you broke him, you left him in pieces and chose to leave him because of some stupid sacrifices he had to make in pursuit of the happiness and freedom you deserved. "So we do, asshole ... let me guess, the plan that you were so persistent on working didn't fucking work ... what happened to never come back?" You growl at him, crossing your arms as bitterness seemingly runs through you, you could feel your heart thump in your chest and your hands curled into tight fists. " ... That doesn't m-matter right now. I just n-need your fucking help!" He snaps, his words strained and choked before a series of coughs soon leave his lips. You slowly take in a breath, considering whether to just hand him the medkit and fucking peace out but you know the asshole lacks medical knowledge and would die. You let a deep sigh leave your lips before you kneel beside him, putting one of his arms around your shoulders, and with a loud groan of pain, you set him down on the bed, lying him down on his back and making sure he was comfortable. "I'll only be able to take care of this and stop you from bleeding out. You'll have to be still, Karl otherwise I'll fuck up." You advise him, getting up to go wash your hands and make sure that you don't get him infected whilst you're at it, you come back into his bedroom and open the medkit and begin to get to work on the wound. Karl would've never thought or had the pride to call up his ex, the one person he told himself he'd never need again is forced to put his pride on the side and is forced to let his ex attend to his wounds. All he can do is frown deeply, turning away from you to stare out the window, and all he can think is that Ethan Winters is still out there. He's gonna kill Miranda. That was his job, that was something he spent his life working towards doing, getting rid of that bitch Miranda and stealing her precious power. He's forced out of his thoughts when you begin to rub alcohol onto the wound causing a sharp stinging sensation to shoot through him, he grits his teeth at the stinging and almost burning sensation plaguing his body. "Warn me next time, will ya?" He says before a heavy cough soon follows, you sigh deeply as you continue to rub the alcohol on his wound gently, making sure it doesn't get infected and die from an infected wound.

"Warn you? ... It's just rubbing alcohol not a lighter." You respond, rolling your eyes at the man before you as you set down the towel and begin to pull out your thread and your needle. If he thought the alcohol was painful then he is truly in for a rude awakening. "This is gonna be painful, Karl ... I'll try to be quick with it." You state, somewhat warning him of the pain to come. "Please do ... I can't wait until you fucking leave ..." Karl bitterly spat, still unable to accept the fact that he needed you, that you were right, that he wanted you back into his life because, in his mind, it's better to bottle it up. "I won't treat you if you act like an ignorant dog." You spat back, your eyes meet his for a moment as an expression of anger twists onto your face, he begins to try and speak before a wince fell from his lips at the sensation of the thread going through his skin, he slams his fist down onto the bed and hisses at the pain once more. "Says you, you literally came in here pissed. Maybe just shut up and do ... ah!" He begins to say, his words are filled with anger and irritation before another sharp sensation of pain shoots through him. "Look, my bad alright but it's not every day you want to see your ex who was willing to ..." You begin to retort back at him, giving him a mean glare before he barks back. "You have to make sacrifices for everything! ... Now Ethan is going to get his daughter, probably gonna murder Miranda when I deserved the right to kill her. To watch the bitch suffer and choke on her own fucking blood." He growls, bitterness comes to him like air and he lets out a huff through his nostrils, a bitter and sour expression twists onto his face as he thinks of the fact that Ethan nearly murdered him, he thinks to the fact Ethan is going to steal what he worked so hard to get. "Whether you kill her or he does, she'd still be dead. ... You need to just ... let go of it and be grateful he let you live ... besides can't you finally be free out of that woman's grasp?" You say, less bitterness in your voice than before as another painful wince slips from his parted lips, he sucks in a breath through his teeth and lets out a heavy ragged breath. "That's if that fool can kill her. That's why I needed Rose. I needed her power to help me kill her. I needed it." He growls, slamming his fist against the wall in frustration.

"Did you ...? If Ethan nearly killed you then you severely underestimated how powerful he is ... probably can rival Miranda's power or maybe it's ... it's because he loves his daughter so much, it drives him to keep going." You say, your once bitter expression faded into something more dreary as you are reminded of your past, you would've done anything for that child. He scoffs to himself, turning away from you as you stop stitching him up as a truly bitter and painful expression twists onto your beautiful face. You force his face towards your own and gaze deeply into his eyes, you want him to feel, to see the pain that you felt and he did feel it. "You act like it's so terrible to be human ... it's so terrible to fall victim to your emotions ... that man loves his child just like how you loved me. He would've sacrificed anything for that child, he was willing to try and kill you, he was willing to kill Lady Dimitrescu, he was willing to do it all. That's what being human is. That's what's strong, so fucking strong." You exclaim, slowly inhaling a breath into your nostrils as silence quickly fills the air between you both, you can see the realization in his eyes flicker before him and how he softens in a way. Licking your lips, you push him back and hide that urge that was a habit you had, leaning to kiss him whenever your eyes met his whenever you saw how he softened before you. You missed that so much. You didn't say anything more, you go back to stitching up his stomach wound with an unreadable expression on your face, it was a mixture of pain and frustration and Karl saw it but most of all he saw your pain. It reminded him of his own. He would do anything for you. If you wanted him he would take you back in a heartbeat and he was afraid to admit that. Afraid to admit that he was still weak to you, still weak under your human ways that he used to relish in with you and he was afraid of being open, being hurt, being vulnerable, and falling victim to you in case you left him again. In a way you were weak to him too, stubborn as well but more willing to open up to him, to be vulnerable in front of him, willing to take the bait if it meant you would get hurt again. You were almost numb. To it. The pain that he had caused you but it was still there, stinging you at whatever moment it got and you let it become what you see Karl as. Another reminder of your pain, another man willing to sacrifice whatever for a taste of freedom and revenge. But despite that you loved him.

"I apologize for acting like a bitch when I came in here. I just ... I never thought you'd call or need me ever again and I didn't think I needed you either." You say in a somewhat soft breath, you meet his eyes for a few moments before turning your attention back to his wound and he turns towards you, licking his lips before he runs his finger over his bottom lip. "Thank you." He says smartly with a prideful smile soon curling onto his lips before you roll your eyes at him, you bite your tongue to stop any laughter from coming out. "Come on, you have manners don't you Karl? You acted like a bit of a dick too. Or is it too low of Mr. Karl Heisenberg to apologize?" You tease, a natural warm smile curls onto your lips for a few moments, Karl's heart feels light once more and it pulsates in his chest at the once familiar sight he used to see all the time, he missed that smile. Chuckling, he looks down and can feel the bitter irony taste on his tongue begin to fade away slowly but surely it is. "I apologize for acting like a dick earlier. There. That make you happy?" He says, rolling his eyes to himself before you nod with a chuckle soon falling from your lips, your hair had changed, your fashion sense had as well but you were still the same with that warm smile that made him nearly have a heart attack. "Alright, I should be done in a moment ... I'll clean your wound once again and make sure it doesn't get infected ..." You say once more, your tone has returned to its initial seriousness and he sighs to himself, just when he thought you were letting the mask fall, just when he thought things might be going back to normal. "It's fine, do what you have to do ..." He responds, waving his hand in a motion to allow you to keep doing what you were doing. You continued for a few moments longer, trying to stay focused on stitching his wound up but suddenly thoughts starting appearing in your head, what if things could go back to normal? What if you can be free together now? What if you can share happiness with him? Maybe you were an optimistic fool but having hope that things might change between you two is something that you happily looked forward to.

"Alright, I'm done. You shouldn't bleed out and die and ... I'd say try not to fuck up your stitches. But I should be going if I am not of any help to you anymore, Karl ..." You say lowly, reaching out to seize your medkit before he suddenly grabs your wrist, just like the last time you saw him causing you to nearly jump at the sudden grasp on your wrist. He realizes what he's doing from your somewhat distressed expression and lets go of your wrist quickly. "I'm sorry for ... that. But ... I'll probably need more medicine or more care to make sure I don't fuck up my stitches." He rambles, allowing himself to be vulnerable for just another moment, licking his lips his eyes meet yours once again and you see that familiar desperation in his eyes. But this time, you thought what if you stayed and so you set your medkit back down and let a deep breath leave your lips, you somewhat missed the familiar sound of his factory working and working tirelessly. "I hope you aren't planning on stopping Ethan. I'm sorry but it's just fucking stupid ... let him take care of Miranda and let him have Rose then you have what you want. Freedom. Happiness." You exclaim, sitting on the opposite end of the bed beside him with legs resting on the mattress. "I ... I want to. ... Miranda has caused so much pain, so much agony to me ... she doesn't see me as her son, nor will I ever see her as a mother. She's just ... she's just a crazy bitch who decided to steal a fucking baby and hope it could be a vessel for her fucking precious little Eva." He growls bitterly, a sour expression twists onto his face as he crosses his arms, still bitter to the core and revenge is still tainting his mind, no thought of freedom or happiness crossed his mind. Just Miranda. "I know. All she cares about is finding a body for Eva ... but you could finally be happy away from that crazy ass woman. Besides ... this plan has already been a huge failure." You exclaim in a gentle sigh, licking your lips before taking in a breath and so many memories flood back to your brain whenever you stare at something. Even this bed has so many memories.

"I ... I haven't failed. Besides blame Ethan for ruining an otherwise amazing plan. So much for working together." He spat, rolling his eyes at the thought that he was possibly bested by a mere human makes his blood boil. "This plan has nearly cost you your life and cost you a chance at even getting a sliver of freedom." You explain, another sigh leaves your lips as you stare down at the mattress beneath you, silence fills the room once more because Karl's pride won't allow him to see that maybe he had failed in his plan. "You even lost me ..." You muttered lowly almost in a whisper but Karl heard it and his expression twisted from bitter to disheartened and remorseful. "Look, I get that I hurt you and I hate it. But I needed to do it ... I needed to try and get rid of her! Get some kinda control over my own fucking life! I am done with being another experiment for her to use for her wishes! I ... I just want to be free ..." He exclaims, all manner of emotion is pouring out of him and seeping through his mask of charm, taking in a slow shaky breath as his throat tightens and memories flicker of his family, his real family. His mother, her warm smile that is reminiscent of yours, her warm comfy hugs and just remembering it had tears traveling down his cheeks as he clenched his jaw firmly. Your expression softened at the sight before you, a saddened and pitiful frown curls onto your lips as you can sense his pain, he really lost his life to being Miranda's experiment, to being her slave. A soft breath leaves your lips and you rest your hand upon his shoulder, expressing comfort as he inhales another shaky breath, pain is what became of him and he tried to fix himself only to become more broken.

"Karl, listen to me ... you're allowed to be happy ... you're allowed to smile, allowed to be angry, you're allowed to be happy." You coo, your words are gentle but powerful and your eyes are sincere, warm, and delicate to his eyes. He turns to you, eyes slightly puffy and an expression of pain is twisted on his face, letting a gentle breath when he looks at you, when he gazes into your eyes for a few moments, he's reminded of happiness, he's reminded of warmth, he's reminded of love and family. He still loves you. His eyebrows furrow before he wraps his arms around you, clinging to you desperately as he buries his face into you, still pain torments him when he can and it destroys his life. It destroyed his relationship with you, it destroyed everything around him and it almost destroyed him, he would've sacrificed everything just for freedom, just to have his life be his own. He sees it now, it comes to him painfully raw and honest and he almost hates it because of how he hurt you, the one damn good thing in his shitty miserable life. "I hurt you. I fucking hurt you and you came back for me? I ... I don't fuckin' deserve you ... at all ..." He exclaims, his words muffled into the fabric of your clothes as he can feel your arms wrap around him, your hands gently massage him and the simple gesture puts him at peace and ease. "I came back because as much as you hurt me ... you don't deserve this, Karl ... despite how I left you, I still care so much about you. Hell, when it's you I listen to my heart rather than my fucking brain. With you, it's different ... with you, I could never forget you. At all." You confessed with a soft sigh leaving your lips at the end of your words, your hands move to his long untamed grey and brown locks, you gently run your fingers through his locks and you nearly chuckle at the unique texture of his hair. "I didn't either, butterfly ... I hurt you and I see how I fucking hurt you, hell I didn't care if you left me I was still going to continue to plan despite how it hurt you. I'm an asshat. I wouldn't want to remember me if I did that." He exclaims, a gentle smile curls onto his lips as he stares up at you with a familiar smile that warms your heart, it leaves it jumping in your chest and leaves your stomach with butterflies.

"It's good that you see that and I hate that hurt you too ... I know that I left feeling so bad, so bitter about this whole fucking plan ... but this plan the only good thing it brought to you was bringing me to find your nearly dead ass." You chuckle, a wide smile curls onto your lips as a peaceful and joyful expression is plastered onto your face, another chuckle leaves your lips as a warm familiar smile remains on your lips. He can't stop himself from smiling as well, savoring these moments you share of nothing but pure joy, and he can't help but cup both sides of your cheeks. His fingers gently caress your cheeks, his smile warms your heart and your soul and the familiar sensation of his hands against your cheeks made you melt before him. Silence fills the room as he admires you, your beautiful features, and everything along with it. "Out of everyone in the world, I could never hate you ..." He chuckles almost like a giggly child at a toy store, a wide smile remains plastered on his face and his soul is singing, calling out for you and his heart thrashes wildly in his ribcage. You let out a gentle breath and suddenly his lips are pressed gently against yours, your stomach is crowed and flooded with butterflies, your heart is pulsating in your chest, and everything is calling out to Karl. Moments after, he pulls away from your lips with a somewhat worried expression on his face, he questions was he moving too fast, did you not want him but his thoughts are put to stop when your lips collide passionately against his. It came to you so naturally and once the thought appeared in your head, your heart followed along with it along with your body, and here you were passionately kissing the man who you hadn't seen in over 6 months. He groans against your lips, savoring and relishing the familiar sensations that came as his eyes flutter close, he was such a fool, such a fool to not see that he was risking the only thing that mattered for a chance at even getting freedom. He was but a child ...

Groaning against his lips as you began to clutch a fistful of his hair, the kiss quickly grew deeper and more heated, heavy breaths left both your lips as you gently devoured each other's lips, greedy for the sensations it brought you both. Groaning into your mouth once more, Karl's hands slip your jacket off of you, he throws it to the floor and buries his lips into your neck, kissing and sucking lightly at the sensitive skin earning a soft gasp from your lips at the sharp sensation. "Karl ..." You say in a ragged breath, hands still entangled in his locks of hair as he continues to kiss and suck on your neck, your body begins to heat up with arousal and your body begins to ache for Karl. "Damn ... I just can't get enough of you, can I?" He chuckles, grinning devilishly at you as his eyes glance at your lips once again, he pulls you into another heated kiss that has his tongue prying your lips apart. His tongue enters your mouth, his tongue grinds against yours and your tongues begin to dance erotically together causing both of you to moan against each other's lips at the tingling sensations that spread across your tongues. Karl's arousal begins to show with the bulge that swells in his pants, he continues to kisses you, moaning and groaning at the overdue sensation of a warm body against his. Pulling away from your lips, heavy ragged breaths leave both of your lips and he can't help but notice your flushed cheeks as a breathless expression remains on your face. "Do you want this ...? Do you want me, (Y/N) ...?" He asks in a ragged breath, his hand cups one of your cheeks, as he gazes intensely into your eyes, lust, and desire, clouded those beautiful eyes of yours and it was one of his favorite expressions on your face. "I want you so much ... I want nothing but you and your naked body to be mine ..." You answer, smirking devilishly at the man before you as a low chuckle soon leaves your lips, grinning widely at you he kisses your lips once again, cherishing the smooth and delicate feeling of your lips.

"Mmh, your lips feel amazing, darling ... I missed all of this, the kisses, the touches, the way you worship me ... I missed it all so much." He purrs lustfully as a chuckle soon follows after, taking in a breath he pushes you onto your back earning a gasp from you before he gets in between your legs. He stares at the tank top you wore, it hugged your body perfectly, and hell it exposed a lot of skin, though it was basic it was enough for him. You'll always be enough for him and more. "Arms up, darling ..." He chirps, you raise your arms, and off comes your tank top and your torso was immediately met with multiple kisses and bright hickeys that decorated your skin. Wrapping your arms around his chest, he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, he lightly sucks on one as his other hand explores your torso, caressing your skin gently and with care. Your heart is thrashing, pounding in your ribcage, and heat floods through your being, arousal comes with that and it leaves you aching so terribly with a need for sweet release. Heavy ragged breaths leave your lips, licking your lips as you can only think of Karl, what he was going to do to you, what you were going to do to him. He takes your nipple out of his mouth, trailing kisses down your stomach as he gets lower and lower until he reaches your bothersome pants, letting out a growl he harshly pulls your pants down and throws them somewhere before he immediately buries his face into your crotch. His tongue moves gently, caressing all your sweet spots as the heat begins to boil up deep inside of you, you relished and savored the moist heat that caressed you in such amazing ways. Moaning against you, his hands wrap around your thighs to keep you from moving too much but he thought it was all about making you feel better, tonight was all about what you wanted, whatever you wanted you will have it. "Oh, Karl ...! Hah ... shit ... shit ..." You moan shamelessly, your hands clutch and grasp at his long locks of hair as heavy breaths are pried from your lips along with whispers of his name falling from those beautiful lips of yours. "Enjoying it, darling ... am I being good for you? Am I a good boy? Tell me I'm a good boy, kitten ..." He purrs erotically, his words roll gracefully off his tongue before he buries his tongue back into you, kissing, licking, and sucking on all of your sweet spots. "Good boy ...! Oh, so good ... fuck I missed your mouth so much ..." You whine needily, clutching at the sheets beneath you as you lick your lips, waves, and waves of heated ecstasy washes over you in sharp and powerful waves.

"That's it ...! Fuck, don't stop ... don't stop fucking me with that tongue of yours ...!" You cry out in a series of moans that are soon followed by ragged breaths, you grind your hips against his mouth eager and aching for some form of release, eager for more of the ecstasy he gives you. But he suddenly stops as he can barely hold himself back from taking you right here and right now, he begins to unzip his pants and fights to get them off. An annoyed expression twists onto your face as you roll your eyes and get up from the bed, grabbing him by his shoulders and turning him around towards the bed as you push him onto the bed with a devilish grin. "It's my turn, love ..." You chuckle as you begin to straddle his lap with your arms pressed into his chest and you begin to take him inside of you as a heavy breathless moan of his name leaves your lips the moment his thick cock fills you. It throbs and twitches inside of you, making you nearly jump at the sensation before you take all of his thick throbbing cock inside of you, the way he fills you is like no other, his cock stretches you and fills you perfectly. The way your walls clung and hugged his thick throbbing cock drove him insane, a heavy groan left his lips at the tight heat that surrounded and embraced his throbbing cock. "Oh, fucking hell ...! Shit ... so damn tight and ... hot ... come on, darling ride me nice and hard. Leave me at your mercy ..." He purrs devilishly as a long chuckle soon follows after, lust clouds his remarkable green eyes, his hands reach up to cup your flushed cheeks as a warm joyful smile curls onto his lips. You smile back at him, joy washing over you like a breeze as you rested your hands upon his shoulders and began to chase eagerly and joyfully after your sweet and euphoric release. Your hips grind and roll against his lap, heavy breaths are pried from your lips as heat begins to build and rise through your body, Karl's heavy ragged breaths can be heard along with yours as he wraps his arms around your neck. A low "fuck" leaves his parted lips as his eyelashes weigh heavy on top of his shut eyelids, sharp electric sensations of bliss shot through him every time your hips went lower. Burying his teeth into his bottom lip, a heavy groan leaves his lips at the blissful heat that envelopes his throbbing eager cock, all he can do is stare in awe at your expressions of bliss and ecstasy. It's so amazing.

"Mmh, baby ... you're so goddamn beautiful ... so exquisite. Come on, tell me how much you love me ... show me how much you've missed me ..." He purrs with a devilish smile on his lips, biting his lips soon afterward he places his hands on your hips gently moving them back and forth just to speed things up a bit. Your cheeks quickly become flushed at his words as you lightly squeeze onto his shoulders, heavy breaths still leaving your parted lips as you begin to throw your hips up and down onto his thick throbbing cock. It presses and drives into you eagerly, lightly hitting your sweet spot causing whines of Karl's name to be pried from your lips, licking your lips you entangle Karl into another heated passionate kiss that is so full of tenderness and consideration. "Karl ...! F-fuck ...!" You whine needily as you pull away from his lips, your eyes flutter at the bliss that courses through you as the heat floods through you. Your teeth grind against your bottom lip gently before you begin to slam your hips down onto his throbbing cock that perfectly curled onto your sweet spot as it repeatedly hits that sweet spot making his name fall from your lips again and again. "Oh! Karl ...! Mmh, Karl ...! It's so fuckin good, Karl ...!" You moan breathlessly, throwing your head back at the ecstasy that washes over you in burning relentless waves, skin hitting against skin echoed through his bedroom as your moans and heavy breaths are Karl's melody. Groaning deeply, his hands move lower onto your ass cheeks, wrapping his fingers around the area he lightly squeezes them with a chuckle following after, it's not a minute before he's nearly arching his back and a long whine is pried from his throat. "Fucking hell, sweetheart ...! Ooh, hah ...!" He whines deeply as waves and waves of ecstasy washed over him, he couldn't be happier and everything in his being felt like it could cry of joy. "Karl ... I'm gonna ... oh fuck ... fuck ... gonna c-cum!" You manage to say, heavy breaths fill your throat and your heart thrashes and pounds erratically in your chest, thighs tremble and shake against his legs, and your entire body throbs and aches. "Kiss me, oh please kiss me ... tell me how much you love me ..." Karl rambles in a series of heavy breaths as he wraps his arms around your torso, leaning in for another heated kiss as you continue to slam your hips down as hard as you can moaning shamelessly against his lips. Your entire body trembles and pulsates erratically as you had boiled over, heat travels through you along with sweet sweet ecstasy that left you nearly screaming his name against his lips. Pulling away from his lips as heavy ragged breaths leave your lips, you gaze intensely, it's not moments before your name falls breathlessly from his parted lips and his expression of joy quickly fades into one of ecstasy and relief. Sharp powerful sensations of ecstasy shot through him relentlessly as began to cling to you, wrapping his arms around you clinging to you and to what for a second feels so much like a damn dream.

Wrapping your arms around him, you find serenity in his cool embrace and you find serenity in the idea that things are gonna be okay, that things are gonna change from today to hopefully years from now. You smile into his embrace before pulling out of his embrace, moments later as you gaze into each other's eyes once more, passion and warmth clouded his green eyes. That look in his eyes like he was just so ... happy and like you're the one thing that matters in his erratic and wild world. "So ... Karl, what's next for us? ... After Miranda is dead and all that bullshit ...?" You question with a curious smile resting upon your lips, you rest in his embrace and he can't help but chuckle at your words. "Whatever it is that is next for you ... whether it's fucking staying here or leaving for better places ... you go and I'll follow." He answers warmly and confidently as a chuckle soon follows after his words. "Oh, so I made you my loyal dog, have I?" You chuckle, beaming at the man before you as he can't help but chuckle once more at your words. "In a way, yes you have ... made me weak for you ... made me unafraid to be myself around you. ... You are incredibly special to me, butterfly ..." He says in a gentle breath, smiling warmly at you as you can't help but flush different shades of red at his words. "You're even more special ... I love you more than you will ever know Karl ... and I've loved you all this time ... I hope I will never stop loving you. That no matter how bad things get that we will get through it together." You exclaim in pure joy as you both end up smiling sheepishly at each other before you rest your head in the nape of his neck and he wraps his arms around, hoping for a more optimistic and brighter future than he could've ever imagined.

[gotnofucks]

Colour Me Red

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Summary: Your boss is chasing you like the proverbial hound of hell, and one vibrant shade of red is going to be his undoing, and yours.

Words: 3k

Warnings: Oral sex, allusions to smut, suggestive talking, kinda workplace harassment but not really, boss and employee relationship, 18+ ONLY

A/N: This is for my jaan Lexi’s 700 Challenge. Congratulations baby girl @bluemusickid​ , you deserve this and so so much more. Every day I live in awe of you and can only love you more. I’ve chosen the colour Red for this challenge.

Most people arrived at work early to impress their boss. You came early to avoid yours. Every morning was a race to dress up faster so that you could be out before he pulled up at your place to give you a ride. When you’d started working at the Avengers Compound, you thought your biggest problem would be alien attacks or spontaneous combustion. Yet, here you were, being pursued by your boss who was the very embodiment of the hounds of hell.

Captain Steve Rogers, for all his brilliance, was a man unaccustomed to being told no. At one word from him, agents would run in the field and fight a battle of their lives. He was respected and revered, his beautiful visage both an endearing and terrifying symbol. However, all you wanted was for him to leave you alone.

The first time you’d met him, Steve had taken one look at you and said, “I am going to fuck you”. You had gaped at him in disbelief, wondering if this was the true Captain America. You had almost gone back home, intent on finding another job but you needed the money and well, there were so many others around, how often would your paths cross with him?

Turns out, a lot. You had applied for the PR secretary position for Natasha, so imagine your surprise when you showed up for work and were told that you’ll be working for Steve Rogers. In retrospect, you should have quit that day, but the pay was far too good. You had ignored sleazy men before, how difficult could it be to ignore Steve’s advances?

From the very first day, Steve didn’t bother to hide his interest. He offered you a seat in his office, but only after you pointedly ignored his offer to sit on his lap. He had rolled his eyes playfully, explaining your role and duties before dismissing you.

“Walk slow, I want to have a good view of that ass.”

Months later now, you could say it was a well-versed routine. He would flirt with you and you’d kindly remind him about appropriate workplace practices. He would bring you flowers, and you’d pass it on to the old lady who sat behind the reception. You almost wanted to thank him, for it was because of him you’d become a pro at running in high heels.

Arranging your documents, you waited for Steve to arrive. He won’t be happy knowing he has a press conference today. You’d typed out his speech, he only needed to say it into the camera without looking constipated.

“You evaded me again today.” Steve greeted you, entering and taking his seat behind his desk. You met his eyes, unimpressed. He never gave up, did he?

“Good morning Captain Rogers.” You said with a smile, handing him the papers that he took with a wince.

“You don’t call me Captain Rogers in my dreams.” He casually said, going over the planned interview. You rolled your eyes, ignoring him the best you could. It would be a lie to say you didn’t find Steve attractive, but you were not about to sleep with your boss.

“Can you please stick to the script this time and not call the government a piece of shit organization who are greedy, racist, bigots?” You asked, not wanting another disaster management situation on your hands.

“Spot me the lie darling.” Steve said, smiling. He threw the papers on the desk, leaning back to look at you with a fond look in his eyes. “You need to let me drive you here someday. Or I’m gonna camp outside your house so you can’t run away.”

You flush, averting your gaze. God, why did he need to be so beautiful with such gorgeous eyes?

“Can you give it a rest until the press conference? I have a lot on my hands.” You said, rubbing your temples tiredly. Steve frowned, his eyes lingering over the dark circles under your eyes before getting up and coming around the desk to stand behind you, his large hands gently taking your shoulders and kneading. A soft moan escaped you, your bunched muscles relaxing under his touch.

You leaned back farther, your head meeting his firm stomach. His fingers splayed over your collarbones, heal of the hand pressing into the soft juncture where your neck met the shoulder. Groaning, you relaxed yourself, letting Steve massage the stiffness out of your body. Slowly, he leaned down, mouth right next to your ear.

“Imagine the kind of sounds you’ll make when you’re under me.” He breathed, pressing the softest of kisses on your cheek. Your eyes widened and you shot up, putting some distance between you. Steve grinned, taking in your labored breath with interest.

“Captain Rogers” You warned, taking a step back when he took one towards you.

“Say my name.” He demanded, walking purposely towards you until you crashed against the wall. Leisurely closing the distance between you both, he caged you with his hands, leaning in close. You gulped as he got into your space, his breath fanning over your heated cheeks and eyes turning liquid.

“This is inappropriate.” You said, blinking and looking away. You were scared his super senses would smell the arousal pooling between your thighs, warming your core. Steve chuckled, dipping his head as if to kiss you but stopping short.

“I’ll let it go today, since you’ll be screaming it soon enough. Why don’t you go and edit the speech, hmm? I want that part about thanking the government for their cooperation struck.” He smelled like sin, the musky aftershave he always wore clinging to your pores and infusing in your scent.

Smiling a little at the deer caught in the headlights look in your eyes, Steve pushed away from you and flicked your forehead playfully. He turned and walked back to his desk, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as your stumbled out of his office after hastily collecting your papers. Every time you thought you’d gotten used to his advances, Steve would reduce you to a bundle of nerves with a few well chosen words.

Persistent little fucker.

If he didn’t show up in five more minutes, you’ll have a coronary. The reporters were already waiting for him, and you still needed to debrief Steve about the changes you had made. Left to his own devices, he’d unapologetically curse the government out and call out their crap with Bucky and Sam cheering from the sidelines. Again. That had been a nightmare.

“Where is he?” Jacob asked. He looked frazzled, looking worriedly at Tony from across the room. His boss was just as likely as yours to cause a scandal during a press conference and when they sat together, a shit storm was definitely on its way.

“I have no fucking idea!” You swore, running a hand through your hair and hoping your makeup hadn’t run off. You’d be sitting at the podium beside Steve, ready to kick his shin at the first moment he went off script. Jacob shot you a sympathetic look and a pat on the shoulder, his hairline glittering with sweat.

“One day I’ll quit this job and be a professional troll just to roast these assholes. Oh god, where the hell is he?” You bemoaned.

“Right here.”

You turn around, finding Steve striding towards you. The frustration in your eyes melted as you looked him over, the crisp navy blue suit fitting his body in a way that saliva pooled under your tongue. Shaking your head, you wagged a finger at him, trying your best to give him an angry frown instead of fuck me eyes.

“You’re the reason I’ll get greys so early in my life.” You scolded. Steve, however, lost his smirk. His eyes were trained hard on you, eyebrows turning in as if deeply disappointed. When his eyes met yours, you unconsciously stepped back and stumbled into Jacob. You knew Steve had a temper, but that anger had never been directed so harshly at you before.

“What the fuck?” He hissed from between clenched teeth. You blinked in surprise, completely at a loss of words about why he was suddenly so angry. You exchanged a bemused look with Jacob who was inching away from you, eager to be out of sight of the fire that was so obviously burning in the captain’s eyes.

Gulping nervously, you peered at him and cleared your throat. “Captain Rogers?” Your voice was soft and confused, and yet it only seemed to incense Steve more. He made a deep rumbling sound in his chest before grabbing you by your arm and pulling you away with him. You protested, trying to steer him back towards the conference but you were no match for his strength. He remained silent as you tried to loosen his grip on your arm, alarm evident in your voice at this unexpected aggression.

He brough you back to his office, pushing you in before he shut the door with a loud bang that would be sure to scare off anyone who might have wanted to step in and save you. Facing him in bewilderment, you opened your mouth to ask him what the fuck had gotten into him when he raised a hand in warning.

“If I hear ‘Captain Rogers’ pass one more time from your lips, I’ll shut you up in a way that will leave your throat sore for days.” He growled. Your breath hitched, fear and thrill spreading like venom through your blood as he prowled towards you, completely masculine and yet feline in his approach. Your legs refused to follow your command to move away and stayed rooted to their spot, trembling when Steve was standing right before you.

“Say my name.” He whispered. You licked your lips, eyes locked with his as his name passed your lips for the first time ever.

“Steve”

It was barely audible and yet you could see the shiver that ran down Steve’s body, a victorious growl expelled from his throat and suddenly you were pulled flush to his chest, his lips enveloping yours and branding a searing kiss on your lips. You gasped into his mouth, clutching his shoulders to keep steady on your legs that had turned to jelly.

“You dare,” Steve said, pulling away to glare at you, “you dare wear that shade of sin on your mouth in front of the world?”

It took you a moment, brain still in shock from the intimate embrace you’d just came out from when you registered what he said. Taking in his words along with the red that bled from your mouth to his, you sputtered in indignation.

“Did you drag me in here because I wore a red lipstick?!” You asked, slapping his chest to push him away. Steve, unhappy with your ire, pulled you closer still and slowly traced the curve of your bottom lip, pulling back his thumb to show you your lipstick that sat in stark contrast to his pale skin.

“My girl doesn’t go out looking like this in front of the world.” He countered. You scowled, twisting in his hold so you could knock some sense into the sexist bastard.

“I won’t be policed by somebody who regularly wear three sizes too small t-shirts to fuck with my ovulation cycle deliberately. And what the fuck does it mean ‘looking like this’? What do I look like to you Captain Rogers?” You sassed, breathing heavily.

Steve fisted your chair, tilting your head back as he possessively ran his nose down your neck and sniffed appetitively. “Looking like this, like the forbidden fruit that caused man to fall. You are already my undoing, do you wish to cause a war looking as tempting as this?”

Anger that had boiled in your gut disappeared as if doused by water. Maybe you were still pissed at being treated this way, but the heat that simmered deep in your bones overpowered it. His words set your heart on fire, a raging desire you rarely let yourself feel near him sending you straight into his arms, your head buried in his massive chest that cradled you close. Oh so close.

“There are ten different things I have to say to you about what just happened here, but I’ll do it later when my sanity has returned to me.” You said and Steve chuckled, his arms around you strong like boulders.

“If my kisses alone drove you insane, you’ll be a puddle of dumb mess after I’m done with you.” He huskily whispered in your ear and your core pulsed, a warm gush flooding your panties. This man would be the death of you. For months you’d fought the urge to let him fuck you on his desk and in the elevator, trying your best to overlook this eye fucks and flirting only to end up in his arms, right where he had prophesized you belong the moment he clapped eyes on you.

You didn’t believe in destiny, but then again Steve Rogers didn’t need a divine force to interfere on his behalf to get him what he wants. This moment had been building for a while now, like a volcano threatening to erupt until it finally did, encasing those close to it in scalding layers of passion and sin and love.

“I love this shade but just this once, I’ll make an exception. I’ll wipe it off.” You conceded. This was not you accepting defeat, just a compromise. There was much left to talk about and discuss, but you had a hoard of reporters waiting for the good captain to make his big speech.

You reached for the napkins on his desk, intent in quickly wiping your lipstick off when Steve grabbed you to himself again, cupping your face.

“Oh no honey, that trace of desire won’t stain a piece of paper. The only place its going to be is smeared on my cock. On your knees.” He ordered, very much like he did on the field. And yet, the order was as much a request. You could say no and drag him to the conference right now with no consequences. He was the same man who came by every morning to give you a ride despite knowing you’d already have left. He was the same man who cheekily rolled his eyes when you snubbed his affections, and yet never said a mean word to you. What would it feel like, marking this exemplary man with your colour, knowing as he walked that he was coloured in you?

You sank to the floor, hands already working to free his cock from the confines of his pants. Steve looked at you, letting you do everything, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. Peering up at him, you marveled at the fact that it took so long to have you here like this.

“You could launch a thousand ships even on your knees.” He said.

Your lips pressed against the head of his cock, kissing him delicately. Steve jerked at the first touch, digging his fingers in your flesh when you licked him from head to base, suckling lightly, teasingly. You adored the noises that escaped him, loving that he didn’t even think of hiding them from you. When it came to desire, Steve Rogers didn’t mince his words.

His cock was beautiful, silken and hard in your fist and on your tongue. He tasted like the sea after a storm, salty and electric, dangerous and beautiful. Loving him this way came easy, and though you hadn’t had much experience with cocks as big as his, you were determined to show him your feelings with a gusto. Running your tongue along his slit with an impish grin, you swallowed him deep, humming to send vibrations up his length. Had your mouth not been stretched around him, you would have smiled wide at the curse he just yelled.

Picking up your pace, you bobbed your head and rolled his balls, getting high on his taste and sounds as he came undone in your mouth, spilling his essence that went thickly down your throat and ended with a moan from both of you. Pulling away, you saw his member streaked with the red traces of your lipstick and an animalistic possessiveness swelled in your chest. You marked him.

Steve helped you stand up, kissing you deep as he seemed unable to utter anything at the moment. You reveled in his touch, holding him close and wiping the stray tear that was lingering at the corner of your eye.

“You know its love, don’t you?” He asked you softly, the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him.

Was this love? Was it love when you’d secretly smile at his fixation with you? Was it love that you always kept a flower from his bouquets before passing it on to the old lady? Was it love when you could read his tiredness in the lines of his forehead and make his coffee stronger? Maybe it was. Maybe it was love because there was no other way you’d have went on your knees to worship a man. Unknowingly, in accepting every ‘no’ you threw his way, he had earned your ‘yes’. In forsaking the access to your body, you had gifted him your heart. Holding his gaze, you pressed your lips to his palm, smiling.

“It is love.”

“Mr. Stark, where is Captain Rogers?” A reporter asked. “Wasn’t he supposed to be a part of this conference?”

Jacob groaned, kicking Tony’s shin repeatedly to no avail. He wished he could slap a hand on his boss’s mouth and drag him away, because the glint in Tony’s eyes meant that he would be working damage control for the next coming weeks.

“Rogers, you ask?” Tony said grinning, his face alight in mischief. “Friday just gave me some million dollar worth information on that, and I am proud to announce to the public that the world’s oldest virgin just got his dick wet.”

Banging his head on the desk in the view of the clambering reporters, Jacob cursed you and your libido that had ruined him.

“Why couldn’t they wait until after the conference?” He moaned, jumping out and almost tackling Tony who was about to give the media some ‘video proof’. “Oh no you don’t Mr. Stark, you sir are on time out. I’ll be reporting you to Miss Potts!”

[noomiisz]

Minors Do Not Interact.

CW: Frottage, Fellatio, Threesome, Dacryphilia, Cunnilingus, AFAB Genitalia , Making Out in Detail.

Summary: Thoma and Childe try to rile you, so you work with what they did to themselves

This was supposed to be a simple thirst. It became longer.

Childe and Thoma are both househusband material, but the two would totally fight over doing chores for you and helping you relax. They can also be a pair of brats.

Imagine these two teaming up with one another to seduce you. You open your door to find Childe and Thoma, naked, making out and rubbing all over each other on the bed. Tongues reaching into each other's mouth. Childe on top of Thoma reaching under his clothes to tweak his nipples.

Childe notices you and takes a moment to smirk, thinking you must be so riled up by this scene. He's unaware of Thoma who didn't realize how much into subspace this would bring him into had started wanting way more than all this touch.

"Do you like what you see?" His breath is labored but Childe feels like he's got the upperhand. If this works, you'll be giving them a punishment or reward. Either feels enticing really.

Thoma starts sucking and licking Childe's neck and whining. Hints of your name escape his lips.

"Y-You really left us needy. We had to do s-somthing . . Ah. About it." Childe breathing becomes even more excessive. His face that earlier contained a light blush was full on red.

"So you thought of this?"

You inch closer to see more of them. Thoma is lost from the situation, now fully indulging his own pleasure and the need to pleasure someone. He thought Childe's idea was good, but now he wants more.

Childe, on the other hand, is more than aware of the situation he's now dug them into and is helpless. He sees the lust in Thoma's eyes. The slow humping they were doing was stopped for sloppily squeezing their dicks together for a sudden handjob. Childe struggles to keep his moans in.

"You believed I would give you something if you did this, didn't you."

"Y-yeah. Aren't you going to do something? "It felt good, Thoma's desparate attempts at pelasure, but it wasn't enough. He needed-- they needed you.

"Thoma stop." By instinct he stops, but he whines is regret. Childe bucks his hips for more friction. He then feels your tongue licking his ear. His eye's widened, when did you-

"You wanted me to pay attention to you guys, so I'm doing that now. Why are you surprised? "

Childe couldn't answer, ashamed of how easy he's succumbed and now is slightly regretting this plan. He feels your hands on his hips, and wants them to move, but, instead, they force him to grind against Thoma.

They both shutter.

"This is what you asked for, and you dragged poor Thoma into this, so you're going to help him out." Your voice so close his ear, tickling parts of his neck.

"Go on, keep touching him." And with that, Childe can't back down. You're too close, and he's succumbed too much.

Child starts grinding against Thoma and putting his mouth on Thoma's chest, kissing and sucking up and down.

"Mm-more!" Thoma yells out squirming umder Childe. His hands on Childe's head keeping him from retracting.

You move closer to Thoma for him to see, but his eyes are closed.

Gently you speak to him, "Thoma, open your eyes please." When he opens them, a few tears roll down his cheeks.

"You're sorry right?" He nods immediately.

"Do you want to make it up to me?" He nods eagerly.

"Okay then. Open your mouth." He opens wide even sticks out his tongue a little just for you.

You place your mouth on his and replicate the kissing Childe was doing with him earlier. Forcing your tongue on his and making Thoma feel helpless against the pleasure of two people.

You remove your pants and underwear. Then reluctantly break away from Thoma, a line of saliva trailing between you.

"Thoma get ready" A small, final peck on the lips before moving around and sitting on top of his face.

You hear a muffled "Thank you" as he starts pleasing you. Now you have a perfect view of Childe rutting helplessly and trying to please Thoma via your instruction. What a delicious sight. He's even shaking.

"Please. Please. Please." Childe mutters under his breath.

"Please what?" But before he could answer. Thoma cums. His body starts jutting wildly and makes Childe struggle. Thoma also seems to have stopped licking you.

"Well I guess what you want to say will have to wait. Thoma needs help."

"What?No please-" You ignore his plea, getting off of Thoma who looks so dazed from cumming.

"Thoma I know you just came, but I need you to do one more thing for me. Can you do that?" You speak softly.

He nods after a few seconds giving you a soft smile with his face covered in spit and your juices. Childe continues to whine about what happens, but then stops. He believes he's been completely ignored and dreads, not being able to cum.

Meanwhile, you pepper kisses along Thoma's face and chest, massaging other bits of his body. All at a slow, agnozing pace.

Then you whisper into Thoma's ear, "Take care of Childe please?"

And to Childe's surprise. Thoma gets up and starts rubbing his head against his dick before taking all of it into his throat.

Childe looks at you once again with surprised eyes. Will you ever get tired of that reaction?

"I said I'd pay attention, Now what do you say" Moving to sit behind him.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. . Ngh" You suck on your fingers a little bit before rubbing them against Childe's hole.

You shove one inside and he cums instantly.

Childe turns to you with a sorrowful look on his face, regretting thinking you've forgotten him.

"W-what about you-" You try to stop him from thinking about it, but you also feel Thoma's eyes expetant on you.

Oh what to do with them? ~

[aminiatureworld]

Burden

Characters: Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,261

Warnings: None

Premise: Xiao fell in love with your goodness, with your selflessness and generosity towards others. Perhaps, however, in doing so he had misunderstood your own complexities.

In which the reader feels they are a burden.

Author’s Note: I feel like I should note that there are going to be some relatively extreme emotions, mostly negative. I don’t feel like it’s enough or specific enough to be given a warning, but if anyone wants to tell me to tag it for something I will gladly. That being said I’m pretty proud of this one

Xiao

Ever since your first interaction you had been helping Xiao. It had seemed so natural, even then, even when nothing seemed natural about interacting with a human, those strange people from who Xiao must always be separated. Yet there you were, asking if this perfect stranger was alright. And there Xiao was, suddenly seeing his world opening up before him.

Perhaps it was for this reason that your relationship had developed in the way it had. To Xiao your selflessness, your never ending kindness, the fact that you would stop to help someone regardless of circumstance, all of that was normal. It was innate in your personality, and perhaps that was why Xiao never questioned what effect having that kind of personality might have on you. It is easy to assume that a kind and selfless person is also one with a short memory. After all, how could they stand it otherwise?

So when the first, barely noticeable, traces of that burden which Xiao saw so often began to swirl around you the yaksha’s initial reaction was that of utter panic. Was this not the exact reason that Xiao had chosen to disconnect himself from humanity? Was this not proof, right before him, that the chains he carried could not be contained. Though Xiao generally thought of humans as vaguely useless, deserving of protection because Rex Lapis proclaimed it be so, the idea of harming any one of them with the legacy of his own sins, it was something that he could never stomach, no matter how many times he feigned apathy. That you should be the person upon who his burdens should be transferred, how could he bear it?

Of course a small, more logical, part of him urged the adeptus to stop and think. The miasma that Xiao attracted in such high concentration was everywhere, and humans were not exempt from this burden by themselves. After all, did humanity not channel great evil as well as good? Did not the most ordinary human, dejected by their lot in life, become swarmed by little wisps of evil? Yet those were other, ordinary humans. Ordinary humans couldn’t understand the sheer capability to love that you seemed to possess. No, if Xiao could sense such a miasma around you then it was surely his fault.

Still the idea of leaving you was something quite painful to Xiao, to the adeptus who had so recently learned what it meant to love someone wholeheartedly. He told himself that it was best to leave immediately, best to disappear with the wind and never look back. Yet a part of him couldn’t seem to bear the idea; and that was the part that won out as Xiao approached you later in the day, as if in a desperate last attempt to prove himself wrong.

“Are you alright?”

“Xiao!” You jumped slightly, having evidently been lost in thought. Smiling widely you shook your head. “Of course I’m alright! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I…” Xiao paused for a moment as the idea of telling you what was going on flitted through his head. Almost immediately the thought was squashed. After all, would the knowledge not worry you more? “I was just asking.”

“Well thank you Xiao, it’s very kind of you to think of me.”

“It’s my duty.”

“Still,” your smile never faltered. “You deserve thanks for what you do nonetheless.”

Xiao tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach, tried to block out the emotions that crashed over him like great waves as you leaned in to give him a soft kiss on the cheek. Was this not a good thing? After all, if Xiao was what cause this miasma to float around you, then was that not your salvation? Xiao knew how easy it was to drown in the burdens that one must shoulder. He knew how easy it was for humans to sink to the bottom of their despair and never once more emerge for water. Why should it not be a blessing that you would never have to fight to keep your head up, to keep yourself from a life full of burdens? Why, why did it hurt so much?

During the night, Xiao would leave during the night. After all, you deserved one last evening of happiness, if the yaksha could even believe that he brought you happiness. Or maybe it was for his sake that he refused to leave before the world was plunged into darkness. Maybe it was simply that Xiao could no longer imagine a world without you, and that such nightmares came out easier at night. Lying on top of the roof, eyes closed, ears focused on the familiar tread of your feet, Xiao willed himself not to think. He could regret when he was far away from you, when you were once more safe. For now he could only follow that ritual which had so long kept him sane, kept him from joining his brethren. For now he thought only of the contract he had once made.

The sound of your feet on the ground below came all too soon, as the sun finally began its descent across the heavens in earnest. Keeping his eyes closed, as if to stall the darkness for a little longer, Xiao took a deep breath in. He needed to steel himself for this evening; if not, well, Xiao had no wish to cry for the first time in a millennia.

Only once these thoughts finished flitting around in his head did the yaksha finally recognize the change in your footfall. Usually you were very light on your feet, dashing this way and that, stopping to ask Goldet or Yanxiao some mundane question, inquiring after the old lady who had basically set up permanent residence on the bottom floor of the Inn. This time, however, you seemed to drag, as if you were indeed carrying something very heavy. Alarm flashing through him, Xiao willed himself into perfect stillness. He wished to hear more, wished to understand what had caused such a change in you.

What he certainly hadn’t expected was the labored breathing of someone seconds away from tears.

The moment Xiao heard the door to your room close the sobbing began in earnest. Though you certainly seemed to be trying your hardest to hide your tears the sound of your muffled sobs rang through Xiao like a siren, flaring up every bit of alarm he had to offer. Jumping off of the roof Xiao catapulted his way through the hallways of the Inn, not bothering to hide his presence to the few, very confused, residents that were out. Reaching your room he didn’t allow himself a moment’s hesitation before grabbing the knob and opening the door.

Your head snapped up, eyes a mixture of dark emotions as you stared at him. For a moment you seemed ready to flee, to run and hide somewhere, or perhaps to throw him out. However almost immediately you seemed to sink back into yourself, and though Xiao could still sense your distress, at least the initial shock of his arrival seemed to have passed as quickly as it would otherwise.

“Xiao! I, I didn’t expect you. I, could, could you leave? I don’t, I don’t want, I don’t want to be seen right now.” It was all you could get out before another round of sobs wracked through your body.

Trying to remember what you had done for so many people, for himself, Xiao grabbed the pitcher that sat at one of the tables in the room. Pouring some water into a glass he crept towards you as softly as possible, hoping that he could convey his worries in these odd, brusque actions. He knew that he didn’t have the talent you had to comfort people, knew that all his gestures of kindness inevitably came out cramped and awkward. Nevertheless he shoved the glass into your hands, staring just past you as you tentatively downed the water. Taking the glass from you Xiao then reached out one of his palms to you. His relief when you placed your own palm on top of his was indescribable.

“I guess you probably would like an explanation,” you rasped out.

Xiao said nothing, waiting for you to act on your own. If he knew anything the yaksha knew that attempting to force the truth out of anyone would never worked. Hadn’t his own years as a pariah taught him that.

“It’s just,” you finally continued, taking in deep, labored breaths. “It’s just so hard. It’s so hard Xiao, I can’t stand it anymore!”

“Stand it?”

“Stand the… the hurt!”

Your eyes filled with tears, and you went to grab the handkerchief that you left on your nightstand. You always needed one with you, as your eyes stung terribly whenever you began to cry. Xiao said nothing as you sobbed once more, only moving to draw small circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

“It hurts so much, to see other people. To hear their problems. Not that it’s their fault, or that I don’t want to help them. I do, I really do. I look at all the people suffering near me and I just want to take all their burdens and give it to myself, after all they don’t deserve all their sufferings. But it’s so hard Xiao, it’s so hard to take on people’s burdens, even a little bit. And I feel so selfish when I think that, so selfish and so worthless. How can I say that? But it’s true, it’s really, really true. And when I think about that, when I think about all the other people suffering worse than me, it just makes me feel so horribly selfish. Like, like all my problems are so stupid and selfish and telling others would only hurt them, and didn’t I want to take everyone else’s burdens away? I’m so stupid. And it just, it hurts.”

Xiao sat there quietly once more, waiting as you cried. At one point you seemed to collapse in on yourself, leaning against his shoulder as if to support yourself. Only then did Xiao allow himself to move. Carding his hands through your hair he said nothing, he merely waited.

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. You already have enough burdens, I know. I shouldn’t be complaining to you of all people. I, if you want you can tell me if something is wrong. I mean, you always can, I, just. I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“My burdens are my own,” Xiao replied softly, finally letting the emotions swirling through him try to string together as words. “It has nothing to do with you. It never will. You, you should come to me when you feel burdened.”

“But then I’m only passing my problems onto you!”

“I told you, my chains are my own. They are the payment for my contract. They aren’t what you tell me or push on me. If you feel these burdens then give to me. That is my duty.”

“But Xiao, I, I don’t want to. I don’t want to be a problem.”

“How can you say something so stupid,” Xiao scoffed. Bringing his hand to your cheek he sighed softly. “You will never be a problem. You will always be dear to me. Let me help you. You help so many humans. I want to help you.”

“I, I don’t know,” you spoke, voice faltering.

Though Xiao could still feel the tension in the air, could still see the miasma which swirled around you, there was something fragile about it. It was as if Xiao could reach through the tangled threads and pull them away, if only he could find a way to do so. Stroking your cheek softly Xiao pressed his forehead to yours. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath in. After a few moments he heard you do the same.

The rest of the evening Xiao stayed vigilant by your side, listening as you finally let yourself say all the things that had been weighing down upon you. It was painful, listening to you. Xiao constantly had to fight the urge to tell you how wrong you were, how much you mattered and how far he would go to bring you all the happiness he could possible gather in his stained hands. Still he said nothing, for if you had taught him anything it was that simply listening could do infinitely more than promising to fight or trying to shoulder each burden as you lay them out in the daylight.

Eventually you grew exhausted, a combination of the crying and the talking and the reliving. As Xiao listened to your breath even out, softly shifting your head from leaning on his shoulder to resting in his lap, the yaksha thought about all that had happened.

Xiao had assumed that you were somehow above all the humans around you. Purer, gentler, kinder. He hadn’t stopped to think how that might have affected you. Now that he knew that wasn’t true, now that Xiao knew how deeply you felt, how sometimes your mind too chased after darkness or found itself struggling to keep above water, he couldn’t help but feel as if he’d missed something before. Perhaps you shouldered these burdens and perhaps you were just as human as the rest. You were still kind, kind and selfless and utterly beautiful. And Xiao still loved you in a way that continued to burn brightly through his soul.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Quite at Home in Hell

For @whumptober2021 day six & day 21:  blood-matted hair & hunger

CW: Vampirism, blood drinking, noncon touch, creepy whumper, sadistic whumper, biting, captivity, dehumanizing language

Vampire Chris AU Masterlist | Follows directly from this piece

Thanks to @boxboysandotherwhump for helping me with the German & @alittlewhump for helping with the French!

-

1918, the Western Front of WWI

The prisoners are held in a small, hastily constructed sort of barracks far too close to the front lines.

Gefrieter Erich Eeten knows why, of course. The hope is that his own people will hesitate before they blast this bit of dirt apart, that they will be concerned enough about killing their fellow soldiers that they’ll give up a few key moments of pause to the French, the Americans, and the British. Give them the advantage in a firefight.

They want to shield themselves with the bodies of the men in this tent, unwashed and dirty, who are exhausted from a day spent digging trenches for their enemies to hide in. 

He can’t exactly blame the Allied powers for it. 

It’s a brilliant bit of strategy, if less and less effective as men on both sides become so battle-hardened that they cease to care about their own lives, let alone each other. Still. He’d almost rather be at one of the true POW camps further away from the front lines, where the Red Cross at least comes to check on their treatment.

Here, so close to the front, there is no one keeping watch on what happens to them at all… and the longer the war draws on, the more viciously they kill each other, the more the prisoners kept here too far for oversight feel like they are teetering at the edge of some terrible invisible cliff. 

There’s a stiff breeze outside the tent, whipping the heavy, waterproofed canvas edges. They’re flapping a little, making a sound that Erich will one day hear in his nightmares. The cold sneaks in through the slight space between tent and ground, and the men in here are huddled together for warmth, sharing the meager blankets they are given. 

At least, though, their captors are officially the French. 

Say what you will about the blasted frogs, they never deny their prisoners a nip of strong cognac to help hold off the cold. The Americans, on the other hand, seem to be laboring under an enforced lack of good liquor, not just for prisoners but for their own soldiers, too. That seems a worse crime than nearly any other, in circumstances like this. To force a man to be a cruel killer without even a nip or three to soothe his conscience… to Erich, it sounds like brutality.

There’s a bit of a scuffle outside the tent, and the prisoners look up. Erich is at the back, leaning back against the rough frame of a cot he sleeps on at night, cards in his hands wrapped in strips of bandage cloth just for warmth. What happened to his gloves, he’s no idea. Probably one of the Allies took them for a souvenir.

The canvas wraps work well enough.

“Au garde-à-vous, prisonniers! Sur vos pieds!” Erich knows the voice - it’s the main guard of the tent they sleep in, a man named Alain who looks entirely too old for war. Here he is, anyway, all moustache and silvering hair, pulling open the entrance of the tent, moving the flap aside. 

Erich glances left and then right, meeting the eyes of his fellow prisoners, and the half-dozen of them that share this single small tent push heavily to their feet, shifting apart as much as the tent will allow, hands behind their back. 

His stomach dips, a low drumbeat of dread alongside his heart. Something tells him this isn’t a social call he wants to be part of. 

He’s even more certain when a tall, thin American steps into the entrance, nearly silhouetted by the dim, barely-there light behind them. Their hair is long, in a loose plait with parts undone, and their eyes gleam, briefly seeming to glow in the dark. Erich is reminded of his mother’s cat, who would stalk mice at night and whose eyes did just the same when light hit them.

He feels very… mouselike.

They wear a medic’s uniform, but it’s a little tattered. There are unrepaired bullet holes through the heavy woolen tunic, and they move with grace and disdain for how heavy wet wool must be, how itchy and uncomfortable. As if it simply doesn’t matter to them.

Because, of course, it doesn’t. The damn thing is a walking corpse, baring fangs in a grisly smile.

“Hello, soldiers,” They say, in a voice that isn’t quite a purr. “You all look a fright.”

“Verdammte Blutsauger,” Lukas Müller mutters to his right. 

Erich hates the bloodsuckers. Everyone does. They come with the Americans, monsters brought from the shadows as a kind of secret weapon. Erich has never seen vampires out in the open before - back home, they are creatures of hiding. They live in cellars and basements and houses with the windows painted in thick matte black. They sweep along the streets at night, a risk for anyone who stays out too late.

But they’re not part of anything. 

Here, they’re death itself, demons quite at home in hell.

 Oh, sure, the Americans claim they use them only for bringing the injured back to safety - and some of them, he’s sure, are kept to that purpose. Some kind of ability to deny the truth of them, if there are enough seen doing only what the official story claims.

Erich, though, has seen one dispatching wounded German soldiers one by one left behind in a field, killing them before they can be recovered by their own people. He’s seen one with fangs buried in the throat of a man who would otherwise have lived. They’re listed as medics, but those things are what keeps the Germans on their own side of the battle lines after dark, and everyone knows it. 

His own side brings canisters of poison gas. The Americans respond with an army laced around its edges in abominations the gas can’t touch.

The vampire sighs, faintly disappointed. “No good morning for me from my audience?”

Erich speaks the best English out of them all - his grandmother was English, taught it to his father in the cradle, who taught it to him. It’s made him more or less the spokesman for his small group of prisoners, and for the larger group when they are moved and briefly allowed to interact with the others. He clears his throat, stepping forward slightly. Lukas and Vilhelm, on his other side, nudge him just a little with their shoulders. It’s meant to be support, he supposes. 

He feels like he’s being pushed onto a target painted on the floor, one invisible only to him. 

“Good morning,” Erich says, voice flat, letting his accent roll far more heavily off his tongue than it needs to, turning good into gut. It’s always good to let the enemy believe you know less than you really do, so he pretends that English comes with difficulty and not ease. “Should you not turn to ash?”

Their eyebrows raise just slightly, not quite in amusement, and they give a brittle little laugh. “First off, Fritz, that’s a myth. Secondly, it’s not even morning. Probably close to evening now, honestly.” 

Erich rolls his eyes. Lukas mutters something under his breath next to him, but the slight creaking of their boots seems to cover it too much to be understandable. Erich sighs, heavily. “Then why did you have us say to you good morning, Blutsauger?” 

“Because it’s funny that you don’t know what time it is, of course. All right, who here is Fritz, who is Hans, and who am I just going to call Kraut?” 

“No one here is named Hans and no one is Fritz, fangs.” Erich tips his chin down slightly, a lock of greasy brown hair falling into his eyes. “May you drown in holy water.”

He spits at the vampire’s feet.

He feels a pang of regret when the vampire turns to look at Alain, the French guard and points back at Erich, cheerful. “I want that one. He’s rude.”

“Das ist pech,” Lukas whispers.

When Alain simply stares at them blankly - and Erich knows Alain speaks English, they’ve spoken before in a tongue they had in common when neither spoke the other’s mother-tongue -  the vampire groans. They don’t seem to know Alain is pretending not to understand them. “Fine. Let’s try this again. Je veux cet homme, s'il vous plaît.”

Alain’s expression tightens a little. He nods, and he won’t look Erich in the eyes as he draws the entrance open a little wider. “Emmenez-le alors.”

“Merci beaucoup,” The vampire says, giving a little bow. Erich backs up, but there isn’t anywhere to go, and none of them is armed. Besides, any resistance is met with removal of meals, with being denied the smallest comforts that make this bearable. With the possibility of all of them being handed over to a vampire, not just one.

This war had been civilized, in some ways, before the Americans brought their monsters.

It’s not actually true, but in this moment it comforts him to pretend it, to have a place to put his furious disgust as the vampire’s thin, long fingers close around his arm and yank him forwards with inhuman strength. They’re clicking their tongue against the top of their mouth in a strange animal way. Erich thinks again of his mother’s cat, making just that sound watching birds outside the windows.

“May your hands be pressed into the holy cross,” Erich snaps as he’s forced out into the freezing humid air outside the tent. There are others walking around - a war camp is never less than controlled chaos, no matter the time of day - but none of them will look at him. No one acknowledges him, although they’ve all seen this before. They know what’s going to happen here. 

“Je déteste ça,” Alain mutters.

A bell is rung, clanging in a discordant note, and soldiers move into the POW tents. Erich is led towards a pole in the center of the ring of prisoner tents, something that a half-century ago might still have been a flogging post, a punishment for mutinous men. 

“Crosses don’t really harm us,” The vampire says, careless and casual. “Very little does, actually. I’m a big fan of garlic, for instance. Silver, though…” They hum, dragging a fingernail over Erich’s wrist. “That hurts.”

He jerks his hand back and free, only to have the vampire laugh, bright and brilliant, and grab him again, spinning him around until they’re behind him, chest pressed to his back, using that demon strength to twist his arms up his back until his bones creak and ache, forcing him forwards towards the pole. 

“I hope you have silver shoved down your throat,” Erich manages, but his heart is pounding in fear as the vampire grabs his hair and jerks his head to the side, forcing his cheek against the rough-hewn wood. Splinters bite into his skin and he grunts as his arms are moved, forced to encircle the pole. His wrists are tied with rope, leaving him looking a little ridiculous, as if he decided today to go for a hug. 

Another rope goes around his shoulders, keeping him in this awkwardly pressed position. He tries to kick back, pulling viciously, but then his ankles come next. The rope goes from them to small metal hooks driven hard into the ground, keeping his legs more than shoulder-width apart. He can’t kick, or even balance himself. He must rely entirely on the pole he’s tied to in order to stay upright. 

“I’m going to enjoy you,” The vampire murmurs. 

Behind Erich, the sounds of a crowd gathering begin. Soft mumbles, exhalations of surprise and disgust. He closes his eyes against the rush of heat he feels - more rage than tears - knowing the prisoners are being brought out to witness this, to be shown what could happen to them next.

It does an excellent job of making them grateful for every day it’s not.

The French commander of the POW camp is barking a running list of commands to his men, but Erich doesn’t speak enough French to clearly understand them. Someone comes close by behind him, and he jolts as there’s a clap to his back. There’s a laugh behind him, not the vampire but someone else.

He manages to see from the corner of his eyes. A different American, of course. Comfortable enough with the vampire to get this close to them. 

“Isn’t this a sorry sight,” The American says, and laughs. “What’s the prize for, fangs?”

The vampire lifts their hand, gently brushing Erich’s hair from his eyes. He spits in their face, this time, and is gratified by a flash of very real anger that briefly overtakes their constant amusement. They slowly wipe the spit away, then clean their hand - sort of - on Erich’s uniform. 

It’s so dirty they’re probably even less clean after that than they were before.

“Reported a desertion. Now I get fresh food.” They lean down, meeting Erich’s furious hazel eyes. “I’m so hungry, Fritz. All the time. Imagine being surrounded by schnitzel and cabbage as far as the eye can see, and you’re not supposed to eat your fill. Imagine how empty you would feel.”

“Fick dich.” 

“What, you won’t even curse at me in English anymore?” The vampire pouts, lower lip sticking out. He hates them more than he’s hated anyone during this godforsaken war. “Come on, you have to understand how hard this is for me, right?”

Erich ignores them, jerks his wrists again, trying to yank himself free of the ropes through sheer force. His back already is aching from being slightly bent forward, his thigh muscles stretched. He does the only thing he can think of - he slowly, with effort, drags his face along the wood and manages to turn away, and look the other direction. 

“Well, fine. I suppose you’ll be mad at me for acting like you all eat schnitzel and cabbage, too,” The vampire says behind him. He doesn’t dignify them with an answer. He fixes his eyes, instead, on a point in the dark roiling clouds in the sky, above the remaining trees. 

“The prisoners are well-positioned to witness,” A French officer states, speaking with a light, dancing accent but without the difficulty and hesitancy some of the regular infantry have. “You may feed when ready, Private Saathoff.”

That gets Erich’s attention. “Saathoff?”

“That’s right.” The vampire laughs, stepping up behind him. Their fingers move through the hair that curls, grown a little too long, over the back of his neck. He shudders with disgust at the intimacy of it. Their mouth moves close to his ear, but there is no heat of breath. Only the brush of lips. “Ich bin Deustcher, genau wie du.” 

“Nothing like me,” Erich grinds out with his teeth gritted together so hard his jaw is already aching. He presses his forehead into the rough wooden pole and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath. 

If he’s going to die…

“Vater unser im Himmel,” he begins, halting. He hasn’t seen the inside of a church since he was fourteen, and that was twelve years ago now. Still, the words to the Lord’s Prayer come easily, more muscle memory than thought. “Geheiligt werde dein Name. Dein Reich komme, Dein Wille geschehe, wie im Himmel so auf Erden-”

“Zu jeder anderen Zeit hätte ich dich als Haustier behalten.” They use his hair to jerk his head back, and their fangs jam into his neck with a flash of sudden agony.

It’s a white-hot pain that races down his spine to the very tips of his toes, and Erich screams, the sound strangled and thin but still echoing, bouncing off of trees and tents and back into his mind, crashing like the shells that slam into the earth. 

Lukas jerks forwards as if to run to help him and is pushed back by one of the French soldiers, their expression set in a grim line. They have to twist Lukas’s arms behind his back to hold him as he shouts, angrily, that this isn’t fair, it’s against the laws of conduct. 

There’s laughter, at that, from their captors. 

The other prisoners grumble and shift uncomfortably, look at anything but Erich whenever they can, but they can’t escape the sound of his horror, of his pain. 

There’s no pulse of the much-spoken-of venom. There’s no numbness to drift in, there’s no fog to cloud out his awareness of what is happening to him. Every muscle of Erich’s body is tensed tight enough to snap the bones they wrap around, the veins standing out in his throat as if giving them a roadmap of where the food can be found.

He didn’t know vampires could choose not to use the venom.

He didn’t know they could make it feel like this.

When his scream dies, he can’t get enough breath to make another. All he can do is let out high-pitched, thin whimpers and cries. Spots dance before his eyes. Beneath the sound of his heart pounding in a sudden panic to push more blood faster to replace what is being lost, he can feel - can hear - a low rumbling sound against his back.

Erich has heard the rumors that vampires purr, and now he knows they aren’t rumors at all.

He can feel it right through his back, just barely. It’s a vibration that would be pleasant if it didn’t seem to be somehow making everything hurt even worse, waking up his nerves the way the venom is supposed to deaden them. Their hands are closed around his ribs, pressing the tips of their fingers rhythmically against them, as if playing a piano, as if he is dough to be kneaded, as if he isn’t human at all.

As if he’s nothing but a field mouse that found his way into the wrong house, and the vampire is the housecat who has waited too long for a living toy to torment.

There is no prayer, in pain like this. There is no thought beyond the body’s fight for survival and the mind wanting to flee from it, if surviving means this feeling will not end. There is nothing but the feeling of his blood being pulled forcefully out of his body, nothing but his nerves screaming to escape it, nothing but the bite of the ropes that ensure he can do no more than jerk in his bonds and choke on his agony.

It feels like forever - and like a moment - when their fangs pull free, their cool rough tongue lapping at the wounds to close them, purring against his ear with contentment. Their fingers knead into his skin a little bit longer, drawing the moment out as he slumps against the wooden pole he’s tied to. He’s only standing because of the ropes.

Pain rolls through him, breaking against the edges of his body from the inside, like the smaller waves after a storm falling onto a beach already strewn with debris. He slumps. His own breath is a rasping wheeze, taking far more effort than it should.

Nein, Erich, Erich stirb nicht…” Lukas’s voice comes from somewhere so far away, filtering through the noise in Erich’s mind slowly. He can’t even begin to form a response. His mouth won’t answer his commands. It only hangs open, panting, pulling in the chilly air over his tongue. He starts to shiver as the breeze hits the cold sweat in his hair and on his neck, cuts through his uniform somehow.

He doesn’t have enough blood left to warm himself.

Their tongue licks up his neck behind his ear, matting his own blood into his hair there, sticky and hot. It starts to cool and dry immediately in the cold air. Erich’s stomach twists.

“Oh, he won’t die,” The vampire coos, petting through his hair slowly. Their nails scratch at his scalp. “Not today.” Their mouth presses back against his ear. “Thanks for the meal, Erich. And for being so entertaining. Maybe I’ll find you after the war. I’ll buy you a beer… and some schnitzel.”

They push themself away from him, turning away to wipe a bit of blood from the corners of their mouth, and walk with a jaunty step through an opening that appears in the ring of watching prisoners, whose eyes follow them with apprehension and no small amount of fear. 

When Alain comes up to untie him, Erich simply collapses into the Frenchman’s arms as soon as he’s free of the ropes. Lukas is allowed to move up to stand at his other side, putting Erich’s limp left arm around his shoulders, while Alain supports his right. Erich lets his head fall into Lukas’s shoulder, hitching his breath as he forces down a sob. 

“Wh… why do you let them do this?” He asks, his English slurred with the exhaustion that means he is dragged with his boots carving paths through the mud back towards the tent. 

Alain is silent until Erich is dropped onto his cot, the hard frame digging into Erich’s back right through the thin mattress. He glances over his shoulder, the three of them alone in here for the moment, and then looks back. 

“It is believed that this is how we will win,” He says, and pats Erich’s hand. “My apologies. I do not believe in the monsters, but I am not the one to run this war.”

“None of us are,” Erich says, weakly. He closes his eyes. “We are only the ones who must fight in it.”

There’s a pause, and Alain’s exhale is audible in the quiet tent. “I will ensure you are given extra meat rations tonight, and I will find you some schnapps. Essaye de dormir, maintenant, si tu peux,” he says with soft regret lacing his voice. Then there is a shuffle of footsteps, and he’s gone.

Lukas shifts and sits with his back to the cot, in the same position Erich was in before. He swallows, picking up the abandoned cards from the game they’d been playing, looking over Erich’s hand. “You’d have won, you know, on the next hand,” He says in German, before he reaches out to grab the others’ cards and reshuffle the deck.

“Do I still get my… my winnings?” Erich can barely move his lips to speak. He’s so tired. So, so tired. He can feel his hands starting to shake, now that it’s over, the trembling moving slowly up his limbs, stuttering his breathing. 

“My share of the liquor? Not on your life.” Lukas pauses, and then his tone gentles as he looks Erich over again. “You know what... of course you can. You’ll need warmth. What did the bloodsucker say to you, anyway? I couldn’t hear.”

Erich thinks about the promise to find him after the war, about the way they spoke into his ear as if he were little more than a toy top to be spun at their command. In another time, I’d keep you for a pet, they had whispered, before they bit down. 

He shakes his head, slowly. “Lies,” He answers, and feels the softer-edged darkness of sleep begin to take him.

“Lies?” 

“I hope… I hope they were lies.”

For the moment, at least, he is too exhausted by the present to feel terror for the future.

-

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