#i just love him okay and that quote has me shaking my fists with tears in my eyes bc!! yubari does want

[tvrningout-a]

IMAGES OF YUBARI

" of course i wanted to see the world, to experience its fullness. i wanted to be a real part of it, rather than the passing shadow i so often felt like. i wanted to devour the world. "

pg. 1/∞

[cloud-somersault]

Do you have a favorite quote from Constellations Within Us?

I have SO MANY!!! it's so hard to choose, so I'm just gonna post them and then...yeah! I love all of these, though.

"Bend the wind, MK," Wukong tells him, smiling so wide his fangs show. "Make it stronger, make it faster!"

"Tell me, Great Sage," Macaque whispers, eyes a swirling violet, burning vitriol under a veil of control, "how does it feel to stare death in the face?"

Macaque stared at him fondly, eyes shining with the love of the moon and stars. “Even there,” he replied, kissing the tip of Wukong’s nose. “In the brightest, most resplendent light, and in the dreariest, most forsaken depths, I’ll come for you.”

“I don't want to hear your bullshit excuses,” Macaque spits out. He looks at Wukong with a renewed determination to hate him deeply and completely. “Everything out of your mouth is a lie. Every promise, every vow… You've done nothing but lie to me, Sun Wukong.”

"Is that what's happening?" MK asks carefully. "Or are you guys, like, saying things to each other you should've said ages ago?"

"Sometimes, I caught myself thinking…I could conquer death if Macaque was by my side," Wukong whispers, hating how his voice shakes. His greatest fear…able to be withstood just because of the person he entrusted his heart to. "I wouldn’t be afraid if he was with me. And when I got close to death, when I truly thought I…"

This one is in my top 5

Macaque rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sure. You nearly flattened this entire forest due to your anger and repressed trauma, but I'm sure another minute will do you wonders."

MK looks up at him and sucks in a quick breath. His smile is a trembling lie. “Am I, though?”

"MK, don’t... Don’t do this, please." Wukong can't take another blow. No more crumbled bridges, no more turned backs. No more outstretched hands that just remain suspended in air. He needs to be given a chance, an opportunity. "I need—I need you to listen. Macaque has never listened to me; I need you to."

"I called out for you…" Wukong chokes out, staring up at Macaque as gold cascades from deadly pools. "I called out for you, and you never came, Liu’er!”

“I was a fool to trust you back then,” Macaque begins, those light fingertips wrapping around Wukong’s wrist. His eyes harden as he forcibly moves Wukong’s hand away. “... And I'd be a fool to trust you now.”

MK grins at Wukong with nothing but elation. “I’m okay! But when I was up there, it felt like—” MK laughs breathlessly and looks up at Wukong with an utterly amazed expression. “It felt like the wind was saying…that it would keep me safe.”

Something snaps in the back of his mind. “I know that!” Wukong shouts, hands fisted at his sides, hot tears cascading down his cheeks. He looks up at Macaque in fury. “You don’t have to say it or remind me. I KNOW!”

But if I had to pick one, it'd be:

“Look to the stars, Sun Wukong,” the Jade Emperor tells him as falling light streaks against the great expanse. “Uncountable and brilliant, they serve to guide us, to accompany us, to remind us. In this way, they connect each being to one another regardless of realm and power.”

The Jade Emperor's speech is one of the first parts I wrote of Constellations, so it's very important to me. Thanks for the question! And these are just a small sampling. I have SO MANY MORE

[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.”

[plush-rabbit]

Thorn In Your Mouth

Request: I'm not quite sure if requests are open, but if they are, may I please request some nsfw noncon with Lucifer or Satan from obey me with a fem! MC?

They're demons, and they love quite differently from humans. One could say their love is overly suffocating and affectionate…

Warning: Noncon

Word Count: 2.4K

A/N: i think i made him more jealous in this so,,, hope you like it??

-

It was sweet at first to have Satan fret over you, to care for you in such a way that made you feel safe, but you soon learned that you craved your space, that you missed whenever you could just go out without having to worry about him getting angry at you. He might have directed his wrath towards you at first, but it was never in this way, never in such a jealousy, overwhelming way that you made you grit your teeth and glare at his back. A part of you knows that this is what you signed up for- he’s a demon, one born out of wrath no less, but you didn’t want that to cloud you. You wanted to see the good in him. But even so, he’s still a demon- a possessive one that fears losing you more than anything.

“Where were you?” He asks, his voice steady and eyes piercing into yours. “I tried calling you but-” he tilts his head and an uncomfortable grin pulls at his lips- “you didn’t answer.”

You’re tired of it all. You’re exhausted and just want to borrow a book that could help you sleep. You’re the one to break eye contact with him fist, turning around and rubbing your hand over your neck. “I don’t know Satan, I was just out with friends.” You grab at a book, the title written in thin letters and eager to be done with the conversation, you accept it. “It’s no biggie.” It shouldn’t be and it isn’t. And yet, anxiety still plagues your body.

The exit is near, the doors closed and the light in the hallway, a dim glow signaling that it is indeed time for bed. You make your way, only to be halted by Satan’s hand wrapping around your wrist. “It is a ‘biggie’-” he quotes, annoyance a sliver on his tongue- “when you don’t tell me where or who you’re going out with.” His grip tightens on you and your hand grows stiff, a twinge of fear pooling against your stomach. “What if you were hurt? What then?” You narrow your eyes at him and feebly try to pull away your arm from him. He doesn’t relent. “Where were you?”

Finding it much easier to just tell the truth and get it over with, you sigh. “I was out with friends, Satan. Some imps and incubi from the seventh period. You know them,” you add, hoping that it’ll jog his memory and remind him that it’s mutual friends that he’s so worried about. “We went to the mall and got some ice cream there.”

“Multiple people you went out with then, huh.” You raise your brows, your eyes glancing back to where your wrist is held in his hand. “And if I am their friend- as you say- then why wasn’t I invited?”

You shrug, giving him a puzzled stare. “I don’t know. You weren’t in class. You had some lunch to go to with those friends of yours. We’ll invite you next time.” You yank at your wrist, only to be met with a tighter hold. “Satan. Let go.”

“Do you love me?” He asks, the tension in the room is lost on him and you look at him with an incredulous look, surprised that he would even ask you that at a time like this. “Because I love you. I’m a good partner. I listen and I kiss you and yet, you go around with a group of demons and do who-knows-what while I sit at home waiting for you to come back.”

The meaning of his words aren’t lost on you. Your arm is stretched, extended out as he still holds a grip on you but you need the distance as slight as it may be. “Are you implying that I cheated on you?” He doesn’t respond and stays with his eyes locked on yours. “Satan, I went out with friends. That’s it! Nothing more and nothing less. What the actual fuck.” You take a deep breath and shake your head, the book now discarded on the table beside you. “You know what? Just let go. We can talk about this tomorrow. I’m not in the mood right now.” Your eyes catch at the underside of the door where the light remains steady, the yellow glow teasing at you where freedom lies. “Satan, you’re hurting me.” You hope that that is enough to make him realize what he’s doing.

You’re pushed over the edge of the table, your stomach painfully pressing against the edge of the wood. Your hands flail for a moment, patting and scratching against the table, your legs tense as you call his name, anger evident in your voice. “What the fuck is your problem?” You hiss out, your palms against the table only to be pulled away and grabbed in his hands. “Satan,” you call his name, worry and fear intertwining together. He remains silent, the heel of his shoe clicking against the floor as he presses himself close to you, his groin pressed against your rear. “Satan, what the fuck are you doing?”

There's a crackle of energy that fills your ear, a popping sound akin to Black Cats, the smell of mahogany and citrus in the air as his hands tighten around you. Skin slips away, a harsh press against the back of your head as you’re pushed into the warming wood, and you’re frozen in fead. The room, while devoid of talk, is filled with noise- the buzzing of the electricity, the cracking of his tail and the deep breaths that he takes, the high sound of his zipper becoming undone and the clicking of his shoes. The noise is driving you insane, blood in your ears as you gasp out his name, trying to turn your head, but only being able to face the wall, and you catch a g,impe of yourself in a mirror, faced down with a demon towering behind you.

“You know that I love you, right?” Something sharp replaces where his hands used to be, thorns piercing into your tender skin as you feel his hands hook on the waistband of your jeans. Your breath stops, and something heavy pools on your tongue. “I do everything right by you and yet-” his nails scratch against your skin- “you treat me like trash. You treat me as if I don’t matter.” Cold air meets your warm skin and you’re left in your underwear and shirt, your sex covered by thin fabric. “Do I not matter to you?” He says your name and it isn’t something sweet, it isn’t something that makes you feel warm. It’s something that sounds too foul to be said out loud. He’s ruined your name in just one simple sentence.

“You matter Satan,” you whisper, clenching your sex. Your eyes are unmoving, watching your distant reflection that has a monster behind you, their hands on your underwear and tearing it from your body. The sound is like nails on a chalkboard to your ears. “Satan, sweetheart, please. Let’s talk, okay? Please.”

“Then why didn’t you pick up my calls?” The tip of his cock is pressed against your thigh, something cool leaking down your leg in a slimy trail. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going out? Were you keeping it a secret from me?” You shake your head, rubbing along the wood and his hand returns to your head, yanking at your hair and pulling on the strands until you rise and are brought on your knees before him. “No? Really? You’re going to lie to me?”

His erection is close to you, close enough to feel the heat, to see how the tip leaks with his pearling semen. “I’m not-”

“If you’re going to lie, then I'd rather just put your mouth to better use.” He grabs your face, dark green scales that run along his body and trail at his thighs. Your nose is pushed against the underside of his cock, his ridges pressing into you and semen already leaking onto your hairline. His scent is strong, suffocating as he pulls you back, your mouth opening when he twists at your hair, a sharp scream that is soon muffled by his cock entering your mouth. “Make sure you get it wet enough. It’s my cock that I’m going to stick in your little holes.”

Wasting no time, you’re pushed to the base of his cock, your nose buried in his pubic hair. He holds you there, letting his cockhead drip down your throat with his heavy semen. Your tongue is pressed flat against the underside of his ridges, the pointed end of his cock ticking at the back of your throat as he starts to move.

It’s a slow choking motion, his cock filling your mouth only to empty it in a way that makes you feel dumb enough to breathe. Every breath is stuck, lodged in the back of your throat and leaving you a choking mess against his cock. He wastes no time, holding the sides of your head and pushing himself inside of you, using your mouth as his own toy.

Each thrust of his cock has your stomach rising, acid billowing in the base of your throat, his scent and cologne mixing together to overstimulate yourself. Your name is whispered, a soft prayer under his tongue as he deflies your mouth, semen spilling and filling your mouth, tears that sting against your eyes and drip past your chin. It’s harsh, and unforgiving and in your head you curse him and plead to whatever God there is, that he’ll let you live and walk away, that this is some horrific nightmare to make you into a follower. You choke and cy, your throat constricting and face becoming hot, shame and horror flooding throughout your body and you’re left sobbing against his cock.

His hands are rough, nothing like you know them to be, his words soft as ever and yet, you’re still pushed down to the table with your jaw slack and drool dripping down your chin and tears mixing with the heavy liquid. Your mouth is stained with his semen, white bubbling out past your lips as you meet your reflection once more. Your legs are spread and you can only think of saying his name, to have your hands paw pitifully at the table as you call him through a broken mantra.

You’re glad that you listened to him, that you did get his cock wet enough to slip in you without fuss. It’s a slight pinch, sharp and twisting inside of you as your thrusted into, your chest pressed against the wooden table. Everything is on high alert, all your senses overloaded as your sex is filled, ridges tickling inside your walls. Each thrust clicks, a wet snap as he pushes himself inside of you, his tail wrapping around your throat and yanking you upwards, a string of drool snaps against your chin as it’s ripped from the desk. The tip of his tail is thick, filling your mouth as it rests on your tongue, the edges poking against the inside of your cheeks. You’re lifted, your legs bent and resting on the table as he pushes inside of you, your cunt fluttering against him as his base thickens, warm seed coating your walls.

He pulls out of you, and you whisper a soft thank you, your head turning, the red wood clouding your vision. You ignore the feeling of his hand that crawls over your rear, that tickles against your curve and pushes against your taint.

“No, no,” you moan, your body weak and in pain to stop him from continuing. Not like this Satan, please.” But he’s too overwhelmed to listen to you, pressing the slender tip of his cock against the rim of your hole and pushing inside of you.

You squeal and it’s enough for him to push himself inside of you, each curve and ridge filling and marking the inside of you. Your body spasms, your cunt warm and dripping with his semen. His tail pushes deeper inside of you, choking you and letting you taste your spit and his seed that still lingers.

“Don’t ever leave me,” he whispers hotly against the shell of your ear. “Please,” he begs, holding your body as he enters you. His teeth sink into your shoulder, the pain twisting together leaving you tense and biting on his tail, your tongue pressed firmly against a ridge.

“It hurts,” you mewl, your hands cupping over your breasts to stop the shameful movement. “‘M sorry,” you mumble, your tongue swishing over his tail. With you being stretched, you can feel him in certain areas that makes your body tense and flex. Despite the uncaring nature, you still react to him, shaking and tightening yourself around him, calling his name as you drool over his tail and onto your shirt.

“I love you,” Satan mutters, “I love you,” he repeats, holding you close to him, feeling his heart pump against your back, feeling it rattle against you. “I love you,” he whispers against your ear, his breath hot and words sweet enough to make tears spring to your eyes. He thrusts inside of you, his arms hooking under your knees and horns grazing and picking up strands of your hair as he presses harsh kisses against his bite mark.

You can feel his seed, hot and heavy, flooding inside of your walls and drenching past your heated core, staining the floor beneath you and splattering onto the table legs. With a quick glance, your eyes are strained and your thin arousal mixes in with his semen, coating at his cock and leaving your cunt in syrupy strands. Your legs are lowered, too strained and weak, your latch onto the desk, your bottom lip trembling as you try to remain steady.

Cotton fills your mind, a drug that is welcomed as the ache in your lower regions start to sharpen and dull. Colors mix and the slightest movement has you closing your mouth tightly, your hands already grasping around his neck and clinging to him for dear life. “Don’t drop me,” you plead in a delicate voice, turning to press your nose against his chest.

His hum is deep in his chest, rumbling softly like a distant storm that lulls you to sleep. His hands are soft, rubbing over the parts where he hits, and shushing you when you let out a high-pitched whine. His lips press against your forehead and his hands are soft. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispers, humming as he nuzzles his face close to yours. “Are you tired?” You nod. “Then let’s go to sleep, okay?”

[haztory]

OK BUT THAT'S ME BEING AN IDIOT HAHAHHAHAHAHAHA drabble/sfw JAHAHHAHAHAHAH DAMN

““You better catch that fucking bouquet, babe. Our relationship is on the line!” + “You wanna go toe to toe with me, pretty boy?” with Bokuto for the loveliest Clara! from my writing event that is now closed!

warnings: adult langauge and that’s it!

a/n: i answered her previous ask for the quotes so i’m just posting the drabble here! thank you for your patience my love!!! i hope you like it <33333

bokuto koutarou x f!reader; (fluff, all the fluff and wedding shenanigans)

Bokuto loves weddings. They’re truly his weak spot. Ask him to attend and he’s there an hour early, regardless of whether you’re his best friend or his cousin twice removed. The man lives for a wedding.

He loves the sentimentality of the ceremony that never fails to make him teary-eyed and oppositely, he loves the liveliness of the reception, half tempted every time to push the DJ aside and take over the mixing of music with a drink in his hand and a sloppy yell. He’s a vivacious mess of mixed moods and energy, but truthfully, he’s the best date anyone could ever ask for.

The best attendee too, considering almost everyone wants him to be a groomsman. He usually can never say no, but this time, it wasn’t even a question; Especially not for Hinata.

But above all, he loves that every wedding he attends grants him ample opportunity to enter into the sanctity of his fantasies and imagine his own.

“Did ya see him up there?!” Atsumu barks with a hard laugh, one hand clutching his whiskey and another his suit-clad chest, “He was cryin’ more than the groom!”

Met with the boastful laughs of his fellow team members, all gathered in a scattered circle by the bar, Bokuto jokingly pushes the blond on his left with a loud scoff and a faux-defense tone.

“I held it in!”

 “I heard you sniffling when Sho finally entered the venue,” Sakusa says, pointing a finger at Bokuto with the same hand that held his own alcoholic drink, “Don’t lie.”

 The group erupts into even more scattered laughter, that of which Bokuto finally joins in. His suit jacket has long since been abandoned, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows as he holds his hands up in surrender, “What can I say? I love weddings!”

Throwing an arm around his shoulders, Meian joyfully says from beside him, “At least we’ll know now how you’ll be at your own.” His eyes waggle in accompaniment and Bokuto feels his cheeks start to ache from the intensity of his smile. 

“We’ll bring extra tissues!”

Flustered to the core, Bokuto dips his head in abnormal shyness— the likes of which have the entirety of his friend group leaning forward in curiosity, their own interested smiles painted on their faces.

Fascinating as it may be to see the loud and boisterous wing spiker reduced to flushed cheeks at the mention of marriage, it doesn’t take much to figure out why; Even if they didn’t know him as well as they did, it was more than clear as to the reason when Bokuto’s own gaze tries to covertly dart to the side. That of which they all notice and blatantly follow. 

Stood beside the table of the bride, there you stood in all of your sheer elegance laughing with a number of the bridesmaids, blissfully unaware of a loving gaze that was drawn much too heavily to your turned figure. Focused on the way your dress shimmers in the dim lighting and the way you speak amongst the other guests, Bokuto feels locked in the trace of your magnanimous presence. Shyness dissipating quickly and replaced with the overwhelming flutter in his stomach.

And, not for the first time this night, he wonders briefly what it would be like if it were you walking down the aisle; If instead of the sheer, shimmery dress that adorned you beautifully, you were wearing a white one.

As he watched with exuberant joy as one of his closest friends married the one he loved, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if this were his wedding. If it were you walking down the aisle to the ethereal orchestra with your closest friends and family in attendance, all watching with eager rapture at your astounding beauty as he surely would be. But none of them, not a single one of them could ever compare to the intensity of his own stupefied gaze.

He’s imagined the scenario too often, felt tears prick the corner of his eyes every time, and he grows more excited each time he’s fantasized. But nothing gives him more butterflies than the thought of interlocking his hand with yours, placing his ring of eternal promise on your third finger, and avidly vow forever with you.

It’s not like he needs a wedding to promise that; He sees his future every time he looks at you—even if you have your back turned to him and are chatting away unsuspectingly with the fellow attendees.

 But a wedding would be nice, he thinks.

“That’s if he can get married,” Atsumu mutters into his glass cup and takes a long drink of his whiskey.

Bokuto, interrupted from his loving stare at the back of your head, snaps his own head to the blond with the speed to break necks. Eyebrows furrowed, fantasy ruined, and full offense coating his syllables, he exclaims, “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

Shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly, Atsumu leans one elbow on the surface of the bar counter and swirls his drink around, “Ya keep sayin’ yer gonna do it, but how long’s it been? Seven, eight months? If you haven’t done it yet, yer not ever gonna.”

A quick flash of sternness settles into the eyes of their captain, his arm still wrapped around the shoulders of the slowly deflating wing spiker. “He’ll do it when he’s ready, Atsumu. There’s no need to rush something like that.”

Rolling his eyes, Sakusa chimes in from across the three men. Pointing his stare at Koutarou, who resembles a kicked puppy at this point, he sighs. Not one to expel too much effort in emotional comfort, he decides this one is worthy of some kind of attempt. Albeit a minimal one. 

 “Don’t listen to this idiot, Koutarou.”

“‘m jus’ sayin’. She won’t wait for long, man,” Atsumu shrugs his shoulders again, eyes flitting to his right. Out of the corner, Koutarou deflates even more— shoulders slumped and the corners of his mouth downturned noticeably. He huffs out a quiet laugh through his nose.

Step one, complete.

“Since when were you such an expert in what women want?” Sakusa snorts.

“I have experience, thank you very much!” 

“That’s hard to believe.”

Sticking his tongue out at Sakusa, he pointedly ignores the insult to his knowledge of the feminine desires and turns his attention to the subject matter at hand.

Atsumu knows what women, having dated quite a few in his years. More specifically, he knew what you want, considering one drunk evening you had wondered aloud— quite heartachingly in your alcoholic daze, he might add— if the boisterous wing spiker even wanted to marry you. Bokuto, in your words verbatim—

“He just always gets fidgety when I bring it up and I jus’ dunno if he even likes me anymore cause yesterday, he said that my dinner was just ‘okay’ when he always says that he really loves it. Do you know how that made me feel? How could he even want to marry me when I make just ‘okay’ food? Do you know how much he eats? How can he survive!”

And as the ever so loyal friend that Atsumu considers himself to be, who is never one to ever meddle in the business of others, decided it was only right of him to solve this slight problem himself.

By taunting Bokuto, of course. 

If only to make him take matters into his own hands and finally do what everyone has been waiting for. What he knew the poor man has been dying to do forever, considering he never shuts up about you.

And also, to finally have you stop drunk texting him, no matter how endearing he may find them to be.

“So,” Atsumu sings once more, ignoring the look of exasperation on Meian’s face and instead, zoning in on the face of despair before him, “what are ya waiting for?”

In his stupefied stare at the blond beside him, Bokuto finds his gaze once more being drawn back to your turned figure that stands right in his line of sight. Wearing that pretty dress that you face timed him to get his opinion on, smelling of sweet lavender and jasmine— his favorite perfume of yours— and the lip gloss that you begged him not to mess up. He didn’t listen, and truthfully, you hardly minded all that much.

What is he waiting for? He knows what he wants, so why hasn’t he done it yet?

What if you’re growing tired of how long he’s been waiting? What if you’re unhappy that your relationship hasn’t progressed to the next stage? Oh god, what if--

His mouth opens then closes, then opens once again, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “I… I don’t know.”

“Do ya want to marry her?”

Bokuto nods eagerly, as though through the action alone he could dispel of any lingering doubt that ever had the audacity to pervade his thoughts, “Of course! I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

“Ya think she’s gonna say ‘no’?”

Looking at his two other teammates, who each have their own curiosities piqued at the line of questioning, he shakes his head with finality.

“No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Then ya just need a push!” Placing his drink on the counter, Atsumu slaps his hand on the man’s shoulder, “How about this: If yer girl catches the bouquet, ya rip the band-aid and ya ask her—”

Stepping in once more, Meian chimes, “Don’t push him to do something he’s not ready for—”

“I ain’t pushin’! He’s got the ring already, right?”

“You do?” All eyes fall onto Bokuto, who stares with widened innocent stare at each of them. He quickly shoves his hand into his pocket, pulling out his fist to reveal a velvet box in his hand. 

“I’ve been carrying it with me every day for the past six months. I just didn’t know if I should do it.”

Three pairs of eyes stare blankly at the man before them. Sharing a quick look at one another, the message is translated seamlessly between each of them and voiced eloquently by Meian himself. Ever the efficient captain.

“Holy shit.”

“My friend,” Atsumu laughs, squeezing his hand on the broad shoulder of his closest friend. His smile, innocent enough to the passing gaze, holds that twinge of mischief that Bokuto has come to know rather intimately; A taunting smile that has been directed his way one too many times that usually never ends well.

“I dare ya to propose to yer girl if she catches that bouquet. If yer really a man, that is.”

Bokuto’s eye twitches, his features narrowed at the utterance of the dare, and that’s how Atsumu knows he’s got him in the bag. It has his own smile widening even further, as Bokuto’s face scrunches in suspicion, knowing full well that he could never resist a dare.

With the single word alone, long gone is the hesitancy and doubt that plagued the man just a moment before, and instead stands a man tall in his ushering of competition. A man who thrives off the challenge, especially wherever his teammate presented one. It’s almost startling how quickly he sheds his mopey behavior and embraces his natural presence, which overwhelms and overpowers everyone around them. 

Step two, done.

“And if she doesn’t?” Bokuto asks, smugness filtering his words as he entertains the notion— silently accepts the provocation laid before him and drastically alters himself in order to successfully combat it. 

In order to win.

Spotting the glint of devilry that grows in strength in the narrowing of Bokuto’s eyes, Atsumu smirks and meets it with one of his own. He’s got him, hook, line, and sinker.

“Ya break up.”

Bokuto reels backward physically, shaken from the competitive trance and staring at the man in grotesque shock. The kind that almost borders anger and offense. Huffing a breath through his nose, he takes a step forward, away from the present comfort of Meian and almost in accusation.

“Are you trying to ruin my life, blondie? You trying to go toe to toe with me, pretty boy?”

Atsumu laughs, holding his hands up in defense, “I’m tryna get ya married, big guy!” Shoving his hands into his pockets, hardly phased by the proximity in which the large man has entrenched onto his space, he shrugs once more, “That is… if yer man enough to take it.”

“Deal,” Bokuto says without hesitation, both incredibly and not at all to the surprise of the other two men who have been silently watching from the sidelines. Like a sudden reset, the tension that resided stiffly in the shoulders of Bokuto rescinds, and replaced is the confident, joyous man. 

A man who looks as though he’s won easy money and then some. 

Smiling widely, Bokuto turns in his place and begins a bold strut away from his friends. In the direction of his beloved, “Excuuuse me, gentlemen. I’m going to go teach my lady how to catch a bouquet.”

Meian and Kiyoomi step to the side, allowing enough space for Bokuto to walk through with the hint of laughter in their small smiles. 

Spinning on his heel and pointing his thumb at his chest, Bokuto exclaims proudly, “This time tomorrow, I will be a married man!”

“One wedding at a time, Kou.” Meian laughs at the retreating man, who is beaming from head to toe.

“Better train ‘er good, big guy! Or else I might be the next one to propose to her!” Atsumu calls out as Bokuto gets closer and closer towards your turned figure.

“I’ll kill you!” He calls back, hearing the echoing laughter diminish as he finally steps beside you.

Turning from the conversation with one of the bridesmaids to the new presence, you shine beautifully upon recognizing who it is, and Bokuto feels his resolve grow almost stronger.

“Hi baby,” You coo, instinctually placing your hand into his and leaning up to place a kiss on his cheek when he quickly presents it to you, “Did you have fun with the boys?”

Wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer, he places his own kiss on your cheek, humming against the surface of the skin yet making no move to part from you. “Mhmm. Just missed you.”

You laugh, rubbing your hand on his arm, “You were only gone for a couple minutes, Kou.”

Trailing his lips downward, he nuzzles himself into your neck, inhaling deeply. Lavender and jasmine. His favorite scent.

The one he wants to smell for the rest of his life.

“Ten minutes is too long.”

If possible, he manages to pull you even tighter against him. Two strong arms wrapping around you, pulling your chest into his and squeezing you tightly. Lovingly and entirely too comforting. Home.

You return the embrace eagerly, holding him to you equally as tight, “You’re right. It was starting to get boring without you.”

His hand, warm and large against the small of your back, rubs the surface up and down before he pulls back slightly, if only to look at your face in its entirety and the lip gloss you have unfortunately reapplied.

“You’re gonna do the bouquet toss, right?”

You raise an eyebrow, “I usually do. Why?”

He glances to the side, avoiding your inquiring stare. He raises a hand from your waist, rubbing the back of his neck with an embarrassed smile, “Maybe we should go outside, and I can throw a couple of rocks at you. Just to practice your catching skills.”

“Kou— “

“Can’t have anyone disrespecting you on the floor, can we? We gotta let everyone know you’re a winner! Cause you’re my girl, and whoever disrespects you, disrespects me! You know? So, you better catch that fucking bouquet. I mean, our relationship is on the line, here!”

“Koutarou—” From the tone in which you say his name, he knows he’s not making any sense. You’re confused, incredibly so, and he can’t blame you. Truthfully, he doesn’t even know what he’s saying, only that he has a goal, and he has to make you see it without revealing himself entirely.

 “I mean, only if you want to. It just… means a lot to me, and I want you to say yes, because I love you. And if you win, I win in a lot of ways. And I want to win with you, for the rest of our lives.”

Realizing almost entirely too late that he was talking with duplicity that you have most certainly caught on towards, he decides there is a good place to stop talking entirely. Oh god, he’s such an idiot. What was he thinking? He can never hide anything from you!

If you couldn’t tell from the way he was talking in metaphors, you could most definitely see it from the way in which sweat beads at the top of his forehead.

Your eyes flicker from each of his, your warm palms cupping the sides of his face as you watch him with concern.

“Baby,” You breathe out, voice steady and calm as you watch his resolve slowly crack under your watchful stare, “Did you want to talk to me about something?”

He tried desperately to remind himself that he has a mission to accomplish, that there was a dare that Atsumu had challenged him to that he must complete—but it’s you. You’re the trump card, the weakness in his defense, his priority above all else. He could never hide anything from you because you would catch him in a quick minute. And truthfully, he doesn’t want to hide anything from you.

It was easy to hide the ring under the guise of waiting for the perfect time, a mental barrier that he could excuse as a good cause behind his hesitancy, but now that he’s accepted a dare that is forcing him to put his desires to immediate use, he can hardly wait for the bouquet toss to arrive.

He’s got to do it now. The time is right, it will never be more perfect. You look beautiful, you’re held tightly in his arms, and he’s never been more convinced of the fact that he loves you. Why has he even waited this long?

He has to do it—Atsumu be damned.

“Marry me.” 

**

Extra:

“You really think she’s going to catch it?” Meian asks Atsumu, as they both watch from afar the way Bokuto wraps himself around your body, nuzzling unabashedly into you.

Atsumu scoffs, “Hell no. Girl can’t catch fer shit.”

Furrowing his brows, Meian stares at the blond with intense confusion, “Then why did you—”

“Just had to plant the idea in his head. He’ll do it soon, jus’ give it a minute.”

The two watch you both silently, noticing the way in which Bokuto pulls away from you and starts to speak rapidly. Neither of them can hear what he’s saying, but they can see his lips moving. More importantly, can see the way in which you stare in perplexion.

Then finally, his lips stop moving and your hands cup his face. The setter and captain feel their breaths hitch and they both lean forward if only to see if they can read the wing spiker’s lips from where they stand.

They can. And from the way you respond with a laugh and an eager kiss, they know it worked.

Looking to Meian, Atsumu raises his brow with a smile, “Told ya!”

end note: to everyone who sent a request, it is on it’s way! i just don’t know the definition of a drabble and instead make 3k long fics, so that’s fun. 

[crackheadgeminibby]

you can't change the past

pairing: steve rogers x wilson!reader, bucky barnes x wilson!reader

warnings: angst, language, TW mentions of depression, suicidal thoughts and abortion

word count: 5.1k

a/n: i rewatched endgame and remembered how much steve leaving annoyed the shit out of me so there. also i 100% took that ripple quote from x-men so yeah, enjoy:)

i do not consent to my work being copied in any way, shape or form or reposted on any other platform

not my picture

You’re leaning on a tree next to your brother as you wait for Banner to finish calibrating the time machine. In the distance, you see Steve hugging Bucky before making his way towards you. You stand up as Steve gets to your level. He smiles softly before looking towards Sam,

“Hey, can you give us a second, please?”

Sam nods before walking towards Bucky and striking up a conversation with him. You smile up at Steve before stroking his cheek and asking,

“What’s up?”

Steve’s eyes flutter close as he leans into your palm before saying, barely above a whisper,

“I’m not coming back, sweetheart.”

Your hand falls from Steve’s face as a frown etches itself onto your face.

“What?”

Steve slowly opens his eyes, looking into yours, before replying,

“When Tony and I went to 1970 for the Tesseract and the Pym particles, I saw Peggy… I thought I had moved on but… We’re meant to be together.”

You feel a lump forming in your throat as you take a step back from Steve, hurt clear on your face.

“I thought we were?”, you ask, voice cracking at the end.

“So did I… But when I saw her again, it just felt like the universe was giving me a second chance and I can’t not take it.”

As tears start to fall down your face, the air around suddenly feels freezing as a shiver shakes your body. You look towards the ground, trying to find something, anything to say. You’re not sure how long you stay there but you’re pulled back to reality when Banner tells Steve that the machine is ready.

“Y/N… Please, say something.”

Your eyes stay fixated on the ground beneath your feet, “What does Bucky think about this?”

You hear Steve’s breath stop shortly before he exhales slowly, “I didn’t tell him.”

You scoff before shaking your head slowly and kicking a pebble.

“You know, Steve, there’s a theory in quantum physics that time is immutable. It’s like a river: you can throw a pebble in and create a ripple, but the current always corrects itself. No matter what you do the river just keeps flowing in the same direction.”

You look up at Steve, before finishing, “You can’t change the past, Steve. But thank you for making your feelings about me crystal clear.”

You turn around, practically running back to your car, driving back to the tower.

Through your tears and sobs, you don’t hear that someone has followed you back and has entered your room. A hand softly touches your back, startling you, as you turn around rapidly, whispering, hopeful, “Steve?”

“Sorry, doll. It’s just me…”, you hear Bucky’s soft voice answer.

You feel your sobs wracking through your body even harder than before as Bucky climbs into your bed, taking you into his arms. You cry into his chest, listening to his heartbeat until you eventually hear his breathing become ragged.

Through your teary vision, you look up at Bucky, now also crying, as he looks down at you,

“He left me too, you know.”

You wrap your arms around Bucky, trying to comfort him while also letting yourself cry.

As soon as Steve had returned all of the stones to their respective times and places, he had made a beeline for Peggy’s house. He had made sure to look up all the information he needed beforehand, so he didn’t have to wait a second before making his way to her.

Walking up to her front door, a bouquet of flowers in hand, he could feel the slightly chilly fall Washington air nipping at his cheeks with the sun setting in the distance.

Knocking on the door, Steve adjusts his tie, feeling the anticipation rise in his throat. After what seems like forever, the door to the Carter residence opens, Peggy herself standing on the threshold.

She is visibly shaken as her eyes widen immeasurably before she whispers, “Steve?”

Steve smiles back at her, replying, “Hey Peggy… I’m back.”

Peggy glances over her shoulder before pushing Steve farther away from the house, closing the door behind her. She crosses her arms over her chest before looking up at Steve,

“Steve, what are you doing here?”

Steve’s smile falters before stutters, “What do you mean? I came back… For you.”

Peggy shakes her head softly before answering, “Steve… I’m married. To a man I love. And I’m pregnant.”

Steve looks down at her and for the first time, he notices her inflated belly. She was not very far from giving birth.

“But, what about us?”

Peggy frowns, “Steve, we missed our chance… Gabe and I are happy.”

Steve lets his arms fall to his side, the bouquet of flowers now upside down, petals flying away in the wind. He opens and closes his mouth once, twice, three times, unable to find anything to say.

He looks at his feet before mumbling, “Can I just stay the night? I don’t have anywhere else to go. I’ll be gone tomorrow morning.”

Peggy sighs deeply before reluctantly nodding her head and opening the door, letting Steve into the house.

As Steve falls asleep that night, he only sees your face from the last time he saw you. Hurt and anger, maybe even disgust on your face. He thinks about the ways in which he will try to win you back, despite the amount of time he had been away. He wasn’t sure how long his one day spent in the past will have been in your life. But he hopes that not enough time has passed for you to have forgotten about him.

As it turns out, five years had passed since he had left. He was confused at first when he came back. The machine Banner had left in the woods behind the Avengers facility had been left there but it was full of dust. The facility, which had been destroyed when he left, was now completely rebuilt and vibrant with life. He had been discreet, walking through the woods to get back to the city without being seen.

From there, he had been able to find a disguise to do research on where you were now. He had learned that you had moved back to Louisiana with Sam and were currently residing there.

As soon as he found out, he rented a car and made his way to you. The road was long but no place on this Earth was too far for him to travel so he could see you again.

When he got to Louisiana, he only had to ask one person to be pointed in your direction. Apparently, the Wilson family was like royalty in these parts. So, he was surprised when he arrived at the house that was indicated to him to find the door widely open, seemingly no one in sight.

Steve walks up the steps leading to the house, hearing someone running towards the door. He is taken aback when he sees a small girl stop suddenly in front of the door. She stares at Steve with wide eyes; she couldn’t be more than 6 years old, with short curly hair secured into pigtails and soft amber eyes.

Still staring at him, the child opens her mouth, “Mommy, there’s a man at the door!”

He hears feet padding their way to the door before he hears, “Lizzie, baby, how many times have I told you not to go to the door a-”

You stop abruptly in your tracks as you see before you the man you thought you would never see again. Your breath hitches as a lump grows in your throat.

“Steve?”

Steve smiles softly, “Hey sweetheart.”

You feel the air thickening as your eyes start to sting. You hold your hand out towards your child, setting it on her shoulder, before saying, “Elizabeth, go see Uncle Sam on the dock, okay?”

Completely unbothered, the child responds, “Okay, mommy.”, turning around and running towards what seems to be the kitchen.

You stay rooted to your spot, unable to move or say a single word and staring at Steve like he’s going to vanish before your eyes.

He takes slow steps towards you as if he’s afraid that if he moves too quickly, you’ll run away like a wild animal. He stops when he’s in arms reach of you.

He smiles a little before saying, jokingly, “No welcome home hug for me?”

Before you can even register what happened, your hand has already hit Steve across the face. You feel the heat of the slap warming up your hand as you clench it into a fist at your side.

Steve looks at you again, understanding that this was clearly the wrong thing to say to you. He softly strokes his cheek.

“Guess I deserved that.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes before asking, “What the fuck are you doing here, Steve? I thought you were going back to Peggy?”

Steve shakes his head almost imperceptibly before saying, “That didn’t really work out…”

You scoff again, “So, what? Peggy rejects you and now you come back to get your second choice, is that it?” You shake your head, “You know, I almost didn’t mind being second-best to her all those years ago. But now? You can go to hell, Steve.”

He stares at you, almost like he’s not even listening to you, before asking, “Is she mine?” He bites his bottom lip, looking next to you where pictures of the child and you through the years adorn the walls.

“She seems about the right age, you know?”

You clench your fists, even tighter than before, which you didn’t know was possible. You can feel the blood gradually leaving your hands as you clench your jaw and look at Steve straight in the eyes, “No. She’s not. Not that it’s any of your business?”

Steve frowns in confusion, “Well then, who-”

He’s cut off as loud footsteps resonate through the walls of the house.

“Hey doll. Lizzie just came running down to the boat talking about how there’s a man in the house.”

Bucky’s voice, despite him being far enough away for you not to see him, travels perfectly to the spot in which you are still motionless. Bucky finally stops when he sees Steve standing on the porch.

He doesn’t hesitate for a single second before clenching his jaw and saying lowly, “Get out.”

Steve puts his hands up in surrender about to say something before Bucky screams, making you jump slightly, “Get out of my house! NOW!”

Steve looks between you and him, waiting for you to advocate on his behalf, but you had stopped doing that a long time ago. You stare back at Steve, almost challenging him to defy Bucky.

As Steve doesn’t move, Bucky walks heavily to the door, making you think that he is about to start a fight with Steve, you say, “Bucky, don’t.”

Bucky stops in front of Steve and takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down before slamming the door in Steve’s face. When Bucky turns back to you, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in.

Your vision starts to get blurry, and your ears feel clogged as you faintly hear Bucky still next to the door, cursing Steve out. Your lungs burn as if air seems to be unable to find its air through your body as your legs tremble. Your head starts to spin and before you can understand what’s happening, your legs give out making you crumple on the floor.

You distantly hear Bucky call your name, but your brain seems unable to focus on his voice trying to pull yourself out of your current state. You feel a pair of strong arms holding you to a hard chest followed by a pair of soft hands stroking your hair and face.

After what seems like forever trying to fight against your own body, you let go and everything turns black.

When your eyes flutter open, you’re lying on your bed and the room is pitch black. Multiple hours have visibly passed but the room is completely silent. You push yourself up to the headboard, looking around you before getting up. Your legs are still shaky, so you lean on your bed to help guide you to the door.

As you walk through the halls of the house, you start hearing hushed voices in the living room. Stopping on the threshold, you look at Sam, Sarah and Bucky sitting around the dining table.

“Hey. What happened?”, you croak out.

All their heads snap in your direction and Bucky almost immediately walks towards you, enveloping you in a hug.

“Oh doll, I didn’t know you were awake. How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

You tear yourself out of Bucky’s arms before looking at Sam and Sarah confusedly. They were looking at you like you just came back from the dead or something. Bucky stands next to you, also analyzing your face.

You frown, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Oh my God, what is it, guys? Stop looking at me like that!”

Sam gets up from his chair before gently stroking your arms.

“Do you remember anything from today?”

You frown again before slowly shaking your head. “Should I have something special to remember?”

Sam nods apprehensively before replying, “Steve was here today. Apparently, you guys talked for a while then Bucky got here, and you passed out.”

You rack your brain, trying to remember what he was talking about before you realize. Your body tenses up and you feel your breathing become ragged.

Bucky feels that and guides you to the dining table, making you sit down where he was before. He kneels in front of you and takes your hands in his.

“Doll, I want you to breathe with me, okay?”

You can feel your head start to spin and your vision becomes blurred, but you focus on Bucky’s voice.

“Deep breath in…”

He inhales deeply, making sure you’re following along.

“And out…”

He exhales deeply, looking into your eyes. You can feel your vision start to clarify.

“Again. In…” Inhale.

“Out…” Exhale. Your head stops spinning.

“One last time, in…” You inhale deeply through your nose.

“And, out…” You exhale through your mouth.

Bucky looks deeply into your eyes before stroking your cheeks. You shiver slightly from the difference in temperature of his hands that are both on your face. He gets up and sees your eyes sending him a panicked look.

“It’s okay… I’m just going to sit down here, okay?”

He sits down on the chair next to you before taking your hand in his. You look at Sarah and Sam, visibly trying to find something, anything to say.

After you all stay seated in silence for about 5 minutes, you look up at them.

“I want to see him.”

Sarah frowns, reaching for your hand that’s resting on the table.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Y/N? You didn’t… fare so well last time, you know?”, she says softly.

You nod, swallowing thickly.

“I know but he caught me by surprise. This time, I’ll know that I’ll see him so I can prepare myself.”

You can feel Bucky tensing up next to you. Sam clears his throat.

“Why do you want to see him? He knocked you up, broke your heart and left you for some 100-year-old woman he kissed once.”

“Sam!”, Sarah chastises.

“Can always count on you for the honesty.”, you say sourly, side-eyeing Sam.

“First of all, he didn’t know I was pregnant. Hell, I didn’t know I was pregnant until… the accident...”, you say silently.

You had been battling depression since your early teens, but it had never been that bad. Sam and Sarah had started to recognize the signs of your mental withdrawal almost immediately after Steve had left. About three weeks after Steve left, you had tried to take your own life by crashing your car in the lake behind the house. Bucky had found you just in time and brought you to the hospital.

The doctors had insisted on doing a complete medical check-up and had found that you were 2 months pregnant. You were ready to tell the doctor that you wanted to abort but Sam and Sarah had convinced you otherwise. They had told you that keeping the baby could be like a piece of Steve in your life and it could help you heal.

At first, you didn’t believe them, but they ended up being right. The baby saved you, giving your life purpose, something you thought you would never find again.

Bucky, Sam and Sarah had all pitched in to help but Bucky had realized that his desire to be there for you was more than guilt for his best friend leaving you. He had fallen in love with you. So, when he had asked you out, you had said yes. When he had proposed, you had also said yes.

Bucky was making you the happiest you had ever been in a long time. And you were now pregnant with your second child. You had learned about two weeks ago and you had announced it last weekend.

But you knew that, if you didn’t get closure from your time with Steve, you would never be able to be completely happy with Bucky.

You shake your head slightly, making yourself come back to your current situation.

“And second of all, I need to do it. For myself. But also, for my two children. I can’t be the mom they deserve if I don’t get some kind of closure from this whole… situation.”

Bucky huffs before getting up and walking quickly to your shared bedroom. You sigh, rubbing your forehead.

“Sam, can you try to track him down, please? I need to get this done soon.”

Sam looks at you for a couple of seconds before sighing and nodding his head.

“Thanks. Good night, guys.”

You walk to your bedroom, opening the door. When you walk in, you see that Bucky is laying down under the covers, his back to you. You walk slowly to the bed before kneeling down on it.

“Bucky.”

Nothing.

“Buck.”

He exhales loudly but doesn’t budge. You sigh deeply, stroking his back with one hand while the other turns him around.

“Bucky, baby, please, just listen to me.”

He rolls on his back but stares at the ceiling, avoiding your eyes. You sigh again before sitting down next to him, folding your hands in your lap.

“Look, Bucky, I understand that you’re upset. He hurt me but he also hurt you. He left us both and you’re allowed to be angry with him and deal with his return in whatever way you want but you can’t be mad at me for wanting to deal with it in the way that I want.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, still staring at the ceiling. You exhale slowly, putting a hand on Bucky’s cheek.

“Bucky, come on. Say something.”

You sigh deeply, “Bucky, I-”

“I’m scared, okay?”, he says loudly, turning his head to look at you. You jump slightly, unprepared for a response from him, much less such a loud response.

You frown, tilting your head, “Scared of what?”

He turns his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“Bucky, you need to tell me.”

He puts his hands over his face, slightly muffling his answer, “I’m scared that you’re gonna see him and talk to him and fall back in love with him. And then, you’re gonna leave with Lizzie and then I’m gonna be left alone all over again…”,

You feel tears pooling in your eyes as you reach over to put your hands on his shoulders. You tug at him softly, indicating that you want him to get up. Bucky sits up, staring at your lap before you reach over and put a hand on his chin, lifting his head to look at you.

You stare into his eyes, also full of unshed tears, before saying,

“Bucky, I want you to listen to me very carefully, okay?”

He nods at you before whispering “okay.”

“First of all, Steve doesn’t know that Lizzie is his, okay? When he asked, I said no. And we’re going to keep it that way because you are her dad, Bucky, no one else. Second of all, it’s not like I’m going on a date with the man. I just want to talk to him so I can get closure. And third of all, in case you forgot, I’m wearing your ring on my finger, not his. And that’s how it’s gonna stay, okay?”

Bucky looks at you as tears start to fall down his face. He leans towards you, leaving a short but passionate kiss on your lips.

He lays back down on the bed before taking you in his arms as you listen to his steady heartbeat.

You look up at him, whispering, “I love you, Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky hums appreciatively before kissing the top of your head and answering, “I love you more.”

That night, you fall asleep with Bucky’s arm around your waist and his fingers intertwined with yours.

When you wake up the next morning, Bucky has already left the bed. You know that he’s either on a run or working on the boat with Sam.

You get up, brushing your teeth and getting ready before heading out to the dock. As you thought, you see Bucky and Sam working on the boat. They’re silent and you know it’s because you’re supposed to see Steve today.

“Hey Sam!”, you call out.

Sam turns towards you before meeting you halfway into the boat.

“Did you find him?”

He looks at you, raising an eyebrow before scoffing.

“Please. It took me less than 10 minutes. I told him to come at 11:30 so he should be here any minute.”

“Okay, thanks.” You look down at Bucky, still hard at work on the boat’s engine.

“Buck, can I talk to you for a second, please?” He drops the tool that was in his hand before walking up the stairs of the boat and stopping to sit down on the dock, not looking at you once.

You sit down next to him, before taking your hand in his.

“I’m just gonna talk to him, okay?” Bucky continues staring at his shoes but nods softly.

“I love you, you know that, right?”

He finally looks up at you and nods, murmuring, “I love you too.”

You smile at him, kissing his cheek.

“I-”

“Y/N, he’s here.”, you hear Sarah’s voice call out.

Bucky instantly tenses up and looks at you with panic in his eyes. You give a warm smile and whisper, “It’s gonna be okay, I promise. As soon as we’re done, I’m gonna come find you and then we can go do something fun together all day, okay?”

Bucky nods, sniffling softly, before heading back inside the boat.

You get up and follow Sarah to the backyard where Steve is sitting on a bench. As soon as he sees you, he gets up and adjusts his shirt. You feel the warm Louisiana air brushing against your skin as you take deep breaths, approaching him.

When you get to the bench, Sarah stops a couple of feet behind you. You look at her and nod, silently saying that you’re fine. Steve walks towards you and pulls out a bouquet of flowers, handing it to you.

You reluctantly take it and sit down at one end of the bench. Steve follows your actions and sits down on the other end.

“You look beautiful.”

Your breath hitches as you put the flowers on the bench between you.

“Look, Steve, I didn’t-”

You stop and frown as you see a purple bruise under his left eye. You instinctively reach up to touch it and he hisses as your warm hand touches his face.

“What happened?”

“Let’s just say that Sam was less than happy to see me.”

You chuckle softly. You should have known that he would have done something like that.

You put your hand back in your lap, trying to find the right words to express your feelings.

“I wanted to see you because I need closure for my family. That’s all.”

Steve looks at you longingly, “You always were one of the strongest women I knew. And beautiful, loving, caring, compass-”

“Look, Steve, I didn’t ask Sam to call you here so we could reminisce about old times. Why did you come back?”

Steve looks at the ground before clearing his throat, “When Peggy rejected me, it made me realize that I left the woman that I truly loved. And I thought that I could come back, and we could talk and-”

“I’m engaged”, you blurt out. You slap a hand over your mouth, shocked at yourself.

Steve looks at you and finally notices the diamond ring on your left hand.

“Oh… I, umm… Who is it?”

“Umm Bucky.”

Steve frowns, “You’re engaged to my best friend?”

You snort and mutter, “I don’t think he would call himself that anymore but sure.”

“But how?”

You scoff, “Well, when you get abandoned by the same person, you kinda find some things to bond about.”

“And it is… you know, serious?”, Steve asks, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“Are you fucking serious right now? You leave me, abandon me- us, for some girl and then you ask if it’s serious?” You get up, now completely furious and screaming,

“You can’t just waltz in here after five fucking years, after destroying me so bad I almost killed our child and then ask me if I’m serious about the love of my life!”

Steve seems shocked as his mouth stays open, “Wait, I thought you said she wasn’t mine?”

You stare at him before groaning loudly, “Oh, fuck me!”

Steve gets up, a determined look on his face.

“I want to meet her.”

You exhale deeply, calming yourself down before looking at the lake and crossing your arms.

“No.”

Steve stares you down, “I deserve to meet her.”

Your head snaps towards him, “You don’t deserve jack shit, Steve.”

Your vision becomes blurry with tears as you start hitting his chest aimlessly, “You left! You abandoned me! You deserve nothing!”

You feel strong arms pulling you back as you thrash around. Bucky’s soft voice rings in your ears,

“It’s okay, doll, it’s me. Calm down.”

Bucky’s hands cup your face, and he wipes your tears away with his thumbs as you calm down. When you stop crying, he pulls you into a hug and you feel his chest vibrate as he speaks lowly, “It’s time for you to go, Steve.”

You hear Steve’s equally deep voice from behind you, “I’m not going anywhere until I meet my child.”

Bucky chuckles humorlessly as you let go of Bucky and turn towards Steve, “She is not your child. She is Y/N and I’s little girl, and she will not be anywhere near you.”

As if on cue, Lizzie comes running out of the house.

“Mommy!”

You pick up your little girl and wrap your arms around her. She tries, but fails, to whisper in your ear, “Mommy, why is the man from yesterday here again?”

You chuckle at her lack of discretion. You stroke her back as you reply,

“He’s one of Mommy and Daddy’s old friend. But he was just about to leave.” Lizzie detaches her arms from around you before sliding down to the ground and walking to Steve. He kneels down to be eye-level with her and she holds her hand out to him.

“Hi. My name is Elizabeth, but everyone calls me Lizzie.” Steve shakes her little hand and responds, “Hi Lizzie, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Steve.”

Lizzie frowns at Steve before saying, “Are the bad man Steve that hurt my mommy?”

A look of shock draws itself on Steve’s face as he stares at Lizzie.

Lizzie turns towards you and runs back before saying, “I want him to go!”

Bucky laughs under his breath before saying, “Okay, Lizzie, come on. Daddy’s gonna make you some lunch.”

Lizzie walks over to Bucky taking his large metal hand in her smaller one before walking rapidly towards the house.

Steve stands up, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Why did she say that?”

You scoff as you cross your arms and look at him, “Because she caught me crying my eyes out one day and she asked what was wrong with me. So, Sarah told her the story about the bad man Steve that hurt me and made me sad sometimes.”

Steve detaches his eyes from yours, guilt written all over his face.

“I’m sorry”, he whispers.

“I didn’t know how bad I hurt you when I left and I shouldn’t have come back here like everything was going to be like it was when I left.”

Steve looks back at you, tears in his eyes. “I’ll leave and never come back. And congratulations on the engagement. I’m sure that Bucky and you are going to be great together.”

Steve starts to walk back towards the front yard as you stay standing in front of the bench. You hear the motorcycle start and before you can stop yourself, your legs are running towards him to stop him from leaving.

He turns off the motorcycle when he sees you in front of him.

You take a deep breath, clenching and unclenching your fists a couple of times before you say, “I forgive you. And I’m sorry I lied about Lizzie not being yours, I just… I don’t know.”

Steve nods slightly and starts his motorcycle again before riding off towards the road. You let you a breath and walk to the house.

When you see Bucky and Lizzie in the kitchen, playfully preparing some lunch, you smile bigger than you have in what felt like forever.

Your mind and your heart were finally at peace.

hi @saiyanprincessswanie i would love it if you could check this out for your reading list, hope you enjoy🤍

[trilliastra]

[*drops a sterek fic after two years and runs away to hide*]

-

It’s all Cora’s fault and Derek will remain of the opinion that his life only went downhill the moment his little sister was born.

It starts with Sara, his sister’s friend, whose boyfriend turned out to be a jerk and would not let her inside his apartment to collect her things unless she took him back. And Cora volunteered Derek to help.

Derek didn’t really mind it at first, Sara only needed a guy to look strong (which he is), angry (which he was) and able to carry her stuff from place a to place b (which he did). But some weeks later Sara met a friend with an equally stupid boyfriend and said friend had another friend and then Laura heard about it and it suddenly became a thing.

Georgia, Nelly, Carmen, Lola.

Isaac.

“I could help, you know?” Derek had said after the fifth time he noticed the blossoming purple bruises on the back of Isaac’s neck, his scrapped knuckles. “If you need to get rid of your –” he lowered his voice, “boyfriend.”

Isaac had looked at him, wide eyed, before he confessed he isn’t gay and the problem was actually his dad. “Oh,” Derek had said, thinking for a moment before adding, “I could help with that, too.”

Turns out Derek’s intimidation skills were lacking when compared to his own father’s.

-

“You’re doing a really nice thing, Derek.” Isaac says one night, helping him with his hand. Asshole boyfriend of the night thought he could bag a few punches before letting Phill grab his laptop back. Derek was faster, and stronger.

Isaac moved in with him and Boyd two weeks after his dad was sentenced. He didn’t want to, at first, was still incredibly shy and scared of everything, including Derek, but he opened up to Boyd pretty quickly. Despite his built (and the fact he can bench press three times his own weight), Boyd is the softest person Derek has ever met.

“Sure.” Derek sighs.

“But?” He asks and Derek sighs again, looks away when Boyd walks into the room.

“I had a date.” Derek confesses and Boyd whistles in sympathy.

“How many times has it been, again?”

“Three.” Derek winces when Isaac presses the antiseptic over the cut. “I’m – I really like him.”

“You could just tell him.” Isaac says. “He’s a cool guy, I guess.” He shrugs, smiling. “Sometimes he’s an asshole. But not in a bad way.”

Derek huffs out a laugh. “Yeah.”

Stiles is an asshole, he likes teasing Derek when they are discussing ethics in the workplace and every way capitalism is stepping over immigrants, they banter and they quote books back and forth and while some people (his sisters) roll their eyes when Derek brings up some history fact, Stiles nods along, brings up another history fact that Derek didn’t know (or sometimes pretends not to know, just to hear Stiles talking about it), hands moving around as he explains his point or badmouths a historic figure that owned so much money ‘their great-great-grandkids are still swimming in the gold they stole from the natives’.

Derek is in love.

“What did you tell him this time?” Boyd asks, munching on his chips. He shakes the bag in front of them and while Derek takes a couple, Isaac shakes his head, still not used to being allowed good things.

Some memories are hard to forget.

“That my mom had stopped by to visit.” Derek says. He hates lying, he is not even good at it. The first time he tried to tell Stiles he looked like a wet cat after he got caught up in the rain, white shirt sticking to his chest, Derek’s cheeks had gotten so red, Stiles asked him if he was okay.

“Dude.” Isaac says, shaking his head in disappointment as he finishes bandaging Derek’s hand.

“I know.” Derek gives back, collapsing on his bed with a groan.

This is all Cora’s fault.

-

Okay. Stiles texts back when Derek has to postpone their date again. Derek can feel the disappointment through the message, mirroring his own feelings.

How about tomorrow night? Derek tries, stares at his phone for minutes until he realizes Stiles probably won’t text him back.

-

“Please.” Maria says, holding her cat with a bright smile as they talk in front of a coffee shop. She is trying to convince him to accept a coffee and Derek is trying to convince her he doesn’t need it. “How can I thank you?”

Derek sighs. “I didn’t do anything.” And it is true, her boyfriend wasn’t working when they arrived at the coffee shop and when they opened the door of the apartment upstairs, it was empty save for the cat that Maria is currently hugging.

“You were there for me.” She smiles, tucking her hair behind her ear and Derek already knows what’s coming.

It’s not the first time, probably won’t be the last. He has been invited for ‘thank you’ coffees, dinners, sex. It never felt right, though. Not with the guys, and especially not with the girls.

Sorry. He always says. Some of them are attractive, he supposes, but he was, and still is, very much gay.

“I’m—” he starts, but Maria’s eyes widen and when Derek turns around, a guy is stalking towards them, eyebrows furrowed in anger.

“You bitch!” He shouts, startling most of the costumers inside and the shop and the people walking around the street. “What are you doing?”

“Taking my cat back!” She yells back and Derek steps closer, eyeing the guy’s fists as he starts to shake with anger.

The guy notices his move and turns his glare to him. “And who the fuck are you?”

Before Derek can answer, Maria chimes in. “My boyfriend.”

“What the fuck?” It takes Derek a second to realize the words didn’t come from him, but from someone in the crowd, one of the onlookers that gathered around them to watch the scene unfold.

Two seconds after that, Derek realizes the person talking was Stiles.

-

That explains a lot. It’s the last message Stiles sends him before blocking his number.

Derek tries to call, talk to him after class, but his friends keep him away, Lydia going as far as brandishing a can of pepper spray in front of him, eyes shining with an unspoken threat.

“You should follow him to his dorm.” Isaac offers, weakly.

“Creeps do that.” Derek says. “I don’t want to be more of an asshole than I already am.”

“You’re not an asshole.” Isaac says, clasping his shoulder in sympathy. “I could – talk to him? If you want?” The offer makes Derek smile, touched. Isaac is still extremely shy in front of strangers, but just the fact that he considered doing it for him is enough.

“It’s fine.” Derek says. It isn’t fine, and they both know it, but he will pull through. Eventually. “It wasn’t meant to be.”

-

It’s harder that Derek anticipated, seeing Stiles during classes and not being able to talk to him, to tease him when Mrs. Schilder glares at him for using a pun that makes the entire room burst out laughing from second-hand embarrassment.

He is beautiful, Derek thinks at least ten times a day, and smart and kind and funny and Derek could see them being together for a long time, falling deeper in love as the time passes.

He should be used to not having good things. He grew up as a middle child, as a gay teenager in a small town where some boys were so far deep in the closet, they couldn’t find their way out, he should be used to not keeping the things he likes.

So why does it hurt so much?

-

“Derek—”

“No.”

“She needs—”

“Call someone else.”

“You are really going to leave her—”

Derek slams his book shut, kicks his chair back as he stands up. Cora’s eyes widen when someone tells him to be quiet and Derek simply ignores them. “I need to study for a test. Call someone else.”

Helping someone should feel good, it should make him happy, not feel like a burden. He is more than an angry guy with a strong body. He doesn’t even like confrontation. He started working out to burn his energy, to let out some of this anger that he’s been constantly carrying inside and he kept working out because he enjoyed it and now – now even that is ruined.

“Why are you being so selfish?” She asks and Derek knows, deep inside, that she doesn’t mean it like that, that she’s just as angry as him, humiliated by the fact he’s calling her out in the middle of the library. Still, that doesn’t matter now. Now, Derek is angry and sad and done.

“Fuck you.” He says and walks away.

-

His initial plan was to make it to his apartment, bury himself under the covers and not leave his room until his mother comes to give him an earful. Because she will, undoubtedly, when Cora tells her about it.

But Derek doesn’t make it to his apartment, he doesn’t even make it outside the library, simply makes a u-turn and heads for the dark zone, a space under the stairs leading to the storeroom where couples usually go to make out. There, he collapses on the ground, taking deep breaths, and buries his face in his hands.

This has been a long time coming, he thinks. He’s been on the edge for a while. This entire experience has made him remember how awful it was to pretend to be someone he wasn’t, to be only liked for his body or for his ability to pass the answers to the test without the teacher seeing him.

Some memories are hard to forget.

“Are you okay?” Derek flinches, surprised to hear Stiles’ voice. “Oh,” Stiles whispers, noticing Derek’s red eyes, the tears streaming down his face, “bad day, huh?”

“She was not my girlfriend.” Derek blurts out, head a mess of emotions: fear, anger, loneliness, regret.

“Dude,” Stiles frowns, confused, “I know Cora is your sister.”

“No.” Derek shakes his head, frantic. “The other day, at the coffee shop. I was helping her with her ex-boyfriend, I do that sometimes. He— he was an asshole and she needed help getting her cat back and I look strong and I know how to –”

“Woah, woah, slow down.” Stiles raises his hands, alarmed, and Derek realizes his own hands are shaking and he can’t breathe. “In and out,” Stiles whispers, “can I—can I touch you?”

Derek shakes his head, focusing on his breath. Panic attack, he remembers, suffocating. No touching. “Okay,” Stiles agrees, easily, “should I keep talking?” Derek shakes his head again, keeps his eyes on his hands. Talking is too much, listening is too much, breathing is too much. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” Derek manages to gasp. He doesn’t want to be alone.

Stiles nods, leans against the wall next to Derek and starts fiddling with his shoelaces, twirling them around wordlessly. Derek doesn’t know how much time it passes, but he keeps watching Stiles’ fingers moving distractedly, patiently waiting for him. With him.

“I’m sorry.” Derek manages to say, eventually.

Stiles sighs. “I know.” He closes his own eyes before turning to Derek. “You don’t have to explain.”

“I—” Derek swallows heavily, “have to.” He answers, before shaking his head. No, that doesn’t sound right, “no, I—I want to.”

-

They leave the library together, Stiles standing up first and offering his hand to help Derek up. Stiles doesn’t let go as they walk towards Derek’s apartment, squeezes his hand from time to time as Derek tells him about everything.

“You could have told me.” Stiles notes.

“I don’t know why I didn’t.” Derek confesses. “I guess I didn’t want you to see me as that guy too. Beefy Derek.” He laughs, humorless. “That’s the nickname my sister came up with a few months ago.”

Stiles groans, stops walking, forcing Derek to stop as well. “You are so much more than that.” He assures, touching Derek’s face softly though his eyes shine with certainty. “I love your brain, your cute jokes, the fact that you get my stupid history facts because you like history just as much as I do, and especially the way you care so much. College, people, the world.” He pulls him in for a quick, assertive kiss, and Derek immediately feels so light he could fly. But he won’t, because Stiles is keeping him grounded by the softest touch, the smallest smile.

“Cute jokes?” He manages to ask, arching an eyebrow. When Stiles laughs, he smiles.

“They are.” He insists.

“Okay.” Derek accepts the words easily, because everything seems easy when it comes to Stiles. “If I ask you out on a new date,” he says, “will Lydia pepper spray me?”

“I will stop her.” Stiles reassures, squeezing his hand again. “But before,” he adds and Derek feels his stomach turning with anticipation, “you have to know that I kind of hate your sister right now.”

“Oh.” Derek says. “Okay, I can—I can see that.”

“I’m sorry.” Stiles says, though he doesn’t sound sorry at all.

“Me too.” Derek agrees.

-

When Derek tells him about Cora’s apology and the earful his sister got from their mom, Stiles excuses himself to go laugh in the bathroom while Derek shrugs and goes back to eating his share of the pizza.

By the time they get married, Stiles and Cora have become best friends. Derek hates it (he doesn’t).

[captainsdolly]

Steve taking your virginity (hc)

Beware of the monster cock y’all and, to quote my bio, I may not be a good writer but I’m excellent at being a hoe

18+ only!

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: Smut, loss of virginity, Steve’s monster cock, daddy kink, size kink, a bit of blood (cuz he popped that cherry), a bit of fingering, dom Steve, innocent reader

Requested by @donutloverxo​

Not proof read, sorry for any fuck ups also the ‘read more’ thingy doesn’t work I’M SORRY 

Steve is a patient man and all he wants is for you to be happy and comfortable

Which is why he has been waiting with trying to get into your panties, what a gentleman

But then, one night, after he comes back from work he tells you he’s taking a weekend off and he wants to take you for a little trip

And now here you are in your bedroom, you glance towards Steve as he’s packing his bag and then you see it

A bottle of lube

Your cheeks heat up and he looks at you, his smile oddly innocent

“Are you okay, baby?”

“What’s that, daddy?”

He looks at the bottle and then back at you, chuckling quietly

“Something extra we might need this weekend”

Fast forward, you’re in a nice B&B, there’s a lake just outside your window, it’s so romantic

But you didn’t have the time to appreciate it because you’re laying on the bed with Steve hovering over you, peppering kisses along your neck and shoulders

And you’re squirming because his hand is traveling a bit further than you’re used to

It slides below the waistband of your jeans and your heart stops when he unbuttons it

“Daddy wants to try something new today, baby girl. Something that is meant for big girls only. Can you be a big girl for daddy tonight?”

You playfully shake your head “no” and Steve laughs, kissing your nose, his hands sliding your jeans off of your legs

“No? You wanna be my little girl?” he smiles softly, taking off your shirt

It’s nothing new, he’s seen you in your underwear before, so you think nothing of it when he takes his shirt off too

You absentmindedly bite on your finger as Steve sits up on his hunches, and strokes himself through his pants

His eyes look different though, they’re dark and he looks like a hunter getting ready to pounce on its prey

He takes your hand in his and guides it to his hard on and you gasp, looking up at him with your big, innocent eyes

“Daddy wants to put it in you tonight. Is that okay, baby doll?”

You bite your lip, pretty fucking sure it won’t fit, but you nod

“That’s my brave girl”, he says as he takes his jeans off, he throws his boxer briefs on the ground and you nearly faint just at the sight of this monster cock, angry red, swollen and already leaking

He starts stroking it, grabbing the bottle of lube and explains that “your tight little virgin pussy is going to need a lot of it”

Next thing you know you’re naked and Steve traces his lips along you stomach, but he never gets to your pussy

He pulls back instead, looking into your eyes and he lets out a growl when he sees your cute pout and doe eyes

“Daddy’s finally going to fuck his pure little girl. Gonna take your innocence, baby”

His voice low as his fingers dance around your opening before he inserts one inside

He moans at how tight you are and you whimper, your arms wrap around his neck and he leans down to kiss you

It was supposed to be a small peck but he slides his tongue inside, loosing himself in the feeling of your wet hot cunt around his finger

So he slides another one and you squeal into his mouth

He doesn’t pull back though, his lips still touching yours as he looks at you with fire in his eyes

“Gotta open you up baby. You think you could take me without being prepared first? You’re too little for that”

He scissors his fingers inside you and your legs shake as he pumps in and out of you before pulling out completely

“Daddy... this is scary” you whisper as he moves between your legs

“Oh baby... Do you not want it? Do you want to stop? You can stop me whenever you want”, his voice soft as he goes from daddy dom to soft daddy dom Stevie in a matter of seconds, all it took for him was your weak, quiet voice

But you want it so that’s what you tell him

“I’m just scared it’s going to hurt, Daddy”

Steve hums, stroking your cheek lovingly, as he rolls his hips against yours

“It’ll only hurt for a minute. I’ll stop if you need me to”, and with that he reaches for the lube and applies it on his cock and on your pussy

He slides his cock between your pussy lips and his jaw twitches as he realizes how tiny your pussy is compared to his cock

This thought made his pre cum drip directly on your clit and you moan, your legs wrapping around his waist

He takes the base of his cock in his hand and you feel his tip at your entrance

Your legs shake a little and he kisses your cheeks, your nose, your eyelids as he slowly pushes his tip in

You don’t moan. You don’t gasp. You fucking scream and Steve’s fisting the sheets as he sees how your pussy opens for him

“Stevie, daddy...” you whine, your palms pushing against his shoulders but your legs wrapping around him even tighter so like??

“I know, I know, you’re okay baby, you’re doing so good”, his voice strained and he swallows thickly, not able to tear his eyes from the sight of you pussy practically being split in half

He wraps his arms around you to hold you closer and looks into your eyes as his cock slides in further

His heart breaks a little when he sees the tears in your eyes but you’re not stopping him so he keeps pushing

You feel your walls struggling to accommodate him, you literally feel like his cock is splitting you not even in half but in like four fucking pieces

Your nails dig into his back and he starts kissing you as he finally bottoms out, wiggling his hips a little to make sure it’s all in

You whine as he pulls away to look down and you whimper as he bares his teeth and growls

“Would you look at that, my tiny little baby can barely take it”

He takes your hand and places it on your tummy

You can feel his fucking cock in there and you can see the shape of it when you look down

And then he starts moving, slowly at first, still letting you adjust

You cling to him and he holds you close, but he’s holding back really fucking hard

His thrusts speed up just a little as he feels you relax around him

You’re not in pain anymore but you’re still struggling

And fuck it makes him leak right into your poor stretched cunt

He sits up with a low growl, one of his hands rests on your collar bone while the other grips your hip to keep you in place

His hips snap against you harder and faster and you can hear the bed banging against the wall

Your whines and whimpers turn into moans, Steve’s thumb moves to draw tight circles on your clit

You cry out, your hips would probably jerk but he’s holding you down

“You gonna cum, baby? Squeeze Daddy’s cock even tighter? Show me what that pretty pussy can do, baby”, he can barely speak between his thrusts as he leans back down again, his hips colliding with yours so hard the bed isn’t just moving, it’s fucking jumping

“Oh god, Daddy, I’m gonna cum”, your legs start to shake and your eyes roll back as your whole body starts spasming, wave after wave of orgasm hitting you so hard you think you’re gonna pass out

“Ah, fuck!” He bellows as he feels how tight you’re squeezing him and he wraps you in his arms completely, making sure you stay still as he nears his orgasm

Every thrust is accompanied by a growl and you just lay there limply, your body rocking with his movements and you can barely breath

“Gonna cum in that tight pussy. Make you mine. Tell me you’re mine”, he growls, and you feel him pulsating inside you

“I’m yours, Daddy. I belong to you”, your voice weak, you sound fucked out and you barely even know what’s happening

Because you came so hard

Steve lets out a sound that straight up sounds like a fucking howl as his hips snap harshly against yours a couple more times

“Fucking coming!” he bellows, as his thick cum shoots right into you beaten pussy, his thighs tremble a little and he bites down on your shoulder

When he finally relaxes, he lets himself just lay on top of you, as you both catch your breaths

Finally he pulls away and looks down at you, a soft smile on his lips when you open your eyes and look up at him

“Hey”, he says quietly and you respond with a barely audible “hi”

“Are you okay, babygirl? How are you feeling?”, he whispers, slowly pulling out of you

He nearly pushes back in when he sees how swollen and puffy your poor little pussy is

You smile up at him, your eyes hooded and your hair a mess

“Now I really belong to Daddy”

“Yes, you do”, he chuckles, leaning down to kiss you lips softly

He then leaves the bedroom to bring a warm washcloth and as he cleans you up, he can’t help but gently stroke your hair at the same time

Because you’re passing out

And he doesn’t tell you about those couple drops of blood because he knows you’d freak the fuck out

So he lays besides you and wraps you in his arms, not sure if you’re already asleep or not

“I love you, babygirl. I love you so much”, he whispers, kissing the top of your head

“I love you too, Daddy”

You yawn and he coos at you because it’s so fucking cute

He kisses your cheeks and strokes your hair until you fall asleep

And then fucks you again in the morning

[bts-reveries]

expect the unexpected | 16

(smau at the end)

Last night you got an emergency phone call from your dad saying that your mom was currently in the hospital. And because your sister just recently moved out of their house (to Canada to be specific), your dad called you to help out. 

Of course it was urgent, having you to hurriedly pack after the phone call and leaving the morning after.

Which is right now.

“Sohyun’s outside,” you tell Jin, holding onto your luggage. Sohyun offered to pick you up and take you to the train station since she was the one opening the bakery today. She said, and I quote: “Jin’s going to take you? Wouldn’t you have to bring all three kids with you? It’s 6 in the morning, I’ll just take you!”

A yawn escaped out of Jin’s mouth, he was sitting on the couch with Haneul on his chest. All three kids were awake to watch you off. 

“Okay,” Jin says, standing up from his seat. Minseok and Soojin get up as well, running to the front door. Minseok opens it for you.

“Mommy, when are you coming back?” Soojin asks, hugging the door frame as you walk past.

“I’ll be back in a week, don’t worry, daddy will stay and take care of you three,” you tell her, stopping right outside the door.

“Will we be going to work with daddy?” Minseok asks you. You don’t know why they’re asking you when Jin is right behind them.

“That or daddy will work at home,” you tell him. “Now give me a hug and kiss, I have to go so I don’t miss my train.” You let go of your luggage, kneeling down to hug your kids, giving them both a kiss on the cheek. “Be good and listen to daddy okay? This is his first time taking care of all three of you by himself for as long as a week, don’t stress him out.” This was also the first time you’ll be away from your kids for this long and this far. 

“We’ll be good mommy,” Minseok says, smiling up at you as you stand up. 

“I know you will,” you say, booping his nose. “But make sure your little sister and brother do too.”

“I’m always good!” Soojin yells, raising her arms up. 

“Sure,” you laugh, ruffling her already messy hair. You then face Jin and Haneul, walking up to them to give them a big hug. Jin wraps an arm around you, placing his cheek on your head that you placed on his chest so you’re then facing Haneul.

“Especially you, be good okay?” You say, raising your eyebrows at him. He responds with a few blinks. Then a big yawn. Jin pulls his head away from you to place a kiss on your forehead, making you look up and he presses another one on your lips. 

“I can take care of them no worries,” He tells you. “Now go, Sohyun’s waiting.” You nod, leaning over to give Haneul a kiss on the cheek as well. 

You gave Jin one more kiss before you pulled away from them, grabbing your luggage and walking off.

“BYE MOMMY!” Soojin yells. You turn around and wave at them. Soojin is frantically waving while all three of your boys are waving sleepily. 

Let’s hope that Jin remembers to take your two oldest to school today.

-

*ring ring!* 

“I’ll pick you two up later okay? Make sure you finish your lunch, I love you!” Jin yells out of his car window as he dropped off Minseok and Soojin at school. 

“We love you!” They both yelled before running off to their friends.

Jin rolled the windows up before picking up his phone, it was Yeonjun.

“Good morning sir! I stopped by to grab coffee before heading to the building. I’ll bring it up to your office when I get there. I also have your schedule for the day and--”

“Oh, Yeonjun, I forgot to tell you, but something urgent happened last night with Yn’s mom and she had to leave for Gwangju this morning. I’ll be working from home today, do you mind just sending me today’s agenda?” Jin says. He puts the phone on speaker, placing it on the passenger seat and driving out of the school’s drop off. 

“Oh, I see. Yes, I’ll send it to you right now sir. Do you want me to come over and help out?” Yeonjun says. Jin tilts his head to the side, thinking. He looked at Haneul from the rearview mirror and, for once, he was calm and quiet.

“I should be okay. It’s just Haneul I’m taking care of right now. Thank you though Yeonjun, I’ll call you if anything-- oh and are you already at the building?”

“Yes sir, I just pulled up umm I have your co--”

“You should give the coffee to our receptionist,” Jin says. You're sure that Yeonjun can see the smile Jin had on his face right now, just by listening to his voice. 

“You mean Miya? She’s just a friend-- coworker even,” Yeonjun responds, nervousness lacing his voice.

“Sure, sure she is. Well then you shouldn’t even have any worries giving them to her since she’s just a “coworker” right?” Jin says. 

“Good bye sir,” Yeonjun says, hanging up the phone. 

“Haneul-ah, do you want to stop by Auntie Sohu’s?” Jin says, looking at the rearview again. Haneul’s face instantly lights up and he starts smiling and kicking his feet.

“Yes yes!” He yells. Jin smiles, taking a left and driving straight to the iconic 24/7 Heaven. He figured that if he starts off the day well with Haneul, maybe he’ll be good for the remainder of the day. At least while Jin is working.

I guess you can say he’s bribing his son with dough.. cookie dough... baked cookie dough.. cookies, okay yeah he’s bribing Haneul with cookies.

-

Jin opens the door to the bakery, letting little Haneul run it.

Haneul waves at the workers, they knew him at this point. Although Haneul is raising his head, looking around for a certain someone.

“Haneul!” yelled Rina as she walked out of the kitchen. “Good morning~” She says, waving at him from behind the counter. Rina then looks up as she sees a figure coming closer.

She burst out laughing right when her eyes landed on Jin.

“What?” Jin asks, quite offended that that’s how she reacted to seeing him.

“Dude,” she says, pointing at Jin. “Did you mean to come in like that?” Jin frowns, looking down at what she was pointing at. His eyes widened when he saw what he was wearing. His blue pajama set with the super hero masks all over. He scratches his head.

“I guess I got caught up with making sure the kids got dressed and ready for school, I forgot to check myself..” 

Rina waves her hand in front of her, “no worries, Jungkook once walked out of the house without pants on to walk Sian to school. It happens.”

-

“Say thank you to Auntie Rin,” Jin says, carrying Haneul. He had his arms hugging a small bag of cookies.

“Thank chuu~” He says, holding up a little finger heart.

“You’re welcome,” Rina says, waving at them. “I’ll see you two soon.” The two walked out together and made their way back to the car.

“Can we go to Uncle Taetae now,” Haneul says, reaching into the bag. “I want to draw.” 

Jin shakes his head. “Daddy has to go to work now, you can draw when we get home.” Haneul pouts. Taehyung recently opened up a small art school where he gives little art lessons to young kids, maybe even adults. Anyone is welcome really. But it’s aimed towards kids. Okay in all honesty, it’s for kids. But Taehyung couldn’t say no to the parents who wanted to join.

And by parents I mean the moms of the group. 

Anyways, since The Scenery opened, you often took Haneul there while his siblings were in school. It felt like a little preschool as he was able to play with other kids and he was pretty good at listening to Taehyung whenever he was teaching him. He’s definitely going to be the artist out of them three. 

It was a quiet walk to their car, but all of a sudden Jin hears sniffles coming from Haneul. He furrows his brows as he looks down at his youngest.

Silent tears were streaming down his soft cheeks.

“Oh- Why are you crying?” Jin asks. They got to his car and Haneul wasn’t answering, but continued to sniffle. Jin opens the back door and places Haneul in his car seat, buckling him up. Haneul continued to sniffle, wiping his eyes with his little fists.

“Haneul-ah,” Jin says. Haneul refused to make eye contact with his dad, keeping his eyes down instead. “Haneul,” Jin repeats. “Why are you sad?”

“I want-- I want mommy,” he says in a low voice. Jin sighs.

“Is it because we can’t go to Uncle Taehyung’s right now?” Jin says, Haneul nods. Jin stood there for a bit, thinking.

He knew that he could just take Haneul to The Scenery and drop him off there, come back when he’s done with his meetings or when he needs to pick up his oldests, but it didn’t feel right. He can just make Haneul happy, taking him to Tae’s, and be able to do his work peacefully, but it felt wrong. It would be a win win for both of them, but deep down, he knew you wouldn’t want that. As much as possible he wants to be with the kids, even if he has to work at the same time. I mean, that’s what you do.

“Okay well why don’t we compromise,” Jin says, knowing well that Haneul has no idea what that word even means. “If you come to work with me, we can go to Uncle Tae’s after, deal?” Jin offers Haneul his hand to shake and Haneul grabs it, not knowing exactly what he just agreed to.

-

“Mr. Kim I sent you the link to your meeting, it should be starting in approximately ten minutes,” Yeonjun says over the phone. Jin was currently sitting at his desk with his laptop open in front of him. No longer in his pajamas by the way, he’s now in his white dress shirt and tie. 

“Okay, I’m logging in right now, thanks again Yeonjun.” Jin clicks on the link that Yeonjun sent him, entering the meeting that he had with Mr. Lee. They had to discuss his new location that was opening in Busan. 

“Alright Haneul, I set up your little table over there for you to draw. My meeting shouldn’t take too long so just draw for a bit and then we can go to Uncle Taetae’s,” Jin says, putting Haneul down as he was previously sitting in his lap. 

“Good morning Mr. Lee,” Jin says as soon as he got into the meeting, immediately seeing Mr. Lee’s face on the screen. 

Haneul walks to his small table, he looks over at his dad and sees him smiling as he is conversing with his business partner. He turns to the piece of paper in front of him and starts to doodle.

~

An hour and a half passes by, which in baby time is FOREVER, and Haneul begins to get bored. His dad was still not done talking to Mr. Lee. 

Haneul decided that he was over drawing and that he didn’t want to go to Uncle Tae’s anymore. He just spent an hour and a half doing what he would be doing at The Scenery and he’s tired of it. 

Haneul picks out his best drawing and walks up to his dad. 

“Daddy!” Haneul yells, holding up his drawing. It was a bunch of scribbles and shapes, but, if you looked very hard, it kind of looked like a nice house next to a big green tree. “All done!” 

Jin looks down and laughs, turning back to the screen. “I’m sorry sir, I’m currently on daddy duty so I have my son with me here.”

“Oh it’s alright, can I see him?” The older man asks. Jin nods his head, turning to the side to pick up Haneul and having him sit on his lap.

“Haneul this is Mr. Lee, he’s helping us open up another building in Busan. Say hi,” Jin says. Haneul shyly waves at the screen, then he turns around and wraps his arms around Jin’s neck. 

“Oh he’s a shy one isn’t he,” Mr. Lee says, smiling widely on the screen. “He reminds me of my youngest grandson. He’s just like that.”

“He’s usually not so shy, I think he just misses his mom and isn’t used to me being home alone with him like this,” Jin explains. “Haneul-ah,” he says, turning his head to look at Haneul. “Daddy’s just going to finish up okay, you can go finish your drawings.” Haneul whines in response, turning his head to the side, away from Jin’s face. Jin laughs awkwardly towards the camera. 

“I’m sorry about this,” he tells Mr. Lee.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s okay.”

“Haneul can you go down please?” Jin whispers to Haneul, he mumbles a small ‘no’. Jin sighs, smiling back up at the screen. “I’m afraid we’re going to just have to continue this meeting like this sir.”

-

Finally, Jin’s meeting ends and he closes his laptop shut. Fortunately, there wasn’t much left for him to do the rest of the day. Majority of today’s schedule was just photoshoots where he did not have to be in attendance. Other meetings were postponed to a later date, so now he was free for any father-son bonding. Although if he was at his office in his building right now, paperwork is what he would be doing.

Jin pats Haneul’s back, “you want to go to Uncle Tae’s now?” Jin waited for a response but all he could hear was light snoring. 

Haneul had his head resting on Jin’s shoulder while one arm was wrapped around his neck and the other was holding on to his drawing. Jin grabs the drawing from Haneul’s little hands, placing it on his desk. He then gets up from his seat and makes his way to the living room.

It wasn’t often that Jin was home alone this early with the kids. Actually, it was almost noon already, he should be preparing lunch for himself and Haneul. 

“Haneul?” Jin coos, patting his son’s back in order to wake him up. Haneul doesn’t budge, instead cuddling closer into Jin’s shoulder. “Aigoo~” Jin looked at the time and there were still a few more hours until they had to go pick up Minseok and Soojin. “Alright, maybe we could nap before we pick up your siblings,” he says, walking to the couch and slowly sitting down so he doesn’t wake his baby up. “Just for an hour,” he says, as he lays his back down on the couch. “Then… then we can get your siblings..”

Right when he shut his eyes, he was gone.

-

expect the unexpected

♡ part sixteen: just clingy ♡ 

pairings: ceo, dad!jin x interior designer, mom!reader

a/n: little disclaimer, i have no experience in the medical field, this was just a google search. to my medical field readers, i sincerely apologize.

also i just wanted to say THANK YOU to those who messaged me after reading my a/n from my last update. i really didn’t think much of you would read that, even more reply to it. thank you to those who understood me and are willing to give feedback to help motivate me post more hehe, it really does help a lot. idk if some of you read my replies to those asks, but i get excited whenever i receive asks from you guys, even if i don’t reply to them as fast as i see them, i read every single one of them! i have a lot of fun seeing what you all have to say and i also enjoy talking to you all. some of you even help me create the next updates! it’s really a lot of fun whenever i get to talk with you guys. having no asks or comments on my previous updates felt like i was talking to a wall😅 so im thankful to know that some of you are still out there🥺 please continue to give jin all the love! the same as the other members 💗

i also want to mention/clarify that i will continue this au until the very end! some of you have been confused in my last update a/n when i said i was hesitant to do what i had planned and that will depend on how well this au does and i was referring to a surprise i had for the end of this series this au will still have its ending when the time comes! but that surprise for the ending of tmbmil series is still tbd (to be decided).

and lastly i wanted to thank @justinetingball for naming taehyung’s art school💜

taglist: @silentlyimpractical @jillianmarie @waddlebby @cecedrake2217 @ddofa @samros95 @sope-and-shine @joonjoonsmiles @codeinebelle @aianloveseven @Chamchamcham @princessjazzyjazz @notvantaes @casspirit0705 @ramyagovindraj @brinnalaine @ephyra1230 @betysotelo18 @thoughtfultaledreamer @salty-for-suga @cosmicdaylight @dreamcatcherjiah @kookoo-kachoo @justinetingball  @josierosie @jayhope88 @butterflylion @hobiismyhopeu @momma-said-that-it-was-oke @ygbubs @catspancake  @somewhereofftheglobe @strawberryforever25 @rjsmochii @prdshobi @beeeb05 @eatjeanjin @taekookcaneatme @Cheeely14 @kookietsukkie @anpanman-sonyeondan @glitteringcoffeefreak @chocobetterknot @alpaca1612 @ohmy-fandoms @liljooniecutie @Jikachoo @preciouschimine @fan-ati--c @Joondala @httpmuffin @dammit-jjk @jikooksgirl19

TAGLIST IS CLOSED!

to be notified when i post, please turn on my notifications! thank youu~

[txemrn]

Faded

Book/Pairing: The Royal Romance; Leo x Madeleine

Warning: angst (some dark discussion that would give away the plot); smut 🍋 (awkward, NOT sexy); language

Word Count: 3008 (+/-)

Song Inspiration: Faded by Alan Walker ft. Iselin Solheim (lyrics quoted in the text)

A/N: This is a Royal Roulette, technically, but then again, RR was created specifically for Wacky Drabbles, and I just couldn't get the word count down! Oops! Anyway, this idea came to me when I heard this song, and this story needed to be told. Some of it is canon; some of it is creative canon; some of it, well, we'll call it creativity. lol Any and all of these ideas came from my head, but I acknowledge that others have probably written similar stories (purely coincidental).

Huge special thanks to some of my sweet writing friends: @ao719, @charlotteg234, and @kat-tia801. This took a group effort, and I love you ladies so very much for pre-reading and making this story better. And as always, these characters belong to our friends at Pixelberry!

***

He was a rushing wind; my billowing sails drift me into the unknown, but I don’t care. He’s an incinerating inferno: every tradition I was taught was set ablaze by his touch. My caged heart was unlocked by him; he set the monsters running wild inside of me. In my world of propriety and decorum, he taught me to live; more importantly, he dared me to love.

He broke free: from the customs, our culture, the captivity of our world. He broke free.

Without me. And the mess is all mine to clean up, left with only a picture of our passion--a photo of the love we once shared together. But even that is fading, and will be lost.

I’m alone with my thoughts this morning on my walk. The bite of salt in the coastal breeze tickles my nose, inviting my platinum strands into a carefree dance amongst the sunrise. Adjusting my oversized tortoise-shell sunglasses, my bare toes leave the comfort of the white sand beach only to discover the sting of the barnacle laden steps to the stone jetty. But, the shallow waters never met what I needed. My soul craves to commune with the waves from the deep.

I’m lost; there isn’t enough time in the world to think this through, and yet somehow a decision has to be made. God, where are you now? Was it all in my fantasy? Were you imaginary?

Many described our relationship as ‘destiny’--no, not exactly the romance you read about in foolish fairy tales or hear about in silly love songs. Our families ran in the same spheres of wealth and power. Politics. We are royalty. Since we were close in age, we would spend countless hours together throughout our childhood and teenage years. Being the oldest son to the king, he is--well, he was--the crowned prince of Cordonia; an agreement to our nuptials started well-before my formal training specifically for his social season.

But, something was different about Leo and me. We grew quite fond of each other, a friendship that developed into sharing secret kisses in darkened corners. Was this normal for friendships? Or did we have something deeper? Was this love?

As long as I can remember, I was taught my body was not my own; I was born with a greater purpose, and in that purpose, I would bring honor to my family and my name. I would earn my place in history: a woman who gave of herself everything she could for the sake of a country. Even love.

My reputation is to be held in the highest regard. My efforts in style and wardrobe would be subject to conversation and scrutiny. My eloquence and table etiquette could determine whether or not I’d be fit to be a queen. Every eye movement, every smile, every response could bring honor or dishonor to my family. No one cared about me as long as I presented a pristine package to court, a sacrificial lamb for king and country.

But, when the moment came for me to be chosen as his bride, I felt the swelling of joy inside my chest, bursting like strobes of light for everyone to witness. Suddenly the ideas of ‘the one’ and ‘happily ever after’ that I read about in the great classics teased my senses; I wanted to cry, to scream, to laugh. My body had a sudden thirst, a yearning for him that I didn’t understand.

In my innocence, this could only be one thing.

“Countess Madeleine,” he knowingly grins, “will you do me this honor?”

Swallowing thickly, her jade eyes flutter open at the sound of her name. In a handsomely fit tux, adorning his family colors in full regalia, her future husband, the future king of Cordonia, takes a knee to present the stunning canary solitaire. The dread melts away as the butterflies overcome her nerves.

Keeping with propriety, she nods her head while curtly dabbing away tears. But, something is distracting her: she is to be relishing in her accomplishment of winning the honor, for winning all of the glory, for winning the crown. She is to be the next queen of Cordonia.

But she is overwhelmed by all thoughts of him, her husband-to-be, the father to their future children. Suddenly the life she had been training for didn’t matter; she was betrothed and in love.

Smoothing out the tightness of my heathered linen pants, I take a moment to stare at my empty ring finger. I feel soreness from the collection of tears, but I refuse to allow anymore drop on his behalf. Today is hard enough.

I hug my body, remembering the warmth of his intimate touch. I had kept myself pure for him. Until that night.

Within an hour of making his intentions known to the court, Leo scurries away with his future bride, leaving only a trail of giggles and whispers along the way to his chambers.

Shrugging off his jacket, Leo presses her petite body against the locked door. His hand gently cradles her head, his thumb tracing the length of her jaw. His lips hungrily search hers, wolfishly devouring her mouth before she can react.

“Is this okay?” he whispers under his breath, his smoldering gaze entraps her innocent eyes. Breathlessly focused on his swelling lips, she nods her head dutifully.

He places his hands on her waist before sliding them intently back onto the curves of her ass, grabbing at her fullness under her whimper. A growl becomes his breathing, staring at his prey.

“Do you love me, my future queen?”

Love. Was that love?

The hypnotic rise and fall of the waves is starting to sour my stomach, but the ocean spray is so inviting and calming on my clammy skin. Finding a smooth stone, I seek refuge from the surge of the sea’s tantrum. Relaxing under the gentle rays of the morning sunshine, I close my eyes, only to see him.

He cheats her out of her next breath, his tongue overwhelming her mouth. His eager fingers find the zipper to her ballgown. He paws at her back, his fingers brushing against the secret skin of her body.

Her bra tosses to the wayside; admiring his new found treasure, Leo’s hands plunder her supple curves. His mouth plummets to her hardening nipples, his teeth teasing her nerves with fear. The sudden twinge of pleasure thrashes her head against the door.

“Shall I continue, beautiful?” he exhales, catching his breath; but, before an answer is uttered, he stumbles back into the temptation of her perfect body. His fingers tease across the waistband of her petal pink briefs; her eyes cinch closed, her mouth unable to hold back a moan.

“Someone is enjoying themselves,” he chuckles, standing to tower over her. He kisses her cheek, leaning his mouth close to her ear. “Is this what you want?” He tucks a strand behind her ear.

“Mhmm,” her lips curl slightly, leaning into his touch.

“Do you like what I am doing for you?”

“Yes,” she softly groans.

“Yeah?” He reaches into her panties, her knees buckling to the wandering of his fingers. “Mmmm,” he pulls his hand out, licking his fingertips, “that’s my good girl. You love my touch.” He stands back, shaking off her body. Locking his eyes with hers, he casually steps backwards until he reaches the bed. He slides off his belt, unfastening his slacks.

“Come here,” he motions for her to step closer. “Show me your love for me.”

Madeleine’s eyes focus on his growing girth, bulging from his unzipped pants; but, then her gaze darts around the room. Surely he knows that she isn’t well-versed in such endeavors.

“Maddie?” he combs his fingers through her blonde tresses. “I love you. You know that, right?”

She closes her eyes. The words send a jolt of happiness through her veins. She was experiencing love. She was prepared for everything else, but this?

"Then, let me show you,” he growls, pushing her back onto the bed. Hungrily ripping off her panties, he exposes her to his touch. Youthful and pure. "Are you ready?"

He spreads her legs apart, her thighs trembling. She grips the sheets with her tiny fists. Her doe-like eyes stare into his hunting blues as she feels him touch her again; but this time, it wasn't his fingers.

With an inexperienced push of his hips, red flashes before Madeleine's eyes as she squints her eyes in pain, hiding the gathering of tears. He thrusts again; her teeth gnash at the breaking of her body. Her head thrashes back and forth, groaning as she serves a penance under his rhythmic plunges into her warm, narrow core again and again. Harder and harder. Faster. Deeper.

Without warning, the beating of her body stops, leaving her stretched, completely filled with him. Moaning her name in the company of obscenities, his breathing becomes quick and shallow despite his efforts to slow down. Sweat gathers across his brow as he savors the delicate tightness of her depths. Stumbling into his ecstasy, he loses control, pouring himself into her. The sudden rush of fullness makes her whimper, the sting begins to dull as a smile crawls across her face. His lips meet her soft, glowing skin. Finally, it’s over.

That night: it was so long ago. But, I can still feel it; I can still feel him. The smell and taste of him lingers on my tongue. I miss him.

And with that, my breathing labors as I choke out a sob. I press the back of my hand to my lips as tears cloud my vision from the Mediterranean horizon. A sour pang creeps up my throat as I cradle my tender belly with my other hand. Clenching my eyes closed, I hope to hold back the downpour of tears from my soul. God, please not again.

Madeleine's head rests on Leo's shoulder, his strong arm securely around her exposed body. Her marigold diamond catches the pale moonlight perfectly, it's brilliance mesmerizing the bride-to-be as she subtly teeters her hand on his well-structured chest. He suddenly engulfs her hand with his. Turning towards him, her lips meet his perfectly like the final piece of the puzzle, locking seamlessly in place.

"Runaway with me, Madeleine."

The flecks of evergreen in her eyes sparkle with curiosity. "What--?"

"This life, Maddie," he gently rubs her back, "is this really the life that you want-- that you'd want for us?"

She sits up, taken aback from the peculiar question. "You mean the life we're living right now? Us? Being engaged?”

“Yes--I mean, no. I--” Leo stumbles over his words, dragging his hand across his face. “I love you, and I want to be with you--” he pushes a platinum strand behind her ear, “--but do you ever wonder what it’s like out there? Out in the real world? Away from all of this pressure? Away from all of these rules?”

“Away from the public eye? Living life--” she titters into a big smile, “--like everyday people?"

"Yes." He sighs, pressing her hand against his heart. "Before long, we will be in charge. In charge, Maddie. Of an entire country." There is a quake in his voice, a quiver that even makes her feel chilled. "I don’t think I’m cut out for this,” a breath hitches in his chest. “Will I even be a good king?"

“Of course," she whispers, offering a doting smile, “Of course, Leo," her voice becomes stronger, authoritative. “You can do this. You were made for this. And while, yes, you are the king, you’re not alone.” She laces her fingers with his. “You’ll always have me. You have my support--” she kisses the back of his hand, “and most of all, you have my love.” She leans down to kiss his hand again, but rather he captures her in his arm, bringing her to his lips, making her squeal.

“I love you, Madeleine.”

She moans into his pout as he kisses her once more. “I love you, too, Leo.”

The creaminess to his baritone voice dissipates from my memory, fading away much like our love. How could I have been so foolish? I gave him everything--I promised him everything. My life, my whole existence was for him, and I naively thought that love would somehow stitch us together, that somehow we would be the monarchs that did have it all. Wealth. Power. Love. A happily-ever-after that could join the rankings of the greatest love stories ever told.

But, it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough.

The sudden rapping on the door abruptly wakes Madeleine from a deep sleep. The sunlight pours mercilessly through the windows as she grabs the sheets to cover herself.

The door suddenly tramples open, Constantine bounding first into the room, followed by his head guard Bastien. “Where is he? Where’s Leo?” The king sneers as the blonde trips out of bed, reaching for clothing. “For God’s sakes, couldn’t you two show some fucking self-control?”

Madeleine cinches the high-thread-count sheet around her body, leaving her slender shoulders and décolleté exposed. As a blush crawls across her face, the question begins to haunt her: where is Leo? He wasn’t in bed this morning. In fact, his clothes are missing from their disheveled heap that was next to her discarded dress. His watch and cell phone were missing from the bedside table. But, otherwise everything seemed to be in place.

Madeleine rushes to the ensuite bathroom, hoping to find a logical clue to Leo’s whereabouts there.

"Call him. Now," the king growls at the anxious countess.

"He's not answering us, Countess Madeleine. We assume given your current relationship with his majesty--" Madeleine nods in understanding.

"I'm sorry, but the phone number you're trying to reach has been disconnected or is no longer in service."

Her eyebrows furrow as she ends the call. "I--I--I don't understand," she stammers, rubbing her forehead with her fingers. "His phone has been disconnected--"

"Fucking ungrateful--” growls Constantine, ripping the phone from Madeleine's tiny hand, “--selfish son of a bitch!" He throws the phone against the wall, shattering it into pieces. He gruffly turns towards his future daughter-in-law. “Are you certain you dialed the right number?" He spits. Madeleine braces herself against a wall, turning her face away from him. She carefully nods, refusing to make eye contact. “Unbelievable!” Constantine knocks over some antique silver candelabras before exiting the room, leaving Bastien behind.

“Sir?’ Madeleine quietly calls to the guard, drawing closer to him, ensuring her body is covered. “What is all the commotion about? Where is Leo?”

“Leo failed to report to his morning engagements about last night festivities. According to our cameras, he left this morning through the northwest gate in an unmarked black Sudan around o’four hundred hours.”

Madeleine cups her mouth as she stumbles to sit down on the bed. She nervously combs her fingers through her tangled tresses. “What does this mean?” She spouts nervously, her body shaking with tears gathering in her eyes.

“Please try not to worry, ma’am,” Bastien carefully places a comforting hand on her bare shoulder, quickly withdrawing it when their eyes awkwardly meet at the gesture. “Um--” he clears his throat, “--I don’t know what he’s doing, but we will find him.” He turns on his heel to leave Madeleine alone when suddenly a thought hits him. “By any chance, did he mention anything to you?”

‘Runaway with me, Madeleine.’ One simple request. He asked me to just simply follow him. I thought he was joking or simply making a hypothetical request due to his uneasy nerves; but, my love for him aside, this was my calling: to serve him. If I had chosen to honor him rather than challenge him… if I had chosen to remind him of responsibility and duty rather than trying to win him over with ludicrous ideas of love in marriage…

Leo abdicated the throne.

No one speaks about royalty relinquishing their responsibilities. We’re born into this; we were made to do this. We spend our entire lives preparing, being told that it is an honor to bear such greatness, it is an honor to host such power. No one speaks of the alternative. Truth be told: if we knew there was a way to escape, to renounce such a life as this, how many of us would take that chance?

It’s been seven weeks since that awful morning. Seven weeks of silence and darkness. Seven weeks of broken dreams and false hope. Seven weeks of only one absolution: Leo had found his freedom. He wasn't coming back.

I pull out the photograph of our love just one more time as the tears gather once more in my eyes. Leo’s last words to me were ‘I love you;’ but somehow as I trace my fingers amongst the black and white print, I have to say, ‘goodbye’ for both of us this morning.

“Ms. Amaranth?”

“Yes, ma’am?” Madeleine wakes from her daydream, her voice trembling. She chews incessantly on her nails as her crossed legs bounce nervously. The sterile white walls around her seem to be closing in around her; the air grows thick, stifling. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

The dark brunette stands to come closer to the blonde. She straightens out her white coat while fixing an endearing smile on her face. She sits down next to Madeleine, taking her hand. “I asked if you are sure about this decision?”

If Madeleine had learned anything in the past two months, it's that she could only be sure about nothing. She stares at her bobbing toe, hypnotically entranced with the clicking of the clock in the exam room.

“There are other options," the doctor continues. "Adoption. Keeping the baby.”

I tear up the ultrasound picture in my hands, letting the wind chase it to the sea. The tattered pieces drift for a place to rest, sinking to the depths my soul will forever crave, a secret place far too precious for this world. For my world.

Goodbye, love.

***

Tag List (please please please let me know if you need to be added or removed!): @ao719 @bbrandy2002 @burnsoslow @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @choiceskatie @dcbbw @forallthatitsworth @gkittylove99 @glaimtruelovealways @iaminlovewithtrr @jessiembruno @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @lovelyladyk88 @lucy-268 @mainstreetreader @neotericthemis @nestledonthaveone @phoenixrising308 @sfb123 @shannonwrote @shewillreadyou @taniasethi @texaskitten30 @thefrenchiemama @twinkleallnight @yourmajesty09

[bafflecks]

okay i think i’ve seen batman v superman a hundred times now so here are some of my favourite things/quotes from it because that movie blows my mind and makes me go absolutely feral:

the way batman hangs there up in the corner of that old house in silence like some huge demon-bat

when senator finch says “take a bucket of piss and call it granny’s peach tea, i’m not gonna drink it” and then in the courtroom she sees the glass with the label ‘granny’s peach tea’ and we all just immediately Know™

literally every time senator finch and lex luthor interact with each other

lex pointing at the paradise lost painting and saying “that should be upside down; we know better now, don’t we? devils don’t come from hell beneath us, no, they come from the sky,” and at the end we see the painting upside down; because he obviously talks about clark, but the real devils (darkseid and steppenwolf) really do come from the skies — from the stars

the way the world engine’s sound can be heard throughout bruce’s (k)nightmares

robin’s costume in that glass cage, like some kind of morbid exhibition, always reminding bruce of his failure — and the wayne manor is basically exactly the same thing

just. lex’s whole speech in the library, when he’s like “books are knowledge and knowledge is power, and i am… no. um, no… what am i? what was i saying? the bittersweet pain among men is having knowledge with no power because… because that is [angrily] PARADOXICAL! , and, um… thank you for coming,” and then just walks off

night and day by richard cheese playing in the background while clark and bruce talk for the first time (not knowing who’s the other) — because they are, of course, the night and the day

when lex shakes clark’s hand and says, “ow! wow, that is a good grip! you should not pick a fight with this person,” like HELLO????? THATS LITERALLY— I— DHFJFKJRKRKF OMG

the whole “must there be a superman?” sequence: the quotes, especially “is it really surprising that the most powerful man in the world should be a figure of controversy?,” and “we have always created icons in our image; what we’ve done is we project ourselves onto him. the fact is, maybe he’s not some sort of devil or jesus character, maybe he’s just a guy trying to do the right thing,” and the images of clark refering to artworks, like jesus carrying the cross or atlas with the world on his shoulders

oh just the Symbolism™ through the whole movie oh my god, and the way it’s full of shots that are references to paintings

like: napoléon bonaparte by benjamin robert haydon

and the descent from the cross by peter paul rubens

and the archangel michael defeating satan by guido reni

and the lamentation of christ by jan lievens

and clark going up on the mountain and talking with his dead father vs bruce going into the old wayne manor and talking about his dead father in the very next scene

and the parallel between bruce letting wayne manor slowly crumbling to the ground and lex keeping everything the same in his dad’s old room

lex on the helipad with the little blue ball in his hand, which is the world; so he holds the world in his hand

the whole lex luthor speech on the helipad, especially: “i figured out way back: if god is all-powerful, he cannot be all-good. and if he’s all-good, then he cannot be all-powerful,” and “the greatest gladiator match in the history of the world: god versus man, day versus night, son of krypton versus bat of gotham,” and “close, but i am not talking about lois. no, every boy’s special lady is his mother,” and “there we go. there we go. and now god bends to my will”

clark as a saviour god vs the vengeful god of bruce in the storm:

just the fact that the name martha is the thing that finally stops bruce, as he realizes that clark has a mother, he’s as much of a son as bruce is, and being human isn’t just about being born here etc.

bruce saying “i’ll make you a promise: martha won’t die tonight,” not like that other martha on that other night — and he goes and saves this martha instead of the one he couldn’t........ idk it always makes me tear up

the whole warehouse fight obviously

lex saying “no man in the sky intervened when i was a boy to deliver me from daddy’s fist and abominations,” and then later clark, the man in the sky, intervenes when the fist of an abomination is about to hit him

that scene where doomsday is looking up at the sculpture, then down at the real superman, so we have this image of the symbol of the man, the reality of the man, and this monster between them; i can’t really explain what it is about this image but it hits me hard every time

the gunshots and falling shells at the beginning with bruce’s parents being murdered vs at the end during the funeral

‘if you seek his monument, look around you’

and i’m forgetting a lot of other scenes and things of course,,, i just love this movie very much

[thesightstoshowyou]

Last one then I'll leave you alone, I promise 😁

3, 5, 13, 28, 30, 33, 34, 37, 38, 43, 54, 65, 70, 71, 75, 79, 82, 93, 95, 97, 99 and 100 with pennywise and/or bob grey

Sorry that was a lot😁

Lmao. I laugh every time I look at this request.

Alright then. *Cracks knuckles* I accept your challenge. I ended up changing just a few words here and there to make the quotes fit Bob a little better, but most of them were left as they are.

Follow-up to this

F Reader (NSFW)

Warnings: Dubcon, creepy elements, degradation, choking, drool, fingering, oral, daddy kink, hair pulling, biting, blood, creampie

              The yawning mouth of the funhouse stares ominously back at you. A chilly breeze blows at your back, brushing your hair over your shoulders, nearly pushing you forward. It’s as though the maw is inhaling, trying to suck you in.

              “Let’s go!” your friends shout, shoving you toward the entrance. You tag along, squashing down the unease prickling on the back of your neck. It’s a cheap, shitty funhouse. It’s fine, calm down.

              The mouth spins when you enter, disorienting you, making you stumble. Your friends laugh and hurry through the obstacle course of swinging, neon clowns. You screech at them to wait up as you dodge the nearest grinning face, but their laughter already grows distant.

              When you step into the mirror maze, all sound vanishes. It’s deathly silent, and the prickling trepidation returns full force. The lights above flicker at random intervals and you must blink your eyes several times so they can adjust to the cold, intermittent light.

              After you run smack dab into a plexiglass sheet, you move slower and hold your hands out in front of you, calling your friends’ names as you go. Intently, you listen, but there’s nothing, no sound, no laughter, no funhouse music. Only your feverish panting reaches your ears. Everywhere you look is only you, a hundred wide-eyed, sweating reiterations of your face.

              “You guys, this isn’t—

              You round a corner and crash into a solid chest. Your gaze travels up, up, until it passes over full, wet lips and falls on mischievous blue. You blink, not believing what you’re seeing until huge hands encircle your arms and squeeze.

              “Bob!” you breathe. So, he is real. You really hadn’t imagined that strange night in the dilapidated Neibolt house. He’s tangible, warm under your palms, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breaths.

              “You know, there wasn’t a single thing to eat in here until you walked in. Tasty slut,” he growls in response, that odd, warbly voice bringing you right back to that terrifying night a few weeks ago. You’re so shocked you don’t think to protest until he has you backed against a mirror.

              “Uh, um, I-my friends, I need—

              “Um, um, um, um,” he mocks, gripping your jaw and cackling in your face, “Don’t you want to play with me?” He pouts, wiggling your head back and forth. His other hand travels lower, cups your cunt through your pants. You gasp and weakly push against his chest as desperate heat burns through your gut at the contact. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about him daily since that night.

              Bob chuckles low in his throat, “That tickles.” His huge hand finds your throat, shoves you hard against the mirror behind you. He looms over you and a twinge of fear wraps itself around your spine when you realize how completely powerless you are. You can do nothing but comply.  

              As though he can read your thoughts, he grins, drool spilling over his lips and down his chin to patter onto the front of your shirt. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs, “Show me that pretty fear.” Bob clenches his fist, cuts off your air and your eyes go wide, your mouth falling open in a silent plea. Your eyes dart around, but there’s only Bob and you reflected from every angle. You’re alone, well and truly alone with him.

              The fear grows, crawls down your throat, jumpstarts your heart, takes hold of your limbs until you’re thrashing, but it’s useless. His strength is almost inhuman. The helplessness is horrifying.

              A groan chokes from your constricted throat when he reaches spidery fingers into your pants. When they dip into your folds and find you dripping, he titters and whispers, “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you? Hmm? Yes, you are, don’t lie to Pennywise.” You gasp, cough, suck in a huge breath of air when he releases your throat.

              Pennywise?

              Your thoughts derail when long digits sink into you, curl, make you writhe when sticky warmth erupts in your belly. Bob’s teasing, “Pushing back against my fingers already? How pathetic,” only adds to the desire jolting through you.

              All too soon, the fingers leave you and you groan at their absence. Instead, he grips the waistband of your pants, tugs the fabric down your legs until one of your limbs is freed enough that your thighs can be pushed apart. Bob kneels, throws one of your legs over his shoulder and noisily inhales the scent of your dripping cunt. Embarrassed heat crawls up your neck and you must look away when he sighs in appreciation.

              “You look good all soaking wet. Needy, needy little cunt, aren’t you?”

              “Y-Yes, Daddy,” you moan, shocked by the words that spill past your lips. Bob moans, dives in and laves a long tongue across your waiting wetness. The slurping sounds he makes when he sucks on your clit are obscene, but you mewl sweetly in return, hips rolling against his tongue, hands scrabbling for purchase on the chilly mirror behind you.

              “Look at you, grinding against everything. You’re really desperate for it, aren’t you?”

              “B-Bob, p-please, oh-oh—

              You can’t finish your sentence when he sucks you back into his mouth, the sloppy, wet sounds bouncing off the mirrors and plexiglass sounding so loud in the silent maze. One of your hands finds his hair; it’s soft under your fingers when you grip the brown locks and grind into his mouth.

              “Yes, that’s it, dumb cunt, just like that. It’s okay, slut, you can pull my hair as hard as you want while I’m between your legs,” he murmurs against your slippery flesh. Then, as suddenly as he started, he pulls away, stands, twists you around, and smashes your cheek into the glass.

              “Touch yourself for me. That’s right, do it, whore. Debase yourself.” You’re too far gone to protest, too lost in need and Bob’s menacing presence. Your fingers roll over clit, your breath fogging up the glass when you release a shaky exhale.

            Your eyes widen minutely when you meet your own gaze in the mirror. You’re a wreck; mascara smudged, sweat beading along your brow, pupils blown wide, mouth hanging open. Jesus, what will your friends think if they find you….

            When a moan slips off your tongue, Bob growls, “I love the sounds you make when you come undone. Come undone for. Me. If you keep making those sounds, I’m not going to be able to stop myself.” He chuckles at that, as though the very idea of controlling his urges is comical.

            The drag of a zipper reaches your ears and a little spike up wanton fear pulses within you. Bob laughs in your ear, presses his thick cock to your messy entrance, whispers, “I’m gonna fuck you in front of the mirror, needy whore, yes, I am. I want you to see how pretty you look when you’re spreading your legs for me. Did you lock the door when you came in? I think you forgot, stupid thing, forgot to lock the door. That means anyone could walk right in and see you like this, but that’s too bad, too bad little girl. I need you. Now!”

            You’re confused by his words. What door? You’re given no time to think when he surges forward, burying his enormous cock too deep, too quick. You scream, claw at the mirror, pleadingly meet his wild, gold gaze—wait, gold again—in the mirror. You’d beg him to slow down, be gentle, but it’d be just as pointless as your struggle.  

            Tears stream down your face when his hips slam into you so hard the glass shakes under your palms. Bob coos in mock sympathy, groans in your ear, “You know, you look real pretty when you cry. You know that, hmm? Of course not, silly girl. No one fucks you like I do, do they?

            Deliriously, you shake your head, your screams morphing, transitioning into garbled versions of his name. Bob nods, grips your hair, nods your head with him, sings, “Yes, good slut, perfect slut.” He enunciates the ‘T’s,’ the sounds so sharp you can feel them popping behind your ribs, “Say my name over and over again, and, once you think you’ve said it loud enough, scream. IT. I want the whole neighborhood to know who’s making you feel good. These walls are pretty thick, you and I can be as loud as we want.”

            Your fingers leave your clit and fly to the mirror. You need another hand to brace yourself, to keep Bob from pounding you completely through the glass. He hisses, tugs your hair until your neck is bared and you can’t see yourself in the mirror, murmurs against your flesh, “Did I say you could stop, cunt?”

            “P-Please, I-I’m sorry, please pull my hair, please fuck me, h-hurt me!” You have no idea what you’re saying, needy words tumbling from your mouth of their own accord. Bob laughs, high and loud. The grating sound bounces off the mirrors, worms its way into your skull, makes you wince.

            You scream when sharp, needle points sink into your neck, burning pain tearing through your neck. You try to rip your hair out of his iron grip to look in the mirror, but Bob holds you too tightly. Belatedly, you realize he’s biting you when he moans against your skin and wet warmth trickles down your chest, but you’ve never felt teeth like this before.

            Bob tilts his hips, assaults your fluttering, sensitive walls with every inch of that unforgiving cock until you’re screaming and begging all at once. Climax washes over you like a rogue wave, twists your insides, sweeps away the pain until you’re sobbing your thanks, “Th-Thank you, Daddy, t-thank—

            “How do you feel about adding another person to the mix?” He interrupts you with a giggle, tongue lapping at the blood pooling in your collarbone. Breathless, numb, you frown in confusion, wondering what the hell he’s talking about now. The hand in your hair retreats and your head tips forward, but what you see in the mirror has your mouth falling open in shock.

            Bob is no longer behind you. Instead, there stands a…clown; face painted white, a shock of orange hair sticking out wildly from the top of his head, crimson lines streaking down from his eyes to his full lips, your blood dripping from his chin. He bucks his hips and you choke on an inhale, the movement jarring you out of your stunned silence.

            A white, gloved hand claps over your mouth to quiet your frantic scream. The clown viciously pistons his hips, the bells of his dingy costume jingling as he cackles wildly at your panicked expression in the mirror.

            “What’s the matter, missy? You don’t like Bobby’s new make-up?” Startled by his words and his weird, warbly voice, you meet the clown’s jaundiced gaze in the mirror. You mind races, confused questions and icy fear flicking through your mind just like the flashing lights above you.

            The clown inhales deeply, a cruel smirk pulling at the corners of his ruby lips. “You’re such a sweet, sweet treat for Pennywise. Think I’ll keep you here, keep you all to myself. My own, personal slut. Call me selfish, but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch you. Now, be a good girl and let me paint that tight little cunt.”

           His hand slides to your cheek, squashes your face against the mirror once more. You shriek and clench your eyes shut as he jackhammers you into the glass. A few more thrusts and he’s grunting, growling, hilting himself and spilling warmth deep in your guts.

            Once the erratic jerking of his hips finally subsides, you risk a look. Tentatively, you peel your lids apart. Behind you, the clown still stands. In his hand is—

            “Balloon? For being such a good pet.”

[adhdeancas]

Dean Winchester (and the script leaks last night) possessed me to write this.

Dean happens upon Chuck's latest book: Carry On. Except it ends differently than it really went, and the ending? It's really fucking bad.

tw: suicide mention, transphobia (quickly shut the fuck down) 

Dean doesn’t make a habit of going to bookstores. Not because he hates books, contrary to what Sam might think; he just prefers to buy used books. There’s something comforting about a book that has already been worn and read over and over, that already shows how much the previous owner loved it. Plus, y’know, big corporations are evil and all that. And Dean only allows himself to overlook that when his stomach or his wallet wins over his hatred of the shitty mass-produced products. 

This time it was Jack who won; he’s obsessed with this new fantasy series and the new book just came out, so there’s no way he can hunt it down on Ebay. He makes his way to the fantasy and sci-fi section, eyes roaming over the displays of new releases, and his eye catches on something that turns his blood cold. 

“Supernatural: Carry On, The Final Book of the Winchesters’ Epic Journey” takes up a whole table, the generic and overly serious cover jeering out at him. 

He storms over to the display, anger covering up for the way his body feels light as a feather and like lead all at once, and picks up a book. “Why is Sam always fucking shirtless?” he mutters, the only thought that allows itself from the mess inside his head to his mouth. 

“Book sales.” A voice behind him says. He turns to see a teenager with their arms crossed over their work polo, pierced lip fixed into a customer-unfriendly frown.

“People want to see that?”

They snort, a small grin turning up the corner of their lips. It reminds Dean of Cas. “No. But that’s what advertisers think all ‘women’ want,” They use air quotes. 

He raises an eyebrow and asks. “Women?”

They shrug and uncross their arms, leaning back against the display table behind them. Their nametag says Jadyn. “Supernatural’s biggest block of readers is queer. I’d go out on a limb and say a lot of those the marketers think of as ‘women’ aren’t, or if they are, they aren’t itching to see Sam’s six pack.” Jadyn smirks. 

Dean takes a second to digest that, then grins down at the book, thinking past Sam’s apparently badly-received nudity now. “So how’d they like it?” he asks, waving the book a bit and looking up at Jadyn. Apparently they know a lot about the fans of the books, and for once, he’s proud of the way the story ended. 

Jadyn’s face sets into all hard lines. “Most people fucking hated it.” they say bluntly, then, probably remembering that he’s a customer, correct. “Sorry. I mean, it got some good reviews, mostly from people who like Wincest, but beyond that, it had some problematic plot points.”

Dean winces at the reminder of the ship between him and his brother, then scrunches his whole face together in confusion. “Wait, what? Why?” Why would Wincest fans like it? What was problematic about their end?

Jadyn shifts from foot to foot. “I don’t wanna spoil anything for you-”

“I don’t care about spoilers, just give me the short version.” Dean says quickly. A quiet panic is rising in him, and suddenly he has a horrible feeling that he’s not holding the truth in his hands anymore. 

“Uh, okay… Well, the most obvious thing is the bury-your-gays thing, then there’s the fact that it completely contradicted the rest of the lore. And it was ableist, misogynistic, and messed up, like, every character’s arc.” they take a breath, clearly worked up by it. “Even if they changed any of the details too, it was all built on Dean’s death, and that’s just bullshit. Sorry.” they apologize again, apparently mistaking Dean’s stricken expression to be in reaction to their rant and swearing. 

“No, nah, you’re… you’re okay. Uh, thanks.” he waves a hand and wanders away from them, only remembering Jack’s book when he’s almost to the register. He manages to make his way back and find the damn thing, but he’s still in a fog when he gets to the register. 

“Did anyone help you in the store today?”

“Huh?” he looks up and meets the middle-aged cashier’s gaze for the first time. Brent, from the nametag, looks at him impatiently. “Oh, yeah, uh… Jadyn. Jadyn helped me.” Brent scoffs and starts typing with a shake of the head. “Uh, is there a problem?” Dean asks, a little annoyed at this cashier’s unnecessary attitude. He usually doesn’t care if an employee’s rude, because they have to deal with assholes all the time and honestly Dean isn’t much better, but this one gives him a bad feeling. 

“No, no, sorry. It’s just - “Jadyn’s” got this idea that he’s a girl. Makes everybody call him that name now too. Just-” Brent shakes his head. “I mean, you get it. Their generation, everybody wants to be special.”

Dean glares. “No, I don’t get it, Brent.” He says through gritted teeth. “Seems to me like Jadyn probably deals with enough assholes like you that her asking for a little basic decency is the exact opposite of special. Sounds pretty normal, actually.” He can see the fear creep into Brent’s eyes, and he knows the cashier is reacting to the murderous look in his eyes more than his actual words. 

Brent hands Dean his bag of books with a quiet, “Here you go.”

Dean snatches it away. “Oh, Brent?” he checks over his shoulder to make sure they’re alone and then leans across the counter into Brent’s space. “You should find a new job, one where you don’t have to interact with other people. At least until you learn how to stop being a piece of shit.” He starts to ease away but thinks better about it. “And if you think that’s a suggestion, it’s not. My husband likes this book coming out next month that I’ll need to buy, and if I see you here when I come, well… it would be really embarrassing for you to tell all your little friends that you got your ass beat by a ‘special’ guy, huh?” He pats Brent on the cheek condescendingly and leaves with a huff. 

Damn transphobes. 

He only remembers the book once he’s back in Baby, and he takes the time to drive out of town before he pulls over to read it. It’s an old abandoned church, the cross long since fallen from the roof and the doors hanging off their hinges. He sits on the steps just because being in Baby seems claustrophobic for once in his life, and going back to the bunker to look at this is just… not happening.

Dean only skims the beginning to see that it starts the same. The ground erupting with bodies, hell spitting out its most-conveniently placed nasties, Rowena sacrificing herself, Cas leaving. His throat closes up at that, at Chuck’s description of Cas’s heartbroken expression as he climbs the stairs of the bunker. He clears his throat and skips to the end, right past Cas’s death that he doesn’t have the time to think about right now, past them defeating Chuck and then stops. He goes back a few pages, trying to find the disconnect. 

The story’s different.

After Jack takes on God’s power, in the book, he’s totally fine. Not almost vibrating out of his skin or anything, not crying like the three year old he is because he’s scared. Not like it really happened. He just smiles and leaves him and Sam, and they let him go. 

Dean scoffs, skimming over the story as it just gets more ridiculous. 

In the book, he doesn’t even try to save Cas. They barely even mention him. And they never mention Eileen, either. In fact, Dean notes disbelievingly, practically the only characters in the last few chapters are him and Sam. They’re hunting again.

“What, is Chuck trying to keep the series going?” he whispers to himself, anger flaring through him. They let Chuck live, and he decided to write obnoxious fanfiction about them? He’s gonna kill that shameless little fucker. For real, this time. He deserves it.

In the book, Sam and Dean torture some vampire mime, and they enjoy it. Dean cringes; this is really what Chuck thinks of them. Then they tussle with more vamps in a barn and- 

Dean’s brain stops working. He rereads the scene again and again. 

“There’s something in my… something in my back. It feels like it’s right through me.” 

Dean Winchester dies in a dirty barn, on a piece of freaking rebar. 

More than that, Dean realizes on his fourth read-through. This Dean? He tried to drag out his speech, Dean can tell by the way he pauses for fucking drama. He would never do that. He would never talk to Sam for fifteen hellish minutes when he could be trying. Trying to live, so he can actually get his life back on track, get his family back. No, he made that speech stalling. He made that speech so Sam wouldn’t try to save him. 

“You gotta admit, I had one helluva ride.” He was strangely calm.

Chuck made him kill himself.

Dean reads the rest of the book through blurry eyes, reading an ambiguous and nothing-ending, one where he’s somehow happy to be dead and driving around in heaven alone while Sam raises a kid into hunting and cries about Dean decades after he’s died. Eileen isn’t mentioned. Cas is mentioned once, and Bizzarro-Dean doesn’t even think about seeing him, apparently. The whole book ends with a hug between him and Sam, both dead. Both alone. 

Dean rips the ending up. He tears through the stupid paper covering and keeps ripping the pages up until they’re the size of confetti. His lower lip wobbles. He throws the whole thing against the side of the building, and it tumbles through the broken doorway and drops into a pile of dust and dirt. “That isn’t the fucking ending.” he grounds out, knocking his hand against the flimsy handrail. It gives a little under his fist and he kicks at it. “That isn’t the fucking ending!”

He’s having a panic attack. Again. He tries to take deep breaths, but they’re gulping, too big, they’re making him panic more. He scrambles back to Baby and grabs his phone, presses the first number on his favorites list and waits for him to answer on speaker phone.

“Hey Dean, what’s up?” Sam sounds like he’s been laughing. There are voices in the background, and Dean tries to convince himself one of them is Eileen. 

“Hey Sammy.” he chokes out, trying to sound normal. “You busy?”

There’s a pause, and then the sounds in the background. “Nah, Rowena’s just over.” he says casually. 

“So those voices in the background were-”

“Rowena and Eileen, yeah. They’re trying to convince me we need to go to Mexico. For the beaches.” A smile in his voice. Dean lets out a sigh of relief.  What’s up, Dean? You need something?” The smile drops, and Sam’s worried. 

Sam’s okay. Sam’s okay. “No, nah. Hey, you heard from Donna lately?” Dean just needs to triple-check.

“Uh, no, not since Sunday dinner… Dean, you okay?”

“Yeah, she just- she hasn’t been answering my texts. Just wanted to make sure.” Dean lies quickly. His breathing is still uneven, but his body is settling into uneven shakes. 

Sam sounds skeptical. “Yeah, well, she did tell us it’s been pretty busy at work lately. Y’know, everybody going out for the first time with COVID, getting stupid. Plus, y’know, nowhere’s drowning in EMTs right now.”

“Right. Yeah.” Dean takes a deep breath, a distant memory of Donna talking about that coming back to him.

“Pretty sure you were setting up a D&D session with Charlie while she was talking about that,” Sam laughs. Dean knows he means it as a subtle jab, but there’s too much relief flooding through him to care. Still, a string is pulled taut in him, and Sam can’t fix that completely.

“Gotta go, Sam,” Dean hangs up before Sam can say anything else, and goes to his next contact. It rings for far too long, and Dean’s heartbeat picks back up to thundering.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas,” Dean breathes out. “Cas, you know I love you, right?” He needs to test all the bounds of this, to make sure, just to make sure. Make sure Chuck isn’t still fucking with him. Because apparently, Chuck won’t let him be queer. Not in his story. Not out loud.

He can hear Cas’s eyebrow raise through the phone, and his chest is overcome with stupid fondness. “I would be a little worried if you didn’t.”

Dean grins widely. “Like, romantically. I’m in love with you. Because you’re the love of my life and I’m bisexual.” He says it all like it’s a checklist, like he expects some cosmic being to slap a hand over his mouth before he gets each next phrase out.

“Yes, Dean. We’ve been married almost two months.” Cas is smiling. It happens everytime he talks about their wedding. Dean adores it. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, now it is.” His whole body relaxes, still vibrating with leftover panic, but satisfied. “I got Jack’s book.”

“Oh, good. He’ll be so pleased.” Cas pauses. “Dean, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Dean eases off the ground and sends a last look at the dilapidated church before climbing into Baby. “Just- read a bad book. I’ll tell you about it later. When I get home.”

[whereisstevethestove]

Ventricle.

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Characters: Virgil, Logan, Katrina Flores (OC), Nico Flores

Relationships: Familial Logan &Virgil, hinted at Logan x Nico

Additional Tags: abortion mention, bisexual disaster logan, teen parenting, hate sex mention, logan having an emotional breakdown in a walmart, nico being a smooth motherfucker.

Word Count: 1805

Summary: Logan made a dumb decision when he was eighteen, which led him to being saddled with a difficult choice when he was just nineteen. Now he's living everyday with the consequences.(in the accidental adoption universe, but can be read as a stand alone. no prior knowledge needed)

Notes: *me, looking at the lack of nico x logan*: Fine, I’ll do it myself.  Also, I have an actual angst logan x nico fic coming out later today maybe, probably.

AO3  

@psychedelicships  here’s some logan and nico... at the end, but I promise it’s worth it.

He was nineteen, young and dumb when it happened-

Logan stared down at the sleeping boy in his arms, a newborn that was only five hours old, with a shock of black hair that was reminiscent of Logan’s baby photos.  He was the only one awake, his ex also asleep from the sheer toll of birth on her body.

She had wanted to keep him, and then, now that Logan was holding the infant, she had admitted that she was going just… throw him into the foster system and hope that someone wanted him.  Logan hadn’t wanted to keep the child, he’d begged her to have an abortion, but he’d promised in the end to still pay child support if that’s what she wanted.

But now…

Now he was holding his son.  She didn’t want him, he looked too much like his dad, and Logan could feel his own heart tearing apart as he thought of giving him up.  

His ex stirred and Logan looked up as she opened her eyes, a look of displeasure on her face.

“You’re looking at it all weird.”

Logan smiled softly down at the infant.  “I know.  He’s beautiful.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re not a teen mom.”

“You told me that you don’t want him.”

“And I don’t.”  She looked up at the ceiling of the hospital room and sighed.  “Where did we go wrong Lo?” Lo.

Ah yes, the nickname that she’d called him for so long, when they were first dating junior year in highschool.  Logan used to look back on his past with fond memories, but now everything was tainted the smallest bit darker with the realization that he had, in fact, cut his younger phase short.

“It was the drunk hate sex, I’m sure.”  He responded and she laughed.

“I can’t take him.  I want a life Logan.”

Logan nodded.  “I’m sorry.  But if I may?”

“May what?”

The infant yawned in his sleep and Logan’s heart broke again.  “I’d like to take him.  You won’t have to pay child support, we can go our separate ways and never talk again if you want, but goddamnit, I want to raise him.”

She shot him a rueful look.  “Take him.  After I’m discharged, I never want to see you again though.”

“Of course.”  Logan held back his happiness, but his face betrayed him and even she knew as she watched him hold the infant just a bit closer.

Maybe a part of her wondered how someone like Logan could have ever loved that deeply.

Maybe a part of her didn’t care.

…

Logan had a harder time the next morning convincing the nurse who was filling out the paperwork to put him down as the provider.  After all, the kid was supposed to go straight to adoption, and now the father wanted him.

Not to mention the whole naming thing.  She was less than impressed when Logan told her that he wanted the infant to be named Virgil.  

Logan won both battles and after a talk with Virgil’s doctor, he was heading out to his car with the infant safe in a carrier, which he buckled in before getting in the driver's seat and leaving.

…

He had no idea what he was doing.  Virgil was sitting in the shopping cart child spot, chattering happily in the gibberish that only babies spoke as Logan had an emotional breakdown in front of the baby food.

It’d been six months since Virgil had been born, and according to online and the various books he’d read, advice from his mother and also from his great aunt, the kid should be fine starting solids, but he didn’t know which.

Virgil babbled something and a tiny hand patted Logan’s hair.   He looked up and Virgil giggled before reaching for his glasses.  Logan leaned his head back a bit.

“Virgil, we’ve discussed that you cannot gnaw on my glasses.  You have a teething toy or a pacifier if you’d like.”

Virgil clapped.

There was a gasp behind him and Logan looked back to see a woman, who was grinning at the pair.

“Is that your son?”  She walked up to him and cooed at Virgil.  “How old is he?” “Six months.”  Logan said tiredly as Virgil clapped again and the woman smiled.

“He’s clapping so early.  Most don’t for a good while.”

Logan pumped a tired fist in the air.  “Wonderful.”

“I’m Katrina, I’ve got some little ones at home, it can be tiring.  How old are you? You look a little young to be this sweetie’s daddy.  What’s your name?”

Logan held out his hand for her to shake.  “Logan Alt, nineteen.”

“Oh!  Is your lucky bride at home?”

Logan bit his lip and looked down at the floor of the supermarket.  “Ah, no.”

Katrina seemed to freeze for a moment, but it was fleeting enough that Logan ignored it as she looked up at him.

“Six months you say?  He should be in prime time to start solids.”  When Logan nodded, she seemed to straighten up.  “Would you like some help with a list of foods that you can start him on?  I also have a wonderful book in my car I can grab you.”

Logan stared at her.  

Then he burst into tears and Katrina pulled him into a hug, rubbing a hand soothingly across his back.

“Hey darlin, I know how hard it can be, having a young one so early.”  

Logan nodded into her shoulder and she pulled him back to arms length, a soft smile on her face.  “You’re gonna be the best dad this kiddo ever has.  Let me help you get him some starter foods and then I’ll give ya my number and you can call me on my phone whenever.  We sure are damn lucky for these samsung flip phones, aren’t we?”

“Thank you…”  Logan stuttered out as he wiped at his eyes.  Katrina nodded and gave him another hug before turning to Virgil and patting his head. 

“Hey buddy.  I’m here to help your daddy, okay?”

Virgil babbled something and mirrored her smile.  Katrina gave him another gentle pat on the head.  “Thank you for letting me know that very important thing.”

Logan looked down at Virgil.  “What’d he say?” Katrina’s response was simple.  “That he loves you very much.  Onward to the bananas!” …

Katrina and her family were there when Virgil first waddled up to Logan, and said his first word.

“Space!”

Logan blinked as Virgil made grabby hands, but he complied and lifted his son up into his arms.

Katrina leaned over.  “Looks like you have a little science nerd.”

Virgil reached out and excitedly patted Katrina’s shoulder.  “Space!”  He crowed out and Logan couldn’t help but grin as his now one year old excitedly chirped the word again, squirming in Logan’s arms.

“Looks like you might be right.  Would you like down?”  Logan asked and Virgil nodded vigorously.

Logan set him down.  Virgil laughed and clapped again before looking up at his dad with glee.  

“Space!”

“That’s right.”  Logan nodded solemnly.  “Space.”

Virgil waddled off to where Katrina’s other kids were playing, and the group easily parted to include him.

“Kat.. thank you for inviting us to your Christmas celebration, you didn’t need to.”  Logan looked away from Virgil and she shrugged.

“Lo, with your mom’s passing in November, you told me that you didn’t have anywhere to go, of course I’d offer you my home.”  Katrina picked at a loose thread on her sweater.  “Virgil deserves a good first Christmas, and you need social interaction.”

Logan laughed softly.  “I guess you’re right.”

“I always am.”  Katrina crossed her arms.  “I need to go check on my husband, but I’ll see you around.  Try talking to my younger cousin.”

Logan looked around the room.  “Where are they?”

Katrina pointed to a man Logan’s age, who was sitting on the couch, surrounded by the stuffed animals that the other kids were bringing to him.  “Nico Flores.  He’s single.”

She winked and Logan rolled his eyes at her fondly before heading over to the couch.  Nico looked up from the kid who was speaking to him, a grin splitting his face.  “Hey!  I could use some company!”

The kid that he’d been talking to rapidly fired something at him in Spanish and Nico laughed before responding in kind as Logan carefully moved the stuffed animals and sat next to him.

Once the kid had gone back to the others, Nico held a hand out for Logan to shake.

“Nico Flores.”

“Logan Alt.”

“That your son?”  Nico pointed to Virgil, who was sitting on the ground as another one year old passed him blocks, which he promptly threw down with a laugh.

“Yeah, how’d you guess?”

“He’s the whitest child here.”  Nico ran a hand through his hair and grinned at Logan.  “You’re extraordinarily pale.”

“It’s the german from my father’s side.”  

“Ah.”  Nico laughed as a girl brought him another stuffed animal, taking one from the pile on the ground at his feet as she switched them out.

“Thank you Tio!”

“It’s just Nico, you know that Gemma!” 

Gemma gave a screeching laugh as she ran off.   

“So, how’d you meet my cousin?”

“I had a bit of a rough time finding Virgil, that’s my son, some food as he was about to start solids and I’ve never had a child, so I was unsure of what to buy him and she helped.”  Logan smiled as Virgil looked up to find him, getting off the ground to waddle over and hold his hands up.   He picked up Virgil, who pulled his glasses off his face and held them out to Nico.

“Space!”

Nico took the glasses and nodded seriously.  “Space.”

Virgil, pleased, wiggled out of Logan’s grip again, but not before stealing a stuffed animal from the pile.

Nico handed him his glasses.  “He’s sweet.”

“Indeed.”  Logan smiled fondly before shaking himself out of it.  “So, what brings you here?”

“Kat invited me because, and I quote: ‘There’s gonna be a hot boy here, I swear it.’”  Nico grinned at him.  “She wasn’t wrong.”

Logan felt the blush start to creep up his face and he swallowed nervously.  “Oh?”

“Yeah.  It’s a pity I don’t know his number.”  Nico leaned back on the couch and shrugged.  “It’s also a pity that there’s not really any mistletoe nearby, the cat’s allergic.”

Logan felt like he was gonna die.

“Guess I’ll never know.”

“Ifyoureallywantmynumberyoucouldhaveit.”  Logan blurted out in a rush.

Nico gave him a blinding grin.  “Sounds like a date.”

Yeah, Logan had made some dumb decisions in his teenage years.  But if it had led him to a warm Christmas party, with a cute boy his age next to him and an adorable son playing with his friend’s kids…

Was it really dumb?

[untaemedqueen]

The Bird Cage

Chapter 18.

Warnings:  Blood, Guns, Knives, Smoking (Cigarettes)

Tag-List: @imaforeigner​, @q1st1na​, @gensneverland​, @autumnnflowers​, @toddsgirl27​, @yaniposts22​, @babyboytae1​, @dearlydreadful​, @vivpurple7​, @kthfeed​, @probably-trying-too-hard​, @si-deus-me-hanyu-senshu​, @bts-chub​, @ayyyocee​, @taeslittletiger​, @yeonkiminfr​, @xcharlottemikaelsonx​​ , @topthis808​

You stare at Jimin, blinking rapidly as you furrow your eyebrows. “What?” 

He sighs, putting his head down. “You’re pregnant.” 

“Oh, I heard you.” You mutter before staring at his handsome face. His plush bottom lip tucks into his teeth as he chews on it nervously. You look down at your stomach before putting your hands to your face. Lee Hyunah, was correct. And you can’t even be all that surprised. You never once used a condom and you weren’t on birth control. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears. Were you ready to become a mother? You don’t know the first thing about children. But, Jimin was your husband and this is what married people do. They have kids. The question was whether or not the two of you were ready. 

“Unbelievable.” You mumble to yourself as you lay back down. Jimin looks up at you through his lashes as you stare at the canopy fabric above you. 

“I love you.” He whispers, putting his hands together and bringing them to his lips.

“I love you too.” You say before looking over at him. You were stunned, and confused. Maybe even happy, but you have so many emotions swimming through you, nevermind the pain of your back distracting you.

“Can we--can we keep our baby?” Jimin asks earnestly, you could hear the excitement in his voice and it makes you laugh. You put your hands over your face at the ridiculous question.

“Yeah, of course we’re keeping it, Jimin.” He sighs relieved before eyeing your body language.

“Are you mad at me?” You click your teeth before sighing loudly.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so, neither of us said anything about condoms.” Jimin gives a small nod.

“Well…I love our baby.” He says in a small voice that makes you want to melt into a puddle. You look down at your stomach and widen your eyes. You were bigger than two months ago, you hadn’t noticed since you were lying on your front most of that time.

“Oh, fuck!” You mumble, your hand beginning to shake as you reach down. Jimin presses his lips into a thin line.

 “Us. Parents. A mother who runs an escort business and a father who runs guns.” You laugh loudly dropping your hand. This is ludicrous. Jimin swallows nervously as you lift your hand once more. If you just feel your belly, maybe you’ll love the baby like he does.

“Feel it. Feel your belly.” Jimin says, pointing in hopes that you would smile for him. He wants you to smile first, to acknowledge your happiness before he indulges his. You put your hand on your stomach before closing your eyes. You could feel your swelling womb, Jimin’s baby safe from the world within you. You look back up at the ceiling without a word. Your eyes begin to sting terribly as your throat gets tighter. You were having the man you love’s baby and that was that. Nothing else in this world could change that. You close your eyes as you begin to cry. Jimin rubs his hand on your bare thigh--you could feel how sweaty his hand is. You rub at your swelling belly before laughing again wiping at your cheeks. Jimin begins to feel relief. 

“Are we ready?” You ask him, sniffling. Jimin smiles widely.

“We will be. We’re going to be the best parents we can be. I know it.” You sit up on your elbows before groaning in pain.

“Careful.” Jimin whispers before licking his lips. “I love you and I love our baby.” This one sentence has you crying all over again. Jimin leans in kissing you deeply, his hands wiping the tears off your cheeks before connecting his forehead to yours.

“I love you so much, so so much. Thank you for giving me a baby.” You laugh at his excitement. He chuckles, his eyes becoming half moons as he smiles widely. His hand comes off of your cheek to rub your stomach.

“Oh my God.” he whispers, pulling back. You watch as his eyes well up with tears and it makes you smile. No matter what, you and Jimin were in it for the long haul and this baby might just bring happiness and joy into a house that has known so much misery. Jimin bends down to press his full lips to your belly. “I love you,” he whispers to your stomach before looking up at you and giggling.

You stare at Jimin with a raised eyebrow as he goes over nursery ideas with Mirae. You were sitting up against the headboard drinking your tea as Jimin holds up a lavender colored tile.

“Purple? Do you like that baby?” You nod. “It’s pretty.” 

Jimin smiles widely before nodding. “Me too. I like it. Let’s paint the baby’s room that color,” he tells Mirae as he sips his coffee. A knock comes at the door, and Yoongi opens it with a cigarette in his mouth.

“Uh-uh. Get out of my bedroom with that smoke.” Jimin tells him, shooing him away with his hand. Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

“Why?” He asks, pulling from his cigarette. Jimin pulls out his gun before cocking it.

“Put it out. Now.” Mirae watches on with a small smile before looking over at you. You roll your eyes, making her chuckle as Yoongi stamps out his cigarette on the floor.

“Why?” Yoongi repeats himself as he leans against the doorframe.

“You’ll find out at the meeting.” Jimin looks at his Rolex watch. “In two hours.” Yoongi hums as Jimin hands Mirae the swatch of color. He looks over at you and you shrug, smiling.

“Okay, then."  Jimin uncocks his gun before placing it on the table. "Think you can join us for the meeting, baby? You feeling up to it?” You gingerly sit up straighter and Jimin stiffens as you cringe before nodding. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Good girl.” Jimin says with a smirk before leaning back in his armchair.

“I just wanted to let you know that Hyunah is coming over tomorrow.” Yoongi looks over at you and you hum. 

“For business? Or cock?” Jimin snorts, putting his head down as Yoongi smirks.

“Both, probably.” Mirae hides her smile behind the purple swatch of paint, making you chuckle. Yoongi closes the door behind him as Jimin picks up pieces of cloth.

“Which one for the drapes?” You snort before standing up slowly.

“Be careful!” Jimin chides standing up.

You hold your hand out as you walk towards the bathroom. “One. I’m pregnant, not broken. And two, if I can’t get up and do things myself I’m never going to get better.” Jimin folds his arms and scoffs as you walk past him.

“Mirae, why do women not listen?” She hums as you enter the bathroom.

“It’s in our blood.” Jimin smirks before sitting back down. “Our kid is going to be a menace in this house.” He mumbles, looking at the older maid.

“But, the baby will also bring love and joy,” Mirae cajoles. He hums in agreement as he points at the white silk drape sample. “That one.”

You enter the meeting room, sighing happily. It’s nice to be back to normal, sort of. You had been walking around just the third floor for a few days since Jimin had told you about your pregnancy, but it was nice to get back to business. Everyone files into the room apart from Namjoon, who is still with your sister in Busan. He calls every few days from a pay phone to let Jimin know the both of them are safe.

Jimin enters behind Jeongguk with a pillow and you roll your eyes as he puts it behind your back. “It’s not necessary,” you mumble to him as he sits down next to you.

“I decide what is necessary, Kitten. That’s necessary.” You look over at him as he rubs your thigh.

“Phones.” Jin says putting the metal box on the table. Phones get thrown in as per usual and for the first time you get to throw your new phone into the box.

“Look at that.” Yoongi teases you before pulling out a cigarette.

Jimin narrows his eyes at Yoongi. “Don’t you dare.” Yoongi scoffs, pulling his cigarette out of his mouth as Seokjin locks the metal box before throwing it out into the hallway and sealing the door shut.

“What is with you?!” 

“Guns.” Jimin pulls his gun out of his waistband.

“There is no smoking around my wife.” Jeongguk smiles into his lap as he puts his gun on the table before tying his hair into a ponytail.

“Why the fuck not?! Y/N do you have a problem with it?” You shake your head, shrugging.

“No. I don’t care.” Jimin pulls your face to look at him.

“You better fucking care.” You kiss his lips gently and he begins to simmer down before standing up.

“I have an agenda I would like to present to everyone before we start the meeting.”

Yoongi throws his cigarette on the table before sniffing and folding his arms.

“What’s up, Boss?” Hoseok asks, tilting his head confused.

“Baby.” Jimin holds out his hand and you stand up gingerly. You look over at Jimin and he nods once giving you the go ahead. You lift up your shirt making the guys raise their eyebrows.

“What?” Jin asks, confused.

“I’m pregnant.” Taehyung goes wide eyed, his mouth dropping open. Jeongguk claps happily, giving you a large bunny smile. “Congratulations!” Jin says happily as Yoongi begins to give his gummy smile. Jimin chuckles before kissing your temple.

“I can’t say I’m surprised, since you never left your room after the ball.” Taehyung says, making you laugh. “Can I feel it?” Jeongguk asks from next to you, you nod and he puts his hand on your stomach.

“Wow. There’s a kid in there.” He says, making Hoseok smack the back of his head.

“You’re an idiot.” Jimin laughs before helping you sit down.

“I won’t smoke around the kid,” Yoongi says before winking at you and putting his cigarette back in the box. Jimin rubs your stomach before nodding to Taehyung.

“Okay. Let’s get down to business.” Taehyung clears his throat before turning on the t.v. “Four still isn’t explaining what the Jungs want besides ‘our demise’.” He makes air quotes as you narrow your eyes at the screen. You hum in agreement.

“She sure looks comfortable.” You say before banging your fist to the wall opposite you. You know she couldn’t hear you through the thick steel, but it made you feel better. She was bleeding from her lip, but that was about it.

“Have you done anything to her in the past two months? She looks just fine,” you say, confused as you cross your arms.

“Easy, Kitten.” Jimin mumbles as Taehyung licks his lips. His thumb rubs circles into your stomach as you stare at Taehyung.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” he says before smiling. You snort before looking up at the t.v.

“Good. We’ll have some fun in a few days then.” You say crossing your legs.

“Next order of business, Kim Shin." You sit up straighter. "We’ve been having the lions steal his shipments when they can, bringing his guns to our Ilsan warehouse. He’s getting antsy knowing he’s losing money. We just have to find an opportunity where we can take him.” You tap your fingernails on the table as you stare at the screen.

“I’ll talk to Hyunah, see if she’s willing to make a deal with him and maybe we can take him there.” You say, making Jeongguk nod.

“That sounds like a good idea.” Jimin smiles at you, happy to have you back. He’s missed his brazen little Kitten around his work.

“We also have the unfortunate duty of disposing of Min’s body after he was shot dead by the local police. Who have given us their sympathies as well as a free pass for our next gun run.” You frown as Hoseok explains this, Min was weird but he was a lion nonetheless.

“Shame.” You whisper, sitting back in your chair. Yoongi nods in agreement.

“What did Detective Kyul say?” The infamous detective you’ve been hearing about, one of the detectives that runs this part of Korea who is on the payroll.

“He has executed the man who got one of us killed.” Jimin nods before sighing. “I’ll accept that.” Hoseok nods in agreement with Jimin.

“Ah, yes. And, this.” Jeongguk says before grabbing the t.v. remote and flicking to the next screen, which shows a dead girl with her eyes gouged out of her head. You choke on your spit before closing your eyes.

“Listen, guys. I have morning sickness and a weak stomach, okay? Fucking warn me.” You mutter as Jimin rubs your belly.

“One of the Bangs did it. Her family is asking for redemption.” Jimin nods.“We’ll give it.” He says simply before gesturing to shut off the t.v. for your sake.

“Do you want water?” Jimin asks quietly in your ear. You shake your head before peeking one eye open. You sit up straighter as Jimin throws a folder on to the table. Yoongi sits forward before opening the folder and scattering the pictures of girls on the table. “These women now work under Y/N. If you see them, you would do well to protect them.”

Jeongguk grabs a picture before smiling. “How much is a night?” You shove his shoulder with a laugh as he wrinkles his nose at you.

“A night is one million.” Taehyung looks up quickly. “Seriously?” Jimin hums in agreement. 

“They can do whatever your little heart could dream of.” You tell him as Yoongi tilts his head at a picture.

“Do we get a family discount?” he mumbles, making you laugh. Jimin chuckles before nodding.

“I think we can make an arrangement. They throw it back like nothing you’ve ever seen.” You pinch his nipple, making him groan as you point your finger at him.

“Easy, pretty kitty. You know you’re the only woman for me. Let me clarify, I have SEEN them throw it back.” The guys chuckle as Jimin kisses your cheek.

“They’ve all been hand selected for their beauty, their charms and well, their skills in sexual prowess,” you say as Jimin’s fingers dance over your stomach.

“Can they speak other languages?” Jin asks, sitting forward.

“Five of the twenty can, yes. They can do whatever you want them to. If the price is right.” Jin hums before nodding.

“Seems like a good little gig you got yourself, Y/N.”

“So it would seem,” you say as a wave of nausea begins to build in you, your stomach rolling as you put your hand to your forehead. Jimin looks up at you before furrowing his eyebrows as he watches your hairline begin to sweat. “Meeting adjourned.” He says before standing up and grabbing his gun off of the table, then helping you stand. “Let’s go get you some water. Hmm?” He walks past the guys chairs as he pulls you with him.

“Can you believe it? Jimin, a dad.” Hoseok smiles happily as he gathers the photos of the women into a pile. “It’ll be good for them. For him. To have a child of his own. He’ll be able to feel more love in his heart.” Jin says making the other guys hum in agreement.

“Feels like just yesterday he tried to end his own life, and today he’s bringing new life into this world.” Yoongi says, pulling out a cigarette. Jeongguk looks over at Yoongi before narrowing his eyes.

“Stop just casually mentioning that shit. You weren’t the one who found him.” Jeongguk shoves back his chair before storming out. 

Jimin rolls over on the bed feeling for you, his hand hitting cold sheets, rousing him from his sleep.

“Kitten?” He looks up as silence encumbers the room. He cards his fingers through his bed head before jumping up. “Baby?!” He notices the door is cracked open and he jogs over to the door before peeking out into the hallway. Your hand rests on your stomach as you stare at the chamber.

“Babe. What’re you doing up? It’s late.” You look over at Jimin before giving him a tired smile.

“I couldn’t sleep.” He sighs before stepping out into the hallway.

“You should have woken me up.” His feet pad over to you before kissing your forehead. He takes in your expression, how your jaw is taught as you stare with narrowed eyes.

“I was pregnant when I got cut, wasn’t I?” you ask.

“I don’t know, baby. Maybe.” He puts his hand over yours as it rests on your stomach.

“What’s the code to the room?”

Jimin sighs before kissing your temple. “Come back to bed.”

“She could have killed your baby. What’s the code?” Jimin buries his face into your hair. Four would not live to see tomorrow if he tells you. He’s noticed how comfortable you are getting with the idea of his child within you. The lion in you coming out, you would protect your child with everything you have.

“It’s our baby. Our. I’ll tell you in the morning. Just come back to bed with me.” You look up at Jimin as he rubs your arm. “Come. I promise I’ll tell you the code tomorrow.” You roll your eyes before walking past him towards your bedroom.

“I’m going to take that as your pregnancy hormones acting up so I don’t get angry,” he calls to you as he follows behind you.

“She could have killed OUR baby.” Jimin presses his lips into a thin line as you sit on the bed.

“She will pay for what she’s done. But, it’s--” Jimin looks at the digital clock on the bedside table, “--it’s three o'clock in the morning. You need to rest. Your back, the baby. You need to sleep, Kitten.” He pours a glass of water before taking a gulp. “Water?” He asks with a small smile.

You nod to him and he hands you the glass before laying on the bed. “Just sleep with me, and tomorrow you will get the code.” You hum to him before drinking your water and placing it on the bedside table.

“Carefully.” He whispers as you lay on your back. Jimin bends over kissing your stomach before throwing the covers over the both of you. “I love you, Kitten.” “I love you, too."

[prose-for-hire]

A Halloween of Horror

Pairing: Buffy Summers x vamp!reader

Request: Hi, can you do a Buffy x reader one shot for Halloween where the reader is turned into a vampire but they keep their soul for some reason and they're freaking out, with the quotes "I can't be a vampire! I'm a fucking vegetarian!" And "Would you fuck a vampire?" By the way this Halloween is gonna be the best with your writing to look forward to

Requested by: Anon - I hope this is what you wanted love 🖤🦇

Warning: Swearing. Implied alcohol consumption I guess(?). Reader is distressed having heard they’re a vampire. Little heated kissing. 

The last thing you remember was Halloween. A fun party with your girlfriend. She had been so excited for a night off and surprisingly upbeat about Halloween this year. Maybe it was because you loved it so much. She had enjoyed it because you had. She even dressed up which had made you grin. You and her danced, laughed with your friends and couldn’t stop smiling at each other. You and her felt so lucky and so in love. You had felt on top of the world that night. Everything had just felt right. Until it didn’t…

There had been a vampire. A chase. And a bloody fight. But you couldn’t remember any of that. There were some quick flashes, but mainly nothing.

You woke up with your head banging, your brain rattling around your skull. It felt like the worst hangover of all time. You felt as if you had been dug up, it was horrible. You opened your eyes, but closed them again as quickly. The light from the lamp, although dim to anyone else, was ridiculously bright. You almost hissed at the light source. As if you hadn’t seen any sort of light in a very long time.

The only saving grace was that when you eventually got used to the light, your girlfriend was lying in bed beside you. A scene you always enjoyed waking up to. Buffy was on her side stroking your face softly. Her face was laced with concern as she waited for you to speak. You struggled at first, having to clear your throat, but finally managed to ask, “Do you have any painkillers? I have the worst headache-” you squint, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“D’you feel any… different?” Buffy asked slowly, looking into your eyes the worry making you frown. You forehead felt stiff, as if there was something stuck on it. Or welded onto it. You moved your hands to feel your forehead and you gasped. Your skin was wrinkly and swollen. You panicked, moving to the mirror on the wall to see the damage. You must have fallen and hit your head while you were drunk – you couldn’t remember anything from that night.

When you made it to the mirror, only now seeing Buffy’s worried face because your reflection wasn’t there. She was walking behind you, reaching to rub your back. You felt it, but in the mirror she was just moving her hand in mid-air. It finally dawned on you, “I’m dead!” You screamed, turning at her with your eyes wild. Your hands flew back to your face, feeling around in horror.

“Just a little…” Buffy said softly walking up to you and taking your hands in hers. She held both of your hands, helping you drop your hands from your face slowly. You clasped your hands tightly to hers as you tried to calm down.

“Vampire?” You asked slowly. It was all coming back to you. 

The ugly clown mask you had laughed at. The figure pulling it off and running after you through the streets before Buffy turned and decided to fight. Expecting the man to be human, so she could just scare him. But this wasn’t the case. She fought, kept her peripheral vision on you. You had injured your ankle in the chase. The vampire seeing the way Buffy cared for you over caring for the fight. The vampire knew what to do. Managing to distract Buffy away from you. He gave you no choice. He told you to drink. And you did. You were confused, in pain. You would have done anything to take that pain away. The last thing you remember was staring up at the Halloween themed fairy lights before everything went black.

“Yep, looks like” Buffy said softly, rubbing her thumb over your hand. She knew what this meant.

“Oh shit, I’m evil aren’t I?” You said suddenly, dropping your hands from hers, not allowing yourself the comfort. You frowned, “Why aren’t I dust!?” you asked accusingly, as if she hadn’t done her job properly.

“You’re not evil!” Buffy said firmly. Her conviction almost made you shiver but you were still scared. Worried you would hurt her. Repulse her.

“How can you be sure?! And don’t give me the ‘I’m a slayer I just know’ bullshit!” You warned as she opened her mouth to tell you that she was a Slayer, so she just knew. You were starting to spiral and she was trying her best to calm you as you continued to speak, “Why aren’t I evil and sucking your blood!? Should I be doing that? Shouldn’t I be able to fight really good now?” You punched into the air and Buffy easily reached out and blocked your fist, wrapping her hand around yours. You loosened your hand slowly, allowing her to hold your hand properly, weaving her fingers between yours comfortingly.

“Slow down, you’re givin’ me monologue whiplash. It’s gonna be okay. Giles says it’s gonna be an adjustment but- you have a soul, y/n” Buffy explained, before insisting, “You’re still you”

“Should I change my name? Should I be Y/n the Fangy now or something?!” You said quickly, you were still getting used to the idea of being dead. It was scary.

She calmed you down for a moment and you melted into her side as she slowly rubbed her hand up your back, whispering soft reassurance. You leaned against her, wrapping your arms around her waist. She kissed your forehead and you tried to relax.

But you couldn’t.

Everything had just turned upside down, "I can't be a vampire! I'm a fucking vegetarian!" You suddenly shout, the panic rising in your voice, “I- what do I eat?!”

“Hey, y/n-” She started, but you had zoned out. You were concerned. You could already feel the gnawing hunger every time you smelt her scent. A scent that had only meant love and safety before now would always have the underlying guilt attached to it. You loved her and the last thing you ever wanted to do was hurt her.

You crouched on the floor, your head in your hands. This thought brought on another wave of fear. You became upset again, your eyes watering. Tears running down your cheeks that you had desperately been trying to fight.

Buffy crouched beside you slowly, her hand rubbing your shoulder in comfort. You couldn’t stop sniffling as your tears dried up. Still completely at a loss as to what your life, or un-life, was going to be like now. She waited as you dried your eyes, looking back at her.

“You’re all soul-y and good. You’re like you, but… different. You’re not gonna lose me, I promise” She whispered. She knew you so well, you had been concerned. I mean, she was a slayer. You were worried you would lose her. That she would find you repulsive.

“You really promise?” You asked slowly and she smiled, nodding. You smiled briefly but then your face dropped. There was one thing you were terrified of the most. Your brow furrowed, your lip shaking as you willed yourself to ask. You squeezed your hand softly, nodding that it was okay to ask whatever it was. That she was right by your side, “W-would you fuck a vampire?” You asked, sniffing slightly. You had whispered the question in your concern. She laughed slightly, shaking her head. That was what you were so worried about. Your relationship with her. She rubbed her hand up your arm tenderly.

“It has been known and widely recorded in the Buffy history books” she confirmed.

“Now?” You asked, a coy smile now on your lips as she rolled her eyes. But she knew in some sense you needed to feel her touch. Feel human again. She smiled, pulling you into her. Her lips met yours instantly, a heat rising in a way that you had worried would never appear again. Your hands tangled in her hair, pulling her flush against you as she ran her hands along your body. 

You kissed down to her collarbone, keeping your mouth busy. Making sure she felt good. You kissed along her soft skin, up her neck. Paying extra attention as she sighed softly against you. Her hands were still roaming as you kissed sloppily in desire. You spent a little too long kissing her neck and she had to direct your head back to her lips.

You smiled into her neck as she rolled her eyes. You felt the love in every action, despite the change. She guided your lips to hers again and pulled you towards her bed. A place you were always welcome.