#long time coming! was a little obsessed with the clock thing will not lie

[bobzora]

clock strike 12

[artmolonara]

Sleepover - A short story

Hey all, big into Lumpy Touch's Where's Waldo series and was inspired by @nami-ramen to write this little story based on their art here

*** Please Enjoy :) ***

Two years. It had been now over two years since Waldo had killed the Detective's wife. And in all that time, the Detective had not seen hide nor hair of him.

But Waldo had seen them. Quite frequently, in fact.

He would check up on them from time to time, always being sure to remain just out of sight. It was risky, but that made the game much more fun. Plus, he wanted to be sure that the Detective's role in the game was still active. If he felt that the interest with the hunt was starting to wane in the Detective, he would perhaps allow himself to be caught in their peripherals, or perhaps leave something out of place, anything that would spark the obsession anew. Oh, what fun it was, this Hide and Seek dynamic, and he couldn't wait for the day when the game would change.

For now, Waldo was content creeping around in the dark outside the Detective's house. It was a lovely home, one that he had only seen the outside of... or no, that wasn't entirely right. He had been inside at one point, but not HIM him. His extensions had come that night to play with the Detective's wife while he had gotten to spend a lovely evening with the precious Detective. Waldo had wished the night could have been longer, but oh, that Detective was smart, and had made him let slip his next move... or had he intentionally tipped them off in the hopes that perhaps they could have saved dear Wenda?

Waldo mused the question even he himself couldn't rightly answer as he peered into the windows of the suburban home. In the shadows of the room beyond the glass, a form could be seen on the bed. There they were, sleeping without a care. If only they knew how close their quarry was. Waldo chuckled to himself with suppressed excitement.

He watched a while, and after a minute of observing the rise and fall of breaths, and the shift of their body, he recognized the telltale signs of distress. He of all people knew those signs well. The dear, sweet Detective must be having a nightmare.

A smile curled Waldo's lips, "Dreaming about me, Detective?"

The compulsion to enter the house was now rising, but to do so without waking his sleeping hunter would be difficult. He had stopped by enough times to know that since the night his selves had broken in, security was stronger. Of course, locks were useless at deterring someone like him, but to teleport inside wouldn't be a silent endeavor...

But ever the luck of the fool, and perhaps with a little foresight, an opportunity presented itself when, within the confines of the home, the sound of an old grandfather clock began to toll three past the hour. Synchronizing to the second chime, he vanished and reappeared on the third within the room, the sound covering up his static entrance. As the resonance of the chime slowly faded, Waldo stood still in the dark of the bedroom, observing to be sure his presence wasn't know.

Once he was sure, he approached their bedside to get a better look at them, kneeling down to get closer. It had been a long time since he had been this close to the Detective, nearly a week! They were... quite an interesting person, definitely the most fun detective Waldo had had chasing him. It would be a lie if he said he wasn't getting a bit attached to his playmate. Dare he say... sentimental?

Certainly not, seemed impossible for someone like him, but as he watched them turn again in the faint moonlight, seeing a shine of stressful tears in the corners of their eyes, something strange jostled in his chest, a forgotten emotion, perhaps. He smiled slyly.

Dear, dear Detective, you know how to keep things interesting, don't you?

Perhaps it was that feeling driving him now, or perhaps it was the sick fun of encroaching so close to them without them knowing, who's to say? Whatever the reason, Waldo found himself slipping out of his shoes, placing his hat and glasses on the side table, leaning his trusty cane against one of the posts, and finally, climbing into the vacant side of the bed.

Now, the Detective was pretty much average height, but with Waldo's tall, lanky frame, they were dwarfed in comparison. Long limbs curled around, but didn't touch, the Detective, as Waldo drew himself close, like a predator encircling their prey.

Propped up on the pillow, he watched them a moment more as they struggled against their nightmare, wondering what was the exact nature of the torment plaguing their mind. Oh, to be able to reach inside their head, squish around in the grey matter, and pull out the answer. If he knew, it would be fun to use against the Detective later, to see that look on their face. Oh well, he'll figure something out, something special, just for them.

For now, he pulled up the sheets over the Detective's trembling form, seeing if that would be enough to dissuade the nightmares. It was not. If anything, their expression seemed to darken, and the grip on the pillow seemed to tighten. Whatever, or whoever they were dreaming about was truly causing them untold anxiety.

At this, Waldo felt a sudden, uncharacteristic, pang of jealously. Whatever night terror that was aggravating the Detective, even if it was just a shadow of himself, it wasn't HIM him. HE wanted to be the cause of that strife, HE wanted to see them flounder and suffer because of HIM, not because of any one or any thing else, not even his other selves, HIM. A rush of possessiveness was like a hydraulic, making him tighten his arms around his detective like a steel trap, ensnaring their warm form with his own. Yes, HIS detective... no one else's. He thought this as he burrowed his face in their soft, soft hair.

...

Minutes ticked by. He stayed like that, holding his detective still, feeling the warm pulse of their heartbeat from their proximity, their shuddering breath, allowing his own sweater warmth to overpower their own. Eventually, the pulse slowed, the smell of fear subsided, and for all he could tell, the Detective finally passed into a calm, dreamless, sleep. How wonderful.

Now, it may seem a bit counter-intuitive, as his mission and pleasure was to make the Detective's life a living hell, but Waldo knew that constant terror was not as effective or lasting as periodic fright. There was a time and a place. No need for his little Detective to be so on edge that they lost their mind, that'd be no fun. He needed them sane... well, sane enough, for the next stage in the game.

Oh, he couldn't wait for when the game would REALLY begin. He found himself absentmindedly rubbing their back in circling patterns as his mind looked forward to the future and all it promised. Nuzzling his cheek in their hair, pulling a gentle sigh from them, his thoughts soon turning to wonder if their wife did the same, and the pang of jealously returned for just a moment.

For the rest of the night, Waldo remained. He didn't sleep. Instead he watched over the Detective, adjusting positions as the night wore on. At some point, feeling a little bored, he began to root around in the side tables, discovering to his delight that the detective had a little journal.

With the growing morning light, Waldo put on his glasses and began to skim through it, all while the Detective slumbered on against him, hugging his chest like a pillow. It was interesting to read the Detective's wild theories about him. Most were completely off the mark, of course, but it surprised him which were pretty close.

How clever my Detective is.

...

The Detective slept through the early morning, before waking up with a start just before the afternoon. Waldo was gone by then, but not before leaving a little note with some revisions for their theories. Waldo stole one last glance of them through the window, soaking in the visual of their bed head, before sauntering off down the sidewalk, twirling his cane with a giddy spring in his step.

"Until next time, my dear Detective."

~FIN~

___

Hope you all liked it! I like the idea that this Waldo doesn't like the idea of sharing the Detective with his other selves, instead wanting them all to himself. Potentially this is the same Waldo turned Odlaw, but who's to say? :0) Only the clowns know.

If you like my work, and would like to support me, consider checking out my Ko-Fi. I currently have art commissions up on there, but if you think you'd like something written like this, let me know.

Also go check out @nami-ramen's art if you haven't, I love how they draw Waldo!

BUY ME A KO-FI

[damthosefandoms]

Umm will you please feed us (ME) more content about how Soda changed after the war because I’m obsessed with the shift in his personality and how drastic it would be for the rest of the gang and how not only is it soda having to cope with his new self but everyone else too….

Like the fics of him being in Vietnam are usually a little 🤨😬 but the character exploration of him post homecoming…. I eat that shit up (but I think mainly because I love angst and specifically Sodapop angst)

man I can’t even lie to you. 90% of it was I listened to (the Big Time Rush cover of) Revolution by the Beatles and went “post-Vietnam soda would’ve loved this song.” so do with that what you will.

actually i will! the Beatles are notorious for being a Soc Thing in the book, it’s stated that the Greasers like Elvis but the Socs like the Beatles, and I’ve mentioned this before probably in some tags somewhere but I think Soda’s guilty pleasure is that he doesn’t actually like Elvis, he likes the Beach Boys and the Beatles. Personally, my parents grew up in the 60s/70s so my music taste is whatever they played in the car for me growing up and this is entirely me projecting but it feels in-character to me for Soda to love all kinds of music, so anyway. One day when he’s home he’s driving around with some of the gang and Revolution comes on and they’re booing it telling him to change the station bc it’s a Beatles song but he just very passive-aggressively turns the radio volume up because that song is literally a fuck you to the world for the Vietnam War. Soda likes the Beatles now. Something is clearly wrong in the world. But they can’t tell him to turn it off now bc he’s belting the lyrics because it’s like cathartic for him. They cut his hair short when he joined the army. They cut his hair short and as a greaser that’s all he had, and now this song is all he has, too.

the rest is under a read more bc this may get long lol.

Soda would’ve turned eighteen a year after the plot (so 1966 in the book/movie timeline, 1968 in the musical timeline and the musical is the one I go by personally), and in my head it’s all pretty fast; he’s drafted and sent away as soon as he turns eighteen. His birthday’s in October and he’s gone before Christmas. He doesn’t come back until maybe the next Christmas, maybe right after—and I go back and forth on this depending how I wanna play it but I think for the sake of the rest of the gang still seeing the greaser/soc thing as something that matters, he’s just over nineteen when he gets back, and that matters bc they’re all still pretty young.

And Ponyboy’s probably still home and in high school and definitely is still in Darry’s care (he’s 16 now). and anyway at some point Pony & Soda are walking home and get jumped bc people are still mad about Bob’s death, and Pony steps in front of Soda bc Soda’s still injured from whatever causes his medical discharge from the army (I’ll get around to that) but when the socs pull a knife Soda just watches them tiredly, and he’s like “ain’t y’all realized there’s worse shit in the world than what side of town ya live on?” and that’s when they clock his knee brace and the bags under his eyes, the buzzcut hair that looks so silly on an east-sider walking around town in a too-big flannel and blue jeans, his hair’s shorter than Pony’s was after his trip to Johnny’s barber shop. Soda never ever let anyone cut his hair. He was so proud of it.

But now he’s there and they see the dogtags hanging around his neck, not the old rusty ones he wore in school but shiny new ones with his name and blood type and religion (yes, that used to be on dogtags, idk if it still is or was in Vietnam but I know it was during the Korean War so they’d know what kind of last rites or whatever it’s called to do for you if you died) (I also grew up on reruns of M*A*S*H can you tell. Soda would’ve loved that show btw) branded on there and they hesitate and Pony grips Soda’s arm tight and tells the socs to scram and they do, cause once upon a time soda was known around Tulsa for never having lost a fight and now he’s got military training and a shit ton of trauma and a bad knee.

and yes i think he went home after a year bc he got shot in the knee! I think he had a bad knee anyway (from the rodeo injury mentioned in the book) but now it’s kind of. he’s either on crutches for the rest of his life or once he recovers as best he can it depends on the day if he needs crutches or a cane or what. in an au where Johnny and Dally live, Soda post-war & Johnny bond over their legs not working like they used to anymore!!!!!!

they also bond over knowing what it’s like to be so scared you end somebody’s life, but like, that is something I haven’t thought too much about yet and don’t have the energy to put brainpower into tonight lol but I know Johnny feels bad about relating to him for a bit about it bc Soda was “protecting his country” and Johnny just stabbed Bob to save Ponyboy and thinks it’s not the same. But Soda’s trying to explain to Johnny that the “protecting his country” thing is a load of crap and they never should’ve been in Vietnam in the first place.

I don’t think any of the gang would be pro-war at all, but it’s the sixties so we’re talking blind patriotism bc they just simply Do Not Pay Attention To Politics Outside Tulsa Very Often (they’d all be liberal in today’s society tho) but I think Soda is so radicalized into the anti-war movement by the time he comes home bc of what he experienced they’re all like “ooooookay slow it down and explain one more time.”

[calissarowan]

When the wizards are going to sleep

Ogron: Stays up as long as he possibly can, working on whatever needs to get done. He usually drinks several pots of coffee to stay awake, then passes out at his desk. If he’s actually attempting to sleep, then he’ll look up the best exercises for sleeping, try all of them, obsess over if he’s doing them right, wonder why he’s not asleep yet, then glance to the clock, see it’s already four, so why bother sleeping, he may as well just stay up. On occasion, the other wizards will coax him to join them for a movie night or something of that ilk, and if they keep him on that couch long enough, he will eventually fall asleep on one of them. At that point, any noise or disturbance is expressly forbidden, and sometimes they’ll manage to keep him asleep until late afternoon the next day. He’ll be annoyed, but rested.

Gantlos: Has a lot to worry about, so he spends roughly half an hour watching animal videos on YouTube to relax, which can be a little boring for Duman, who neither wants to sleep, nor watch a kitten befriend a puppy, but he loves Gantlos enough to lie there until he’s relaxed. Nobody, I mean nobody other than Duman is allowed to know Gantlos does this. If anyone implied it, they would meet the fury of a very embarrassed destruction wizard. Eventually just nods off mid-video, and Duman puts his phone away.

Anagan: Has to check Ogron is at least close to resting before he’ll head to bed. Strictly adheres to no phone within the hour before sleep, and generally avoids bright lights, to optimise sleep. He gets up early, he’s not wasting time in the evening. Has a white noise cd (he still uses cd’s, he misses them) he plays to help block out outside noise, without preventing him hearing if one of his friends needs him (namely, so he can hear if Ogron starts screaming in his sleep.) Sometimes he’ll read a book, but more often than not, he’s just exhausted and drops right off.

Duman: Tends to be really hyper before sleep. This is when he thinks of sixty crazy things he could go do, so when Gantlos comes to bed, he’s met with Duman suggesting they go steal something, or dress up some jellyfish; the man just wants to watch his cat videos and go to sleep! Duman has to be coaxed into bed, but the promise of snuggles will get him there fast. Gantlos strokes his hair while trying to relax, and Duman calms down really quickly with that. He tends to fall asleep just after Gantlos does. He always makes sure to put Gantlos’s phone away after Gantlos finally drops off, then settles in to cuddle all night.

[miggiesmain]

Why Do You Love explained (theory)

Okay people, if you don't like SeongJoong then it's your time to clock out because this is going to be long winded and I will be talking about them romantically, and there's no stopping me.

Let's start with the lyrics so we can all know the context (please, we all do but if you haven't listened to Why Do You Love, what are you doing)

Why do you love? How? Without me, You'd never. If you want love, No one else. You can't be with anyone else, baby, Only me. Why do you love him? From beginning to end You said you couldn't imagine yourself with anyone else but me. (Yes, I do) Oh how dare you love him? I guess it was all a lie. But your words are the only thing Keeping me breathing. (Tell me why) Maybe you're not truly in love, 'Cause I know you well. I know you still think of us, Even when you're beside him. If that's not the case Then I don't understand. Oh, baby, babe, Stop making me obsess over you. Why do you love? (Why do you love?) How? (How?) Without me, You'd never. If you want love, (If you want love) No one else. (You'd never, yeah) You can't be with anyone else, baby, Only me. Why do you love? (Stop thinkin' about it) How could you? (Stop thinkin' about it) I can't stop (I must stop) I try to bear it, but, I hope this is just a misunderstanding (Ooh) It can't be true, as long as I remember you, love (Ooh) I'm sorry, I'm still here now. Tell me right now, why do you love? (Ooh)How? Without me, You'd never. If you want love (If you want love) No one else, yeah. (Ooh) You can never be with anyone else, baby, Only me, yeah. I just wait for you, and me. I'm not crazy, you know me. I'm still the same just the way I was. No you, there's no me. I'm still waiting for you, and me. I'm not okay, you know me. I'm still the same. No you, there's no me. No you, there's no me. If there's no you, there's no me.

Perfect. Okay now, follow me because this will be a wild ride and I need you to let me cook.

We thought at the beginning that this song was about heartbreak and that Hongjoong had a horrible person make him feel like he had lost everything, right? Okay, well let me counter you this: this is not about a heartbreak that happened, this is about Hongjoong not wanting to ever feel this way.

To start off let me explain some things we might already know. It's clear that Hongjoong needs to be loved "till the end of forever" meaning unconditionally, to be reminded it's not temporary, that he deserves it and that his partner will not leave him. He needs loud, shout it to the ends of the earth, love where his partner assures him he won't leave and will always love him. If you want to know where I got this from, it's from this quiz and honestly it hurt me hardcore when I took it so I recommend it.

Here's where I come in and this is absolute speculation and has NOTHING to do with Hongjoong or the members truly, so please do not pretend I'm trying to preach something that I don't know about trying to make conclusions, no, this is a happy delulu little theory and if you don't like it go away. I am not them and do not know them therefore this is a THEORY and nothing but a theory.

I believe Joong and Hwa are dating, okay? and I also believe, and through the way they've always interacted and the way Hongjoong has expressed his emotions towards Hwa in a sort of indirect way because he's a very emotional person and can't really do well with spoken words and prefers a letter or a song, that he's the type of partner that has these insecurities that have no foundation but hey, a lot of us deal with thinking our partner might find someone better than us and it's a fucked up thought to have but we have to go through it. (This is kinda a soft launch if you think about it) So I believe what the song is much more hypothetical than we think.

I believe Hongjoong had a nightmare at some point of Hwa being with someone else and that idea hit him hard and he probably couldn't just go and say, shamelessly, did you know you're not allowed to love anyone but me because I'll literally be nothing without you and I can not lose you so please never leave. I can give you everything. So instead, he decided, you know what, I might just use my best asset and put these emotions into a song for him to know.

He thinks Hwa can literally have anyone he wants and that fear haunts him because Hwa is his partner and he can't even phantom what would be of him if Hwa happened to fall for someone else or if they ever broke up. He doesn't want that and while he may not be able to convey in a conversation that he wants to be possessive and territorial with him because it probably sounds crazy when you say it out loud. In a song, however, it doesn't. It sounds romantic, the way he wants it to and I truly think that this is just Hongjoong going "Oh yeah, Hwa is my boyfriend and no matter what he will always have me at the front of his thoughts and no, he ain't leaving me and no I ain't sharing back away from my man."

So yeah, this is just the silly thought that has been plaguing my mind because honestly they're very much married your honor Matz supremacy thank you very much SeongJoong canon. I have a ton more of brainrot where this came from so if this does well I might just start posting more hehe.

[mae-gi-writes]

A TURN OF PRIORITIES . PART THREE | BANG CHAN 

Synopsis: What happens when you and Bang Chan decide to fake a relationship for the sake of making your ex-boyfriend jealous? A turn of priorities, that's what.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

——

It’s kind of scary how one thing leads to another.

You’ve never taken yourself as a believer of karma. What goes around comes around, is what they all say. You wished to destroy your boyfriend’s new love life, and you’re now facing a destruction of your own.

You have a crush on your best friend. On the guy whom you’ve seen cry in the movie theatre because of some stupid romcom, on the guy who literally burns himself every time he pulls something out of the oven, the guy who blushes with embarrassment at everything and who has an obsession over Marine animals.

You have a crush on Bang Chan. And you’re not sure how to make it go away.

To top it off, you can’t even talk about it to Minji, considering that she thinks you’re already going out with him.

After the disastrous call that occurred between you and Chan that particular afternoon, you’d kept your phone on silent and hadn’t dared check your messages for fear of what you’d find there. It’s been two days since and you’re busy frying eggs for breakfast when the sound of your ringtone — sounding eerily ghostly in the silence of the flat — breaks through like an alarm, causing you to flinch.

You check the caller ID, before quickly pressing onto the green button and placing the device at your ear, “hey Minji.”

“Good morning sunshine, so I’ve heard you and Chan have been having a little fight?”

“What?” Your voice comes out a little louder than expected and you try to tone it down when you ask, “what are you talking about?”

“Oh don’t act innocent Y/N, I saw Chan in Chem today and he looked like his dog died or something. It was obvious something was wrong,” she says and you picture her rolling her eyes, “what happened?”

“Nothing happened,” you say firmly, hoping that it will be enough to persuade her in leaving Chan alone, “he’s just having a hard time because of exams. You know how stressed out he can get.”

Minji hums, “shouldn’t you help him out? He looks like shit.”

“I have,” you lie smoothly. The lies come out so easily now, it’s been such a long time since you’ve been truthful to her. A pang of guilt hits you straight in the chest.

“How about bringing him along to Eunchae’s christmas party? She’s a classmate of mine and she’s throwing one at her flat complex because her roomies won’t be here this weekend. That might cheer him up.”

Eunchae? Not that Eunchae, surely?

“I don’t think I know her.”

“Chan might, we’re in the same Industrial Design class.”

Oh. Well. That explains everything. Of course you don’t want to show your face there. Nor do you think Chan will.

“I’ll talk to him,” you hurriedly say and quickly end the call so as not to sprout any more lies. Then, opening your messaging app after what seems to be an eternity, you scroll down your list of contacts until you click on Chan’s name.

Y/N: sup bro.

Sounds innocent enough right? You can almost imagine that nothing had happened these past two days.

Taking your eggs out of the frying pan, you lay them neatly atop your two slices of toast before heading over to the tiny dining table in the corner. As you sit down, a notification pops up. Chan’s reply.

Chan: ???

Chan: I’m confused…

Y/N: About what?

Chan: are you secretly stalking me?

Y/N: …now I’m confused.

Chan: open the door.

Y/N: ???????

On cue, the doorbell rings and the sound makes you jump, yelping slightly as you do so. Talk about coincidence.

“Hi,” Chan grins at you when you open the door, not seeming at all upset by what had transpired two days ago. Not that you’re going to remind him. It’s none of his business, after all.

“Not to be rude or anything but isn’t it a bit early for you to be here?” You ask when you glance at the clock that reads nine in the morning. Knowing Chan’s bad habit of playing till the sunrise on days he doesn’t have any lectures, it’s quite a surprise to see that he’s up and functional so early in the morning.

But you regret it the moment the words slip past your lips, for Chan’s face suddenly takes on a color so red you might think he’s gotten sunburnt in the span of a few seconds.

You don’t have to put two and two together.

“I was…uhm…I was talking to Eunchae.” He hurriedly adds, as if to make up for his pathetic excuse, “about our chem assignment from last week—“

“Oh cut the crap Chan,” you interrupt him quite rudely, plopping yourself down at the table before resuming your breakfast as you motion for him to serve himself, “were you on a date?”

“I—uh—well, no. We were—studying together. Yeah.”

You scowl and he quickly goes to grab a mug to evade your stare.

“So,” you ask while he pours himself some coffee, “so why are you here then? Isn’t it a bit rude to ditch your real girlfriend for your fake one?”

“I actually wanted to see how my best friend was doing,” he shoots you a pointed look over the rim of his mug, “and like I said, it wasn’t a—a date.”

“You’ve seen me. Happy now?”

“Wow, what is up your butt today?”

“Nothing,” you look away, clear your throat, “nothing at all. Just—“

You break off without saying anything more and the silence is enough to cover whatever excuse you were going to come up with. The argument from a few days ago rings in the back of your mind and you wonder whether he’s as tormented about the topic of discussion as you are.

Oh, who are you kidding? He’s been on a date this morning. Clearly he knows exactly what he’s doing. Ad not feeling bad about it in the slightest.

And why should he? It’s not like you’re really dating!

“Hey,” it’s not his voice, but the touch of his fingers along your face. You blink, only to see him tucking a few stray strands behind the curve of your ear. An action he’s come to become familiar with from that last date. Still, it’s surprising, considering that Chan has never been so fond of touching other people.

“You wanna talk about what happened that night?”

Your eyes slip from his face to your empty plate. Something knots in the middle of your stomach. No.

“Nothing happened that night,” comes your mumble.

You feel him shift, and then, a soft lingering touch along the side of your arm. His shoulder, pressing into yours.

He’s warm. Warmer than you’ve expected.

A surge of comfort rises in the grooves of your chest.

“It really wasn’t a date, if you must know,” Chan’s mumble feels like a hundred knives pricking into your skin, “we were just working. Really—“

”I don’t care Chan,” you chortle.

He blinks at you, “Okay,” he drags out the word, then continues, “can I ask you something then?”

“What?”

“Why were you so upset that night? When I told you she liked me?”

“I wasn’t upset.”

He looks at you as if saying really? And unconsciously, your hands start moving around the cutlery along the plate; crossing them, uncrossing them. Crossing them.

“Okay fine, maybe I was.”

“What for?”

And that is when you give him a wan smile, “nothing that you should worry about, Chan. It’s girl things.”

“Don’t patronize me. That won’t scare me away like when I was younger.”

“Aw man, that used to work all the time,” memories of you taunting Chan about your period and the amount of blood drenching the toilet suddenly flickers through your mind, causing a small smile to dangle upon your lips, “but really, there’s no need to worry. I’m fine now.”

As much as you want to kick up a fuss about slowly losing your best friend to someone else, it wouldn’t be fair to the other girl for you to suddenly sprout your feelings out loud when he’s just gotten confessed to, especially when this is probably the first time since forever since he’s gotten a shot at normal dating life.

Who are you to interfere with his happiness?

“By the way, speaking of Eunchae,” you tell him right when he’s about to leave. Currently shoving his feet into his sneakers, he looks up at you, lips parted and in that particular moment, you feel you might kiss him.

“Uhm,” thoughts scramble as you try to stammer your way out of this sudden knot of flustered embarrassment, “will you be going to her party?”

“You’re invited?” He frowns.

“Y-Yeah. Minji invited me.”

Chan straightens then, body looming over yours and causing you to tilt your head up and— has he always been taller than you were? Your eyes flicker down to the arm slinging his backpack over his shoulder. Veins.

Oh, beautiful. You quickly snap your gaze away, “so, are you coming or not?”

“Are you?”

“Probably.”

“Then I’m coming,” a lopsided smile breaks cross his face, “can’t let my girlfriend go alone now, can I?”

Your heart stutters for a beat.

Your mouth opens, closes, then opens again. Speechless.

Chan merely chuckles before reaching over to ruffle your hair, “alright, see you tomorrow.”

“Bye,” you say blankly, not realizing that he’s gone until he’s halfway down the hall. It is only then that you manage to shake yourself out of this sudden reverie.

You quickly slam both hands cross your cheeks in growing irritation. Get a grip, Y/N! What is wrong with you?!

Girlfriend. He’d called you his girlfriend.

Not for long. But long enough.

——

You immediately feel like running away the moment you step through Eunchae’s apartment door.

The doorway is lit up with Christmas garlands — red and green and gold — partnered with fairy lights glimmering in welcome as you step through only to bump into someone’s back. The place is packed, god knows Eunchae is one of the popular kids at school, being one of the top pianists to be majoring in both music and science. The space is compact but open, with the kitchen on your far right separated by an island decorated in black and white marble. To your left is a spacious living room filled decked with vast couches of white-colored leather, on which sit a crowd of people engrossed currently engrossed in the Super Mario competition going on, shouts and jeers filling the air at intervals.

Regret pools inside your stomach and makes your mouth go dry. Maybe you should turn back, after all. You barely know this girl—

“Y/N!”

Shit. Too late. You swivel, coming face to face with none other than Minji. She beams at you, sparkly silver dress and heels to match, her face dolled up like a beauty pageant. She looks stunning.

“Hi,” you lean into the big hug she gives you, “there’s so many people here.”

“Yeah, Eunchae is a bit of a social butterfly. Let’s go say hello!” And before you can protest that maybe you should get a drink first, Minji is already tugging you along through the throng of bodies as the beats echo through the walls, seeming to come from the outside terrace.

“Eunchae!” Minji quickly directs herself towards a pretty girl with dyed blonde hair and a pretty smile who had been deep in conversation with one of the jocks that you recognized as Minho’s friend Seungmin, “hi! Thanks for inviting me!”

“Oh hey Minji, you made it!” Eunchae greets her back with a one-armed hug, then glancing over to you and grinning, “thanks for coming. Who’s your friend?”

“This is Y/N, you probably know her. She’s Chan’s best friend.”

“Oh!” Something lights up in Eunchae’s eyes, “so you’re the Y/N he keeps talking about. Lovely to finally meet you!”

You shake her hand, glad her fake nails aren’t piercing through your skin at this rate, “likewise,” you force a smile, knowing full well why Chan might be in love with her. You would be too, if you were a guy. She’s everything anyone has ever asked for.

Pretty, gorgeous, friendly…and most of all, a perfect fit for Chan.

“You haven’t gotten any drinks yet,” she remarks, grinning coyly before pointing at the marble counter on the far right, “please, go help yourselves. There’s everything but water.”

You find yourself cracking a smile, even chuckling a little as you raise a hand at her, “thanks, will try to find something drinkable.”

The party is now in full swing. Jeering, shouting, music blasting from the speakers and reverberating through your skull. With a glass of whisky and coke in hand, Minji doesn’t hesitate to drag you to the dance floor and together, you start swaying. The air smells of alcohol and sweat but you find you don’t quite mind, not when you’re busy enjoying the way the beats swim through your bloodstream as the alcohol takes over logic and reason.

At some point you feel a pair of hands fluttering over your hips. Turning with a scowl at the ready — and a fist curled just in case — you’re surprised to find that it’s Chan. But not Chan.

He’s gazing down at you in amusement, corner of his lips tilted and an eyebrow raised as if to as you what in the world you were doing. But he’s ditched the glasses and his hair is gelled up. His black t-shirt is fitted and the jean jacket he’s thrown over it subtly emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders.

You can’t help but suck in a breath. He looks gorgeous.

Instead you blurt out, “you’re late!”

“My bad,” Chan yells over the music and though it’s definitely not Chan behaviour to be touching you so casually, you actually don’t mind savoring his touch a little more and you lean in closer, slightly closer as he adds, “if it helps, Minho was the one who was late. I had to wait for him for thirty minutes.”

You chortle, rolling your eyes and take another sip of your drink, “d’you want one?” You wiggle it towards your best friend.

“Nah,” he shakes his head, nose wrinkling and you swear something clenches in your heart when he does that, “I’ll pass.”

“Weakling.”

He jabs you playfully in the ribs and you giggle, slinging an arm around his shoulder before dragging him to the dance floor. Minji appears a few seconds later with Minho in tow, hips swinging and with a smile so big it might tear her face apart as she hangs onto her boyfriend like he’s the only source of physical support. The act makes you turn away, gulp down the rest of your drink in hopes that it would take away the itch in your heart.

At some point in the evening you find yourself on the couch competing against complete strangers turned into friends, shouting as you urge your car to go fastest, dodging bananas and throwing your head back in laughter as the boy beside you received a red tortoise shell.

“Shit!” He buries his face into the pillow on his lap, “ugh! That’s it, I’m dead!”

You whoop in glee when the finish line appears on your screen, “And I won!”

“You’re just lucky,” he grumbles. Then, after a few beats of hesitation, reaches his hand out to you, “I’m Felix.”

“Y/N,” you shake his hand with a grin, “so I take it Mario Kart isn’t your forte?”

“You’re the one who probably rigged the game.”

“Oh I did not!” You gasp mockingly, “you’re accusing me right now?”

“Don’t lie to me, I saw the way your eyebrows were wriggling when we were playing.”

“Oh so I’m a witch now?”

He can’t help but laugh, “have we met before?”

“Not that I know of. I’m from the landscape architect major,” you lean back against the couch as someone else asks for the remote. You toss it to them before turning back to Felix, noticing the flecks of golden brown scattered across his face, “and you?”

“Bio-Chem.”

You throw your hands in the air, “why is everyone in Bio-Chem?!”

“Maybe because it’s the most popular major that our university offers?”

You shoot him a look, rising up from your seat to stretch, “I’m going to get a drink. You want something?”

“I’ll come with you.”

You make your way to the kitchen after having pushed through the crowd of people — it seems they keep increasing every hour — and it isn’t until you reach the kitchen counter that you spot Chan and Eunchae flirting, heads close together and giggling like sickly school children. It makes you want to hurl something.

Felix, unaware of your conflicted feelings, calls out, “hey Chan, man! Long time no see.”

“Hey,” Chan starts to grin, only for it to fall flat the moment his eyes find yours. Instantly, a frown clouds his brows, “you okay, Y/N?”

“Never been better,” you all but snarl, pushing past his figure to get to the fridge. You grab a new bottle of coke, pour yourself some. Grab the vodka to fill it up to the brim, the drink sizzling like a potion.

“You drunk?” Chan’s question throws you off guard. Spinning around to see him, a scowl imprints itself on your face, “not that it’s your business. But no, I’m not drunk. Thanks for asking.”

You don’t wait for your best friend to say anything else. Grabbing Felix’s elbow and pulling the said man out of the kitchen, you keep on walking until you’re finally out onto the terrace and the cool wind gently caresses your face, causes your hair to tickle your cheeks, cool them down. It’s a stark contrast to the heat along the back of your neck.

You hadn’t noticed it but Felix’s eyes are straying over your features, searching them as though you’re a puzzle he’s trying to decipher.

“You okay?” He finally yells out over the music, “you look like you’re gonna be sick.”

“I’m fine,” you force a smile. Then, you make a grab for his hand and tug him towards the dance floor, “come on!” You try to add some cheerfulness into your voice, “I want to dance!”

The hours easily slip by when you lose yourself into the music once more. You can almost ignore the small hole that’s slowly spreading across your chest every time Chan’s face flashes through your mind. Chugging drink after drink, you allow yourself to be woozy, to get drunk in an attempt to forget. You don’t want to think any more. You don’t want to hurt anymore.

So you keep on dancing. Dancing even if your feet hurt. Even if your heart is breaking.

Dancing even when Felix says goodbye because he has to go home.

It is only when a hand encloses itself around your arm that you whip around.

“What?!” You snap a little too harshly into Chan’s face, causing him to wince.

“You’re drunk<“ he says simply while dragging you out of the dance floor, “come on—“

“Let me go!” You’re turning and twisting against him, but he pays you no mind and that infuriates you even more. Hot tears start burning at the corner of your eyes as you keep on tugging at his grip, hating the way he thinks he can force you to see him when he’s the last thing you wish for at this very moment.

But Chan is too strong for you to compete, dragging you all the way to the bathroom before closing the door with a satisfied click.

Your body slumps against the closed toilet lid as a tired ache spreads through your calves, your legs. You’re tired. You’ve been dancing for god knows how long.

“What do you want?” You try not to slur your words. They come out slurred anyway, it’s easier said than done.

Chan lets out a soft sigh. He crouches before you so that his face becomes level with yours, and in his eyes you notice the concern swimming through those maroon pupils, hating the way it causes warmth to spread through your chest.

You look away, “stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t know what to do with me.”

“I really don’t know what to do with you,” he shakes his head, “why are you angry at me?”

“I’m not angry at you.”

“So what are you? Why are you looking at me like that?”

The words scratch your throat like sandpaper. But you blurt them out anyway, “because I can’t stand seeing you flirt with that Eunchae girl. It pisses me off—“

“So you’re jealous? Is that what it’s about?”

“I’m not jealous—“

“Then what is it? I don’t get it Y/N—”

“I don’t get it either!” You yell out with such emotion it makes him take a breath. A sob escapes your mouth, the words broken along your tongue, “I have no fucking clue and it’s fucking with my head! And I’m so tired! I’m so tired of—“

Your words drown in mid-yelp when Chan’s hands cradle your face, pull you in, to crash his lips to yours.

You gasp, wriggling in his hold; this is all going to end badly—

But his lips follow yours like a magnet, kissing your next set of words away as they dissolve upon your lips.

He’s warm. His kiss is warmer, lighting a fire inside your stomach and making you all but melt into him with a soft sigh.

Chan tilts his head, mouth slanting even more intimately against yours as your nose brushes his. It’s intoxicating, the way his lips move against yours like water currents finding a rhythm, the way his hands slide to your hips to grip them in place, rooting you to his chest.

A shudder runs through you, hands sliding up to the back of his head. A small moan echoes from the back of his throat, he kisses you deeper, tongue gently sliding out to run along your lips.

You part for him like warm butter and a wanton breath falls from your mouth the moment his wet muscle meets yours in a dance, an unfamiliar one, but not unwelcome. You can’t help but grip him tighter to you, tilting your head to match his rhythm, him pulling you so close you’re almost tumbling onto his lap.

You swear your entire brain is filled with fireworks, sparks exploding left, right and center as he keeps kissing you like his life is about to end, like you’re never going to see each other again. He kisses, you note, like a man starved of oxygen and he’s suddenly found an addictive source. Like a man on drugs.

You’re so entangled with each other that you’re not sure where your bodies end and begin, limbs entwined like barks on a tree. And it isn’t until Chan’s thumb gently slides over your rib cage that you let out a pained whimper.

He stills, drawing back ever so slightly to look into your eyes. His pupils are dark, dazed and drunken on the scent and the taste of you. Nobody says a thing for a whole minute as you keep on gazing at each other through heavy lids.

His mouth is perfect, puckered and pink from your assault. He’s beautiful.

You’re fucked.

——-

Yup. Definitely fucked.

You barely escaped Chan that night, having muttered an abstract excuse and quickly slipping past him while he was still in shock of your whole encounter. You were secretly glad and disappointed at the same time that he hadn’t come for you, hadn’t followed you out, and as you trailed back home in your now-broken heels, you couldn’t help but feel like something had ripped at the hope that had built inside your chest.

But as the true avoider of problems that you were, you decided that playing it safe but just ignoring the elephant in the room is the wisest choice at the moment. God knows Eunchae does not need to know what had transpired between you two, especially not when there is hope for a budding relationship. They’re not even going out, and yet you still feel sick. Who are you to be interfering? Why are you always interfering and getting in the middle of things?

So you play it cool, taking the December break as an excuse to not see Chan despite his messages pleading for you two to meet. He still wants some clarification as to what happened that night, but your head is still just as muddled and you have no idea what to say to him.

Chan: Y/N, I really need to talk to you.

Y/N: hey dude sorry, I’ll be a bit busy the whole month actually. You know with Christmas and everything. Let’s talk in Jan when we have some free time :)

Chan: Y/N this isn’t funny anymore

Y/N: nobody said it was supposed to be funny. I’m just busy.

Chan: please

Y/N: …I’m sorry.

He hadn’t responded after that so you hope that somewhere he’s ignoring you to spend some time with the girl of his dreams. Eunchae had been the first to outwardly say that she liked him, and it wouldn’t be fair for you to now confess your feelings.

Then, there was also the issue of Minji bugging you to double date again because of that stupid Christmas market that she simply could not go alone. Turns out that she’s quite persistent about it when she turns up in front of your flat on a Friday afternoon, flanked by both Minho and Chan.

You would’ve laughed at how hilarious the situation is — your ex-boyfriend with the guy you’re crushing on, if not for the fact that nothing had been resolved in the first place.

“I told you I’m not feeling good,” you say weakly as Minji quickly ruffles through your wardrobe, chucking what seems fit for this occasion while the two boys are waiting in the living room, “you guys should go without me.”

“Absolutely not. Chan looks miserable because you haven’t hung out with him at all these days. What’s up with that?” She looks over her shoulder at you, lips pursed, “did you have a fight or something?”

“No! Nothing like that.”

“Then make it right please. He’s been boring us with all his sulking.”

You wish you could tell her. You’re really aching for a second opinion. But everything is now just a mess that you have no idea how to clean and telling her would mean that you’d have to admit to all the ill feelings that had built up inside you all along.

You can’t do that to Minji, not even when she had been the one to steal Minho.

“Y/N, promise you’ll make it okay by dinner time? I can’t stand Chan like this any longer.” Minji pleads, bringing you back to reality.

You blink at her, try for a weak smile, “sure. I’ll try.”

It’s safe to say that the whole outing is awkward, what with you and Chan trying to avoid each other’s gaze while Minji and Minho are the perfect couple in love. Something inside your chest burns with jealousy, like a wildfire that can’t be put out no matter how much you look away. How come they get to be happy? How come you can’t share this happiness?

"Waaah look at all those lights!" Minji bounces from one foot to the other as you enter the market bustling with commotion. It's almost christmas time and people are busy buying gifts, apple cinammon wafting through the air on one side, crepes and chocolate on the other. Merchants are displaying pretty christmas pottery while some are exposing christmas sweaters, calling out people from the street as christmas jingles fill the air with excitement.

Your eyes take in the mulled wine brewing in the corner. Dang. That looks appetizing. And you probably need it.

A tug at your coat causes you to turn, blinking up at your best friend.

"We lost Minji."

He lets go to resume his walk and something lodges in the back of your throat at his posture. It'a tense, hands in pockets, like he doesn't want to be here.

"Hey Chan," you're quick to put a hand on his shoulder, causing him to glance down at you.

"What?" His eyes are searching, looking around to not focus on you. Your heart tugs with pain and you say, "can we...talk?"

"What, now?"

"Y--Yeah."

There's a beat of awkward silence as you wait for his answer. Then, Chan's hand grabs yours before he tugs and as you stumble against him you can't help flashing back to the way he'd gripped you to him that night, with almost desperate passion to kiss you senseless. Breathless.

It makes you warm all over.

There's a small area away from the big crowd, cozy and intimate with warming stations. Chan orders two mulled wines and brings them over to you, perched on a small wooden bench just big enough to fit two intimate individuals.

Your shoulder presses against his as he takes a seat and hands you your drink, which you mutter out a thank you before taking a sip. To be honest, you're not quite sure what to say, what to do, despite this being your idea.

You just know you have to make things right.

"I'm...sorry," you mutter into your cup in hopes that he'll hear, the shame burning the tips of your ears pink, "about avoiding you on purpose."

He takes a sip, shudders, "I just need to know why."

You press your lips together, "I...I didn't want things to get all complicated, especially with ...with you likig Eunchae and everything--"

"Who said so?"

You blink at him, "huh?"

"Who said I liked Eunchae?"

He looks away while taking another sip, not quite meeting your eye. You must be dreaming to see the slight blush scattering his cheeks and your brain tries to wrap itself around the new facts being thrown your way.

"Y--You did?" Your remark comes off more like a question. You swear something combusts in your chest as Chan turns to face you, thigh brushing yours while he leans a little closer so that you can feel the warmth of his breath.

"I said Eunchae liked me, but I never said I liked her back."

"You said you wanted to try it out with her."

"Yeah I did," Chan's eyes flit down to your lips, back up to your eyes and something in those dark pupils make you shiver, "until..."

You watch him, unsure. Your words are a mere breath, "until?"

He seems to struggle for words and something like hope sparks through your chest at the thought that maybe, just maybe--

No. Impossible.

"Y'know what, we don't have to have this conversation. You and Eunchae's relationship has nothing to do with me and I shouldn't be interfering," you stand up as you speak, already set on walking away in hopes that he doesn't see the way your heart is breaking, hurting, "let's go find Minji--"

Chan's fingers close around your wrist. He tugs you with enough force that it sends you toppling, yelping as you try to balance your cup--

Only to land in his lap.

One arm laces around your waist, the other slipping up to grip your chin and tilting your head down to face him. At this point, you're almost combusting in place, skin breaking out into sweat and heat rushing up to your face.

Chan's eyes meet yours. They lock, searching, gazing so intently you wish to squirm. Your brain's turned to mush.

"I--I--I--" you're a blubbering mess, scrambling away in protest. But Chan's grip is strong and you're secretly glad you're in a corner against a row of bushes hiding you away from most of the crowd, for this position is more than scandalous, "Wh--What do you--What are you doing Chan?!"

"Y/N," his voice, unlike yours, is calm. Controlled. He's looking at you with a confidence that makes you bite your lip and want to run away.

"W--What? Stop--stop looking at me like that."

An amused smile dances across his lips. He leans even closer, and holds you still when you try to lean back, yelping slightly, "like what?"

His breaths are warm, smell like mint against your skin.

His cup is long done and crumbled on the ground, and he plucks your cup gently from your hold to place it beside his.

"I--I don't know, just--stop, you--you're making me nervous!"

"Am I? He chuckles, "that's new." Pausing for a beat to take in your features, you avert your eyes and decide to find a sudden interest in a loose thread hanging off his shirt, “tell me the truth Y/N, why were you really angry that night?”

“What night?” You mumble in an act of defense.

Chan Chuckles lowly, “the night at Eunchae’s party. Why were you mad?”

“I wasn’t mad.”

“Y/N,” the way your name rolls off his tongue is enough to make you shiver and shut up. There’s a moment of silence where he searches your gaze, prodding, eyebrows furrowed and intent on your face. And you, teeth biting down onto your lower lip as a nervous knot builds in the back of your throat.

You can’t help but break underneath his gaze, “I…” you trail off, not sure how to say it aloud without sounding pathetic or stupid, “I was jealous. I was angry because I was jealous of you and Eunchae.”

“Why?”

Your eyes snap up to his, “because,” you murmur out brokenly, “I—I can’t stand the thought of you with someone else, because it makes me mad to think about the time you’re spending with her, because…because I like you.”

There. You’d said it. Out in the open. And Chan, his face unchanged, shifts you in his lap to get a better grip on your hips, his eyes darkening with emotion as he stares you down. It’s almost as if he’s still waiting for you to continue.

Your hands start wringing themselves together in knots, hoping that the ground would magically swallow you up and steal you away from this very moment. God knows you’re dying of shame and embarrassment with the way Chan is drilling holes into your skull.

“Chan?” You call out tentatively, “can you…say something?”

He takes a breath. Stills. His whole body quivers and he looks away for a second, as if needing to catch his breath.

And when he turns back to you, you’re glad you’re already sitting, for the warmth surging through his orbs makes your stomach giggly and legs feeling like jelly.

“Glad to know I’m not the only idiot who's in love,” he finally whispers out.

It takes you a minute. You blink. The words replay in your head. Wait—did he mean that? Is that what he’s actually saying? Does he—

No. This is a mistake. It surely is. It can’t be.

He chuckles, chest vibrating and breaking you out of your sudden reverie, “what’s with this face? You look like I just told you I was going to go to the North Pole.”

“N—No, I mean—What—Chan, I thought you—but what about—“ you’re a babbling mess at this stage and laughing even harder, Chan pulls you a little closer before his hand slides up to the back of your neck.

He doesn’t hesitate to pull you in. You don’t fight him.

The kiss you share is soft. Tender, and unhurried. Definitely unlike your first kiss in Eunchae’s bathroom. Chan is warm and tastes sweet and bitter at the same time, the tinge of mulled wine on his mouth as he draws away.

There’s a dust of blush on his cheeks and you can’t help but feel the satisfaction from that. At least you know you have that much of an effect. If anything.

“What about—what about Eunchae?” You can’t help but blurt out.

Chan presses his lips together. Then, he shakes his head, “I really enjoyed the attention at first. I never thought anyone would ever be interested in me. To be honest, I was curious,” one of his hands reach up to rub the back of his neck. Probably in nervousness, “but I don’t know. It didn’t click. I found myself…wanting to see you.”

“Hmm,” you hum, fingers playing with the material of his shirt, “interesting. Tell me more.”

“Ah wait a minute,” he frowns, “what about you? What happened to you and Minho? I never thought I was on your radar, until—“

“Until what?”

“Until you—“ the blush is back full force, springing through his cheeks like a bushfire, “until you decided to snog me in the bathroom—“

You gasp, “you snogged me first! You’re the one who kissed me!”

“I—I thought that’s what you wanted!”

“Well—yeah but I mean—it was your move!”

“Okay okay, I just couldn’t help myself,” Chan mutters while burying his face into the crook of your neck, breaths warm and tingling the skin there as his nose skims over your skin, “you looked so pretty with that outfit and—I don’t know, you were jealous and I found it so cute I—I’m sorry. I should’ve asked—“

You scoff to hide the way your cheeks are flushing at his compliments, “good thing I did want to snog your face off.”

He grumbles, nuzzles even more into you if that’s possible. You can’t help but smile, arms tentatively wrapping around his neck to draw him closer into a hug. You want to feel bad for Eunchae. You really do. But right now, sitting in Chan’s arms had never felt so right. The butterflies are roaring against your rib cage, fluttering with such vigor you feel like squirming. You don’t have to check to know that you’re currently grinning from ear to ear. It’s a different feeling, like you’re flying.

You never want to get back on the ground.

“So—what do we do?” You ask after a moment of silence, “are we dating? Or like…”

He pulls his face from your neck with amusement dancing in his eyes, “well, I think maybe I should take you out on a date first.”

“Oh,” just the thought renders you into a colored mess, “right…”

“Are you blushing?” Chan tilts his head to gaze up at you in endearment, warmth flowing from his eyes and making you squirm in his lap, “n—no, it’s just— I’m not used to this,” you mutter back.

“Yeah well, me neither,” Chan murmurs. Then, before you can protest he’s already tugged you back into a full-fledged embrace, nose nuzzling your collarbone and arms gripping you tight against his chest.

“Hey lovebirds!”

You scramble out of Chan’s lap so quickly that you almost fall face first on the gravel. Quickly finding your footing and shooting up into a standing position, you find Chan doing the same as you spot Minji’s head popping through the bushes, a Cheshire smile curling upon her lips.

“Well well well,” she cheers, “seems you two made up, didn’t you?”

You scowl, stomping past her as you say, “come on, I haven’t seen all of the market yet.”

“Well wait for me!” She chirps with another giggle, bouncing up behind you before linking arms and chattering on away about how the Christmas decorations are the cutest this year.

Chan watches you as he follows close behind, affection filling his chest and a grin breaking across his face.

I love her.

——-

"What if he doesn't like it?"

"He'll love it Y/N," Minji says while brushing back a few stray strands from your face. She ties up your hair in an elegant half ponytail, topping it off with a simple black ribbon, "there. You look pretty. There's no way Chan can't find you attractive."

"I know, but how am I supposed to act with him now? It's so...weird..." you blush just at the thought of having dinner face to face with him, the thought of his eyes locking on your own so intimately...

Oh just don't think about it! You feel like slapping yourself in the face. Why does it matter whether you’re alone or not? This is what you’ve been waiting for all this time, wasn’t it?

“What if it’s actually really awkward and we don’t know what to say to each other?” Your mutter s louder than you expect and Minji looks down at you, hands grasping your shoulders as she takes in your words.

“Trust me,” she says with a firmness you can’t quite compete with, “you’ll be fine.”

The doorbell rings just as you’re about to answer her that no, you won’t be fine and nothing about this is fine. Minji hurries over to get the door, barely giving you time to get your senses into check before the it swings open.

Chan gazes at you, blinks at Minji, then back at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

And when he speaks, he is breathless.

“Hey,” he says, almost shyly. Like he can’t quite meet your eye, “you ready?”

“H-Hi,” you stutter out, cheeks flaming in pink as you scramble to get your bag together before scurrying towards the door, all while ignoring Minji, “so—sorry, were you waiting for long?”

“No no,” he smiles at you and you swear a million butterflies explode throughout your chest at this simple action, “I just came, and—“ he pauses for a second, eyes glancing over your outfit before locking with your own. His smile widens like a little boy who one found with his hand in a cookie jar. Not his cookie jar, “you look nice.”

“Thanks,” you sound breathless as you answer, and quickly try to come back down to earth, “you too.”

It is definitely weirder to be hanging out with Chan knowing that there’s the possibility of romance in the air. It’s not everyday that you get to be so close to the one you’re crushing on. It’s only just recently that you got to see Chan as more than just a friend, like a man, and the thought is unsettling, yet thrilling. One you can’t quite explain in simple words.

He brings you to the movies to watch a christmas-themed blockbuster. You don’t complain, continuing on the stream of chatter as you line up for some popcorn. It’s almost as if everything is normal between you two. Nothing feels as out of place as it should’ve, and slowly you find yourself relaxing the more the evening wears on.

“So is this another one of your stupid romcoms?” You can’t help but tease him as you make your way inside. There are numerous vacant seats and you follow Chan up the stairs until he finds a suitable row.

“it’s not just a stupid romcom okay?” Chan hisses back, and his response causes you to grin in the dark, “stories have happy endings too, you know.”

“Yeah yeah, so you keep saying,” you tease.

“D’you wanna bet that you’ll love this one?” He raises a brow at you.

“Pfft. You’re gonna bet on my reaction?”

His stare is serious, it almost makes you want to squirm in place. Heat rushing to the back of your neck, you hurriedly add on, “alright alright, what will you do for me if I don’t like the movie?”

“You grant me a dare.”

“A what?“ You feel your heart drop. Surely he hasn’t just suggested—

“A dare. You get to do any dare that I order you too,” satisfied, Chan crosses his arms over his chest with a grin, “fair deal?”

“Wha— how is that fair?!”

“It’s totally fair…if you’re honest with me,” he sends you a pointed look.

In the end you had to agree, grumbling a little under your breath as you did so and Chan, grinning from ear to ear, had gently prodded your shoulder with his. You couldn’t help but smile at his action.

He’s not one for skinship. And yet, he makes sure you’re always feeling loved no matter the circumstances.

“So?” He asks as soon as the ending credits roll in, “did you like it?”

In the end, you’d had to agree and abide by his rules. The movie had been — in all honesty — better than expected, though you’re quite unsure whether it had been because of Chan’s company or because it was genuinely good.

“Fine, what’s your dare?” You ask sullenly as you make your way to the exit. You feel like a child about to sulk in a corner.

But Chan laughs lightly, bopping you on the forehead as he says, “ hold my hand, all the way until the end of this date.”

You blink at him, “what if I have to go pee?”

“Then we'll go pee together."

"Didn't you say you didn't like holding hands?"

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Chan stiffen, colour spreading through his face, "yeah well..." he mutters, "it was different then."

His reaction is adorable, and as you stumble out into the street -- night has fallen and there are more people bumbling about -- you reach your hand out without looking at him, eyes averted to the ground before you feel his warmth wrap arouns yours.

His hand is large, had always been in comparison to yours. Somehow, the way his fingers close around yours makes you see stars.

You find a cozy little restaurant on the corner of the street where the christmas market is taking place. It’s called “Le Coin Ideale”, a small French-owned cafe with old retro vinyls stuck to the wall and faded-out couches scattered all over the place like an expired, outdated living room.

“This is cute,” you can’t help but mutter out as you take your seat. Chan flashes you a grin while handing you one of the menus stacked atop the table, “I found it by accident when I was running late for my chem exam, once.”

“You? Running late?” Your nose wrinkles, “somehow, that doesn’t seem to make so much sense.”

“You know why?” He leans forward, the grin blossoming on his face with such mischief you almost regret what you said, “the night before, you had called me because you couldn’t sleep. And even though I knew I was going to shoot myself in the foot the next day for not sticking to my sleep schedule, I just didn’t want to let you go.”

“What?” You blink at him, astounded by what he just said, “wait, how come I don’t remember—“

“I never told you my exam was the day after. You would’ve killed me.”

In response, you slap his arm. He winces, yelping out a protest, “what was that for?!”

“For being an idiot,” you grumble and avert your gaze, heat spreading through your cheeks. How adorable. He’d actually sacrificed his sleep for you. “Don’t do that again.”

Ordering two cups of hot chocolate and sandwiches — at this point you were just too engrossed in what Chan had to say that you don’t care what you’re eating as long as it’s food — the two of you keep up the stream of chatter as memories flood in. He reminds you of how, back in high school, you would hide in the art room just to get away from the crowd. Despite being popular due to your position on the cheerleading squad, you’d never been a fan of too much attention. Chan used to hang out with you there, painting portraits of your face, your side profile, your eyes, as you spoke about everything and anything.

“I always thought it was weird that you were on the cheerleading team,” Chan admits while munching through his sandwich.

“Hm?” You frown, “why? I think I was doing pretty good.”

“Yeah you were. You were one of the best they had. But, I don’t know,” he lifts his shoulders in a shrug, “you never seemed to fit in with the rest of the girls. Most of them were unbearable.”

You can’t help but giggle, “they’re not that bad. You’re the one who just hated talking to new people.”

“Yeah maybe,” he grabs a napkin as he speaks, reaching up to wipe your lips without a second’s hesitation and causing your heart to flutter, “I don’t think I’ve changed that much since high school.”

You’re trying really hard to keep holding onto his gaze despite the amount of heat frolicking inside your chest. You feel like you suddenly can’t breathe.

“I—well, I think no one has,” your eyes avert themselves to your drink and you quickly take a sip, “but I think we’ve become better.”

“What do you mean?”

“We haven’t changed. We’ve just…blossomed. Into who we are supposed to be. We don’t have to change for that.”

“Poet Y/N strikes again,” Chan’s lips curl up into a smile. He lets his head drop into his palm, tilting his face to gaze at you, “aren’t you cute.”

“Shut up,” you attempt to kick his shin.

He yelps, pulling his feet back as far as they can go, “wow, this is how you thank me for complimenting you? I’m hurt, Y/N.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Just for you,” his face breaks out into a grin then. You can’t help but grin back, heart soaring at the affection swimming in his gaze.

If you’d had any doubts about Chan loving you then, the way he’s looking at you throws every doubt out of the window.

He’s just so beautiful.

The afternoon sets in with golden sunlight streaming through the trees adorning the park and, considering the nice weather — albeit for the frozen ice to be wary of — it’s the best occasion for a walk.

“Do you know swans mate for life?” You say as you skirt around a patch of frozen ice.

“Like, actually?”

“Yeah. They’re one of the few animals that do. It’s kinda cute.”

The sun is warm as it hits your skin, a great contrast to the cold wind trickling through your hair. You push your beanie down in an attempt to savor more warmth, “they’re a lot like humans in that sense.”

“Not all humans mate for life, though.”

“No, they don’t,” you pull a grimace, “though I believe that people would be happier if they just committed—woah!”

There’s no way to steady yourself when your foot goes swinging forward, body lurching back as a cry escapes your lips and if it weren’t for Chan’s arms grabbing a hold of you and pulling you to his chest, you would’ve probably gotten a big bruise all along your back.

“Thanks,” you stutter it out between chattering teeth. It’s suddenly a lot colder now, “jeez, that’s dangerous.”

“You okay?” Chan asks, arms still wrapped around your middle, not letting go.

You nod firmly and, as he slowly sets you right upon your feet once again, you notice his hand sliding down your arm to interlace his fingers with yours.

“Ha,” you can’t help but chuckle, glancing up at him, “smooth.”

He’s blushing. And yet, grinning like there’s no tomorrow, “I know.”

The rest of the evening is spent browsing through the various stalls. You try on funny Christmas hats, take photos of each other as you laugh, and get to buy some mulled wine along the way. Christmas songs are blasting through the air like a national anthem but you find you don’t mind, it when your heart feels like it’s about to burst with emotion at any given moment.

Afterwards, as Chan walks you back home — much to your protest since you live opposite ways — you ask him how long he’s been feeling this way.

His answer is a shrug, “can’t tell. I just know it happened very suddenly. One day you were just a friend, and the next—I felt like you could be something more,” he ducks his head in embarrassment, eyes finding the ground crunching underneath your feet, “the thing is, once I realized—it just made sense. You know?”

“Yeah,” a smile breaks across your face, “yeah I know what that feels like.”

Reaching your apartment too soon for your liking, you make a quick work of unlocking the door and quickly tossing your shoes aside by the wall, "woah, I'm actually very tired."

There's no response, causing you to look back at Chan, standing by the doorway and shuffling on his feet like an awkward duck.

"Uhm," his hand is back at his neck, eyes darting between you and the apartment, "I--I'm not sure I should come in."

"Wha--why not?"

"Because it doesn't seem appropriate," he blushes.

"Dude it's fine, it's not like you haven't been in here--" the thought halts you in your tracks. You bite your lip. Oh. Right. You are in an established relayionship now. It's different.

"I--I mean," you stammer out, turning back around to set the shopping bags on the table as a source of distraction, "Yeah it's fine. Just--yeah come in and stop being so awkward."

You pour him some hot chocolate and bring it over to the couch where Chan has taken his place, as still as a solid rock, and he paints such a cute picture of innocence that a grin breaks across your face upon tracing his features.

"You know, it's still just me," you try to lighten the mood in hopes that Chan would actually stop being so tense, "you don't have to sit so straight either."

"I know," taking a shaky breath, he relaxes back into the couch and it seems like a weight has suddenly lifted from his shoulders, "yeah sorry. I'm just still not used to--you know..."

"Yeah I do," your grin widens and without warning, you swoop in to peck his cheek.

He lets out a sound between a yelp and a gasp as you chuckle, "you're cute, Chan."

"Don't call me that," he narrows his eyes at you.

"But you are," you're trying your best to mask your laugh but it's impossible with him looking so offendes by your words, "I'm sorry, it's just--I can't it, you're adorable--"

"Don't test me, Y/N."

"Ooh, what's big boy Chan gonna do huh?" You lean over, eyes sparkling, "that sounds scary--hey!"

He tackles you without warning, knocking your legs out from underneath before grabbing hold of your wrists. You shriek, playfully kicking at him as he lets his weight press down on you, chest against chest, skin against skin. Pinning you down onto the couch with a breathless grin, he chuckles at the annoyance on your face.

"Not so chatty now, are we?"

His murmur washes over you. Warm, tantalizingly so. You feel youraelf melting under his touch like butter.

Is this how love is supposed to feel? He's barely doibg anything and you feel like your heart has wings.

"For someone so shy, you're quite bold," is the only thing that you manage to say, though your words trail off as his lips inch closer and closer, "Chan..."

His eyes are glazed over, dark with untold emotion as they zero in on your lips. The butterflies explode tenfold across your tummy, legs squirming together only for Chan's thigh to slide in-between to part them.

You gasp, the air catching in the back of your throat as you feel his fingers interlock with yours.

Goosebumps tickle along your skin and you swallow thickly.

He's rendering you insane just by being so close to you and you can't help but wonder; where did your best friend go?

"Y/N."

His voice is soft, raw with restraint as you still, breathing the same air for a moment. You wish you can look away because he's making you feel all sorts of things. But you find you can't, pulled in by the ghostly power of chemistry triggered between your two bodies. It's as if time stops, the entire world freezing and suspending you two in a small pocket of bliss.

You're brought back to earth by Chan's soft growl. His fingers tighten ever so slightly on yours, and you bite down onto your lower lip upon feeling a knot tighten at the base of your stomach.

Is he going to...

"I--" he licks his lips, "I want to kiss you," he pauses for a beat, then adds, "Please."

You gaze at him. Your heart skips.

Then, you dip your head into a nod.

And before you know it, he's already tilted his head to press his lips against yours.

It's not like the first time, desperate and eager and drunk.

It's neither like the second, tentative and soft and filled with all the things you wished you had told him.

It's tender, yet firm. Caring. As if Chan already knows what you want, what you need. You feel him, firm and warm pressed up against you like he'd die if he didn't. You kiss back slightly, lips nibbling on his and causing a small breath to escape his throat. reassurance, probably. But it makes you melt even further into the couch as he continues kissing your next breath away.

You can taste him. Smell him. He smells of musk and boy deodorant, the kind that makes your head all dizzy as his mouth slants against yours even more intimately, pushing and moving and tongue licking the seam of your lips. You whimper, mouth opening to allow his tongue to dance with yours as he pushes you further back into the couch.

It's only when you need air that you find yourself parting, breathless and chest heaving as you feel his nose brushing yours with eyes half-lidded like he's judt come out of a dream.

Ironic, considering that what he says next is, "I'm not...dreaming, right?"

Dishevelled locks and a pouty mouth greets you as your eyes flutter open, and something in your lower stomach churns at the intensity in his eyes. Dark and molten with desire.

"No," your murmur is barely a breath of air that caresses his face. He sighs before nuzzling his nose into your cheek, "thank god."

Impulsively, your arms wrap around his neck to pull him closer to you and he happily obliges, face finding thr crook of your neck as you pillow your cheek on the side of his head, pressing a small kiss there.

It's so magical, so surreal. Yet it feels so right to have Chan in your arms.

It's incresible what life throws your way. This entire ordeal had started as a fake relationship, an excuse, a means to an end.

And now, you couldn't inagine yourself living without it. Without him.

"I love you."

You blurt out the words before you can stop yourself and Chan stills in your arms. His head lifts slightly, eyes finding yours as one of his hands reach up to caress your cheek.

"I love you too," he murmurs, and another flood of fireworks cause your heart to melt and explode at the same time.

You can't help but kiss him again. He kisses back with just as much ardour. And you think this is it.

This is home.

[hedwig221b]

Mountain to Hide Behind

Dearest anon, I bestow upon thee a prompt fill. (whacks you on the head with it)

ao3

Stiles was going to be the best parent that ever parented. Any other option was out of question. The end.

He had swept all of Derek’s boring business books from the front of the shelves, replacing them with baby books. The baby wasn’t even here yet, but he already had his schedule figured out. Stiles was the master at swaddling and changing diapers, had a content of ingredients for a perfect baby formula fucking memorized.

So, safe to say, he wasn’t quite yet ready to deal with heartbroken teenagers.

He thought he had time! Then Cora’s boyfriend decided to downgrade to an ex and here they were.

Stiles was standing in the doorway of their guest room and wringing his hands for a few minutes, before finally taking in a deep breath and opening the door.

“Cora, sweetheart,” Stiles forced out a smile. “The lunch is ready, darling.”

The she-wolf took out one headphone and turned to glare at him in a scary imitation of her brother.

“Fuck off,” she muttered and turned away again to lie down on the bed.

Okay, then.

Eli kicked him in the stomach in the show of silent support. Stiles caressed his round stomach and went (he wasn’t waddling, it was too early yet, shut up!) to the kitchen to eat his pasta alone.

*

Cora stomped downstairs right in time for dinner, though. Stiles highly suspected it was because she heard Derek’s car getting closer. At least now she was going to eat. What would Talia say if she heard he was starving her precious baby? No, ma’am.

The girl slumped down on her seat and started scraping a fork through the contents of her plate with the grumpiest expression. Was something wrong with food?

“Stiles?”

The voice brought a beaming smile to Stiles’ face. Problems? What problems? His mate was here, therefore nothing mattered.

He lifted himself up from the chair and went to greet his husband, who was already smiling at him in return.

Derek dropped his suitcase, took off his tie and cupped Stiles’ face with his big hands.

“Hi, baby,” he muttered into his lips and kissed him.

After so many years of dating and then being married, Stiles found that the whole ‘the spark is gonna die out’ thing was utter bullshit. Like, how on Earth was he supposed to not want to drop to his knees when faced with this absolute hunk of his husband? Stiles could swear on his life he was falling more and more in love with Derek since he became pregnant. He was ready to build a shrine to his mate, he was so motherfucking sexy and so handsome and so caring. Stiles was obsessed, to a scary degree.

He moaned into the kiss, winding his hands around Derek’s muscular shoulders for support. Mmm, so tall, so big, so handsome.

“Missed you,” Stiles murmured, pressing another kiss to his stubble-covered cheek.

Derek chuckled. His eyes were soft. “Missed you, too.” He then put a hand on Stiles’ stomach and snorted a laugh at being immediately kicked. “Hello to you, too, love.”

“I’m telling you, he knows when you’re coming home,” Stiles remarked, leaning his weight on the alpha, as the man put arms around him. “He’s a little alarm clock.”

“And a soccer player, and a kickboxer, and a—“

“A wonder! He’s a wonderful boy of an amazing father who’d better hurry and wash his hands or his dinner will get cold.”

Derek smirked at him. “As you wish, sweetheart,” he said and sneaked a gentle bite on Stiles’ jaw, before immediately jumping away from Stiles’ hand and disappearing down the hall.

Stiles bit his lip, stretched wide in a smile. He was so incredibly silly, just ughh!

His good spirit, however, dwindled a bit after a murderous glare that Cora gave him upon entering the kitchen. Seriously, what was going on? They weren’t inappropriate and it wasn’t like they’ve left her alone for that long…

During the dinner Cora stayed silent, having only muttered a ‘hi’ to her brother. Derek, who grew up with two sisters, was used to this kind of behavior, so he just ignored it. Which, rude! The girl needed support! Maybe not Stiles’, based on her glares, but someone’s!

Feeling Derek’s eyes upon him, Stiles looked up and instantly felt himself blush from his mate’s half-lidded look.

“What?” Stiles smiled.

Derek shrugged. “Just wondering how do you get prettier each time I see you.”

Oh, my GOD.

The thing about Derek, one of many that made Stiles lose his mind, is that he was an insane flirt. Was, during their dating period, then smoothly carried it over to their married life. Honestly, who needs the blood of a hundred virgins — Derek’s compliments made Stiles feel ten years younger.

Stiles beamed at him. “You’re so nice to me.”

“Just being honest.”

A fork clung against the plate with an awful loud sound.

“Is this how it is going to be with you two?” Cora grumbled, grabbed her plate and shoved it inside the sink.

“You mean, with me and my mate?” Derek lifted an eyebrow.

Cora threw a sour look at him, pursed her nose, then went back upstairs. Her door shut with a frustrating thud.

Derek and Stiles looked at each other in an unspoken solidarity, before the alpha sighed.

“Come here,” he spread his arms.

As if Stiles needed to be asked twice. He dove right into his lap and for the warm embrace, pressing his stomach to Derek’s front. It wasn’t long before Eli realized there were hugs going on and started drumming on Stiles’ insides with his feet.

It took one wince from Stiles for Derek to put his hand against his stomach and pull out the pain.

“I love you,” Stiles sighed, laying his head on his husband’s shoulder.

“Love you, too.”

*

New day, new try!

“Cora, darling, do you want to watch ‘Moana’ with me?”

“No, I don’t. Fuck you and your stupid cartoons.”

… Alright.

Was he really the same as a teenager? Stiles shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth. Surely, he wasn’t that bad. There was one time when he and Scott sneaked out to the forest to have a drink over Scott’s broken heart. Very dangerous and irresponsible.

So, yeah, it was for the best that Cora was staying here and not vomiting her guts out in the forest.

Stiles could handle some misplaced teenage angst. He could! He was an adult. An adult who would soon have his own child.

Oh, god.

Great, now his eyes were burning. Stiles sniffled and picked up another popcorn, glancing down at his stomach. He wasn’t even that huge yet, but the feeling of being a beached whale was creeping up on him with a concerning speed.

But that wasn’t the reason for his sudden mood change. He just realized how much he wanted to watch cartoons with his kid. To have him sit on his lap, to munch on the popcorn together, laughing and singing songs. Stiles sniffled again.

And he wanted Cora to be better! And not snap at him.

*

Unfortunately, Derek’s strategy of ‘leave her alone and she’ll come around’ wasn’t working. Well, for Derek it might have been wonderful, but not for Stiles, who was locked inside with the girl for days.

She refused to eat lunch with him, which only made Stiles worry more; she snapped at him constantly and was downright rude sometimes. And, while Stiles grit his teeth and reminded himself that she was just a hormonal teenage werewolf going through some hard times, he was also a hormonal, albeit human man, with a freaking baby inside him.

His temper wasn’t as steel as it was before. If it ever was, at all…

Stiles tried to remember that Cora probably didn’t mean what she said, but… Sometimes, it felt like she did.

“You look huge.”

Stiles frowned at his own reflection, where he was trying on new pants.

“Well, I am pregnant, so…”

“So? You still look huge.” Cora rolled her eyes.

Stiles’ eyes fell down without a thought from him. He smoothed a hand down the round top.

“It happens sometimes,” he argued weakly. “It will pass. Besides, I don’t care.”

“I bet Derek does.”

Stiles’ heart missed a beat.

He knew, he knew for a fact, that Derek still found him desirable. The pregnancy didn’t drop their libido, but instead made it fucking sky-high. They had an extremely active sex life, thank you very much; Derek was an attentive partner, always gentle with him, but no less hungry. One time Stiles actually caught him drooling at the sight of him, walking naked and rubbing his belly after a shower on one particularly hot day. And the wolf hadn’t even denied it, instead lifted his eyebrow like ‘yes the sight of you makes me extremely horny, are we going to do something about it or what?’.

So the notion that Derek somehow cared about the weight he gained was completely ridiculous. Completely. Ab-absolutely. Yeah.

Stiles looked down again.

“Have you seen people he works with?” Cora continued, appearing not interested and scrolling through her phone. “Like, Erica and Isaac? He got an entire building with people looking like them. And then he comes home to this—“ she lifted her eyebrows and shook her head.

“I don’t know what you’re implying, Cora,” Stiles started throwing the clothes he pulled out for a try-on back into the closet. “We are mates. He loves me. End of story.”

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

Stiles tried to swallow a lodge in his throat; once the grain was planted in his mind, he knew he would obsess over it to the very end.

“He’s allowed to look, though,” Cora added as if in an afterthought, before huffing at the mess he made.

“He is,” Stiles bit out, left everything as it was and stormed out of the room.

*

Derek was late.

Between Eli kicking up a storm and Cora’s meaningful smug glances, Stiles was going mad. Yes, definitely mad and not close to tears.

He ate half of his own usual portion, before putting the rest in the containers and retreating to his and Derek’s bedroom for the remainder of the evening.

*

“What are you doing?”

“Sniffing your shirt, what does it look like I’m doing?”

Derek snorted and walked over to him, slid hands over his stomach and snatched the shirt from his hands. The wolf brought it to his face and sniffed.

“It’s a fresh one, love.”

Stiles just sighed. Did he really become one of those spouses that suspects their significant other at every turn? It was humiliating a little, but the worry was brewing in his mind and heart, buzzing around like a bunch of angry wasps.

“If you’re so worried that I’m stinky, don’t refuse to shower with me next time.” Derek smacked a kiss on Stiles’ bared neck, then quickly got distracted and started trailing kisses down the neck, pressing Stiles’ ass back to himself.

Stiles closed his eyes and bit his lips. “You’re gonna be… mmmhm… late.”

“I don’t want to go to work,” Derek grunted, sucking a mark on his shoulder, lapping at it with his tongue. “You are here, so delicious and fucking glowing. Want to stay home and fuck you.”

This high libido of his may have started because of the pregnancy of his mate, but if it was that strong, who’s to say he wasn’t getting rid of it during the day? Stiles knew how others looked at his husband — the same way he did, but what if…

‘He’s allowed to look, though.’

… what if he looked back?

Stiles swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut, begging for the images of his traitorous mind to disappear.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“Love you, too.”

*

Derek was late for another few days after that.

Stiles tried to keep his head up high, mostly not to agitate Eli, who was getting angry at not receiving hugs from his father at appropriate times. But staying at home with Cora, whose jabs were getting more and more painful with each passing day, was even worse.

Thus, Stiles began to go for walks. For as long, as his feet and bladder would allow; he walked, lost in thoughts.

Derek’s behavior wasn’t really any different, if one didn’t count him being late every day. His kisses were still passionate, hugs tight, caresses gentle and loving. Maybe it was all in Stiles’ head.

But why wasn’t Derek telling him why he was late and acted like it was normal?

Coming back to the house with a heavy heart, Stiles didn’t expect to be faced with a wide-eyed and fuming Derek.

He didn’t even get to walk through the door like usual, before getting snatched off the street back into the house and patted down with shaking hands.

“Where the fuck were you?” Derek growled, looking carefully at every inch of Stiles. “Why didn’t you take your phone with you? Why did you go out alone, for fuck’s sake, Stiles…”

One thing Stiles could not handle was negativity, not from Derek and not now.

Derek’s face paled at the sight of moisture gathering in Stiles’ eyes. The man grabbed his face and flashed his eyes at him.

“What happened? Did someone do something? Stiles, baby, answer me, I’m going to fucking kill anyone who—“

“Start with yourself, maybe.”

Stiles’ breath hitched.

Both of them turned to look at Cora, who tried to look nonchalant, while leaning on the handrails. She had her lips pursed and lifted one very judgmental brow at her brother.

“What?” Derek blinked at her, confused.

“What I said,” she sneered. “Did you honestly think he wouldn’t notice your absence? He can’t even stomach his dinner, because he knows you’re busy fucking side-chicks as he does so.”

A stunned silence filled the room.

Right then, faced with the sentence he was too scared to even think of, Stiles couldn’t take it anymore. At his first mortifying quiet sniff, Derek swerved around too look at him.

He looked horrified.

“Baby,” he said with desperate softness, “you… you know this is bullshit, right?”

Unable to look him in the eyes, Stiles lowered his gaze down on his chest and tried his hardest not to cry. He stayed silent, because what could he possibly say? That his mind was already plagued with scenarios of Derek leaving him? Because what would become of him then?

Derek raked a hand through his hair and turned to his sister, who watched both of them with her head pointed high. The wolf’s eyes flashed red, fangs glistened in the warm lighting of the hall.

“What the fuck have you been saying to him?” he growled.

“What you don’t have the balls to!” Cora shouted, making Stiles flinch. “All of you are the same! It’s ‘forever’ and it’s ‘I love you’ until the first flipped skirt—“

And then Derek roared, walking over to her. “I’m not the same as your dumb fucking boyfriends, Cora! I’m married to him, we’re fucking mates, for fuck’s sake! Are you insane? We’re having a child together, not an English lesson!”

“Fucking whatever,” her voice trembled as she looked to the side.

“It’s not ‘whatever’. He is not allowed to be stressed! At all! That’s why I was fucking late — I’m passing the business over to Peter to be able to stay at home with Stiles for the next months.”

Oh. Oh, Derek.

The wolf cursed and rubbed his eyes, then flashed them at his sister. “Go to your room, I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

Cora’s eyes filled with angry tears. Without any further words, she turned around, went to her room and slammed the door shut.

Stiles didn’t dare to look at him. A myriad of conflicting feelings tore his heart apart, most present of them guilt and misery.

“Kitten.”

Big arms wound themselves around Stiles, pressing him close to a hot body. Stiles tucked his face into Derek’s neck and sobbed.

“I’m sorry—”

“Baby, it’s okay.”

“But, like, how could I think—“

“Shh, none of this is your fault,” Derek kissed his temple and sighed against it, stroking the back of his head. “It’s all on me. I’m so fucking stupid. I wanted to make a surprise for you, I know how you want me home, but never say anything.”

In the safety of his protective embrace, swaddled up in the loving warmth of his words, Stiles began to calm down. Derek always had this effect on him. This man was his anchor, his mountain to hide behind when the storms are raging on.

Derek leaned in to whisper into his ear.

“You know, you are the only thing on my mind. And I mean it literally. There’s nothing in there, besides your angel face. Every time I walk outside to go to work, it takes every bit of my control not to turn back. Erica fucking hates me now, because Boyd got a baby fever because I don’t shut up about you and our plans for the kid.” He chuckled, making Stiles sigh and shiver from the heat of his breath. “You know what else I do? I sit at meetings and just look at the clock and count down the minutes before I could go home. Why do you think Peter is so eager to take over? I’m useless to them. I can’t think of anything else, other than you.”

“Derek,” Stiles whined, feeling relief in his heart and blush on his cheeks.

They fell into each other, with sighs and desperation, to seal the certainty on their hearts. Derek’s kiss was as demanding as it was giving, with his hands still trembling on Stiles’ sides.

“I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

And, of course, their kid chose this moment to gently kick at Derek through Stiles’ stomach, as if saying ‘Are you two idiot parents of mine done? I need my hugs.’

They separated and laughed quietly, swaying in each other’s embrace.

*

“Cora, sweetie.”

“… What.”

Finally.

“Can you tell me what that was?”

The poor girl threw herself off the bed, with her hair crazy and bags under the eyes.

“What that was?! I’m tired of looking at the two of you! ‘Stiles this’ and ‘Derek that’, you’re disgusting! I get it, you’re happy and in love, and it’s never fucking like that in my life, so stop shoving it in my face! How are you not sick of each other?”

Stiles watched her pace around the room, as the realization dawned on him.

Fucking Hales.

“Because we love each other.” When Cora huffed and rolled her eyes, Stiles continued, not allowing her to interrupt. “It’s real and it’s not going anywhere.” He put a hand on his belly. “And that’s it. No drama, no bad feelings. We have an entire happy ending to live through.”

After letting the thought brew in her mind for a few minutes, Stiles patted the seat next to himself and Cora, to his surprise, obediently sat down.

“Why can’t I have what you have?” she said barely above whisper, not looking at him.

“Child, please,” Stiles poked her in the arm and smirked. “My life consists of trips to the bathroom and weird food cravings at two a.m.. It’s not fun. Yes, it’s amazing and it’s a miracle, but fun it is not. Live some life. Experiment. True love will come and whack you on the head and then you’ll be like me and Derek, stupidly in love. Speaking of life, have you ever kissed a girl?”

Cora spluttered and went completely red in the face, looking a little too wide-eyed.

“Stiles!”

“Did you like it?” Stiles grinned.

“Oh, god…”

“Uh-huh.” Stiles bit his lip to stop the ‘mad evil scientist’ laugh from escaping, before clapping Cora on the shoulder. “Now, bring me the laptop, we’re going to ruin your ex’s life.”

[moghedien]

Greta Gill: Visibility and Isolation

It’s safe to say that I have a lot of thoughts about Greta Gill. Many of those are the obvious sapphic ones, but there’s so much more to her character than just her being attractive and gay. That is compelling, don’t get me wrong, but there’s this interesting contradiction with Greta that I’m sort of obsessed with. While she is one of the characters who gets the most screen time and who we know the most about, I don’t think it's really easy to know her. So much about her genuine character is not what is necessarily visible to the audience or other characters at a surface level, and pinning her down, to me, is a very long winded process. To really understand, we’re going to have to look at her actions a lot, so let’s just get into it because this is going to be a long analysis.

A Day With Greta

Greta and Jo are the first prominent characters in the series that Carson meets, meaning that they’re the first that the audience meets after Carson herself. When the pair see Carson for the first time, she is trying to remain unnoticed as she follows them to tryouts. But once they notice her, it's fairly obvious that they clock her…as a ball player. She’s dressed to play baseball, carrying luggage, and sticks out like a sore thumb compared to the other women in the street, just like they are. Jo tells Carson that she can’t follow them because she’s competition, but Greta says she doesn’t look like much. When Carson sticks up for herself a little, Greta tells her to come with them then.

Jo seems a bit annoyed at Greta telling Carson to come along, but she says “it’s fine,” and the trio get to walking and talking. Greta is immediately friendly and chipper, but when you look at what she actually says, she’s kinda cagey. She mentions people “not having time to read in New York,” which is obviously a lie given New York city has probably the biggest literary scene in the country, and given that we know that Greta has read at least one book. But this was most likely said so that she could drop information about herself, as this implies to Carson that’s where she’s from. Strangely, when Carson asks outright if that’s where she’s from, Greta doesn’t agree to it outright.

It’s not something that immediately gives off an odd impression. It actually just sounds like she’s trying to brag. “The Big Apple, Houston, Paris. Which is in France. Ever heard of it?” She’s being a little snobbish, but in a way that’s clearly meant to impress Carson specifically, but she doesn’t say she’s been to these places. She says she’s from these places, which gives a very specific impression of a childhood spent moving from place to place with family. That doesn't necessarily have to be what she means, but it's the most obvious way to read this line, especially if you’re just meeting her and this is one of the first things you learn about her. Based on details we get from Greta later, we know that this most obvious reading isn’t the actual truth. Maybe not a lie, but not a complete truth, and she’s at the very least not wanting to give specifics about her origins.

Immediately after this, we get a much more blatant lie. After Greta distances herself from New York and insists that she’s “from all over,” Jo brings up that she dated a movie star. Greta immediately seems playfully annoyed by this being mentioned, but she and Jo simultaneously reveal the person to be “Hendricks Johnson from the Wizard of Oz.” She explains that he is one of the lollipop kids. 

Now, this is very clearly a provable lie and we don’t need to have hindsight of knowing that Greta is a lesbian to know this. Lesbians can have dating histories that include men after all, so why do we know that this is definitely a lie? There’s no Hendricks Johnson in the Wizard of Oz. 

The actors that played the lollipop guild members were Jackie Gerlich, Jerry Maren, and Harry Earles. There isn’t an actor with the name Hendricks Johnson in the 1939 film–which is definitely the one being referenced here–nor is he in the cast of the 1925 silent movie. There doesn’t seem to be anyone that exists with that name, in fact. It’s a complete fabrication, and that’s the point. 

From the way that Jo brings it up and Greta’s reaction to it being brought up, it seems to clearly be a joke between them. We lack any context for its origin, and with hindsight of knowing about Greta and Jo’s queerness, it seems and odd thing to bring up to a stranger. At least it does at first glance. 

As a reminder, immediately before Jo brought up Hendricks Johnson (whoever that is), Greta was listing off the various places she’s supposedly from, and she’s doing this specifically after Carson seemed impressed about the prospect of her being from New York. Greta immediately downplays the extent that she’s from New York, but then starts bragging about other places she’s from. “Paris, which is in France. Ever heard of it?” 

Greta’s tone is bragging here, but there’s more than a bit of playfulness. She’s turning around while walking to smile at Carson and see her reaction. Then Jo jumps in to bring up this man that Greta supposedly dated, but definitely did not actually because that man doesn’t exist. Greta is instantly amused by Carson, instantly seems to be checking her out and interested in her. Maybe she even clocks her completely right here, and she goes straight into trying to get to the bottom of that (intentional wording). Jo is the one that slows her down and this happens out in the open with no one watching ever knowing the wiser, unless they are already in the know. 

But maybe Jo doesn’t bring this up just to cover for Greta’s lack of absolute discretion. Or maybe Greta simply takes an opportunity, because after revealing that she dated this fake lollipop kid, she leans in close to Carson and adds some details.

She says that he was the one that actually handed the lollipop, but gets cut off before saying to who. It’s obvious that she was going to say Dorothy, but doesn’t get the chance to actually say that name, and after Jo interrupts, the conversation never gets picked up again. In fact, the Wizard of Oz doesn’t get brought up again at all until episode six. That episode deals heavily in Wizard of Oz references, from opening to ending scenes, but the first time in the entire season when someone finally says Dorothy’s name is in this specific context:

Here, Carson is very blatantly asked if she’s queer using that phrase. The name Dorothy is explicitly linked with queerness. Relate this back to the first episode when one of the first things that Greta tries to talk quietly to Carson about is Dorothy, but she gets interrupted before getting the chance to actually do so. It’s unlikely that Greta would have actually asked the question of Carson right there in the street, only a handful of minutes after meeting her, but it's part of a long build up to eventually asking that question. All of this is happening in Carson’s point of view, in her storyline, and the only context in which Dorothy is every brought up in her storyline is in reference to queerness. 

Greta and Jo have built up a lie that specifically allows them to bring up Dorothy (which the show tells us is associated with queerness) while also protecting Greta from being outed, as it's in the context of her dating a man. It gives anyone who hears that story the chance to show some sign of recognition at the name Dorothy and convey some connection to it, but to anyone else it's just a story. It’s a very subtle way of beginning to advertise their queerness without actually doing so. It protects them from having to be the first to out themselves to other queer people. 

This is only a few minutes into the show at all and even less time since we’ve been introduced to Greta, but it's an immediate reflection of who she is as a character. She flirts. She brags. She lies, but she lies in extremely specific ways. She lies by exclusion to play into people’s assumptions about her without saying anything outright, and she lies outright to protect herself from being outed as a lesbian. And Jo is there to help her as she does this. 

This scene on the street ends with Greta flirting with some soldiers to get cigarettes for herself, Jo, and Carson. This is something she does in a pretty showy way, and then makes clear to Carson that she was only getting cigarettes for all of them. She’s putting on a show for Carson while giving the appearance to anyone not in the know that she’s into men, including Carson herself if she’s not actually a friend of Dorothy. 

Then Greta notices the wedding ring and immediately points it out. She asks Carson what her husband thinks of her playing baseball and she listens and watches as Carson talks about it. Just looking at her expression, she is clearly intrigued by Carson. We don’t know what she’s thinking about when Carson is talking about her husband, but she’s clearly having some thought. When the camera shows Carson, you can see Jo looking at Greta and occasionally nodding or making a face to something Carson says. Then Greta declares, “This is really boring,” and they continue on to tryouts. 

This is our first look at Greta, and it actually reveals a lot more that it might seem. She likes to impress. She likes to tell stories that make people–particularly random female baseball players–think she’s impressive. She obscures details and outright lies to protect herself, but will still flirt while doing it. And she’s with Jo.

The first time and really the entire time we see Greta this episode, she’s not alone. Jo is there to chime in. Jo is there to hold her suitcase when she goes to get cigarettes. Hell, Jo is even telling her where to go from the first shot we have of them, because Jo is the one with the map. It’s always Greta and Jo. Carson is the tagalong in this instance. 

As the episode moves on, we see Greta keeping up this demeanor if not quite as obviously. She makes sure to wave to Mr. Baker. She winks at Carson at tryouts and continues to keep her around for no apparent reason. And she is always with Jo. When all of the other girls are readying for bed, she, Jo, and Carson are there but not really interacting much with the other girls. Jo and Greta seem to be talking to each other and Carson seems to be more or less there. It might be assumed that she’s being humored, except whenever Carson tries to go off on her own, Greta and Jo go after her. 

Greta and Jo come into Carson’s room uninvited and Greta asks to cut Carson’s hair. When Carson allows it, it seems like Jo’s gone and it's just Carson and Greta. This is the first time Carson is alone with Greta, but keep in mind that we haven’t seen Greta alone yet. She comes into the room with Jo and we don’t see when she and Carson eventually part ways for the night. There isn’t actually an instance of Greta being actually alone this entire episode.

What we do see is that in this scene, Greta sneaks a peak at what Carson had been writing on the first indication that she’s not being watched. On an initial viewing, the assumption most viewers would likely have is that she’d read it and keep the fact that she read it to herself. Maybe she will bring it up sometime down the line when she thinks she has some way to use the information, but that isn’t what happens. Literal seconds after reading it, she reveals what she’s done.

As soon as Greta reads what Carson wrote and decides it fits the assumption that she had of Carson, she immediately admits that she read it. She doesn’t ask Carson to explain what is going on with her or what exactly she meant by “There’s something wrong with me…” She expresses interest in Carson’s story, but frames it as something actually interesting to her.  She doesn’t ask the question in a way that suggests she finds it amusing or wants to make fun of Carson for it. She sounds genuinely interested.  

While Carson is initially hesitant to share anything–not the least because she doesn’t exactly get what’s going on with herself–Greta’s interest gets her to reveal details pretty quickly. It’s more than safe to assume that Greta has been picking up hints of queerness from Carson this entire day, and she read Carson’s note and found it to verify her assumptions. If she isn’t completely certain of Carson’s queerness at this point, she knows its a possibility, and one getting stronger and stronger as she learns about Carson. So instead of hiding the fact that she looked at the note, she tells Carson. Because Greta doesn’t like hiding. Not in herself or in others, especially when it comes to people like Carson. I’ll explain what I mean by that in a moment. 

The more Greta learns about Carson and the more sure she is that she clocked Carson correctly, the more sympathetic and encouraging she is. She pushes Carson to explain exactly what she wants and to not second guess chasing that. She encourages Carson to stay on her chosen path to the point where she’s helping Carson write the letter to Charlie. Specifically, she’s making sure that Carson writes the letter clearly, that her feelings are made evident and concise. She makes sure that Carson uses nice paper and a pen with a flex nib–which indicates a focus on nice handwriting if you’re not a freak who knows about pen nibs like me. The letter appears thought out and perfect so that it can’t seem hastily done and dismissed as a panicked response from Carson feeling weird about running away. 

All of this happens on the first day that Greta knows Carson. It seems odd, especially for someone like Greta who gives an appearance of someone who’s worldly and who doesn’t care about things like books and whatever farm Carson is from (she’s not from a farm). Greta doesn’t initially seem like someone interested in taking in a farm girl she found on the street and helping her find herself. So let’s reframe Greta’s actions up to this point a bit. 

Greta and Jo have just arrived in Chicago and while on their way to baseball tryouts, find a woman following them. Unlike literally every woman on the street around them, this one is wearing a jumpsuit and a baseball hat and clearly looks lost. When Jo confronts her, Carson stammers and tries to brush it off. She tries to fade back into the background and go unseen, and would very likely try to keep following them regardless. Greta watches this and you can visibly see her expression change as she realizes that the person following them is a scraggly little farm girl (though she isn’t actually from a farm) dressed to play baseball and clearly clueless on how to get around the city. Greta sees someone with something very visibly in common with her and Jo, but who’s trying to remain unseen and doesn’t seem to know what she’s doing. So, Greta invites her to just tag along, because she’s going to be there anyway. 

Then Greta spends the rest of this first day with Carson doing two things. First, she draws attention to herself but in very specific ways. She makes herself prominent in Carson’s view, but remains in control of exactly how she’s seen and what Carson learns about her. Second, she does her very best to draw out the hidden details from Carson. She sees Carson trying to hide herself physically and emotionally, and she nudges her out of that inclination. She finds a woman like her in at least one way, sees her alone and tells her to come along and follow her and Jo. Once Carson makes that choice and it remains looking like she wants to be there, Greta doesn’t let her isolate or hide herself again. 

This is all a very long winded look at Greta’s complicated relationship with visibility and isolation. This is only a handful of hours in her life, coming from the point of view of Carson, but here we see Greta is never alone. Greta thrives being seen and controlling how she’s seen. She actively makes sure to be getting the attention she wants at every public moment, and she does not like finding people that are struggling to do as she does. Especially when those people seem to at least in some way be part of her crowd; people like her. When it comes to people like her struggling in some way, Greta’s instinct is always to take matters into her own hand. She puts herself out there so that they are a bit less hidden and alone, and she does her very best to keep it that way.

A World of Complications

In a perfect world, Greta would not have any issues making herself known and finding comfort in the presence of others. In even a more comfortable imperfect world, there might be struggles but it wouldn’t be impossible. Greta Gill lives in a world where she is aware of what she wants, but she’s also aware that it's impossible to obtain. For all that she hates hiding, not controlling her image, and being alone, it is impossible to achieve all freedom from all of these things. 

When the Peaches make their way to Rockford, they are arriving in a much more permanent residence. With any degree of permanence, Greta’s actions start to change some. She revels in the company of her new teammates, but she doesn’t make any obvious alliances with anyone other than Jo. She and Jo came onto the team as an established relationship (something that is clearly known by the team) but she doesn’t make any new close friendships in an obvious way. At the bar, she does go to talk to Carson twice, but Lupe also talks to Carson and Greta can be seen talking to Jess and others. Even walking to the bar, she stayed by Shirley rather than anyone else she was more familiar with. It's not obvious what is going on there, as the only person that Greta sticks to at the bar is Jo. She leaves Jo when Carson is sitting alone, but once Jo is dancing alone, she leaves Carson alone again. To anyone watching, Jo is the most important person there to Greta. She dances with Jo. She always returns to Jo once she’s bounced around talking to various teammates. Jo is the most important person to Greta, which does help hide the fact that she’s flirting with Carson publicly. 

At this point, Greta is still in control of how she’s viewed by strangers. She isn’t seen in the corner flirting with Carson and taking her hand to lead her to a storage closet. She’s seen as the person loudly joking with Jo and dancing weirdly. This is evident by the fact that when Clance and Max see the Peaches dancing strangely and pointing it out, its Jo and Greta they’re seeing.

Greta is clearly trying to be seen, to be public (she was the one that had the Peaches go out in the first place), but to also get what she wants. And what she wants just happens to be something that isn’t allowed and would put her and others in danger. So she tries to balance those needs. She has fun with a crowd around her and is showy as she wishes. Then, when she’s finally sure about Carson’s queerness and attraction to her, she goes somewhere dark and hidden to do something about that. She’s careful to control exactly who sees her doing what at this point, but there’s a problem with that.

Because this shot is from Max's point of view. 

While Max doesn’t actually pose a threat to Greta and Carson, this still illustrates a problem. For all that Greta does the absolute most to control how she presents herself, what she says and does in public and with who, she cannot account for everything. There is always the random coincidence that can get her caught and there is nothing she can do to account for that, except to never kiss Carson in the first place. 

Now, Greta never finds out that she was seen, and so goes about with the assumption that all is fine. This, if anything, illustrates how flawed her planning and rules are. Because while she’s following the rules and is going to places of supposed isolation, that still isn’t enough to have absolute control. She leaves the bar on the arm of a man she doesn’t even know the name of to avoid being outed, when she’s in the alley with someone who could absolutely out her and she is completely unaware of it.

We don’t see Greta have to acknowledge her lack of control here, so she seems almost arrogant in how much she doesn’t realize this. However, as the show goes on, it's made more and more clear just how aware she actually is. She’s the first person that recognizes Vivienne Hughes as someone to impress, and then proceeds to make herself seen by Vivienne at practice. During Charm School, she still tries to impress Vivienne more than is really necessary for her own sake,  since she is not in danger at Charm School depsite actually being one of the queers they wouldn’t want around. Jo says that they should suck up to her and Greta seems to do exactly that. And it works. 

At the first game, Vivienne notes that Greta is “lovely” where no other girl gets that comment. During Charm School, Greta is able to save Jess from being sent home. Had Greta not made an impression on Vivienne, that may not have been possible. Greta immediately recognizes that she needs to not just be acceptable to this woman, but to be known and viewed as someone pleasant and lovely. It keeps her safe and it keeps people connected to her safe, like Jess in this instance. 

Being seen is important to Greta. It’s the basic key to her survival. She wants to be seen on the arm of man. She wants to be seen by Vivienne. Her plans when she’s done playing baseball is to go to California (with Jo) to be in pictures. She plans on being a movie star, where her appearance and social life would only be more on wide display and up to the approval of her employers, especially in this era of Hollywood and the studio system. She is planning to get into a career that will force her into an even more artificial and performative public image, and it would make her known world wide if she succeeded. The eyes of the world would be on her and she would have to meet their approval. Even given that every moment of her life is already a performance to some degree, it still seems an odd choice for a lesbian who is seeking safety from public scrutiny or persecution. But then again, maybe it's the best choice she could make. 

A handful of actors are mentioned in this season of the show. Jimmy Stewart, Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn, Vivian Leigh, Paulette Goddard, Josephine Baker, Lena Horne, and Judy Garland are all of the names I could find (excluding Hendricks Johnson, who does not exist). Before I get into this point, let me preface this by saying that I am not going to get into specific identities and all of these claims come with varying degrees of certainty from person to person, and I won’t get into who is definitely what and who is just a maybe. I think it's pretty gross to assign labels to dead people and focus too hard on what they possibly did in their private lives. That being said, all of the claims I found were at least somewhat credible and more than just random unsubstantiated rumors. Now, let’s look at these names. 

Cary Grant, Vivien Leigh, Katharine Hepburn, Paulette Goddard, and Josephine Baker all seem pretty credibly to have been some form of queer. We know of specific affairs with most of them that almost definitely happened. There are some claims of Lena Horne being a queer, but I wouldn’t say there’s much proof of that from what I can see. What there is clear proof of is that one of the closest relationships she’s had is her friendship with an openly gay man. And you don’t have to look too far before you start seeing her listed as a “gay icon,” like another notable on this list. Jimmy Stewart probably wasn’t queer, but the studio sure thought he was and made him prove he wasn’t (by making him go to a brothel, yes, Hollywood has always been very fucked). And Judy Garland is Judy Garland. What more needs to be said about Judy. 

Every single actor  that was mentioned in this show (who actually exists) is in some way associated with queerness. Again, I’m not going to sit here and say with absolute certainty who was and wasn’t queer, but these names have that association with them. They’re names that were highly regarded at the time and still are today. They’re very public figures and also ones that are queer either by actually being queer or by their association with queer culture (though not necessarily during this time period). This is the world that Greta wants to get into. 

Now, Greta probably wouldn’t know the extent of the queerness in Hollywood at the time. It wasn’t exactly public knowledge, but given the extent of her travels and the specific places she claims she’s been, it's not impossible that she might have some idea. If she found herself in the right queer circles in, say, Paris or New York, she might have learned some things about certain celebrities or at the very least heard rumors.

Regardless, being a public figure like this would change things for her. It’d open doors to queer circles that these celebrities exist in. Circles that would be safer and more protected than what average queer people have. They have more money and influence. They have notoriety. Cops are much less likely to raid somewhere that the most famous people in the world are going to have queer relationships than they are to raid a bar full of normal queer people. If she were caught as a famous actor, she wouldn’t likely get beaten or worse as a result. She would have money to ensure privacy and independence. And not only would she be protected, people connected to her or associated with her would likely benefit from that status as well. 

This freedom is what is alluring to Greta, and she can get it by becoming extremely public facing, famous, and wealthy. When Vivienne Hughes talks about her own form of independence through wealth (and fixating on public image), it's clear that this is what Greta wants.

Greta asks at least partially because she wants to suck up to Vivienne, like Jo suggested. She might have also been trying to get attention away from Carson and the others taking Charm School less seriously, as Vivienne had been scolding Carson before Greta noses herself into the conversation, but Greta’s interest in the answer seems genuine. She smirks when Vivienne gives her the answer, and you can see her afterward looking to Jo excitedly, and then again still smiling after Vivienne when she’s walking away and can no longer see Greta’s expression.

Now, Greta was always going to take Charm School seriously, but after this, we cut immediately to her following Vivienne and showing off. She makes a point to say that she’s single, hopes that the right man is out there for her, and flirts with Mr. Baker Jr. a little. Whether or not she’s safe, Greta goes out of her way to make herself seem pleasant and available. 

All of this is to make it absolutely clear that Greta actively seeks attention. She wants to be seen and noticed and remembered. It is a very specific and at least partially artificial version of herself that she allows to be seen, but Greta Gill is not someone who wants to go unnoticed or hide herself in order to live the life she wants in safety. Instead, she hides in plain sight, making herself entirely visible, but making sure that it's a false version of herself that people see. The real version is allowed to move about unnoticed. 

And this is actively self preservation, but it wouldn’t be fair to call it just that, because it isn’t just Greta that benefits from her being  noticed. Keep in mind that the entire time she’s been traveling, it's been with Jo. While they’re both gay, Jo is more visibly queer than Greta and in a way that most society wouldn’t easily accept. But if Greta is there, taking the attention, then Jo is less likely to be noticed as anything other than connected to Greta.  If Greta is seen and liked, then Jo’s safe. This sort of protection by association instinct happens in Charm School when Greta saves Jess, and when she distracts Vivienne from correcting Carson too harshly. Greta is completely out in the open, lying about herself, yes, but also exposed so that the other queer people in her life go through with minimal notice. 

It doesn’t always go as well as it does in Charm School. Visibility has its costs, and that’s seen in their first game. While all of the girls put up with sexist comments by the announcer (and racists ones too in Lupe’s case), Greta is the first person to get catcalled. But that makes sense. She’s the most noticeable, not just because she’s the tallest, but because she makes herself noticeable and is always performing to keep attention on her. She waves to the crowd and puts on a show to make herself be seen, and to be seen as pleasant and lovely. Greta is the one actively doing the most for the team’s image, and it's noticed. So the first time when she is up to bat, separated from the rest of her team, she is the one a man decides to target with disgusting sexual comments. 

In front of everyone–her team, the rival team, the crowd of spectators, and all of the people in charge of the league–a random man starts sexually harassing her. Greta tries to smile and perform through it, but she is clearly affected. Not only do we see her struggling to put on a good face, but she strikes out almost immediately. 

And no one does anything about it. 

Greta, who makes a point of making herself seen, of being the one that’s noticed, gets verbally abused in front of a literal crowd, and she doesn’t get the slightest bit of help. People are shocked and disgusted, but no one steps in and saves Greta from being humiliated.

Maybe the saddest part about this is that Greta doesn’t even really seem to expect help. She’s in front of a crowd, but in a completely isolated position when it comes to allies. The most she does to react is stare at the man heckling her, but she doesn’t say or do anything. She doesn't look around for help, she just tries to smile and get through it. She truly does not know what to do, because her way of staying safe has always been to be noticed. Now, being noticed is what made her the target of this man’s catcalls. When she looks him dead in the eye, making it absolutely clear that she’s seeing him, he only continues and makes the comments worse. 

Greta doesn’t actually know what to do when she’s the target like this. Her self preservation instincts don’t help in situations like this, and she’s in a situation where being perceived as anything but pleasant will only make things worse. So she doesn’t try to defend herself. She just gets through it and then moves on. We don’t actually see Greta react to the abuse until it's Jo being targeted.

She doesn’t even let herself show anger until it’s Jo that’s the target. Then, she yells at the man and is the first person to try to stop them. She gets stopped before she can say much, but she is willing to make a scene to protect Jo’s feelings while she wouldn’t do the same for herself. This could be the accumulation of what she just experienced finally building to a point where she has enough, but given how clearly Greta seems to need to protect by putting herself in the spotlight, I don’t think it’s only that. 

The spotlight is not an easy place, but it's where Greta seems to think she has the most control. She’s shown here how untrue that is in this world. She does nothing to defend herself or protect herself, but does speak up as to protect Jo and she’s rewarded for that by having Vivienne reprimand her. She’s told she’s “too much” and needs to be sweeter, but when she was doing exactly that and doing it perfectly, she was allowed to be publicly humiliated. The men were only stopped because Dove finally went to talk to them after Greta made a scene for Jo. And she’s told that she can’t even do that to protect her only friend. 

With this additional public humiliation, Greta does something we haven’t seen her do up until this point. She goes off to be alone. 

Moments where Greta is alone in the show are extremely rare and short, largely because we usually get Greta through Carson’s point of view, but we don’t even really see indications of her being alone often. Where we do get indications that she is alone or going somewhere by herself, it is generally a very unpleasant situation for Greta. In this case, she’s going to cry by herself in the locker room. 

When we see Greta there, it’s because Carson came into the room to put away her catcher gear. We don’t know how long she’s been there or what she’s done between going off and being found. What is clear is that she didn’t want to be seen, for the first time in the show. 

Carson finds her and she quickly tries to hide the fact that she’s been crying and comes up with an excuse for why she’s here. Even when Carson clearly knows that she’s crying and tries to comfort her, Greta can’t really let that happen. Instead of commiserating with Carson, the most vulnerability she allows is admitting that she “really let them get to” her, and saying that when she really wants something it doesn’t seem to work out. When Carson tries to sympathize, Greta turns that around. She starts reassuring Carson at the first inclination of Carson feeling upset.

Greta’s pain and problems are put upfront by the narrative initially, but Greta doesn’t allow that to be acknowledged. She quickly turns the attention on Carson and even wipes Carson’s eye as if she had been the one crying and not Greta. She tries to take back control of her image as the one that reassures and protects and helps. She isn’t the one that needs help. She needs to protect others because that is how she stays in control. By staying in control of her image, she can protect those around her. Looking at Greta’s actions closely makes it increasingly clear why both of those motivations are present as the season continues.

The Rules

Greta and Jo have rules to protect themselves. We don’t know specifically what all of those rules are, but we know some hints. When it comes to her romances, Greta doesn’t act close to them in public. She doesn’t go on dates. She doesn’t go to queer spaces close to home. She doesn’t go places people know about to hook up. She makes sure she’s seen with a man when she starts a relationship. To Carson, she says this last one is a rule to protect herself, but let’s pose this question: when has Greta ever expressed concern for herself and her own safety? 

Because, she hasn’t actually, except in that one moment. Let’s look at what she does do. When she kisses Carson the first time, she leaves quickly and goes home with a random man and pushes back against Carson’s concerned questions, quickly distancing herself. She doesn’t even bring up the events to Carson until they’re practicing and Greta is at bat with Carson catching. She doesn’t seek out Carson and waits for them to end up semi-alone, then asks if Carson got home alright when she was the one that went home with a random man. Then when she and Carson are actually getting together, she constantly makes sure that she and Carson are only alone in places where no one knows about. She won’t even let an owl watch them, and when there is even a hint of someone nearby, Greta leaves first and leaves Carson to follow afterward. 

It does seem paranoid and self preservative, but let’s look at reasons why she starts breaking the rules. When Carson is having a hard time with Lupe, Greta steps in more than once to defend Carson. When Carson is clearly stressed, she starts taking Carson to a known location (Bev’s car) to hook up. She lets Carson talk her into the date and then into going to the bar despite previously saying they were too risky.

Greta may desire to do all of these things and more, but she never gives into the dates or hook ups that break the rules until Carson wants them. She isn’t even asked to help Carson in the Lupe situation, she just does it when she sees Carson having problems. Breaking the rules does eventually overwhelm her until she snaps at Carson for supposedly always coming to Greta with her problems. 

Now, it is absolutely true that Greta and Carson always talk about Carson’s problems, but as the scene in the locker room shows, that’s largely because Greta doesn’t allow otherwise. She is the one always asking Carson about what’s bothering her and trying to fix it, and when Carson shows the slightest sign of trying to do the same, Greta doesn’t allow it. She all but runs from even acknowledging that she could be in pain or danger or might need help. Because Greta doesn’t see herself as the one that gets hurt. 

When Greta eventually tells Carson about Dana, we see this is why she’s been upset and snapped at Carson. She and Carson haven’t been as careful as she thinks they should be and she’s been allowing it. She’s also clearly been falling more and more for Carson, and considering this more than just a short fling. And Carson reminds her of Dana, who had fallen in love with and who was hurt because Greta wasn’t careful. Greta, though, was fine.

Greta’s entire character motivations can really be explained by her intense survivor’s guilt. She was fine, she says. Maybe she wasn’t the one that was put away and tortured in an institution, but Greta is far from fine. 

Greta is obsessed with protecting people around her. People like her. Whether that be Jo who she calls her only real friend. Or Carson who she just met off the street, immediately clocked, and decided she couldn’t leave to fend for herself. Or Jess who is her new roommate and never had to worry about passing until now. Or later Carson again, who she’s started to have genuine feelings for. With her queer friends, she puts herself in prominence to take the attention and protect them. When it comes to her romantic partners, she has all the self imposed rules that she follows to protect them, because when she stopped being careful before, Dana got hurt. And she’s terrified of seeing people she loves, people like her, get hurt. 

The point of the rules isn’t to stop Greta from being hurt. That’s what she tells people, and that might be what even Jo thinks. But in truth, they’re to stop Greta from hurting people. Because that’s what Greta thinks happens when she isn’t careful and in complete control of her visibility. This is all the more clear when breaking the rules does endanger someone.

In Plain Sight

As established, Greta is hardly ever alone in the series. When she is, it’s always in moments of pain, frustration or otherwise negative emotions. When she’s alone, it's always a struggle, as she’s confronting some kind of vulnerability that she doesn’t know how to deal with, and honestly can’t by herself. She’s not good at being alone and doesn’t seem to like it anyway.

Yet at the same time, she cannot be genuine in crowds or public spaces. She is always putting on an act, a performance. But you see her really wanting to drop it. Throughout the season, as her relationship with Carson gets more and more real, we see Greta making more and more public hints at acknowledging it. She makes playful comments at Carson with the entire team around, making Carson wish her luck or saying she “almost got lucky” when she was almost roomed at Carson (it’s supposed to be assumed that she’s talking about the card game she’s playing, but she’s looking at Carson quite obviously) She making very curious “oooh” sounds when Carson is more assertive and almost holds hands with Carson on the bus.

It’s like she almost can’t help herself, but every time she does this, she seems genuinely happy. Even when she is expressing disappointment in not getting to room with Carson there’s a little smirk to her. She enjoys these little moments of publicized honesty, even if there’s no way of anyone being able to see them for what they really are. Actually because of that, she never quite gets to the moment of fully realized joy in them, because they still have to be subtle enough not to be noticed. She gets closer to absolute genuine joy when she’s in relative privacy with those she can be true with, whether than be intimate moments with Carson or just being around the other queer Peaches at home once they’re all out to each other.

These are still rather isolated places, however, or places where she has to be somewhat on guard. There is only one point in the show where Greta is able to be completely honest and drop her performance for five minutes. The result is the moment where I believe is the only place Greta shows absolute, honest, unrelenting joy.

It’s when Greta is at the bar. 

Screenshots don’t really do the scene justice, so I really recommend watching her expressions in this scene or checking out gifs of it (like the set linked here). Greta’s expression here is why I started writing this in the first place. We never see her looking like this at any other point in the season. 

She’s not trying to look charming. She’s not trying to appeal to anyone in this room. She’s not trying to look poised and collected and available, because she’s not and this is the first place we see her where she can be honest about that. She’s here with Carson, with Jo, and surrounded by people like her for the only time in the season. We know that Greta hates being alone, and hates hiding. This is the first time we see her out in the open and not hiding while doing so. These five minutes are the only five minutes we see Greta Gill in absolute bliss. 

And unfortunately, we know how this ends.

The one time we really see Greta getting everything she wants, it's violently taken away, and it results in Jo getting hurt and forced to leave for another team. That’s not even mentioning all of the other people that got hurt or worse at the bar. It validates everything she believes; every concern or fear she’s ever admitted. When she wants something, it doesn’t turn out right. When she isn’t careful, she’s fine, but people she cares about–people like her–get hurt.

The Isolation of Greta Gill

When Greta is alone, it’s always an unpleasant situation. She’s being catcalled while at bat. She’s crying in the locker room. She’s cursing in frustration in Bev’s car after fighting with Carson. In episode 7, we see the absolute worst of this.

After the bar gets raided, Jo leaves. Then Charlie comes and Carson leaves with him. Jess and Lupe are out looking for Esti, meaning that not only does Greta not even have a roommate in this moment, she doesn’t have anyone who understands the depths of what just happened. Her only real friend is gone. Her lover’s gone. The only other people who know that she’s queer and would understand the danger she was just in, are gone. Greta is surrounded by women in this house, and yet she is the most alone she’s ever been and it's at the absolute worst time. 

And it's not just that she’s alone, it's that it doesn’t seem like she’s ever going to get any of them back. She tried to get Jo to leave with her, and Jo refused to go because she was tired of running away for Greta. She knows that Carson isn’t going to give up her comfortable life after the night they just had, and that’s before Carson’s husband showed up and Carson left with him. Any reassurance to Greta that she isn’t a walking time bomb to everyone she cares about has come up hollow at this point. 

Now, before we look at Greta’s reaction to this, let’s look back a little. First, let’s look at how Greta viewed her and Carson’s relationship. To Greta, it was always supposed to be a fling, not a long term relationship. She tells Carson this outright.

After Carson asks Greta if she’s been with a lot of women, and with a lot of married women specifically, Greta tells her that it can be good for her marriage. She doesn’t pose herself as a rival to Charlie, and doesn’t even let that be a possibility here. She tells Carson that at the end of the season, they’ll go their separate ways, and this will just have been a fun fling for them.

You can, however, read into both of their reactions to them. We don’t see them continue to talk after this and it feels somewhat awkward. Carson seems almost disappointed and Greta puts a grape in her mouth which she seems overly focused on eating. Before this subject even came up, Greta seemed to be holding back what she felt. When Carson is laughing, before telling her that she’s beautiful, Greta looks like she’s bracing for something. 

Greta isn’t getting attached. She’s not even letting that be a possibility at this point. We don’t really have an idea of how many women Greta has been with, much less how many of those were married, but she makes it clear that it's a lot. From the way she talks about it, those relationships always seem to be flings. She doesn’t even consider the possibility of anything else with Carson, and the only time we ever hear her talk about being in love is when she’s mentioning Dana. If she’s had serious long term relationships since Dana, then we have no way of knowing but we do know that they clearly didn’t last because Greta’s here. And also because we know that Greta is always on the move. She’s “from all over.” 

So when she’s in relationships like the one she tried to have with Carson, Greta is the third wheel there. She’s not expecting or asking for any kind of commitment. She’s not even going to be staying around. They’re adventures. Everyone at the end will go home with just the memories, but that’s another problem for Greta, isn’t it?

Because the thing about Greta is that she’s from all over. She and Jo have been traveling the world together for a long time. We know that Jo’s grandma kicked her out, but we don’t know specifically what happened with Greta’s family. We do know two things. First, we know that despite Greta initially being hesitant to tell Carson that she’s from New York, she does eventually admit that she is.

We also know that they seem to be trying to avoid Greta’s mom, since even now Greta doesn’t want her to know where they are.

Lastly, we know that Greta was only 17 when she was with Dana, and the fallout of that seemed to put them at some risk and is what lead to her and Jo becoming concerned with following rules and being careful.

They’re running from their pasts as much as they’re traveling to see the world, and their pasts seem to be in New York. That is where they met as kids. That’s probably where Greta’s relationship with Dana happened, and it’s also probably where Greta’s mom still is and probably Jo’s family too. Greta never let herself consider anything more than a fling, because she has to run from what happened in New York. She doesn’t seem to keep in touch with anyone, much less the women she had affairs with because she tells Carson she only has one actual friend. Up until this point, Greta always had Jo along. So even if she could never have a genuine long lasting romantic relationship with a woman and had to constantly move to avoid danger, she always had her very real and strong friendship with Jo. Until Jo refused to go with her. 

With Jo leaving her behind, this is the first time Greta is actually truly alone. Jo was the one relationship that Greta actually let be long term. Jo connected her to her past and knew all of what she was running and hiding from. Jo was always there when Greta was going somewhere. So when Greta leaves in episode 7, know that this is the first time in her life that she is actually alone.

By this point, I genuinely do not think Greta expected Carson to come and stop her from leaving. She was quite literally at a breaking point, and saw herself ruining every relationship she had just by being there. She survived everything, just to end up standing completely alone, and if she attempted to stick around like everything was normal, things would just proceed to fall apart around her and more people would get hurt. That’s what always happens. 

Because Greta doesn’t see the people she helps. She doesn’t really even think about the fact that she saved Jess until Carson brings it up, and even then she doesn’t give herself credit for it. She doesn’t consider that she helped Carson stick around long enough to discover herself and what she wanted. Greta does these things by just performing as she’s supposed to. She doesn’t see that as a choice or a good deed. All she sees is that people get hurt whenever she tries to get something she wants, and in the end, she’s by herself.

Back to New York

So what does all of this mean for Greta in the end? Honestly, I have no idea, but there’s the seed of something there. We know Greta changes her plans of going to California when she gets an offer to work for Vivienne. She decides to go to New York instead, which is notable because not only is she going there alone, she’s probably taking an enormous risk going to New York. 

We don’t know if she’s been there since she left, but it’s probably where the mom she doesn't want to find her is.. It’s probably where Jo’s family is and Dana’s, and all of the bad history she’s spent her whole life running from. She is choosing to go back there, and not only that, she asked Carson to go with her.

Not only was she willing to return there, she was willing to take someone she loves there and have a long term romantic relationship. Before when she tried to go off alone, she was running to isolate herself for the sake of others. Now, she’s going because she genuinely seems to want this job and she’s willing to be with Carson there. Potentially around people who know more about her than any of her social performances could mask. 

But of course, we know that Carson doesn’t go. There’s a bittersweet kind of feeling there, but it does seem to be good for Greta at this moment. Because this is going to be the first time that Greta is truly going off by herself, and she’s doing something that she wants to do. She’s not going there to perform for the pictures or run away from some romance gone wrong. She’s going back somewhere where she and her loved ones had been in danger, because she wants to. Because there's opportunity there that she wants to pursue for herself. This is the first time we see Greta Gill doing something she wants for entirely her own sake, and I do think that for now, she does have to do it alone.

Because her relationship with Carson didn’t just open Greta up romantically. Like Greta had done with her, Carson gave Greta permission to go for what she wanted. Whether that be the possibility of a long term relationship, a career where she’s asked to be herself, or just the ability to face her past and stop running. Regardless of what she wants, she needs to figure that out for herself, alone.

___________________________

Other ALOTO essays:

Lupe, Carson, and Gaydar

Queerness, Contamination, and the Neurosis of Shirley Cohen

Max in Oz

[pellucid-constellations]

LITERALLY OBSESSED WITH STRANGER THINGS RN THIS IS A CALLING anyways y’all ever think of an exes-to-lovers with Steve…

You're It For Me

Word count: 1.6k

a/n: I do think about exes-to-lovers with Steve ;) So here it is because I'm also obsessed with stranger things and needed a little writing warm-up <3

You dug your heels into the carpet, leaning back into the couch cushions as time ticked on and Max continued to sleep peacefully beside you. To say you were overwhelmed was an understatement, but there was little you could do to calm your nerves with so many variables at play. Max, Vecna, some haunting curse that no one knew anything about; too many moving parts, not enough answers. 

“Hey,” Steve called, slowly making his way down the basement steps. Because that was another variable: your ex-boyfriend, constantly at your side these past few days. “You okay?” 

You let out a long breath, keeping your voice low as you replied, “I’m fine.” 

“Really? No crazy clocks or anything? Any painkillers stashed in your back pocket?” he posed, his brow raised as he scanned your face for any hint of a lie. 

“No clocks. No painkillers.”

“You sure? ‘Cause if you even feel a gust of wind in the wrong direction—” 

“Just drop it, Steve,” you interrupted, your tone laying a blanket of defeat over the room. “I know you don’t really care. Let’s just take care of this and then we can be done, alright?” 

“Be done with what?” 

You bit into your bottom lip, hard, and tried to pretend you didn’t catch the hurt that washed over his face. Breaking up with Steve Harrington had been ridiculously taxing, and the aftermath was almost worse; you hadn’t realized how hard you had fallen for him until you told him it was over. But you knew it had to be done. 

There was a part of you—a large part—that was convinced he wasn’t over Nancy. That the sidelong glances and bittersweet smiles he sent her way were proof that he had never stopped loving her. And you couldn’t fault the way his feelings worked, but you weren’t going to be a second choice. You weren’t going to be a rebound. 

Granted, Steve never treated you like a rebound. For the months you had been dating he had been perfectly attentive and sweet and all of the things you had expected. It had been like an extension of your lifelong friendship, just with more touching and adoring looks, as if he was realizing you had been in front of him all along and he wanted to make up for lost time. 

But then Nancy would say something and all the things that made sense to you stopped making sense. Because Steve used to love Nancy, and you weren’t actually sure if that was in the past tense. 

You bit the inside of your cheek. “You know, with being around me. Hanging out with your ex-girlfriend probably isn’t your idea of a good time.” 

Steve narrowed his eyes, taking a quick glance around the room before zeroing back in on you. “Hang on, you broke up with me. You forget that part?”  

“No,” you drawled, leaning away from Max so as to not wake her. “I didn’t forget. But that probably just makes you want to see me less, right?” 

Steve threw you an incredulous look, swiping his hand down his face as he shifted his weight between his feet. On the ground, Dustin rolled over in his sleeping bag, giving you a small distraction from this uncomfortable conversation. 

But Steve dragged you back in right when your eyes darted down. 

“No, you—why would you think that? You think I’ve been calling you every day just for the fun of it? 

You almost forgot about that part. Two weeks since you drove to his house and ended things and he called your home phone just about every night. You figured he would have stopped after the first week. He hadn’t. 

“Steve…” you whispered, eyes boring into his own, trying to get him to come to terms with the situation. “Come on. You don’t have to keep doing this.” 

He threw his hands up instead. “You aren’t making any sense! I feel like I’m going crazy here.” 

“Oh, you’re going crazy?” you accused. 

“Yes!” 

Max stirred, a small disturbance that made Lucas furrow his brow in his sleep as well. You held out your hands as if that would help, only rising from the couch once they had both settled back against the arm. Steve still stood with a disgruntled expression on his face, hands on his hips, and you grabbed him, tugging him up the stairs. 

It wasn’t until the basement door clicked shut that you whipped back around, finding yourself closer to Steve than you had been in days. You didn’t miss the way he shuffled his feet forward, his gaze flitting the surface of your face.

With your back against the door, you spoke into the space between you—just inches. “I know it’s still her.” 

Steve shook his head. “Who?” 

“Nancy. I know you still love Nancy.” 

Steve’s mouth parted in surprise, an unreadable expression briefly crossing his features. Your chest felt tight; there was a reason you hadn’t given him an explanation when you broke up with him, and it was to avoid this very conversation. Because you didn’t need confirmation you were right and you didn’t need to be reminded that this boy you had fallen in love was probably thinking about someone else. 

Damn the upside down for forcing you into the same room. 

When no words left his mouth, you let a breath go. “I get it, Steve, alright? You don’t have to feel bad. I’m not going to pretend like this didn’t mean anything to me—that you weren’t anything to me—but I’m not… I’m not mad at you.” 

It was impossible to drop the eye contact, an invisible force keeping you tethered together as he took a step forward. And then another. And then the toes of his shoes met your own. Something lurched in your gut, making you take a deep, rattling breath in, before he moved his hand up. 

His touch was cold on the side of your face. 

“You’re such an idiot,” is how he broke the silence, his eyes racing between yours. “If you woulda just talked to me…” He cuts off, his other hand coming up to fully encase your face. “Sweetheart, I don’t know what’s been going on in that head of yours, but there’s a few things we should get straight.”

“Steve—” 

“No, hey.” He rattles your head, brows jumping up to catch your attention. “I’m doing the talking, alright? You did enough of that after you came barreling down my driveway like Cyndi Lauper.” 

“That’s not even a good song,” you mumbled, allowing Steve to guide your face up with his palms. The small smile he offered you was enough to cut most of the tension between you—and to send your heart into a flurry. 

“Listen to me,” Steve started, settling into seriousness. “I did love Nancy. I did. It was different with her and I learned a lot about myself and what I want. But, y/n, you gotta understand, I loved her, but you’re it for me.” 

Steve brought a hand down from your face, pressing it to the small of your back. 

“When I think about whatever the hell we’re supposed to do after this whole interdimensional clusterfuck ends, I think about you. You’re the only person that’s ever got me, you know? And I’m not just talking about my crappy parents and my part-time jobs. I’m talking about all of it.” 

Your chest met his. Your skin felt like it was on fire. 

“But the way you look at her…” you trailed off, needing answers, needing something. 

Steve clicked his tongue. “You think if I was still into Nancy Wheeler I would’ve asked her about you? ‘Cause I did. Went straight up to her and Jonathan when you wouldn’t answer my calls or the door.” 

Something clicked in your mind—a call from Nancy a few days ago that was short and awkward and you were sure there were voices in the background. 

“You made her call me.” 

Steve looked up at the ceiling for a moment, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “Yeah, and it was real embarrassing when you picked up on the first ring after I had just explained how you weren’t taking any of my calls.” 

“I knew you were supposed to be at work,” you admitted lowly, the sadness resting on your chest dissipating with each one of Steve’s smiles. 

He scoffed. “I gathered that, thanks.” He tilted his head to the side to fully capture your attention. “You believe me now?” He pressed you closer. “You gonna take me back? Or do I need to keep following you around like a kicked puppy.” 

You fought back a smile, placing your hands flat on his chest and watching the way it made his eyes flutter. He instantly wrapped his hands around your wrists, testing your touch, assuring it was there. Just like that, he was yours again, but you weren’t exactly sure if he had ever stopped being yours. 

Steve brought his forehead to your own, closing his eyes as if to commit the feeling to memory. You had been such a fool to let this go—or an idiot, to use Steve’s words. 

Your fingers tightened around the shirt he was wearing, twisting the material between trembling touches. You didn’t need to answer him; you kissed him instead. Pressed up against the basement door with an interdimensional clusterfuck on the horizon, you kissed him. Because he was yours, and you were it for him. 

[bigskydreaming]

Okay, so you know “Justice League meets Batman’s kids, who they’d previously been unaware existed” AUs?

So picture that.....but this time, instead of them just having no knowledge of any of these other Gotham vigilantes at all....the Batkids all migrate to various cities as they get older and become known as their protectors - Dick in Bludhaven, Tim in San Francisco, Cass in Hong Kong, etc....

Meaning they’re all established figures, the Justice League are aware of them as solo local heroes who stick to their cities and so they just don’t interact with them much if at all, or else some are members of team lineups but are particularly vague about their histories or life outside of the team’s adventures....

So the big reveal isn’t that they become aware of all these other Gotham vigilantes all at once....its that some big conflict or whatever requires a huge team up of all available heroes, and in the aftermath, they figure out that like.....despite being known as solo heroes who work alone or loners outside of their team settings, 80% of these heroes all not only seem to already know each other, they seem to be related.

And so naturally they all turn to Batman, who has profiles on every known hero and they thus figure had researched these individuals too and just never mentioned this little detail, and they’re like, “Did you know about this?”

And then Nightwing turns to him too, arms crossed and is like, “Yeah Dad, did you know about this?”

And the infamous Red Hood is all: “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have never met any of these people before in my life. Lives? Whatever.”

And then Red Robin moodily grates out “I have no siblings.” Since he’s nursing a grudge since Dick and Jason broke into his apartment the night before and replaced all his custom Red Robin gear with Darkwing Duck merchandise and his vengeance will be swift and also totally disproportionate because things escalate quickly in this family, that’s true in every universe.

Cass meanwhile has deftly skewered Jason’s lie by walking over to him and brazenly patting down the man with many many guns with no fear whatsoever. He squawks and futilely attempts to bat her hands away as she riffles through his many pockets, but he doesn’t seem shocked, just annoyed. Eventually, she pulls away and triumphantly reveals a box of Hello Kitty themed band-aids.

“So these are yours then? Just for you?” Black Bat asks smugly. Red Hood squints at the box.

“What the fuck? How long have those been in my jacket? Why are those in my jacket? Did you freaking plant them in my jacket just on the offchance you could at some point in the distant future use them at my expense?”

Black Bat frowns, puzzled. “Yes?”

“Oh come on, Dead Hood,” Spoiler says with an exaggerated toss of her head meant to convey she’s rolling her eyes beneath her own mask. She skips her way across the room to Black Bat and then drapes herself languidly all over the smaller woman. Who in turn doesn’t so much as twitch beneath the sudden added mass as Spoiler holds out her hand towards the box of band-aids. 

“One please. I have a boo-boo,” she says with easy familiarity straight into the intimidating cowl of Black Bat. Only then does she deign to finish her train of thought with Red Hood.

“I mean seriously, are you saying you don’t have potential blackmail set-ups, pre-rigged releases of incriminating material, and a random assortment of traps, pratfalls and mortifying scenarios in place for the express purpose of being able to humiliate any and all of your siblings at any given moment, without any need for additional prep time?”

“Is this true, Little Wing?” Nightwing whirls on the larger Red Hood with a faux-scandalized gasp. The founder and leader of the Titans, formerly the Teen Titans, renowned for his stratagems and calm competence when directing squads of supers in the heat of battle while he keeps pace with nothing more than naturally acquired acrobatics and a utility belt that apparently uses the same technology as Wonder Woman’s invisible jet....now appears to be....staggering with the back of his hand pressed to his forehead, moaning about how he felt....faint? 

What is happening right now, several dozen superheroes want to know. Is this a drill? Are they supposed to be checking for signs of a mental ambush from undetected psychic saboteurs? Did they all hit their heads at the exact same time and are now experiencing some kind of shared mass concussion?

Look, that wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to ever happen on the Watchtower. 

“Have I failed you so utterly?” The veteran child hero bemoans with a dramatic twirl - that when contrasted with his stern demeanor of a mere ten minutes ago - makes the fears of telepathic infiltration seem less paranoia and more....concerningly probable. “Did you learn nothing from me? Did you learn nothing from B?”

He stops and jabs a finger up at the sky. “Quick, everyone! What is the very first rule of Living While Batty?”

As if by rote, over a half a dozen voices chime in from all over the room, causing various heroes to jump. Spooked by yet more and more vigilantes joining in some kind of mass recitation like they and they alone have some kind of clue what the hell is going on and everyone else just hadn’t been invited to the party. Which is just rude, honestly. Nobody likes feeling like they weren’t invited to the party. Not even superheroes. 

“If you’re not going to bother preparing for every possible contingency and at least six impossible ones, you might as well just stay in bed.”

Even the Red Hood joins in the Illuminati chant or Cub Scout pledge or demonic ritual or whatever the fuck that just was, though his slumped and exasperated posture gives away every hint of sulkiness his headgear otherwise would have kept safely hidden. He’s surprisingly more...expressive, than most who’d only known of him by reputation had expected him to be. The day continues to yield surprises.

“Of fucking course I do,” he growls out, snatching the box from Black Bat. She doesn’t even fight to hold onto it, just lets it go with a knowing smirk. “I wasn’t surprised by the idea of it, I was just surprised she bothered with such a weak effort. Like yeah whatever, actually those could be mine. I use those all the time at home. So what?”

He aggressively yanks one of the band-aids out of the box, fumbles with the peel-off strips with one hand and he roughly rolls up the sleeve of his jacket with the other. Then just slaps it on his forearm and raises said appendage high, showing it off this way and that. “See?”

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Signal drawls from the other side of the room, nodding his head approvingly. “Totally convincing. Nice job walking that one back, you really showed them.”

Red Hood’s head snaps in his direction with ominous intent. “Watch it, Day-Glo.”

Signal just snorts.

“Yeah, like I’m gonna take constructive criticism on my name and costume from a dude who’s spent the last several years calling himself Red HOOD while running around in a freaking HELMET.”

“Its not meant to be literal, you fucking pedant.”

“So wait, its not literally a helmet? Huh, does it at least protect your head literally, or just like...symbolically? Like if Bane were to clock you across the head, would your concussion just be a metaphor? What’s the treatment protocol for a metaphorical concussion? Fluids, bedrest and a philosophical prescription of two chapters of Chicken Soup for the Soul as needed?”

“Laugh it up, KC and the Sunshine Band,” Red Hood bats back. “You just got yourself disinvited from Thursday night’s poker game.”

Signal just grins and folds his arms over his chest cockily. “Please. You’ve been looking for an excuse to ban me for weeks, cuz you know until you can prove I’m using my ghost vision to cheat, you can’t actually bring suit against me for it in Family Court.”

“That, and also Family Court isn’t a real thing, you toddler. Stop validating Wing-a-ding-ding’s obsession with Shitty TV Nostalgia and just call it that thing where Oracle traps us all in a room until we settle our latest fight without anyone getting stabbed.”

“Yeah, but like, say that five times fast,” Spoiler pipes up. “Its just not practical. Family Court’s way easier.”

“Says the one who’s not even in our fucking family.”

“And yet I grace you all with my sublime presence anyway,” she blows a kiss at him, beatifically unbothered. “You’re welcome.”

The Red Hood scoffs and rounds on his heel, zeroing in on Batwoman in the far corner.

“Hey Auntie B, my siblings are all dead to me and I just helped stop an alien invasion so I deserve nice things like a fun Saturday night. Can you get me into Dad’s fundraiser so I can crash it? He won’t put me back on the list until I promise not to bring any C-4 with me and I won’t promise not to bring any C-4 because he should just trust me that I won’t when I say I’m not gonna and he won’t trust me that I won’t until I admit I shouldn’t have brought any to that sting last month where three tiny little yachts blew up through barely any fault of my own, and I’m just not gonna do that ever because I have convictions and I feel I shouldn’t have to be punished for that. Y’know?”

Batwoman blinks at him. “Kid, I’m not gonna lie to you. You’re my nephew and I love you, but I stopped listening three seconds into all that.”

“Ugh, fine. Can you help me crash Dad’s event tonight so I can teach him a lesson about why he should just trust me not to make a scene so I don’t have to always make a scene to make a point.”

“Tempting as you make that sound,” she says wryly, “I have a strict policy for dealing with you lot and your......everything. I only worry about tolerating one of you at a time, and there’s seven of you, and seven days in the week. You each get your own. You know perfectly well its Robin’s day today. You get me on Tuesday, just like always.”

“Auntie B, we’re not like other families, are we?” Red Robin’s delivery is sarcastically childish and his question clearly rhetorical. Most of his attention is fixated on whatever it is he’s doing with his wrist-mounted computer. 

“No sweetie, we’re all severely fucked in the head and a little bit too comfortable with that.”

“Just checking. Oh hey, Hood, I just emailed you a patch for the hole in your firewall I exploited when replacing all my shit using your accounts just now.”

“You did what?”

“Used your accounts to pay to replace all my stuff that you fucked with last night?” Red Robin says slowly. “Did you not realize that I’ve been sticking within ten feet of you for the past five minutes just so I could clone your devices and do all that while BB and Spoiler kept you distracted? I gotta say, bro, I feel like that’s on you then.”

Red Hood swivels his helmeted head in the direction of the aforementioned two. Black Bat waves. Spoiler shoots him an utterly unrepentant thumbs up.

“You’d side with your ex over me? That’s what its come to?”

“My only allegiance is to chaos,” Spoiler says brightly. Black Bat shrugs.

“Plus he bribes better.”

“Hateful,” Red Hood points at Black Bat, moving on to level the same finger at Spoiler, who curtsies in acknowledgment: “Hateful-er.”

Then the finger rounds the bases to aim judgmentally at Red Robin. “Hateful-est. And that was all Nightwing’s idea anyway, not mine.”

“Oh, I assumed as much,” he says casually. “Your idea of a prank tends to have more of a Carrie vibe. Or be a literal literary reenactment.”

“Its called an homage, 4chan.”

“Whatever, plagiarist. And anyway, I couldn’t go after ‘Wing for payback on this one. He used an Immunity card. If you didn’t want me getting back at you, you should have used one too."

Red Hood looms aggressively. Red Robin ignores willfully. Round and round they go. Superheroes who can survive excessive G-Forces are getting dizzy just watching them have a largely motionless stand-off. That shouldn’t be how that works, but whatever. All the most infamously reclusive and isolated heroes in all hero-dom are apparently part of the same one big reclusive and isolated family of fucked up weirdos and they’re all officially bonkers. Nothing makes sense anymore. Reality broke. Try another stall.

“Okay, but see, in order to have an Immunity card, I would have to participate in one of you losers’ stupid Immunity challenges,” the Red Hood drags out with exaggerated patience. “And I’m just not going to do that, on account of those all being fucking stupid. You see the problem there?”

Red Robin just shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, bro. You can have principles or you can have an Immunity card. You can’t have both.”

Meanwhile, on another side of....the same room.....look, its like, an octagonal room, probably. It has a lot of sides. Robin fends off questions from an aggrieved looking Superboy.

“You never told me you had a bajillion brothers and sisters!”

“Yes but I never said I didn’t either.”

Superboy rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, so I should just assume everyone I meet has a bajillion secret brothers and sisters?”

“Well clearly it would have worked out in your favor in this instance if you had, now wouldn’t it?”

“Assuming of course that you can trust what has been said or implied here today and I am actually related to any of those numbskulls. Which I am not actually admitting to,” Robin tacks on hastily.

Superboy eyes him dubiously. “You joined in the same creepy chant all the others did and then got super self-conscious and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Which uh. I did.”

“First off, your interpretation of body language is abyssmal. I do not get self-conscious,” Robin says with a delivery that probably could have benefited from being a little less self-conscious. “And second....that proves nothing. I guessed what they were going to say.”

“Word for word,” Superboy says super-skeptically.

“I’m very good at guessing things. You know this.”

“Okay. Guess how much I believe you right now then.”

Robin glares and folds his arms grumpily across his chest. 

“And what was that anyway? Was that like....you guys’ family motto or something like that?”

“Oh no,” Spoiler pipes up. “That’s much shorter.”

Superboy balks at that. “Wait, you guys actually have one of those for real?”

“Yup,” Steph says, counting out the words with her fingers. “He who laughs last....probably works for the Joker. So tranq him just to be safe. See? Only sixteen words. The first rule of Living While Batty is way longer, and what we said was just the abridged version. You should hear the original, before Black Bat put her foot down and refused to memorize it unless sizable edits were made.”

Superboy hovers between her and Robin now, both in mid-air and on the verge of taking Spoiler’s words as an invitation to hear just that. A low growl arises from Robin’s direction.

“Must you?” He asks the older vigilante, with a most put upon expression.

She looks at him pityingly. “Do you actually need me to answer that? Like, we’ve met, right? Hi, I’m Spoiler.”

“Wait, so Robin said that I just never specifically asked him if he had a bajillion brothers and sisters, and that’s why he didn’t tell me, so that means he wouldn’t have just lied and there’s not some code of secrecy that flat out forbids telling other people stuff, right?” Superboy realizes excitedly.

“Yes, excellent direction. Go on,” Spoiler says, steepling her fingers. Robin buries his face in the palm of one hand.

“Soooo, what other stuff could you tell me about Robin’s super top secret family that I wouldn’t think to ask about but that he would tell me about if I knew what questions to ask?”

She claps once, lightly but with emphasis. “Well done. You’ve passed the first barrier. Untold secrets await you behind just a few more.”

“I’ll get you for this,” Robin vows calmly. She waves a hand at him.

“Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you do it before January 1st, remember? You’ve promised retribution like ten times already this year and those don’t roll over, y’know. Rules are rules.”

“Enough!” Thunders a voice then, from the front of the room. Well one of the fronts anyway. Like sides, it has a lot of them, but this is the one where Batman’s standing. All eyes snap to him. Which is kinda just what eyes do when Batman says stuff like that. Its like his superpower, except he doesn’t actually have superpowers, which is what makes it scary. But where the snapping of the eyes (directional) is usually followed by Batman saying something else besides just “hey look at me,” here he pauses in the wake of his own call to attention’s waning reverberations. Uncharacteristically silent.

Not that, y’know, he’s normally Mr. Talkity Talk, but usually his silences feel like he has the words to fill them, he’s just withholding them. This though, this feels more like he doesn’t have any words at all. And he’s as confused by it as any of them, and most everyone else is confused by Batman being confused, and its this whole trickle down economy of confusion and its wrecking havoc on the value of the golden silence standard.

Of course, not everyone present is rendered spellbound with confusion.

“C’mon B,” Nightwing cajoles, leaning forward and practically radiating delight. “I think you know what you have to do now. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Its not likely to come around again.”

Red Hood snickers beneath his helmet and chimes in. “Yeah Pops, go ahead. You do this and you’ll actually have my respect for a whole twenty four hours. No, wait. Sixteen. No! Eight. Yeah, eight. Still a good deal.”

“Carpe diem, B,” Red Robin grins, leaning back as if to enjoy the show.

“Hey! Infringe on my trademark one more time, dude,” Signal throws a faux-glare at the former. Red Robin just quirks an eyebrow.

“And what, you’ll start saying Yum every time you eat a burger? Oh no. I’m hoist by my own petard.”

Signal flips him off with a grin and then redirects his attention back to Batman. “Yeah seriously though B, you kinda gotta do it now. Because if you don’t do it, then you’ll forever be the guy who didn’t do it, and you don’t want to be that guy, do you?”

“Yeah you really don’t want to be that guy,” Spoiler shouts out. “Nobody likes that guy. He’s the worst.”

“Do it, do it,” Black Bat starts chanting beside her, steadily picking up speed and volume. Several others start joining in. Even Robin appears to be slightly anticipatory, albeit trying very hard to hide it.

Batman sighs, and somehow everyone manages to hear it. Stills. Waits for....something? Nobody but them seems to have any clue what, but the air is thick and heavy with portentiousness. Something is about to happen, and all most of the heroes present could say for sure is it was something they never would have in a million years seen coming.

Finally, Batman straightens with the resigned air of a man about to have oh so many regrets. He crosses his arms, shakes his head, and in an absolute deadpan monotone, says:

“You are awful children. You know you’re killing me. You’re killing your father.”

[yaya4302]

Red Hood Drabble #2

Jason Todd x Gn!reader

Warnings: Non-beta'd, mobile typed, I hope fluff, wrote at 12 am so (-_-)

A/n: let me know what I should improve, your feedback would be greatly appreciated.

I'm just plotting as I go :)

I DO NOT CONSENT TO COPYING AND REPUBLISHING

___________

"Hello?"

"Hi Mr. Bernard, it's Y/n. I wanted to let you know that I won't be able to come in tomorrow, a family emergency came up with my mom." I lie easily, feeling tiny bits a guilt.

"Alright, that's no problem, we'll have someone cover for you. Take care and have a good night." Mr. Bernard said kindly. I thanked him and hung up, looking back to the man who was still on my floor. Checking the clock on my phone, I sigh for the umpteenth time that night, feeling fatigue weighing down on me.

For 2 hours I've been cleaning and dressing the several wounds on Red Hood's body. I never knew one person could have so many scars on just their arms and face. I didn't even want to check the rest of his body.

I take a seat next to his head, grabbing the towel from the water bowl. I drain the water and wipe off any dirt and grime from his face and neck. My heart hurts staring at the bandages I used, knowing I have to use more soon.

His leg is wrapped firmly, the knife that stabbed him next to his jacket and helmet on the couch. I wasn't going to attempt lugging this guy over 6 feet onto my couch.

I stare at him a little longer, watching his chest rise and fall with each deep breath. His shirt exposing some of the cuts he sustained tonight. After some fighting with my thoughts, I whisper an apology and rip the holes in his black shirt to give me more room to clean and dress him.

After a while I finish, proud of myself and thank the survival classes my mom made me take. I'll have to send her some flowers. I wipe my forehead, and rise to me feet. My knees aching from kneeling too long, so I lay down on the love seat I have. My heavy eyelids get heavier, my breathing deeper. I stare at Red Hood, praying that he wakes up soon.

The tiny voice in my head tells me that I made a mistake helping him. He's cute. But he's a murder, for crying out loud.

But he's kinda cute.

I reach into my pocket, fish out my phone, and just scroll on social media. After about an hour or so, I become sleep delusional.

I stare at Red Hood for another moment, before my world is pulled under the serenity of sleep. I dreamt that night of many things. But the main thing I kept seeing in it was Red Hood.

Who was he? Were his eyes brown? Green, Grey? Blue, hazel? His jaw was as sharp as the blade I took out of his thigh. His lips, bloody and plump, looked very kissable. Everyone is obsessed with Blüdhaven's Nightwing, while Red Hood was not the fan favorite. Bit if they seen him as close as I have, their opinions would be changing real quick.

But as I dreamt on, I didnt notice the squeaking of my floor, nor the sound of groaning and hisses of pain. I o ly felt the warmth of a blanket, and the coolness of the air from my broken window.

_______

When the light from outside shined through the windows, I began to wake up. I opened my eyes, only to have my stomach drop to my ass.

Red Hood was gone. He took his things. He was awake.

Any sleep in my eyes was washed away by panic. I stood from the chair, feeling the blanket fall off me. I looked down at it, wondering when I got the blanket. Thats when it hit me.

He put it on me.

"Well, shit." I mumbled to myself, picking it up from the floor. I surveyed my living room, seeing the glass picked up from the pile I made. The medical tools I had organized nicely on my table. I smile to myself, grateful that he was nice enough to clean up for me.

I look out the window I'll need to replace, staring the morning sun rising. The sound of sirens, cars and music fill the silence.

"Stay safe, Red Hood." I say to the city, hoping that I get to properly thank him another time.

Good thing that he had the same idea.

[burnedbyshoto]

the bodyguard

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

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pairing: bodyguard!kirishima eijirou x idol!reader

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

word count: 20,500

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

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“I’ll be okay.”

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

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

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

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

What had he done?

What in the fucking world had he done?!

BOOM!

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

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

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

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

05:30.

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

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Better?

No, not yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Cause I’m a stalker, duh.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Kirishima-kun, are you okay?”

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

“Kirishima-kun?”

“Yo, he’s not looking too hot?”

“Kirishima?!”

“Can you hear us?!”

Silence.

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

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

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

He was okay.

He was okay.

He was okay.

“Kirishima?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

But he was obviously not the first choice still.

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

“Toshinori—”

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

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

He had barely passed the admittance test.

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

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

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

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

“I can do it.”

A smile.

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were tiny.

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

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

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

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

“Six months tops.”

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

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

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

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

“...no,” Kirishima answers truthfully.

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

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

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

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

Fuck, that one hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

“Six months,” Kirishima agreed.

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

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

“You got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, yes, let’s continue.”

So, the contract was discussed to full detail.

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

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

Or so the contract said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, so much for a good case.

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

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

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

You always managed to sneak away from him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ya, okay, bye!”

“By—”

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

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

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

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

He wanted to be just a fan.

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I can’t do that it’s not—”

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

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

And then there’s only silence.

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

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

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

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

He knew that.

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

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

You were a good person.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...how interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

“Very much.”

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

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

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

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

So much for change.

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

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

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

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

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

It had been a hard morning.

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

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

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

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

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

But today, Kirishima was exhausted.

Today, Kirishima wanted to sleep.

Today… Kirishima broke.

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

You ignore him.

“We’re leaving, now.”

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

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

He grabs your wrist and begins pulling you away.

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

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

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

Oh, right.

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

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

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

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

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

“Compromises aren’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Wh-”

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

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

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

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

And for a moment, it’s quiet.

Until a single name is screamed.

“SERGEANT!”

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

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

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

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

The van turns on.

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

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

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

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

T082-23

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

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

Well, shit.

So much for the month of no attacks.

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

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

But they also gave him an essential piece of information.

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

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

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

For now, he was waiting for you.

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

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

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

“Should we go?”

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

“I actually wanted to talk before we left.”

Oh?

“Of what, if I may ask?”

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

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

“Sure.”

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

The contract was then discussed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, Kirishima.”

“Oh, and y/n?” 

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kirishima stood in the softly lit hallways of a sauna.

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

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

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

Well, everyone but Kirishima, that was.

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

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

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

A stressful month had passed into a friendlier one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-If that’s okay?”

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

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

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

“No, I’m okay,” you politely decline.

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

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

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

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

“So, what questions do you have?”

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A pause.

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

A nod.

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

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

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

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

What had happened?

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

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

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

“Was that um, Major—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t made of glass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

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

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

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

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

“PERVERT!”

“What?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, his dreams were never like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kirishima stepped back out to the hot spring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jenny, are you okay?” you called.

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

“We weren’t fucking you prude!”

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

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

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

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

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

What was he going to do now?

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

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

Bad, Kirishima, bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That sounds amazing, Kimiko!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whoever it was, pfft.

Kirishima was willing to bet on who it was already.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something.

Anything.

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

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

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

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

He was going to.

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready to move out?”

“We’re all clear.”

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

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

“Damn right I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Such a brat.”

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

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

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

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

T082-23.

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

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

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

You really came to life right now.

You were beautiful.

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

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

He was here.

Every warning bell sounded in Kirishima’s head.

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

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

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

Wait.

“What?! Family member?!”

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

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

There was no way you wouldn’t.

Was he wrong?

Who was it?

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

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

Oh fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

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

“...she’s drunk?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a reason why you were considered a legend.

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

You smile.

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

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

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

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

How were they related?

What connected them?

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

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

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

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

Kirishima panted as he looked before him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was he ready?

Actually ready?

Save her, his past whispered.

Save her, his nightmares screamed.

Save her, his heart yelled.

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

BANG!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you resisted and might have been harsher than needed.

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

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

But it was growing late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown. 

“Where will you be sleeping then?”

“My couch is just fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I’ll be leaving—”

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

“Oh, sure!”

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

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

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

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

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

He was relaxed.

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

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

“Really?”

“One hundred percent.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” you grin against his mouth.

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

“No?” he repeats.

“No,” you confirm.

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

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

Menacing, promising, sending chilling shivers down your spine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does the princess want?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy fuck, he could quickly kill you with that.

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

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

And thankfully, Kirishima allows it.

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

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

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

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

It feels like fire.

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

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

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

Slap!

“Hey!”

Slap!

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

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

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

More, you plead.

And he delivers. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who saved you?”

“E-Ei did,” you garble.

“Who’s fucking you?”

“E-Ei is!”

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

“Me! Fuck, me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t.

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

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

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

“I think we do.”

[dixbolik-lovers]

Sorry you’re having writers block! Do you think I could request some headcanons with the Pet!AU for Shuu, Laito, & Kanato (separately) when they get bought by the child heiress of a billionaire family so they can be her “sleep aid”? Essentially, their job is to sit still and look pretty while they’re being used as a plushie by their mature yet aloof owner, who suffers from chronic insomnia and is constantly tired.

Said owner also has to attend extremely stressful lessons on inheriting the family business everyday for hours on end, so the only time the boys really interact with their child master is whenever they’re “doing their job”. A bonus to this is that they are always dressed in extremely soft clothing and left to their own devices most of the time with a few mentally stimulating items if they’re good, and the only downside they have to deal with is being scrutinized and obsessively cleaned by the human maids of the household before every visit to make sure they don’t “dirty the heiress”.

Shuu

It's an easy life, that's for sure. Shuu can't really complain about an owner who only wants him to lie around and be cuddled when they feel like it, and leaves him to his own devices outside of those somewhat rare moments. It's certainly less trouble than anywhere he expected to wind up, so can he really complain?

When you're not around, Shuu spends most of his time sleeping. For a while, it's nice to be able to rest around the clock without having to worry about anyone wanting him to get up and do anything annoying. But after long enough of that way of living... Shuu actually starts to get a little bored. And lonely, for that matter. He knows better than to point out fault in a good situation, but a part of him really does wish he could have more attention.

Laito

When he's first brought to his new home, Laito is expecting the worst. He sees no reason why he won't be used for the same things that have always been expected of him, so he goes in waiting for more of what he's used to. And as everything turns out to be different, he's left completely lost in shock.

It takes a lot of getting used to. Laito is so on edge that it's hard for him to accept a life where he's not wanted for sex. Every time his owner spends time with him, he's expecting it to happen, at last, and when it doesn't, he's more unsettled than ever. Being on his own isn't bad, but he's lonely. Since he's always been surrounded by his brothers (and had lots of 'attention'), his social nature isn't well-suited to being left to his own company.

Kanato

In a lot of ways, this is a dream come true for him. Living a life where he only has to be a good doll to be cuddled and held, never hurt or punished, is everything he's ever wanted. Kanato is doubtful that it's even real, at first, but as it sinks in that he gets to stay like this, he gets the first taste of hope he's ever had.

The only real problem is that his owner can't spend much time with him. Kanato is the needy sort, as we all know, so having you away so often doesn't do his mental state much good. But that's just a price to pay for such kindness, isn't it? That's what he tries to tell himself. Even though he's achingly lonely when you're not around, the blessing of being your cuddle-toy when you have time to spend with him should, by all rights, outweigh the bad part.

[earnestly-endlessly]

Hi, how are you? Your blog is amazing and your recommendations have already allowed me to read wonderful stories, so thank you so much! I wonder if you could suggest me any cherik fics of them as detectives? I remember reading one a long time ago, but unfortunately I don't know the name and even less the synopsis. Thank you in advance for your help.

Thank you so much @remember5novemberv for your kind words. I'm so sorry this took me so long but I hope you enjoy this list. There are some excellent detective AUs in this fandom so you're in for a treat.

Cherik Detective AUs

Their Mouths Always Lie – keire_ke

Summary: Charles adheres to most police protocols like they are a personal code of conduct. Erik gets things done and over with, for better or worse. Raven knows what she's doing, most of the time. The serial killer kills, regardless. Police AU.

Guilty by Association – Reagan

Summary: While investigating the homicide of a John Doe who he suspects might've been murdered while working the streets as a prostitute, Detective Erik Lehnsherr finds an unexpected ally in a hooker named Charles who seems as determined as he to solve the case. As they become more deeply involved both with the case and each other, there's just one thing that Charles neglects to mention -- that he's really an investigative journalist, one quickly convinced that what they're dealing with is more than simple murder. cop!Erik, fake-hooker-slash-reporter!Charles, Modern AU.

Incy Wincy Spider – Tawabids

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is a renowned homicide detective, with his husband Charles at home and his partner on the job, Moira MacTaggert. When a twisted serial killer starts targeting mutants, Erik and Moira are the perfect team for the job, especially since Erik himself is the mutant poster-boy of an NYPD trying to improve their image.

But what they don't yet know is that the serial killer is an old soul out of Erik's past, and his next move is to pull Charles into his web.

The Theory of Partnership Dynamics – Pangea

Summary: “Detective Lehnsherr, how wonderful to see you out on the job!” The fed in the front greets him as they draw nearer. He’s shorter than the other two by a full head, and he’s beaming at Lehnsherr as if completely undeterred by Lehnsherr’s paint-peeling scowl.

“What do the feds want?” Lehnsherr asks bluntly.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” the fed answers cheerfully. Then his gaze lands on Alex, and, impossibly, his grin gets even brighter. “Did you get a new partner?"

“No,” Lehnsherr says through his teeth while at the same time Alex says, “Yes.”

Charles’ Killer – luchia

Summary: When detective Charles Xavier finds himself hunting down a vendetta-driven serial killer, it doesn't take long for him to realize he's in over his head. It only takes a little longer for him to realize his killer is, too.

Demoted – JayPendragon

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is a detective-specialist with the NYPD Mutant Tactical Unit, ready to help out where his skills are needed. Or he would be, if he and his partner hadn’t been demoted. For the next four months, he is patrolling the Lenox Hill precinct with Azazel – if he doesn’t die of boredom first.

One night they are called in to investigate a potential case of domestic violence, yet the tenant assures them he is both alone and unharmed. However, there is something about this Charles Xavier that compels Erik to follow up.

Watching the Detectives – Clocks

Summary: Detectives Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr are good friends and colleagues. However, when they go undercover at a Christmas party to nab a prime suspect, Erik keeps reminding himself to stay professional and ignore feelings of unexpected jealousy.

Oh, Sinnerman (Where you gonna run to?) – TintagelCastle (orphan–account)

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is one of the best homicide detectives in New York. From small time stabbings to high end mob hits, Erik (and his equally scary partner Logan) makes sure all the bad guys get caught, searching for the final clue to nail his mother's killer. As a string of murders draws the net ever tighter on Erik's life's work, he needs to catch the nightmare of his past whilst continuing to be the darling of the Force...

And so what if he's completely in love with the British guy on Forensics? Who's he ever going to tell?

Wrap up my bones – waifornight

Summary: Damaged detective Erik Lehnsherr is grimly searching for a serial killer whose victims all have extraordinary gifts. But without any clues or leads he and his partner Logan are in the dark. Until Charles Xavier, abducted by the killer, escapes. Together Erik and Charles must confront something far darker than either of them had ever imagined.

Alternate Universe loosely based off the crime movie Kiss the Girls.

I’ll see your heart (and I’ll race you mine) – sirona

Summary: For Kriminalhauptkommissar Erik Lehnsherr, this case will change everything.

Paralyzer – Yahtzee

Summary: In 1965, Erik Lehnsherr has infiltrated the NYPD for his own purposes -- but his powers make him a brilliant detective. Yet that's not why FBI agent Charles Xavier has sought him out. It's because the mysterious killer they're both trying to find is murdering people like them: other mutants.

Their search for a madman binds them together. Their inner demons may tear them apart. But the greatest danger comes when the killer they're looking for looks back.

Wrap up my bones – waifornight

Summary: Damaged detective Erik Lehnsherr is grimly searching for a serial killer whose victims all have extraordinary gifts. But without any clues or leads he and his partner Logan are in the dark. Until Charles Xavier, abducted by the killer, escapes. Together Erik and Charles must confront something far darker than either of them had ever imagined.

Alternate Universe loosely based off the crime movie Kiss the Girls.

The Long Bright Dark – lachatblanche

Summary: Ten years ago Detectives Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr closed the case on a grotesque series of murders that continue to haunt them even in the present day. When they are pulled in for questioning a decade later, they finally have confirmation of something that they have both suspected for a very long time - that there is unfinished business for them to take care of and that the case they thought they had closed so very long ago is in reality still all too open.

A True Detective AU.

Finding North – ClarkeStetler, Goosenik

Summary: Charles and Erik are (loosely) friends with benefits. They don't share personal details, last names, or anything concrete about their lives. This is ruined rather spectacularly when Charles gets recruited by the Mutant Apprehension Division of the FBI. Surprised is a bit of an understatement for their reaction to finding themselves partnered up and sent out on cases with the team.

Closer (to God) – dsrobertson

Summary: Se7en/The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo AU-ish.

Political journalist and editor, Erik Lehnsherr, has just lost £150,000 in a libel case against businessman, Kurt Marko. Down on his luck and in need of money, Erik is approached by the Metropolitan Police’s Detective Inspector Charles Xavier. Well-known for his investigative journalism, Erik is asked to help in the search for a serial killer in return for £200,000 if the killer is caught.

Wrapped up in murder, religion, and sex, Erik gets more than he bargained for.

Homo Sacer – unveiled

Summary: In a not too distant future, Detective Erik Lehnsherr meets Charles Xavier: street magician, former academician, and telepath.

One Good Day – troll_under_the_bridge

Summary: One case which is going to turn Charles' world upside down, while he struggles to pacify his boss, investigate murders and come to terms with the mess his life has become.

Playing With Fire – professor

Summary: Charles is a detective determined to catch a serial killer.

If the serial killer doesn't catch him first.

Hold on or let go – aesc, pearl_o

Summary: Teenage telepath Charles Xavier takes a job as a consultant, working with prickly police detective Erik Lehnsherr. Charles is used to being on his own and taking care of himself; he has no reason to think that his relationship with this stern, icy man is going to change any of that. (Also known as: Tough Little Baby Telepath.)

MCIS: First Case – Pookaseraph

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr considers himself a great MCIS agent, and he puts up with a lot from his boss - Moira MacTaggart - in the name of solving crimes against mutants, but he's not so sure about this new empath, Charles Xavier. Their first case together will test Erik's patience, but doubtless be the beginning of a brilliant friendship.

MCIS: Fathers, Sons, and Brothers – Pookaseraph

Summary: Alex Summers has a single case that he has obsessed about ever since coming to MCIS two years ago: Su-M-94-0708-0034, the murder of Christopher and Katherine Summers, and the presumed kidnapping and possible murder of Scott Summers. Very little evidence was found at the time, but hopefully a new team - and new leads - can shed light on the case that left Alex an orphan.

When the Crazies come to town – Chinchillaatthedisc0

Summary: Erik is a surly detective with zero people skills who has just been assigned the murder case of Kurt Marko. Prime suspect? Charles xavier. Who's no where to be found.

My old man is a bad man – faerie_ground

Summary: Sebastian Shaw dies at two am in the morning with a dagger embedded in his forehead. Detective Erik Lehnsherr is on the case, and the number one suspect is the recently widowed Dr Charles Xavier, Sebastian Shaw's husband.

Deep Cover – Subtilior

Summary: Omegas in heat? The perfect whores. Sebastian Shaw? The bastard who kidnaps them for his Hellfire Club. Erik Lehnsherr? A hard-boiled detective who's been on the Hellfire case for months. The catastrophe that unfolds when he goes in on retrieval and finds Charles Xavier still writhing in a Hellfire bed? .... Deep Cover.

A Murder of Ravens – AbandonedWorld

Summary:Charles Xavier is wrongfully accused. Erik Lehnsherr is a top-notch homicide Lieutenant who stumbles upon the case of a lifetime: a serial killer targeting mutants–and only mutants. Charles bides his incarceration waiting on a miracle, reciting Poe's timeless gem in effort to retain his sanity...

Note: Unfinished

[lilacmeadows]

Made For You pt. 2

Omg you guys thank you so much for all the support! Part 1 was my first fic and you guys were so sweet. I had to get started on part 2 right away. If you want to be on my taglist, just let me know! This is just leading up to the next few chapters that’s just gonna be FILTHY. I needed a bit of backstory to be satisfied, but now that the boring part is out of the way, I’m gonna go research other names for genitals. Hope you enjoy! -Savvy

BUCKY X READER

Summary: Hydra had just finished training you to be the Winter Soldier’s perfect mate when the Avengers saved him. But what’s going to happen to you now that Hydra has deleted your old life and left you with nothing but a soldier that needs to learn to love himself before he can love someone else.

Part 1    Part 2     Part 3

WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, explicit language, underage reader (nothing sexual happens underage), stockholm syndrome, mentions of family death, eventual dom/sub dynamics, mentions of captivity and kidnapping. violence- guns, mutual pining, eventual smut, fluff, angst if you squint (must be 18+)

WORD COUNT:  2.9k

“Make the Soldat happy. He is my mission.” 

When she was first taken, of course she was scared. She didn’t know why, where she was going, if she’d be rescued. It was a painful adjustment, and some days it was as if the tears would never stop. It’s not like she was worth anything to anyone who mattered, her family wasn’t rich. Just her mom and brother. They lived a happy and normal life. 

She’d guess it didn’t really matter. At the age of 10, y/n was old enough to understand basic concepts, carry a conversation with adults, and she had strict teachers in school, so she knew how to behave. 

What she didn’t know was how to be a wife. Or a ‘life-partner’. None of the Men would ever call her a future ‘wife’. She was training to be a mate. Someone the Soldat could own and connect with so he didn’t fly off the rails if things got out of control. If he got out of their control. Every morning, a watcher would wake her up at 8AM so she could stretch, eat, and meditate. By 10AM, her first trainer of the day would come in and teach her the schooling she was missing. Just basic math and reading, a little German, and a little Russian. Not enough for her to eavesdrop on their plans, but enough to understand her Soldat if he didn’t feel like speaking English. 

At 1PM, another trainer would come and bring her to the small kitchenette down the hall. They had no intention of domesticating the ‘couple’, but she was learning to be a woman- of course the Men would have her start in the kitchen. She would learn very simple meals that could feed a fully grown man, and usually had something light for lunch herself. The men brought her the other 2 meals a day. At 3PM she would have lessons on ‘Womanhood’. At least that’s what she called it. A trainer would come in and teach her a never-ending list of rules that she had to follow in order to be a ‘lady’. It reminded her of an old Barbie movie she would watch when she was little. There was a song called ‘To Be a Princess’, where a poor girl learned how to act proper. Once she started seeing herself as that princess, the days got a little easier. Some days, they would go over how to sit and lie down like a lady. Others, they would walk laps around the halls open to her, reviewing how to walk on the balls of her feet. She learned to talk in short sentences with excellent manners, and how to brush her hair, so she could look more presentable for her Soldat. 

Over the years of compliance, the trainers softened on her just as the watchers had. Of course, they were still horrible people, but they knew she was a kind girl at heart and wouldn’t cause trouble. Some days, she would be made to sit perfectly still with a stack of books on her head, while her trainer would tell her something silly happening outside the walls of the building that became her home. She learned little bits of information about their lives, music, art. But never anything political or having to do with who the Men even worked for. That was strictly forbidden. They would let her color in her free time. Sometimes a watcher would bring a book from his home for her to read, and when she was old enough, she was given a few colors of yarn and started knitting sweaters and scarves on plastic needles. She didn’t have a clock, but she would learn by the rotating shifts of her watchers what time of day it was.

There were children whose lives sucked more than hers. And for that, she was grateful.

When she got older (let’s say 18), the training started to change. She never knew what day it was, or even what year. She had stopped keeping track so long ago, but the changes were made gradually. She would be made to read books on intimacy, and then watch videos of men brutally ravishing ladies about her size. She had to learn what to do to please her Soldat, without being taught physically. This made her happy. The thought of any of the watchers or trainers doing that to her made her sick. And everyone thought it was in her best interest to be completely innocent to the touch of a man when she has her first encounter with the Soldat.

Which turned out exactly as planned. But on the day Steve and Sam plucked her out of her bedroom, she was not expecting the Soldat to be sitting right in front of her. In all his glory.

The quinjet was eerily silent for all of seven seconds before Clint had the audacity to continue the conversation he started.

“You make the soldier happy?” was the best the shocked man could come up with.

“I haven’t met him yet, but I’m ready. They made me ready for him.” y/n said with bright, hopeful eyes. Her words flowed so easily, they sounded rehearsed.

“Do we tell her?” Tony asked Steve, who was getting greener by the second. He couldn’t believe he just got his best friend back, not two weeks ago, and now he has to worry about a girl who’s obsessed with said best friend.

“I don’t think we really have a choice.” Steve replied, taking a deep breath. The whole quinjet looked like they were holding their breath. y/n still didn’t know the names of the three men on the opposite side of the quinjet. Two of them standing together, pausing their conversation, and the brooding man, who everyone keeps looking at.

“y/n, meet Bucky.” Steve said, pointing at the man across from her. But ‘Bucky’ went completely over her head- the name being unfamiliar to her.

“Hello, sir. Pleased to meet you.” She said, offering a genuine smile, but clearly not picking up what Steve was putting down. Clint chimed in again, wanting to be out of his confused misery.

“Wait a second. Y/n. You mean the soldier, as in the Winter Soldier?” Y/n immediately nodded at hearing that name. She knew her Soldat went by that name. “As in that guy right there?” 

Her eyes went wide at the realization. He was sitting right in front of her. Staring at her since the minute she stepped onto the plane. And he was gorgeous. Long hair, thick thighs, piercing blue eyes, and a jaw that could probably cut glass. But he looked upset. Pissed really, and that scared her. She had one job: Make the Soldat happy. And there she was, barely presentable. She hadn’t even addressed him properly, how she was taught. With all the eyes on her, she felt a blush rush through her whole body at the embarrassing thought. But she had to. He wouldn’t like her if she didn’t follow the rules she grew up with.

Y/n daintily stood up and walked until she was right in front of Bucky. He held her eye contact the entire way, still not having said one word during this whole exchange. She gently knelt down until she was on her knees in front of him. 

“I hope I can make you happy, my Soldat. I am a gift from the Men who take care of us, and I am entirely yours.” Bucky’s jaw twitched. He hadn’t said anything this whole time, but his mind was moving at lightning speed. He watched this gorgeous, barely dressed girl sit across from him, and was already in awe. But then that girl got on her knees and declared her loyalty to him? In front of everyone he knows? He couldn’t lie to himself, he’d never been more turned on. But everything about this was wrong. She was just a Stockholm Syndrome’d girl who wanted to follow orders. But her orders were to make him happy. He finally broke eye contact with her to see Tony’s shocked face looking over at Bruce and Thor, to make sure he’s not hallucinating this. 

“Y/n, you should stand up.” He said to her in a hushed tone. Probably harsher than he meant to. He could see her visibly take a breath at the sound of his voice, his eyes followed the gentle slope of her neck down to her breast. She dreamed for years about what his voice would sound like, and it just rolled over her. But she quickly obeyed and stood in front of his seat. He expected her to say something else, but she was silent then. Her previous outburst was one of the few exceptions to her ‘only talk when spoken to’ rule. “What do you want? Where is your family so we can take you home?” He asked her. She could feel the tears well up in her eyes. He didn’t want her was all she could assume. She was made for him, so why was he turning her away?

“I want to make you happy, sir. It’s all I want. Please let me be good for you. I promise, I’ll be so good for you.” Begging was familiar to her from her studies. She didn’t expect to be begging for her to be able to please him, but she would do whatever it took to get him to keep her.

“No. Y/n. This isn’t right. You were being kept there, whatever Hydra told you to do is over. You’re free now.” The tears flowed freely down her cheeks and it broke his heart. She tried to cover her face with her hands. He didn’t want to see her cry, nor did he want to turn her away, but he also couldn’t just let her be his sex slave. It wasn’t right. 

“Please don’t be sad. This is for the best-” He tried to reason with her, but when he took her hand off her face so she would look at him, the contact only made her sob harder. This was all she wanted. 

“Buck, I think we should just let her sit for a minute. Can you grab her some water? Tony and I will try to figure out where she was from.” Steve said to Bucky- trying to end this painful and awkward situation. Bucky stood and walked to another area of the quinjet. He was grateful to be able to use this time to think.

“Y/n, we’re gonna need your help to get you home okay. What’s your last name? How old are you?” 

“Y/L/N” And then she went quiet. It never occurred to her that she didn’t know how old she was. Of course, she remembered her birthday, but she couldn’t tell the weeks and months apart, so she hadn’t celebrated it since she turned 10 in 2006. “What year is it?”

“When did they take you?” Steve asked gently. Being a man from another time, he could remember well the day he woke up in 2011 when it was supposed to be 1944. He knew how jarring it was to discover all the time that’s been lost, and wanted to spare her that grief.

“2006. I was 10.” She looked at him, and she could tell it’s not just 2008 by the look on his face. She knew her body went through changes over her time with the Men, but between the ‘dietary supplements’ they gave her, and the fact that she wasn’t looking in a mirror- much less shopping for clothes- she didn’t realize she had fully completed puberty. 

“Y/n, it’s 2016. You’re 20 now.” And that made the tears come harder. But she wasn’t so upset about the 10 years of her life. She was mad at 20 years of her life wasted. Since Bucky didn’t want her, all of the training was for nothing. She knew living for him made her the definition of a broken person- she wasn’t dumb. The idea of her Soldat was what grounded her all that time. When she was lonely, she’d think about the man the Men always tell her about. They told her how he was their ‘greatest asset’. And she often fantasized about if he would fall in love with her. So by the time she met him, she had already been in love with him for much longer than she’d care to admit- which makes the heartbreak of rejection hurt that much more.

Unfortunately for Bucky, his heart was heavy too. He tucked away into the tiny bed area on the jet after quickly handing Steve the water to give to y/n. It was too much. Being in that room with her, she looked at him like he hung the moon. But he most certainly had not. He was a murderer. Tony’s father was a scientist during the war, and Bucky knew him pretty well through Steve. And he killed him. He had scattered memories of hurting dozens of people, so why would she be so willing to be with someone like him?

Part of him wanted it. After almost a century of not owning anything and not having a choice, he was given the opportunity to have something that belonged only to him. A gift from the men who take care of us. If it wasn’t cruel, he would have laughed in her face. Maybe she was taken care of, but he most certainly wasn’t. She was brought in young enough to still be under the impression that Hydra wasn’t evil, just strict. He imagined for a minute how things could have turned out for the two of them if he hadn’t gotten free. If Hydra really was planning on giving him a gift. He didn’t like the last gift they gave him in the shape of an arm, but y/n was perfect. She was the perfect size for him- although his broad frame could dwarf most women. And her smile pulled at his heart.

He wanted to kiss her the minute he saw her. He knew he wanted to make her his.

And that was bad.

He rubbed his hand over his face and decided to rejoin the group in the middle of their conversation. Thor and Bruce decided to stop being passive members of the conversation and introduced themselves. Y/n was very confused at Thor’s proclamation as ‘God of Thunder’, but with all that was happening, she didn’t feel it was her place to question it.

“- a good thing we have spare rooms at the compound. You can stay as long as you like.” Tony finished speaking to y/n just as Bucky was walking into the room. “We’re gonna have a new house guest MC.” He waggled his eyebrows at the man who caught the back half of that conversation.

Bucky’s jaw dropped. This would only make the situation much harder than it needed to be. He looked to Steve for an explanation. The blond stood up and made his way over to Bucky.

“Look, Hydra scrubbed her records off of every database and-” He took a deep sigh, “Her family is dead, Buck. They probably killed them after they took her.” 

Then it was Bucky’s turn to sigh. He knew the right thing to do was to help her, but he also knew how much he wanted to feel her soft skin in his hands. And that made her dangerous to be around. 

What nobody knew was why Hydra took the 10 year old from Georgia. In 2006, the Winter Soldier was sent on a mission to kill a scientist that lived there. Of course the poor guy didn’t have a chance when the Soldier was sitting in his house, waiting for him when he got home, but what the Soldier wasn’t expecting was a little girl to be coming inside with him. The scientist looked sleazy and didn’t have any children, so who knows what would have happened to her if the Soldier didn’t get there in time. She screamed and cried. The comm in his ear commanded him to kill the girl for being a witness. But the part of the Soldier that was still Bucky wanted her to be safe. He shushed the little girl and asked her for her address. When she recited it to him, he rubbed her head and told her she was a good girl, before he dug his metal fingers into the child’s pressure points and she fell limp into his arms. y/n woke up in her bed, crying at the bad dream she must have had- her mother not even home yet. That was the first act of defiance Hydra ever experienced from the Winter Soldier. First sign of humanity and compassion. They knew if the mind control was getting weaker, he would be harder to control next time they unfroze him, but his protective nature of the girl would make her an asset to them.

Her capture was arranged before his heart was fully frozen in the chamber. Neither Bucky nor y/n remembered this- Bucky only remembering parts of his time under their control, and y/n never thinking about that bad dream again, but the connection was still there as strong as it was that day 10 years ago.

Part 3

[kaitycole]

the countdown

Summary: There’s a countdown on your wrist, but what happens when it randomly resets?

Pairing: Daichi x Reader, Hinata x Yachi (side pair)

Warning: Fluff, I guess?

Word Count: 3578

Prompt: Soulmate AU: There is a clock countdown on your wrist to when you meet your soulmate

A/N: Part of the @celestialarchiveshq​ soulmate collab

Y/N

It has always annoyed you, the ticking clock on the underside of your wrist, to the point that you started wearing things to cover it. Over the years, you watched people close to you obsess over the clock, a few of your college friends had dropped out because the constant partying and searching to meet their soulmate seemed to overshadow their grades.

When you were younger the idea of the clock reaching 0:00 excited you, meeting the person who was supposed to know you best, who wouldn’t want that? But as you matured, you started to believe that soulmates don’t always mean forever, they don’t always mean romantic partners, so how could you stay excited over something that could lead to a huge disappointment? Not to mention the depressing thought of what if your soulmate was the romantic type and they weren’t attracted to you. That could happen, right?

What if they preferred long hair but you had just cut it? Or the opposite? What if you had just colored your hair a color that reminded them of an ex? That thought would put you in a tailspin. What if they had exes? Even with the soulmate system, people still found themselves attracted to other people. It made you think of that trashy MTV show where everyone has a perfect match, but there’s always one couple that finds out they aren’t matches, but they refuse to move on. What if your soulmate had someone like that?

You drop your head down onto your desk, the loud bang catches your coworker’s attention as she walks back towards you with two mugs of coffee. Not that she needs it, just like her soulmate, she’s like an endless ball of energy.

“Still upset about last weekend?”

You slowly lift your head, rubbing your forehead knowing you’ll have some embarrassing red mark. Yachi Hitoka has to be one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met, she’s always there for anyone who needs it, helps out whenever she can, and at first you were worried when you met her. You instantly became protective of her, not wanting anyone to take advantage of her kindness, but then you saw her lay down the law when it came to someone missing a deadline for one of the ad campaigns and all you could do was smile proudly.

“I just can’t believe I was this close,” you hold up your hand, using your index finger and thumb to show a small amount, “to meeting them and they just disappeared.”

*                      * Over the weekend, Yachi’s soulmate Hinata Shoyo came in from Osaka to visit and the three of you ended up attending the Bunkyo Plum Blossom Festival. Despite being the third wheel, you couldn’t help but find yourself smiling, watching just how well they not only complimented their similarities but their differences as well.

You glanced down at your wrist, for no particular reason and felt the wind get knocked out from your lungs. Yachi turned to ask if you had heard her before she stopped walking, backing up to be at your side.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?”

You couldn’t find the words, your mind completely blanked as you held up your wrist, showing her just how low the clock had gotten.

00:01:13

00:01:12

00:01:11

“Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!” Yachi started to jump up and down, causing a small scene on the tightly packed sidewalk. Hinata tilted his head, waiting to be filled in as the two of you walked back towards him.

“Kinda romantic, Y/N. Meeting your soulmate at a festival.” Yachi now had her arm looped with yours, scanning the sidewalks.

“It’s never been this low before.” You said casually, but a knot started to form in your stomach. It felt as if every emotion you could imagine started to wash over you, grabbing ahold of you and making you realize just how real the situation could be.

What if they didn’t like you? What if it was a best friend type of soulmate? What if they simply brushed you off, telling you that they were going to be with someone that wasn’t their soulmate?

What if…?

What if…?

What if…?

Yachi hand slightly squeezed your arm, pulling you from the anxiety that had seemed into your chest, tightening with each breath. “Look at your wrist.”

00:00:20

You started to look around, wondering briefly if your soulmate had been looking around for you, eyes on the clock waiting to bump into you.

00:00:13

Your stomach dropped and you walked over to a wall, leaning against it with fear that you’d just drop if you didn’t have support. Wasn’t this supposed to be an exciting moment in your life? If so, then why did you currently feel like you were about to melt into a puddle of nerves?

00:00:09

“Are you okay?”

You glanced up, seeing two uniformed officers standing around you. Hinata quickly drug Yachi up to the brunette officer, the three seeming to be familiar with each other while raven-haired officer was waiting for your reply.

“Oh, uhm, yes.” You felt dumb, but you held up your wrist, “just a little nervous.”

00:00:07

He let out a small chuckle, “I’m sure things will be fine. My husband ran into a light post when we first met.”

Yachi waved you over, you could hear her mention your name to the other officer but your movement halted when the officers’ radios crackled, a voice requesting back-up. The two officers quickly excused themselves, a few other officers gathering around them before they left, disappearing around the corner.

When you saw a person walking towards you, you glanced down, wondering it this person could be it, but something in you cracked noticing a drastic change in the clock on your wrist.

1368:59:52

*                      * 1200:03:25

50 days.

That’s how long you have to wait to meet your soulmate. But would you ever meet them? You had asked around and no one else had ever heard of someone’s clock restarting, what if you didn’t actually have a soulmate? If it was just some glitch, your clock just resetting to some random time like an electronic clock after the power cuts out and then back on.

Absentmindedly, you sip on the coffee Yachi had brought you, looking out the window wondering that if it wasn’t a glitch, had your soulmate being eagerly looking for you that day too? Were they just as upset that your clocks reset? A smile twitches on the corner of your lips, maybe the whole soulmate thing wasn’t so bad after all.

*          *          *          * Daichi

Sawamura Daichi tilts his head back, squeezing his eyes shut as he lets out a yawn. Daichi is tired and stressed, all he wants is to sink into his bed and sleep. At least until his clock hit zero and his soulmate was standing in front of him.

He pulls himself up in the chair, rubbing his eyes before glancing down at the countdown that’s on his wrist. He isn’t someone that spends large amounts of time staring and obsessing over each tick of the clock, but just a few weeks ago, it seemed to have reset and that alone caught his attention.

960:12:46

40 days.

Part of Daichi wants to say the clock on his wrist doesn’t bother him, that it’s not something he thinks of often, but that’s a lie. His dedication to his job, to protecting not just his loved ones, but those around him often painted him as a strict, by the book type of guy. The guy that wouldn’t bother to think of love or soulmates, being too focused on his job, but Daichi is just another hopeless romantic.

Which is exactly why he often wonders how it will fit in with the whole soulmate aspect. Even with the ups and downs his job brought, the uncertainty that sometimes came with each day, he has never regretted his choice of profession. But while those things didn’t sway his own personal opinion, it leaves him wondering how his soulmate would feel about it. If it would be something that they’d be able to accept and understand why he went that route.

What if they couldn’t accept it? What if they asked him to change careers? What if it was the straw that broke the camel’s back and tore them apart?

What if…?

What if…?

“Keep it up and you get forehead wrinkles.”

He feels a warm hand on his shoulder, turning to see his silver-haired best friend smiling at him. Sugawara sits across from Daichi, the two finally having a free day to meet and catch up.

“Keep worrying about me and your hair will go white.” “Take that back right now Daichi!” Suga rolls his eyes as the former captain starts laughing.

After ordering drinks, the conversation sways to Suga and his new group of students before it inevitably goes to Daichi and his soulmate mark. When he called the former setter, he, like everyone else, had never heard of a mark resetting, but he refused to let his best friend dwell on it. Even now, Suga places a comforting hand on Daichi’s forearm as he gives him a comforting smile.

“Maybe fate decided it wasn’t the right time.” Suga offers, he didn’t have too much room to talk. His current significant other isn’t his soulmate and yet he refuses to let it go, saying that what he has makes him happy and that’s all that should matter.

Daichi sighs, taking a sip on his drink, one of his fears sitting on the tip of his tongue. “What if I end up arresting my soulmate?” “You’d have a pretty unique meet-up story. Ow!” Suga rubs his shin, Daichi sitting there with a smirk on his face.

“That aside, it doesn’t change the fact that it reset in Tokyo and I was just there temporarily.”

“Visit on a day off.” Suga shrugs, “though you were there for a festival that attracts tons of people.”

“I hope you’re better at advice when it comes to your students.”

Suga rolls his eyes, shoulders drooping in defeat, he really was out of ideas. “When exactly did it reset?”

“Not sure, it was low before I ran into Hinata, but by the time I got back from a call it had already reset.”

“Was there anyone else around? Besides Yachi.” Daichi just shakes his head, finishing off his drink before he twists his wrist causing the ice to circle around the glass. Then it hits him, there had been someone else, but he didn’t get a good glance, his partner was talking to them. He simply shrugged it off back then, but now he wondered if maybe, just maybe they had been his soulmate.

*          *          *          * Y/N

720:03:36

30 days

You’re dancing around your apartment, headphone in as you straighten up the throw blankets on the couch, so you didn’t hear the knocking on the door or the voice calling you until you turned and let out a scream.

You’re doubled over, panting as you struggle to catch your breath, Yachi apologizing frantically and repeatedly until you finally stand up, telling her you were just a bit startled.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The worry on her face as plain as day.

“I swear,” you flop down on the couch, “what’s up?” “Oh yeah!” She instantly perks up, “my high school is doing an alumni volleyball game and Hinata’s going to be in it. Thought you might want to join!”

“When is it?” You know this is her way of saying ‘you can’t meet your soulmate if only go to work and home’ but you were pretty confident that if you waited long enough, they could just end up moving in next door.

“Next month! It’ll be so much fun!” She pulls her hands up to her chest, putting on her best pouty face, “please Y/N.”

You want to just tell her no because who knows what you could end up doing that clashes with her plans. Plus, if you had counted correctly and your clock didn’t decide to reset again, that would be close to when you were supposed to meet your soulmate. And you had been in Tokyo when it almost hit 0, so they had to be here, right?

“Yeah, of course.” You gave her a smile as she gave you a quick hug, telling you just how excited Hinata and the rest of the crows would be, apparently, she bragged about you to all her former classmates. She excuses herself to make a call, most likely to Hinata, and you take the time to sigh, you had never cared about your soulmate before, what was so different now?

*          *          *          * Daichi

“Did you just put in for time off?” His partner Ito teases, sitting down at his desk that’s next to Daichi’s.

“I’ve taken time off before.”

“Three years ago, doesn’t count.”

“It was—” Daichi starts to protest before he realizes that Ito’s right, the last time was just before Ito was assigned his partner and it had been for one of his sibling’s graduation.

“This much be important then.”

He shrugs, “just getting together with some old teammates from high school.”

Ito smirks, “should I call you captain to help take you back?”

“Don’t even.” Daichi shakes his head, getting up before heading to the breakroom. Maybe meeting up with old friends would help take his mind off the whole Tokyo debacle. Glancing down, he signs when he sees his countdown.

480:52:46

20 days.

*          *          *          * Y/N

“My mom said that you are more than welcomed to stay, she has the guest room ready.” Yachi beams, bringing you the usual after lunch coffee she gets. For the last few days Yachi has been eagerly gushing about the upcoming alumni event, having the entire weekend planned out with tons of things to do.

“I don’t want to impose.”

“You aren’t, if anything she’s excited to finally meet you!”

You haven’t had the courage to actually tell Yachi that you no longer wanted to go, that you would rather just stay at home instead of being the one that brings down the mood. The countdown on your wrist has all but consumed you lately and as you get closer and closer, you just want to forget about it. People lived happily without them, right? Who was fate anyways, trying to tell people who they should and shouldn’t be with. If you put in the effort, anything could work, right?

Part of you knows that’s not true, you watched someone try to date their someone who wasn’t their soulmate. They were blissfully happy and everything seemed wonderful, until one of them met their soulmate and soon their relationship had burnt out. It seemed no matter what, that bond from a soulmate just overfloods anything else.

But then again, when you watched just how much Yachi lights up when she hears from Hinata or when someone mentions him, you couldn’t help but want that too. Wanting someone who acted like they were seeing you for the first time each time they saw you, being able to just know how you felt with one look. You look down at the clock again, wondering if maybe it had reset because you didn’t have the right mindset back then. That if maybe fate somehow knew you weren’t ready yet, if it took almost having them to losing them for you to finally realize just how much a soulmate could offer you when you let your guard down.

240:26:01

10 days.

*          *          *          * Daichi

Night patrols are something Daichi never really thought he’d find himself enjoying, but the ability to just causally drive around in silence is more welcoming that he considered it would be. Originally, his partner Ito was supposed to have patrol but he offered to pick it up since he was getting the next few days off to visit with his former classmates, he really didn’t mind the last-minute change to his schedule. Especially since he was getting nervous thinking about the game tomorrow, it wasn’t that he was worried about his skill set, but there were going to be several pro players in attendance.

It was already 8:45PM which meant he only had 15 minutes before his shift ended and he could go home, which he figured would go by slowly since most people were already in for the night. The sudden blur of speeding headlights catch his eyes and he let out a defeated sigh, of course it was too much to ask for a quiet night.

16:14:32

*          *          *          * Y/N

Shit!

You curse yourself, you had told Yachi that you’d take the train to Miyagi, she left the day before to meet up with Hinata, but you ended up staying later at work than intended. So here you are, five hours into your drive, half asleep and irritated, you should’ve just told her no.

You hear your phone going off, no doubt it’s Yachi asking where you are, you look down briefly to grab it, not paying attention to the change in speed limits as you continue down the road. It’s not until you hear police sirens that your attention is pulled away from everything else and you just want to scream.

Luckily due to the almost empty streets, you are able to pull over with ease, the patrol car pulling in behind you shortly after. You close your eyes, hitting your forehead to the steering wheel repeatedly before you hear a car door close and brace yourself.

*          *          *          * Daichi

He taps on the driver’s side window twice with his knuckle, waiting for it to be rolled down. A speeding ticket wouldn’t take long to write up, so his plans to be home by 9:30PM was still looking good which he was thankful for.

As the window rolls down, he catches his soul mark in the reflection and he scrunches up his face, getting an odd look from the driver of the vehicle.

00:00:02

*          *          *          * Y/N

“This is awkward, but—” You stop, noticing where his line of sight is and you finally look down at your wrist.

00:00:00

He smirks, “I never thought I’d meet my soulmate right before issuing them a speeding ticket.”

You aren’t completely sure why, but you end up laughing to the point you end up coughing. You couldn’t believe it, your whole life wondering at what moment you’d meet your soulmate, thinking of all the different situations that could possibly set up running into them, for it to end up like this. Talk about anticlimactic.

“Speaking of soulmates, think you could let me off with a warning?” You bat your lashes at him, really hoping that the soulmate card will work.

He clicks his tongue, smile on his face, “no can do.”

You drop your jaw in disbelief, “I guess this will be one hell of a meet-cute story, huh?”

*          *          *          * “You are so lame, Daichi.” Sugawara laughs, Nishinoya joining in on joking with their former captain.

Daichi glances over to the other side of the gym where you are, laughing with Yachi and Kiyoko and he can’t help but be smitten. He had tried for the longest time to not imagine his soulmate, not wanting to put that imaginary burden of being what he had wanted on the one he ended up with, but with you, you just smashed through any expectations he had and it had only been half a day.

You look over and see Daichi looking at you before you quickly turn your head away, getting a laugh from the former team managers. You were thrilled to have your soulmate, everything made sense, and it definitely helped that he was easy on the eyes.

“I still can’t believe he gave you a ticket!” Yachi protests, shooting Daichi a scold.

“I can.” Kiyoko smiles, “and I don’t think Y/N minds.”

Kiyoko’s right, you don’t really mind at all, because that’s part of your story with your soulmate, with Daichi. The person who had you waiting at the edge of your seat since before you could even tell time, the person that the stars had willed to be yours.

The first time you had almost met, he was in Tokyo because the festival needed more officers to help monitor things, it was just by chance that he ran into his former classmates that you happened to be with. The time you actually met, he was covering a shift that he wasn’t even supposed to be working and you were running late which was something you didn’t tend to do.

He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side, placing a soft kiss on the side of your forehead. You let yourself melt into his side, finally understanding what was so special about soulmates, why so many people spent forever trying to find theirs.

“You know, I can talk to my boss, erase the ticket.” “No way! I’m gonna frame it!”

Daichi’s face deadpans, “what?” You nod, “oh yeah, you aren’t gonna live that one down.”

Daichi just shakes his head, letting out a deep breath, suddenly realizing you were gonna be as much trouble as Kageyama and Hinata were. But somehow, he feels himself looking forward to the adventure that was you.