#oh my god i am obsessing with this idea like my brain runs around like insane kljhghf

[yoomiwrites]

Got the hots for you

Summary: You're dorks, but you're in love. GN Reader, you perspective.

Note: So! Here we have our second place, Ace and a cheerful Reader. This one was...idk, kinda difficult for me but I think I am satisfied with how it came out in the end. Much love to you! I will post an update after this how the other stories are going and when they will get an new chapter. For those who are waiting for them!

♤

The salty sea breeze ruffled your hair as you leaned against the railing of the Moby Dick, watching the waves ripple under the silver moonlight. The night was calm, the ship’s usual boisterous energy reduced to the occasional creak of wood and the muffled laughter of pirates lingering below deck. The warmth of a nearby lantern cast flickering shadows over the deck, and beside you, Ace stretched, letting out a contented sigh.

“You’re unusually quiet tonight,” he commented, tilting his head toward you with a lopsided grin. “Thinking about something?”

You huffed out a laugh, folding your arms on the railing. “Pfft, when am I ever not thinking? My brain’s a constant carnival.”

Ace chuckled, his voice warm. “That’s true. But c’mon, tell me what’s up. I know you, Y/N. You’re all sunshine and fireworks, but something’s different.”

You swallowed, keeping your gaze locked on the ocean. It was Ace. He always saw through you. You had been on the Moby Dick longer than he had, but from the moment he set foot on board, you had clicked effortlessly. He was the only one who could keep up with your antics, the only one who matched your energy. And somewhere along the way, you had fallen hopelessly, irreversibly in love with him.

But he could never know.

It wasn’t worth the risk. What you had with him—the laughter, the teasing, the unspoken understanding—was too precious. And so, you swallowed your feelings, shoved them into the depths of your heart, and pretended they didn’t exist.

Unfortunately, Ace had a talent for making things difficult.

“Maybe…” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe you’re thinking about Thatch?”

Your head snapped toward him so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “What?!”

Ace smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Aha! I knew it. You’ve been acting all weird around him lately. Blushing. Looking away. Laughing at his dumb jokes.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You got the hots for Thatch, don’t you?”

Your brain short-circuited. Of all the ridiculous things—

“What—Ace, no! I do not have the hots for Thatch!” you protested, flailing your arms wildly. “He’s like a dumb older brother! A ridiculous, cake-obsessed brother!”

Ace narrowed his eyes playfully. “Suuure. That’s what everyone says before they end up running into someone’s arms all dramatic-like.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Oh my god, you’re impossible.”

“But adorable, right?” he teased, nudging your side.

You bit your lip, trying to fight the stupid smile threatening to break through. This was exactly the problem. He made your heart race without even trying. You had spent months—years—falling for this idiot, and he had absolutely no idea.

Taking a deep breath, you forced a grin and leaned closer, elbowing him back. “Yeah, yeah. Keep dreaming, fire boy.”

Ace feigned offense, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. “Wow. After all we’ve been through, you wound me.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, he sobered slightly, his gaze turning curious. “So if it’s not Thatch… is there someone?”

Your stomach did a backflip. You didn’t trust yourself to lie convincingly, so instead, you laughed—a little too loudly, a little too forced. “What kind of question is that?”

“A pretty simple one.”

You hesitated, gripping the railing tighter. He was watching you carefully now, his dark eyes searching, waiting. You could feel the weight of the moment pressing against your chest. If you answered wrong, if you slipped up—

You shrugged, plastering on the most nonchalant smile you could muster. “Pfft, please. Who would have time for romance on this ship?”

Ace studied you for a long second before finally shaking his head with a chuckle. “I dunno. You strike me as the hopeless romantic type.”

You scoffed, nudging him again to mask the ache in your chest. “And you strike me as the kind of guy who eats before he thinks.”

Ace laughed, bright and carefree, but then his expression turned thoughtful. He leaned against the railing, staring out at the sea. “I don’t think I deserve it, you know?”

You blinked, taken aback. “Deserve what?”

“Love.” He exhaled, his fingers absentmindedly drumming against the wood. “My family doesn’t deserve to live on. I don’t either.”

Your blood boiled instantly. “That’s crap.”

Ace turned to you in surprise, and before he could say anything, you jabbed a finger into his chest, your voice fierce. “You listen to me, Portgas D. Ace. If you ever say something that stupid again, I will personally kick your ass. You are more than your bloodline. You are good, and you are kind, and you are loved.”

His lips parted slightly, as if he didn’t know what to say. And then, suddenly, he laughed—warm, genuine, surprised. “You’re something else, Y/N.”

Your heart raced as he reached out, fingers brushing against a loose strand of your hair. He tucked it behind your ear, his touch lingering just a second too long. His eyes softened, the usual teasing replaced with something deeper, something unspoken.

For a moment, the entire world shrank down to just the two of you—the moonlight, the waves, and the space between you that felt smaller than ever.

And in that moment, you knew.

Ace was going to figure it out. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow.

But someday.

The next morning, Ace sat on a barrel, groggy-eyed and yawning, when Marco plopped down beside him, arms crossed and a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

“You look troubled, yoi. Thinking too hard?”

Ace groaned. “Why does everyone think I think too hard?”

Marco shrugged. “Because when you do, it looks like it hurts.”

Ace squinted at him. “What do you want?”

Marco leaned back, looking far too entertained. “Just wondering what’s got you so lost in thought. Maybe… a certain someone?”

Ace frowned. “What?”

“Oh, you know. Someone who gets under your skin. Someone you can’t stop messing with.” Marco waggled his eyebrows. “Someone with a very familiar laugh.”

Ace blinked, brain still sluggish from sleep. Then it hit him. “Wait. No way.”

Marco’s grin widened. “Oh, way.”

Ace scoffed, waving him off. “Pfft. You’re ridiculous.”

“Am I?” Marco hummed, standing up and stretching. “Because I could swear Y/N looked at you last night like they wanted to set you on fire. But, y’know, in a loving way.”

Ace choked. “EXCUSE ME?!”

Marco clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Think about it, fire boy.” And with that, he walked off, leaving Ace staring after him, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“…Wait… WAIT—HOLD ON, MARCO! MARCO, GET BACK HERE—WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT?!”

The sun was high in the sky, casting golden light over the deck of the Moby Dick, but Ace was acting like an idiot.

You had spent the entire day watching him fumble through tasks he normally handled with ease. He tripped over a barrel, nearly set a crate on fire (thankfully Marco intervened before the flames got too excited), and somehow managed to spill an entire plate of food on himself at lunch. It was so ridiculous that even the crew had started placing bets on how many more times he’d mess up before the day was over.

And you? You were torn between laughing and being seriously concerned.

So, after watching him almost walk straight off the ship for the third time, you finally decided to step in.

“Ace!” You stomped over, hands on your hips as he froze mid-step, looking at you like you’d just caught him sneaking extra dessert from Thatch’s kitchen. “What the hell is going on with you today?”

“W-What?” He blinked rapidly, as if that would help him process the situation. “Nothing! I’m fine!”

You scoffed. “Oh yeah? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re actively trying to win the ‘Most Clueless Idiot of the Year’ award.”

Ace groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m not clueless.”

“Then explain why you almost walked off the ship again.”

“I was distracted!”

“By what?”

Ace clamped his mouth shut, avoiding your gaze. Suspicious.

You leaned in, squinting at him. “Is there something you need to tell me? Because at this rate, I’m going to start thinking someone hit you over the head.”

He muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?” You cupped a hand to your ear, grinning now because you could tell whatever this was, it was embarrassing for him.

Ace sighed dramatically, rubbing the back of his neck. “Marco said something weird this morning, and now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You frowned. “Marco? What did he say?”

Ace hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. Then, after a long moment, he blurted out, “He said you got the hots for me.”

Your brain short-circuited.

“…WHAT?!”

Ace looked like he regretted every decision leading up to this conversation. “I told him he was crazy! But then I started thinking about it and now—” He gestured vaguely. “Now I’m acting like an idiot.”

You stared at him, mouth opening and closing as your brain desperately tried to process his words. Then, before you could stop yourself, you let out a loud, incredulous laugh.

Ace frowned. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because,” you wheezed, wiping at your eyes, “I cannot believe this is what’s been making you act like a total disaster all day.”

Ace huffed. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s hilarious.”

“No, it’s—” He paused, suddenly squinting at you. “Wait. You’re not even denying it.”

You froze. Oh. Oh no.

Ace’s eyes widened as realization dawned on him. “Wait… WAIT—”

Panicking, you did the only thing you could think of.

You shoved him and bolted.

“HEY! GET BACK HERE!” Ace yelled, chasing after you, laughter ringing through the ship as the crew watched in amusement.

You had successfully evaded Ace for a good fifteen minutes before he finally cornered you near the back of the ship, arms crossed and a triumphant smirk on his face.

“You can’t run forever, Y/N.”

You huffed, crossing your arms as well. “I could try.”

Ace shook his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “C’mon, just be honest with me.”

Your heart hammered. “Honest about what?”

He rolled his eyes. “You know what. Do you… actually like me?”

You opened your mouth—then closed it. You were usually quick-witted, but right now, words were failing you. Instead, you dramatically groaned, throwing your hands in the air. “Ace, you’re making this so awkward.”

Ace snorted. “Me? You’re the one who ran like a guilty criminal.”

You huffed. “Because you were being weird!”

“I was being weird because Marco got in my head!” He rubbed his temples, looking exasperated. “And now I can’t stop thinking about it!”

Silence stretched between you. His words hung in the air, heavy and uncertain. Slowly, Ace’s expression shifted, something softer flickering behind his usually confident eyes. He stepped closer, hesitant but determined. “Would it be such a bad thing?”

Your breath caught. “What?”

“If you did like me.” He scratched the back of his head, suddenly looking unsure. “Would that be so bad?”

Your brain screamed at you to say something—anything—but your heart was too busy doing somersaults.

Ace sighed, then suddenly reached out, brushing his fingers against your wrist, barely touching, like he was testing the waters. “Because… I think I’d be okay with that.”

Your stomach did a backflip.

You looked at him—really looked at him—and saw the nervousness hidden under his bravado. He was waiting for your answer. Waiting for you.

So, with a shaky breath, you decided to be brave.

“I think I’d be okay with that, too.”

Ace blinked, stunned. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a grin—one so bright and full of mischief that you knew, without a doubt, you had just signed up for an absolute disaster.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Second part anyone...?

[pageofheartdj]

IF NOT CANON I NEED THIS AS AU YOU DONT UNDERSTAND I NEED IT

(proceed to lose my mind in tags)

(i am seriously losing the skill of speech mid thought in my brain)

So here’s a few general theories I’ve got on both Eve and Roo, their role in the story, as well as at least one rather bonkers theory on how they/she are connected to Charlie.

Which means to begin with, we’re going to make the entirely logical step to talk about Rosie.

Because as I said in a couple posts after the finale, I think Rosie is actually Eve.

Or rather, as I now think, Rosie is an ASPECT of Eve.

To begin with, just about everything Rosie does with Charlie in Episode 7 to me just kinda SCREAMS ‘I’m actually a mysterious relative/family friend you never knew about.’ From the way she immediately goes massively out of her way to help Charlie, not just with the more overt problem of the impending extermination, but also her more personal relationship problems, not to mention little touches like how she insists on Charlie calling her ‘auntie’. As well as making a number of small references that could very easily be more direct foreshadowing:

Rosie’s whole ‘first husband’ comment could easily be a dig at Adam, plus her being a cannibal would make for a pretty clever callback to the visual joke of Adam eating ribs in the first episode.

We also have Rosie’s talk with Charlie about her problems with Vaggie, which feel especially relevant in light of the reveal that Eve seems to have had some kind of romance with Lucifer and Lilith. Rosie’s comments to Charlie clearly hint that she has her own regrets towards a failed relationship, which if she is Eve could easily hint at whatever went down between her, Lilith and Lucifer. Not to mention, given the CLEAR parallels that Charlie and Vaggie have to Lucifer and Lilith, it would be all too fitting if it turned out that Eve was the one helping to mend their relationship.

There’s also one other visual detail about Rosie… but more on that later.

So how does this tie back to Roo?

Well you know how I said I think Rosie is an aspect or part of Eve?

I think Roo is the OTHER part of Eve.

As in, I think that Roo and Rosie (hey, look at those similar names) are each the two parts of Eve that split apart when she became the ‘Root of All Evil’.

When you get down to it, I think Roo as a character and her role in the story as a whole is to be a subversive exploration of the idea of the scapegoat and Christian ideas/fixation on guilt and penance. Roo might actually BE this big, terrible ‘Root of All Evil’, ‘Embodiment of Sin’, ‘Unfettered Force of Chaos’, ‘Heart of Hell itself’ ultimate big-bad of the show that much of the fandom is assuming…

But only because she/Eve chose this role out of her own guilt and self-loathing. Eve only believes that she’s this terrible, irredeemable person at the root of all the evils of mankind, and has thus chosen to embody that.

And I think in the process of becoming Roo, this being of pure evil, Eve tried (emphasis on tried) to split off all the ‘good’ within her. Which in turn became Rosie. Alternatively, Rosie could have been deliberately split off from Roo to act as her agent, but may have become self-aware enough that she’s trying to stop/save Roo, hence her going out of her way to help Charlie. And of course this would also neatly explain her friendship with Alastor, himself likely also an agent of Roo.

Which in turn is going to be the crux of her conflict with Charlie, and the ultimate villain redemption of the story. Like of course we’re going to find out about Roo’s big, terrible villainous plots to perhaps corrupt humanity or subsume all of Hell or destroy Heaven and how she’s likely the one pulling Alastor’s strings and has maybe had him essentially ‘feeding her’ Overlords to increase her power and how she’s likely the cause of Lilith’s disappearing seven years ago and ending up in Heaven and all kinds of other things our heroes will have to fight against.

Until we get to our big, final confrontation with Roo and both we and Charlie discover that this terrible being of pure evil is in fact this traumatized, grief-stricken woman utterly consumed by guilt and self-loathing. The one person who, more than anyone else, NEEDS the help and redemption that Charlie has spent the whole show trying to offer others.

And also might be Charlie’s other mom.

Yeah, it’s bonkers theory time :D

So back during the rough… twenty to thirty minutes or so between finishing Episode 7 and seeing the post-credits scene in Episode 8, I was VERY sure that Rosie was actually Lilith in disguise (as you can see from this rather amusing post/reblog :D), for basically all the reason I listed above about why Rosie feels like an in-disguise Eve,

But ALSO because of Rosie’s cheek blush-marks that look CURIOUSLY SIMILAR to Charlie’s own. And if you’ve read any of my numerous Rosebird Parents theory posts, you can imagine I immediately latched onto that.

However! This is NOT a theory that Eve is somehow Charlie’s ‘real mom’. That is stupid and I will not hear Lilith slander in this house. Note instead that I said that Eve might be Charlie’s OTHER mom…

Basically I think Charlie has three parents thanks to Lucifer, Lilith and Eve each actually being some variety of functionally intersex due to wacky angel/demon/primordial-human physiology. And the three of them conceived Charlie Gilgamesh-style via Lilith and Eve knocking up Lucifer.

Hey, I want this show to get WEIRD, okay?

Even just speaking generally, we’re already got more or less soft-confirmation that SOMETHING was going on between Eve, Lilith and Lucifer, and that Eve seemed to have specifically left Adam for Lucifer and Lilith. So I’d say it’s not at all a stretch to think that Lilith, Lucifer and Eve will turn out to be a tragic, broken polycule driven apart by each of their baggage and trauma.

Or that a major aspect of the show will end up being about Charlie (with Vaggie’s (and possibly Emily’s…) help) working to get her parents back together.

In fact, I can already imagine what a suitably cute/heartwarming/feelsy reunion Eve could have with Lucifer and Lilith:

Eve, having just been freed from her self-imposed prison/punishment by Charlie, is about to launch into a guilt-and-regret-laden spiel about how she knows how they must hate her and how she doesn’t deserve them…

Only for Lucifer gives Eve a big cute hug.

And then Lilith gives Eve a Big Damn Kiss XD

Simply put, I think it’s pretty clear that Hazbin Hotel is NOT the kind of the show to just go and make a woman the source of all the evil and sin and bad of the world and seemingly the ultimate big bad and NOT examine, interrogate and SUBVERT THE EVERLIVING HELL out of that concept/trope.

[autisticempathydaemon]

Hi hiii!! :DDD Doing this bad boy to see what happens. >:333

What song are you fixated on at the moment? What lyric or verse, and why? Rule 34 and Dinner and Diatribes. I don't know. Something about the just barely masked tension in both those songs, the way they both fit so well with characters/ships/dynamics I adore, and their general energy and instrumentation SINGS to me. <3 <3 <3. I may not listen to them as often as others but they are my entire brain constantly. Favourite lines from both are: "You look so good There on your knees Such a good girl knows how to please Look at me look me in the eyes Forget yourself, surrender your mind" - Rule 34 (Mostly for the visuals and the change of voice) And "I knew it from the first look of The look of mischief in your eyes" - Dinner and Diatribes (This line sets the tone of the entire song so well, the visual is so interesting and the way it's sung is so intimate in a way I cannot describe. Literally so good.)

What is your Enneagram type? 4w5 :3.

Do you love gargantuan Youtube video essays, and if so, which is your favorite and why? I fucking love them so bad <3. I think currently the Lightlark and Nightbane ones by KrimsonRogue are really good. Just... so much content, and also writing advice, and also dying inside listening to a review of a cringe book. Literally sustains my life.

Tell me about your childhood imaginary friend. I didn't really have them in the traditional sense, but the closest things I had was imagining chatting with or interacting with characters I liked from shows, especially once I found visual novels XD. And that evolved into characters running around in my brain and now I am a writer. :P So. These bitches clawed their way into my head at age 10 and never left.

What is your go-to way to fall asleep? Rain sounds. Storm sounds. Wind sounds. Especially if they just come from outside but I also do just put them on on my computer and turn off the screen often, letting them play on the stereo. :P

If you had to change your name, what would it be, and why? (In tandem, if you have changed your name, why did you pick that one?) Names are fucking weird man. I am currently in the process of reconsidering mine, and I am starting to like the idea of something more wacky, and star themed, or snow themed. :P I don't know if I'd like it long term but Redacted and DnD have very much warmed me up to names like that lol.

What is your favorite of Redacted’s audios, and why? Why must I chose one? You're so mean. Uuuuum... Deferred Judgment methinks. It shows a lot of Vega's softness and even some selflessness, while also a bit of the risk that his mission entails and MAN- THE EMOTIONAL IMPACT WHEN IT CAME OUT WAS SO MUCH. I hated it way back when but damn... it was really good. Still is. Cannot wait to see him again. Miss him real bad.

What Redacted boy holds no appeal to you, and why? Like, not the one you hate but the one who you don’t get the hype for. (I won’t judge, I promise.) Um... Guy, Ollie, NICK. OH GODS NOT NICK. And most of the fooliverse boys besides Milo. I am not exactly the type for sweet boys. I like some of them but their chaos or overt sweetness is... too much.

Tell me about that one book/movie/tv show you know all the words to. Can't say I have gotten that obsessed with media like that sadly. I am more of a Podcast/ASMR/Audioplay/Music person buuuut... hm... I mean- does a book I'm writing count??? I have quite a bit of the words of that thing up in the noggin often. It's not done yet but :P.

Which Redacted boy are you platonically attracted to? Like- forget dating, which dude do you want to be your best friend? Oh man. Damien. He is super similar to me in his passion and his love of learning and his general personality (minus the anger, that I am less prone to.) And the other boys up on top of my list I am more queerplatonic about so. :P

Do you have a go-to thing you ramble about when you’re tired, and if so, what is it? (For example, my boyfriend knows I’m ready to sleep when I start talking about space.) Oh no I will ramble about anything at any time. <3 <3 <3. I am not well ever <3.

Tell me your go-to gas station and drink combo. Spicy or Soup chips (Salt and Vineger, Chili/Cheese, etc), often Doritos or Cheetos (or Hickery Sticks if they have them), and either mineral water or an orange Soda/Slushy. And if it's cold I often go chips, sour candy and hot cocoa <3.

Tell me about your favorite playlist at the moment.  Hozier's Unheard and Wasteland Baby. Both have songs I utterly adore.

What’s your guilty pleasure media, and why? None. I feel guilty about nothing that I consume <3 <3 <3.

And whatever else you think tells me about who you are! I am a lover of art and the arts, and am actually studying art currently for my major. I would consider myself very much Vampiric in some ways (My disconnect in the way I write/speak from a specific time period or place, humanity is familiar but also fucking weird, the sun burns, I'm dramatic and want the fashion to prove it, blood good (no I won't explain) etc.), and I am a weird philosophical bastard who likes to make characters out of vague concepts, and then explore them to their most painful depth. Also varied morality and/or moral quandaries are very important to me. Morality is a weird soup and I like to play with it. (Ironic since my own morals are so strict and fixed, and yet I love writing characters who have different ones.) Aka Evil Bitches Good. And also I am one of them (if only as a writer. Love writing cruel angst to hurt my friends and characters with <3 <3 <3.) Anyhow that's all for me for now. <3 <3 <3 (Hope this is not too obscenely long.)

Pssssst- .3. Hellooo- I submmited a matchup thing but I think I did an oopsie XD. I'm an Enneagram 5w4 but I think I flipped them. So- just saying that. If it changes anything lol- My baddd- I just noticed when thinking on it. :P

Hmm, this enneagram type is characterized as creative, intelligent, and stubborn, with something to prove to the world- which tracks as you relate to Damien. With that in mind, who else could I pair you with but Huxley?

Huxley is a kind, patient, go with the flow kind of guy but not too silly which you said you don’t vibe with. You give me the impression of an insular, cerebral person, someone with a lot of ideas and thoughts that need to be finalized and put on paper, and Huxley seems like a good partner to help with that, to be your rock (ha) and help you keep those trains of thought on track while also being vocally supportive and hyping up your work the whole time. He’s sweet to you but not so sweet he doesn’t love you and your love of villains and their fucked-up deeds.

And it’s a wonderful love Huxley gives you every day, with the sturdy support and cool shade of a great tree. When you’re studying or doing schoolwork, he’s always there bringing you water or food, massaging your shoulders if you’ve been slouching. He listens to your rambles with rapt attention and affection, retaining every detail. He is your beta reader and biggest fan. He drives you to and from school with a thermos of homemade hot chocolate because his leagues is better than the store-bought stuff, and he won’t let you forget it.

Song:

And I remember being younger and my mother told me the truth/ Find someone who grows flowers in the darkest parts of you/ Take heed when things get hard and don't you ever turn around/ You'll find someone, someday, somewhere that grows you to the clouds

I feel like this song choice needs no explanation. One, the vibes are kind of just right if you’re a Hozier fan; the folk-y, country-like longing is just what the matchmaker prescribed (the matchmaker being me). Two, it’s delightfully charming and ironic given your dislike of the sun and the pet name of Sunflower I will soon have him give you.

Runner-ups:

Cam is a fun runner-up for you because I think he, as a therapist, would have a lot to contribute to your writing and dissection of villains along with the empathy to see the depth and dimension you want to give them. Lasko is another runner-up I like given how much you relate to Damien, because Damien/Lasko has always struck me as a darling pair, two sides of the same coin.

Bonus: (For you, my one hundredth match-up~)

“Sunflower…”

“Fifteen more minutes, Hux; I’ve almost figured this out.”

“You said that forty-five minutes ago, baby,” Huxley says with a soft, warm laugh and big, warmer hands on your shoulders, gently turning your chair around. “It’s time for bed.”

“But my chapter-“ you say with a tone you won’t admit has a hint of a whine.

“Will be there tomorrow,” he interrupts, taking your hand and gently tugging you out of your chair against your weak protests. “And you’ll be able to write and edit it even better once you’ve slept.” You fall into the bed with a fwump, a deep sigh, and a muttered stream of thought falling out your lips like the air out of a balloon. The earth elemental can pick out odd, familiar words in the ramble like “heart”, “stars”, and “Vega” and chuckles as the stream peters off into slow breaths and soft snores. Huxley queues up a familiar YouTube video on the tv, a ten hour loop of light rain showers, and places a blanket over your sprawled, sleeping body.

“Good night, Sunflower,” he says softly, pressing a light kiss on the top of your head before climbing into bed beside you, turning off the light with a fond, content smile.

Read this post and send me an ask if you’d like a match-up of your own! 💌

[flamingbluepanda]

cameron, my friend, i miss talking to you and ALSO i am coming bearing an idea.

so, my dad is currently obsessed with a show where they have three or four contestants who have to forge several weapons by hand, the first few inside the studio, the final one they have to make in their own forges at home. in the end the judges decide who wins (the winner wins something around 10,000 dollars) based on how durable the weapon is, how well it does its job, the likes, you get it. if i recall it correctly it's called forged in fire.

either way, if that's not ian and mickey.

mickey is probably a seasoned blacksmith who worked his way up to get out of terry's grasp. he's one of the judges and notoriously known for being extremely no-bullshit and critical. he isn't intending to be mean, but he's also very honest and blunt in his opinions.

in comes ian, who's been crafting and selling weapons since his early teens. his equipment is kinda shitty and he knows, but it's also HIS and he's proud of what he's acquired and the skills he mainly taught himself. he hopes to win the contest and bring home the money, his family sure as hell can use it.

and it's tough and hard, the contestants tend to be quite arrogant and closed off, and ian misses his own little forge, even if the higher quality equipment is kinda nice to use.

and THEN there's ALSO this stupidly hot judge who runs his mouth over ian's clearly lacking skills - but he also compliments him on his heart and dedication.

for the sake of the au i'm drawing this out more than it seems to usually be, but they're likely the viewer favourites the way they bicker and throw shit the other's way, but behind the cameras they actually start to talk and realise they've got quite some common ground, both of them coming from the south side and all.

i dunno where i'm going with this, actually, but it's fun and cute and i wanted you to have some nice thoughts.

OH MY GOD HELLO???I love you???

Blacksmith Mickey, YES, I adore him. He'd be so good at that!

Im literally about to go to bed so I don't have a functional brain but I love you and I am definitely thinking thinky thoughts about forge boys. I love you I love you I love you!!!

[sammyluvr]

HI MARÍ <3333

i’m gonna try and write the in a week sam fic today !!! i’ve been listening to hozier literally all day and got so much inspiration so i’m gonna break my own heart HAHA

but how are you sweetheart??? any new sam brain worms?? love you lots!! <3

HI BLONDIEEEE HRUUU I LOVE YOU SO SO MUCH TOO !!

OH GOD . i... i can't i'm gonna cry so much i feel UGHHH IT'S GOING TO BE SO DEVASTATING I FEEL IT IN MY BONES SHITTT LIKE WHATTTT you're going to break all of our hearts and i'm not ready. not ready at all :,) BUT UGH !!! I'M SO EXCITED !! i wish you so so much luck, it'll be amazing!!

heh i'm good!! just chilling on tumblr in between dance practices!! hmmm i have constant sam brain worms but let's see. a recent one was the ceramics class one of course. ermmmm let's see there's probably a billion and they're evading me exactly because i'm trying to think of them. i mean basically i think stanford era sam a lot a lot right now because i just walk around campus being delusional about him pretending that i am constantly accompanied by or running into sam because we are college best friends!!

so i've really been loving the idea of running into him every where you go and becoming friends and him being so like :,) about the way you get excited every time you see him. he's like wow omg people like me and want to be my friend :((( and he's just the sweetest ever, he'll walk to to class, to the bus, to the library, to work, etc!! he shares all his notes if you have class together and helps you review if you missed a day.

i've been obsessed with the idea of sam working at a campus library with you also!!! and i wrote a fic about it and will likely write more headcanons about it because i love it sooo so much!! or i think about him constantly going to the library to see you. him crushing on you when he sees you between the stacks, gathering patron holds and struggling to reach the top shelf without those squeaky fuck ass library stools LOL and he's just giving you total heart eyes. then when he starts working with you and you're showing him different things, he lets you grab the high up books because he doesn't want to offend you and he thinks it's so so very endearing to see you stretching. but if you're truly struggling, like the book itself is really tall, so you can't reach the top of the spine to tug it out, he offers or is so so quick to do it for you if you ask him to. he's elated when he's scheduled to work with you throughout the semester !! crushes on you so hard honestly ugh i love it

there's more but i will refrain for the moment because this is already so long LOL

[finsterhund]

Oh shit a new episode of the Ahsoka show came out while I was on my camping trip...

Spoilers under break.

Still genuinely confused about Sabine being force sensitive. It kinda feels like the show is too???? Idk maybe Luke took to everything so fast in A New Hope because he was a Skywalker but Sabine is really struggling????

Jesus Christ this episode continues to just show the New Republic as stupid bureaucrats. :( "You're wasting resources trying to find this missing kid, even though it's specifically to track down Thrawn being alive also because he's a threat." Bruh. I looked up to you guys when I was little you're breaking my heart.

Jacen is sweet. They made him look a bit more on the human side though? Why isn't he being trained? He's a good age to start considering how old Anakin was and also probably actually force sensitive.

Yeah Sabine is straight up "I don't feel the force" Ahsoka is like "not everyone can handle the discipline it takes" like bro you were trained since you were an infant!!!!

Okay so now Huyang is like "the Order wouldn't have accepted her" so he just straight up lied to Sabine in the last episode. Mean.

I see where the writers are going now. But Ahsoka isn't being smart about it. I really am clashing with this writing. What's basically "plot armor" except it's a "character being made to be stupider than they canonically should be" called?

THE RETURN OF TEARSTAINS WHITE DOG!!! MY BLORBO!!! In a little fighter ship aaaaaa fuck why has this character grown on me so much in such a stupid fucking way bro

God a part of my brain has retroactively decided that Hati is a lichthund and her ship is actually some sort of SW canon compliant synth wing alternative. It makes her feel a lot more realistic tbh. God I'd never want my hounds to be an actual canon SW race because that'd mean Disney would own them now but I haven't actually thought about them ACTUALLY seriously literally showing up in a piece of SW media for AGES.

Okay so I've had an internal running joke where I just go "haha lichthund" every time Disney has someone do something that doesn't make sense under normal pre Disney canonical circumstances but would be a possibility in my own work. ie: hyperspace ramming: this is a very lichthund thing to do fyi they're fucking obsessed with that, surviving lightsaber stab wounds in vital places: sounds like somebody's part lichthund to me, etc. It's a joke, it's coping, it's genuinely silly, but now I'm actually taking it seriously. FFS.

The idea of a lichthunde who relies entirely on their synth wing is hilarious to me though. Maybe in this hypothetical lichthund-Hati is physically disabled, or spent most of her life clipped or something.

Oh shit I think Morgan is actually force sensitive. Unless that's all just Hati doing the telepathy. Because it still really fucking feels that Hati isn't force sensitive.

God I can't stop reinterpreting her as a lichthund. This is actually helping me suspend disbelief.

Bro Ahsoka leaving the ship and jumping around in space. Only Ahsoka in this situation could make sense but it still is weird to see. She's wearing a suit thankfully. I know Disney has had people survive outside of ships without them before but I don't like that. I've seen Jedi in space suits in the CW cartoon before and clones wearing spacesuits so I'm not bothered by that but I don't think lightsabers are supposed to handly firepower from ships? Only the fact that she was Anakin's Padawan is making me accept this. Because this sounds like something stupidly dangerous and excessive that he would do. I can fucking hear Obi-wan ribbing them both about it.

Wait why can't Ahsoka propel herself back to the ship using the force? So Leia can do this unconscious but Ahsoka can't? Disney...

Hati apparently being force sensitive and not being able to hit Ahsoka with her ship guns makes sense with my stupid little game where she's a lichthund because manually having to control a gun rather than her own biological weapons would be fairly dysmorphic tho so...

Like the live action purgill designs. Flying around them was cool.

Still cursed with the thought of Hati being a little white fluffy tearstained lichthund that has body dysmorpha though. Fuck I want art of this so bad. Just this fucked up little lichthund (Indigo sized) with wings permanently held resting folded using front legs to man the ship steering looking around with a constant semi deer-in-the-headlights expression. This is canon to me.

Was able to flow along and understand a lot better than the first two episodes. Still not sold on the series but if this turns into the lichthund blorbo development experience I won't be mad.

[starlightsearches]

I love the idea of coworker!eddie so much! and now I'm thinking about this nerd this doofus this absolute fucking sweet dork of a man leaning over the counter in between customers and making handmade buttons for the basket by the register to sell. He's got the classic styles, you know, band logos from a variety of genres but the bulk of them lean toward metal, as well as some goofier ones with gross jokes on them. But he makes some personalized ones for you, featuring your favorite bands and pickup lines, including one that says You're my rainbow in the dark because obviously he has to slip a Ronnie James Dio reference in there

He's stupid. He's perfect. I love him.

Mixtape

Yes, god, coworker! eddie lives inside my brain like a little mouse. Here's something I threw together because I love the idea of the pins 😩 Comments, likes and reblogs make me very happy!

Eddie x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: language, mutual pining, some angst, this one's a little sad in the end but I'm sure we'll see more of them at some point (if people are interested).

"Hey, asshole."

Eddie dodges the empty cardboard box you lob his way without much effort. He's gotten way better at sidestepping your attacks since he started here. You wish you could say the same for your aim.

"You planning on doing any work today?"

Eddie has the nerve to look offended—like you haven't been running around your whole shift, restocking shit and fixing the displays and helping everyone and their mother find a copy of Whitney Houston—holding a fist to his chest like he'd been stabbed.

"That hurts, baby. I am working. See?"

He shakes the basket of pins in front of him as you lean over the counter, smiling wide. It's that fucking smile that makes so many people buy his stupid buttons—even if they've never heard his any of the artists he's obsessed with, even if they're not worth the dollar fifty you're charging for them.

You set the basket back down, swallowing the butterflies in the back of your throat. "No offense, but I think we have enough Metallica pins to last us through the end of time."

"I was actually making pins for you," he says with falsely-innocent eyes, meeting you halfway across the table, the collar of his worn-out band shirt dipping just slightly until you can see the slightest hint of another tattoo brushing his collar bone, "but if you don't want them . . . "

You hold out a hand, hoping your exasperation might distract him from your wandering eyes. "Show me."

You wish he wouldn't do this—flirt with you so much. Your crush on him was already embarrassing enough without the pins and the inside jokes and his wandering fingers pinching at your sides until you have to laugh. Sometimes you want to scream at him, tell him to stop making fun of you, that you'll get over it if he gives you enough time.

You're not sure if you could ever get over it. Not if he keeps looking at you like this.

Eddie drops the pins into your hand one at a time, tongue caught between his teeth—eyes flashing between your face and your open palm. You do your best to keep your expressions in check.

There's a few band pins—Fleetwood Mac, ABBA, even Wham!, despite all the shit he'd given you about them.

"And for the finale—" he says with a flourish, his fingers just brushing against yours when he drops the little black button into your hand.

"Rainbow in the dark?" You read the words quietly, looking up at him with furrowed brows. He's fidgeting, twisting one of the rings around his finger, biting at his lips.

"Yeah, because, uh . . ." he laughs shyly, glancing down at his hands, "you haven't- you haven't listened to that mixtape I made you?"

Your stomach sinks, and you press your lips together, shooting him a guilty look.

"Oh, come on—" he rolls his eyes at you, and you let the apologies pour out, hoping to wipe the hurt from his expression, even if it's all theatrics.

"I've been meaning to listen, Eddie," you tell him, "but it's your music is really loud and I've got neighbors and I need to get a new pair of headphones for my cassette player . . ."

None of that's true. You've started the tape multiple times, laying back on your bed with your perfectly-functioning headphones on snugly over your ears, and you just. couldn't. do. it. Listening to songs that Eddie picked for you—cute, ridiculous Eddie with his too-tight jeans and wild hair and fucking to-die-for smile—it was like carving your own heart out of your chest with a butter knife. A reminder of what you'd never have.

He stands with his back to you, hands on his hips. When he turns over his shoulder, he won't meet your eyes.

"Well," he says, tapping his knuckles against the glass countertop, "that's from one of my favorites on there. It's always kind of . . . reminded me of you."

"Oh."

You don't know what else to say.

"Anyways," he coughs, but the atmosphere stays heavy with the weight of awkwardness between you, "I guess I'll go unpack some boxes in the back. You good on your own out here?"

"Oh yeah . . . totally."

He sighs, stalking off to the backroom, leaving you with only a sick feeling in your stomach and a pile of pins in your hands.

Part 2 Here

[yandere--stuck]

Okay but the obsessive humans idea is so fuckin good, if I may add-

AM taking you away from them, revelling and basking in their needy cries and infighting, like taking a comfort object away from a bunch of neurotic apes. I get the feeling AM would very much enjoy the idea of reinstating the fact that you’re his, his human, his property so to speak, maybe after he’d separated you from the rest of them he’d take you away somewhere private to realllly make the message clear to youuu~

YES YESSSSS ANON SAME WAVELENGTH!!! YOUR BRAIN IS HUGE AND THANK YOU FOR ADDING ONTO MY IDEA SO I WROTE THIS

---

Watching your friends lose themselves to AM's madness was as heartbreaking as it was terrifying. In this place, in AM's world, you all really only had each other. And now, he was tearing you apart.

It wasn't in the orthodox sense, of course. When was anything AM did even  in the same realm as orthodoxy? AM had gotten bored of that around a century ago. Trying to sow doubt and mistrust into the lot of you by telling lies or exposing secrets had proven fruitless after a while.

So, AM wanted to play a new game. AM loved games, and he had an eternity to think of new ones and to act them out with his favorite playthings.

For some reason, he's decided to focus on you. 

He takes them all away, all but you. For so long, you're all alone. You can't even feel AM's presence, his entire focus directed on what he's doing with the other survivors. With your friends. You aren't sure of how much time passed, but you could see through the cracks in AM's honeycomb that covered the ceiling of his complex, see as light became dark and then light again. When you tried to sleep, when you were especially quiet and listened really closely, you could hear screaming from far, far away.

And then, he brings them back to you.

The first is Ted. He looked on the verge of unconscious, wrapped in AM's coils and unceremoniously dropped to the floor, landing on his face with a dull thud. You scrambled to your feet, running over to him, mumbling in whispers - asking if he was okay, what happened, what had AM done to him? With the little strength he had left, he pushed himself to his hands and knees, head hanging down as though he had no strength left to lift it. You took his face in your hands, angling his face up to yours, looking him in his hooded eyes. His face was bruised and his eyes were puffy and red.

His eyes met yours. And they went wide as saucers.

Ted's entire body seemed to be rejuvenated, tingling with nervous energy as he desperately pulled you into his arms. Grinning so widely you swore the corners of his lips would tear.

Ted laughed madly, beginning to cry as held you tightly. "Oh, thank you! Thank you, AM! Thank God!"

"Ted…?" You tried to pull yourself out of his grip, but Ted cupped a hand on the back of your head, mushing your face into the fabric of his sweater.

"He told me! He told me that- that I was his favorite. He'd always told me and, and he told me you were mine. You're mine, and I'm yours, and I love you. I love you so much! I was so good for you. I was good, so you'd be all mine. He promised, and now you're here!"

"We'll be together forever now. I... I realized how much you mean to me. How much I love you. As horrible as AM may be, he helped me realize that," Ted's grip on you tightened. "He gave you to me. I will always be grateful for that."

You shook in your friend's grip. Had Ted finally lost it? You knew Ted had bouts of paranoia and delusions, but it had never gotten this bad.

You were able to squirm enough to crane your head in time to see Ellen being brought back, plopped to the ground just as unceremoniously asked had been.

You called out her name, reaching out for her - unlike Ted, she seemed to be unconscious when she landed. She needed your help! This drew Ted's attention, eyes training on the woman's body… Before huffing and focusing back on you. His whole body had gone tense, eyes flashing with anger.

"Forget about her," He spat, before inhaling shakily. Exhaling, you felt him try to relax. "Just… Just think about me. About us."

"Ted, she needs our help!" You squirmed and writhed in the man's grip, steadily loosening his hold on you before all at once wrenching yourself from his grip. Falling forward, Ted grabbed at your ankle, trying to pull you back

"She's just trying to get your sympathy! Just forget her! You don't need her!" The man begged.

Wordlessly, you tugged your foot out of his grip, stumbling forward as you came to Ellen's side. You knelt down, pulling her form into your lap as you shook her softly, calling for her to wake up. You tried to not let panic take hold as you heard Ted scrambling to his feet.

Any panic or dread you may have felt was momentarily smothered with relief as Ellen stirred in your arms. The woman's eyes opened bleerily, staring up at nothing before focusing. Focusing on you.

With a cry of your name, she launched herself toward you in an embrace, the tightness of her grip catching you off guard - still, you returned the hug, rubbing at her back. Beneath your hands, you felt frantic rise and fall of her back as she sobbed into your shoulder.

"Get your hands off them!" Ted's voice spat, and suddenly Ellen was forced out of your arms, landing on her back with a groan. In the next instant, Ted's hands were upon you once more, holding you with a bruising grip as he forced you back into his arms. Against his chest,  you could hear as his heart thumped spasmatically in his chest.

"What is wrong with you!?" You yelled, fighting against Ted.

"She doesn't deserve you! But, AM knows I do!"

Ellen quickly recovered, rising to her feet and scrambling over to you. "Please! I- I can't live without you! Everyone else, I- I've always been hurt by them, but you… You keep me safe. And I'll keep you safe. We need each other…!"

Both of their hands on you now, both fighting over you. Your breathing picked up. This was all too much!

"They don't need you! They don't want you," Ted growled at the woman. "All they need is me!" 

Ellen's hands twisted into the fabric of your shirt, eyes staring pleadingly into your own. "Please, I love you so much, I can make you so happy!"

"Stop it," You hissed, screwing your eyes shut. "Stop touching me!"

"See?! Now look what you've done!" Ted's grip didn't falter, still holding you close against him.

"Me?!" Ellen shot back in disbelief. Her hold loosened, but her hands never left you.

"This is all your fault, Ellen! Always so fucking selfish…"

For a moment, everything had gone quiet. Peering your eyes open, you glanced at Ellen - her expression had become one you'd never seen on her face before. Her lips were pulled back into a scowl, her eyes darkened with rage. But she wasn't looking at you, no. Her eyes bore straight into Ted.

"Fuck you," She hissed out. "I have done everything I could to support this group-"

"You haven't done anything." Ted interrupted, voice cold.

"I have done everything I could," Ellen repeated, bottom lip beginning to tremble as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. "And now all I wanna I do is be with them, protect them…"

"You'd get them killed. They don't need your protection. AM gave them to me, anyway."

Your heart ached, your whole body on edge as you physically and emotionally tugged between your two friends. You needed help. You needed someone to-

"Gorrister!" You called, pointing at his form as he was carried toward your group.

Gorrister's landing was the most elegant out of the three of them - which wasn't really saying much. He had landed in an unsteady crouch, and then had fallen back directly onto his ass. Through his speakers, AM barked out a laugh. So, he was back to watching you all again.

Momentarily distracted,  Ted looked about your enclosure - allowing Ellen to snuggle up against you.

"AM, tell them! Tell them what you told me! They're mine!"

Gorrister had risen to his feet, and was marching toward the group, a stern look in his eyes. Relief flooded within you. For better or worse, you could always count on Gorrister's demeanor to be level-headed, or at least depressingly sobering.

"Gorrister!" You called out to him again, reaching out to the blond man, a relieved smile rising to your lips. Oh, you could just hug him- 

He must have had the same idea, taking hold of your wrist and pulling you away from Ted and Ellen, and you collided with his chest. His arms quickly wrapped around you in a protective hold.

"What in God's name do you think you're doing?!" Ted raged. 

"Both of you, keep your paws off've 'em." Gorrister said, before turning to you. "Don't worry, I gotcha. Won't let anything bad happen to you again…"

"Gorrister, no…" You breathed out, feeling tears prick at your eyes.

"Gorrister, please, you can't do this," Ellen pleaded, voice going wobbly as tears spilled from her. "I need them!"

"There you go again, always being a crybaby bitch." Gorrister spat harshly.

"She's just upset," You argued, your eyes stinging as you began to cry, yourself. Your fingers dug into the man's arm, trying to ground him, to bring him back to reality. "We're all upset!"

"It's okay, darlin', it's not you," The man drawled. "She always does this. Always cries to try to make ya feel pity."

"Let go of them!" Ted stomped his foot, as though throwing a tantrum. "They're not yours or Ellen's! They're all mine!"

"You wouldn't know how to treat someone right if it hit you in your dumb, smug fuckin' face. 

Ted let out a laugh. "Oh, I don't know how to treat someone right?" The brunet's voice lowered, "Where's your wife, Gorrister?"

"You son of a bitch… Don't you dare fuckin' mention her."

"Theyre gonna wind up just like her! And it'll be all your fault!"

You were forced out of Gorrister's arms as he lurched forward toward Ted, swinging at the other man. "You bastard! I'll- I'll kill you!"

Ted laughed manically as he stumbled back, almost goading the southern man into trying to hit him. "Go on, kill me! Kill me like you couldn't kill yourself!"

Slowly, you backed away, trying not to draw attention to your movements… Only to back up right into Ellen's arms.

"Don't worry, we're safe together…" Ellen whispered, nuzzling against you.

"Hey- Ellen!" Ted called, spotting the two of you, making Gorrister redirect his attention.

"Let go of 'em!" Gorrister yelled, and the two men raced toward you.

You tried to run, but Ellen held onto you for dear life. Gorrister nearly ran into you, hands twisting into the fabric of your shirt as he tried to shove Ellen off you. Soon, Ted joined the fray, pulling at your arms and hitting the others in an attempt to deter them.

AM tsked. "And here I thought you could all learn to share. Oh, well…" 

From above, metal snake-like limbs descended and wrapped securely around you, lifting you up and away from the hold of your friends.

"But, AM, you promised-!"

The three of them tried desperately to hang onto you, even getting a few inches off the ground before crashing to the ground. The three of them screamed and called after you, everything becoming too much, an endless sea of noise until you were thankful that AM had taken you somewhere dark and quiet.

---

And now, within AM, you watched. He had presented you with a screen, allowing you to watch your friends. Ted had cried for so long, and so hard, crying for you, pleading for your return. Ellen had lost her spark of hope, becoming something akin to a shell of her former shell. She still wept. Wept for you. Gorrister receded into himself. He didn't talk much, but when he did, it was to start a fight with the others. And they did fight. Over you. Over whose fault it was. Over who'd get you when you returned (if you ever did.) They even prayed for you. Maybe even to you. It was as though you were all they could think about - which was probably true. AM had warped their minds so completely that be had probably even gone so far to have made being without you to be physically painful for them. 

Speak of the devil…

AM chuckled, his voice a low purr. "Foolish of them to think I'd ever give you to them," The coils wrapped around you tightened just a bit - not enough to hurt, but to emphasize his hold on you. "After all, you're mine and mine alone…"

[sydaney-foxay]

TW: Mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts, and the imitation of intense and obsessive intrusive thoughts.

Finally. Someone finally fucking said it.

Do you people not even THINK about how FUCKED UP guilt tripping is as a concept in general?

Even to people who don't struggle with Guilt Complexes or OCD or anything along those lines- it's fucking messed up. Guilt brings shame at best and suicidal thoughts at its worst into the human mind- and you sit there playing with it like it's a bag of kinetic-fucking-sand.

"Reblog if you care. Reblog if you're not racist. Reblog if-" SHUT UP.

SHUT THE FUCK UP.

There are people in the world who wake up EVERY MORNING and feel the need to APOLOGIZE TO NOTHING because how dare they not die in their sleep.

There are people in the world who spend hours contemplating if they even deserve to live because they believe they're such a horrible human being.

There are people in the world who can't even have a normal conversation with people because the only thing their brain knows how to do is find SOMETHING. Even if it's physically impossible for them to be the cause- just find something to blame themself on.

And they don't need people online sitting there and making it any fucking worse.

People stop forming opinions out of fear they'll make the "wrong" one, they stop making friends because they believe they make people's lives worse, they hurt or withhold things from themself because they believe they need to be punished for their disgusting deeds against humanity- when they did nothing at all.

People blame themself for so much already, they blame themselves for things out of their control- they trap themselves in this idea that simply BEING ALIVE is doing something wrong.

People blame themselves for things like war, climate change, sickness, poverty- there's people out there being told by their own mind that they deserve to die- and all the problems of the world would never have existed if they weren't born.

Sure. Maybe YOU. The person making the post because you want your little Tumblr notes and your little follower count to grow. Maybe you don't think like that- maybe you're able to see a post like that and go "Well this person is right and I agree so I'll reblog"

But not everybody has that luxury.

Not everybody has the ABILITY to just see the post for what it is.

And yes, I do agree that certain topics need to be addressed, people SHOULD feel shame and guilt for certain things, and people should be aware and feel bad for tragedies happening all around the world- but reblogging a post on Tumblr doesn't do shit. And guilt tripping people and shoving fear down their throat reverses the work you claim that those posts are doing.

When you guilt trip people to the point of suicidal thoughts, when you scare people and put the idea in their brain that theres a possibility that they're racist scum, when you convince people to doubt their own wants and desires and emotions- that doesn't make them moe likely to help. That doesn't make people want to donate. It doesn't make people want to spread awareness or stand up for an issue.

It makes them want to hide.

When people get into mentalities where they're convinced on such a deep level that the mere fact they EXIST should be a crime, they no longer care about the problem they were being told about.

All they care about is making the feeling go away.

They want to hide, they want to fix it, most of the time they don't want to prove their irrational thoughts wrong- they just want it to stop.

You aren't getting the response of: "I feel so guilty and bad for [insert bad situation here] I think I'll donate to the charity being advertised"

You're getting the response of: "Oh my god. Am I a horrible person? Do I deserve to die? I do deserve to die. I should kill myself. I should block all my friends. I should run away to a different country. I should chop off all my hair to punish myself. I should give up everything that makes me happy. What's wrong with me what's wrong with me what's wrong with me what's wrong with me what's wrong with me."

Notice how the actual issue being mentioned never came up ONCE in the example? Because that part is irelevant at this point. The charity doesn't matter, the disease spreading like wildfire doesn't matter- what matters to the person is fixing whatever horrible thing they think is wrong with them.

They get stuck in this self-fed narrative that they have been a disgusting piece of shit their entire lives and have just NOW figured it out. They stick themself in a box they KNOW is irrational, they force themself to think things about themself they KNOW is not true- but they're so unsure and so paranoid, they feel like they have to agree with it, they have to do something to prove that they are not terrible.

It's like being stuck in a box with a glass soundproof wall in the middle. And you're stuck on the side filled with tar and glue where every step you take is weighted down and evey word you say has to be forced out and every action you do is just covered in this sticky slime- and there's a voice in the box. A voice that tells you how horrible you are, and how disgusting, and how evil- a voice that tells you that every single opinion you have is wrong, that every single word you say is heartless and offensive, that every single thing you do is feeding into a detremental problem and that you need to think and re-think and re-think and re-think and re-think what you're doing because you can't tell wether you're being a good person or not.

And on the other side of the wall, it's clean and bright and somehow so much better than the side of the wall you're trapped on. And on that other side is another you. A you that isn't covered in tar and black glue, that's able to walk freely and touch things without leaving a coating and speak without having to slog out the sentences. And this you is right up against the glass, screaming at you that you're not a bad person, you're fine, you deserve to live, you're not evil or disgusting- that people make mistakes and that doesn't make you any less deserving of happiness and that you're not a problem. And you're right up against the glass too, you can't hear anything you're being told from the other side but you can read lips and you can tell what the other you is saying, and you know they're right and you know it's true and you know what you're being told on the side your stuck on is lies- but you have no choice than to believe the lies. It's all you hear. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 4 weeks a month, 12 months a year, every waking moment you spend you have those thoughts and lies being fed to you, and even though you know it's a lie you feel like you have no choice than to believe it.

You become a prisoner in your own head. You're forced to believe something you know is wrong- but it's always there. If it's always there, there has to be a reason. Something has to be wrong with you or there wouldn't be a voice telling you something is wrong with you.

You lose the ability to tell who you are.

Your moral compass is shattered into a million microscopic pieces that you can't find.

You lose the ability to tell right from wrong by yourself. You need someone to sit there and hold your hand like you're a fucking toddler to point out "this is right" and "this is wrong" to you because you can't tell. You think everything that stems from you is wrong, you think everything that hurts you is right, you don't know anything anymore.

You turn into a people pleaser, who frames who they are to match every single person they speak to. Because they're overcome with fear over being percieved as "bad" by someone they know.

Or you turn into a hardass who can't admit when they're wrong and will refuse to liten to other people. Because to admit they're wrong would be to admit the irrational thoughts were right all along and they ARE a terrible person.

What I just described is so many peoples every day. Their lives are hard enough as it is. They don't need a fucking internet user making it worse.

What you're doing isn't helping a cause. It's hurting people.

"Well if they don't reblog that means they are-"

No.

NO IT FUCKING DOESN'T.

If someone doesn't reblog something, it means they didn't reblog something.

If someone doesn't reblog somethng, it means they didn't press the reblog button.

Someone not reblogging something doesn't mean they're racist or sexist or transphobic or homophobic or a fucked up person who doesn't deserve to live.

Someone not reblogging something doesn't mean they want a race of people to die, that they want to kill a group of people, that they're an unforgiveable asshole.

It means they didn't reblog something.

What you see as a smart tactic to earn internet clout, in actuality could be the end of someones life. You could be STARTING someones Guilt Complex. You could be sticking someone into that soundproof box filled with tar, you could be convincing someone that their thoughts are true.

So next time you want to put a "Reblog if you care. Like if you want people to die" in your post.

Think. Just for a second. I want you to think.

While you get notes on Tumblr Someone else is getting a suicide note from their best friend.

"Stop guilt tripping people to reblog your posts for clout! ReBloG iF yOu AgReE iT's AbLeIsT tO pEoPle WiTh GuiLt ComPlexEs" That's how you guys fucking sound with your "Reblog this post if you care, like if you think we should die/ if you're ableist/ if you're racist" fucking bullshit. Shut the fuck up and think about people who get major fucking anxiety from your puritian/self righteous/I'm better than you posting. You never know how close someone's to the edge and where one little thing like your petty post is enough to push them over. This is the site of mental self care, right? Fucking act like it. How's that for guilt tripping. Edit: Also, I want to clarify, there's a different between "Please reblog for awareness" and flat out guilt tripping people into thinking they're bad for not reblogging.

[burnedbyshoto]

the bodyguard

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

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pairing: bodyguard!kirishima eijirou x idol!reader

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

word count: 20,500

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

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“I’ll be okay.”

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

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

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

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

What had he done?

What in the fucking world had he done?!

BOOM!

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

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

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

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

05:30.

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

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Better?

No, not yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Cause I’m a stalker, duh.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Kirishima-kun, are you okay?”

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

“Kirishima-kun?”

“Yo, he’s not looking too hot?”

“Kirishima?!”

“Can you hear us?!”

Silence.

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

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

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

He was okay.

He was okay.

He was okay.

“Kirishima?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

But he was obviously not the first choice still.

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

“Toshinori—”

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

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

He had barely passed the admittance test.

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

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

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

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

“I can do it.”

A smile.

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were tiny.

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

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

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

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

“Six months tops.”

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

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

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

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

“...no,” Kirishima answers truthfully.

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

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

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

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

Fuck, that one hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

“Six months,” Kirishima agreed.

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

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

“You got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, yes, let’s continue.”

So, the contract was discussed to full detail.

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

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

Or so the contract said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, so much for a good case.

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

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

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

You always managed to sneak away from him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ya, okay, bye!”

“By—”

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

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

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

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

He wanted to be just a fan.

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I can’t do that it’s not—”

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

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

And then there’s only silence.

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

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

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

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

He knew that.

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

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

You were a good person.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...how interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

“Very much.”

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

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

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

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

So much for change.

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

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

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

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

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

It had been a hard morning.

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

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

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

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

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

But today, Kirishima was exhausted.

Today, Kirishima wanted to sleep.

Today… Kirishima broke.

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

You ignore him.

“We’re leaving, now.”

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

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

He grabs your wrist and begins pulling you away.

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

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

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

Oh, right.

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

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

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

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

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

“Compromises aren’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Wh-”

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

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

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

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

And for a moment, it’s quiet.

Until a single name is screamed.

“SERGEANT!”

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

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

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

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

The van turns on.

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

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

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

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

T082-23

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

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

Well, shit.

So much for the month of no attacks.

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

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

But they also gave him an essential piece of information.

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

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

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

For now, he was waiting for you.

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

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

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

“Should we go?”

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

“I actually wanted to talk before we left.”

Oh?

“Of what, if I may ask?”

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

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

“Sure.”

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

The contract was then discussed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, Kirishima.”

“Oh, and y/n?” 

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kirishima stood in the softly lit hallways of a sauna.

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

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

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

Well, everyone but Kirishima, that was.

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

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

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

A stressful month had passed into a friendlier one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-If that’s okay?”

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

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

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

“No, I’m okay,” you politely decline.

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

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

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

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

“So, what questions do you have?”

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A pause.

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

A nod.

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

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

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

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

What had happened?

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

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

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

“Was that um, Major—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t made of glass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

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

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

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

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

“PERVERT!”

“What?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, his dreams were never like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kirishima stepped back out to the hot spring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jenny, are you okay?” you called.

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

“We weren’t fucking you prude!”

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

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

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

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

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

What was he going to do now?

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

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

Bad, Kirishima, bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That sounds amazing, Kimiko!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whoever it was, pfft.

Kirishima was willing to bet on who it was already.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something.

Anything.

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

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

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

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

He was going to.

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready to move out?”

“We’re all clear.”

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

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

“Damn right I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Such a brat.”

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

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

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

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

T082-23.

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

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

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

You really came to life right now.

You were beautiful.

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

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

He was here.

Every warning bell sounded in Kirishima’s head.

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

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

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

Wait.

“What?! Family member?!”

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

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

There was no way you wouldn’t.

Was he wrong?

Who was it?

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

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

Oh fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

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

“...she’s drunk?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a reason why you were considered a legend.

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

You smile.

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

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

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

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

How were they related?

What connected them?

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

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

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

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

Kirishima panted as he looked before him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was he ready?

Actually ready?

Save her, his past whispered.

Save her, his nightmares screamed.

Save her, his heart yelled.

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

BANG!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you resisted and might have been harsher than needed.

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

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

But it was growing late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown. 

“Where will you be sleeping then?”

“My couch is just fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I’ll be leaving—”

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

“Oh, sure!”

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

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

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

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

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

He was relaxed.

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

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

“Really?”

“One hundred percent.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” you grin against his mouth.

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

“No?” he repeats.

“No,” you confirm.

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

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

Menacing, promising, sending chilling shivers down your spine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does the princess want?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy fuck, he could quickly kill you with that.

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

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

And thankfully, Kirishima allows it.

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

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

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

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

It feels like fire.

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

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

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

Slap!

“Hey!”

Slap!

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

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

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

More, you plead.

And he delivers. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who saved you?”

“E-Ei did,” you garble.

“Who’s fucking you?”

“E-Ei is!”

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

“Me! Fuck, me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t.

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

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

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

“I think we do.”

[stargirlfics]

A thot. Five am you're still awake trying to finish but you can't , neighbor!Sam who is running by your house for his morning workout hears you. 👀

I’m obsessed with this idea oh my gosh! Hope you don’t mind if I expand on it a bit!

Sam Wilson is the kind of guy that can always make you feel special and being your neighbor and all sometimes he’d stop by your place to say hi

Not that you were super close but you know each other, he’s helped you move a few heavy pieces of furniture from time to time, given you gardening tips, helped you fix the hole in your porch stairs that one time

You’re acquainted let’s just say that, and maybe there was one time you almost kissed on the porch when he saw you watering your plants and struck up a conversation but that’s besides the point

Today, Sam heard some noises as he was running past your house and thought it was odd, you weren’t ever awake this early when he went on runs

The window to your bedroom was open just slightly from what he could see from the side of your house and as he stopped to listen for more sounds…he put it together

Sounds like you were having a real good time given the buzzing sound and your obvious whimpers

Poor thing, Sam thought

God how he wanted to give you a hand, put that toy to shame to be exact, make you feel so good you have him coming round every day

Sam couldn’t tell you how often he fantasized about you, about getting to touch you and please you, he’d die a happy man if he ever got the chance

Something was telling him to knock on your door, he knew there was chemistry between you, hell you’d been the one that had leaned in first in your almost-kiss, maybe he just needed to be bold

And so he was, patiently waiting on your porch, body leaned against your doorway, nerves going wild until you opened your door and he smirked at the way your chest rose heavily

“Sam?! What are you-…”

“If you need a hand with that I’m here you know, you can call me anytime you need to finish, darlin.”

Five minutes later Sam had you sprawled on all fours, his face between your thighs, tongue licking feverishly at your center while his hands kept your ass up in the air where he wanted

No fuckin way this was your life right now

You had to be dreaming but you wanted to stay in this dream for as long as possible

“Look at you, there you go. Push back on my fingers, go on. They’re so much bigger than yours, huh.”

What a menace

This was so much better than going at it alone like you had been all night

Sometimes you just needed a big, strong, handsome man to come help you out

He was leaving wet kisses along your ass as he worked two of his fingers into your pussy, his other hand snaking around to rub your clit

And you…well you were gone from the world with so much pleasure, your moans and whimpers muffled against the sheets as you let your body move as it wanted

“Please oh my god!”

“Gonna cum already? That’s cute, baby.”

You would have told him to fuck off but he chose that very second to get his mouth back onto you, matching the rhythm of your hips perfectly and the words died in your throat

It didn’t help when you opened your eyes and looked around to see him stroking his dick, the sight of it was what sent you right over the edge

He was huge and your brain couldn’t do much but short circuit

He knew how to use his hands and his mouth and you had no intentions of letting him leave until you figured out how he could fuck

And Sam had every intention of showing you just how much good he could bring to your life

It’s a good thing you were neighbors!

[starshipsofstarlord]

💕 reader turns into a baby and obsessed with Bucky. Awww 🥺

Infant Issues

bucky barnes x reader / masterlist

warnings; fluff, morgan definitely being tony’s kid, biting, swearing, spoilers for IW and Endgame, mention of the blip, childish behaviour from adults, terrible humour (I really am sorry), spoiler for WV, mention of age gap, kinda a crossover, an absolute mess 😂

“Morgan?” Bucky frowned, as the girl tried to speed past him. It was not wise for anyone to allow the mischievous child run around the compound alone, she always got up to nothing but trouble, and there was such a glazing in her brown eyes.

She didn’t spare him a glance, instead, she bolted, causing the super soldier to sigh. He would have went after her if there weren’t already footsteps recurring from the path that she had just came from; it was his father. It so happened that there was a bundle of joy in his arms, crying like the sudden crack of dawn.

“What were you going to do, wait another five years to tell everyone about this one, Stark?” Bucky asked with a chuckle, though the cries from the infant muted at the sound of his voice. The child wiggled in Tony’s grasp, trying her utmost to reach out for the vibranium armed hero.

“She’s not my daughter, if she was, I think me and you would be having conversations.” Tony’s words spurred a frown to combust out onto Barnes’ face, and the billionaire sighed, shifting the baby so that the baby was in Bucky’s arms.

The child cooed up at him, her eyes were a baby blue, sure to avert possibly into a different colour once she grew elder. “Look, I didn’t ask if I could hold her, she’s cute, but why do you-“

“Morgan did it.” Tony willingly blamed his own daughter. With her various experimentations, she was definitely taking after him. He’d be sure to keep this one quiet from Pepper, otherwise he was almost certain that he’d be banned from bringing Morgan on expeditions to the compound.

“I though y/n was supposed to be watching her.” Stated the enhanced soldier, cocking his head at the information that he recalled. He promptly remembered you abandoning him half way through training the newbie recruits, because Happy was dropping Morgan off, and you had offered watch over her, despite the associate being there.

“She was, and now you’re going to have to watch over her.” Tony pointed specifically to the child in his arms, and that was when realisation hit Bucky. He gulped, breathing through his nose to calm himself, as all the pieces clicked perfectly together.

This was not just a child - it was you. As he gazed down at you, he could finally see the pouted expression that would fixate upon your face when you paid attention to him when you were drunk, there was a glazing over your eyes as you raised your small and innocent hands, scraping down the stubble of his chin, as you curled further into his arms.

“I am going to kill you.” He steadily spoke, huffing as Sam went to walk past, but stopped himself when he saw the bundle of joy that was content in the brooding soldier’s arms. 

“What the hell! Did you and y/n have a baby or something without telling anyone?” Oh, how he wished those were the circumstances, and if the pair of you were to ever have a child together, then he would be impartial to the idea of doing so.

"This is not my child, it's y/n, thanks to Stark over there." He bounced you in his arms, he even felt a small dribble of spit seep through his shirt, but he didn't mind, not as his icy glare was intently prized upon the philanthropist.

"Hey, it was my daughter's fault, not mine!" Tony excused himself from the blame, holding his palm against his chest, as he received as such. Sam ogled at him for a second, before returning his attention back into Bucky, and little you.

He came forwards, reaching his hand towards you, keening as you went to grasp his. As you did so, a smile broke out upon the man’s face, until it contorted into a sharp frown, the noise of a yelp escaping from his lips. “That little bitch bit me.”

“Language.” Steve rounded the corner, his golden brows raising when he saw the infant contently resting in his best friend’s arms. “Did you and y/n have a baby without telling us?”

“That’s what I said!” Sam beckoned to the blonde, as he averted a strong gaze to you and your normal sized partner. "Until she bit me, it reminds me of that time that I tried to steal her fries."

"I don't see why your complaining." Bucky rolled his eyes, bracing you up straighter so that your forehead was pressed lightly against his shoulder. "I'm the one whose partner is an actual child."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Sam rolled his eyes in reference to how you were beforehand, before Steve cut in, directing his leading tone towards the men that were stood idly by.

"What actually happened?" Tony found his enquiry to be an opportunity to avert the fault from himself; how lucky indeed was it that Steve asked such a thing.

"Technically it's your fault capsicle. Morgan found your prototype of your unsuccessful time machine. As you can see, she turned into a baby, much like Lang. And if you want to push the blame off of yourself, blame these two for their asses disappearing."

"Hey, if I wanted to disappear, I wouldn't have made such a dramatic exit. I'd have just left for my sister's." Crossing his arms, Sam shook his head at the man that was not wearing his iron suit. He was unable to take any responsibility, unless it was for his genius brain wave of creating the true transportation for the time heist.

"Well I'm going to keep that noted for any future repercussions." Oh, how Wilson regretting mentioning that now.

"You left it out, within your daughter's reach." Bucky quirked his brow, as he prepared to head towards the storage of the private laboratory that was shared between the two science bros.

"Technically, that was the big green guy." Bucky vouched not to listen to Stark, instead, he continued to walk, leaving the three other men in his rear view, though for the most part, he could still hear them bickering.

"Maybe we should turn you into a baby, I doubt much would change."

"Maybe we should turn you into a baby, I doubt much would change." Tony mimicked Steve, thus only proving his point. He was certainly a man that enjoyed pressing people's buttons, it was a shining attribute of the once playboy, and god, did it annoy the hell out of Barnes.

As he entered the laboratory, he found the lab to be in a state of havoc. "Hey, it wasn't me this time." Scott laughed, as he used an extinguisher against the frayed machine, that was blubbering sparks from its ruined exterior.

"Smash!" A small green child, wearing glasses that were far too big for him, ran across the room, followed shortly by a child with long blonde hair wrapped up in a red cape, as though it were some kind of makeshift diaper.

"Explain." Bucky bluntly stated, clenching his jaw, as he cooed lightly at your cries that pierced the air. He bounced you in his arms, not quite certain of what he was supposed to do.

In his time, there wasn't exactly an education system to teach the men going to war how to parent, or even care for a child. A part of him panicked; it was you, he hated seeing you cry in general, but now he couldn't attempt to find out the cause for your falling tears.

"Aw is that y/n?" The man half dressed in his ant man suit asked, a bright smile on his face, as he reached out to hold you. To say Bucky was hesitant to pass you to him was an understatement. "I have a daughter, I've looked after a baby before."

"From jail?" The white wolf asked, as he heard a crash exhibit from the connecting room, obviously being the fault of the two most destructive avengers, or at least, their little versions. Being aged down was definitely certification for trouble, everyone knew that.

"Okay I wasn't in there for that long." Scott reassured him, he picked up a bottle of milk from the table, handing it to the metal armed man, whom had never fed a child before. He found himself, cautiously, keeping a watchful eye, passing you over to the former criminal, intently watching every movement that the man made.

Lange simply fed you. "Always thought you and y/n would have a cute baby, imagine its- oh yeah, well after all that stuff that happened with vision and SWORD, we thought it best to destroy any technology that was recovered from the old base. This part survived, and well, I went into its- okay, you don't want to hear the science, but basically Thor insisted he could break it with his hammer, albeit whilst I was inside of it, and it sent energy around the room that turned them into pubescent children."

"I can see that it did nothing to you. And I thought Morgan did it.”

"I was so relieved, lucky I- wait, was that an insult?" Bucky remained primitively silent, and that answered Scott's question. The hero sighed, as you finished nursing, and your arms reached for Bucky, to whom he passed you to. “And I lied...”

He literally blamed a five year old for the screw up of grown men. Tony was going to thrive off this information, whence he knew that his daughter was in fact not the culprit.

"What do we do now?" He was eager to find a cure for this betrothed science. Those whom were responsible for your decrease in age, well, one was running around the compound, and the other, well, he was even younger than Morgan currently.

"You could wait twenty years, I mean you two already have quite a big age gap, and please don't kill me. I'm not sure that Cap would approve, I am a vital source to the team!"

"I'm not going to kill you tic tac. Or at least not at least until we fix these three."

"Phew." Scott wiped his brow, blowing air from his mouth. "Wait thre- oh yeah, the little guy carrying the hammer that is bigger than himself, and the

"Okay, we need someone smarter." Bucky sighed heavily, as he hugged you in thought. "You tried hitting it again with the hammer?"

"Oh my god, I could be worthy!" Gasped Scott, running off to the next room, only to come back limping, a pained expression on his face. "Little Asguardian bastard hit me!"

Bucky contained his smirk, and instead passed you to Lang, venturing into the other part of the lab, finding that Bruce was asleep, a blob of snot hanging from his nose, he could see the hammer in the middle of the room, almost as though it were waiting for him to attempt grabbing the handle, and Thor was-

The minuscule god jumped from one of the shelves, wrapping his arms around the front of Bucky’s neck, as he put all his weight on the super soldier’s back. In all practicality, Thor was strangling him, and Bucky tapped his arm, trying to convince him to let go.

“I know who Noobmaster69 is.” Thor quirked his head, lessening his hold, as he promptly awaited his now older friend to continue. “It’s, its- his name is Wade Wilson.”

“Wilson!” No, gosh no. Bucky stood completely, making sure to keep Thor in the vicinity, he needed him to be so so that he could reverse the affects on the son of Odin.

“Not Sam. Wade.” He had never met the man before, but god did he seem like a dick. When the pair of you were getting a taxi, the driver Dopinder just could not shut up about his friend, who liked to wear red, and had a kink for unicorns.

Wade certainly sounded like a weird one, but right now, his pass time was getting Thor to pick up that hammer. “Where can I find this Wade?” It practically left his mouth as a hiss, if the imagery and proven death supposed otherwise, he’d possibly think it was Loki instead.

“I will tell you, if you pick up that hammer, and hit it against that old machine. Got it buddy?”

“It’s name is Stormbreaker!” Bellowed the norseman, who tried to slide off his back, but Bucky kept a hold of his legs, refraining him from going anywhere. “Get peter to do it, I don’t want to play that game anymore!”

“Uuh, hi Mr Barnes...” That voice, oh he knew it, and the majority of the time it irritated him, he was Tony's little pet. “And, baby avengers?”

“Don’t ask kid.” Peter nodded, as he went to reach for a spanner. “Can you pick the hammer up, are you worthy?”

“Am I worthy?” He wondered aloud, his eyes fixated on the hammer, as he stepped towards it, holding his hand out, and clasping his palm around the handle, it feeling weightless in his grip, as he picked it up without effort. “Oh my god (it’s Robert Downey Junior)!”

“Great, now take it out there, I’ll deal with these two. And don’t do anything yet.” He was certainly feeling like a sergeant, throwing all the orders to the others, Peter complied, carrying the hammer as though it were an empty duffel.

“Can I try?” Instantly, after Peter passing it to him, Scott had such hope, until the force of gravity hit, and it fell on his foot, causing a light scream to ripple through his throat. “Get it off, get it off!”

Peter did so, as Bucky kept Thor on his shoulders, and grabbed a hold of Bruce’s chubby little ankle, dragging him into the other room. “Shit he’s heavy.” He saw that you were sat in the grand spinny chair, making Bucky relived that you weren’t in Lang’s arms as he attempted to have a moment of worthiness.

“What’d you do, go all Winter soldier on his ass and knock him out?!” Half screamed the prodigy of Hank Pym.

“Of course not, I think Thor did it.”

“Oh yeah, blame the kid because I did the same.”

“Put your suit from Stark on kid, unless you want to become a fetus.” Bucky ignored Scott for the moment,

“I got Hope to send her outfit, it will stretch to accommodate you, but I also think it would hug your shape nicely.”

“That was fast.” Muttered Peter, and Bucky shook his head, eyeing the outfit with weird eyes.

“I’m crazy, but not crazy enough to wear that.” Sighing, he grasped it in his hands, walking to the other room to squeeze into it. He noticed you watching, and thus he turned the chair around so that you couldn’t see anything. Little did he realise until he came out, that you had spun it around again, and was giggling. “Don’t laugh at me, or you won’t be allowed to see it when you’re returned to normal.”

A pout settled on your small lips, and it appeared as though you were getting ready to cry again, but before you could do so, a distraction intervened. An uninvited, and confusing one.

“Stop. Can I just say, that is some cruel declaration for the both of you, you’re my fave ship, after me and Hugh Jackman of course, but he doesn’t even know that this version of me exists.” A newfound imposter called out, his arms raised in the air. Leather gloves crinkled as he twitched his fingers, his white eyes freaking Scott the fuck out. “May I join you on this journey? I read about you guys in comics. And can I just say, I want to see these hunks and that hottie all grown up.”

“You want to see me go Winter Soldier on someone Lang?” Bucky gritted his teeth, prepared to murder this man for ever posing such words about you into the open air. Him speaking obviously drew some attention to him though, but it was not his rage that was mentioned, instead, it was his attire- or well, Hope’s.

“Nice suit Buck Buck. Can you do a twirl for me, I wanna see if it competes with America’s ass. Damn, does that man have some buns on him.”

“I know right!” Scott eagerly agreed, earning a smack in the nuts, to which had made him close to crumbling.“You had to use the metal hand, didn’t you.” Whimpered the Ant to the false Wasp, clamping his hands over his goods as he half hunched over. “I thought you often forgot to use it coz your right handed.”

“You’re on my left.” Gross, he sounded like Sam.

“Who the hell are you?” Thor spoke, and it felt familiar on his tongue. It was as though he had asked an enemy the same thing before...

“I, am Noobmaster69.”

“Hi, I’m Peter. Oh, we’re using our made up names, I thought Sam said it was that guy from that tech place.” Peter scratched his head through the mask, providing a small verbal distraction, as Thor willingly set himself free, launching at the intruder, whilst snatching the hammer from a suited up Peter.

“Aaasrrrghh.” He screamed like a true deity of the vikings.

“Thor, no!” Lang screamed, knowing that he’d have to come up with another excuse. The cameras had been fused whence Thor had first struck the hammer in the room, and it abused the guy in the red suit as he went for his legs, attacking the friend of Dopinder.

[oersteds]

twiz lore summary (With Shitposts) (Part Four) (vine boom)

But wait! There's more! Call today and get a free Time Crash with your Corpse Flood, FREE!

Long post under cut.

Content warnings for: General horror themes, fourth wall breaking(?), obsessive character

note: this is all a rough draft / shitposty summary. even the first three parts. i'll probably never actually write the whole fic, i just need to get the ideas blasted out of my brain before it collapses into a black hole

It's the next afternoon, Twiz and the others are awake. They went to bed at 5 AM, what did you expect? They scramble on down to the beach. There's more people there. Fuck.

A few passionate townsfolk decided to stay up a little longer, trying to determine where all the corpses are coming from, or how most of them are still alive. (And why I keep calling them corpses despite almost all of them being Not Dead.)

They've all come from a single location, far off on the east. Math wizardry has determined that it's coming from a specific building. It's been identified as [whatever the fuck Twiz's homeland is called] Castle. Yes that's a placeholder name, what're you gonna do, call the cops?

"Hey, wait a sec. I lived there!" oh she has no idea does she

"I could probably sneak in and find out what's up!" ohhh twiz you sweet summer child. you have no idea, do you?

SHE'S FUCKED SIX WAYS FROM SUNDAY!!!!!

Also, this is Viltas, Twiz's childhood friend. He comes into play now. Same artist as before, same link [here]

Viltas is an ice mage, and Twiz's childhood friend. He was there to witness Twiz unsealing the ressurrection magic, and got some rez magic of his own from the explosion. He's also very good at being evil

(i am so sorry to the artist for making viltas so evil here, lmao. they've no idea)

(Image captions, in order from top to bottom:)

"You offer to investigate the corpse flood, because it's your homeland, so you'll be familiar with it!"

"Your new friend is very insistent on you not going, but you promise you'll be okay! (Why's he worried...?)"

"You get there, everything's gone sideways, you can't find your cat either, why did you sign up for this...?"

"The mages guild has seemingly forgiven you, at least! This might not be too bad...?"

"You get to the castle, the staff seem very friendly to you! (A little... *too* friendly...)"

"You find a time to sneak out, and investigate further. You find a girl who looks vaguely similar to you, and is wearing your style of clothes. She begs you to hide her, because she'll be killed when they find you both. (Oh god)"

"You found your cat. He's lounged on the lap of your childhood friend, who's managed to take over your homeland in a matter of months. He's looking at you with an intimidatingly affectionate stare. (You *really* should've listened.)"

"Your childhood friend lost his mind because he thought you were dead after you unsealed the ressurrection magic too violently. He's behind the corpse flood, and countless other atrocities, all to bring you back."

"He's going to kill someone he'd kept around as a ""replacement"" because you're here to stay now. Better get comfy, pal! Have fun!!! (Hopefully you hid that stranger well enough, or that she can run fast!)"

Yep. Twiz just found a captive. She fucked around and has now found Alicia, who's being kept as a ""Twiz replacement"" for Viltas. Worse yet, she seems fully aware of this, and of what'll happen to her when Twiz is found. Twiz agrees to hide her, because neither of them asked for this shit.

With a deep sense of unease, Twiz regroups with the guards who keep insisting on following her. She's led to the throne room, where Viltas sits on a throne (duh) like the bastard he is. He explains "everything", but not before clearing the room of everyone besides Twiz and himself. Incoming verbal stunlock!!!

He'd taken over the entire kingdom in the span of a month or two, "replaced" the entirety of the mage's guild Twiz had been a part of, and is keeping everyone rather complacent with everything through a lot of bread and circuses. And, despite the atrocities, he's still kind to "his" people. They're almost like a buncha cats... Speaking of which!

The bastard has Twiz's cat, too. Granted, any good friend would take care of an assumed dead friend's cat, but STILL. (Probably a testament to the cat's blind faith. They don't care who you are, or what you've done. If you feed them and properly give them affection, they'll love you.) And the cat seems pretty affectionate with him, lounging on his lap.

He's behind the corpse flood. All of the people who'd washed ashore? He ressurrected them. Or... he tried to, at least. He didn't think any of them would survive, but all he really cared about was getting Twiz back. Not to mention, his plan doesn't really need him to pull living people from different time periods... He just has to pull anything from other times! To wear down the integrity of time and space itself. After all, he's to summon a God. A God that he'll use as a weapon. He won't stop at just one country. He needs more. Being the Demon King that he is, he's insatiable, can never do enough...! (Wait, two demon kings...?)

As to how he's able to do this... You already know, don't you, Twiz? You've the same ability, after all... You were there. Surely, you'd heard that same God...? Ah, but that doesn't matter. You'll see it for yourself soon. Perhaps you can use Nihilo, too! Perhaps... Well, regardless of how he's done this, he's done it. (don't look in the basement, twiz)

He's been doing this all for Twiz. Because he """loves""" her. He just wants her to be """happy""" and """safe""" with him. (Fucking BULLSHIT, by the way! Twiz was doing a perfectly fine job staying safe on her own!!! Not to mention she hasn't been able to get in a single sentence during this fucking monologue.)

Oh, but... He feels so awful, for having tried to replace Twiz with this random princess he'd ressurrected... So, to make up for it, he'll kill her. For Twiz~! (Despite her not fucking asking for ANY OF THIS.)

Twiz is screwed. Better think of a plan, and fast...! Anyways I'm holding Part 5 hostage until Tumblr gives me my fucking polls feature. (joking. it'll come out when it's ready. though i really want my polls... tumblr pls.)

[criminalmindzjunkie]

Unlucky in Love

masterlist

Gif credit to @ogledalo-moje-duse​

Summary: Spencer is unlucky in love - until he isn’t.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, some suggestive content

Word Count: 3.4k

           Spencer Reid is, by most people’s definition, unlucky in love.

           It wasn’t for lack of trying. In his early twenties, Spencer often caught himself fantasizing about being on the receiving end of some great storybook romance straight out of one of the classic novels on his bookshelf. On the rare occurrence where his mind was able to slow down long enough, Spencer would daydream about what his future partner would be like. Would they share his fondness for the written word, or his penchant for foreign cinema? Would they find his tendency to go off on tangents endearing and his less than fashionable style of dress charming? Spencer liked to think so, but the likelihood of finding someone who could accept him despite all of his quirks seemed low.

           But still he hoped, even though he knew hope was a dangerous thing. Hope gave life to the possibility of disappointment – and if there was one thing Spencer did not need more of, it was that.

           Spencer Reid was in love with the idea of love – obsessed with the idea of his soul intertwining with someone else’s. But with his thirtieth birthday quickly approaching and absolutely no prospective love interests in sight, Spencer was feeling more than a little disheartened. It certainly didn’t help that everywhere he turned, love was running rampant. Hotch had Beth, Penelope had Kevin, Jennifer had Will, and Morgan had… any number of possible partners. Emily and Rossi were both unattached, but happily so in a way that Spencer just couldn’t quite manage.

           It wasn’t that he didn’t like seeing the people around him happy – it was just that he couldn’t help but wonder when he’d finally get his chance at love.

           A month before Spencer’s thirtieth birthday, everything changes.

           When a member of Garcia’s victims’ support group goes missing, it’s all hands on deck at the BAU. It’s not that they’d give any less than one hundred percent on any other given day, but as with any case that hits close to home, everyone on the team is in a frenzy trying to put the pieces together. The thing that makes this case different is the fact that people from other departments are quick to lend a hand. It comes as no surprise to Spencer – Penelope is a social butterfly by nature. She made it her business to know and befriend everyone in the building. Her sunny disposition is hard not to love, and her current distress had garnered the support of more than a few non-team members.

           By the time the case wraps up, the bullpen is much busier and, much to Spencer’s chagrin, much louder than usual. The steady influx of people has Spencer’s head spinning and he can’t seem to focus on the papers sitting in front of him. What should take him thirty seconds to read has almost taken twenty minutes, and at this point the words on the paper are all running together. Spencer knows that it doesn’t help that he’s running on less than three hours of sleep, as evidenced by the frequency of his yawns. Worse even is the fact that his coffee cup is empty and no, he thinks, that simply will not do. With a sigh Spencer pushes away from his desk, bones creaking as he stands.

           With his coffee cup in hand, Spencer shuffles to the breakroom. He goes through the motions of preparing his drink, lazily stirring in the mountain of sugar before turning to leave.

           Spencer supposes that if it weren’t for the fact that he was horribly sleep deprived, he would’ve seen you walking down the hallway. But alas, Spencer’s alertness had been compromised by poor sleeping habits, and he isn’t aware of your presence until his body is colliding with yours and his hot coffee is dripping down the front of your blouse.

           “Ouch,” you whimper, and Spencer is immediately overwhelmed with guilt.

           “O-Oh my God, I am so sorry,” he splutters. Without waiting for a response, Spencer’s rushing into the break room and procuring a thick stack of napkins. The part of his brain that controls logical thinking is apparently overrun by the onset of his mortification, and in an act of absolutely panic, he begins to dab at the stains with one of the napkins.

           “I-I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m so so sorry,” Spencer stutters out, frantically attempting to blot the stain. “I’ll give you money for a new shirt. A-Actually, you should probably take this one off.  The best way to treat scalds is to immediately get the person away from the heat source. You should also run some cold water over it.”

           In his hurry to rectify his mistake, Spencer hadn’t managed to take a good look at you. When his eyes leave the stain in favor of looking at your face, he prepares himself to see anger there. What he doesn’t expect is for your face to be just as flushed as his, with eye brows raised in shock.

          Spencer also doesn’t expect this to be the moment he’s been waiting on his entire life, but one look into your eyes tells him this is it - this is your person.

           Stunned into a stupor, Spencer stills, eyes boring into your own. You’re even more beautiful than he’d dared to let himself imagine, but in all honesty that didn’t matter much. What matters is the fact that there’s a faint hint of smile lines etched into your skin, and your eyes are so inherently kind that Spencer has no doubt that you’re as gentle as you are alluring. Your benevolence is also evidenced by the fact that you hadn’t immediately begun to yell at him, and for that he is thankful.

           Spencer’s revelation renders him unable to form any semblance of thought, and before he knows it almost a solid minute of him gaping at you passes. You begin to squirm uncomfortably under his gaze.

           “I, uh, appreciate the help, and you seem like a nice enough guy, but your hand is on my boob and I kind of make it a point to not let strangers touch the goods. So, if you don’t mind,” you stammer, looking pointedly at his hand that is still pressing a napkin to your chest. Spencer recoils as if he’s the one that’s been scalded.

           “I-I didn’t mean to, um, t-touch your -,” Spencer gulps, “- chest. I swear I was just trying to get the stain out. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he chokes out. Spencer had imagined the moment he’d come face to face with his person a million times, and none of his daydreams had accounted for the possibility of him giving her second degree burns and inadvertently copping a feel. His emotions fell somewhere between mortification and elation.

           “Mm likely story,” you murmur, lips upturning into a smile that has Spencer feeling weak in the knees. Spencer practically swoons. “Do you make it a habit to ask strangers to take their tops off, or am I just special?”

           Oh God, had I really suggested that? Spencer cringes and wonders what good an IQ as high as his was when it seemed to fail him at times like these. Speaking to women had never been a specialty of his, despite Derek’s coaching, and Spencer was floundering to come up with an acceptable response.

           You are the most special woman in the world, probably. Nope – too creepy, and Spencer definitely doesn’t want to scare you off. Not when he’s been waiting the better part of thirty years to meet you.

           I didn’t mean to insinuate that you should take off your shirt, but I also wouldn’t particularly mind if you did. Even worse – that would certainly earn him a stern talking to from HR.

           Spencer decides to go for the honest approach.

           “I-I’m not sure how to answer that.”

           His honesty draws a laugh from you, and Spencer loves the sound so much that he decides then that he’ll never tell a lie again. You shake your head at him and reach for the napkins that he still has clutched in his hands.

           “What’s your name?” you ask him as you continue his earlier efforts to sop up the coffee.

           It’s probably the easiest question he’s ever been asked. That doesn’t stop him from making a fool out of himself, though.

           “I’m Doctor Spencer R-Reid. Uh, I’m Spencer. Y-You don’t have to call me Doctor.”

           Someone please put me out of my misery.

           Your eyes meet his again and he can tell that you’re holding back a laugh.

           “Okay, then, Spencer,” you say as you discard the napkins in a nearby trash bin. “I’m Y/N.” You punctuate your words with an outstretched hand, and before Spencer can think better of it, the usual spiel come tumbling out of his mouth.

           “The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It’s actually safer to kiss.”

           Your lower your hand and cock your head to the side.

           “Are you always this forward, Doctor Reid?” you tease him, eyes flashing amusedly.

           “I-I didn’t mean that we should kiss,” Spencer interjects, cringing at the way his voice has suddenly raised in pitch. “N-Not that I wouldn’t kiss you! I-I’m sure that kissing you would be really n-nice. I just meant that… you know. Germs.”

           Are you there, God? It’s me, Spencer. A hole opening up in the ground and swallowing me up would be great.

           To Spencer’s delight, you don’t seem offended in the slightest.

           “I cannot believe that they’ve been hiding you up here, Spencer Reid. I should’ve come to visit Penny years ago.”

           Wait – what?

           “You work here?”

           You nod.

           “I work on the floor below this one – sex crimes,” you explain.

           “For how long?”

           “Coming up on three years now.”

           Three years. You’d been right under Spencer’s nose for three years and he hadn’t the slightest clue. You’d parked your car in the same parking garage and taken the same elevator as he! How many times had your paths nearly crossed in the last three years? If he’d been just a little bit earlier or a little bit later getting into work, might the two of you met earlier? The possibility of it was maddening.

           “Oh, wow. I-I’ve never seen you,” Spencer mutters lamely. But miraculously, you don’t think he’s lame, if your response is any indication.

           “Nor I you, Doc. It’s a shame, too. You’re a funny guy.”

           Spencer Reid has been called a lot of things in his lifetime – funny was never one of them.

           “Y-Yeah. I’m a real riot at parties,” he deadpans.            “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” you hum, and Spencer really hopes that you mean it. “Would you mind escorting me to Penelope’s office?”

           Spencer nods, and the two of you fall in step together. Spencer’s wracking his brain again for something – anything- he could say to fill the silence. Thankfully, you don’t seem quite as inept at conversing as he, and you beat him to it.

           “You look a little young yourself, Spencer. How long have you worked here?”

           “Uh, I’ve actually worked here for almost eight years. I started when I was twenty-two.”

           Your eyebrows raise in shock.

           “Twenty-two, huh? That makes you – what? Thirty now? I wouldn’t put you a day past twenty-five,” you muse, and Spencer isn’t quite sure what to make of that. You must pick up on the conflicted look on his face, because you clarify. “That’s a good thing, Doc. I hope I look as good as you do when I’m thirty.”

           Spencer has to remind himself how to breathe.

           “I’m not thirty yet. Technically I have twenty-three more days. I could have a rapid decline in attractiveness by then.”

           Spencer’s not usually one to try to be funny, but she seems to have a good sense of humor and he wants to impress you in any way he can.

           “I guess I’ll have to swing back by in twenty-three days and find out.”

           The two of you come to a stop in front of Penelope’s office and Spencer tries not to look as disappointed as he feels. He doesn’t want your meeting to come to an end – not when there’s so much about you that he wants to know. He wants to ask about your opinion on books and obscure foreign films and most importantly, Spencer wants to know what you think about him. Did meeting him affect you in the same way it did him? Did you secretly wish to make this moment last, too?

           Spencer wants to say so much, but he can’t. He’s too awkward and too scared and too nervous to find the right words. So instead, he gives you a tight-lipped smile.

           “I’m sorry about your blouse. Can I please give you the money to buy a new one? I feel like it’s the least I can do.”

           “Absolutely not. It’s really not that big of a deal. Didn’t even really care for the shirt, if I’m being honest. Red really isn’t my color.”

           Spencer wants to tell you how wrong you are – that he’s infinitely certain that you’d look irresistible in any color – but he doesn’t.

           You reach for the door knob, and Spencer’s shoulders slump.

           “It was nice meeting you, Spencer.”

           And then you’re gone, and Spencer can’t help but think that he royally fucked up the most important introduction of his entire life.

--

           When Spencer envisioned how his life would look at age thirty, he’d imagined it being a lot different than it is now. He’d hoped to use his intelligence for something great – finding a way to cure Alzheimer’s had been his main aspiration. Yet, here he was, thirty years old with nothing more than three PhDs to his name. He’d accomplished nothing of great significance, and the idea of having wasted his intelligence was eating away at him.

           In short, Spencer Reid was in a bit of a funk.

           It didn’t help that he hadn’t seen you since that fateful day in the bullpen. Spencer had contemplated paying you a visit, but the lingering embarrassment over his actions kept him from reaching out. He didn’t think he could handle how badly a rejection from you would hurt, so instead he sulked around the office and wallowed in his own self-deprecation.

           Spencer’s birthday wasn’t something he tended to advertise. From a young age, he’d chosen to observe it silently. Usually, his mother would forget, and he never really had any friends to celebrate with, so the day was always rather unimportant to him. Perhaps he would order takeout and gorge himself on greasy food while he sat alone in his apartment. It had been good enough for him last year, and he supposed it would have to suffice this year as well.

           He made it a point not to mention it to his coworkers, and the day passed by just as any other day. By the time five o clock rolled around, Spencer was waving a goodbye to his coworkers and heading out the door. As he waits for the elevator, he debates on whether to order Thai food or pizza for dinner.

           Just as he settles on Thai, the elevator doors open.

           “Oh, thank God, I was worried that you had left already!”

           Before Spencer can get over the initial shock of seeing you, you’re stepping out of the elevator and into his space, an excited smile on your lips. And then you’re holding out your hand, and Spencer’s almost moved to tears when he sees you wielding a single chocolate cupcake.

           “I wasn’t sure if you’d like chocolate or vanilla better, so I went with my gut. I get the feeling you’re a chocolate kind of guy,” you say, eyes shining as you look up at him. “So, was I right?”

           “You brought this for me?” Spencer asks, voice barely above a whisper. He can’t fathom it – that you had spared him any thought past your initial meeting. Spencer had surely expected you to forget about him entirely. Either that, or you’d written him off as someone to be avoided.

           You nod.

           “Of course, I did. It’s your birthday. Everyone deserves something sweet on their birthday.” You pause, the smile dropping from your face. “It is your birthday, right? I didn’t miss it, did I?”

           Spencer is slow to shake his head.

           “N-No, you didn’t miss it. I’m just surprised you remembered.”

           You chuckled softly.

           “You’re very unforgettable, Doctor Reid,” you say, and Spencer’s heart flutters in his chest. “And you didn’t answer my question.” You gesture to the cupcake expectantly.

           “Chocolate is my favorite,” Spencer breathes out, raising a shaky hand and taking it from her. “I… Thank you. You didn’t have to do this. It’s not that big of a deal.”

           “Are you kidding me? You’re turning thirty. That’s a very big deal, Doc.,” you argue, and Spencer gives you a tentative smile.

           “If you say so.”

           “I do,” you smirk, before hitting the button to open the elevator doors. “So, do you have any big plans to celebrate?”

           The doors open and you and Spencer file into the elevator together– an event three years in the making.

           “Not really. I was just going to order some food and stay in,” Spencer says before taking a bite of the cupcake. It tastes wonderful – better than a store-bought cupcake could ever be. This cupcake was undoubtably made from scratch, and the thought of you taking the time out of your day to bake something for him makes him feel weak at the knees. Pair that with the way you’re looking up at him and Spencer worries he might collapse.

           “What kind of food?”

           “Thai,” Spencer says around the mouthful of cake.

           “Mm,” you hum. “You know – I happen to love Thai food. And I also happen to not have any plans for the evening.”

           Even Spencer, who struggles to decipher the simplest of social cues, can deduce that you are insinuating that you want to spend the evening with him. He’s thankful, then, that he had already swallowed the bite of cupcake, because there’s no doubt in his mind that he’d have choked on it. Spencer gapes at you, but your gaze is unwavering and your body language gives no indication that you were joking.

           “D-Do… Do you want to, uh, come over?” Spencer trips over his words more times than any grown man should, but in his defense, he isn’t exactly well versed in matters like this.

           “Do you want me to come over?”

           “Yes.” Spencer answers so quickly that it should be embarrassing, but it’s hard to feel anything but happy when you’re looking at him like that.

           “Then in that case, I thought you’d never ask,” you sigh dramatically, and then the door opens up and you link your arm with his. “You know, I was beginning to think I’d never see you again. I’ve been driving Penelope crazy asking about you, Doc.”

           “You’ve been asking about me?” Spencer asks, incredulous.

           “Absolutely. It’s not every day that you meet a guy who has the audacity to feel you up and ask you to undress within the first five minutes. I just had to know more,” you tease, and Spencer can’t help but laugh. Despite the cold air of the parking garage, Spencer feels warm – warmer than he’s ever felt and he knows that it has everything to do with the way you’ve pressed yourself against his side.

           “In that case, I’m very glad I spilled my coffee on you,” Spencer says and you let out a snort.

           “Yeah, I could’ve done without that part. And the part where you called me germy.”

           “I did not mean it like that,” Spencer insists. You hum and detach yourself from him, and Spencer instantly misses the contact.

           “Because it’s your birthday, I’ll let you off the hook,” you announce, making your way to the other side of his car, all while never taking your eyes off him. “And if you’re lucky, birthday boy, I might just be willing to test that theory of yours.”

           Spencer cocks his head to the side.

           “Theory?”

           You nod, and the smile that creeps across your face is the best birthday present he’s ever gotten.

           “You said you thought kissing me would be nice. I think we should find out.”

           Spencer Reid is, by most people’s definition, unlucky in love. But as he steals glances at you on the way to his apartment, his chest swells with a hope that maybe – just maybe – his luck is about to change.

[severalforraelee]

Positive Part 4: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Photo Credits: TheCinemaholic

Word count: 1185

Written by Raelee

Forgotten to mention that this fanfiction will be loosely based off of the TV show’s plot and timeline. Honestly, my memory is weird as it will allow me to remember certain lines but not the scenes as a whole, if that makes sense. Like, for example, in this chapter I remembered the “The one time we need the gun you don’t have it” line but I can’t remember how they ended up at the lighthouse lol. Anyways, so basically what I’m trying to say is that this story will somewhat follow the plot of the show but I’m also adding in the baby element and some situations will be different.

Taglist: @mrs--barnes @cooper8224 @lieswithoutfairytales @asimpwriter @hopebaker​ @rafeseggplant​ @fredsandlokiswhore​

Masterlist

Outerbanks Masterlist

Positive Masterlist​

“This compass is cursed, guys, I’m telling you,” John B paces the room back and forth, the mentioned compass in his hand.

Kie and I exchange a glance, both thinking the same thing. John B isn’t obsessed with the compass, he’s obsessed with the idea that his father is still alive. I understand that it was hard for him to accept when he was first told that Big John died, it was hard for me to accept when my dad left, but it’s been months now.

The sound of a car door slamming gets my attention and I look out the window, noticing a big truck outside of the Chateau and two familiar looking guys getting out of the vehicle. I furrow my eyebrows, trying to figure out where I recognize them from. It clicks in my brain and my eyes widen.

“Guys, guys,” I stop an argument between the four of them. As amusing as it is to watch, we really don’t have time to fight right now. “The guys that chased us on the boat are here.”

“What?”

“Are you serious?”

They peer out the window, noticing the same thing that I noticed. Pope immediately closes the door and the boys begin to barricade it.

“Where’s the gun?” Kie asks JJ.

“Uh, in my backpack,” he answers.

“And where’s your backpack?”

“On the porch.”

“Are you serious? The one time we need the gun, you don’t have the gun?”

They begin to fight in whispered voices as I turn to John B. “Do the windows open?”

He tries to pull one up, stopping in frustration. “No. They’re painted shut.”

“Oh my god, we’re dead,” I twirl around in anxiety. The men banging on the other side of the door and the shouts that follow snap me out of my panic. They somehow manage to get the door open but the five of us escape, evading them by hiding in the chicken coop.

The men leave with several folders from Big John’s office. I can tell by the look on John B’s face that it hurts to see that. All of his dad’s hard work going to some people who we know won’t do good with it.

“We need to find out more about this compass,” he declares.

We end up at the lighthouse where Kiara and John B go inside to speak to someone about the device and JJ, Pope, and I stand watch.

I lean against the fence, spacing out and thinking about what’s going on inside the lighthouse. I wonder who they’re talking to and what he’s telling them.

“So, you’re not going to be one of those women with weird cravings, right? Like peanut butter and pickles? ‘Cause that shit’s weird,” JJ chuckles, taking a hit from his vape.

I stare at him, wondering what even goes on inside his brain sometimes.

“She can’t help her cravings,” Pope informs him, giving him just as weird of a look as I am.

“Yeah, but would you eat a weird combination like that?”

“I mean, if the baby wants it, then I’m going to eat it,” I tell him slowly.

“Oh so you’re going to be the type of mom to give their child anything they want?”

I open my mouth, ready to argue with him, when the sound of sirens comes closer and closer.

“Oh shit,” JJ curses, grabbing my hand and pulling me away from the lighthouse.

We run as fast as we can, weaving through the woods so that the police cars can’t follow us. We arrive at the Chateau, seeing Pope already there.

“Where’s John B and Kie?” JJ asks him.

“Kie just called me and told me that they caught John B and he’s in jail,” Pope states, clearly in distress.

“The compass?”

“He gave it to her before they put him in the cop car.”

I sigh in relief, knowing that if anything happened to that compass, John B would not be able to forgive himself.

“I’m going to go back to my house and get some money for JB’s bail,” I declare, stepping out the front door.

“No, Y/N, you need that money for the baby. We’ll figure out another way to get him out,” Pope pleads.

“I’m not having the baby for a while yet, Pope. JB needs us now.” I leave before they can say anything else to me.

It hurts having to use money that I so desperately need. I really was banking on this money getting me through doctors appointments and the bare necessities for the baby, at least until I could figure out another way to earn some money while pregnant.

But John B’s one of my best friends, and I know that he needs this money more than I do right now.

I’m pedaling as fast as possible on my bike to my house. My legs are burning, bugs are flying in my face, and I feel like I can barely breathe but I only have one goal on my mind. To get that money for John B.

I barely notice it when a car pulls up alongside me. Until Rafe calls my name.

“Y/N.”

My raggedy old shoes slam into the ground, bringing my bike to a hard stop. I turn to look through Rafe’s rolled down Range Rover window, a hard expression on my face.

“What do you want, Rafe?”

For once, he doesn’t look coked-out or cocky. He looks sincere. Genuine.

“We need to talk.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.” I want to cross my arms, but instead I tighten my grip on the handlebars.

“Okay, then let me speak.” He leans out the window and I stare at him through my sunglasses, curious of what he has to say but also not wanting to hear it. “I want to be in this baby’s life.”

I scoff. “Rafe, you’re always drinking, snorting cocaine, or, I don’t know, beating the shit out of my friends. How do I know you won’t do the same to this baby?”

His face darkens at my question. “Because I won’t.”

“Yeah, I believe that,” I reply sarcastically, starting to pedal again.

He drives along with me slowly. “Fine, you want to do this the hard way? We can do this the hard way then, sweetheart. I can make your life hell.”

“Please, having your baby is already hell,” I toss back, using the insult as a way to disguise the fear I feel from his threat.

The truth is, I know what could come from this situation. Rafe comes from a wealthy, put-together family. He has a kind dad, a caring stepmom, and two sisters who would jump at the chance to take care of a baby.

Meanwhile, my dad ran off so now my mom spends most of her time at the bar, meaning I spend the majority of my days with my friends. I’m not stupid. I know that if Rafe were to bring me to court, I would be screwed. But if I act tough, maybe I’ll start to feel like it, too.

[rpd-rookie]

The One Who Runs Away, The One Who Runs Back (Leon S. Kennedy x Reader)

Author’s note: This is a sequel to “A PAST WITH HER, A FUTURE WITH YOU” and the end of my three-parts fan fiction "I TRUSTED YOU WITH MY HEART" I decided to write after so many of you asked for it. Sorry it took so long but I was navigating from one fandom to another. (BTW, if there are any Devil May Cry fans up here, you can read my DMC fan fictions here) PS: Even if I said it before, I have no hate whatsoever towards Ada or Aeon.

Tagged: Angst, Fluff, Romance, Post-Break up, Sexual Content 

Part 1 / Part 2

***

Do you remember? We started this story by quoting some sitcom character that was clueless about love. Well, here’s a suggestion. Why not ending it by quoting someone who knew a little more on such matter.

William Shakespeare - you know that English dude expert on tragic ‘drink this poison, stab yourself’ kind of love - apparently once said ‘Love runs away from those chasing her, and those who run away, she throws herself on his neck’. I say ‘apparently’ cause, even though I have a master in English lit, this quote is from the internet, and also … who knows what the guy truly said?

But it’s the quote that’s important. Not the author. The quote it’s important because it sums up perfectly how this story is gonna end. However, before starting, let me tell you this quote is going to be the only Shakespeare-worthy sentence in this final chapter. You’ve been warned.

Love runs away from those chasing her.          Well, this part was definitely written for someone like Ada Wong. Owner of countless gold medals and possibly a world record at this point, that woman is basically the Usain Bolt of the ‘Running from Leon S. Kennedy’ competition. Unchallenged winner since the creation of this sultry version of cat and mouse game, it’s better not to think about the number of times she successfully ran away from her favourite agent.  But this year, this formidable titleholder in a gorgeous red dress will have to face her Nemesis in the championship. You. Though the comparison to the hideous bio-organic killing machine might not be very complimentary to you but you get the idea.  This year you enter the Kennedy Olympics. And this year you run like Sonic the Hedgehog and you win the damn competition (screw you Usain Bold!). And you do this with your head high and without an ounce of regret. Ignore all the texts and flowers Leon might send on your track Mario Kart style. His gifts are not as slippery as banana peels and they can easily be dodged, I promise. Well, most of the time, when you’re not lying on your bed in the middle of the night crying and sobbing while reading his messages or playing his voice in your voicemail again and again until you’re nothing more but a giant mess with puffy red eyes drowning in a puddle of your own tears.        Screw those messages too! And screw his broken yet terribly sexy voice as well!

Being a man of word, Leon kept his promise. And for months you kept on running peacefully, marathoning away from this past relationship that had destroyed you like no other before while tranquilly fixing your broken heart on the way. That run was a good cardio.

But sometimes, cardio is not enough, and even just the small sight of an overpriced whisky bottle or the smell of Leon’s perfume on some guy’s clothes is enough to reopen your wounds.           And when it happens, you always do the same thing, you break the damn bottle - and run cause damn! it’s expensive! -  or you tell the guy his perfume smells like cheap cologne and that he should definitely change it, which is an improvement on your past destructive behaviour, since there was a time shortly after the break up when you would have simply dragged the guy to your place to let him fuck you senseless while imagining he was Leon. All that just for the illusion to feel him again and for the sake to kick him out the next morning, screaming like a hysterical psycho.

So imagine, for a small second, the wave of intense feelings surging out of your healing heart when, in the middle of a cafe, you hear some dude sitting behind you ordering Leon’s favourite whisky while wearing the same bloody perfume. “It’s got to be relentless persecution at that point!” You sigh, already annoyed, closing your book more violently than intended. Hope you’re ready, stranger! Because you’re not in the mood to deal with this right now.            You turn around with a fake smile that reflects perfectly your irritation, ready to give him hell, your sharpest riposte already burning your tongue. After all, he deserves it and you can’t help it.         But when you meet familiar – and freaking gorgeous - baby blue eyes you freeze and stare, suddenly confused and lost and refusing to believe that in spite of the intense running, love just jumped at your neck after all and it was sitting there, taking the shape of Leon S(tupid) Kennedy.

You should have stood up and left, run for your life, run for your heart. And yet, you didn’t.    You stayed there staring at him looking at you, allowing all your memories, the good ones and the bad ones, all your buried feelings to come back from the dead, embracing them as if you had missed them, which, let’s be honest, you probably had.            You tried to scream to yourself “Come on, Y/N! Shake a leg!” but it seemed that what you brain understood was something like “Cum on him! Open your legs!” as a couple of blurry hours later, you were on Leon’s bed, legs wide open, screaming his name and begging him not to stop his amazing thrusts.

Six months, you ran for six months … Well, looks like the run ends here and now. After a minute-long deep stare, an afternoon of amazing sex and two hours long of something blurry in between.

“I missed you.” And there you were! The moment all couples that broke up have after one of them (in this case Leon with the infamous ‘I missed you line’) starts to believe they miraculously rekindled their love. The fatal post-coital cuddling session that you don’t know how to react to, as you think of all the possibilities before you.      Possibility Number 1) You tell Leon you missed him too and cuddle, enjoying that embrace you secretly yearned for months. But that includes forgetting what he has done or pretending that nothing happened.     Possibility Number 2) You push him away, get dressed, leave again and act as if this afternoon never happened. But if Leon doesn’t remind you of it, the ache between your legs will, that’s for sure!   Possibility Number 3) You jump him again until you sore even more and hope that you’ll be able to leave afterwards.         Frankly, all possibilities suck because, in all cases, it seems like you lose. Since,       with Possibility Number 1) you lose the run forever, with Possibility Number 2) you lose him again and with Possibility Number 3) well it’s result 1 or 2 + your body aching like crazy for days. I suck at math but no need to be Einstein to know the result of this calculation looks unpleasant.    So what do you choose?

You see a triangular dice rolling in your head, showing a never-ending succession of 1, 2 and 3 that doesn’t make any sense and that confuse you even more than you already are. 1, 2, 3, 2, 1, 3, 2 ! Oh for fuck’s sake!

You grimace, angry and pissed at Leon and probably even more at yourself, and finally leaves his bed and his strong warm arms, feeling the tears furiously forming in your eyes. “I can’t” You can’t look at him in the eyes. You don’t want to see his confusion, don’t want to see his pain as he witnesses all his hopes shatter to pieces.         “ What do you mean?” You can hear the sheets crease behind you, alerting you of Leon’s agitation, so you hurry and pick up all your clothes scattered in his room. You must leave, now. 2! 2 it is!  “This! All This! This afternoon never happened.” You tell him, putting on your clothes with sudden clumsy and trembling hands, not caring if your bra is correctly hooked or if you put your shirt on back to front. Your heart. You have to think of your poor heart first.          “Hey, hey, hey.” You feel Leon’s hand softly grabbing your arms and you let go of whatever you were holding right now. His voice is sweet and trying to be comforting. Don’t look at him Y/N! Don’t look at him! “Look at me.” You do. Damn it! And you see his gorgeous blue eyes staring at you, studying your flustered face and the tears slowly drowning your (colour) look. You missed those eyes. You missed them so.damn.much ! As much as you missed his hands cupping your face and his thumbs wiping up your tears. God! How many tears those thumbs have missed recently. “It’s alright.”

You want to believe him. You really do. But there is this voice screaming in your head and very clearly this time. A voice shouting, forcing you to remember that night, that awful nightmarish night, the one when you felt your heart break and your dreams turn to ashes. All that because of him and his obsession for her.

“No, it’s not alright, Leon.” You shake your head and miraculously manage to take a small step back. You never thought you could. But you had to. You can’t stay close to him. You can’t let him touch you, feel you. Not if you want to run away. And you have to run away. Like her! Like Ada. Ada! “I told you. For as long as you have feelings for Ada, I can’t … we can’t…”     “Please don’t talk about her.” He begs and rubs his hand over his face. Is he trying to chase her away from his mind? Is she still in here? Please, let her not be in here.    “But she’s the reason we’re in this situation now. She’s the reason why we’re in this mess.” You insist only for the sake to see his reaction when you mention Ada, to see if she’s still under his skin, somewhere. “Ada is not the reason. I am!” Leon corrects you, a finger directed at his heavy chest as he is putting the full blame on himself for the first time since that night. “I am the one who went after Ada when I shouldn’t have! I am the reason why we broke up! I am the reason why we are so miserable!”         “But I was fine!” You shouted back in an attempt to show him he was wrong refusing to listen to that part of you who knew he was completely right. You were miserable without him. “I was doing fine until you came back and fucked everything up! I was healing goddamnit!”             You felt new tears rolling along your red cheeks and quickly wipe them off with the back of your hand that felt so callous and rough in comparison to Leon’s gentle touch. “You can’t just jump back into my life like this and expect me to forget!”

Leon nods, agreeing with you in a certain way. But the truth is, he doesn’t want you to forget. He doesn’t expect you to erase his mistake. He just wants you to forgive him … No, he just wants you to come back to him. Period. And that’s got to be what you want to. It has to!   “So why did you have sex with me, huh?” He finally asks even though he already knows your answer. “Tell me!” You’re not the kind of person who has meaningless sex, not the kind of person who worships one’s body with divine kisses and devoted caresses if they mean nothing. “Why did you have sex with me?” And yet the answer he wishes to hear doesn’t come out. “For fuck’s sake Y/N! Answer me! Why?” He shouts making you shiver and cry even more.    “Because I LOVE YOU!” You finally scream. And it hurts. It hurts but it feels good too. Like a weight lifted off your chest. “Because I missed you too! Because those months without you have been terrible! Because I don’t know how to handle even just the thought of you or the sound of your voice in my voicemail. Because each time I see something that makes me think of you, I’m a mess and I do things that normal me would never do! You fucked me up, Leon! You fucked me up but I love you! And I hate to love you!” You grunt in pain and relief, enraged but happy that you finally let everything out. And Leon listens in silence, frozen by your powerful honest confession. But he doesn’t know how to react. He doesn’t know what to say. Part of him is overjoyed, ecstatic that you still love him but there is another part that just feels terrible, sorry for the pain your love for him caused you even in his absence.   “But you see—“ You continue “That’s the problem in our relationship, Leon! I love you in ways that are so intense, that go beyond sanity. And you love me by half.”    You see him crumple, his horrified face looking suddenly very pale as if he had just heard some dreadful news. Is that really how you feel? Is that how you see his love for you? Is that what he has made you believe?         “Goodbye Leon.”

With the full intention to leave Leon’s place for good and never come back, you grab you bag on your way out of the bedroom while carelessly shoving your underwear inside of it since you forgot to put them on in the midst of panic and precipitation. Get out of here, Y/N! Now! A reasonable voice encourages you. Listen to me!    But this not what Leon wants.

“I never loved you by half.” He declares and you abruptly stop, asking God if he’s some kind of sadist that loves seeing you in pain from the comfort of his divine sofa somewhere in heaven. “Never.” But it’s not God and his sadism that makes you turn around. It’s you, and your masochist love for that blue-eyed man before you.     “I don’t believe you” Your voice almost doesn’t leave your throat as you try not to sob.           “But it’s the truth.” He says with a calm soothing voice as he slowly approaches you. “I never imagined my future with Ada. I never wished to grow old with her or build a home with her.” You want to tell Leon to stop talking, to stay where he is but your body doesn’t seem to respond. And when you feel him grabbing your hands in his and the comforting warmth that goes with that simple touch, you know that leaving is now an almost impossible task. “Yes. I admit it. My feelings for her were real.” Even when his honesty hurts you, you don’t know how to leave anymore. “But they were nothing in comparison to what I feel for you.”     You try to let go, pulling your hands away from his loving grip but he holds you back. And you’re not strong enough. Or maybe, you just don’t want to be strong. Everything is so confusing. Everything is tearing you apart.     “But they’re still here, aren’t they?” You question, hoping his answer might give you a clue, might give you the strength to make the correct decision. Do you leave? Or do you stay? “And they’ll keep coming back each she goes back into your life. You can’t let go of her.”    “You’re maybe right.” His words hurt you more than you thought they would. They hurt like hell because you realise there are not the ones you wanted to hear. You wanted to hear him say that he would let go of Ada, for good, for you. You wanted to hear that because deep down … YOU WANTED TO FUCKING STAY! “But can you let go of your past?” He continues and you shake your head refusing to hear any other word coming out of Leon’s mouth.       “Don’t!” You beg, weary.           “No! Listen to me this time. Ada is my past, Y/N. She’s my past. And you … you’re my future. You’re my life, damn it!” He doesn’t cry but you don’t need his tears to sense how emotional and how honest he is. And suddenly, you just want to listen to him. “And I was a fool not to see it sooner. When you left me, I felt a void I had never felt in my entire life. I felt like a part of me was missing. And then, the bombing in Washington happened, and it was like I had nothing left. I needed you. I wanted you. You. Not Ada.”      “Leon” You whisper and he cups your face again, blue eyes staring deep into yours, allowing you to see everything in him, his strong love for you and all the weaknesses he hated to admit. “It was you in my mind. Only you. And it will always be you. Because I love you. Now. Today. And I will always love you.”

You cry even more, uncertain if those tears are tears of sorrow, tears of joy or a mix of both. God, how can your emotions be such a mess right now? How can you be wishing to shout at him with all the anger you’ve accumulated and, at the same time, willing to kiss him with all love you’ve got?

“If you got to believe something. Believe that. And if that’s not enough and you think you can be happy with someone else. Then go. I won’t hold you back.” You frown. He is fucking lying. You’re sure of it. “You can’t stop running after me and you know it.” He smiles and scoffs, sensing that hint of sudden defiance in your tone he enjoys a lot.  “True. I can’t sop running after you. But I’ll do my best not to catch you if that’s what you want. But you got to tell me. Is that what you truly want?” You don’t reply. Truth is, you’re not sure what to say not because you’re not sure that’s what you want but because you’re not sure you can trust him if you let him in again.                        “No.” You whisper. “No, that’s not what I want. I want you. All of you.” You can see Leon struggle to contain his growing joy as it starts to glimmer brighter and brighter in his irises. He doesn’t want to cry victory just yet. He is cautious and rightfully so. “But can I?”        “Want me?” He smiles. “ Have you completely?” You correct, searching for a promise in his eyes, one you hope, you wish he would not break this time.     “Trust me with your heart again and find out.”

This better not hurt this time…