#some of these are from a while ago lol. i had gone 2 long w/out drawing him so i transed his gender to make up for lost time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

havin-fun-imagining-twd · 1 year

Text

Thank you, angel...

What -- Following the events of S02's Chupacabra, you give Daryl a massage. The story begins with some discussion of post-concussive protocol for the poor guy to prep the stage for the chapter after his very bad day.

Relationships -- slow burn, canon-compliant Reader x Daryl and the two of you being closed off about possibly like-liking somebody. I mean, he doesn't even eat peanut butter!

Perspective -- You + Him

Pronouns - neutral

TWs -- some crude language

Length -- 6,000 words (15-20 minutes)

When -- a couple hours after "fondness" LOL. It starts off like nothing serious, then gets more tender, sort of like Daryl's muscles after careening down all those rocks.

Which chapters will provide more context? -- it's always good to check out the most recent chronological chapter, in this case "fondness" LOL. Spell your last name, please would be fun to read alongside this one, too. As well, I recommend reading Invisible tugging strings, Part 2 (also Part 1) and souls stripped bare if you like a bit of confused yearning.

Masterlist? -- Shiny and Official one here and Chronological one here

Him

The door opened, waking him up—the hell, where was he? How long had he been asleep?

“Hey,” the familiar voice he liked said, and his muscled relaxed.

Sure enough, there came Y/N into view, giving him a little wave as they walked around the bed. “Remember where you are?”

His memory came back to him quickly as he blinked the sleep away. He was in the farmhouse.

Still, his sarcastic croak of a response, “In bed,” earned him a tiny huff and a dry “So funny,” from his friend, who carried along a big-ass book.

Ugh, his stomach didn’t feel too hot. He’d, um, half-woken up a little earlier and saw crackers on a plate near him. And he’d been so damned hungry he’d just reached out, grabbed some, and slammed them into his mouth.

That there'd been peanut butter in between them had been a nasty surprise, except he’d already chewed and started to swallow by the time the taste hit him, he was that hungry. He was so hungry that he’d gone and grabbed more, too…dumb sumbitch.

Now the taste was all up in his nose and mouth. He curled up a little tighter, as much as his stiff joints and muscles and the new hole in his side let him. Daryl just wanted to sleep and for his stomach to stop messing with him, he felt ready to puke…

The old man’s voice met his ears next as he came around the bed, too. “I apologize. You have something of an audience. Carol and Y/N will be keeping an eye on you tonight, they’re in here now, as is Patricia.”

Y/N frowned into their massive textbook, flip-flipping through the pages as if looking for a specific section. Carol sat across from the bed on the footstool thing and smiled in her sad way.

Then, the nice twangy blonde lady (he knows her name, it's Patricia) started saying something and helping him sit up, but he wasn’t hearing a damn thing, because he w—he was—no, no, no, he was gonna upchuck—

____________________________

You

Daryl doesn’t look too g—oh, no!

“Carol, hand me that thingy, please!” you squeak, standing up as the book clatters to the floor while you frantically point to the emesis basin on the dresser beside her.

You zip to the bedside and cradle the back of Daryl’s neck with one hand, the small container in the other, and not a moment too soon.

“Whoakay, there you go, buddy,” you coo as the poor guy gets sick.

“Pat, please retrieve the oxygen tank from the boy’s room,” you hear Hershel murmur, and Pat is already up and moving.

They have an oxygen tank?! That, that should’ve been administered an hour and a half ago when he stumbled back onto the farm!

With a final spit into the bowl, Daryl makes a slight groan and exhales. He grunts an apology, gags again.

You lower the basin so it won’t be too near his mouth (and nose), but wait remain for a minute or so with him just in case he’s not done. Lightly, you run your fingers across the back of his neck and up the back of his head as you wait. And not because you have taken a shiney fondness to him, Dale, you would do this for anyone, especially a friend who had a day like this one did.

When he mumbles that he’s fine, you tell him you’ll be right back, and tuck the sheet over his back for him. You then excuse yourself to clean up, being mindful to hold your breath and not look at the basin so you won’t gag or need to use it yourself. Carol follows you into the hall but slips out the front door.

You empty and wash the basin in the downstairs bathroom and scrub your hands and forearms, and find some bleach spray to clean the sink.

Scrubbed good, you're ready to carry the cleaned container back into the room in time to see Patricia accessorizing Daryl with an oxygen mask. The ever-growing dread in your gut sprouts a new branch.

“Miss Patricia, Mr. Greene, what do we do next?”

You hope it didn’t sound nearly as worried as you think it sounded. The first pre-hospital guideline for suspected traumatic brain injury is being put on O2.

Granted, ‘suspected’ encompasses pretty much any head bump for safety’s sake—but the man had a very serious fall twice.

The reality that he’s not necessarily in the clear is now sinking in.

How would you fix whatever Daryl did to his skull, if he did something? Drill a hole in his head or something? There’s no possibility of getting proper imaging, y'all don’t even have more sterile gloves.

Daryl’s leaning back, now propped against some pillows in addition to sporting the oxygen mask. He looks miserable. You kneel beside him and place your free hand on the bed. Carol joins you.

“Oxygen will only benefit him, at the moment, even if there’s nothing more serious going on,” Hershel mildly puts it, cool as a cucumber with your EMT textbook open to the head trauma section. But then again, Mr. Greene had the skill to keep himself cool as a refrigerated cucumber while Carl was actively decompensating and dying. “The good thing is, Daryl is negative for any other indication of severe concussion, even moderate, which is surprising in the best way possible. Way I see it, it’s yet another medical miracle among your group.”

Next to you, Carol holds out one of her small tins and shyly says to Daryl, “Ginger?”

The way his eyes got all big like a kid’s was unexpected and rather cute. She pulls the mask away far enough to pop a ginger mint into his mouth. With a grunt, he closes his eyes in acknowledgment and gratitude.

“How do we know he ain’t—” oops, you mean to only use elegant grammar around Mr. Greene. Except, you don’t have a preset sentence in your head so it still comes out messy, but you do use the phrase Mr. Greene used yesterday. “How do we know that it isn’t, um, that h-his concussion isn’t a bigger cause for concern?”

“Pupils are good, blood pressure is good, reflexes are good, and upon examinin' his skull, there are no irregularities beyond two what Hersh and I both would call goose eggs,” Patricia answers first, as chill as Hershel is. “He’s gotta be kept under watch for the next couple days, of course, but that's more a precaution.”

Mr. Greene nods. “Any more vomiting—”

“—I only hurled ’cause of the peanut butter,” Daryl muffles through the mask.

Because of the…

You squint. “How would peanut butter make you sick? You aren’t allergic.”

“Don’t like it.”

Doesn’t like…what? “Dude, you don’t like peanut butter?”

“Don’t even like the smell.”

WHAT.

Mr. Greene resumes what he was saying before you can continue the interrogation. “Do you have an appetite.” It somehow sounded less like a question the way he asked it.

Daryl hums in response.

“Good. Finish up what’s on this plate and we’ll see if you’re able to keep non-peanut related foods down.” Was Mr. Greene trying to make a joke? Well, at any rate, he’s removing the cracker sandwiches to leave just the eggs and spam. Daryl accepts the plate and whips his mask off, prompting you to turn the O2 off for now. A relieved groan follows his first bite and he eagerly digs in to get another forkful. Carol must be pleased.

Mr. Greene nods in thanks that you turned off the oxygen flow. “To answer your question: if there is any more vomiting, a bad headache, changes to his pupillary response or his blood pressure as well as any alteration to his speech and cognitive function, that would be a cause for concern.”

“And we won’t want him to go unchecked too long a stretch, so I brought y’all our egg timer," Patricia adds. "It’s digital, so it ain’t too loud.”

“Should we wake him every hour?” Carol asks, nodding and clasping her hands in her lap.

“Naw, that’s more myth. Although,” Patricia reconsiders. Sighs. “It ain’t like we have him hooked to a monitor in a ward staffed with nurses breezing in and out. Hersh, what’s your take?”

“You’re the nurse, I’m just the vet,” he reminds her. “It’s your call. What were you going to have them do?”

She sighs again but nods. “Might as well be over-cautious, then. Let’s do every hour and a half to check, but don't wake him. He needs rest.” Patricia breathes deeply, then gives the instructions.

“If you stick the egg timer under your pillow, it should wake you but not him. Sit up and make sure he’s breathin’ normally. If, uh, if he’s awake, ask him his pain level for his head, listen to his speech, see if it sounds normal, check his temp with your wrist. Acetaminophen, that’s Tylenol, that’s the only painkiller he can have right now."

Just Tylenol, got it.

"Ask him a basic question or two, check his eyes like Hershel said. Maybe have him tap his fingers together. And if his BP changes much in either direction, or especially if his headache gets worse than it feels now, which isn’t too bad so he claimed,” a pointed look at Daryl, “wake me. I’m in on the top floor, room to the center-left.”

“Do I gotta wear this to bed?” the man himself grates, his mouth full even while scooping in the last bite off his plate. The guy's definitely hungry, which is usually a good sign.

And the look he earns back from Patricia is enough to make you sit straighter and lower your head despite not being on the receiving end of it.

Daryl stops chewing.

“You do and you will,” she states. It wasn’t done in a controlling way, it sounded to you like simple tough love. “Might well save your hide if you’ve got a bleed, Daryl.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mumbles.

Annoyingly, the way he displayed a healthy serving of shame/deference seems to have awoken some of the irrational butterflies in your stomach. The little creeps.

Hershel speaks to Patricia. “You know, I believe I still have a nasal cannula from when my mother was still living. It will be less obstructive to sleep—Pat, will the cannula be adequate?”

“Would be great—but how old is it? Your mama passed over a decade ago.”

“Then it’s well over a decade old,” he answers, and quits the room in such a way that strongly suggests he was eager to do so.

____________________________

Him

Putting him in the nose thing cancer people or old dudes with emphysema have to wear seemed over-the-top, but if Patricia said he had to, he guess he had to. The nose thing was more comfy than the mask. Daryl made sure to thank Patricia and Dr. Farmer—um, Hershel—for all their help.

He’d glanced at Y/N, whose head was just about glued to the pages of the big-ass medical book, and had been scribbling stuff down on a sheet of paper while asking Patricia question after question after question.

“Was supper okay?” Carol peeped when she picked up his empty plate for him.

Supper was more than just okay, it was damned tasty. “You make it?”

“The spam and eggs.”

Yo, he couldn’t inhale the stuff she made fast enough, the woman cooked some mean-ass grub. “Ain’t eaten that good in a while. It was delicious.” Not since the breakfast at the CDC that T-Dog cooked up.

When he looked up at Carol, her cheeks looked pinker. Like, red.

For a second, he almost thought it was because he told her her food was good. But nah, must’ve been getting stuffy in the room. He wouldn’t have minded if it got warmer in there, he felt kinda clammy. Probably because he’d lost blood a decent chunk of blood or whatever. So long as he was able to get back to sleep soon, he didn’t care.

He wriggled his shoulders to get more comfortable on the pillows, and felt his eyelids start to sink.

“Can I use it on him if he needs it tonight?” Y/N checked with Patricia.

...Huh? Use what?

“Just don’t go settin’ it too high, you shouldn’t see any muscle movement. Now, you know not to use it on his head, yes?”

Daryl opened his eyes again in time to see Y/N’s lips press together, then twist slightly to the side. “Oh, I was gonna put it right smack on his head then draw him a bath with it on, ma’am, for relaxation and such.”

“Never use a—oh, goodness, you had me goin’ there a moment!” The lady chuckled when she realized Y/N was joking, then lightly swatted at his friend’s arm. “I had to make sure you knew. Some people would try using them units for head pain.”

Grinning the way they do when they’ve acted like a goof, Y/N nodded and raised their hands as if surrendering. “You were doin’ your due diligence.”

“I told you, Hersh, I really want to keep this one,” the woman next said, playful smile on her face.

Daryl couldn’t help but watch how that comment made Y/N’s eyes get all—he wasn’t sure the right describe-y word to call it, but his cat would get that look when he’d be gone awhile then would come back. Y/N’s eyes did just that, but they also looked sad at the same time.

Then, his friend politely smiled and waved in the direction of the door, same direction as whatever that new dragging noise was.

How many damn people were gonna come in? He just wanted to sleep.

Patricia stood up and pulled her shirt down in the back, calling, “Thank you, sweetpea,” at the same time the old man asked, “James, what’s this?”

“Couldn’t have them sleepin’ on the floor. Jimmy filled up the air mattress.”

Daryl had neither the strength nor desire nor any fucks to give to bother looking over to see the action. He needed some shut-eye.

“How’s your stomach, Daryl?” Patricia spoke soft, just to him.

He...felt less annoyed. Eyes still closed, he raised his thumbs from where his hands were holding the sheet up. He wished he could act more grateful, but his tank was below E and he wanted to scream and cuss or just plain cry.

“Very good! Righty, we’ll get out of your hair, now.”

He did force himself to grunt back, “G’night,” in hopes it conveyed at least a little bit of gratitude.

“Y/N will be in here the first half of the night, alright? You’ll be in good hands. Sweet dreams.”

____________________________

You

Sources were true, Dale’s book is kinda ick. Even the title, The Case of the Missing Man, it’s just a bit lame. Hand under your pillow, you thumbed at the prayer beads you’d taken from the family’s house earlier today. You gave Carol a pair, too, you know she used to use them. Today felt like a week, it was so up and down and all arou—what are you doing? Don’t think about today anymore.

If you’re so darn tired that you can’t sleep, thinking certainly won’t help.

Listening to Daryl’s even, soft snores, you take a few sips of water. It’s really chilly tonight. Maybe you should go grab your other blanket and your hoodie.

You peek at the egg timer, looks like you have 70 minutes until it’s time to check him officially. Gonna be a long night. After Sophia comes home tomorrow, or….at least after you check the highway shelter and do a sweep for her, then do the shooting practice thing, oh, and maybe after another pharmacy run—oh, and then chores, you need to help with chores. But after all that, maybe you can have a nap.

It really is nippy tonight. If you’re cold, poor Daryl likely is, too, the man lost a lot of blood today.

Your side and shoulder pinch and burn as you scooch upright. Quietly as you can, you move to peek out the window, trying to gauge if you’ll be able to walk to your tent without Shane noticing.

It’s gotten chilly enough that there’s condensation on the windows.

____________________________

Him

He woke up for some reason. Thought he heard a creak.

The room felt colder than a metal toilet seat in winter. He had the sheets bundled around him as much as he could get them. He knew if he stayed still enough he’d feel warmer and not notice the cold as much, but, shit, he felt so miserable.

He didn’t even bring Sophia back yet, all he found was her doll! like, his dumb bitch ass couldn’t even climb right. Even monkeys know how to climb.

Yeah no, instead of finally bringing that little girl home safe, he flopped his way down the ridge twice and got a bolt hole in him.

And yet, the same people he’d stolen a horse from to get it done faster legit set him up in a room and patched him up.

As he was wallowing and moping about all the day's shit, feeling like a useless nobody, something warm—a blanket?—was pulled over him and tucked in gently around his shoulders.

The angel? person who placed it on him rested their hand on his upper arm a sec, and he felt their thumb rub back and forth once. His chest and stomach felt a little funny when he recognized the minty smell of whoever just gave him the blanket. The muscle-rub Y/N had on.

There was another creak in the direction of the door behind him, but he fell asleep too fast after the blanket was placed on him to mumble “thank you, angel.”

____________________________

You

Glenn had stayed late playing board games with the others, he was still on the porch. He and Jimmy are playing cards, probably spit judging by the thunk you just heard on the table along with some muffled laughter. Beth is barely awake, but she waves when she sees you. Maggie is dozing.

Andrea is awake, too, and once seeing you, she rushes over to ask after Daryl again. You assure her that he’s fine, took down his dinner well, and no, she should get rest instead of staying awake just in case. Shane’s in his tent, and you go to yours without incident. At least he knows to stay away right now.

Blanket now in-hand and hoodie on, you head back inside after remembering to grab the icy-hot rub you’d left in your tent, too. Shoot, you’d also meant to borrow Shane’s sweatpants, but he brought his stuff with him. T-Dog has a pair, but he wears them to bed…Daryl can borrow yours, they’re baggy with a drawstring, anyone could wear them.

Tiptoeing and avoiding the creaky spot by the door, you listen carefully and can hear that Daryl’s still sound asleep. You’d been worried you would either disturb or even frighten him when you pulled the comforter over him, but to your delight, he’d begun snoring.

It is strange seeing him so helpless. Dude literally chews on bark sometimes, he’s a survivor down to his bones. Him getting all the help must feel very humbling to say the least, you know he likes to keep to himself. After seeing the scars on his back, you imagine he might feel unworthy of help or care, too.

With a prayer, you hunker down onto the air mattress and hope for dreamless sleep.

____________________________

Him

Y/N and he were sitting in the dirt because the horse bucked them off. They’d just buried Sophia.

The old Mexican lady from the house was holding those prayer beads and sitting in a rocking chair outside, chickens pecking at the grass near her. Carol was crying somewhere but he couldn’t see where.

Y/N rested their head against him and squeezed his hand tight, apologizing that they had to get the bolt out of his side.

Stuck to his chest, there was a thick, twiney string that connected to Y/N’s. It was getting in the way and pulling whenever he moved. When he went to tuck it over his shoulder, it was the plastic tubing from the oxygen tank.

Merle sat across from the two of them, holding a sponge and telling him to get up.

He tried to. He kept trying to get up and follow his brother, but when he did, he started to fall down the ridge again to where the geeks were waiting to gnaw his feet off.

Y/N’s voice called for him from the walkie, and when he looked up, he saw them ripping their sling off to help him despite them bleeding through their shirt again.

____________________________

You

The timer went off, so you move in order to see him. His breathing pattern is normal and regular.

You can tell he’s dreaming, the way his eyes are moving under his closed lids. Hopefully, it’s a good dream. Best not wake him if he’s still sleeping.

____________________________

one hour later

____________________________

Him

“Baby, is your head worse, too?”

“No, it’s—” he hissed when he breathed too deeply and it hurt his ribs. “It’s goddamned everythin’ else.”

Y/N had heard him when he accidentally groaned, so then started to do a check-up thing. All he’d been trying to do was move to try to make it hurt less and he could get back to sleep. It’d hurt worse, instead, and he yelped like a little fox kit. Pansy-ass little Darylina. No wonder they just called you ‘baby’ again.

“I’m going to check your pupils again, bear with me.” Y/N spoke softly as their hand made a wall between his two eyes again. “Spell my last name, please.”

“D-I-X-O—oh wait, no, that’s…” They’d asked for their last name, not his.

“Ballsy offer,” they joked. The little flashlight shone in one eye, then the other. Y/N was trying not to crack up. “It’s good you caught the mix-up, real good sign. Okay, you can rest your eyes now if you want, but please stay sittin’ up, okay?”

He did shut his eyes, and tried to call to mind what Y/N’s last name was…

Got it, Sophia called Shane either ‘Mr. Walsh’ or “Welsh” a few times. “W, um, W-A-L-S-H?”

“Yes, well remembered.” There was the rattle of a pill bottle. “What year is it and what’s the next season we’ll be in?”

“2010. It’s, uh, it’s gettin’ to the end of summer. Gonna be fall.”

“Mind’s still sharp. Here, you can have one more acetaminophen. I got you some water. Take, swallow.”

He opened his eyes to see them holding out a single, white cylindrical pill and their water bottle.

“Are you able to tip your head back,” they checked, “or might should we use the cup with the straw?”

The warmth from their hand lightly supporting the back of his head felt nice even though they were acting as if he would fall apart like a china doll at any second.

After he took the one, dinky little painkiller, Y/N gently moved his arms around, then had him wiggle his toes and fingers and turn his head as much as he could. Halfway through is when he noticed the sheet was tucked all the way over his shoulders and thighs where he sat.

Y/N had been making sure it stayed covering him as he moved?

The strange feeling of unbearable closeness came back and he didn’t know what to do with it.

It was something so little and stupid but so damn big at the same time, to make a point to keep his, what, his modesty? When there were so many other things to worry about?

A lump formed in his throat.

Y/N looked uncertain after doing something with his left arm again. “Daryl, have you had broken ribs or a broken collarbone before?” they asked him quietly.

He swallowed down the lump so he could answer. “Yeah.”

“Does it feel like that might could’ve happened again?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh buddy,” they sighed. “We’ll have Miss Patricia check tomorrow. What a day you’ve had.”

“It was somethin’ else,” he grit. He just wanted to lay down again, but laying down hurt too much. Everything hurt too much.

Y/N brought over a pair of sweatpants. They helped him put them on, too.

“Can stand on my own,” he had to snip, mainly because of the way his body started reacting to having them so close to him. He was only human—half their chest went up against his again as they helped, all warm and soft and—yeah, he needed them to stop. He was in just his boxers, first off, second, he didn’t want to be a creep. And third, he could damn well stand on his own.

When he had pants on again and sat back down, he felt the heat from his friend’s hand hover around the back of his neck and shoulders. “I’m gonna put the TENS unit on first, then I’ll do my thing starting up here, okay?”

Not knowing what that meant, he hummed by way of an answer and shut his eyes. He figured it was for another check-up thing, so steeled himself to get through it.

Their footsteps sounded around the bed, and they ended up behind him.

The mattress dipped when they knelt down on it. This time, the heat from their body warmed his whole back, but the closeness felt okay.

Then there was the sound of a container clicking open, and two, three, four soft things were pressed to his muscles on the uppermost part of this shoulders.

“These are electrodes. Tell me when you feel a tingly or prickly sensation.”

When he felt it, he inhaled in surprise.

“Now tell me just as the feelin’ goes away. These things are supposed to disrupt the nerve signals and reduce pain. I ain’ sure if it’s immediate or over time, but…”

The next part is what threw him.

And Y/N did it just so damn gently that he didn’t flinch at being touched, the way they cupped one hand over his forehead, and with the other, gently brushed their fingers along the back of his neck. They directed him to let his head and neck into their hand.

The angel Y/N next began to apply light pressure in circular motions, starting in between his shoulders and up to the base of his head. “Let me know if what I’m doin’ worsens it, or if it gets to be too much, okay?”

Best Daryl could do was hum in the affirmative; he couldn’t speak at that moment. The damned lump in his throat had bulged up again and then some.

It was the first time something like this was done for him, and he felt…he didn’t know how or exactly what he felt except that the pain was lessening.

So why in the hell was he about to cry?

The neck rub soon turned into a shoulder rub. And try as he might, tears started spilling out of his damn eyes. He was grateful Y/N couldn’t see them.

After however long it was that they eased his pain in silence, his friend then began to quietly give him the summary of what went on while he’d been conked out.

It was something, that Y/N cared enough to share boring stuff with him. He wanted them to didn’t mind hearing them yammer on and was grateful they

Apparently, the next prayer service thing was gonna happen tomorrow morning. “Maybe the Greenes will come, that would be nice. Patricia and Jimmy are comin’, I know that much.”

Carol wanted to cook dinner for everyone, maybe tomorrow or the next day. “Tomorrow, if Sophia’s back tomorrow, maybe the day after if she comes back the day after. W-We’ll see,” they told him.

A mixture of guilt and worry fought for dominance in his brain when Y/N snorted and shared, “Dude, not only did we both get stitched today, we both fainted. High-five for fainting twins! I forgot to drink enough water, can you believe?” They hummed and figured, “You prolly can.”

Y/N next told him how them, Glenn, the teenage boy Jimmy, the short-haired chick Maggie, and Baby Spice Beth played some board games together before heading off to sleep. “Beth won at Scrabble, she killed it. Babygirl knew how to use them tiles.”

During this part, they used both hands to do a swirling motion at his neck, and it was all he could do to not let out a sob of relief. “I did win the highest word score, though,” they sighed. “I kinda had to. Glenn started, um, earlier he decided he’d charge a quarter for whenever I talk too ‘hillbilly,’ so I felt like I had to prove a point.”

He was told that there were some new toothbrushes and shit from the pharmacy run the other day. “I cracked mine open today, ohh a new toothbrush feels so nice. Nothin’ like clean, flossed teeth.” Naturally, they next worried: “Dude, did somebody bring you your toothbrush? I’ll grab it for you tomorrow morning, just tell me where it is. I’m sorry, honey, you’re at our mercy and we forgot the basics. Wait, we gave you clean boxers, right?”

He was able to snort at that, hiding the fact that he was still blubbering like a colicky newborn.

Somehow, their talking about toothpaste veered into peanut butter, and Y/N, of course, made sure to knock him for not liking the stuff.

“That means you don’t eat peanut butter tomato sandwiches, Dary-bear. What on earth did you eat in the summertime if not those?” Which sounded like the nastiest combo, but their voice and their little chuckle was so goddamn soothing and warm. This was right when they’d started to use that minty muscle rub stuff and it felt so damned nice.

But when Y/N next hit the spot in between his shoulder blades that had been killing him, he finally and most definitely accidentally let out a sob like the little sissy lil bitch Darylina he was.

Y/N gasped and immediately stopped rubbing his shoulders, then bent around to look at his profile. “Hey,” they soothed.

“M’fine,” he croaked back, sniffling and wiping his eyes as he accidentally knocked off the oxygen tube.

He really didn’t know why he was crying. It was just a lot of touch he wasn’t used to, and a lot of…for fuck’s sake, he had friends who worried that much about him, went the extra mile, who goddamn massaged him now, prayed for him and all that? Even after he again didn’t find the girl today, after he’d made things worse by stealing and losing borrowing a horse without asking first. After he’d flat-out yelled at them earlier, scared them when they were injured and hurting.

The world had ended, yet here he was being treated better than when it was up and running.

It was a lot to take in, it was…fucking weird, for one thing.

Not that it was a…bad kind of weird, though, not at all. It was a good kind of weird, and it made the lump in his throat get even bigger.

When Y/N moved to get off the bed, he was urged to blurt out, “Don’t—please!” The feeling from earlier, the one where he felt naked, came back. But because Y/N felt safe, it didn’t stop him from all but begging, “Stay just for a little longer. Please. What you were, w-what you were doin’ helped.”

Please, angel.

It took several long moments of quiet before Y/N, sounding nervous, asked, “The spot between your shoulder blades, that was helpin’?”

“Mmhm,” he gulped.

They stayed quiet for several long moments, tucking the oxygen tubing behind his ears for him once he got the nose part back in. “Do you want quiet,” they hesitated, “or, um, f-for me to keep talking?”

Please talk, I like it when you talk. “Talk.”

____________________________

You

You adjust the sheet so it makes a U shape on his back, giving you access to the spot between his shoulders without uncovering his whole back. Just because you’ve seen it before doesn’t mean he’ll want you seeing it again.

With a little more muscle balm, you press both your thumbs on either side of his spine and fan them out. Up and down the edge of his shoulder blades you rub, then down and around the curvature of his ribs.

The trick is not straining your injured shoulder, so the angle has to be just right as you’re using it (or sticking to only using your good side). This was worth it, that mangy hick went against death way too many times for him to be left alone and in pain, awake by himself.

“I read in some article once how massages and stretches and stuff can release ‘buried emotion,’ they called it. I reckon it’s more the atypical stimuli, maybe some endorphins. Probably the simple relief of tension gettin’ undone, too.”

The intimacy of this is not lost on you, even is there’s nothing sexual about it. You are kneeling on a bed, giving a shoulder and neck massage to somebody shirtless. A somebody who, earlier today, made your stomach flutter and your chest tug in his direction. You’re also very aware of the warmth coming off his body and how physically near he is, but then again, this is a new experience for you, being so close to a guy like this. You’re gonna react more to the unfamiliar and the new.

But this is innocent, and it is helping him, so you’ll help.

____________________________

Him

The spot they just hit was so sore, a groan escaped his mouth before he could choke it down.

“The stuff I’m about to use on that area is peppermint oil, it’s different than the muscle balm,” Y/N murmured.

The small noise of a cap being twisted off came before the strong minty smell of it, and the spot that was so damn sore was slowly replaced by a smooth cooling sensation that eased the worst of the pain.

He sniffed as his tears finally began drying up. The soft lulling of Y/N’s voice telling him about a book calmed his thoughts, helped him zone out. Soon, his muscles began to feel heavy and tired instead of exhausted and aching. Y/N gently bent his head forward to stretch his neck muscles, slightly turning his head side to side.

And by the time his friend began to tell the story about how they learned to ride on their best friend’s motorcycle, Daryl was nodding off even though it was funny and he wanted to hear more.

Next thing he knew, the squishy things were being pulled off his shoulders and the mattress lightly jolted because Y/N had got off and was walking back around the bed. He heard them fussing with his pillows, and his chest tugged again.

First, they asked him if he needed the bathroom. He didn’t, so Y/N started to help him recline back, but that just made him freeze. “Gonna hurt yourself worse,” he muttered, eyeing Y/N’s upper arm wrapped to their torso. He tried settling backward by himself.

“Careful, careful,” Y/N hushed, using their good side to cradle his head and neck. The warmth from their body hovered over his chest when they laid him propped against the pillows. Especially warm was where his fingertips had grazed his friend’s forearm and waist as they helped him lay back and get comfortable.

After drinking water at their bidding, the sheet and quilt were pulled back over him. Almost immediately, his body grew heavy and his eyelids drooped.

____________________________

You

Daryl fell asleep faster than a milk drunk newborn after you pulled the comforter on him. It’s been so chilly all night, yet now you’re warm enough that you’ve unzipped your hoodie.

Massaging him was a small workout in itself so that warmed you up comfortably. But it was when you’d, y’know, supported him with your good arm to lay him back that you got a very warm flush. Now, it’s as if you can still feel the spots where his fingers bumped against you. Your forearm, your waist. It was unfamiliar touch, is all…well, it warmed you up, now you can sleep easier. A long night ain't so bad if one's warm and cozy.

Even if your mind is unnecessarily mulling over the veins in his arms, but maybe that’s just the phlebotomist in you. He has very…patent veins.

You tiptoe to your sleeping bag to check the timer under your pillow.

There’s another hour until it will go off again, meaning two and a half hours until you’ll switch with Carol.

You look back at Daryl. His breathing is regular and steady. It’s sweet, he’s got a foot sticking out of the bed. Though, you don’t have to look hard to make out a purple bruise on his big toe in what light there is in the room. You consider something: if your own feet are tired after today, imagine how his must be after climbing the ridge, falling, and climbing again.

And it’s not like you’ve got anything better to do, you’re not gonna fall asleep anytime soon…

So, you take the peppermint oil and carefully sit yourself once more on the edge of the mattress. He stirs, but doesn’t wake. With some of the oil on your hands, you take his foot and begin to massage it.

He stirs again, and you’re thinking he’s about to protest.

It’s not what you’re expecting at all to hear him mumble, “Thank you, angel...” before promptly drifting back asleep.

------------------------

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im-outofideas · 1 year

Text

an old new thing

fandom: good omens

w/c: 1977

summary: word vomit domestic life feat. crowley and aziraphale.

a/n: got dang this is all over the place!!! this is plotless fluff and very much self indulgent. self-soothing after season 2. also i cannot write kiss scenes for my life so it turnt stupid LOL. please do not pay it any attention and enjoy the rest 🫶

----

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Convincing you."

“Well.. I’m not convinced.”

“You will be.”

Crowley stiffened. Over the last six millennia, Aziraphale had used distance as a hand over Crowley. If he'd suggested a scheme slightly too outrageous, or gone out and done it himself before relaying it to Aziraphale, he wouldn't see the angel for a long time. It sure took a lot of patience, being his..frenemy.

To be fair, Aziraphale was much more tolerant of mistakes than the angels he’d been surrounded by for all of eternity. Much more forgiving than the demons Crowley reported to. It only took hunting the angel down (not a particularly difficult task; he was conveniently predictable) and a little dance before they were back on their Arrangement and regularly scheduled meetings. Still, the weeks of silence frustrated Crowley beyond anything. He's glad Aziraphale decided to do away with the silent treatment since the notpocalypse.

He's taken up a new way to get Crowley to admit when he's wrong. Or to get him to admit Aziraphale is right. Rather than disappear, Aziraphale will cling. He’ll bother and bother and bother. He’ll talk and pout and follow Crowley endlessly until he’s had enough. Crowley definitely prefers this to the former method. He’d rather be annoyed endlessly than ignored for a little while.

Perhaps it's even why it takes so much longer for him to fold.

With that said, it's just so new. After 6,000 years of the same old routine, the affectionate turn in their relationship is taking some getting used to. It’s a bit much to handle in Crowley’s opinion. It's probably why Aziraphale does it so often, the bastard. He knows it's effective.

---

Two nights ago, Aziraphale had been reading on the armchair when the lights inexplicably went out. He picked up the lit patchouli candle next to him when a sound came from the darkness.

Aziraphale has cleverly stayed away from horror content most of his existence. Unfortunately, this made him very unaware of most cliches used in films. He was an excellent target.

“Crowley?” He tucked the book underneath his arm, using both hands to grip the candle closer to him. Another noise came from the left.

Aziraphale went to investigate. Crowley was meant to be in Glasgow for a boogie-concert. Both decided it would be better if he had gone unaccompanied. The last time Aziraphale attended a concert with the demon, a spill to his tartan coat had him miracle every narcotic on site into the chalky substance they put in candied hearts. There was a lot of confusion among the mosh pit, mainly about the lack of confusion everyone felt.

“Is that you, mister Mouse? I've told you, it's not safe for you here. There are snakes in this household.” Aziraphale called out, but there was no response. All noises stopped.

He went to the front door, intending to check the electrical box outside. He swung the door open. Aziraphale felt a presence somewhere out in the night. Dread filled his guts.

He chuckled to himself for being silly. The list of things which could harm an angel were short. Other angels took up a majority of it. Fear was one of the hundreds of human attributes he's indulged in during his time on earth.

He took a breath of courage, but choked on it when a two-headed, red goblin roared out from the side of the doorframe. Aziraphale screamed, dropping the candle and the book. The goblin quickly saved the book from hitting the floor, but the candle shattered. The ancient and quite ridiculously flammable carpet lit up instantly.

Aziraphale clutched his chest and shouted several incohesive ‘oh dear goodnesses’ while Crowley blew the fire out in a long, icy breath.

“Hm, well. Wasn’t expecting that.”

Aziraphale pushed past him. “Oh no, oh no..” he softly repeated until he was too far away to hear. The lights inside the bookshop flickered on. Crowley could now see the charred stain over the antique rug. He hissed.

The “oh no’s” were returning, growing steadily in volume, until it was shouted right near Crowley’s ear. Aziraphale appeared in the doorway.

“Look what you've done!” He whined.

Crowley stared at the spot in disbelief. “How did it go up so fast?”

“You startled me!” He continued indignantly.

“It's October, angel. Really, what do you use to top off these carpets? Petrol?”

“You burnt my rug!”

“...would explain the Bentley's recent behavior.* Actually, you dropped the candle. Seems terribly irresponsible to keep candles in an old bookshop.”

“You turned out the lights. I needed to see!”

“Right, well. Not a big deal.” Crowley pushed the armchair directly over the stain. “Good as new.”

“Not good as new, it’s still all ruined.” Aziraphale enunciated dramatically. “I expect you to fix it.”

“You're being ridiculous. You can't expect me to miracle it out tonight. The two heads thing took a lot out of me. You can’t even see it!” Crowley sat on the armchair, covering the gap - in which the stain was still very much visible - with his legs.

“I don’t expect you to miracle it out,” Aziraphale said. “I want it restored. Naturally.”

Crowley groaned. “Alright, sure. Fine."

“And a new candle.”

“Whatever you want.” he said spitefully.

“And company to Derren Brown’s Illusionist performance.”

“Never!”

---

Aziraphale is currently hugging Crowley from behind him, entrapping his arms in a one-sided embrace.

“No, I will not. Get off!” Crowley growled, pulling out his arms. Aziraphale remained hugging around his waist. Crowley huffed. “If a person makes a mistake, and then fixes said mistake, the mistake no longer exists and nobody owes anyone anything. I agreed to fix the rug. I’m not going to a silly magic show.”

“I’d hardly call it a mistake. The scare was certainly deliberate.” Aziraphale grumbled. “He who has done wrong unto another must make it up to thee who he wronged.” He made up.

“What, like… building interest? That's not how it works. Do all angels forgive like a bank?”

“Afraid so.” He hugged a little tighter. “Even though I've returned, I still haven't made up for… leaving.” The example seemed to spill out before he could ponder its appropriateness. “Didn’t do much good in the end, did it? So much was damaged. World nearly ended again. No, haven't even begun to make up for it.”

It's a tricky thing. Part of the healing process for Aziraphale had been to bring it up every so often, as casually as possible. Even during moments of domesticity. Perhaps one day they'd grow immune to the pain if exposed to it enough times. That was Aziraphale's logic, though sometimes he regretted ruining a nice moment with a sour memory. Crowley saw it more like a confession. A way for Aziraphale to relieve the guilt he felt. Guilt which hit him harder anytime he realized he was starting to feel happy rather than guilty. What a bitch, that guilt.

Angel’s felt nothing but guilt for over 6 millennia. Only for ever doing what he thought was right.

Personally, Crowley wished to never speak of it again. He didn't find it healing to reopen wounds. But he was working on his tendency to run from his fears, so he tolerated it.

“Course you have. I’ve forgiven you for that.” He softened.

“Yes, well..” I haven’t, he didn’t say.

Crowley squeezed the arm around his middle and took in a breath. “You can hold me however long you want, I’m still not going to the show with you.” He reminded Aziraphale despite not wanting to go. Perhaps he was running a bit. The subject is still awfully uncomfortable.

“It won’t kill you, my dear. It’ll only last six hours.”

“Six hours?? I’ll go mad. Add onto the week of you attempting all the tricks you've seen him do. Forcing me to watch. Forcing me to participate. No. You cannot make me- haha! You can’t make me go!” Aziraphale began to tickle around his grip.

Crowley tried to walk away, but Aziraphale followed surprisingly lightly on his back. Like a pair of wings. It would’ve been less frustrating if he had held Crowley solid.

“Let go!” He laughed.

“Oh, please come with me darling. We’ll have an incredible time. He won’t be performing here again for another year!” Aziraphale persuaded, pretending it was still his words doing all the bargaining.

“I- ehehe, piss off!!” Crowley stumbled over to the couch, legs beginning to give out under him. With a war cry, he suplexed himself Aziraphale-first onto the couch. His attempt to dislodge the angel failed. Infact, it only invigorated him. The hold around him tightened and the once gentle tickling turned deadly. Like a snake. Ironic.

There was an initial few seconds of kicking and cackling, before the laughter became true and bright. Still every bit as loud, but margins sweeter.

“GET OFF!” He shrieked.

“I think you’ll find you're the one on top of me. I’m quite frightfully stuck. I can’t seem to get out.” Aziraphale replied calmly. “Do you mind letting me up?”

Crowley struggled to sit up or wiggle off with Aziraphale still holding onto him. He dropped his head back and laughed in frustration. “Please!”

“Oh, alright.” Aziraphale chuckled. He stopped and let go. Crowley immediately rolled off the couch.

They both lay staring at the ceiling for a moment. Crowley turned his head to look under the armchair, directly at the charred stain. The cleaners wouldn't arrive for another day.

"Never do that again. Ever."

"I'll do it again the second your back is turned."

The threat made Crowley blush. There was another silence.

“Why do you want me to go with you anyway? I'll only spoil it with my complaining.”

“Nonsense. I enjoy most things more with your company. You could never spoil it.” Aziraphale stood up to straighten himself out. He stepped over Crowley, who frowned. Bastard didn’t even lend a hand. “But I suppose you’re right. I wouldn't want you to have a bad evening on my behalf.”

Aziraphale left the room without Crowley for the first time in two days.

“Hang on!” Crowley called from the floor. “What, that’s it? All that.. blasted effort into persuading me and you’re just letting it go?”

“Well, I tried everything I could think of. I figure you must dread to go if you're willing to endure all that tickling.” Crowley could hear him fiddling with cups. “I’ve stooped to torture. How you've corrupted me.” Aziraphale said low and fond.

“You only did it for a moment.” Crowley said as Aziraphale returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He furrowed an eyebrow.

“What’s this? You'll miss the performance if we start drinking now.”

“Oh yes, well… what's a year to beings like us anyway?” Aziraphale said gently. “Are you saying I could have convinced you if I kept going?”

“What? Ngk-no, no. I mean, maybe. F'ya did it long enough. This.. bloody corporeal thing. Right ticklish. But don't you dare!” he pointed at Aziraphale. He dropped his hand to his chest. “But the pestering. The hugging, I mean. I almost conceded there. Didn't, though. But that's only ‘cause I didn’t want it to stop so soon. Shut up!” he exclaimed upon seeing Aziraphale smile widely.

"Ugh." By that explanation, the same logic would have applied to the tickling.

“You could have just said.” Aziraphale smiled, bending slightly over Crowley’s head. He appeared upside down. Crowley looked away too late - a little smile was tugging the corner of his own mouth. “So, then, tell me. How can I convince you to join me?”

“Get me off this damn floor, for one.”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley up as though he were a feather, holding his hands. He scooted closer, straightening out the fabric over his chest. “And then?”

“Hm," he looked off. "I suppose you could give me a kiss. Might do the trick.” He said with a smirk and an old confidence in his words. He was grateful how well this communication thing was finally working out.

Both were flush when they parted. To Crowley’s dismay, a bit of steam trickled out of his ears quite cartoonishly.

“Look at the time!” he said, flustered again. “Ahm, better get a move on if we want good seats. Might as well be comfortable if we’re going to be there for six hours.” He hurried out the room to the front door. Aziraphale smiled and straightened with giddiness. How good the demon was to him.

“Bring the wine!” the demon shouted.

*referencing the headcanon that the Bentley and bookshop are in love with each other. 😼

#good omens #fluff #crowley is ticklish #he is at heart just a little bit of a good person #aziraphale is just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing

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solipseismic · 1 year

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i hope you know that every day i wish i could read your book and really enjoyed reading the nanowrimo tidbits you sent, you should infodump about it 👀

CROW ... this is so so sweet i am kissing u gently on the mouth . also this is great timing bc i am just about to compile a vigilante's guide to knowing when to die into a goog file that i can send to my friend (part of our bargain in me convincing him to do nanowrimo w me this year)

snippet from book 2 for u:

The Rift gave a sudden convulsive shudder. Skysteel felt it all the way to her ankles as it threw her out—and away. She was freefalling before she even knew it, pinwheeling through the air like a shitty paper airplane. Sky-ground-sky-ground-BUILDING passed in a dizzy blur right up until she smacked into a billboard with a comedic sound. She would have laughed, except her lungs seemed to have gone on impromptu strike at the time of impact. It really was a hard-knock life, huh? Black spots swarmed her field of vision. An Avian shrieked at the sight of her and dove, the razor talons of its feet extended fully and bladed wings gleaming in the bright sun. Poltergeist and Eidolon were both yelling something over comms but she couldn’t parse anything—all she could see was the golden light of the Avians surrounding her, all she could feel was the agonizing feeling of the Rift splitting open wider far above her. The golden light of the Avians turned blinding. Skysteel’s secondary eyelids dropped down for a split second. But— That was no fucking Avian. A man shining like a blue sun reached down and gently plucked an Avian off Skysteel’s prone body laying in the ruin of the billboard. One moment his hand closed around its shoulder and the next—it was a still-glowing pile of fine, off-white ash on the ground. “That was stupid,” he said. Skysteel took the hand he offered and heaved herself up out of the pieces of billboard she’d fallen to the ground with. “That’s what I want on my headstone,” she told him, wincing and touching a hand to her ribs.

anyways i rarely talk abt a vigilante's guide (which some of u who have been following for a long time may know under the previous title of "demon city" and / or "demon eyes" and so all the stuff i've posted abt it r under those tags) bc it's like That One Big project for me. like u know how brandon sanderson has the stormlight archive that kind of is the hub / culmination of all his works across the brandonsandersonverse (official term is brandon sanderson's "cosmere")? for me that's vigilante's guide. also it's exceedingly self-indulgent is the other reason.

it's gone through like 50 different iterations bc it's existed in my brain for nearly as long as i can remember (i think over a decade at this point) and the Ira Neda i talk about (my supreme blorbo, if you will) is the protagonist! i have ambitions for it spanning five books with the second (formerly "demon eyes") titled a vigilante's guide to destroying the world but right now books 1 and 2 are existing in the same doc (DEMON MEGADRAFT) because i'm trying to see what gets shaken out of it while i play with a non-linear timeline between the two

as a result, there are a lot of ideas that are getting spun into it (and even more ideas that i've had trial runs of before editing or cutting them entirely) but it's got the run of the mill superhero genre setup: we have a recognizable earth set in the near-ish future / a time that's somewhat similar to our own, we have a bunch of vigilantes running around fighting ordinary crime and supervillains (tho these are mainly just called "terrorists" in-world bc, well.), and different people have different powers from different things (but mostly it's because they're alien / part alien lol)

book one (knowing when to die) follows ira neda's arrival in anehaven, a (fictional) city in new york, where she is trying to unravel the circumstances that led to her twin brother's death several years ago. she promises herself, her family, her friends, and a lot of strangers that she isn't in that vigilante business anymore, if she ever really was: she's retired now. she just wants to live a quiet life (lie) and she doesn't intend to instigate anything (lie) and she is never picking up the mantle again (lie). but anehaven, like ira neda herself, has secrets of its own. the city is alive--and it hungers. people have been disappearing from the streets without a trace for over a year now, more and more with each month that passes. she makes some friends (criminal empress and her two partners in crime as well as ... actual partners), she makes some enemies (her fellow vigilantes) there are three questions now that have no answers: what happens to these people? why does the sidewalk have teeth? and who the FUCK is this other guy calling himself a vigilante?

book two is a little more abstract on account of I Still Haven't Figured out Subplots for it, but it's your stock alien invasion with ensemble cast: here we introduce cori sanchez, the (also) (formerly) retired HUSH, a mirek'ar necromancer; alec iakabos, SOLSTICE, and noah harper, EQUINOX, whom you can think of as "gosh, i really was VERY inspired by wildstorm comics when i was fifteen, huh," if you're familiar with apollo and midnighter from them; along with some familiar faces from the first book--alan and blue wilson (POLTERGEIST and EIDOLON, respectively) and ira neda. names capitalized to make it easier for me to keep track of them lol.

#THANK U FOR COMING TO MY BLORBOTALK ....#croidhe #demon city #demon eyes

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cafecitowriter · 9 months

Text

FIC WRITER INTERVIEW

Tagged by @laviejaguardia thank you amiguita!!

tagging if they desire: @captainjimothycarter @behindthelabels @teaandatale

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

589,675 😳

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Should the Stars Align w 745

Aim for the Heart w 328

Flowers w 307

The Untamed w 264

My 6 Foot Romance w 193

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I definitely aim to! I've gotten worse at responding lately because I've been going through a lot lately but comments bring me so much joy and I love discussing my works with others so even if it's been a year I love to respond!

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I don't really do angsty/unhappy endings but I did write this drabble that is very angsty. For one of my longer fics, I would say in silent screams and wildest dreams just because while technically it ends well, I didn't perfectly tie things up.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Like all of them lol, but maybe Cherry on Top just because that one is a fluff fest from start to finish.

7. Do you write crossovers?

I've never written one and currently don't have the inclination to do so, but I'm definitely open to it if the muse ever strikes!

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Like no outright hate, but some that have been filled with corrections on either grammar, spelling or that have told me my characterization was "incorrect" but like whatever.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Like Lina said on hers, whenever the mood strikes and the kind depends on the mood lol

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of (and I hope it stays that way)

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have not but I'm totally open to it!

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

The thing is, I have many long burning ships and the fire has never gone out on them. What If...? has really re-lit the Steggy flame, and the stuff I write is mostly all about them so they're always way up there, but I must give an honourable mention to The Doctor/Rose and also Percabeth is currently making a STRONG comeback at the moment.

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Okay. So there's this Steggy fic. I started it years ago and I only have a few scenes written but it's definitely going to be a multi-chapter fic. The whole premise is that Steve is the only child of Queen Sarah, and Peggy is the prince's personal bodyguard. Problem is, Steve can't inherit the throne because it's a matriarchal line. When Queen Sarah has a health scare, she decides to take matters into her own hands and find her son a suitable wife and future queen so that her son can still maintain the throne in the event of her early passing. However, Peggy's not a fan of the options presented - for more than just the obvious reasons.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm good at characterization and getting their voices/dialogue pretty good!

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Honestly I have to work really hard on my plots to make sure they're tight because very often there are holes in them or they don't tie up/flow as smoothly as much as I'd like. It's why I usually prefer to write the whole thing at once and then post it, because that way I can catch things/find my way out of the corners I tend to write myself into.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I enjoy it! I use multiple languages in my life. Though the characters I normally write for don't really use multiple languages so it's something I would like to find a way to incorporate more, maybe in other fandoms/works eventually.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Unposted Star Wars (Han/Leia), posted the MCU (Steggy)

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

I'm not burning for it at the moment (I'm struggling to get much writing done recently for my main fandom) but I do think at one point I'd like to write for Doctor Who, since I love reading for Nine/Rose & Ten (or Tentoo)/Rose it but there's some things I haven't found that I would like to write.

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I do like all of my fics a lot, but I would say my top three in no particular order are:

Get In, Get Out (I'm very proud of my writing in this one)

The Untamed (I left a lot open as to what happens leading up to the very last scene of the fic and I want to keep exploring it sometime)

My Daughter's Keeper (I just adore this universe)

#about me #fic writer interview

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mlobsters · 1 year

Text

supernatural s8e1 we need to talk about kevin (w. jeremy carver)

new season, new me. *silent wish goes up for smaller sideburns*

of course they had to include "dick is coming" in the recap. we can't let the opportunity for a dick joke slip out of our hands

very xfiles

okay i threw this in lightroom real quick to make it less dark because what is going on here? it's very... strike a pose, for feral!dean. and the kids are like from a painting. it's very dramatic. maybe i will paint it some day.

well the infamous benny appears. i also didn't realize purgatory was gonna be a time jump like hell. read something not too long ago that was fairly evocative of the environment of purgatory so i was thinking some of the show happened there (though i suppose flashbacks are also a possibility).

lol i'm already upset, broad strokes know how this goes with their reunion emotionally.

this is so ridiculous. i was just complaining how i felt so blah with the end of s7. well here we go, let's hurt my feelings with brother conflict stress and i'm gonna be upset about it? make up your mind

okay so some fics i've read are like "sam didn't look for dean while he was in purgatory" but i did not pick up that for all intents and purposes, sam had no reason to assume he wasn't dead.

there's a lot going on in this scene. like the semi dodging the cas questions, how he got out, etc.

SAM Yeah. Yeah, I – you were gone... Dean. Cas was gone, Bobby was dead. I mean, Crowley even shipped off Kevin and Meg to parts unknown. DEAN So you just turned tail on the family business.

are you kidding me right now, dean? like he should carry on hunting because it's the family business??? i'll chalk this up to being mad and fucked up for being hunted for a year.

SAM Nothing says "family" quite like the whole family being dead. DEAN I wasn't dead. In fact, I was knee-deep in God's armpit killing monsters, which, I thought, is what we actually do. SAM Yes, Dean. And far as I knew, what we do is the thing that got every single member of my family killed. I had no one – no one. And for the first time in my life, I was completely alone. And, honestly, I-I didn't exactly have a roadmap. So, yeah, I-I fixed up the Impala, and I just... drove.

💔

DEAN After you looked for me. Did you look for me, Sam? [SAM looks away.] Good. That's good. Now, we – we... always told each other not to look for each other. That's smart. Good for you. Of course, we always ignored that because of our deep, abiding love for each other, but not this time, right, Sammy?

well i can see now why fics harp on this point. so i'm assuming sam thought dean was in heaven. would dean expect sam to try to get him back from there too? tucking 'deep and abiding love' into my pocket

okay right i've talked about this before too, how sam is always the fuckup begging for forgiveness and dean is the righteous man. and i'm tired of it! this thing with the voicemails from kevin tran is just... cruel. i don't like the point they're making.

real life, anyone in sam's situation would be a fucking mess. i still don't really think sam would flake on the phones with kevin like that.

whoa whole new desktop. so long untitled 1 and 2

oh we get urls now in the new web browser! and look at that, already an invalid web url http://www.searchtheweb/main missing your tld, friend 😔 1 out of 2, at least

lying about the dog in the car too. all right

okay, purgatory flashback after all. umm. what happens when you die in purgatory? respawn there? or is that the way to the big empty i've heard about

DEAN Hmm. So what was it, hmm? What could possibly make you stop just like that? A girl? Was there a girl? SAM The girl had nothing to do with it. DEAN There was a girl. SAM Yeah. There was. And then there wasn't. Any more questions?

*heavy sigh*

not getting through this episode tonight. reconvene tomorrow

#supernatural #spnwatch #spn 8x1 #fuckup vs righteous man #spn desktop background update #jeremy carver

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sugarylawliet · 3 years

Text

no good for me (light yagami x reader)

i’m back lol

> warnings: smut, degradation, spit kink, inappropriate use of the death note, VERY toxic relationship, song fic kinda, lyrics are in bold and italics, based off of diet mountain dew by lana del ray

> tag list: @ygm1slt @cradiot28

❛ you’re no good for me, baby you’re no good for me ❜

Nothing on this earth scared you more than the man you were about to see; the pretty boy brunette flaunting good grades and a picturesque family life whose facade of ambitious, respectful young man was a mask almost no one could see through. Some people felt dread at the thought of spiders or snakes, felt fear in their stomach imagining the paranormal, shadow ghosts or criminal stalkers invading their comfort zones. None of these perfectly rational fears scared you the way Light Yagami scared you. There was no fear to be had at the thought of something undesirable creeping its way into your privacy or comfort zone, because Light had manipulated his way into your comfort and trust long ago. He was scarier than a murderer ready to kill at an urge’s call, his blood lust hid in shadows behind his golden boy facade, his words were tools and his touches were negotiations. You couldn’t trust a single thing that came from his mouth, you often questioned your own sanity. Light Yagami had a terrifying grip on you, and it was exactly what he wanted.

Your eyes scan over the text Light had sent you for the millionth time, the words almost ingrained in your head at this point.

Come to my house. We need to talk.

You were sure he kept his words vague on purpose, yet another tactic to keep you at his disposal out of pure fear. You weren’t exactly sure if you loved Light anymore; what was your definition of love at this point? You loved him, yes, but was it out of obligation? Was it survival instinct?

It was true, in the beginning you had loved Light purely and truly. You believed his ambition was justice, to make the world a better and safer place for you. But as time went on, “Kira doesn’t kill innocents” began racking up more and more exceptions, and as the twisted justifications spilled from his mouth, so did the gaslighting. Over and over, his sweet words convinced you to keep coming back. His empty promises were a drug and you were addicted.

His text, you were sure, was a reference to this fizzling out of your love for him. He could sense it, and surely he must have found out you were planning on leaving. You weren’t planning on revealing that he’s Kira- that would cause more commotion you were not interested in being a part of- no, you simply wanted to move states, get away and forget about Light Yagami, forget about Kira and Ryuzaki and Ryuk and everything that has overtaken your life. However, if he did find out your plans to skip town, you may just have to reveal that he’s Kira for safety measures.

❛ you’re no good for me, but baby i want you ❜

Hestiently, you opened the door you had been staring at blankly for what felt like hours. Light had been staying in an upscale hotel during the investigation, so maybe the other tenants could hear you if you screamed for help; the overdramatic thought brought you comfort.

You walk in the room, closing the door behind you. You’re met with the sight of Light’s back as he sits in the rolling chair across the room. In the absence of any words, without even seeing his face, you know he’s mad. Every slight change of Light’s emotions could strangle a whole room by tension alone; his aura manipulated the feeling in the air, which served as a helpful alarm to know when he is upset. And man, is he upset.

You open your mouth to greet him, but he cuts you off, spinning around in his chair to face you, “Don’t talk.” You nod and close your mouth. Why do you even listen to what he says?

“I knew I couldn’t trust you. From the very beginning I knew you would run that pretty little mouth of yours. I know you’re planning on leaving. And then what? Telling the first news outlet you see that I’m Kira?”

“No Light,”

“I said don’t talk.” He stands up from his chair, “If you tell everyone, you’ll also have to tell on yourself. Imagine what everyone would think of you if they knew...You knew I was Kira and you still dated me, you defended me, you kept my secret, you even got on your knees for me. Are you gonna tell that to the media? That you let Kira fuck you?”

You purse your lips, restraining yourself from talking back. You knew it would only make things worse, but you couldn’t stand the way he talked down on you and expected you to take it.

“Come here.” He motioned to his desk and you followed, sitting on his lap per his instruction. He placed the death note open on the desk, handing you the pen. With one hand gripping yours and the other on your hip, he began to guide your hand, the pen spilling out the first letter of your name on the pages.

❛ do you think we’ll be in love forever? ❜

“N-No, Light, you can’t do this, please.” You begged, your heart rate quickening as you realize what he was doing. It can’t end like this, it just can’t.

“Shhh, just write. That’s it, baby. This is what bad girls get, you see?” His death grip tightened on your hand as he spelled out your name, the last letters leering closer and closer before you could register the implications of what he was doing. This was it, this was really it.

Light lets his free hand wander up to your jawline, pulling your face closer to yours and enveloping you in a kiss as he wrote the last letter of your name. You shake your head with a whine, however he disregards your concerns and runs his hand on your upper thigh.

“What’s the matter, Y/n? Don’t wanna spend your last moments with me?~” His nose kisses your neck, and the soft, sensual gestures almost make you forget your life was quite literally slipping away at every second that ticked by. 40 seconds. You had 40 seconds to do something.

You jump off of Light’s lap, reality rushing to your lungs as you felt your world closing in. Your pants become heavier, harsh air ripping through your throat as if they were the last breaths you would ever take because, well- they were.

Your head felt buzzing and dizzy as you fell to your knees, crawling towards Light who had spun around in his chair so his back was facing you; completely apathetic. After all you’ve been through together, after all you’ve done for him, nothing. Nothing at all.

You crawl closer, grasping towards the notebook Light held in his hands, your weakness limiting your reach as anxiety stole your clearness of mind. He only chuckles at your meek attempts to save your own life. Your head was racing as your nervousness blacked out everything in the room except for the little black notebook your boyfriend had a death grip on; ‘I’m running out of time, I’m going to die, I need the death note, I need to cross my name out, I need it I need it I need it I-’

“Goodbye, Y/N. You were fun to play with for a while.” Light kisses your nose with an arrogant smirk, peeling your hands off from his lap and wrists before checking his watch, signaling your last few seconds.

You quit your pitiful attempts to grab the notebook and instead push yourself further and further away from Light until your back hit the wall, lacing your fingers tightly in your hair as you cried your last moments away.

“5, 4, 3 2...” Light spoke.

“No no no no no, please god,” You cried out, squeezing your eyes shut in preparation for the pangs you would soon feel in your chest.

“1...”

And

Nothing.

You breathe. You let the air flood your lungs; it shouldn’t be possible. You dare to open your eyes, revealing the same scene. You, pathetically on the floor with tears down your face, Light before you in his chair with his head thrown back in a maniacal laugh.

He tossed the death note down to you, like a dog being thrown a bone. You frantically grab it and flip to the newest page, your name scratched out with two thick lines.

You were alive- no, he let you live.

❛ hit me my darling tonight, i don’t know why but i like it

“Well?” Light asks expectingly, standing up from his chair and kicking it to the side of the room. You look up at him questioningly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as tears still brimmed your eyes from the just-curved anxiety attack.

“No ‘thank you’? I spared your life even after you betrayed me- lied to me. You’re so ungrateful.”

“I, I-” You found it difficult to shape your words with your hitching breath. You inhale deeply, eyes closed, calming down, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Light.”

Why were you even apologizing?

“I’m so sorry, please, just take me back. I’m sorry.” The words spilled from your mouth so quickly simply because they felt right. You needed to apologize, you did wrong, you need to be good. You wanted him back more than anything so you can be good.

❛ scary, my god, you’re divine ❜

“That’s right,” Light smiled, his voice softening unnaturally, “Now, how about you come over here and show me just how sorry you are.”

You hesitate for a second before crawling over to him. You sit obediently with your legs beneath your thighs on the floor in front of him.

“Mm, that’s my babygirl.” He pets your head affectionately, coherencing a smile from you. Despite everything he’s done, he always knew how to reel you back in. You needed the approval. You needed his approval.

You look up at him with puppydog eyes, to which he cocks his head to the side. “You know what I want.”

Nodding, you slowly unzipper his khaki pants and pull out his cock. You run your hand up and down, pumping it slowly.

“Don’t be a fucking tease” Light scoffs, raking his fingers through your hair and forcing your mouth down onto him. That sweet, caring demeanor was gone in barley a second- of course it was. What were you expecting? It was a thinly veiled facade and you fell for it everytime without exception.

Light groans, pushing your head further onto him as you try not to gag. You feel the tip of him hit the back of your throat as he thrusts into your mouth faster. “God, Y/N, you take my cock so well. Hah, if only the media could see you now. Poor little Y/N wants to run away from big bad Kira, meanwhile here she is on her knees for him, sucking him off like the dirty slut she is.”

He lets out a deep sigh before pulling out of your mouth. “Be useful for once and get on the bed.” He commands, bringing you to your feet with his strong grip on your hair and pushing you in the direction of the bed. You obey, sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for his next instruction.

Light slinks over to you, standing over your figure as his delicate fingers dance up your inner thigh. He takes off your skirt and slowly rubs your clit through the fabric of your panties.

“Mmm, Light, more...” You buck your hips up to meet his touch, his movements were agonizingly slow and you needed more friction.

“More?” At once he removes his hand from between your legs and grabs your face, your jaw in between the tight hold of his thumb and forefingers. “You want more, huh? You don’t get to make demands of me. You really think i’m gonna give you what you want after that stunt you pulled? Hah, I’m not letting you off that easy.”

You let out a whine, bucking your hips again asking to be touched.

“Aww, poor baby...” Light cooed, “Open up.” You obeyed, opening your mouth before Light brought your face closer to his, spitting in your mouth. “Now swallow.”

You do, earning a smirk from Light. “Mm, good girl. Good girls get rewarded.”

He pulls your panties aside before dipping two slender fingers inside you; wasting no time, he pumps them in and out frantically.

“Oh god Light, fuck,”

“You’re so wet for me Y/N, you like this, don’t you? I knew you would, such a dirty whore. You like when I treat you like this? You like being treated for the slut you are? God, you probably got wet when I almost killed you. It makes me hard, having you under my thumb like this, under my control...”

“Fuck Light, it feels so good, I’m close...”

Quickly, he removes his fingers from you once again, earning a cry from you at the loss of heat. “Please Light, I need you so bad,” You beg.

“What did I say? You’re still not forgiven for that stunt you pulled. Don’t whine.” He wraps his hand around your throat, pushing you down onto your back.

He fully pulls his boxers down, aligning himself with your entrance.

“Beg for it.”

“Please, please light, god, I need it so badly. I want you.”

“Hmm, yeah? You’re so desperate for my cock? I’m not convinced.”

“Please, Light, I’ll never be bad again, I’ll never mess up again. I need your cock so badly, I need you to use me. Do anything you want.”

“Mm, that’s more like it,” Light remarks before pushing into you, earning a loud moan. HIs thrusts were slow, no doubt teasing you.

“Oh, Light, please, faster...”

“More demands? God, you’re such a needy slut. Fine.” His grip on your throat tightens, pushing you further into the bed as he snaps his hips into you without mercy. His pace is relentless, quickly finding your g-spot.

“Fuck, Light. It... it feels- fuck,”

“Hah, stupid slut, what’s wrong? Cat’s got your tongue? Or is it me fucking you so hard you can’t even think straight, can’t form sentences?”

His words only egg on your approaching orgasam, “Hmmph, it- it feels so good. I’m gonna...”

With that, Light pulls you up slightly by your neck before slamming you roughly back into the bed, thrusting into you with speed. “Cum, show me how sorry you are.”

You obey, releasing with a loud moan of his name. He finishes soon after, roughly letting go of your throat. “Clean yourself up. You look like a fucking mess.”

You slip your panties and skirt back on as Light sits apathetically at his desk, his focus buried in paperwork. You heart skinks to your stomach.

Once you finish dressing, Light allows you to leave, informing you of the Kira case work he had to finish and opening the door for you.

“And Y/N,” He catches your attention before you step into the hallway of the hotel, “Let this be a lesson. Don’t ever try to leave me again. You’re mine.” He grabs your jaw and kisses you tenderly- but you weren’t stupid. You knew the motivation behind it, and let you still kissed his soft lips back and let yourself melt into him.

“Goodbye,” He remarks after pulling away, “Behave yourself.”. The door slams in your face.

You can still feel his cum dripping from your heat daring to spill out of your panties. The hallway was empty, allowing reality to rush to you at once. Your senses only seem clear when you were alone- with Light, you didn’t see with your own eyes or hear with your own ears.

You let your back touch the door of Light’s hotel room, slowly sliding down until you were sitting on the carpeted floor. Your life was broken pieces and you cut yourself picking up the glass shards, relishing in the fact that your boyfriend liked the way the blood looked on your pricked fingers.

❛ hurt me and tell me you’re mine, i don’t know why but i like it. ❜

#i did not proof read this lol sorry for mistakes #Light Yagami #light yagami x reader #light yagami x reader smut #light yagami smut #toxic! light yagami #death note #death note smut #anime #death note x reader

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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

Text

the bodyguard

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

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pairing: bodyguard!kirishima eijirou x idol!reader

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

word count: 20,500

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

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“I’ll be okay.”

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

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

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

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

What had he done?

What in the fucking world had he done?!

BOOM!

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

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

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

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

05:30.

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

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Better?

No, not yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Cause I’m a stalker, duh.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Kirishima-kun, are you okay?”

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

“Kirishima-kun?”

“Yo, he’s not looking too hot?”

“Kirishima?!”

“Can you hear us?!”

Silence.

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

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

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

He was okay.

“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.”

#kirishima x reader #kirishima smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 3 years

Text

The Boy Savior (Shattering the Time, Part 2.)

Description: A long time ago, a peaceful state ruled over the Lanes of Zaun. Yet one day, the protector was murdered by his rival and Lanes had gone to shit ever since, leading to the establishment of an independent Firelight base just out of Zaun. But this peace was to come to an end soon with old friends coming back, rising from the dead, and getting killed.

Part Summary: The kids were saved, yet not entirely safe. You made sure they went to talk with the other colony leader, your oldest friend, somewhat of a lover and local prodigy. And as per usual, you stay for more than just a bit of banter.

A/N: So, regarding the relationship between the reader and Ekko. Due to everything that went down, they found themselves in a stalemate - while Ekko, due to his lighthearted nature set around emotion, is willing to risk it all for a piece of heaven, the reader is reluctant to let go due to all the responsibilities they both have. Even though the Fireflies are the representation of now and the alternate (3rd) answer to every question Arcane asks, it's because of the 'now' that they aren't able to let go and stop pinning. They already know they're each other's endgame but struggle to find the time or ways to just let it happen in their current situation.

A/N: If you know about Ekko’s music career - I love you and I will marry you, consider this my official marriage proposal. Ekko is a rapper inside the universe of LoL bands. The guy's part of a group named True Damage, and his irl counterparts are Thutmose and DUCKWRTH. He shares the band with the hottest rapper ever (Akali), a princess (Quiana), the seventh wonder of the world (my queen Senna), and a local moron and drunk who thinks diving level 1 is okay and that the mighty 0/10 power spike exists (Yasuo).

Word count: 8.8K

Masterlist: H E R E | Ekko’s playlist: the boy who shattered time

The overwhelming feeling of safety never got old, and neither did the sight. As soon as the thick metal trapdoor rolled out of the way and gave you a view of the place, your eyes drowned in all the colors and gentle lights. Finally, you could take a breath. You were home. The kids were safe. Now, throughout the warm summer nights, the former silo got quiet and dark. The only sounds disturbing the serenity were crickets hiding in the grass, occasional peals of laughter coming from the distance, and then, there were firelights emitting gentle green light into the night. A hint of pollen still lingered in the air, making it heavy and sweet.

The ancient tree you build your lives around was standing in the middle of the silo, accommodations built all over its massive trunk. The adults were still out, sitting up in the treehouses and staircases built around the stem, as well as around the wooden paths built in the treetops, drinking some beer you haggled out last week. That was a good sign; it could be shortly after midnight. The other houses were tranquil, Maeve could be seen in the distance as she played the flute while sitting on the doorstep, lulling her kids to sleep. The canteen was still open, candlelight emitting from the inside - given it was Saturday, Firelights gathered around to tell stories until the sun dawn started. Days off were filled with relaxing activities, especially the summer ones - it was up to the people what they wanted to be a part of. Your people were fighters and survivors, but during the summer, you all took things a bit more lightly. Surviving summer wasn't as bad as surviving winter, that was for sure. During summer, there were enough people for everyone, clean water to drink and bathe in, and clothes were drying much faster. There were also way more activities to partake in - older kids were allowed to venture out to swim in the nearby river and cave system under supervision and small children could play around for all they wanted... When they didn't have their classes, of course. Ekko's favorite pastime was to freestyle with your local youngsters'; they'd sneak out (under his supervision) into the Lanes, climb on an advantage point, and bounce bars off each other until the night settled down on the Undercity. You've accompanied them multiple times, these trips were fun. Most importantly, you didn't have to care about the fucking heating that broke every other day or the boiler which was, in your opinion, incredibly fucking moody. Until that day, only Ekko knew how to make this beast of a machine work properly.

Summer was fun for everyone.

Your home wasn't much, but it was honest fucking work. You've manually built every house in sight, the people got together to establish at least small agricultural bases in the form of underground greenhouses (to use for growing plants during winter), just so you wouldn't starve. Bringing actual fresh water into the piping was infuriating as shit and Jesus fucking Christ, the months during which you were struggling with electric circuits were still so freshly in engraved your mind that you wanted to throw something against a wall each time you remembered. After you finally made a functional barn (which took you months of work) you and Bean haggled out of a few cows and a bull; the colony had occasional access to fresh milk and meat. That was, usually, a yearly occasion. Now, years after building the basics, your people got into working on various technological advancements, such as special hoverboards, very dangerous weapons, and things that brought up the quality of life. Ekko made sure his inventions did make your life easier.

The first year after Vander's death was most crucial. During those times, you went through poverty and misery - and this time, it wasn't just in your head. There were months when you couldn't properly bathe, drank from questionable water sources, and stole food just so you'd have something to eat. With each slurp of water, all of you and your people risked getting infected or getting your kidney clogged with dirt... Or the Grey. The Grey... That was what everyone in the Undercity called the mist overtaking the Lanes from time to time, clogging everyone's ability to see or even breathe normally. It wasn't just a regular mist, of course - it was filled with all the pollution and chemicals from all the factories set in the deepest parts of Zaun - needless to say the deeper you went, the more dangerous the toxins became. The Grey was slowly killing everything that breathed, essentially. The pollution quietly smothered one's lungs until they... Stopped working. With each breath, you were getting one step closer to death. Piltoverians were pissed after the first Uprising, so they built even more factories in Zaun's underbelly to ensure the rats of Zaun would slowly get exterminated. In case you wouldn't die to the constant stream of violence from the goons, addicts, Enforcers, uprisings, chem-tech augmentations involved in every fight or get 'removed' by Silco's people... The Grey was sure to finish you off.

Here, in the silo, in the colony, you were safe from it. This space, hidden inside the intricate sewer maze was far enough from the toxic waters, the Grey, violence, and even police brutality. Here, there were no political affairs that would bother you - from the safety of your colony, you could fight for the people. For the Laners, for the Zaunites, or whatever the fuck they wanted to call themselves now. The Firelights had their issues with both Piltoverians and Zaunites, so you remained in the imaginary middle, took the fights you knew you'd win, and took an interest in problems you deemed appropriate. That was who you were - living in the now, living the way you wanted to, taking the fights on your own fucking terms. This was the utopia you created from scratch, the utopia you desperately wished Vander would witness. They'd be so fucking proud, you liked to think, all three of them. You and Ekko found your everything in absolute nothingness.

For the first time that night, you were able to take a long breath and just let your shoulders relax as you unzipped your sweatshirt, stretching your neck. Here in the colony, you didn't have to be worried about being out of place, you always belonged. No matter who you were or how much the outside world hurt you, this community was willing to give you a place to stay and a life worth living. You, in general, were loved by your people. And so was he. It was natural to butt your heads every once in a while, either between the two of you or with the other members, but that was why you implemented democratic elections and general meetings. If the Firelights started disagreeing with how you led things, you'd be stripped off your spot years ago. Both you and Ekko were elected as the leaders way back - you were still just teenagers when the first results came through. At first, you struggled with 'being a leader', but all the Firelights trusted you, eased up the process for you, and helped you make all the wildest fantasies and wishes you and Ekko had come true. Without one another, you wouldn't be able to lead shit - together, you were unstoppable. Sure, you were both forced to mature very quickly, but it was a tax worth paying.

As you walked to the staircase, you nodded at the night watch sitting in the vintage point above the trapdoor. Without waiting around, you started climbing the stairs leading into Ekko's accommodation - his lights were still on, so you knew he was still awake.

Talking about Ekko specifically... A part of you was sure that you completed each other. After years of acting in unison, you oftentimes didn't even have to say your thoughts out loud for Ekko to take them into account. You couldn't imagine letting him leave - your accommodations were built into the highest places of the tree, adjoining. There were countless times when either of you barged into the other's room in the middle of the night to ramble about this new idea of yours and even in deafening silence, you understood each other.

To describe him... He was the most positive person you've bumped into. Next to it, Ekko was always in connection to his emotions and was prone to go into overdrive easily - he also snapped out of his amucks quickly, though. Whenever you felt down, the man knew exactly what to do with you - whether it meant talking, arguing it out, bringing you something to eat, or just taking you for a walk around the perimeter, Ekko always had a solution. Especially at times when you didn't know how to help yourself. The Little Man (Ekko's childhood nickname) loved hearing you laugh, never passed an opportunity to cause havoc and mischief (taking into account all the ground rules you've set for all the youngsters, of course), constantly lived in a state of wonder and excitement about what can he create next, marveled about the world around you and still felt jolts of childish excitement whenever he stumbled upon something new and undiscovered. You hadn't met a messier person than Ekko was - the boy often said it's a sign of his genius, but after ten years of hearing the same excuse, you were sure he was just pulling your sock. Not that he'd live in a dump of random things, he just puts things in random places and... Left the stuff lying there. Therefore, you could often hear the ruckus and silent cursing as he tried to find that one specific small fucking screwdriver that he'd put on the table two days ago, and now it wsan't fucking anywhere... Just to find it lying at the base of his bed. Hid accommodation wasn't even a livable space - it was a chaotic and wast place, a room that was never clean enough yet neither too dirty, with a bed hiding somewhere inside the mess. 'A small excuse of a storage room', was how you called it anyway.

What you wouldn't be able to describe in any way, however, was the relationship between the two of you. Well, you knew what you felt, and Ekko often told what he felt... But you were very hesitant to just... Let go and accept it. His attempts at flirting with you were endless. The man tried wooing you each chance he got, no matter if it was in private or in front of someone else. His attempts, to an outsider, could seem in vain - each time he'd tell you a cheesy pick-up line or even cheesier compliment, you'd shut him down with anything you two had on hand - whether it was 'all the work' you had to do, any sort of a book or your own hand, it didn't really matter. Ekko knew that the outsiders couldn't be more incorrect. The man knew precisely what he was looking for, all the effects he had on you - your pupils widening, a hint of a smirk on your lips, the way you'd shake your head gently and chuckle under your breath. If you were alone, he'd also take your hand in his, slowly entwining his fingers with yours - your heart rate going through, fingers trembling so gently Ekko would miss it if he'd blink, a think layer of cold sweat on your palms, the way you'd scoot closer to him or watched the profile of your face whenever you'd assume he wasn't looking. If you were feeling bold enough, you'd even kiss him. Even though he understood where the hesitancy came from, he wished you'd forget your worries and just let him love you. He'd bring you the sky if you asked to, run every errand you wouldn't want to go on, and 'talk' to anyone who'd disagree or insult you. That's why he promised you he'd never give up on you. No matter the circumstance, he'd always be around and love you from a distance, if that was how you wanted to approach things. On the night he swore it, you started crying in his arms (you were both beyond tipsy by that point) and nodded, simply whispering: - "Don't leave me. Ever."

The inner workings of your relationship didn't matter to the other Firelights. None of them knew how messy it was in reality - people just assumed you were an item. Fair and square, an item. Each member with a functioning set of eyes could see how you pinned after each other, no matter how much you tried to hide it or deny it. Each time Ekko would leave the colony to carry out assaults on Silco's operations, you'd become a bit animated and grew more tired, only lighting up the moment he'd walk through the trap door. Whenever you had nightmares, you could be spotted sneaking into his room, leaving it in the morning. Oftentimes, you didn't need to use words, you only communicated via your expressions - Scar had even witnesses as you argued and made up without a single word. There were no doubts, the two of you were a pair if they ever saw one.

Even though you wanted to wrap your head around Ekko and let the fuzzy feeling bubble inside your chest, you had work to do. Right now, you had two idiots to deal with and then had to get back on your watch. You still haven't said a word regarding the stunt they pulled. Since you and Butcher had 'the talk' (whatever it was about), your expression didn't change a bit. However, if you were taking them to Ekko, shit hit the fan. Now, it was time to panic. Out of the two Firelight leaders, you were always the reasonable one. The one who hated punishing people and preferred talking stuff out, the one who was the voice of reason whenever Ekko got too heated, and someone who'd always done everything just to see the kids thrive and be happy. Not that Ekko wouldn't be sharing this goal, it was on top of your shared priorities, but he could get a bit... Hot-tempered and reckless. The temper got the best of him. That's why you were seen as the voice of reason. The kids planned to avoid the talk and punishment altogether, hoped Butcher had talked you down to some sort of a deal... They planned on doing the puppy eyes until you'd sigh and let them go, telling them to find you the following morning. Well, they were fucking wrong.

"What are you two staring at?" - You asked, making Lorette gulp out loud. She'd already been through enough that night, but... You had to pull through, just this one time. Did Vander feel like this? Torn inside as he watched you goggling your big, innocent eyes at him? Jesus, this sucked shit. - "Did you forget how to talk or something? Should I believe you're brave enough to sneak out in the middle of the night but not brave enough to take the consequences of your actions? Off you go, come on." - You continued, realizing you sounded awfully like Vander. Jesus. Almonder tried to make up an excuse, but the longer he talked, the more uninterested you were - it was Lorette, who actually pushed him towards the stairs, leading the way to Ekko's.

No matter how much trouble these two were giving you, they genuinely thought of you as one of the coolest people they ever met. Even though they mostly realized how young you were back when you and Ekko took over the leadership of the Firelights and acknowledged everything you two were doing for them, the duo couldn't help themselves and tried to make a difference. A few bucks could make a difference - buy a few bottles of cough syrup, ensure material for someone's sweater for the winter, the money could even ensure a few more bags of coal. They just wanted to help, that was all. They thought that as someone who dealt with resources management daily, you'd be the one to understand. Your in-depth understanding and overview of the stocks in your storage were nothing short of impressive to the kids. But... Unfortunately... Their hopes fell short. They picked the wrong approach to things, enraging you instead of making you proud. That realization alone was a good enough punishment to begin with.

While you were a genius regarding resource management and behind-the-scenes detailing, Ekko was 'the leader' in the right sense of the word. His speeches would rail up even the dead, and his fiery spirit brought excitement into everything he was doing. He was an excellent fighter and a so-so strategist, so it was Ekko, who led your troops into fights and various dangerous missions. As you've said, you were the rationality and Ekko was the pumping heart. Both of you had enough on your plates, undoubtedly, that's why you often spent nights rambling and whining about all the duties awaiting your attention. Neither of you, however, could take the other's position. Because Ekko wasn't the one overseeing all the 'daily' chores and events going on in the background, his evolvement in a matter like this meant shit was about to get serious.

The closer to his door you were, the louder the music playing through his opened door and windows. The closer you were to the confrontation you threatened the two youngsters with, the less courage you had - you even almost backed out at one point. Was it worth the turmoil? You could deal with them in the morning after you let it go through your head. No. This way exactly the fucking reason why they snuck out again. You couldn't go easy on them now. You needed to pull through. Wait a minute, though. Cimi took over your patrol until you settled this mess, so not being on the designed spot could mean you'd get in trouble... Hohoho, you stopped yourself for a second. You were a fucking leader, there was no punishment for you anytime soon. Just outside the door, you motioned for the duo to stay put so you could debrief Ekko on the situation.

The door was opened, inviting everyone to come in case he'd be needed... And to let the fresh air and sounds of nature come on. What sounds of nature you genuinely didn't know, because as usual, Ekko was blasting his newest track so loud you couldn't even hear your own damn thoughts. Sitting at his desk, he indulged deeply in his work, dismantling an old watch to pieces and laying all the small parts in front of him. There must've been enough on his mind already - Day of Progress was behind the corner and a bird chirped that Sevika (Silco's right-hand woman) was delivering a bunch of Shimmer to Piltover two days from now. For what purpose you didn't know, but Firelights saw and elected only one solution at the last general meeting - blowing every barrel to pieces. Ekko never could've fallen asleep before a big stunt like this. On top of this incoming event, he was hot on his feet holding a different sort of watch, letting his door open in case anything happened. Since you had a night watch scheduled and Ekko hated bothering you with stuff during those, he was most likely prepared to deal with any and all problems for the night.

Hugging the doorframe, you allowed yourself a few seconds to watch him undoing the screws. You liked everything about this view; his dread-hawk swaying gently each time he moved his head, the silver pieces braided clinking each time they collided. You liked watching the muscles on his shoulders release and tighten as he fidgeted in his chair. One thing you loved dearly was the way he hummed whatever song was playing. You wanted to stay put until he'd notice you, asking the most cliche question you'd ever hear... But there was no time for that. Since you got to work soon, you forcibly broke the little idyll, smoothed his shoulder gently, and lowered the volume on his radio.

"No wonder I have to yell at you whenever we talk, geez." - You muttered, leaning your ass into his desk, staying out of his sight a little longer. - "Soon enough, I'll have to learn sign language." The smile, you thought to yourself, the damn smile. Each time you'd surprise him like that (for example, now you were supposed to be on a watch and instead, you were in his fucking room), a serotonin-filled, blissful expression formed on his face. Trying to act cocky and come up with a well-suited pick-up line, Ekko leaned his elbow into the back of his chair and leaned closer to you.

"Hold your horses, cowboy, I'm not here to deal with personal stuff. We got a situation on our hands." - You tried to stop him, but Ekko clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. "It's just one pick-up line. You secretly love 'em, girl, come on." - The man whispered, having you sigh in defeat. - "Nature is sure as hell better at inventing wonder than me, because damn, you're living proof." - With that, you had to chuckle; you loved his various attempts at making you flirt with him and sometimes, when your schedule wasn't as tight, you reciprocated his advances. "Wow, that's a new one. Like the sound of that." - You admitted, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear as your cheek got flushed. The boy chuckled breathlessly, seemingly happy with how his advances affected you... For the millionth consecutive time.

"Mhm, heard how Damien told that to Cini earlier today and had to try out. Anyway, yeah, business, beautiful. What can I help you with? Kept the door open like you asked me to, thought they'd come to me in case a problem would arise. You know I don't like it when someone bothers you on your watch." - Ekko explained. "Well, no one came to me with a problem... I discovered one." "Anything I missed?" "Lorette and Almonder snuck out to do business with Butcher. Remember that demon living at the outer edge of the Lanes? That Butcher. Thankfully, they didn't strike any deal with him, he swore they hadn't signed any contract. Asked me if we'd be willing the kids help with his cargo, actually." "Fuck." - This time, Ekko finally put the screwdriver on the table beside him, massaging the root of his nose. The 'fuck' wasn't surprised, however; far from it, actually. With a long exhale, Ekko nodded to himself and got ready for whatever you had in store for him.

"Wait a damn minute... You knew about it." - You wondered, furrowing. So far, you weren't angry, which was good news. You were just confused. - "Did they ask your permission? Was my freak-out unwarranted and redundant? Did I make a fool of myself tonight?" "No, no, no, you got it wrong. They didn't ask me or talk to me about this. I mean..." - Ekko started, catching your forearm as soon as you straightened up. Now, you were getting angry. - "I knew it was going on, Y/N, I won't deny that. But I assumed you had it under control. You've never brought it up and you have enough to stress about as is, so I didn't ask. What do you need from me, did the two do something I need to take care of?" - As your mouth swung open, Ekko licked his lips in anticipation. He had it coming, didn't he?

"Are we acting causal about this? 'What do you need from me'? Are you not even a bit mad at them?" - Oh, great, there you fucking were again. Your tone raised slightly as you mocked his words, throwing your palms in the air in a bewildered gesture. "Of course, I was concerned if that's what you're asking. But as I said - I thought you had it under control." "That I had it under control... Aha." - The implication of him being careless towards the kids in your community was what did for Ekko - the burning flame was set ablaze in his chest as he took a deep breath, bending his head back to quieten the urge to raise his voice. The two of you agreed to guidelines regarding your arguments, laying down a set of basic rules you both did your best to follow - no pointless yelling, throwing stuff around, saying names, or bringing up personal shit (only when you argued about personal shit - in those arguments, however, you agreed on leaving all the colony-related issues aside). The yelling rule was the only part of your agreement you consistently violated.

"Don't give me this tone, Y/N." - Ekko was now standing on his feet as well, looking you in the face with his eyes narrowed. - "Out of all the people around here, I'd think you'd be the one to realize how much shit we needed to prepare for the Progress Day. You know that these days mean the most opportunities to fuck up Silco's businesses. The amount of shit I had to check in the last two days wore me the fuck out - I ensured our tech was in good shape, and that we had everything we'll need, all the food, all the clothes, all the small fucking utensils among other things. Do I look like I had the time to..." "You're so self-absorbed it's ridiculous at times." "And you're saying mean shit just because you're angry." "You didn't have the time to do fucking what?" - You turned to face him, your nostrils widening as you took a deep breath. - "What? To take a moment to step in and talk to them? To help me around with getting them in a lane? Maybe, just maybe, talk about how dangerous their endeavors were? How does that sound to you, you dick? Do I look like Vander you? Because I can't singlehandedly raise everyone around here!"

"We aren't taking this further unless you take that back." - Ekko pointed his finger at you, the vein on his temple becoming prominent. Nodding, you agreed with his point. The pact was established after a very messy and long fight - you've been at it for hours, and when it ended, the fallout could be felt for weeks. It was then that you promised never to spit insults at one another again. It was really hurtful, all the names you came up with just to spite each other. To be fair, it was the harshest winter you've had to face that year and you were both growing desperate, bottling all the anger inside until... It exploded. Now, even during the most heated arguments, you reminded yourselves of the pact and did your best to howl at each other respectfully. "Fine... You're right. Got a bit too heated there." "Almonder, Lorette!" - Ekko called out, pacing around the room, fuming. The two kids immediately stepped inside, pale as the moon; they had to hear you going at it. Well, everyone in the radius surely did. Woah, you thought to yourself, did you look like this back when you were kids and Vander gave you a lecture? Palms trembling as the kids held onto one another, their bright eyes goggling at you, lips slightly parted. Jesus, even though you were mad, you had to bite on your lip not to laugh a bit. - "Start. Talking." - Ekko stated silently, looking at the kid emotionlessly. He was just staring. His demeanor was giving you goosebumps.

"I know you're both mad, like, mad-mad..." - Almonder started, making your heads fly up so you could look at him, narrowing your eyes. You and Ekko looked like disappointed parents, you had to admit. Lorette, whose mental had taken enough toil already, stepped forward to explain the situation because Almonder cracked under pressure easily. "You have every right to be mad. Y/N warned us before and we get it. But, the guy isn't as bad as he seems and we're sneaky enough to make it to his house undetected, there's nothing to worry about, it's safe..." "Yeah, okay, just scratch that bullshit and start that over." - Ekko huffed, his eyes darting between her and Almonder, who was almost fainting behind her. "We didn't do it without thinking it through - Butcher sealed a deal with some Piltoverian steelworks and asked if we'd like to help carry the merchandise inside his house - the ballroom acts as this warehouse of sorts. He promised pretty good money for it." "Is money more important than your life?" - You asked, standing next to Ekko. Both of you were slowly piping down. As they explained, their reasoning wasn't half bad, you could understand it. You were the same. "We... We didn't want to do it for ourselves. We aren't interested in making money, Ekko. We hoped we'd do the work, get paid, and give it to you..." - Lorette explained on the verge of tears. Almonder stepped up next to her, continuing where Lorette left off. - "We heard Scar talking about some medicine rations running low and the need to buy more before winter comes... That's why we snuck out."

As you stared at the two kids, you forgot how to talk. That's why they snuck out, freaking you to death? Because they wanted to help? You had no idea if you were supposed to be frustrated or touched. Ekko, however, didn't waste much time before getting his opinions out there. "All Y/N has asked of you was to ask or tell someone, anyone, if I'm assuming correctly. Does making us aware of where you at sound complicated?" - Ekko asked rhetorically; before Lorette could answer, he was already back to full ramble mode. - "People in the Lanes don't know who you are, not the way they know me or Y/N. They've never seen you. For them, you're intruders, outsiders, someone who doesn't belong. One funny look at the wrong person, someone who takes it personally, and your ass is fucking grass." "We know..." "No. No, you fucking don't. You can't know because you were two years old when shit hit the fan. You may have an idea of the Lanes, but don't know a thing. Believe it or not, but I've been your age and thought I discovered how the world works, but guess what - I was fucking wrong." - The man cut Lorette off immediately, making her lower her head. - "I admire your actions, truly. You're acting heroic and I know you've meant well for the community, but... This is a huge and unnecessary risk for everyone. We worked hard to get where we at. We lived in the streets, we survived poverty, hunger, and thirst just so the kids we'll watch grow up could live in peace... You repay us with this. Let's play pretend for a bit, okay? What if someone noticed you, hm? What then? Dosn't matter if it would be Pilties, Silco's people, or some low-class goons. Everyone out there is an equal threat to us. Not that I wouldn't have faith in you two, but it would be hard to keep your mouth shut with your life on the lane. They'd do horrible things to you just to figure out where you came from, who you work for, what's your goal, and where's the rest of us. Let's pretend for a bit longer - if you'd even get out of this situation alive and managed to drag yourselves back home, your problem would become our problem. Eventually, someone would come to hunt us down - some greedy morons, the Enforcers, or, in the worst case, Silco's goons. We'd have to relocate, burn this to the ground, and leave everything behind. Look around you. Would you like to see your home fall in flames? Because I've seen it already. It crushes your soul. We have newborns whose mothers would be forced to drink the sewage water and breathe in the Grey. We have kids and orphans we need to take care of. If we wouldn't stave to death, we'd be sent to Stillwater or killed by others. As much as we're strong, we could also fall if the ground beneath our feet shakes even so slightly. Do you like the thought of that? Do you see what's at stake here? Do you realize why Y/N always dragged you back home and made sure no one bothered you? " - This was, in your opinion, just enough. Taking in a breath, you caught his forearm in your palm, patted his shoulder, and nodded. Ekko got the message through, you assured him, a bit too well when taking Lorette's horrified expression into account. Just the punishment you asked for.

Trying to steady his breathing, Ekko's palm ghosted over yours as he cleared his throat. "You got it?" - The man asked silently, his voice and expression growing warmer. Both kids nodded in unison and watched Ekko approach them, patting their shoulders. - "You're good kids and even better people, but you need to follow the rules to ensure we're all safe. Together, we are strong; alone, we're an easy target. I'll think about letting you work for Butcher if that's what he's interested in... But it would be under adult supervision and you'd come to tell us anytime you'd be leaving or coming back. We on the same wave?" - Again, the kids nodded in unison. "Come back in the morning. You'll get an additional punishment so you'll really have time to think about what happened. I'll be overseeing it myself." - Ekko smiled, sending you an amused look over his shoulder. - "Run off, you two. Good night."

After the two troublemakers left, you decided to sit down on his messy bed for a bit - he had a book on forcefields opened on his nightstand, a half-empty glass of water right next to it. "Sorry for implying you don't care." - You mumbled, looking up at him as he watched you with an endearing expression. "Sorry for not stepping in sooner. Would've if you hinted at not being cool with their shenanigans." - The man sat back onto his chair, scooting over to you. When he was done with taking in each inch of your face it seemed, he picked up your palm and started playing with your fingers. "It's kinda funny." - Ekko muttered, kissing your knuckles tenderly. "What is?" "... Remembering we were the same. Trying to change the world even though we realistically couldn't do shit against Pilties. Getting ourselves into trouble, getting our asses kicked by Vander, and still thinking we were right, not him. Poor guy had it hard with a bunch of nuisances like us." "We weren't smart kids. In fact, most of us had temper issues and a savior complex." "Not that we'd get much smarter, huh?" - Ekko murmured, placing his fingertips on yours to entangle your fingers together. - "And the savior complex is still here, also. I miss, though." "Hm?" - You wondered, smiling at feeling his warmth indulging you.

"I miss being stupid and not knowing better, thinking the whole world can kiss my damn ass. I miss times when adults solved all our problems by drinking it out in Vander's pub." "Ekko..." - You whispered, licking your lips. Before you could stop yourself a cheesy, stupid joke left your mouth. - "You are still really stupid. You're just lucky I like that in a person." "That's a low blow, girl." - He snickered, leaning back into his chair. There was a bright smile on his lips now, his expression and demeanor relaxed. - "Come 'ere." - The man whispered, tugging on your palm to make you lean into him. You knew what was about to go down - the way his fingers drew circles into your skin, creeping out closer and closer to your elbow, the spark in his eyes... Therefore, you deemed it appropriate to get back on your watch.

"I should go now, Ekko. You seem... Busy and I'm sure you'd appreciate a moment of silence." "Not gonna work on me tonight, girl. Let me apologize properly." - And with that, the boy planted a peck into your palm, his eyes not leaving yours the entire time. Your face got flushed... Just like every time he'd been doing this. In intimate moments like these, you've often found yourself wondering.

In a novel you once read, the term apologize properly implied something entirely different. You've caught yourself pondering about it many times, actually, your imagination is very vivid at helping you imagine what could've been. It didn't leave out a single detail - the muscles on his shoulders moving in unison as he'd get on his knees; he'd have his signature cocky shit-eating grin on his lips, his eyes glued to your expression. Each touch would send a wave of heat through your body, weakening your knees. It would be so hard to breathe, watching the hottest man you've met preparing to eat you out like a dish. Pressing your knees together, you pulled your head out of the gutter. Ekko smirked, knowing exactly what you were thinking about; after taking a whiff of your scent, the man kissed your wrist. - "I'm sorry for acting like an ignorant dick." - Hearing him reiterating what you've said earlier made you chuckle. Dragging his nose on your skin, he pressed his lips into the sweet spot just under your elbow socket. - "Can't say how sorry I am for not stepping in sooner." - Pulling the chair closer, his lips traveled to your upper arm, meeting the hem of your short sleeve. - "I'm so sorry you're overworked with all the people's trouble and thank you for acknowledging I can be a moron when it comes to these issues." Honestly, you expected him to stop with the last kiss, but tonight, Ekko presumably felt a bit bolder. He usually got like that when a big event came up as if he wasn't to come back. Taking hold of his shoulder, you didn't bother covering how your breath hitched when he burrowed his face into the crook of your neck, kissing your collarbone through the fabric, muttering another apology before traveling to your neck.

Imagine being with Ekko was so easy, a given, something bound to happen... In the future. Being with him would be easy, just like breathing. Waking up in one bed, sharing breakfast with him, kisses, and candid touches before leaving to fill your duties. You could imagine coming back home, arguing about what you're gonna have for dinner - after you'd be done, he'd kiss you and tell you he missed you and wants to hear about your day. You'd fall asleep together.

Unfortunately, the past still riddled you. Whatever you had going on you called 'a product of unfortunate circumstances'. If things hadn't turned out like this, if Vander hadn't been murdered, Ekko would have been bound to become a technological prodigy. His creativity would ensure him a prestigious scholarship at the Academy. The two of you would see each other less and less until you'd cut ties altogether. You'd remain living in Lanes until you'd choke on the Grey. One day, you simply wouldn't have woken up. You remember what Ekko felt for Powder when you were kids - seeing this side of him, knowing what lust and hunger did to him, the clues were plastered all over the place. You couldn't shake his love for her out of your head. What if you were just a bandaid? What if his feelings for you weren't even real? What if you were the only choice he was left with? In that universe, you wouldn't even get the chance to get this close. You remembered every single detail of the two of them together - the way he looked at her and laughed at her cheesy jokes, how he was interested in every single itsy bomb she made, how cool Ekko always said Powder was, the way he made certain she was safe and right behind him. You and Ekko were close too, rest assured, but it wasn't like that. You took care of one another as close friends. You've even heard Benzo and Vander joking about it as you served your two-month lasting duty in Last Drop's taproom, you heard it all 'My ward and your daughter... Who would've thought?' Benzo asked Vander, both laughing as they smoked.

You remembered the night Ekko kissed you for the first time, that one lonely night in the middle of a summer five years ago. You've spent years beating around the bush, never overstepping the boundaries of a friendship, never taking the final step over the edge. You've thought about it a few times before he kissed you, of course; you wondered about the taste of his lips, the warmth of his body, and the spark in his voice. The whole time, you hadn't said a word, just continued pretending you weren't hopelessly attracted to your best friend of almost twenty years. That's when your other friends started pointing out all the little things, asking if you 'finally started officially dating'. This was the first time you've ever thought about the possibility of the feelings being reciprocated. At first, it was hard to believe - Cimi tried to convince you there was something about how Ekko acted around you; it had switched quite some time ago, but since you weren't backing out, Ekko was getting more and more courageous. A huge celebration was happening at that time - Firelight managed to shut down one of Silco's biggest operations to date, so of course you've bought enormous supplies of alcohol. While you stuck around the main celebration in the cafeteria, Ekko excused himself to work on his stopwatch. You knew something was off but didn't pry; Akali (a mutual friend) was drunkardly dancing on the tabletops, singing traditional Ionian songs, you wouldn't miss for the world. If something was bugging Ekko off, it was better to let him sort out his thoughts and let him come when he felt the time was right. What you didn't expect was him appearing next to you out of the blue, his ego and courage boosted with liquid courage.

The boy just took your hand, gave your beer to Cimi, and dragged you along. As you asked what was going on, Ekko didn't waste a second answering, hiding behind the corner with you in his arms. He'd never been this close - his hands pressed on the sides of your head, his knee pressed between your knees, his fingers ghosting over your cheeks. "I need to tell you something." - He whispered, staring at your lips. His fingers started playing with your hair as he leaned in, the smell of alcohol giving away how much he'd drank. "Yeah?" - You asked, prompting him to continue. "I... Had a crush. Until she started talking to the gun." - Ekko admitted silently, looking away for a bit. His words stabbed right through your heart; he was talking about Powder. Right when you thought he was about to kiss you. The situation suddenly didn't feel as comfortable. Until he started talking again. - "Look, the thing is... I'm so in love with you that it hurts. Every way I slice it, I was a dick and I should've let you know sooner. I realized it a while back, actually, but never knew how to let you know - the longer you've been around, the more I fell under your spell. Knew I was fucked on the morning when I found you playing with the kids, wearing that damn flower crown that you put on my head later. I should've kissed you right then and there." "That's like... Forever ago." "I was worried you're not feeling it. Even now, I'm not sure if I'm just bothering..." "I do, Ekko. I've been feeling it for a long time." - You whispered, nodding, sliding your palm under his tank top. The boy hissed in reaction to the contact, shivering as you gently dug your nails into the skin on his back. - "I was worried you're not feeling it." "Fuck, we're so stupid." - The boy whispered, smiling widely, fixing his grasp on your jaw. If you'd be looking closely, you'd notice the tears of happiness in his eyes. God, he was the happiest man on the planet. "We're fucking idiots." - Giggling yourself, you finally closed the gap and kissed him.

No matter how happy that memory was, Ekko admitted to crushing on Powder. That was your reality check. Each time you wanted to jump in and let Ekko love you, this realization stopped you. You've never had the balls to outright ask him whether you're the consolation prize or not. You desperately tried to forget it, but it was always with you. Just when he was about to steal a kiss from you, you turned your head away from him. This rejection always froze him for a bit, letting him take a breath with a hint of sorrow crossing his face. There was nothing on Runeterra he'd rather do than kiss you. - "Was that apology enough? I can go on, I'm sure you can make up at least fifty other reasons I should be on my knees now." - Ekko asked, not giving up entirely. His voice dropped as he caressed your cheek with his nose, smirking as he felt your body leaning into his touch. "I'll have to get going soon." - You mumbled, leaning away. You kissed his temple hastily so he'd know you appreciated the intimacy, but then you leaned away definitely. Ekko nodded, knowing better than to push you into things you weren't interested in. - "Wanna tell me about the track? I'm pretty sure I haven't heard this one yet."

"Oh, yeah, Akali popped up for a bit." - Ekko smiled, giving you a piece of paper - a note from her, presumably. Ah, Akali. You met a few years back - the Ionian woman accidentally stumbled into the colony, looking for someone named 'Jhin'. They weren't friends - she had a contract on his head. As you watched each other cluelessly (according to the map of Zaun's sewage system, this place was supposed to be empty) and before you stopped yourself, the silliest question left your mouth. - "Wanna have a lunch with me?" She ended up staying in the colony for a week. Once she lowered he suspicions and started talking with you, you clicked. She was the funniest person you've met, you'd swear and her opinions were refreshing. She'd traveled a big part of Runeterra, so she'd tons of cool stories to share. This was part of the reason behind kids loving her. Their favorite pastime with Akali was playing hide and seek and she was fucking incredible at it. Akali was brought up as an assassin on one of Ionian's oldest orders, so hide-and-seek was a piece of cake for her. Kids looked for her for hours and finding her was always incredibly difficult. The woman was also a self-proclaimed rap protegee, so she and Ekko hit it off immediately. To this day, the duo would freestyle anytime she'd drop by. The duo could make you wholeheartedly laugh with just how they made fun of each other, acting like children in adult bodies. Apparently, she didn't even hang around to say hi... Yikes.

"You should've seen her, haven't seen her this rowdy and happy like... Ever." "I mean, I get it. This track slaps. I could die if I ever created something like this... Of happiness. Don't give me this look, I was joking. " - You agreed, laughing as you leaned over his shoulder. Ekko was now back to working on taking the watch apart, the screwdriver spinning between his fingers. "Imaging you wouldn't be around to pester me isn't fun." - The man mumbled under his breath, pecking your chees before you could lean away from him. Nudging his shoulder, you weren't able to hide the smile breaking on your face. - "The track isn't hers, strictly speaking. It's a mix by this Ionian Ronin dude or whatever she said. But that's not the news - she's dating some Piltoverian chicks and said the girl's a huge pop star. Her name's Seraphine, I think, we should check it out." "Sneaking to a concert?" - You joked, raising your eyebrows. "Thought you'd enjoy that. Akali promised she'd sneak to the backstage." "First on the order is Sevika's delivery. We can talk about other things once that whole fuzz fizzles out." "Ma'am, yes ma'am." - The boy mumbled, chuckling to himself. - "Had a weird dream I wanted to tell you all about."

"What dream?" "I... Dreamt I could travel in time, back and forth, undoing all the wrong things that happened. It was so cool." - The boy whispered, smiling at himself. - "And when I checked my notes this morning... I feel like I can actually do it. There's something wrong with my calculations but I can't find what. It could be anything. Before you start, no, it's not because the dream was so vivid." "I wasn't about to say that." - You reiterated, knowing you were about to say exactly that. "Seen it in your eyes." "Touché." "Does it sound insane? Traveling the time?" - Ekko asked, watching as you picked up one of the pocket watches Ekko proudly displayed on his shelf. This guy was obsessed with pocket watches ever since he was a kid - you've spent countless nights on the junkyard and each time he'd find a cool piece, he'd run to you just so he could show it to you. Each time you entered his room when he wasn't listening to music, it took a bit to get used to the out-of-sync ticking. It used to drive you insane.

"Wouldn't you look at that... Ekko - the boy who shattered time. It has its charm, doesn't it?" - As you smiled at him, a spark twinkled in Ekko's eyes. His theory was probably nothing more but a mad dream, yeah, but who were you to stop him? As long as he had his conviction and passion, you'd trust Ekko could make it. He could figure it out. - "I really gotta go now, though." "Oh, one last thing before you go!" "Yeah? What is it?" - You asked, stopping at the door. "We're leaving at sunset tomorrow. I wondered if you'd be down for some sparring with me before we set out. This shit makes me nervous, all the scenarios of what can fuck up are driving me insane - this would help a lot."

As you thought about Ekko's request, a furrow appeared on your face. He was well aware about how much you hated traveling to the Lanes and yet, he got desperate enough to ask you. You couldn't wrangle inside the colony, no way; you didn't want people to see what you could do, so you took trips into the old warehouses where you spent time playing as kids. His physical strength was impressive. Even though Ekko wasn't the tallest in the colony, he was muscly and strong. The guy spent a considerable amount of time with physical work, fixing stuff around the colony, and dragging materials around. Thanks to being shorter, he was agile, and thanks to his intelligence, he won fights that weren't in his favor. On top, Ekko had stamina and could take a fair bit of beating, especially with adrenalin rushing through his veins. His physical power, however, was nothing in comparison to your arcana. Truth be told, you were the only one who was able to put Ekko in his place. You grounded him in reality, reminding him he was still only human. After a bit, you nodded.

"See you in the morning, after I catch some sleep." "Deal, see you then, girl."

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