#which is of course nothing against other artists it's just my shit brain telling me shit as i lay here waiting for blissful sleep | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

burnedbyshoto · 4 years ago

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the bodyguard

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

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pairing: bodyguard!kirishima eijirou x idol!reader

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

word count: 20,500

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

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“I’ll be okay.”

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

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

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

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

What had he done?

What in the fucking world had he done?!

BOOM!

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

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

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

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

05:30.

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

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Better?

No, not yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Cause I’m a stalker, duh.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Kirishima-kun, are you okay?”

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

“Kirishima-kun?”

“Yo, he’s not looking too hot?”

“Kirishima?!”

“Can you hear us?!”

Silence.

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

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

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

He was okay.

“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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ghost-ghost-baby · 3 years ago

Text

Narcissist (alpha!readerxOmega!Bakugo soulmate au)

An: this is heavily inspired by the song narcissist by younger hunger definitely recommend listening to it!

An: BIG TY TO MY BETA FOR EDITING THIS ABSOLUTE MONSTER OF A FIC WE STAN!

Word count: 3.2k (ur welcome)

Summary: Bakugo being a little shit basically- Mina and Denki r sick of him- reader runs out of scent blockers-

Warnings: omegaverse, swearing, Bakugo being a dick, reader just thinks he’s hot, gets a bit spicy but nothing graphic, non traditional dynamics (subby alphas) drug use (weed)

You were in a familiar room, one you’d come to love since you’d started dreaming of it, and you sat on the bed and waited… any moment now.

“Oi, are you here, shithead?” The voice of your omega was dreamier than it was in real life; his harsh words unable to punctuate the tranquility of your dream.

“I always am, Katsuki!” You chirped, grinning as he slowly faded into existence. The black tank top and jeans he wears make him look far too good, and your brain short-circuited for a few seconds.

“I told you not to fucking call me that!” He growled, but you only laughed. Reaching out to grab his hands before he could stop you, you pull him down so you could kiss him. Any anger he had quickly melted away, and Katsuki had pulled one hand away to rest on your shoulder and pushed back. You got the point, you pulled away for air and leaned back on your elbows as you did. Katsuki followed and straddled you without a moment of hesitation. His mouth latched onto your neck and you let out a hum. With one hand gravitating to tangle in his hair, he gave you another push that had you lying flat on your back.

“Hey-”

“Shut the fuck up, don’t ruin this.” Katsuki bit down on your throat and you squeaked, although he licked over the mark seconds later to soothe it, and only pulled away to kiss you when you tried to talk again. You melted, let your hands wander down to his thighs, and had your thumbs rubbing absent-minded circles. Then, Katsuki was unbuttoning the shirt you had on, hands quickly trailing lower to-

“Y/N! Did you hear what Mr. Aizawa said?” Mina’s voice brought you back from the dream you had the night before, and you blinked at her as you blanked.

“No way I'm working with their dumbass!” Katsuki snarled as Kiri forced him into a seat at your table, and you turned your head to Sero with a questioning look. He usually knew what was going on in class.

“We have a group project for a presentation, Mr. Aizawa picked the groups-”

“Oh hell yeah, all my best bro’s working together? Sounds like fun to me!” Denki leaned over to hug you and Mina, and the pieces started to click together. You were working on an art project, with your mate, who hate-

“How could anything be fun with Y/n around, they fucking ruin everything.” Katsuki grumbled to himself, refusing to meet your eyes despite sitting opposite you. Kiri mouthed an apology to you from his seat next to Katsuki. Honestly, you had no idea why he’d decided to act like… such a brat really, but it was just an act, however annoying it was. The two of you were soulmates, he’d come around, eventually.

“Oh hush, Bakugo, Y/n’s a riot and we all know it! You’re the one who goes to sleep at like, 8pm” Denki came to your aid. The electric blonde then pressed a kiss to your cheek that had Katsuki gritting his teeth.

“So, what's the project, guys?” You flipped through your book to a fresh page, resting your chin on your hand as you waited for the others to speak.

“We have to show the versatility of styles and composition under a singular theme!” Kiri was the one that answered you, and the group immediately started throwing around ideas.

“I think we could do horror, a lot of horror artists have different composition styles and still manage to convey the-”

“Tch, that’s the best you could come up with? I’m not surprised, an alpha as shitty as you can’t be capable of any decent ideas.” Katsuki sneered, but you only smiled at him as the group agreed with your idea. Your omega merely grumbled and hunched over in his seat as the group discussed the different artists you could use as examples.

You’d stayed late to double-check something with a professor, and you were still flipping through your notebook as you walked through the unusually empty halls. You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, and before you knew it you ran into someone, the same someone who shoved you against a wall seconds later, but your fear subsided when you realised it was just Katsuki.

“Watch where you’re fucking going, dipshit.” Katsuki wasn’t even sure why he’d pushed you up against the wall, but being this close to you, touching you… it was..nice…

“Tch, god your scent is so weak, you smell like a fucking beta, how’d I get stuck with such a runt, huh? Some sick kind of joke.” Katsuki’s tone didn't match what he was saying. The way he leaned forward to rub his cheek over your scent gland definitely said otherwise, but you stayed quiet, he always found some excuse to scent you, but he’d usually get embarrassed and storm off if you dared to say anything.

“You’re pathetic, you know? Being this submissive for an omega, are you sure you’re not a beta? It’d make more sense.” You bit your lip when Bakugo pressed a kiss to your neck, only hesitating a moment before he started sucking a mark onto your skin. His words bounced right off of you because all you could focus on was how hot he was and how he’d subconsciously put his thigh between your legs and thank fuck you were on scent blockers, or you’d never hear the end of it.

“Really, you aren’t even going to try and defend yourself? You’re even weaker than I thought.” A growl next to your ear made you shiver, and Katsuki pushed away with a snarl when he was satisfied. He cursed at you again and warned you ‘not to tell anyone or he’d kick your ass’ (he wouldn’t) before he walked away, leaving you to walk home with your head completely in the clouds.

“What took you so fucking long, huh idiot?” Katsuki was on you the second you appeared in the dream, pulling you down into a rather ferocious kiss before you could say anything. He bit your lip when you didn’t open your mouth fast enough, swallowing any protests you would have made, and continued to kiss you until you were dizzy. “I’ve been waiting two hours…” He pulled away to kiss under your jaw, and if you didn’t know him so well you’d miss the insecure tone in his voice.

“Sorry, Midoriya wanted-” You stopped when Katsuki growled, biting down so hard you were surprised he didn't draw blood.

“Why the fuck are you saying his name here, huh? Are you tryna piss me off?” He pulled away to sneer at you. You opened your mouth to explain, but the words died in your throat when he unzipped your hoodie, and any coherent thought you had went out the window when he started to kiss your neck.

Everything was ready. The lounge room was set up, complete with snacks, drinks, and stationery for you and your friends to work on the project. They were meant to be here any second, and you couldn’t help but hover near the door to your apartment. You weren’t used to having people over and it still put you on edge having others in your space. But that thought left your head when a knock sounded on your door. You quickly opened it and were almost knocked over by Denki and Mina engulfing you in a hug.

“Thanks so much for hosting bro!”

“Awww you laid out all these snacks and stuff too! An omega’s gonna be really lucky to have you one day Y/n!” They pushed inside. Denki closed the door as Mina oohed and aahed over the setup, their praise had a slight blush rising to your face as you sheepishly rubbed your neck. Sero was next, quickly hugging you before he joined Denki and Mina, then Katsuki and Kirishima last. The blonde pushed past you without saying hello, but Kiri pulled you into a hug so tight you couldn’t breathe for a second, and was complimenting the setup as you took a seat. You tried to sit next to Mina, but Denki let out a whine and the pair was pulling you down between them before you had time to protest. Denki immediately leaned on you once you were settled. Katsuki couldn’t focus on the project, how could he, when his two dipshit friends were all over his mate. And you weren’t even doing anything to stop them! In fact, you were leaning into their hugs and giggling at every stupid joke they made! It had Katsuki fuming. Kirishima was the only one close enough to smell the angry shift in his scent, and he glanced between his friend and you, slowly putting the pieces together. You really had no idea what was happening, but Denki’s head was on your shoulder, and Mina’s arm around your waist as she asked questions about the project, giggling and pressing a kiss to your cheek whenever you got confused, which happened more than you’d like to admit. The blonde gritted his teeth when Mina’s hand went to your thigh, you were his! Nobody else should ever be touching you like that! You should know better! So when you excused yourself to grab something from your room, of course he made up some excuse about needing the bathroom so he could follow you.

The door to your room closed with a click, and you quickly spun around, expecting to see Mina or Denki, anyone except Katsuki to be honest.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He was seeing red at this point. He cornered you and made you stumble back until your waist hit your desk.

“Uh- getting more pens-?” You held out the pack of pens with a confused look on your face that only made Katsuki angrier. How were you so stupid? And so fucking cute when you were- he cut off that thought, he needed to focus on yelling at you. Not the way your brows furrowed and how you nervously bite your lip as you waited for him to say something. Wait- were you blushing? Fuck, maybe he should-

“Katsuki? Are you oka-“

“Shut the fuck up, dipshit.” He snarled. Then, catching you both off guard, he leaned forward and kissed you. Your eyes fluttered closed immediately. He’d only kissed you in your dreams, which was nothing compared to this, and you hesitantly placed your hands on his waist. His hands went to your hair to pull you closer, tugging it until you got the message and parted your lips for him. Katsuki let out a hum of approval as he deepened the kiss, why hadn’t he done this sooner? You couldn’t focus on anything other than how much Katsuki tasted like caramel, he didn’t taste like caramel in the dreams. You couldn’t help but whine when he pulled back. Another insistent tug on your hair had you tilting your head back, and Katsuki didn’t waste any time kissing over your neck. You were so lost in the feeling you almost missed the words he growled against your skin.

“You should know better, you’re mine. Other people shouldn’t be fucking touching you like that.”

“Do you think they’re like…. Finally-” Mina made a hand gesture that had Denki cackling, even Kiri cracked a smile.

“I hope so, it’s getting hard to watch all the back and forth.” Sero sighed, dropped his pen, and stretched.

“Yeah, have you seen how mad Bakubro gets though? It’s pretty fun to push his buttons like this!” Denki grinned as he leaned his head on Mina’s shoulder, and she wrapped her arm around his waist.

“I don’t know… Bakugo’s uh… stubborn, to put it nicely.”

“Your scent is weird… are you wearing a different perfume?” Mina leaned her head on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist as you glanced at Katsuki. After whatever the fuck had happened in your room, he’d gone back to acting like he hated you, so, you’d kept letting Denki and Mina do whatever they wanted. He had his eyes fixated on the work, and you turned back to Mina with a smile.

“Oh, sorry about that! I forgot to refill my scent blockers and my doctor’s not available until next week.”

“Don’t be sorry, bro! It’s nice, like really, really nice!” Denki came up behind you, throwing a quick glance at Katsuki before he leaned forward, crooning and rubbing his cheek over your scent gland, Mina doing the same a moment later. The pen Katsuki was holding snapped, his angry scent pumping out in waves as he glared daggers into the book in front of him, all too aware of you laughing.

You were hyper-aware of how strong your scent was, this was the longest you’d gone without scent blockers since you’d presented, and you’d lit a scented candle to try and cover it up. It hadn’t really worked, maybe you should light some incense-

“Y/n! Sorry we’re early!” Mina’s hand on your shoulder broke you from your thoughts, and you shook your head before you smiled. Denki cut you off before you could apologize about your scent.

“Damn Y/n! It smells like you baked cookies- oh my god did you bake-”

“Don’t be stupid, babe, it’s just their scent.” Mina shoved him inside, shaking her head as she followed and closed the door behind her.

“Oh! Of course!” Denki nodded, and he and Mina linked arms with you. They walked you over to the couch and sat you all down with grins on their faces.

“Uh… guys-?” You didn’t trust that look, it never leads to anything good.

“Well, since the project is like, 99.5% done-” Mina started, hand coming up to play with your hair.

“We thought we deserved a reward!” Denki interrupted, reaching into his bag and producing a blunt. You felt your own grin forming.

“Oh my god- is that from-”

“Shinso! You know he sells the best stuff on campus, I decided to splurge for my bros!” Denki looked incredibly pleased with himself, and you couldn’t help but tackle the blonde in a hug.

“Oh my god Denki, you’re the best!”

The three of you were blazed by the time the others got there. Sero happily bounced over to share the blunt, while Katsuki and Kiri just sighed and sat down with you. Katsuki’s eyes instantly zoned in on where you were lying on Mina and Denki on the couch. He was oddly silent as he tried to keep his cool, the nagging thoughts that had always been there slowly got stronger. He’d always had to be strong, people perceived him as weak just because of his dynamic, so he’d rejected the thought of being with an alpha, hoping for a beta or omega. Or you. You never made a big deal out of your dynamic, and always treated him as an equal. Then the dreams started. He loved you, he really did! But his whole reputation would go down the drain if he was claimed by an alpha, especially one with such a weak scent and mild presence. So…. he pretended to hate you in public because the two of you had your dreams, where nobody could judge him! Even if they did pale in comparison to real life. But lately… he couldn’t stop wondering… were you getting tired of waiting? With the way you were acting… the thought made his stomach turn and his canines come out. Especially since you had run out of blockers. Your scent getting stronger and stronger as the days went by. You were his alpha! You shouldn’t be scenting other people! Especially omegas! And you certainly shouldn’t be laying on them while you were ignoring him! You hadn’t even said hello to him! You were too busy getting high with those assholes like you didn't belong to him! You were his, it wasn’t fair!

Mina was the last out of the apartment. She kissed your cheek and winked at you as the door closed. The exhaustion set in as you leaned against the door.

“What the fuck was that?” Katsuki growled and made you startled when you saw him by the table. You only shrugged as you went to pack up the stuff on the couch.

“Denki got us some weed because the project was done-”

“Not that, dickhead! They were all over you!” He marched over to you, trying to ignore how good you smelled up close.

“And? We’re not-” You responded, and Katsuki was shoving you before he realized, ignoring the way you yelped as you fell on the couch. You sprawled on your back and glaring up at him.

“Katsuki! What the fuck!” Katsuki didn’t reply, eyes traveling over your vulnerable form. Flush rose to his face as he realized how provocative the position was, causing warmth to pool in his tummy. If kissing was so much better in reality, what would it be like to be inside you? Feel you clench around him and pull his hair when he hit your sweet spot? Would your thighs shake the same in real life when he just kept going? The omega didn’t even realize his scent had changed, he just licked his lips and stared at you with hooded eyes, fuck he wanted-

“Are you okay? You zoned out.” Fuck, when had you gotten up? You were so close now, your scent overwhelming. He never wanted you to go on blockers again.

“Fuck, Katsuki! Katsuki! Are you in heat?” It finally dawned on you. Katsuki’s scent had taken on a sweeter tone it didn’t usually have, and with the way he kept zoning out, it was obvious. Plus thoughts of him on top of you that wouldn’t leave your brain alone. Your question snapped him out of his daze, and the omega snarled at you, stepping back and stumbling when a jolt of pain went through him.

“Fuck off, like you could trigger-” His voice cut off as another wave of pain went through him, causing you to reached out to steady him without thinking. The omega was going to let out a growl but it quickly changed to a whine as it escaped his mouth. You pulled your hand back like it had burned, although your mate’s temperature was so high it wasn’t out of the question. You took two steps back and froze when a feral snarl ripped through the room, dark red eyes pinning you in your place.

“He-hey Katsuki…” Your voice stopped his growling, and it took every ounce of self-control you had to stay coherent as he advanced, your rut already trying to cloud your judgment. Your eyes darted around the room, maybe you could make it to the bathroom? Then Katsuki could ride out his heat and you could talk about it? yeah. Katsuki was only a foot away from you now, the grin he had on was somehow more unsettling than the snarl, and you shook your head to get some of your resolve back. Okay, three, two, one-

You made it maybe ten centimeters before Katuski caught you, and pushed you back down on the couch. He wasted no time sitting on your lap and tilting your face up to look into his eyes.

“You’re not getting away from me, Alpha. I know you want this. I should have done this months ago.” Sincerity shone through your omega’s lidded eyes, and you felt your small shred of resolve shrink away even more. Your hands flew to his chest to push him away.

“Ka-Katsuki it’s just- just your heat, you don’t mean-“

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t mean, alpha.” Katsuki was back to growling at you. His hands grabbed your wrists, pinned them down, and used his knees to keep them in place. He went back to cupping your face, red eyes boring into yours as he thought of what to say and a growl leaving him whenever you dared to look away. You were so, so obnoxiously pretty, it made it even harder to focus. Katsuki kept getting distracted by little details, like how your eyes shone and you kept biting your lip.

“You’re so fuckin stupid, ya know that? Of course, I fuckin want you, you’re my alpha- I don’t… I don’t care what other people think anymore, I just want you.” Katsuki’s tone was softer than you expected, and you could only gape at him as a blush quickly rose to your face. You knew he didn’t hate you, but hearing him say that lifted a weight off your shoulders you’d been carrying for who knows how long. The moment passed, all the softness went away as Katsuki leaned down to kiss you, and this time you kissed him back without any reservations.

#bnha #Bakugo x reader #omegaverse #bnha omegaverse #bnha x reader #omega Bakugo #alpha reader #reader insert #omegaverse imagine #bnha imagine

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

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Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader (part 1)

summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself. except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.

word count: 2875

warnings: smut... sort of (oral f receiving), voyeurism/exhibitionism (kinda?), touch of angst, lots of pining and awkwardness, jealous bucky being jealous, alcohol use (reader gets drunk)

Nothing annoyed you like being surrounded by stylists and being primped and prodded for hours at a time. It made you feel claustrophobic to be touched so much: makeup artists only inches from your face, tailors watching you change, hairstylists nearly spraying you in the eye or burning you on the forehead every few minutes.

Not to mention how uncomfortable it was to actually be in the whole get-up once they were done.

But, such was the nature of a red carpet event. This one was going to be particularly bland because it wasn't even a premiere or awards event but a launch party for a perfume campaign. How lame is that? It's one of those things that really only exists so that there can be pictures of it to put in a magazine, because they're always running out of good pictures of celebrities to publish.

Finally all dolled up to the point that you didn't look even very much like yourself anymore, your assistant accompanied you downstairs and into your driveway where your car was waiting; and, more importantly, its driver and your driver, Bucky.

He was a gruff sort of guy; certainly a man of few words and many brooding glares. Sometimes you thought he didn't like you— like maybe he resented your fame or something— but then he'd turn around and be so sweet all of a sudden and you didn't know what to think. For one, he demanded to open the door for you every time you got out of the car. Sometimes he even extended his hand for you to grab on to, which was especially useful for red carpet events when you were usually wearing skinny heels that were impossible to balance on.

Such was the case tonight as well, and you smiled up at him as he helped you out of the car and up towards the steps of the venue.

"Thank you," you smiled at him, and he barely smiled back.

"Have a good night, madam," he suggested, a formal stuffiness to the way he addressed you.

You nodded, "You too!" That made you pause, though, because you weren't sure what his night would entail at all. "Say, what is it that you do when I'm at an event like this?"

He seemed confused by your question. "Um, I sit in the car and wait until you're ready to leave."

Guilt seared in your chest and you frowned. "That's it? You don't, like, go out? Catch a movie?"

"Nope. That would prevent me from doing my other job, which is watching the points of entry to make sure there aren't any threats to security going in."

"Right…" you trailed off. "You could always come in, you know, grab some free drinks and stuff."

"I thought you didn't want any of your team following you around at events."

"Yeah, don't follow me around, just mingle and kill some time!"

Bucky shook his head. "If I'm not there as your driver or as your security, then I'm not there."

You shrugged. "Suit yourself, but please feel free to, like, get some food or whatever you wanna do while I'm in there! Don't just wait on me!"

He smiled, but it looked a little rehearsed. "Thank you, madam."

You realized he'd been holding your hand through the entire conversation, cause you'd asked him your question midway through getting out of the car. Awkwardly, you finally dropped his hand and waved goodbye, escorting yourself up the last few steps and into the door.

God, he must think I'm such a freak.

God, she must think I'm such a freak.

Bucky munched on the sandwich he'd had delivered (yes, to the car, how else was he supposed to get it?) as he dutifully watched the entrance. Against your advice, he had every intention of just sitting around and waiting for you, but he wasn't bored; he had a Mets game on the radio to keep him company.

"— top of the third, bases loaded, DeGrom is at the plate with one swing left aaaaaand… he strikes out!"

"Shit," Bucky grumbled to himself around a mouthful of pastrami.

Glancing up, he saw someone stumbling out of the party: squinting, he realized it was you. He looked at the clock with a furrowed brow, noticing it was a little earlier than he'd thought you'd leave, but then he saw that there was someone with you… a guy.

Bucky set his sandwich down and turned the key in the ignition as he watched you pull your phone out of your clutch— ostensibly to text him to bring the car around, but he was already ahead of you, quickly exiting the parking lot and circling the building so he could pull up at the steps. He was about to get out to open the door for you but this random guy did it instead, before tumbling in after you.

"That tickles!" you protested with a giggle as your new friend started to kiss your neck, his hands all over you before Bucky had even gotten the car moving.

You were too drunk and distracted to notice that the partition was still open. Of course Bucky had considered closing it, in fact he wanted more than anything to close it so he wouldn't have to see this, but some sick part of his brain needed to see it. How else could he know if something went wrong and he had to get back there and stop it? How else would he keep you safe?

How else would he get to find out how you sound when you're being touched like this?

He couldn't see too well with it being the middle of the night and all, but every time he drove past a streetlamp or particularly bright neon sign, the colorful glow would shine in and cast light over your neck where your head had fallen back in pleasure; or your collarbones, exposed where your dress had been pulled down; or your chest, rising quickly with the speed of your panting breaths.

Ogling you in the rearview mirror made him feel like a total creep, but it satisfied a bit of the urge he'd been feeling ever since he started driving you. He wasn't actually a driver, at least not usually; he was more or less your bodyguard at this point, but you were really adamant about having a small detail and so that was why he was working double-duty tonight… and why he'd been doing so for almost three months now.

"Baby," you gasped, and his eyes shot right back to your reflection; you were writhing against the seat, and he could just barely see the top of the guy's head where it was buried between your legs. You took your bottom lip between your teeth, lips curling into a relaxed smile. His cock was not only hard but throbbing at this point, as if that was going to do him any good. He barely ever got to look at you, and he knew he would never, ever be able to touch you— beyond holding your hand as you stepped out of the car, at least. Whenever he did that, he imagined for a moment that he wasn't your driver at all but your date, that he would get to keep your hand as he guided you down the red carpet with him. Not that he wanted any of the attention that you got, of course, but at the same time he did like the idea of all those photographers snapping pictures of his arm around your waist, or you looking up at him with your hand on his chest. They'd all run stories wondering what a beautiful, successful, massively talented woman like you was doing with a guy like him, but he wouldn't find the energy to care about crap like that if he had you all to himself.

Another whimper from you pulled him out of his daydream, reminding him to focus on the road as best he could. He knew you would hate him if you knew that he'd thought about you like that. Or if you knew about all those times he'd checked in on you while you slept at night and lingered a bit too long. Or if you knew that he had rewatched that one sex scene you'd done in your last movie about a thousand times. It always broke his heart to see you underneath some other guy (his name was either Dermot Mulroney or Dylan McDermott or possibly Dermot McDermott?) and yet it turned him on like nothing else to watch you immersed in pleasure. Similarly, now, he couldn't stand knowing it was someone else making you moan the way he was hearing, but it was the best he was ever gonna get.

"Oh god," you sighed, "fuck, yes, yes, oh my god yes—"

His grip tightened on the steering wheel and it must have been the noise of the leather stretching that made you notice him; as if every dream and nightmare of his was coming true at once, your gaze met his in the reflection of the rearview.

He was so screwed, and he was totally going to get fired tomorrow, but he couldn't look away. Your eyes were like dark magic the way they pulled him in, kept him locked on you as his face started to burn so hot it could cook an egg.

Staring you down, he saw your mouth fall slack as your hands reached down to grab your date's hair and tighten into fists. Shivers shot down his spine as he imagined the way it would feel if you pulled his hair like that.

The longer you kept looking at him, the more a very dangerous thought danced in the back of his mind…

What if she wants me to watch?

Which, even more concerningly, started to slowly morph into another idea…

What if she wants me?

He was sure you were coming. It wasn't obvious; you didn't say anything, didn't moan too loud, didn't scream or sob or call out any names (which made it easier to pretend it was for him) but he could tell. Your swollen lips were parted silently as he watched your breath catch in your chest, and your hands clenched around fistfuls of hair. What he would give for you to pull his hair like that, and come for him like that— except he wouldn't have stopped there, unlike your current companion who was already moving back up your body to kiss you hungrily.

He'd always thought you had really pretty hands, and they looked pretty good sliding over the back of this guy's suit jacket, but he liked them best when they gently pushed him off. "We're almost there," you mumbled as Bucky turned the car into the driveway, using his fob to open the gate.

Once he'd come to a stop outside your door and turned off the engine, the three of you exited and stood up as you yawned and stretched.

"You'll take Jack here home, right?" you asked Bucky quickly.

"It's Jake…" the man corrected with hesitance.

"Right, Jake," you smiled, "you'll take him to his place, right?"

Bucky gave the guy a smile dripping with gloating contempt, loving the disappointed look he was wearing as he realized he wasn't going to be spending the night in your bed. "It'd be my pleasure," he announced coldly.

"Great, thanks," you sighed. Standing on your tiptoes to give the guy a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the shoulder, you thanked him for a great night and made your way into the house.

Jake looked around in confusion for a moment before getting back in the car along with Bucky, sighing and running his fingers through his hair.

"What address am I going to?"

"Uh, 333 15th Street, in Brooklyn," the guy replied, pausing to let out a soft but incredulous laugh as the car began to move. "Level with me, man: does she… do this kind of thing, a lot? You know: bring guys over, make it seem like something's gonna… happen, but then just send ‘em back home and never call again?"

With a silent glare, Bucky rolled up the partition.

You heard the front door, even from your current location of the shower upstairs, and knew Bucky was home— okay, not exactly ‘home’ since he didn't leave here full-time, but home in the sense that he was in your home and in the place he would be staying tonight. You just hoped he'd actually stopped the car before kicking Jake out; he never cared much for when you had guys over or really just interacted with guys at all, because of the "security risks" or whatever.

Next, you heard him coming up the stairs and passing by your door. "Hey, Bucky, you out there?" you called to him.

"Yeah, what is it?" he answered through the door. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I just—" you stopped when you heard the crinkling of paper. "What is that? Do you have food?"

"Um, yeah," he answered.

Your stomach growled; the event had only had tiny hors d'oeuvres, and the alcohol in your system enhanced your desire for a midnight snack. "What kinda food?"

"It's a sandwich— well, what's left of one: I was eating it while I waited for you."

"Are you gonna finish it?" you asked curiously.

"No, I was thinking I'd put it in the fridge for tomorrow."

You paused a bit before asking, "Can I have it?"

"Yeah, sure, you can get it in the morning—" he began.

"No, now!" you clarified.

There was a pause before he responded. "Right now? In the shower?"

"Yeah, just bring it in here!"

"I-I'll let you finish showering first—" he stammered.

"No, Bucky," you whined, "just come in here! I'm hungry!"

Another pause before he finally opened the door, his blurry figure visible through the steam-covered frosted glass.

"What's on it?" you asked as you washed the last of your shampoo out of your hair.

"It's pastrami on rye with jalapeños, fresh mozzarella, pesto and some sort of spicy aioli or something."

"Ooh, come to mama," you purred as you reached over the top of the door with opening-and-closing grabby hands, squeeing with glee when he placed the wax paper package in your grasp.

"Okay, enjoy your drunken shower sandwich," he congratulated grimly, about to turn and leave.

"No, wait, where'd you get this?" you asked as you leaned out of the stream of hot water to unwrap your bounty.

"Uh, you know the deli on 8th and Columbus?"

"You went all the way out there?"

"No, I had it delivered."

You snorted with laughter. "Couldn't leave me alone for even a minute, huh?"

"Well, I fully intended on leaving you alone for this shower."

But you didn't really notice that comment because you'd just taken a bite and couldn't stop yourself from moaning loudly around it. "Oh my god, Bucky, this is so good!"

He cleared his throat. "Uh, glad you like it."

"You have good taste in sandwiches!"

"I think the word for 'taste in sandwiches' is just 'taste,’” he pointed out, his smirk audible in his voice.

"Can we go to this place tomorrow and you can order for me?"

"We can do whatever you want tomorrow," he relented.

"If you drive, I'll pay,” you offered.

"I always drive. And you always pay,” he pointed out.

You frowned, not visible to him through the steamy glass. "I do?"

"You pay my salary, so, yeah…"

You laughed, a little too hard. "You're so smart!"

"Sure,” he replied quickly.

“Okay, I’m almost done in here,” you informed him.

“With the sandwich or the shower?”

You laughed with a little snort, which would’ve embarrassed sober you. “Both!”

“Okay, I’ll leave you to it then,” he replied, starting to go back out the door.

“See you tomorrow, Bucky,” you waved even though he couldn’t see it.

“I don’t know that I will,” he admitted, “you’ll probably be hungover and lock yourself in your room all day.”

“Hmm, possibly,” you agreed as you pondered that. “Then I guess just ‘goodnight,’ and I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Goodnight,” he replied and stepped out of the bathroom— you could hear him go downstairs and shut the door to his room, and you glanced down at the last bite of your/his sandwich with a smile.

You must have gotten in bed at some point, cause that was the last thing you could really remember before you woke up a bit before noon, bright orange sunlight shining directly on your face where it rested on the pillow. You groaned and turned over, feeling like your brain was too big for your skull. You sat up when you saw a menagerie of unfamiliar items on your nightstand. A bottle of pedialyte, a bottle of Fiji water, a few aspirin, an orange and a banana waited for you in a pile, with a little piece of paper sitting in front which you read.

Hope you’re feeling alright, these might help in the meantime. -B

You smiled, twisting open the Fiji and taking a sip. Bucky always took such good care of you, even in ways he didn’t need to. What would you do without him?

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x y/n

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cultgambles · 3 years ago

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Yeah She Bad Ain’t She

Why would I wanna keep her to myself

Dabi x Reader x Hawks

Wrote this in Hawks’ POV bc try new things. Enjoy! Also got inspired by some audios on gwa lol but what’s new.

Voyeurism, exhibitionism, public, threesome, mutual masturbation, one (1) gay joke, they/them pronouns for reader, afab tho

WC: 1794

Masterlist | Requests? open

The first time you step into the dingy bar of the LOV, you scrunch your nose at the smell. Cough into your fist, and scan the room with careful eyes. You see Tomura Shigaraki nursing a whiskey at the bar, Kurogiri behind it, Spinner chatting up Twice. Dabi is laid back on the couch, his arm slung around someone you don’t recognize.

“Hawks, our newest member!” Shigaraki says to the team. “Give him every hospitality.”

“Hey-yo!” you say, saluting leisurely as a greeting. Shigaraki introduces everyone, as if you don’t already know who everyone is. Except one person, the one cozied up to Dabi. They introduce themselves as [Y/N]. Someone you’ll have to research on later before you report back to the commission, which makes you sigh silently.

“Come sit! You’re in luck because tonight is movie night!” Twice says.

“Just tonight?” you ask, watching the rest of the members find seats around the small TV.

“Every Thursday!”

“What are we watching tonight?”

“Catch Me If You Can! About that American con artist,” [Y/N] says. “Pass me that blanket, would you?”

“Sounds interesting. And sure,” you say, tossing the Christmas themed blanket at them. You watch as they fluff it out on themselves and Dabi. You push over one of those lounge chairs and flop onto it. Shigaraki queues up Netflix and hits the play button.

About thirty minutes in, you hear [Y/N]. “Dabi, stop,” they whisper, smacking him on the arm lightly.

“What, I’m not doing anything at all.”

“Don’t act all innocent.” Out of your peripheral vision, you swear you see Dabi’s hand move under the blanket, [Y/N]’s hand gripping his forearm.

“But don’t I make you feel good, baby?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions. The problem is everyone is here.”

“Not like we haven’t done something like this before,” he scoffs. “Look, we even got an audience.”

Your face flushes as you listen to their conversation. You barely hear a low groan from [Y/N]’s lips.

“Can y’all shut the fuck up? I’m trying to see what Frank’s gonna do!” Shigaraki fumes, whipping around. A look at Dabi. “Oh.”

“C’mon, boss, don’t pay attention to us, watch the movie,” [Y/N] says.

“This is free entertainment right here.”

[Y/N]’s hips jolt upwards. “You perv.”

“More moaning my name, less talking,” Dabi growls, ripping the blanket off [Y/N]. [Y/N]’s wearing a yellow sundress, that by now, is hitched up above their hips. Their panties are pushed to the side, showing their glistening sex. Dabi’s middle finger and ring finger disappear inside of them, his palm pressing against the clit roughly as he fingers them.

“I-Is this a normal occurrence?” you stutter, face turning the same color as your wings.

“P-pretty normal, yeah, oh, Dabi, right there!” [Y/N] trails off, grinding up for more friction.

“What can we say, we like to have fun here.”

By now, the other league members have turned around, movie be damned.

“How are y’all so casual about this?!”

“Don’t be like that, you’re having a good time too, bird brain,” Dabi smirks, eyes drifting to your growing erection.

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap. But he’s not wrong, both of them have got you so enamored. You hear the squelch and squeaks, the quickening of breaths.

“Dabi, I need you, need your cock,” you barely hear them whisper.

“Of course, doll. Lay down,” Dabi smiles softly, planting a kiss on their lips.

You don’t know if you’d rather be him or [Y/N].

[Y/N] slips down, horizontal on the couch. You eye Dabi as he stands straighter, nimble fingers unclasping his belt and pulling his cock out. It shimmers slightly in the TV light. He drags his cock along their folds, gathering wetness. He taps it against them. Without warning, he slams into them, both letting out a guttural sound at the sensation. His pace is slow, he’s gripping [Y/N]’s hips as a smack smack smack rings out as their bodies meet.

Somewhere behind you, you hear a zipper unzipping. You’re tempted to too, but would that be too soon? Must be, since this is basically your first official day here.

But you don’t deny how good [Y/N] looks taking Dabi’s cock. Hair splayed out, breasts moving under that sundress. You want to rip the dress off of them. Tt hold, knead at the flesh, and lick at the pert nipple. Your eyes travel down their body, where [Y/N] takes him in so nicely. How would they taste, you wonder.

And what about Dabi? Just the size of him could choke you out.

Dabi’s voice snaps you out of your reverie. “C’mon, man, if you’re just gonna stare at them, why don’t you play?”

“Nothin’ wrong with lookin,’” you trail off.

You so want to. Badly.

“Hawwwwkkks,” [Y/N] moans. “Let me taste you. Taste me. Whatever.”

“You heard them,” Dabi drawls.

One beat, and suddenly you’re up, fast as lightning. “[Y/N], let me take your dress off.”

“Okay,” [Y/N] lifts their arms as you pull the dress up over their head, revealing the tantalizing and smooth skin. You toss the dress somewhere to the side of you and rip off your gloves. You kneel beside them on the floor, slotting your mouth against theirs in an open mouthed kiss. Your hands sneak up, massaging their breasts and pinching the nipples.

You feel [Y/N]’s hand snake down your chest, and whimper as their hand grips your clothed cock. You pull away to bring it out. The tip is flushed red, a bead of precum forming at the slit. You stroke your hand down once, and move so your hips are flush with [Y/N]’s face.

“Nice dick,” [Y/N] and Dabi mutter at the same time.

“Jinx!” [Y/N] barks a laugh that soon turns into a moan at a particularly hard thrust.

[Y/N]’s tongue slides on the underside of your cock, massaging the vein there. Soon enough, it’s enveloped in their mouth and you fight to suppress a moan.

“Your mouth feels so good, baby.” [Y/N] hums, taking you in deeper. Their nose nuzzles the hair at the base of your dick slightly. They barely have to do any work as Dabi basically pushes them forward with each thrust. Dabi looks up at you with lazy eyes.

“Kiss me,” you plead, leaning in.

“That’s gay,” he says as he captures your lips with his.

You’ve never kissed a man before. He tastes like old cigarettes and mint. Your tongue slides against his teeth, and finally meets his tongue.

He’s got a tongue piercing.

How many piercings does this dude even have?

You jerk away without warning as [Y/N] does a particularly hard suck.

“Wanna feel their pussy?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Just because you’re new I’ll

let you.” Is this a trick?

You so want to.

[Y/N] pops off of you. “Dabs likes watching.”

“Does that even count since I’m also partaking?”

“I think so. Just get over here, I need your fat cock in my mouth. Not that yours wasn’t also good, Hawks. Just needs to be somewhere else,” [Y/N] says.

“Do it!” you hear.

Damn. You’re so wrapped up in these two, you forgot there was an audience. However, it seems that was the push you needed. You give the a-okay. Dabi nods, clearly pleased by your decision, and pulls out.

You trade places, [Y/N]’s hole flexing against nothing. You bring two fingers down to swipe at the wetness and run your tongue along the digits. You guide your cock in, letting out a satisfied moan at the warmth. [Y/N] squeezes your cock deliciously, and you almost want to come right then and there. You tell them so.

Your pace isn’t as brutal as Dabi’s but still elicits those sounds you're beginning to love out of [Y/N]’s mouth. A sick part of you hopes you’re better than Dabi, and that they will leave him for you.

Or maybe they’ll let you in again? How often do they do this sort of stuff, you wonder to yourself.

[Y/N] and Dabi are holding hands sweetly, their fingers brushing against his charred skin rhythmically.

Your hand moves to rub tight circles on their clit and you're squeezed impossibly tighter as a response.

“You gonna come, [Y/N]?” Dabi asks. “Getting sloppy there. Don’t bite, baby.”

“I’m so close,” [Y/N]’s voice dips off info nothingness at the end, mouth agape. They throw their head back as they move their hips against yours when your body meets theirs. “I want both of you to come inside of me.”

“Wasn’t gonna do it anywhere else,” Dabi chuckles.

“You want me to?” you ask.

“Yeah, fill me up good, Hawks.”

You glance at Dabi. He shrugs. Hope he doesn’t kill you for this.

“Oh shit,” you curse, feeling [Y/N] spasm around you and shudder.

You think Dabi comes at the same time you do. You slow to a languid pace, letting [Y/N]’s walls milk you.

“Good job, doll face,” you watch him lean down and peck [Y/N] on the forehead. “You too, bird brain.”

“Uh, thanks.” You pull out of [Y/N], and they wince at the loss. You tuck yourself back into your pants and [Y/N] wraps the blanket around their shoulders.

“Good show!” Twice says.

“Now let’s finish the movie,” Shigaraki huffs out.

“You have such a one track mind, Shiggy,” [Y/N] says, ruffling his hair.

“I’m just really invested.”

“Yeah, you were invested in us, too,” they say, looking down briefly.

“Oh shut up.” You catch a glimpse of his cock as he scurried to shove it back in his pants.

“See ya round, Hawks,” [Y/N] says, blowing you a kiss. They take Dabi’s hand in theirs and walk up the stairs at the back of the bar.

“Probably gonna fuck some more,” Spinner snickers.

You’re lucky your mic on the inside of your jacket just happened to die before you got up to some frisky business. This has got to be the weirdest thing you’ve been a part of: League of Villains just fuck as bonding activity.

Maybe you’ll keep this one to yourself. You wonder if they would ever invite you again.

#bnha #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #dabi x reader #dabi x hawks #dabi x reader x hawks #lemon #smut #dabi x you #hawks x you #bnha dabi #bnha hawks #my writing

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cupidsintern · 3 years ago

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the death of hyacinthus - pt. i

this is my old renaissance au with artist!billy and model!steve so enjoy lol

The light spills out onto the floor before the window, making the worn wood of the floor look bright again, like new. The light doesn't reach Steve though. Billy set up the scene like that on purpose, closer to the center of his studio. No direct light. He wants this to be lit like it's the beginning of twilight. In his head, Hyacinth dies at sunset.

The room is silent, has been for a while, other than birds outside the window, a breeze that made the window tap against itself lightly, and fabric shifting if Steve stirs from where he is at all, draped across this haphazard construction of pillows, blankets, and a bench.

That's the word Billy used; “drape”. When Steve got to the studio Billy was kicking pillows around on his little model platform, trying to get everything set up right, hardly even greeting Steve at all before launching into his explanation of how he wanted Steve to look.

“-and he’s dying, but he’s not dead yet,” Billy walked half a circle around the platform, hands out. “So Apollo would- damn-” A pillow fell over, he pushed it back up. “Would be here. So if you can just sort of drape yourself across right here-”

Steve was stripping off the last of his garments when Billy turned back around.

“Here?” Steve finished kicking his stockings off, crossed to step up onto the platform.

Billy swallowed, looking Steve in the eyes because at least it meant he wouldn't look down, slack jawed. “Yeah, that's- that’s perfect.” Steve was already settling in to sitting down, letting his head fall back against the seat of the bench, throat exposed.

The way he was sitting shifted his weight in his hips more; Billy tried to look critically. Not appreciatively. He shouldn’t be appreciating the son of the nobleman that had decided to be his patron. Not that Steve was even supposed to be modeling for him beyond the two portraits he’d already had done.

“Tip your knee down more,” Billy stepps back, takes in the composition.

Steve drops his knee.

“Turn your head towards me.”

Steve obliges. The line of his nose looks perfect at three quarters.

Billy stepps up to the platform again, pulls some of the fabric forward, lets it fall over Steve's legs more, over his groin- good. Less distracting. More poetic or something- and the line of his thighs beneath the fabric has just the heaviness Billy is looking for. He steps back again.

“What’s the myth again?” Steve’s jaw gains definition when he speaks with his head at this angle.

“The Death of Hyacinthus.”

“I know that part.” Steve rolls his hand a little. “The part before that. How does he die?”

“He- hang on.” Billy steps close again to push things around, make the lines right. “The wind- Zephyr- gets jealous of his beauty. Apollo throws a discus, and Zephyr pushes it off course, so it knocks Hyacinth in the head. Apollo holds him while he dies.” Billy says it all matter-of-factly. He's trying not to get distracted. He picks up Steve's arm to tilt back towards him a little. His skin is warm like the sunlight staining the floor.

“That's sad.” Steve says. His arm feels relaxed in Billy’s grip. “Weren't they close? Apollo and Hyacinth.”

Billy feels a familiar warmth at his neck of this topic. This thing that always comes up when he and Steve are alone. “They were lovers.”

Steve doesn't say anything back to that.

Billy gets the composition mostly how he wants it- and he’ll probably try Steve in a couple different poses, this is only for sketching. He takes ages deciding where to set up to actually draw it- Steve makes fun of him. Billy says he’s not the one naked on a pile of old curtains. That makes Steve laugh. His stomach flexes a little when he laughs.

Billy's glad Steve can be part of his process now.

He gets some general gestures down on paper. He really nails the angle of Steve’s throat- which he's proud of. He needs the arch of the thing to be perfect. And he gets the general idea of Steve's features down quick- he’s drawn Steve's face maybe a thousand times by now. The way his arm falls is tricky- he’ll come back to that in a bit.

“Billy.”

Billy looks up at Steve’s voice. He’s sat up a little, something short of coy in his eyes. “I’m cold.” “You’re cold.” Billy says back to him. Because he never does what Steve implies. Only what Steve says.

“Yeah, like you said- I’m bare ass naked on a pile of curtains.”

“Your calling.”

Steve laughs again. “Do you think we could close the door?”

“We?”

“You. Can you close the door.”

“Who’s the revered artist here?”

“Who’s the patron?”

Billy rolls his eyes, but he drops his chalk into the lip of his easel anyway, walks to pull the door to his studio shut, separating them from the rest of the house. Steve left it open in the first place.

“You’re not my patron.” Billy says when he gets back, picks up to start drawing again.

“I’m close.” Steve only sounds a little superior.

He’s right. He is close to being Billy's patron. He recommended Billy to his family, he talked up Billy’s version of the pieta, he introduced Billy to the Influentials of Florence, got him this nice new studio, set up in one of the family houses. He was only a little superior about it.

Mostly he was nice.

Nice to Billy. Excited about the things he drew, always asking him what he was working on.

Asked to sit for him once, twice, how many more times, he was part of the process now.

This might be what having a muse was, if Billy believed in things like having muses.

Steve scratches the back of his calf with a foot, then sets his legs back down.

“I’m surprised you don’t get bored doing this.” Billy cracks two of the knuckles on his drawing hand, shakes out his wrist. He’s only prying a little.

“I like watching you work,” comes Steve's easy reply.

“Still.” Billy smudges at a stray line with his thumb. “You’re always fidgety at dinners and shit. Not here.”

“Dinners are boring.” Steve sighs.

He had expressed that sentiment before. That he found Billy much more interesting than anything his family ever did. That he’d trade his infinite wealth for the virve Billy so possessed. Only he didn't say it like that. He said “I’d trade all of this shit for whatever makes your art so beautiful.”

And Billy said “You wouldn't want to. Trust me.”

Billy, having seared the image of Steve into his brain by now, was adding more definition in places, really letting his focus slide out of his head.

And it’s quiet for a bit. Billy doesn't notice when the silence breaks- the sound of shifting fabric, bare feet on wood floor-

“Shit, that’s really good.” Steve's voice startles Billy a little, but he doesn’t let it show. Just turns a little abruptly to find Steve leaning over his shoulder.

“Looks just like me.” Steve continued, hovering his fingertips over Billy's rendition of his nose.

“You don’t have to sound so impressed every time.” Billy rolled his eyes, pushing Steve’s hand away.

“Oh, excuse me for showing some enthusiasm.” Steve hummed another laugh, still looking at the paper. He traced a finger absentmindedly down his own flesh-and-blood nose, marveling at the likeness.

Billy couldn't focus enough to continue with Steve so close. Not like he’d never seen Steve in next to nothing before. But this was really and truly nothing. And even naked as the day he was born Steve exuded wealth in just the way he stood. Like clothes were nothing but decoration on something already… beautiful.

“Can you go back to your spot, please?” Billy got out, looking away like he was annoyed.

Steve just smiled at him before padding back to his platform, throwing the fabric back over his legs.

But now the composition was wrong-

“So,” Steve’s voice carried across the sun-soaked chambers. “Why Hyacinth?”

“What do you mean.” Billy was trying desperately to collect his thoughts.

“I mean, he’s dating a god, right? Why him? What's so special about him.”

“He’s beautiful.”

“And?”

“Well, I mean, he’s a Spartan prince, he’s legendary. Apollo doesn't even really pick him. Hyacinth has, like, a bunch of people to choose from. He picks Apollo.”

Billy can’t draw like this, especially since Steve fucked up the composition- probably on purpose.

Billy gets up with an unintentional little huff and gets close to Steve again, has to adjust his legs again, avoid staring at the pinks that dust Steve’s everywhere-

“You draw me a lot.” Steve interrupts Billy’s train of thought.

Billy looks up, holding Steve’s wrist like it was his own. “You sit for me a lot-”

“What's your favorite part to draw?”

Billy’s breathing feels thicker, like his throat is coated in honey, sweet but hard to breathe. “Of you?” “Yeah.”

“Your nose.” Billy says easily, because it's safe to say.

Steve smiles. “You've said that before.”

“It's true.” Billy prepares to turn away again, to tell Steve they should get more done while there's still daylight.

Steve’s fingers hook against the palm of Billy's hand. This is playing with fire.

Steve lifts Billy's hand up, touches it to the bridge of his nose.

He can feel the sharp bone under his forefinger.

“Where else?”

Billy inhales. It's a feat. “Your jaw.”

Steve pulls Billy's hand down his cheek to touch his jawline. They’ve been avoiding this forever,

“And?” Cliche game of cat and mouse. Right now, Billy’s the mouse.

“Your shoulders.” Billy watches Steve drag his hand down his perfect neck to the slope of his perfect shoulders. “Steve.”

“Billy.” Steve mocks Billy’s warning tone just a little. “Come on, what else?”

Billy swallows again. He doesn't respond he just lets his hand wander lower, lower, down his chest, to his stomach-

Billy stops his hand, pushes back against Steve’s. “I’ve never drawn you nude, if that's what you’re implying.”

“Maybe you should.” Steve’s finger’s slide up Billy's forearm to hook under the edge of his rolled up sleeve.

“I’d need a couple different references...” Billy trails off. He knows Steve is about to kiss him.

It’s still delicious when he does. No number of days, weeks, waiting for one of them to make a move, of thinking what that move would be, what it would feel like, would have prepared Billy for the spit-sweet taste of a first kiss in the late afternoon.

i might do a part ii or just leave it like this lol

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #steve x billy #billy x steve #harringrove fanfic #harringrove fic #my fic #my writing #its the renaissance au

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tobiosmilktea · 4 years ago

Text

umpah umpah! smau

↪︎ bokuto x f!reader x iwaizumi

[008] — we meet again!

masterlist | prev. | next

a/n: i was listening to hozier while writing this which explains why both bokuto and iwaizumi is whipped for the mc ✨

asking if you were okay was a good question. really, it is—too bad you didn’t know the answer to that very question no matter how grossly interchangeable the words were tossed around and scrambled into nuances phrases. if anything, it made your mood turn even more sour as your two best friends tried their best to calm you down. keyword: tried

kaori was too busy dying of laughter as she would tease the glaring look on your face. “you’re going to pop a blood vessel, honey.” she snickered, holding her stomach as it ached under the constant tension.

meanwhile akaashi was still profusely apologizing beneath the latter’s amusement. a sigh left your lips for the umpteenth time in the span of five minutes as your arms braided over each other in frustration. “what the fuck are you trying to get at, keiji?”

a gasp practically escaped kaori as she slapped her hand over her mouth, “(y/n) used your first name, that’s how you now she’s pissed off.”

akaashi could only roll his eyes. it was to his best bet to ignore any of kaori’s quips as she’s known to escalate things just by the power of that witty brain of hers. “nothing!” the editor exclaimed as he turned back to you, “i just figured it wasn’t a big deal since you and bokuto both said you guys ended on good terms. besides, i warned you to check the list.”

“okay, but that doesn’t explain the fact that iwaizumi is here!” it was at this moment that you were glad the music was pumping loudly through the venue speakers to hide over your shouts.

“i told you they work for the same team, but i didn’t know they were friends until i saw who bokuto wanted to invite!”

you groan, “unbelievable.”

“i just don’t think you should let their presence ruin the rest of the night, (y/n).” akaashi mentions flatly.

“i agree,” kaori suddenly cuts in, “it’s your party, you could kick them out if you want.” she suggests with an impish tone and an expression laced in provocation.

“i’m not going to kick them out, kaori—” you’re interrupted then as she swiftly elbows you in the breast, “ouch! what was that for?”

“sorry, i was aiming for your ribs not your titty.” she laughs briefly before motioning to a familiar figure making it’s way towards you three. perhaps it was his height that triggered a response in you to cause your heart to rapidly thump against your ribcage, but honestly, it was probably his spiked hair with white tips that was the perpetrator. “is that bokuto? oh fuck, he’s coming, act natural.”

great, you thought. you had to fight the urge to just walk away a leave, but you knew it wasn’t going to end well whatever you did. knowing your luck, you were going to stumble upon this man one way or another.

“akaashi, there you are!” bokuto calls out over the crowd, serpentining his way through groups of conversating individuals to reach his best friend. but in all honesty, akaashi knew what this guy was doing. bokuto didn’t listen to a word he said in his text messages as the volleyball player ended up coming over here either way just to talk to you.

you’re over (y/n) my ass, akaashi thinks to himself, feigning from rolling his eyes again because at this point, it was just a matter of time before everything came crashing down.

it almost felt like a target was on you, perhaps a red laser shining right in the middle of your forehead the moment bokuto flickered his attention to you. “(y/n)! it’s so nice seeing you again!”

you nod as an awkwardly smile melted on your expression, “it’s nice seeing you too, bokuto.” despite your meek demeanor, what you said certainly wasn’t a lie. you would be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t miss bokuto and his warming aura. you suppose it was the sudden meeting that caused your fight or flight response to suddenly kick in.

bokuto’s eyebrows furrow slightly, “bokuto? what happened to calling me kou?”

as if the situation wasn’t already difficult being in, it was as if he flicked another match into the burning dumpster fire of a party. “well... we haven’t seen each other in years, so i thought it was appropriate.”

“ah...” his voice trailed on as a few beats of silence ensued.

“oh shit,” kaori suddenly curses under her breath as she nonchalantly spilled his drink all over her arm. “um, akaashi could you come and help me clean this off?” she asks in faux concern, not bothering to give the guy a chance to answer as she tugged him away.

you couldn’t help but feel a faint smirk forming on your lips as you watched the two disappear into the crowd. kaori was always good at acting herself out of awkward situations that you honestly had to applaud her. maybe later you would teasingly remind her to audition for the webtoon’s live action just to spite her. it was just a little mindless payback for leaving you alone with your ex-boyfriend.

your striking gazes met again as you turned your attention back towards bokuto. at first glance, he looked exactly the same as you last saw him—then again, the last time you did see bokuto was when you two decided to break up on the day before graduation, you couldn’t remember much of him as it was dark under the midnight sky as tears blurred your vision. even when things ended up mutual with no hard feelings, you still couldn’t help but feel a tug at your heart when you recalled the way bokuto looked at you then.

it was hard to sleep that night.

it was a bizarre juxtaposition of comparing eighteen year old bokuto to him now. rather than appearing before you with messy hair and tears streaming down his face, he was beaming in some contagious lightheartedness. it was a feeling you never thought you would feel so nostalgic in as he still smelt like fresh chamomile. he was much bigger now, more buff as one would say and not to mention taller as well.

perhaps going professional really treated this man wonders as you had to admit how increasingly more attractive he has gotten.

“you look great, by the way.” bokuto says, pulling you out of your thoughts as you realize how long you have been staring.

“thanks...” god, this is awkward. this certainly wasn’t leaving a good impression on your part, “you don’t look too bad either.”

a red tint burned at the tips of bokuto’s ears as he scratched the nape of his neck like it was some kind of nervous tic. he usually doesn’t get nervous meeting people, new or old, yet there was something about the way you look at him even after all these years that would send his heart rate into the extremes. he hated how this all ended due to your differing aspirations. “congrats on having a successful webtoon. love cemetery is amazing and i’m obsessed if you couldn’t already tell.”

“i never really pinned you to be one of my biggest fanboys, you know.”

“i’ve always been your biggest fanboy,” bokuto assured with a smirk, “how about you, are you still my biggest fangirl?”

you playfully scoffed at his statement, “um...”

“um?” he pressed, finding the amusement in your eyes adorable.

“i dunno, i haven’t really kept up with volleyball after high school.” you chuckled, swirling the contents of your drink in your hand. “besides, i think you have enough fangirls drooling over you.”

“who needs all of them if i have you?”

you rolled your eyes as you took a sip from the alcohol in your hands. “you’re flirting again.”

“isn’t that the reason why you dated my in the first place?” bokuto jested, feeling the burning in his cheeks as he couldn’t stop smiling. this was progress to him knowing that this playful banter was enough to surely get you two to reconnect again.

you peered your eyes at him suspiciously, “you’re planning something, aren’t you?”

“you’re making it sound like i’m evil!”

“well, are you?”

“of course i’m not,” said bokuto, “i just wanted us to be friends again.”

“you’re kidding.”

he shook his head, “never in a million years.”

you weren’t sure if it was his words that made your chest feel warm or if it was the alcohol in your system. regardless, you refused to let bokuto affect you so easily in a span of a couple minutes even if you took your alcohol well.

“at least you weren’t kidding when you said you were going professional.” you hummed, leaning against one of the smaller round tables as you stared into the crowd. you were hoping bokuto would do the same, but he’d rather look at you than a congregation of random strangers.

“and you weren’t kidding either when you said you wanted to become an artist.”

“i mean, becoming a webtoon artist wasn’t exactly what i thought i was going to be, but i’m glad where i am now in life.” you answered as your eyes wandered the room.

“even without me in it?” god, what a flirt.

that infamous laugh of yours emitted from your cherry-colored lips. it was the type of laugh everyone found themselves attracted to and never annoyed, in fact, it was the laugh bokuto hadn’t even realized he missed so much until the moment it left you.

his mindless attempts at flirting was catching up to you now as you couldn’t fight the feeling of the heat rising to your cheeks. “well, you’re right in front of me aren’t you?”

“things are different know, though...”

“right but—” you tried to respond, but was inevitably interrupted by yuko.

she came up to you in a slight hurry, calling out your name before apologizing to bokuto. “sorry to cut your conversation so short, but i need (y/n) to come take care of something for me.”

confusion melted upon your expression as you turned to her, “we do?”

“we do,” she huffs.

“it’s alright,” bokuto says while motioning for you to follow suit of your manager. “let’s catch up more sometime, yeah?”

you smile at him, one that’s less mediocre and awkward and a bit more genuine. “of course,” was the last thing you could say before yuko yanked at your arm once again until you were in just another body in the crowd.

despite yuko’s hand firmly gripped around your wrist to ensure you wouldn’t get lost in the sea of people, it was difficult trying to focus at one thing at a time. at first it was the worry about your manager and her sudden interruption, but now it was trying your best not to spill your drink due to all the drunken bodies bumping into yours. were there really this many people on the invite list?

grumbling to your self, you threw your head back as you finished the last bits of drink in your hand while you were pulled through the crowd like a ragdoll. having to pay for a stranger’s dry cleaning due to a spilled drink was the last thing on your mind right now.

“what did you want me to help you with?” you shout over to your manager once she slowed down.

“nothing,” said yuko over her shoulder, “i was watching you and bokuto talk and you kept getting redder and redder i thought you were going to pass out.”

embarrassment flushed through, cheeks heating up again at the thought. “ugh, was it that obvious?” you groaned as your head fell from the utter humiliation that was coursing through your body at that moment—far too distracted that your humiliation could only worsen the moment you bumped into another.

“sorry, i wasn’t looking—” the apologetic tone in your voice subsided as your eyes flickered up to whoever’s chest it was up to a yet another familiar face.

“(y/n)?” he says.

“iwaizumi?” you say.

your names were jumbled up in unison just as much as your thoughts immediately dissipated into thin air. just my luck, huh? you swore you were dreaming. nothing in the absolute world could possibly make such a ironic turn of events as if you were in some melodrama yourself. call it fate or destiny, but bumping into both of your exes within a span of ten minutes was something you never would’ve wished upon yourself.

“it’s um... fancy meeting you here.” you start the second you flicker a look over to yuko as she could only give you a pitiful smile. “it’s been a while, right?”

regardless of the confident aura you were extruding right now, you were completely freaking out for the third time this evening. you knew today was going to affect you emotionally, but you wasn’t expecting it to be like this. you were expecting to get a bit emotional due to the fact your webtoon that you poured your absolute heart and soul into has come to an end and not because two attractive dudes from your past just coincidentally came back into your life.

and yet it didn’t matter, it wasn’t like iwaizumi could see through that little façade of false confidence in your expression as it felt like he was meeting you for the first time all over again. it fit all down to a tee from the way his adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat to his breath hitching from the sight or to the infamous monarch butterflies tickling his gut.

“it’s nice to see you too, (y/n)...” his words trailed as you couldn’t help but notice how deeper his voice had gotten since the last time you’ve seen him. granted, he was fifteen back then and had a lot of time to grow up and become this absolute adonis.

iwaizumi certainly wasn’t planning on coming across you this evening either. if anything, you two both shared that internal panic when your eyes briefly met at the start of the party. however, he couldn’t help but feel a bit relieved knowing that in the end you two did manage to cross ways. he supposes that after seeing you and bokuto talk as if you two have known each other for years created an inkling feeling in his gut.

he hates the way you distracted him the majority of the night. it wasn’t like you two were on talking terms especially after years of not seeing each other, yet it felt strange for him to even let himself feel this way.

besides, iwaizumi felt absolutely terrible knowing satomi was trying her hardest to capture his lingering attention by making conversation about anything—literally anything.

anyone who had been friends with iwaizumi in the past know he’s an absolute sweetheart, but at the same time, he’s honest. he’s not the type to hesitate in telling someone the cold hard truth even if it meant hurting their feelings, yet whenever he would look at satomi, he couldn’t bring himself to say that he wasn’t interested in the conversation.

you cleared your throat, pulling iwaizumi back from his thoughts, “so... i heard that you became the new athletic trainer for the black jackals.” the man before you nods as he was stilling taking you all in. was he staring at you for that long? “i thought were living in california, why the sudden change of plans?”

iwaizumi shrugs as he took a sip of his beer, “i ended up getting a better job offer here, so i decided to move back. why? have you missed me?”

the moment those words left his lips, he immediately wanted to slap his hand over his mouth and cringe. why was he suddenly so flirtatious with you? was it because he saw you and bokuto flirting earlier, was that it?

you chuckled in amusement as you nod. you honestly weren’t going to lie that his words did catch you off guard for a second. something like this was definitely not in iwaizumi’s handbook his (more or less) complicated personality, yet you decided to play along anyway. “of course i have, iwa! i’m not soulless, you know.”

iwa? the man before thought to himself, what happened to haji? he shook the thought out of his as he opened his mouth in attempt to speak, but he noticed your attention leaving his and onto the person beside him.

satomi cleared her throat as she looks at him innocently, waiting for iwaizumi to introduce her to you.

“oh uh,” he motions his head to the team’s physical therapist next to him, “this is yahagi satomi, she’s my—”

“—date for this evening,” she cuts iwaizumi off and answers for him, catching him a bit off guard and confused, yet he doesn’t correct her. granted, satomi was his plus one so it made sense.

you purse your lips as you took in her features. she was a bit on the shorter side with her long copper hair pulled back into a sleek high ponytail as her bangs were styled perfectly to fit her face. semi was right, she is pretty. it was then you stuck your hand out for her to shake, feeling who cold her palm was compared to yours. “it’s nice to meet you. how long have you two been together?” you ask out of the blue.

i mean, what’s wrong with a little curiosity?

“oh no, we’re not together.” iwaizumi is quick to answer, not even noticing satomi’s slight change in expression when she parted her lips to answer herself. “she’s just my plus one because bokuto told us to.”

you nod at his words, trying your best to ignore the intravenous relief that was coursing through you at that moment. you realized how long you had been standing there then, failing to notice that yuko was still by your side the entire time. if anything, she was just trying to help you out once again as she could literally feel the rising tension in the air. if you were to talk to satomi any longer, it would surely go wrong knowing your luck. luckily, she spots sugawara’s silvery hair just a few feet away.

yuko wasn’t entirely sure how in the hell she was going to get his attention to save your asses, but it was going to happen one way or another. she was just glad you were too preoccupied talking to iwaizumi and satomi that yuko was able to text sugawara to come over.

she watched sugawara feel the buzzing of his phone in his pocket, observing his every move as he pulls it out and read the text as the screen light shined over his face. he looked up then, eyes scanning the room briefly before landing upon yuko’s familiar figure standing next to yours.

the manager widens to eyes a bit at him like a warning to come over here.

she wasn’t sure what was so hard to understand from the pure helplessness in her expression, but sugawara was taking his sweet ass time.

yuko grumbled to herself. at this point, perhaps she was just trying to save herself.

it was then sugawara was finally making his way over to you and yuko. “oh hey, iwaizumi! long time no see, sorry to interrupt but i need to borrow (y/n) and yuko for a second.”

you gave sugawara a confused look as it washed over your expression. again? ugh, give me a break. however, before you could excuse yourself from the conversation, iwaizumi grabs your upper arm lightly.

“(y/n),” he stops you in place, “we should catch up sometime.”

you open your mouth to respond, but sugawara interjects before you could. “why not catch up now?” he suggests, causing all four of you to snap your head towards him, “i’m sure i’ll just yuko’s help will be enough, plus (y/n) has tons of time to talk to more guests.”

the silver haired man gives you a sly wink before taking yuko with him and leaving you behind. great.

you honestly couldn’t excuse yourself now as it would be obvious why no matter how many excuses you come up with, so you had to power through. besides, what could go wrong with talking with your first love and some random girl that somehow gives you a weird vibe?

“so how do you guys know each other?” satomi questions you, suddenly interested in your relationship with iwaizumi. it sounds suspicious, yet she was genuinely wondering if she was attempting to make moves on someone like iwaizumi was a good idea.

“we went to middle and a little bit of high school together,” you answer as a matter-of-fact. there was surely no need to lie.

her eyebrows rise in curiosity, “that makes sense... you guys must have been really close, huh.”

you flickered a look to iwaizumi, examining his reaction if he was also noticing her off words. “yeah... really close.” his expression melted into confusion then as you placed your gaze back to satomi.

iwaizumi scratched the back of his neck as the words remained at the tip of his tongue. why weren’t you mentioning that you two dated before? it wasn’t like it was a crime nor secret. he hated to think this, but could it be because you regretted your relationship with him?

he shook the thought out of his head quickly. the obvious answer was no as the breakup was mutual, yet after all these years of drifting apart, was that really the truth?

if he recalled correctly, one of the last words you said to him before you inevitably left for tokyo and never looked back was that you love him and would always be there for him no matter what. you even promised to text him as much as possible, yet after months had passed since you moved to your new life, it was as if the promise was nonexistent. however, iwaizumi couldn’t bring himself to blame you. if anything, he had himself to blame considering how many times he had written that same text over and over again, yet never had the courage to send it.

“(y/n) had to move to tokyo after our first year so we kind of drifted.” iwaizumi answers. even now with the chance open for him to mention your previous relationship was out in the open, he was still do cowardly to say it.

perhaps somethings never change.

fun facts! —

iwaizumi wasn’t really keen on using social media back in high school, which explains why he never really found out about (y/n) and bokuto’s relationship

it wasn’t like (y/n) and bokuto liked posting about their relationship either at the time

satomi and bokuto have always been homies after they have gotten closer when bokuto injuredhis knee and had to go to physical therapy, but he never really talked about his past relationships, hence satomi not knowing about (y/n)

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imagination-of-a-thirsty-weeb · 4 years ago

Text

Thigh Highs || Bokuto + Kuroo + Daichi x Reader

Artwork is not mine! Unfortunately, I do not know who the artist is but if you do please let me know so I can properly credit them!

Prompt: In which Daichi decides to strengthen the bonds between teams through sharing his girlfriend.

Pairing: Bokuto x Kuroo x Daichi x Reader

Word Count: 7.232k

Warning: Dp, oral, sweat kink, anal play, overstimulation

“Fuck, she’s got on those thigh highs,” Kuroo chuckles, passing the ball to the still wondering Bokuto. Kuroo takes a deep sigh, and nods in the direction he had seen you in for his less attentive friend. Bokuto turns and suddenly his throat is dry. He had turned just in time to watch you pulling at the thigh highs, the material far too tight for the supple skin of your thighs.

“Shit,” Bokuto is very fond of thigh highs, especially when you’re wearing them. Your thighs are too meaty and you know it, the thigh highs stretching pathetically over your thighs, the hems digging into the skin just right. He remembers those thigh highs, or another variation of them. His fingers clasped at the material, using it to fuck you back onto his cock. He found himself watching the way your thighs shook with his movements for a good portion of the time. He couldn’t tear them away, they jiggled with every little movement, those damned thigh highs the perfect little cherry on top. “Shit,” he repeats, wiping his brow with his free hand.

“Daichi probably told her to wear em to throw us off,” Kuroo’s eyes flit toward the team stumbling in behind you, quickly finding his culprit. “Look at him, he knows what he’s doing,” Kuroo snickers and ducks under the net, meeting Karasuno’s captain with a sly smirk. “You think you’re slick Sawamura?” Kuroo links a brow, the rest of the team saying their greetings as they pass by, eager to drop the heavy bags they held. “Putting my kitten in those damn thigh highs? Are you trying to ruin me?” As if on cue both men turn to look at you, finding you bubbling, excitedly jumping in your seat as you spoke about getting to watch the practice matches.

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Bokuto joins, wrapping an arm around the suddenly swarmed Daichi. “Playing dirty, huh?” Bokuto scolds, wagging style finger at the still dazed Daichi. Daichi’s head had been swarming all day, he had to focus on these matches and not the way you felt wrapped around his cock this morning. Or the way you let him follow you into the shower to rip two orgasms from your body with the detachable shower head. Then proceed to fuck you until you were a mess on his cock, tears flowing, hiccups passing beautifully through those kiss riddled lips.

“Oh?” Kuroo notices the way Daichi’s eyes have to divert from you almost the second he sees you, his body tensing up. “She wore those of her own volition?” Kuroo turns back to you, clicking his tongue. There’s a million ways of fucking you until next Sunday running through his mind and he’s finding it hard to imagine lasting through all of the practice matches. “Naughty little kitten,” Kuroo purrs, feeling his cock twitch in his uniform shorts. “We just gotta get through these matches right?” Kuroo’s eyes are dark but there’s a spark of hope in them, there’s no way Karasuno’s captain would take his tasty treat home without letting him have a taste. “Then you’ll let her make a mess on my cock?” Kuroo’s tone is almost teasing, a hint of degradation in there. “All while you watch?” That was just because he’s an asshole.

“Come on man!” Bokuto hits his friend in the back of the head, half the mind to force him into a bow. “He’s sorry!” Bokuto nudges Kuroo, muttering something about Daichi being so nice and not wanting to have Daichi take away their little toy. “But you’ll let us right? Let us fuck her?” Bokuto does nothing to hide the shimmering in his eyes, his tongue darting to wet his chapped lips. “Cause man, those thigh highs are doing something to me-“ A call from Akaashi stops Bokuto mid-sentence and Kuroo and Daichi are glad. As enjoyable as it was to watch the way you’d crumble around Bokuto’s cock, they didn’t want to take about it. “I’ll see ya later!” Bokuto departs with a wink, receiving a scolding for sneaking off when they were supposed to be practicing.

“She’s fucking with you just as much as she’s fucking with me, isn’t she?” Kuroo can see the way Daichi dryly swallows, fighting to keep his eyes from moving over to you. “I know those damned thighs highs are fucking with ya! You want to bend her over and stuff her full of your cock on the spot don’t ya?” Kuroo may or may not be talking about himself at the moment, though the nervous chuckle Daichi lets out tells him all he needs to know. “Hmm, I’ll see ya after the games.” Kuroo backs away with a shit-eating grin on his lips. He turns back to look at you one last time to find you waving your arms at Bokuto, mirroring the motions of the owlish boy. You’re smiling so wide, finding Kuroo’s eyes to wave at him as well. “Hey kitten!” He yells the pet name and the way your eyes widen, smile faltering has him twitching in his shorts. He chuckles, turning as he leaves you to stir in your juices.

“I almost feel like losing on purpose,” Bokuto mumbles to himself, passing Kuroo to take his position on the opposite side of the court. Yeah, Kuroo knew the feeling. He looked at Bokuto, a grimace on the boy’s face. He’s probably hard as hell, Kuroo wanted to laugh and tease him about it but he couldn’t bring himself to. Kuroo found himself adjusting his shorts one last time before crouching down, getting ready for the start of the game.

“Daichi,” you whimper against his lips, feeling his fingers pulling at the material of your thigh highs. He releases them with snaps against your thighs, the sound of the material digging into your thighs sounding across the room. They blend beautifully with the breathy moans you release, Daichi’s fingers moving to your heat, stroking you through the thin material of your panties. “Please,” You’re a mess and you know it, if someone were to walk in on you like this, begging for the simplest touch they’d have a field day with you. “Please,” you whine once more, grinding your hips into his touch, gasping when he hits your bundle of nerves just right.

“That feel nice baby?” Daichi’s a panting mess, heavy breaths hitting your cheek. He’s hard as a rock in his shorts but he knows what coming, he knows they’ll waste little time shoving you full of their cock and so he takes it upon himself to properly prep you. His fingers are nimble as they slip your panties down your legs, tossing them somewhere over his shoulder.

“Getting started without us?” There’s a low whistle from behind the two of you, and Daichi turns to find Kuroo and Bokuto walking into the locker-room. Their brows were drenched with sweat, the salty liquid rolling over their smooth skin. You let out a small whimper, tongue twitching to lick at the beads of sweat that disappeared beneath the collar of their jerseys. It was Kuroo, there he stood with that damned smirk adorning his features. He held your panties between his fingers, holding his eyes on yours as he brings them to his nose, taking a big whiff. Your hips buck against Daichi’s hip, breath hitching in your throat at the short moment of relief you receive from the movement.

“Hey Princess!” Bokuto bounds into the room, ready to tear you from Daichi’s grasp. “I missed ya!” He’s still slightly out of breath, panting a little from his last match. It’s him that draws your attention from Kuroo, forcing your eyes in his direction. He’s so beautiful, as he always was, but even more so now. His hair, usually spiked fell to frame his face, you loved that sight. Those golden orbs shining bright, even under the dim lights of the locker-room. “Daichi don’t be selfish! Let us see her!” Kuroo’s a little surprised Bokuto even references him. He knows the thoughts that cloud and swirl in that small brain of his friends, a lot on the naughtier side. Daichi huffs but moves the the side, keeping a hand on your inner thigh. “Oh princess,” Bokuto grunts, sounding almost pained. “I nearly creamed my pants on that damned court thinking about being buried between those thighs,” Maybe Daichi was wrong, his eyes watching Bokuto slink up to the both of you, dropping to his knees without hesitation.

“I thought we’d agree I’d get first Bo?” The nickname has Bokuto’s ears perking up, his eyes flitting towards Kuroo. Kuroo kinks a brow but the look on Bokuto’s face says it all, he wasn’t moving. Well, not until you were coming undone on his tongue. “I see,” Bokuto had lost all his sense of mind when Daichi had exposed you to the two of them, your leg now hiked up against his thigh. “Look at him kitten,” Both you and Daichi look down at Bokuto, his bright orbs staring at the heat between your thighs.

“He’s fucked out,” Daichi finishes Kuroo’s thought, chuckling a little at the sight before him. “You keep up that eagerness you might just take my girl from me,” Daichi’s joking, of course, but the possibility of Bokuto getting to have you all to himself has him tensing. His eyes are dark now, flitting toward your face. You? All to him? He’d never share you with the other two, that he was sure of.

“Princess,” Bokuto’s fingers grip at your thighs, pulling your foot still on the floor over his shoulder. “If I did have ya all to myself, I’d eat this pretty little pussy for hours on end,” He’s drooling, just a little but he can feel the liquid dribble down his chin. “Princess,” he groans, nudging his nose against your inner thigh. You whimper, thighs trembling when you can feel the air of him inhaling your scent against your skin. “You’d let me right?” He growls, blunt nails digging into the supple flesh of your thighs, pulling you closer to him. “I mean look at ya now, so desperate for me and right in front of your cap’n?” His lips curl into a sadistic grin, a look you aren’t used to seeing on his face. Bokuto’s eyes flit toward Daichi, holding his gaze as he whispers his next words against your skin. “I want you to fuck yourself on my tongue princess, show your cap’n how much of a desperate bitch you are.” Bokuto’s teeth nip at your inner thigh, your hips bucking into his face with a low whimper.

Daichi growls, Bokuto giving him a small smirk before ripping his eyes away from Daichi’s hardening stare. Daichi knew sharing you would have it’s consequences but he didn’t expect them to be so possessive. The way Bokuto gripped at your thighs like it was only the two of you, his fingers there to remind you. Kuroo needing to remind the two of them of his presence as he attached his lips to your skin. Daichi snarled, his cock only twitching at their actions.

“You’re such a damn hog,” Kuroo steps closer to the three of you, leaving Daichi to hold you open to the two of them. “I guess I’ll find some other way to entertain myself,” Kuroo’s hands are at the collar of your shirt, ripping it right down the middle. “Clothes can be so pesky!” You want to roll your eyes, make your usual smartass comment but you find yourself stopping, the show of his power stirring your insides. “Would you look at that?” Kuroo’s eyes light up like a child’s on Christmas, “No bra?” In your defense you were wearing an oversized shirt and it was a bit warm outside. “You were so ready kitten,” Kuroo runs his thumbs over your tightening buds, leaning over to take the pert bud into his mouth. He reels at how responsive you are, back arching into his touch.

“You’re being so well taken care of baby,” Daichi whispers in your ear, placing a few kisses against the shell of your ear. “I know you can be such a good girl but you’ve been so bad today,” Daichi growls, pulling at the thigh highs, the reference in his statement. “Wearing these? Such a tease,” Daichi looks down at Bokuto, watching the way his tongue sneaks past his lips to delve into the heat between your thighs. “Look at Bokuto? Look at how he’s so needy, so desperate for just a taste of that slutty little cunt.” Bokuto’s tongue flicks over your clit, eyes locking on yours before he takes the aching bud past his lips.

“Ah-fuck Boku!” Your hips rut against his mouth, trying to match his pace by the movement of your hips. “Fuck, Bo-“ you were so sensitive, especially as Kuroo let his teeth graze over your bud. “Shit,” one of your hands pushes through Bokuto’s sweaty locks, pulling him closer. The other pushes through the hair at the back of Daichi’s neck, allowing Kuroo to have his fun kissing along the span of your chest. Daichi catches onto what you want and his lips meet yours in a feverish kiss. His tongue slips past your lips as you whimper into the kiss, tongue weakly fighting against his. Daichi’s tongue moves gracefully against his, his fingers digging into the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs. He’s holding you open for Bokuto whether he realizes it or not, allowing the man between your thighs to lash out against your clit.

Bokuto’s tongue is relentless in its actions, aiding in your pleasure as he suckled on the throbbing bud. The hot muscle flicks against your clit, his hands gripping harder at your thighs as he can feel them shake around his head. “Kuroo,” Is really the only warning you receive before Bokuto’s pushing your hips up and shoving his tongue into your entrance. Kuroo’s fingers drop to your clit, rubbing tight circles right under its hood. Your lips quiver as Daichi pulls away, letting your soft moans slip into the locker-room air.

“You gonna come baby?” Daichi’s free hand moves over your chest, pinching and pulling at your pert buds. “You like Bokuto fucking you with his tongue?” Daichi pauses, chuckling lowly at the sight he’s greeted with. One of your hands pushed through Bokuto’s hair, the other gripping Kuroo’s wrist like your life depended on it, hips moving against the both of them. You look timid, almost unsure of the way you fuck yourself against the two of them, eyes fluttering closed every few seconds as you get lost in the pleasure of their hands scurrying over your body. “You close baby?”

You want to respond, give him a coherent answer but the second you try to open your mouth to say anything, Kuroo’s lips are on yours. “Kitten,” Kuroo mewls into the kiss, teeth tugging at your bottom lip. He pulls back just a little, making a show out of the way you mindlessly follow him. “I know Kitten,” Kuroo presses a few chaste kisses against your lips in a quick succession before bending so he was face level with your core. “This pretty little cunt is so needy,” he whispers, more to himself, nudging Bokuto to the side to attach his lips to your clit.

“Fuck!” You were teetering on the edge, the stimulation too much. Your body torn between the feeling of Bokuto stuffing you full of his tongue, tip pressing against that spongy patch of nerves. Bokuto almost seems to be begging for your release, the way his eyes roll into the back of his head, moans vibrating your core. And Kuroo’s tongue gently massaging your clit as your body shook above the two of them. Daichi’s fingers never stop pulling at your tits, even if they are sore and overworked, begging for a break. Your body is trembling, shaking as you twist and turn in their grasps, the only thing keeping you in place being their hands. “Fuck!” You moan out a string of their names, feeling your juices gushing out around Bokuto’s tongue. The sight you’re met with when your eyes loll open is enough to send you into a second release. Bokuto’s fingers grip almost desperately at your thighs, pulling you as close as possible to his face. His tongue never stops, you can only imagine how much it’s cramping, massaging your walls as he and Kuroo’s tongue work you through your second ending. “Please!” You push at Kuroo’s head first, Daichi being the one to pull him away as your whimpers and whines from being overstimulated only served to further turn Kuroo on. Bokuto’s next, pulling away of his own volition. Bokuto’s tongue hasn’t received the memo just yet, still running over your quaking core with excited and sloppy movements. “Boku!” Your fingers tangle themselves in his gray locks and you pull him away from your core, his eyes wide when they meet yours. He looks almost like a kicked puppy, tongue lapping at his lips.

“I’m sorry princess,” His voice is dripping with arousal, almost slurred as he speaks. “You just taste so damn good,” his teeth nip at the skin of your inner thigh, all three men noting the way you jump at the action. “Even more sensitive than when we started?” Bokuto stands to his feet, a dizzy spell hitting him as his brain clouds with his lust. The only coherent thought he has contains bending you over the nearest bench and making the two others watch as you make a mess on his cock. “What are we going to do with you princess?” Bokuto moves to pick you up, hands on the undersides of your thighs only to be stopped by Kuroo.

“You’ve got to share Bokuto,” Daichi reminds him, the three of you laughing when Bokuto’s face falls. Daichi isn’t upset with Bokuto’s actions or words, he always got like this, so possessive. Daichi often worried that it was truly Bokuto’s goal to sweep you right off your feet, though, the both of you knew Bokuto would never do anything like that. Bokuto huffs, moving to the side to allow Kuroo to resume his previous position. “Good boy,” Daichi always did this, showered the three of you in praise when it was deserved. Bokuto loved it a little more than Kuroo, his cheeks heating up at the two words. “Baby?” Daichi’s nose nudges at your cheek, forcing your gaze to Bokuto’s. “Tell him,” Kuroo’s running low on patience, though he’s a little envious of the next words that slip past your lips.

“I want you to fuck me so bad Boku,” your hand reaches out to caress his cheek, eyes shaking as they trail over his body. Your eyes drop to the bulge in his shorts and the wanton moan you let out is everything, head thrown back as your pussy gushes at the thought of him bending you in half and fucking you into the mess you were. “But Kuroo and Daichi have been waiting so patiently,” You pull Bokuto in closer, lips a hair a way from his. “So you let them have their turn and I’ll let you fuck me in any position you want,” Bokuto’s eyes shimmer at this, any position? All to himself? “You just have to be a good boy, alright?” You run the tip of your tongue over the curve of his lips, eyes boring into his skin.

Bokuto finds himself knodding but as he watches Kuroo carry you over to the bench, being sandwiched between the two men, he realizes he may not be able to wait. “Fuck baby, you made such a mess,” Daichi’s pulling at your skirt, undoing the button in the side to get rid of the material. “You gonna let me and Kuroo stuff these tight little holes with our cocks?” Daichi’s hands grip at your ass, pulling you open for him. Kuroo’s pulling you into his lap, forcing Daichi to follow the two of you. Kuroo’s lips kiss at the corner of your mouth, pulling your attention to him as he pushed his bulge against your bare heat.

“Fuck kitten,” he drawls out the words, eyes boring into yours. “I can’t wait to fill this greedy little cunt.” He gives you a sharp thrust to reiterate his statement. “You want that kitten? You want your pussy full of cock? You want Daichi to ruin that pretty little ass?” Kuroo delivers a hard hit to your ass cheek, Daichi watching it jiggle in his grasp. “Answer me kitten,”

“Y-yes,” your throat feels so raw, scratchy as you speak. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, short pants leaving your lips as you try to keep up with both men’s actions. “Please!” You cry, throwing your arms around Kuroo’s shoulders, pressing your chest against his. It’s hot in this damned locker-room, and you can barely breath overwhelmed by the senses of the two men pressing against you.

“It’s okay baby,” Daichi presses wet kisses against your heated skin, smiling softly when you relax at the feeling of his lips against your skin. “You’ve been such a good girl,” Daichi praises, presses more kisses against your shoulders as his finger runs over your puckered hole. “You deserve to be full and fucked like the good slut you are,” You can hear him spitting, the warm liquid hitting your puckered hole and rolling down to your core. “Fuck baby,” Daichi grunts, watching your hole clench around nothing, eager to be filled. “I can’t wait to fuck this greedy little hole,” Daichi growls, scooting back so he could lean forward a little. His hands push at your body until you’re bent over, core planted firmly against Kuroo’s twitching bulge.

“Fuck! You keep moving her like that I don’t think I’ll be able to wait-“ Kuroo warns Daichi but his hands find their way to your ass, holding you open for the Karasuno captain as he ran his tongue over your puckered hole. You shudder above him, hips pushing against Kuroo and back against his mouth. “Patience,” Kuroo growls, teeth nipping at your jutted out lip as his hand connects to your ass a few times. Each hit is harder than the last, the stinging doing nothing but aiding in the ache of your core. Daichi’s tongue laps at your hole, hands on your hips to keep you in place as he does what he does best, get you ready for his cock.

“Daichi!” You roll your hips back against his mouth, forgetting the way you were deliciously rolling over the tip of Kuroo’s cock. “Please-“ you’re a mess, begging, pleading for his tongue to fill your ass. Your hands ball Kuroo’s jersey in fists, pulling at the fabric as Daichi finally gives you what you want. Daichi’s tongue slides into the tight hole, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at the way you clench around him. “Just like that-“ Daichi stiffens his tongue and settles for allowing you to fuck yourself back into him. Your head lays in Kuroo’s shoulder, body weak as you do your best to keep the two men before you happy with your actions.

“Princess,” Bokuto coos from across the locker-room, having found a seat on the bench parallel to you and the other two. His eyes are wide, drinking in your every move. His hand moves languidly over his cock through his shorts, he’s waiting. “I know you’re not getting tired on me already, Princess,” he gives himself a sharp tug, linking his brow as he almost challenges you. “I’m so hard,” Bokuto whines, rolling his head for the dramatics. His head drops as his eyes link with yours once more. “You told me I’d get to fuck you in any position but that’s not fun if you pass out.” Bokuto’s tugging on his cock a little faster and you can tell it’s taking everything in him not to pull it out. “Come on princess, you haven’t forgotten about me have you?”

Whether Bokuto meant to distract you or not, it worked. Daichi slid two fingers into your tight hole, scissoring them as Bokuto kept you engaged in conversation. “Fuck baby,” Daichi grunts as you clench around his fingers, sucking them deeper. “I’m gonna add a third,” his lips continue to press heated kisses to your skin, tearing your attention away from Bokuto at the mention of a third finger. “Don’t look at me like that baby,” Daichi finds himself chuckling, easing a third finger in with his other two. “I gotta fuck this hole open for my cock,” he speaks softly, almost as if his words serve as a gentle reminder. You whimper at his words, brows furrowing as you focus on meeting the movement of his hand. “That’s right, fuck yourself on my fingers,” Daichi gathers the spit in his mouth and lets it drip onto your stuffed hole. “Hmm, you’re such a good fucking slut,” Daichi’s teeth nibble on your ear, “Always so eager to take cock in any one of your holes,” he spits those words, his statement almost like a slap in the face. “It’s okay though baby, I don’t mind sharing,”

“Would you and could you, hurry the fuck up?” Kuroo’s shorts are now uncomfortably tight and even kissing at your most sensitive skin wasn’t distracting him from how hard he was. “I’m dying up here man!” Kuroo wasn’t usually the whining type, well not in scenarios like this. You could tell the evening was getting to him, especially with the way his cock throbbed against your heat as he watched you fuck yourself onto Daichi’s fingers. “Kitten?” Kuroo’s eyes are swirling with lust, a beautiful dark, warm honey color filling his once bright orbs. “You’re ready right?” His lips press feverish kisses against your collarbones, nipping softly here and there. “I need you so bad kitten,” Kuroo’s arms wrap around your torso, head falling to your chest. “I need to feel you so bad,”

“She’s ready,” Daichi usually ignores the eagerness if the other two, knowing it was up to him to keep things on track when lust would cloud their heads. Daichi pulls his fingers from you, slowly, letting you mewl at the loss of feeling full. “You’ve been so good baby,” Daichi’s hands grab at your thighs, pulling you off of Kuroo. Kuroo uses this chance to free himself from his uniform shorts, shifting slightly as he struggles to get them off. You let out a soft giggle, watching as he almost falls off the bench. “Careful!” Daichi chuckles, his own hands pushing his shorts down until they bunched around his thighs. “Y/N?” Daichi’s breath tickles your cheek, head stopping you as you try to turn to face him. “I want you to tell me if it’s too much alright?” Daichi’s cock slips between your thighs, a harsh gasp leaving your lips as his hard shaft makes contact with your core. “I just want to make sure I’m slick enough,” Daichi’s hands devise a death grip on your hips, pulling you against him. Your lips split over his shaft, slit dripping your arousal on his cock. “Fuck baby,” The tip of his cock catches on your entrance, teasing the both of you. “Hmm, you ready?” Daichi’s tone is an octave deeper, his composure slowly slipping at the feeling of your heat over his cock.

“About damn time,” his question was directed at Kuroo who was now twitching in anticipation of what was to come. “Come here kitten,” Kuroo pulls you into his lap, leaving Daichi to chase the two of you once more. “I’m going to stuff this needy little cunt kitten,” One of Kuroo’s hands is placed on your hip, the other gripping the base of his cock. “Hmm, are you ready for me kitten?” You’re literally dripping at this point, your arousal covering your thighs, your puffy pussy lips, you looked a mess you were sure. Kuroo runs the meaty tip of his cock over your quaking slit before stopping at your entrance. “How long has it been?” You don’t know if he wants an answer or not but he doesn’t wait for one, slamming you down into his lap, cock filling you to the hilt with the one movement. “Shit kitten!”

“K-Kuroo!” You can only whisper his name, the word falling from your lips in a broken cry. “Feels so good,” His cock is so big, so thick, rubbing against your walls in all the right ways. You have very littler energy left but use what you do have to grind yourself into Kuroo’s lap, reeling at the way he desperately clutches onto your hips, willing you to stop, to give him a second. “Daichi?” You look over your shoulder to find your boyfriend fisting his cock to the sight of your pussy filled with another man’s cock. “Daichi!” You whine, shaking your ass at him, needing to be filled to your limits.

Daichi doesn’t say anything, his fingers gripping at your chin to keep your eyes on his as he places the tip of his cock at your puckered hole. “Do it-“ It’s Bokuto, ready to get this show on the road, over and done with, tomato, tomato, he wanted his turn and he was growing impatient. “Fuck her like she deserves,” Bokuto’s taken his shorts off at this point, his spit stained palm running over his shaft, giving him little satisfaction as he watches the way Kuroo’s buried in your pussy. He grunts, squeezing the head of his cock as he imagines your pussy enveloping his shaft, his cock buried to the hilt in your pussy, fucking you into oblivion.

“Oh I plan on it,” Daichi’s slow as he pushes in, stopping every time you wince or grimace. You’re tensing around him and his kisses are doing little to ease the pain. “I’m going to push in all the way, alright?” You give him a small nod, eyes dripping to where the two of you connect, watching his slick shaft disappear as his hips surged forward. “Shit!” You’re gripping him like you never want him anywhere but filling your ass, so warm, so tight. “Baby, baby,” He’s trying to give you a warning, to tell you to calm down before he’s unable to control himself but you’re beyond euphoria.

“Fuck me-“ It’s the only thing you can think of at the moment, the only thing you want, the only thing you need. You’re mind is clouded with lust, almost blank as you accept your position to be used by the two men filling your holes. Your skin is hot, the feeling of Kuroo and Daichi’s jerseys against your skin serving as some sort of relief. You can only focus on the feeling between your thighs, the feeling of being pushed and pulled, split open as two cocks moved in and out of you at a blurred pace. You’re sure you’re screaming by this point, fingers clawing at Kuroo’s shoulders as the two men use you at their will, nothing more than a fuck toy, nothing more than a hole.

Bokuto has to stop touching himself, cock bobbing as he pushes his orgasm back down. “Fuck Princess,” he hates backing down so easily, but who was he to deny such a beautiful request falling from your lips? He’d be a good boy for you any day, wait day and night behind the promise of having you in any position, all to himself. “You like that?” He knows you’re too far gone to even comprehend his question but the way your tongue lolls out, drool dribbling down your chin tells him you’re enjoying yourself. “I can’t wait to stuff you full of my cock princess,” the thick vein that wraps around his shaft twitches at his words, he was a little more eager than he was letting on. “You want that princess? To be properly fucked?” Bokuto couldn’t help himself, he often got like this when it wasn’t his turn to play.

“I think I’m doing a pretty good job,” Kuroo grins, taking Bokuto’s words as a challenge. His hands push at Daichi, replacing the former’s hands on your waist. Kuroo uses the force of Daichi’s thrust, his hands on your hips, and the force of his own thrust to bury himself inside you. This seems to be what you needed as you find yourself convulsing between the two of them, limbs spasming as pleasure washes through the limbs. You’re light headed, both pussy and ass sore against the continued actions of Kuroo and Daichi, each eagerly chasing their own release. “Wouldn’t you say so?” The question is directed to you but all you can see is nod, staring at Kuroo through a blurred vision. Tears well in your eyes, a few threatening to spill as Kuroo continued to fuck into your sensitive core, walls fluttering around his cock as you fight off a fourth orgasm.

It’s too much, you want to cry out, but you know Daichi’ll stop and you don’t want to ruin the moment. Especially when it felt so good, “I’m going to fill this pussy kitten,” Kuroo whispers against your cheek, tongue lapping at the tear that slides over the smooth skin. “You crying baby?” His tone is mock, nearly condescending. “Is my cock that good kitten?” You nearly want to smack him, to call him all kinds of names but the way Daichi’s fingers flutter over your clit sends you into a fourth orgasm of the evening.

Your hips slam down against the two of them, filling yourself with them as you come for the fourth time that night. Your body is on fire, heat stemming from your belly and filling each of your limbs. Your head feels like it’s filled with lead, swaying until it drops against Kuroo’s shoulder. You’re crying, the tears freely flowing down your cheeks, dampening Kuroo’s jersey. “Kitten,” it’s the only warning you receive before Kuroo’s twitching against your walls, painting them with his seed. “Fuck kitten,” he presses a few wet kisses against your heated skin, letting you bask in your post/orgasmic state as he tried to do. Daichi is the one to ruin his plans, pulling you off of Kuroo to have you to himself.

“Hmm, baby, you’ve been a such a good girl,” that has to be like the tenth time he’s said that, not that you’re complaining, you could listen to him call you a good girl all day. “Letting Kuroo come inside that greedy cunt,” that was it, that’s what had set him off. Daichi couldn’t help himself, watching the mess you had become due to the two others. You were his, whether he decided to share or not meant nothing. Especially not the way he folded himself over you, hips pushing against your ass with great desperation. You can feel every ridge, every bump of his shaft, rubbing deliciously against your walls. Daichi almost seems lost, his main goal to empty himself in your ass. You can tell, he has nothing else on his mind besides his release, even as he kisses you and repeatedly tells you what a good girl you are. Your nails dig into the skin of Kuroo’s thighs, grounding yourself as Daichi fucked into you like no tomorrow. “Gonna fill this ass,” he grunts, nails scratching at your skin, pulling your apart from him. His thrust as unforgiving, burying his cock further into you with each movement. “You want that baby? To be filled with cum in both holes?” Daichi’s hips falter before stalling, his head falling into your neck as he lets out a string of curses. You can feel his seed filling your ass, your eyes widening at how much he had to offer. Daichi offers a few more pathetic thrusts, fucking his seed into you before he has the nerve to pull away. This was usually the part where’d he take you into his arms and give you a million kisses, whispering praises as he delivered each one against your skin.

“Fucking finally,” Bokuto doesn’t know if he would’ve been able to wait another second, imagining how awkward it’d be to plant himself in the mix. He picks you up from between the two now completely spent men and brings you back to the bench he had been seated on. “Princess?” He sits so you’re in his lap, he needed to make sure of a few things before he proceeded. “Are you alright?” You almost want to answer no, each of your limbs feeling as if they weigh a ton as you struggle to hook them around his shoulders, opting for a nod instead. “Are you sure?” Bokuto’s fingers are on your hips but they’re twitching to be elsewhere. “Y/N, where are you?” He needed to make sure you were alright and when you give him the answer he’s looking for, he’s flipping you over. He pushes you so your cheek is pressed against the bench, ass high in the air. “You ready princess?” He’s more than eager, running the thick head of his cock along your slit, collecting juices as he waits for an answer.

“Y-yes,” you’re breathless, lungs begging to be filled properly as you inhale and exhale overly shaky breaths. Your body is moving on it’s own, pushing back against Bokuto, looking for more, biting off more than you could chew. Bokuto hums in appreciation, placing himself at your sopping entrance.

“You’re leaking back here princess,” Bokuto’s thumb comes up to stop the mess that Daichi made as your hole pushes it out. “A fucking mess,” Bokuto chuckles, pushing his thumb into your puckered hole. You aren’t expecting the sensation, gasping as you feel him wriggling it around. “You’re so damn fun to play with,” his hips are slamming against your ass, his hand leaving your hip to steady the both of you with a tight grip on your thigh highs. This is what he’s been waiting for, ever since he turned in the gym to watch you pull at them. “Daichi doesn’t know what a good girl he’s got,” Bokuto nearly comes as soon as your walls wrap around him, clamping down on his cock, begging for his load. Sweat quickly builds at his hairline, dripping down his temple as he pushes you halfway up the bench with each thrust, only bringing you back with the hand twisted in the material of your thigh highs. “So ready to take cock no matter how tired she is,” Bokuto stops his moving entirely, eyes moving down to where you swallowed his cock, watching as he slowly brought you back to his hips. “So eager to please,” you were so tight, and so wet, Kuroo’s load adding to the slickness between your thighs. “I’m going to fill this greedy little cunt princess,” Bokuto growls, almost possessively as he picks up his pace again. His hips are merciless as he pushes his cock past your tight entrance, craving the way your walls flutter against him.

“Boku!” You cry out his name, hands gripping at the bench as you can do nothing but lay there and take all he has to offer. “Please!” You don’t know what you’re begging for at this point, for him to let up, for him to go faster, for more, for less. You can only feel his hands on your body, one gripping at your thigh highs to pull you back to meet his thrusts, the other everywhere. He’s pulling at your sensitive buds, pinching them just to hear you squeal. His fingers dance across your shoulders before settling across the back of your neck, pinning you in place for him. This position seems to do the trick, his cock twitching as he watches you. You’re laid out for him, ass obediently in the air as you take his punishment, his pent up frustration.

“Let’s be honest princess,” Bokuto pulls you up so that you’re back is flush against his chest, his hand leaving your neck to trail down your stomach, settling between your thighs. “Only I can fuck you like this,” His fingers are quick as they flick over your clit, your swollen and abused bud. He was right to a certain degree, whether he got you at the end or the start of these hook-ups, you were always a mess around his cock by the end of his turn. “Isn’t that right?” He’s stopped his thrusting, massaging your rough patch of nerves with the tip of his cock as he grounds his hips against your ass. “Princess, tell your cap’n.” Bokuto whispers the next words in your ear and brings his other hand up to cup your chin, forcing you to look in the direction of Daichi and Kuroo. They’re hard again, looking at the scene before them like a predator watches its prey. “Tell him or I’ll stop-“ Bokuto delivers a quick slap to your clit, his chest vibrating against your back when he chuckles at the poor attempt to close you legs. “Tell. Him.” Each word is reiterated with another slap to your clit before he’s rubbing the sore bud once more.

“Daichi,” your eyes are filled with tears, almost appearing starry as the light in the locker-room catches them just right. “Only Bokuto can fuck me right,” you’re reward with your words with another release, Bokuto still rubbing the tip of his cock against your sensitive insides. “Bokuto!” You don’t even pretend to feel bad about the words you had been forced to speak, everyone knowing they were right to a certain degree, especially in times like this.

“Just like that princess,” your thighs shake as you’re forced to ride out your release stuffed full of cock, the pressure right against your most sensitive spot. Bokuto’s fingers don’t stop, his eyes gleaming as he watches you come undone around his cock. Your juices gush out around his shaft, soaking his thighs and abdomen. “Fuck princess,” Bokuto groans in your ear, his fingers only stilling over your clit as his own orgasm washes over him. “So tight. So warm.” He whispers, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You can feel him breathing in your scent, arms wrapping almost lovingly around your torso as he pumps you full of his seed. “Hmm,” he doesn’t want to pull out but he can’t stay like that, especially not when he can hear the excited voices buzzing in the hall.

“Look at you baby,” Daichi’s pulled his shorts back up, moving from the bench to come to your aid. He pulls you from Bokuto’s grip and into his lap, holding you as if you’d break. “You were so good,” he presses a few kisses to your cheeks, wiping at the tears that had managed to escape. “So good,” he motions something behind you, and you hear some shuffling before a shirt’s being slipped over your head and your skirt’s being pulled back up around your waist. “Baby?” Daichi looks from Kuroo to Bokuto before his eyes find yours once more, “Bokuto and Kuroo were thinking about coming back to the hotel room with us tonight, would you like that?”

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#bokuto #daichi #kuroo #bokuto smut #daichi smut #kuroo smut #karasuno #nekoma #fukorodani #anime #anime smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu!! smut #400*

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imlostinsantacarla · 4 years ago

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@daydreamerneko123 said: Hello, I wanted to make a request for a imagine involving The Lost Boys. How would the boys react to an artist reader drawing them in secret? Due to their shyness and the fact they are just too freaking hot to confront. 🙏 Please and thank you

(a/n: hey lovely! thank you so much for requesting this, as well as for being so patient with me. it took me awhile but i finally got there. sorry that these are shorter, but i hope that you enjoy them nonetheless! - admin kat 🌙❣️)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The Lost Boys x Artist Reader Drawing them in Secret Headcanons:

David:

° Being the observant type, David was acutely aware about your little hobby, along with his observant tendencies, he also read your mind. He’s an incredibly smug shit about it and the entire fiasco definitely inflates his ego considerably.

° In order to mess with you, he will remain in the same position for awhile and when you look up to reference him once again, he’s got a cigarette hanging breathtakingly from the side of his simpering mouth, blonde brows raised innocently and in utter humor.

° An immediate sense of embarrassment courses through you, resulting in you dropping your sketchbook rather clumsily.

° That’s when this cobra strikes, stepping from his prized bike and coming over to pick up your sketchbook with such nimble swiftness that it leads to your head spinning wildly.

° David is such a dick about it as well, because instead of returning the sketchbook like a gentleman, he’ll thumb through to pages to find not only one sketch of him, but several!

° Oh, it’s on! He’s teasing the hell out of you until there’s no tomorrow. All in good fun though! David doesn’t want to see you cry... at least not yet.

° “You know, you’re not half bad, actually. But I think you’ll enjoy the real thing much better.”

° This fucker w i n k s afterwards, just like the suave bastard he really is.

° David will flirt with your relentlessly afterwards. You won’t escape from his smooth words and his luscious leathery touches. You’ve peaked his interest after all.

° Prior to this specific occurrence having played out, he had dropped hints that he knew but when you picked up on them, he’d act entirely oblivious, which only confused you further and entertained him profusely.

Dwayne:

° Oh, silent Dwayne with the observant eyes of a hawk! His observant qualities had seriously downgraded themselves in this instance, your form hunched over a sketchbook having gone entirely over his head. It’s safe to say that it literally took him f o r e v e r to figure this one out.

° In fact, Paul had to tell him. Paul! Which honestly indicates something rather big here. Marko and David never let Dwayne live that down. And of course, Paul got teased in the process as well.

° Ignorantly, Dwayne had always assumed you had been drawing the scenery around you. It never occurred in his head that he could ever peak enough interest in someone to become a subject of art. Bruh, has he even seen himself???

° Though now he’s a little a lot curious and he wants to approach you about it.

° So like a slinking panther, he patiently observes and waits for you to look at him, and once you do, he s m i r k s the Big Shit™ and just says nothing!

° Due to your ample amount of embarrassment, you avoid looking up at him for quite some time, though once you deem it to be safe to take a peak, he’s disappeared into thin air, though his buddies are gawking at you like savage simpering wolves.

° “Is that me? That’s pretty good.” A deep voice blossoms in your ear, cold air causing gooseflesh to speckle across your skin like wildfire.

° You have never quite screamed at such a sheer volume than you had in that very moment, my god! And Dwayne couldn’t help but laugh, the other boys cackled wildly from a distance. Though Dwayne wasn’t poking fun at you at all: Yes he found this rather amusing, but he also wasn’t sure how else to respond. But he found it adorable nonetheless.

° With your permission, he goes through your sketchbook, because he’s a Gentleman™!

° As he thumbs through your sketchbook quietly, he discovers one of Laddie and himself, which makes him grin like an idiot! He evens asks if he can keep it, and keep it he does.

Paul:

° One thing that Paul isn’t is observant. Often things like this go straight over his head, though the only reason he noticed your secret sketching sessions of him was because he was checking you out first in all honesty.

° Curiosity practically bounds through his undead veins, mixing that with the his lack of shyness... you’ve got yourself a dangerous concoction that often get’s this vampire into tons of trouble. This dangerous concoction of qualities leads to him coming over.

° How adorable, you’re attempting to hide your sketchbook from him! It’s too bad that he owns the most pesky nimble fingers in existence and snags the book right from you in a swoosh of bountiful laughter. You really stood no chance against him anyway.

° Your feeble attempts at snatching it back from Paul is Childish™, and in response to your embarrassment, Paul cannot hold himself back from holding it above his head and poking a little mean spirited fun at you. This is definitely Paul that we’re discussing here, so are you even surprised at this point?

° Paul lacks the polite boundaries that come along with normal social interactions; either that or he decides to just completely ignore them. So he goes through it right then and there, not being able to resist the urge to throw you flirty comments the entire time. Anything to see you get flustered.

° “I didn’t know I’d bagged myself such a hot fan girl!”

° “At least you got my good side!” Does he really have a good side with that bedhead?

° “Hey, you think next time you could paint me like one of those French Girls?”

° “I can get naked if you want?”

° Paul adores just how shy and flustered you become about it, it provides him with entertainment after all. He’s kind of an ass.

Marko:

° Marko is swift, so it didn’t take him that long to figure out that you were drawing him. Yes, he’s usually up to no good with his best pal Paul, but he’s got incredible brains. He had just been hanging back nonchalantly and planning on how to confront you. Lmaoo what a dork!

° His infamous Cheshire Cat grin is obviously plastered all over his countenance whilst he confronts you about this. Marko is also rather suave, he’s definitely going to flirt with you the entire time this is going down. Winks galore!

° “I’m impressed. The jacket looks like the real thing.”

° Genuine inquisitiveness is activated during the entire encounter, and honestly, Marko is quite abrupt and honest: He asks you in total candidness whether you have a crush on him or not. And even though he’s being candid, you aren’t entirely sure if he’s being serious or making fun of you, because let’s be fair, Marko is rather difficult to read, especially if you’re not close to him just yet.

° “If you did have a crush on me I wouldn’t be complaining.”

° In all honesty, this only gives him more ammunition to flirt with and tease you: Two things that he just loves to do.

° “These are amazing. I’m so glad I no longer have to see the chicken scratches Paul calls masterpieces!”

° Marko inquires a lot on whether he can keep one of your drawings because he is also a Gentleman™, though he has acute tendencies to be a little bastard. He’s friends with Paul, after all.

° As sappy as this sounds, he honestly becomes your biggest fan. The other boys rip into him about it all the time, but he doesn’t mind. You’re good at what you do and even they know it.

° “I could draw you too, but only if you go out on a date with me.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

please like, reblog and follow for more!

requests: closed!

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hawksugarbaby · 4 years ago

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Bakudeku- tongue tied

Lime + Tattoo/piercer Au

A/N: TO BE CLEAR. I don't ship toxic bakugo who told Deku to kill himself with baby deku who can't stand up for himself. I ship emotionally mature, developed, redeemed bakugo who is helping deku become a hero (more evidence in the manga than anime right now) with a strong independent deku who can stand on his own feet now.

It was a slower day for the parlour today than typical but this early in the year less people were interested in getting tattoos or piercings since it was cold and people would be wearing fleecy layer over layer and covering every stretch of skin on their bones to keep warm. What was the point in permanently altering a part of you if most of you was covered up?

Of course the tattoo side of the department had it harder than the piercing side as the piercers had enough options on the face and ears to keep them going. And that was where the great Katsuki Bakugo came into play. Hovering around the parlour like a moth waiting for the lights to flicker on, the annoying buzz of his angry voice that never shut up infiltrating Izuku's ears without of a choice making him unwillingly blush whenever he said anything that caught the freckled boy off guard.

The blonde barged into the shop like he owned the place and tapped his foot at the front desk ringing the bell for service continuously until someone paid attention to him. Izuku looked at his colleagues who all turned around and pretended to work, drawing scribbles on their page for new designs which looked like toddlers artwork until it was refined and then, if they felt like it, coloured.

The green haired boy stood begrudgingly from his desk and sauntered over to the front desk to greet his most common customer. "Afternoon Kacchan" he faked a smile and ran his hand through his curly emerald locks grabbing a pen from the pot, flicking the cap off so forcefully it flew across the room like a rocket for someone else to deal with. "It's evening deku" he argued and leaned his bulging arms on the counter smiling irritatingly at izuku. "Sure whatever. What are you here for" he asked, chewing the end of his pencil and glancing from the blonde's face to his muscular arms without a second thought.

Bakugo stuck his tongue out laying it flat against his chin and stared seductively into Izuku's green eyes. His face lit up red and he closed his eyes ignoring the taller man's angry flirtations. "A t-tongue piercing then?" he stuttered, turning around to face the wall and scribble on the clipboard. "Date of birth" he asked, not looking back at the angry customer being ignored by the reason he was there in the first place. "20th of april 2037" "making you 22" Izuku muttered filling in the information on the sheet. He knew Bakugo's phone number and email by heart by now, in case the courage ever took over to message him.

"Sign here" izuku said, turning and handing the clipboard to bakugo who was cracking his fingers as if it was a time killer and pointed to the line for bakugo to sign his loopy name on. For such an aggressive personality his handwriting was saccharine, it felt ungenuine watching the way his wrist flicked so smoothly with each curve connecting every consonant and vowel. "Can I get a hole in my tongue now or?" he asked placing the board on the desk and leaving the question open ended.

"Is everyone else busy!?" izuku shouted to his coworkers who all shouted yes back not wanting to deal with bakugo's attitude when he wasn't being pierced or tattoo'd by izuku. Izuku didn't have a problem around Bakugo, the problem arose when he couldn't focus on the work because his customer was seemingly attempting to seduce the poor artist. His insistence to be with Izuku was also an issue because god forbid he be with another customer when he came in, the indistinguishable groan when he was told to wait was enough to make the customers waiting to book flee the establishment.

"I guess it'll have to be me then" he sighed and walked to the back of the shop expecting bakugo to just follow behind (which he did). Izuku spun a wide leather seat towards the blonde and slapped the seat making a loud thump and he rolled his neck cracking the bones like loud enough you'd assume they broke. "Y'know for someone who's done this too me a bunch of time's i thought i'd know you better" bakugo sighed slumping into the seat while Izuku stretched a pair of latex gloves over his thick fingers, pinging the band against his wrist then pulling the other one on fiddling with the blue rubber.

Izuku his his blooming cheeks unable to tell if bakugo meant for his words to have a double meaning or if Izuku's mind was just all the way in the gutter. "What could you possibly want to know?" he grumbled looking to bakugo from his peripherals. The red eyed male fiddled with his ash blond locks of hair trying to spike them back up but they were flopping down and plastering to his forehead. Izuku's mini studio was ludicrously warm for the beginning of the year when it's supposed to still be winter, but his box felt like a trip to hawaii! "I dunno, why'd you start tattooing and piercing and shit" he asked gulping nervously at the needles laying out on the metal counter.

Izuku turned with the clamp looped on his fingers, a sure way to shut him up and scooted his own chair forward. "Tongue out" he ordered and bakugo smirked leaning forward "very demanding of y-" Izuku rolled his eyes and caught bakugo's tongue while his mouth was open talking and pulled it out by the clamp. "Eenngg! he huuh?" ("heey! The fuck?") bakugo began to gripe incoherently and izuku pressed harder making bakugo gasp and wave his hand "eh ehh ohay ohay" ("eh ehh okay okay"). He stopped attempting to talk but rested his warm hand's just above izuku's knee's making the green haired boy burn pink.

He fiddled with the needle and held his hands in front of him until they stopped shaking and held the clamp firmly grasped on bakugo's tongue "I started tattooing because my mum was struggling with money and I wanted to help her so I found an apprenticeship. Piercing just came easy after tattooing" izuku explained thinking about his mothers partially impressed, mostly shocked when izuku came home with his first tattoo. But she never stopped him if it was what he enjoyed. "Then you became obsessed with me and now I can't leave" he chuckled.

Bakugo's eye's rounded at the sound of Izuku's sweet laugh he'd never heard before. He would have smiled if he could have but there was a needle encroaching slowly. The tip of the sharp metal balanced on his tongue and izuku checked the placement again and nodded to himself "okay i'm going to count to 3 and on three take a deep breath through your nose okay" he quirked an eyebrow and the blonde nodded hesitantly.

"Okay 1... 2... 3 deep breath" he instructed and katsuki inhaled sharply as the needle went through the pink flesh a tiny dribble of blood and izuku switched in the jewellry so quick bakugo hadn't even realised the needle went through. "And you're done. You can exhale now by the way," izuku said, keeping the clamp on his tongue for longer than he needed to just for the satisfaction of silence but of course he had to take it off sooner rather than later.

"Did' ethen hur. Fuck i hath a lithp" he rolled his eye's and wiped away the drool at the corner of his mouth. "Hard to be sexy with a lisp," Izuku threw him an icy bottle of water he barely caught before the words caught up to him. "You think i'm thexy?" "not right now I don't" he laughed and sat back in the chair leaning over the back and hanging his arms over the armrest. "In about 5 minutes when your not afraid of moving your tongue, probably" he glimpsed at the blushing blonde and sighed. "Not afraid" he mumbled "then why do you have a lisp?"

Silence.

"Exactly." izuku retorted quickly and pushed bakugo into the leather seat climbing onto it himself and sitting between bakugo's thighs and grabbing his face. "I hate you you know that" the green haired male pushed bakugo's hair out of his face giving him a clear view of his sparkling red eye's and leaned into him pressing his soft lips against bakugo's rough, cracked ones. Bakugo's hand's hovered around izuku but izuku's gloved hands pushed them down so they rested on his waist gently.

He kissed back softly trying to pull izuku back so neither were in danger of falling of the chair and nothing could be heard except the heavy breathing and their hearts hammering rapidly in their ears. Izuku pulled away resting his forehead against bakugo who was intoxicated by his lips. "I really hate you" the freckled boy muttered and put his hands on bakugo's chest separating them slightly. "Can I come back for a tattoo?" bakugo mumbled not sure what to say and Izuku snorted sliding off the chair and standing up putting his blue gloves in the bin. "Just a tattoo?" he flirted and bakugo, still trying to reboot his brain just blinked and nodded dumbfoundedly.

"Sure come back for a tattoo" izuku laughed and showed him to the door trying too brush his hair down so he wouldn't draw any attention from his coworkers. Bakugo finally formed coherent thoughts and at the door leaned next to izuku's ear "you know why I really got my tongue pierced?" izuku shook his head and bakugo dug his hand into his pocket pulling out a pill sized piece of metal and held it in front of izuku's eye's. Clicking a button on his phone it started to buzz lightly and izuku shoved him out the shop. "GO. NOW. HERE'S YOUR CARE PACKAGE" he shouted shoving a small poly-bag in his hands and slamming the door shut behind him, hard enough an earthquake line ran up the glass.

His brunette coworker bounced up to him, "SOOO" her sweet voice started and izuku shoved her away jokingly. "Get away!"

#bnha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #bnha fanfiction #boku no hero academia #wattpad #boku no hero fanfic #mha #bakudeku #katsuki bakugou #izuku midoriya #bakugo x deku #bakugo x midoriya #izuku x katsuki #deku x kacchan

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threecrowsinatrenchcoat · 3 years ago

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Paint My Spirit Gold

Dukeceit Week Day 2: Green/Yellow

Fans of the YouTubers "Deceit" and Remus "The Duke" Sanders start to suspect that maybe, just maybe, the two of them are more than simple internet pals.

AO3 Link: [here]

Word Count: 2187

Warnings: n/a

@dukeceitweek <3

[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a watercolor-style painting of a snake. The snake appears to be made of melting chocolate, and there is a large bite taken out of its tail. Cherries and jam are leaking out of the snake at the bite wound. The snake's expression of horror is overly-exaggerated to the point of comedy. The caption reads: "liked your snake boi, @SerpenThyme. thanks for the inspo." /end ID]

A notification ding cut Janus off mid-sentence.

“Wow, someone left their cell phone on, so professional,” he said, giving the camera a dramatic eye roll. That someone was him, of course, because he was the only one in the apartment- just him and the running livestream- but that was no excuse not to be a drama queen about it. He finished wiping flour off his hands and grabbed his phone to silence it; but the notification made him pause. He flicked his eyes up toward the camera and gave a slight smirk.

“My goodness, I’m famous,” he drawled. “The Duke himself has graced little old me with some fan art.”

Most of the comments in the chat wanted him to show it, so Janus opened up Twitter to see the full post he’d been tagged in. It was a watercolor painting of the coiled-snake chocolate sculpture- lovingly named Jake by his viewers- he’d made for his YouTube video last week; it was wearing an expression of such comedic horror that Janus had to stifle a laugh. He flicked his phone screen toward the close-up camera on his counter so his viewers could see.

“How kind of you, Remus,” he said. “All of you should go scold him for what he’s done to poor Jake here.”

Most of his viewers would know he was joking- after all, they were the ones to nickname him Deceit when he provided neither a real or fake name for his online persona. They knew full well what he was like by now.

The oven timer dinged. Janus silenced his phone and set it aside.

“And our first batch of cookies is done. You know, why don’t we show the Duke some appreciation?”

[ID: An Instagram post by user @SerpenThyme. The photo is an artistically-framed shot of a stack of sugar cookies with green, yellow, and pink icing. Propped up against the stack is another cookie, with an intricate icing-drawing of an octopus. The photo appears to have been color corrected to have high contrast, low saturation, and a dark vignette at the edges. The Instagram user @OctoDukie is tagged. No caption. /end ID]

“You know, I have often been accused of actually being a little old lady, what with my fondness for knitted jumpers, rocking chairs, and incredibly fucked up murder mystery books. Today I am doing nothing to dispel this accusation, by making soup.”

The studio was dark and empty aside from Remus' workspace. Everyone else had left long ago, even his own brother, which meant that it was officially ass-o'clock in the morning (or, as most people called it, somewhere between 1 and 2 a.m.) But Remus was stuck in hyperfocus, honed in on putting the last touches on a commission that he'd been putting off for weeks. It's not that it was a tough painting- once he'd gotten started, it was actually a very creatively satisfying piece- but man, executive dysfunction could go suck a dick

“French onion soup, specifically. Because while I do like to pretend I am a classy bitch, I am also, regrettably, a lazy bitch with a distaste for anything that takes longer than one bottle of wine to make.”

Remus hated working in silence. It was stifling, almost suffocating. His brain needed noise like his lungs needed air. So when the studio had grown still and silent, Remus had flipped open his laptop and queued up some YouTube videos.

“So we have here three pounds of onions that we need to slice up, pole to pole. You’re going to cry no matter what, so if you have any memories you’ve been repressing since middle school, now is an excellent time to dredge those up.”

And if it happened to be 90% SerpenThyme videos, well. Sue him.

“Now the first rule of caramelizing onions: fast and sloppy is always better than slow and thorough… at least, that’s what every man I’ve ever slept with tells me.”

Remus choked and glanced over to his laptop screen just in time to catch Deceit's trademark smirk directed at the audience just for a moment. It was the deadpan delivery that always got him. Remus could barely hold onto a joke long enough to get through it without cackling mid-punchline, but this fucker could say the funniest shit like an off-hand comment.

He wiped his hands off on his jeans (what use were clothes if you couldn't use them as paint rags?) and pulled his laptop across the table. He typed out a quick comment, citing the timestamp of the joke, and after it was posted, he shut his laptop.

'Cause ass-o'clock was short for "get-your-ass-home-or-I’ll-kick-it" o'clock.

[ID: A screenshot of a YouTube comments section. The first comment is by user TheDuke, and reads: "10:42 wow, rude." The second comment is a reply by user SerpenThyme, and simply reads ";)" /end ID]

Janus plopped down on the couch with a slight groan. He didn’t need to stream today, but he really hated missing days. Besides… he was fine. Really.

He adjusted the camera until he was happy with the framing, and then checked the settings on his streaming software. Satisfied, he started the stream, and watched as his usual viewers rolled in.

“What do you mean I’m not in my kitchen?” Janus drawled, addressing the chat. He glanced around with an expression of faux-shock on his face. “My goodness, when did that happen?”

He chuckled, and then gestured to his surroundings. “Yes, we are in my living room today. If you must know, my closest and most trusted friend tried to murder me today- yes, Virgil, it was attempted murder and nothing less- and I survived with nary a scratch… and a broken foot, but that is beside the point. Anyway, I’m not allowed to stand for long periods of time, and I may or may not be somewhat inebriated by pain pills and couldn’t stand even if I wanted to. So we are cooking from my couch today.”

Janus paused for a few moments to read the chat messages as they popped up. A few get well soon’s, a few theories about the “attempted murder,” Virgil- who moderated his chat for him- vehemently denying the “attempted murder” but otherwise refusing to clarify the event, and a large volume of wtf why are you streaming today, take care of yourself comments, which made him smile. But one particular comment caught his eye, almost lost amid the torrent of an active chat: wait this kinda looks like the Duke’s living room?

“Oh, VampSuga,” he said, addressing that commenter in particular with a slight smirk. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. Anyway, since I can’t reach my oven from here, I thought some no-bake cookies were in order. For these you will need-”

[ID: A screenshot of a Discord conversation. The text reads:

“VampSuga: Ok ok hear me out. Dukeceit.

Starstruck96: who?

IneffableSnek: lmao

FeralBeauYasha: lol

VampSuga: Deceit and Remus Sanders! They’re totally dating. I will die on this hill.

FeralBeauYasha: Isn’t the duke w/ PatPat?

IneffableSnek: no thats his brothers bf

FeralBeauYasha: ohh

VampSuga: Did anyone see Deceit’s stream today? I swear that’s the Duke’s livingroom.

StarStruck96: idk that seems like a stretch

IneffableSnek: no wait i kno what u mean

IneffableSnek: im watching the duke’s old videos and that one where he shows off all his old weapons he’s in a living room kinda like deceit’s

FeralBeauYasha: They were acting all cute on twitter too

VampSuga: DUKECEIT” /end ID]

"Hey guys, been a while since you've seen my face and not just whatever my hands are busy with, when it's within YouTube's terms and conditions I mean. They used to be way more lenient…" Remus trailed off for a moment, then shook his head sharply and plastered on a grin.

"Anyway! In June me and a few other creators did a fundraiser for the Trevor Project, and y'all smashed the goal, so I let you decide what video I'd make this month." He paused, and gestured to the mountain of clothes piled behind him on the bed. "And you had so many juicy ideas to choose from, but you decided to dress me up like a Barbie instead."

Remus paused to scroll through his phone for a few moments. "Ah, ok, here we go. Twitter user YoonIsMyCat- oh, BTS, nice- sent in this first outfit. Uh… future Remus, put up the post here somewhere." He gestured vaguely to his right. "Y'all went with either a fuckton more clothes or a fuckton less clothes, which I respect. Apparently this outfit is called…” He squinted at his phone. “Amish chic? I take it back, no respect at all.”

Remus cycled through the outfits his viewers sent in, which ranged from the aforementioned “Amish chic” to “2008 rave attire” to “ok now you guys are just fucking with me” (which consisted of one of those big puffy snow coats, lime green in color; booty shorts with the shrug text emoji across the ass; fuzzy pink boots; and a yellow cowboy hat to top off the whole thing. It was awful. Remus loved it.) The mountain of clothes on the bed gradually became a mess of clothes spread across the floor instead, until there was just one outfit left.

“Ok so Twitter user VampSuga sent me this outfit that I’m gonna call ‘sexy librarian.’ I couldn’t find this exact sweater online, but-” he paused for dramatic effect, before brandishing a sweater toward the camera like a bullfighter. “My boyfriend had something that was close enough.”

Remus hopped up from the bed and switched off the camera so he could change.

“They’re going to lose their minds,” a voice drawled from the doorway. Remus threw his shirt at him.

“Shoo, I’m getting naked.”

[ID: A Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a selfie of YouTuber Remus “The Duke” Sanders, a Hispanic man with his hair dyed green and styled into a spiked mohawk. He is wearing a yellow knitted cardigan over a black button-up shirt. He is grinning widely at the camera. The caption reads: “my viewers pick my outfits! now live on youtube. go see what i look like as a sexy librarian!” /end ID]

DukeceitStan

first and only dukeceit shipper ig

DukeceitStan

wow there’s so many of you now! Hi!!

DukeceitStan

i want this to be canon so bad omg

DukeceitStan

i mean just look

[image]

how

[image]

cute

[image]

[ID: A series of three gifs featuring Youtubers SerpenThyme, aka Deceit, and TheDuke, aka Remus Sanders. Deceit is a black man with long, dreadlocked hair, and vitiligo patches along the left side of his face. Remus is a Hispanic man with green-dyed hair styled into a mohawk, many ear and facial piercings, and tattoos covering both arms. Each gif is edited so that the highlights are tinged yellow when Deceit is seen, and tinged green when Remus is seen.

The first gif depicts a close-up shot of Deceit’s hands as he carefully decorates a cookie with green and yellow icing. The cookie art he is working on appears to be a half-finished octopus. The gif then fades into a mid-shot of Remus, with his back to the camera, facing a canvas. The canvas is blank, and Remus appears to be laying out paints on a table to his left.

The second gif depicts Deceit seated at his couch, facing the camera. He has many ingredients spread across his coffee table (including oats, cocoa powder, and butter) and appears to be in the process of laying out several more. The gif fades to show Remus seated at a similar couch with a similar coffee table in front of him. The camera is angled slightly downward to better show the myriad of knives spread out across the table. Remus is gesturing wildly with a morning star held in his hand.

The third gif depicts Deceit in his kitchen. He is pulling on a bright, yellow knitted cardigan, and smirking toward the camera. The gif fades to show Remus in his bedroom, seated on his bed. He is holding up a similar-looking cardigan toward the camera and grinning. /end ID]

“Remus, it’s almost two in the morning. Come to bed.”

“I’m coming, sorry. Twitter distracted me.”

“Mm. I can’t believe the bird app is more distracting than I am.”

“You should try harder.”

“Come to bed and maybe I will.”

“Ok, ok, I’m coming. Hang on though, is it cool if I post this?”

“Sure. They figured it out anyway.”

“Sweet. Ok, Jannie, I’m coming.”

[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It reads: “Dukeceit is canon.” /end ID]

#dukeceit #dukeceitweek #remus sanders #janus sanders #sanders sides fic #kye writes

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killherfreakout · 4 years ago

Text

half of who i am isn’t all my fault

a series about hands and where they touch.

part two: your hand under my chin

[a/n: bipolar disorder, mixed state of mania and depression.]

* * *

The world is ending.

At least, to a twenty-something artist in Paris named Eliott Demaury, it feels like it is. And he can’t decide if he wants to sit there and watch or throw caution to the wind and go down with it.

It’s another quiet weeknight in the city, late enough that the partygoers are on their way home but early enough that people aren’t up for work. So the world is continuing as normal, and yet, it feels like Eliott is on the edge of it and about to fall off.

And there’s no one to blame but himself; no one to blame but his chemically imbalanced and traitorous brain, on the brink of consuming every last semblance of control he has left, in the middle of a sleepless night. Eliott knows this feeling too well, and no matter who much he tries to fight it, his attempts are futile.

Eliott finds himself sitting on the edge of their bed, and he watches as Lucas’ parted lips huff out soft breaths in his sleep. He looks ethereal, like some kind of angel sent to watch over Eliott when he wants to give up on himself, always there when he doesn’t know he needs him. Lucas is some kind of perfect dream, in between real and imaginary, as he lays there like he has no idea the sight he makes.

Lucas said once, after Eliott made him try his special omelettes, I’m glad you have one flaw, otherwise you’re just too perfect to be real. And Eliott knows the way people look at him, like he’s an entity only good for his beauty — although, if he has anything to say about it, he would argue he’s the furthest from that — and not a person with real human emotion underneath it all. The thought makes a cruel, humorless laugh bubble up inside his throat.

And he doesn’t want to be the asshole who’s ungrateful for his conventionally attractive features, but every time it comes up, it just— it feels like it’s the universe’s twisted way of overcompensating for the ugliness that hides beneath the shiny surface. It makes this shame and guilt swirl inside of him, and there’s this voice mocking him, saying, if only they knew. If only they knew how flawed this body is, how close it is to breaking.

His boyfriend’s peaceful state somehow magnifies Eliott’s awakeness, and his body feels heavy but his mind and heart feel like they’re going fast enough to run a marathon. Like he has all this energy he needs to burn but he’s stuck inside the small apartment as the world ends inside it, and seems to keep going outside of it.

Inevitably he finds his cigarettes on the ledge of the living room window, and goes through one before he even realizes he’s smoking it; he goes to light another but gets annoyed at the busted lighter, deciding to raid the fridge for something to wash down the nicotine.

A gust of wind outside reminds him of the outside world, his body somehow not big enough for everything he feels inside, like he belongs out there. But he can feel himself coming down, feeling like he fits inside his body again the more he breathes, and he tries with all his might to stay afloat before he crashes.

Eliott lays on the cold floor of their bedroom, his head against the wall under the window and legs bent at the knee with his feet against the foot of the bed. It’s not quite comfortable but the position allows him to see some of the sky over the tops of the buildings outside, including a few stars that shine through the darkness.

He lays there for a while, just looking at the tiny shining stars and melting into the cold floor, trying to focus on the sound of Lucas’ tiny breaths from the bed.

There’s a star that peeks through a small cloud as it passes by, and Eliott can’t tell which one it is or which constellation it belongs to, but he knows that it’s one that moves around the North Star, like all the others do. Then a thought comes to him: he’s like one of those stars. He’s always changing and going in circles, sometimes hidden behind clouds in his mind, not visible to anyone. The thought could be dreamy and romantic, comparing himself to the stars, but with the current state he’s in it feels like a curse. Like the pole his life revolves around is his bipolar disorder, where he has no choice but to let it decide his course.

It makes him feel so small and so alone, always at war with his mind and with himself. The stars seem so far away, and he’s just left lying on the cold floor in his own apocalypse that no one can see.

His eyes wander across the ceiling, unfocused and frenzied as these thoughts keep swirling around his head, hands clenching at his sides.

There’s shuffling on the other side of the room where Lucas tosses in the bed, groaning before calling, “Baby?”

Eliott registers the sounds but can’t break his focus from the ceiling of his mind and the room.

“Eli, where are you?”

Lucas calls his name a few more times, the sound getting further and further away as the younger one searches the other rooms of the apartment. Eliott wants to scream for help, wants to tell Lucas, I’m here, I’m here, but he can’t.

Somehow, though, he seems to beckon him back.

There’s footsteps and then a source of light, and Lucas almost trips over Eliott’s legs where he still rests on the floor by their bed. Lucas sighs when he realizes he’s found him, sleepy features illuminated by the blue light of his phone. His eyes are squinty from the light and his hair is a perfect mess all over his head, a few strands falling down to his eyes. He still looks like an angel - and here he is, to save Eliott from himself like he knew he would.

“There you are,” Lucas kneels on the floor by Eliott’s side. Eliott finally focuses on his voice and his presence, his angel. “Come back to bed, baby.”

Eliott doesn’t move, can’t move. Lead has settled into his bones trapping him to the floor, and every nerve screams to get up, to go back to bed with Lucas, but there he lies, paralyzed.

“Oh, Eliott,” Lucas’ smile disappears, thumbing away the tears that Eliott didn’t even know were flowing. His voice is soft and loving just like he is. “What’s going on?”

His eyes close to the words, no doubt causing more wetness from his eyes. The thumb wipes it away again, so gently, it’s like magic.

Subconsciously Eliott registers Lucas’ concern and the way he asked, noticing how he asked what’s going on? instead of what’s wrong? — because something doesn’t necessarily have to be wrong to make Eliott feel like this, because what Eliott feels right now is something that happens sometimes. They’ve had plenty of experience with this exact moment, when Eliott is close to losing himself and Lucas makes sure to keep him from going too far.

“Lucas…” His voice is weak, his throat closing and breath stuck somewhere that can’t get out. Eliott can feel the touch again, this time firmer, more real. Lucas leans down to be closer to him, and keeps up that brushing on his face, but it’s overwhelming all of a sudden, and there’s no simple answer to his question and—

Eliott finds some strength, or just a fighting response, to turn over and away from the touch and warmth of Lucas. He misses it as soon as it’s gone but stays in his new position with his back turned to the other boy. Lucas doesn’t reach out again, just leaves him be. Eliott is glad his boyfriend is respecting his space but can’t help the guilt setting in that he pushed him away. Eliott lays there quietly, though his mind is anything but. He doesn’t know if Lucas is still there when he finally finds his voice again.

“I was doing so well, I thought I might have finally had some control over this. But it just came out of nowhere and—”

Sudden panic washes over him, because it never really comes out of nowhere, and if it does, there are signs he can recognize so he’s at least a bit prepared.

Eliott thinks of the fact that he hasn’t slept more than a few hours in the past three days, and how tired he doesn’t feel until right at this moment. But he was so focused on his art projects and so excited with how they were coming together, the time seemed to fly by. That happens sometimes, just getting swept up in inspiration and letting it take him away - without triggering an episode. Because he prides himself in his passion and creativity, and how he uses art to sort through his feelings and express his truest self. The thought of his recent works being the product of his mania rather than his own intention makes him so angry and upset that he was born with a brain that always ends up letting him down.

But now in hindsight he doesn’t know what to think, or what exactly triggered these feelings, or how he got here, or what will come next. Eliott had been diligent with taking his meds and going to his weekly sessions, but now that he thinks about it, he can’t remember if he took them yesterday and—

Eliott lays with his back on the floor again. “I should have seen this coming. I knew I was doing too well that something was going to happen, and it’s always the same shit.” He tilts his head back to look at the stars again, and imagines himself as one of them. “No matter how hard I try, it's like nothing I do is ever up to me. And I have to deal with myself for the rest of my life.”

It’s silent again and Eliott has a moment of terror that he’s completely alone, like he’s the last person on Earth and shouting into an endless, dark void.

“Hey,” the sound is like a beam of light breaking through the dark void, like another lost soul is greeting him, saying, I’m here, I’m here.

Lucas hasn’t left from his place next to him; he’s laying on his side facing Eliott on the hard floor. Eliott doesn’t look at him, though; he doesn’t want to see him look at how much of a mess he is. He knows Lucas doesn’t pity him, and he’s so glad for that, but the way Lucas has so much love and care in his eyes makes Eliott only feel more undeserving of it. So he stays on his back and glances from the ceiling to the endless sky.

“Hey,” Lucas says again, in a soft whisper, but firm this time. “Eli, can you look at me?”

Eliott doesn’t want to be like the stars and revolve around his bipolar. Maybe he can find a new way to navigate, by following a new star, a new pole that is a fixed point in his life. Like the one in front of him now, made of stardust and blue eyes and love.

He swallows thickly, his breath finding a way out as he catches sight of Lucas. Eliott was right, there’s so much love in his beautiful, still sleepy eyes. Even though Eliott is turned on his side to face him, he tucks his head down to his chest.

Lucas comes a little closer, and slowly reaches a hand out to Eliott as not to scare him. He runs his hand over the fabric of Eliott’s chest where his heart beats fast underneath, and gently uses it to lift his chin so that Lucas can see him.

Eliott lets him, lets Lucas position his face to open up to him, lets himself be seen. But he’s stubborn when he gets like this, so he still looks down and away from Lucas who still has Eliott’s chin in his hand.

“Breathe,” Lucas says calmly, looking into his eyes. Eliott keeps their gaze this time; Lucas’ is more direct and practical now, communicating more than his voice. Eliott lets out an excuse for a breath, more like a quiet sob, and then Lucas says again, “Breathe, in and out.”

Lucas watches as Eliott tries again, but it’s still impossible. He wants to look away again but the hand under his chin won’t let him, the fingers there softly tracing the frown on his face as if to smooth it away.

“Listen to mine and try to breathe with me.”

It’s then that Eliott decides that Lucas is his North Star, even if just for tonight. His mania and his depression and his anxiety and his sleepless nights will always be there, but right here and right now, he uses every last ounce of control he has to listen as Lucas’ chest rises and fills with air and slowly deflates.

Eliott tunes into the sound of every breath, and soon he somehow finds that he’s breathing in time with them.

“There you go, keep breathing,” Lucas reassures, his hand moving from Eliott’s chin to his shoulder and slowly down his arm to where his hands lay in front of him on the floor.

After some time, Eliott’s heart rate is slow again, and he’s exhausted. He’s about to fall, into real sleep for the first time in days, and Lucas is right there with him.

Lucas’ voice sounds like it’s on the other side of that void, far away but extremely close at the same time. “I’m sorry you feel like that, and I wish I could say the right thing to make you feel better, but all I can say is that you’re right, it sucks. I mean, I’ll never know exactly how you feel, but I’m acknowledging that it must feel awful. But I do know that you’re so much stronger than you think, and I know that you are so much more than your weakest moments, and that I’m right here with you through anything.”

Eliott’s eyes are heavy and his mind is starting to drift, but the words make him hold on just a little bit longer. He flutters his eyes open to see Lucas staring back at him, the smallest sleepy smile on his lips. Eliott does his best to return it, even if it’s a lazy slant of his mouth.

“I'm sure it must feel really lonely sometimes, but I’ll keep reminding you that you’re not alone.” Lucas’ hand is tickling down his forearm, and he intertwines their fingers to bring them to his lips, leaving feather-light kisses across his knuckles. “And I can’t wait to deal with you for the rest of my life.”

My angel. It’s the last thing Eliott thinks before he surrenders to sleep, his hand still in Lucas’ where they lay on the hardwood floor.

When Eliott wakes it’s to the sun shining at a low angle into the room, and he tosses in the bed to shy away from it, bumping into a hard body on his side. Lucas is sitting against the headboard smiling down at him, greeting him with a good afternoon, my love.

After a few long moments of waking up, still coming to and vaguely remembering his state the previous night, Eliott swallows though his throat is dry and regards his boyfriend looking all awake and beautiful.

“Did you carry me to bed?” Eliott asks half in awe and half in confusion. He’s done the same for Lucas countless times, but he doesn’t think his boyfriend ever has.

Lucas scoffs but he has the widest, most beautiful smile on his face. The kind that is contagious even when Eliott is not feeling up to smiling.

He gets him to drink some water and take his meds, and Eliott is too tired to fight it.

“Remember when I said you were stronger than you think? Well, so am I.” Lucas smirks with a quick raise of his brows, and Eliott goes to bury his face into Lucas’ neck and shoulder, his absolute favorite place in the universe.

“I love you,” is all Eliott has the energy to say, before he rolls over and goes to sleep a few hours more. Lucas laughs that soft and adorable laugh of his, and joins him under the covers. My love, my light, my angel, my star.

#skam france #elu fic #elu #skamfr fic #mywriting #hands and where they touch

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allegedlyanandroid · 4 years ago

Note

Pairing: Allen60 Prompt: Cold Types: Found Family, Fluff AU: Angels and Demons, Sixty as the little devil he is, and Allen just being human.

I am so late 😅 I wrote an entire thing before realising I hated every word of it and started over from scratch. Anyway... excuses aside, I hope you like it @yayen-chan <3 `(‾◡◝)´

“Okay, bookshelves first,” Allen mutters, following the intricate maze of arrows and concrete as he tries to navigate the local IKEA. “Or rugs. That works too,” he sighs when he glances up and finds himself in the wrong part of the store. Looking through the copious amounts of different rugs Allen rapidly finds himself overwhelmed. He tries reading a few of the ridiculously complicated names, stuttering over them when trying to read them out loud. “Ra- raskmol- mölle?”

Giving up on the fifth time trying to pronounce it correctly Allen rolls the grey-and-black striped fabric up and tosses it on the cart, already dreading trying to find the rest of the items on his list. There’s only one really but when passing through the plant-section he stops to pick up a potted plant. The other one is beyond salvaging from lack of water. “Ilex, foreeneling? För-enlig. What are these names?”

After another dead-end and some frustrated grumbling, he does find the bookshelf he needs. Honestly… this trip alone solidifies why he’s never getting a puppy. The one he took in to foster was a sweet thing but very demanding and unaware that he weighed quite a lot for a pup. He’d knocked Allen’s bookshelf over, thus breaking it, and also had an accident on his rug. If being petless meant never having to go here again then that’s a price he’s willing to pay. At least the shelter had found a family for him quickly and, while he did miss the little rascal, the puppy was undoubtedly in better hands.

“Kallax, hemnes... gersby?”

Too caught up in his own head he doesn't notice the strange scent of warm brimstone and ash filtering through the air nor does he notice the young “man” standing behind him, a man who seemingly appeared out of thin air, until he hears the sound of a throat clearing. Allen jerks his head up from wrestling with the cardboard box and offers an apologetic smile over his shoulder. “I’ll be done in a minute.”

“Or, you could tell me why I’m here and spare me the mundane small talk you humans seem so obnoxiously fond of.”

“I’m sorry?”

The man squints. “You summoned me.”

Allen pauses to take a good look at the man. He’s tall with black, artistically tousled hair and endless amounts of freckles. A few moles are scattered across his skin and his brown eyes are filled with irritation. Dark jeans with a long-sleeved shirt tucked into it, a black overcoat ending at about mid-thigh and a purple scarf hanging unknotted around his neck. Allen thinks long and hard yet finds no recollection of ever seeing this man before in his life let alone speaking to him. “I have no idea who you are.”

“You-” the man pinches the bridge of his nose, inhales deeply and slowly let it out before starting again. “You read the incantation to evoke me and you what… didn’t even realise it?” he asks and receives nothing but a blank stare from Allen in return. “Ugh, humans.”

In the blink of an eye the man transforms. Horns curve with the shape of his skull, producing from close to his temples, before ending in sharp tips that blend in with his raven hair. A black tail is wrapped around his leg which ends with a jagged spear-like point. The tips of his fingers look like they’ve been dipped in charcoal, fading into dark grey about halfway up his fingers, with claw-like black nails top it all off. They tap against the metal shelf next to them as the demon slowly advances.

Too shocked to move, Allen’s jaw is taken in a firm grip and when the demon smiles his teeth are pointed blades. “So… are you going to tell me what it is you want?”

“You can let go of my face for a start,” Allen says, adding a quick “thank you,” when the demon does as he’s told. “What’s your name?”

“You may call me Sixty.”

“Sixty,” Allen repeats. “No offence but I quite like having my soul intact. I’m sorry for dragging you from… whatever circle of hell you reside in, but I’m not interested in making any sort of deal with you.”

“Sucks to be you then because I’m not leaving until you do,” Sixty says and from his tone of voice alone Allen knows he’s a hundred percent serious.

‘Fucking IKEA.’

“Really? You couldn’t have chosen to live somewhere a bit warmer?” Sixty asks with disdain, thankfully back to looking human. His feet sink into the four inches worth of snow dusting the ground and he can already feel the cold seeping in through the gaps in his clothing. “Or somewhere nicer in general.”

“No one’s forcing you to stay.”

“No one’s forcing you to live here.” A pause. “Or if they are, I am more than willing to kill them for you free of charge.”

Allen sighs.

Having a demon for a housemate isn’t as bad as he thought it would be. Sixty mostly keeps to himself whenever he isn’t trying to get a rise out of him or complaining about the cold or putting things on tall shelves like the little shit he is. Until Sixty gets bored that is.

Because when Sixty gets bored trouble ensues.

Emerging from his office after a long day of meetings to see his demonic housemate casually chatting with parts of his team in the breakroom is a bit out of left field and the sight of Sixty’s mischievous eyes boring into his own is enough to quicken his pace. “What are you doing here, Si- Silas?” he asks, forcing a smile on his face.

He hates how no one else can look past the innocent brown eyes and syrupy grin to see the smugness beneath. “I thought we were supposed to eat lunch together? Did you forget?”

“No, of course not,” Allen hastens to say, ignoring Willis and Clark’s knowing grins, as he wracks his brain for a response. “Though I distinctly remember asking you to wait outside.”

“It would have been rude of me to decline Julie’s offer of getting coffee,” Sixty replies and raises his mug as if to show it off.

“No need to be jealous, boss. We just wanted to get to know the guy better,” Julie says.

“Yeah, it’s not like we’ve ever seen you hang out with anyone outside of work apart from Reed,” Clark pipes up. “We got curious.”

“I’m not jealous!” Allen tries to defend himself, latching on to the word, but the agitated tone does nothing to help his case. Sixty smirking behind the rim of the coffee cup like a cat who got the cream isn’t helping to improve his mood either.

“You are the pettiest asshole I’ve ever had the unfortunate luck of meeting,” Allen says when they’re safely away from prying eyes.

Sixty snickers, knowing full well the amount of endless curiosity and ceaseless questions he’s unleashed on the human. “There’s an easy way to get rid of me.”

The fistful of snow he gets shoved in his face shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

By the time he manages to blink the melting snow out of his eyes Allen is too far away to retaliate, though that doesn’t stop Sixty from trying.

Despite his best efforts Sixty’s irritation with being unceremoniously dragged into the mortal plane dissipates after the third week of staying with Allen. By the time he’s been there for a month and a half, Allen’s team have adopted him as one of their own and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t flattered. They genuinely care about his well-being and often invite him along on outings. As someone whose family is… overbearing, their light-hearted ribbing is a nice change of pace. Their easy dynamic is the very opposite of stifling. No one ever pries when he declines to answer a question. No one touches him after he made it clear he dislikes physical contact. No one quizzes him about his every movement.

It’s… nice.

The next team building exercise and subsequent photo op, proudly displayed on the communal fridge, includes him and Sixty doesn’t cry even a little bit upon seeing that.

Not at all.

In the end, the shift in their relationship is near seamless ‒ from reluctant roommates to friends to something more.

What hits him first is the metallic scent of fresh blood and Sixty is halfway across the room before he can even process rising to his feet. He gathers Allen up in his arms and leads him to sit down on one of the kitchen chairs. Part of his dark shirt is tacky with blood and Sixty feels no remorse when he shreds it to get it off as quickly as possible. Something, a bullet or knife, must have grazed his side. It’s bleeding sluggishly though it thankfully isn’t deep. Sixty takes the ruined shirt and presses it against the wound. “Keep putting pressure on it.”

Allen doesn’t answer and in the end he’s the one who has to move Allen’s hand to take over while he dashes to the bathroom for the medkit. Sixty plunks it down on the floor and fills a bowl of lukewarm water to put down beside it before fetching a clean towel. He kneels down between Allen’s legs and cleans meticulously around the area, noting the patches of skin where bruises are slowly forming. Swiping over the wound with antiseptic earns him a bitten-off hiss and Sixty puts a hand on Allen’s sternum to steady him after the first involuntary flinch.

He keeps it there, soothed by feeling the steady thrum of Allen’s heartbeat beneath his fingertips, until he needs the use of both his hands. In its absence, Sixty’s tail comes up to wrap loosely around his thigh for comfort.

Butterfly bandages instead of sutures, his tail instead of his hand. Allen doesn’t say a word about either choice though he is smiling down where they’re connected once Sixty chances a quick peek.

There’s nothing left for him to do after covering the wound with gauze, taping the edges down, yet Sixty finds himself lingering there regardless.

It’s easy to trace around the gauze with the very tip of a claw and when he catches Allen’s dark eyes the urge to lean down to place a gentle kiss over it wins out. Allen sighs quietly and coaxes Sixty up to kiss him properly ‒ a chaste press of lips against lips followed by a sincere thank you.

Sixty blushes and knocks his forehead against Allen’s, mindful of his horns, in a silent show of affection.

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

“Because I literally stepped in the door a second ago?” Allen laughs and pulls Sixty in for a quick kiss.

“Excuses,” Sixty sniffs and steals another kiss, one that quickly devolves into a dozen pecks being pressed all over his face until Allen plants a last lingering one to his lips.

“I love you,” Allen says when they break apart for real.

The shy smile spreading over Sixty’s lips is one he’ll never tire of seeing.

#slowly but surely working my way through these #sorry it's taking so long #dbh allen #captain allen #dbh sixty #rk800 sixty #allen60 #dbh #detroit: become human #detroit become human #allegedly answering asks #mini fic #my writing #that awkward moment when you're in an ikea and accidentally summon a demon

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sparklingchan · 4 years ago

Text

Dancing with a Stranger || Lee Minho (Stray Kids)

Pairing : Reader (fem.) x Lee Know

Word count: 6k+

Warnings: Cuss words, mentions of alcohol, mentions of a break up, slight violence and blood (its nothing intense, I swear) ,suggestive towards the end, not proof read.

Genre: Angst , fluff, boyfriend AU , break up - make up AU.

Description : Lee Minho is the best boyfriend you could have ever asked for but when you end up doing the only thing he had begged you not to do, things start going downhill.

Author’s Note: I KNOW I SAID I’LL POST THIS ON MY BIRTHDAY but I am an impatient person and I really wanted everyone to read this asap :( This imagine is one of my personal favorites and like Boyfriend!Minho really hits different, won’t you agree? (Reposting because tumblr decided to be a bitch and not show up my fic in the tags? It’s 2 AM and I’m legit crying?? I was so excited about this) Yeh le @chogiwow !

Please do reblog, like and send in your views about this fic. I’m always happy to receive DMs and asks!

Enjoy!

It is really funny how a crowded, happening place like your college corridor turns into a cold ,eerie location of some prospective gruesome crimes by sun down. But then again , if you really think about it , maybe it’s not much of a ‘prospect’ at all.

Your knuckles start stinging first ,spreading then to your palm and the rest of your arm.

And the horrifying yet unavoidable realization finally dawns on you - you shouldn’t have punched your professor’s daughter.

“Y-you! You bitch! How dare you touch me?” She has this annoyingly loud voice that pierces through the tense air like a bullet. The prettiest girl on campus , the nicest of them all, the most desirable , but anyone who sees her right now, would be convinced she is neither of those things. Excluding you , of course , because you always knew how double faced and rude she was behind the mask of a pure princess.

“You should have kept your mouth shut then, Anya.” You say , hoping that the girl in front of you doesn’t notice the sudden fear in your voice that has replaced your authoritative tone from before.

But you can’t back off now.

Anya stumbles back with her mouth wide open , clutching her jaw as she curses under her breath , “My mother will hear about this ! I will get you expelled !”

“Oh yeah? Try me and the only thing your mother will hear about is what you and our lovely class president John do in the basement when she isn’t home.” You shoot back. You mentally want to slap yourself for that sharp tongue of yours that refuses to stop any time sooner. You had always wished that you’d gotten your father’s gentleness but sadly , you were the fateful heir of your mother’s roughness.

Anya doesn’t reply , instead , she throws herself at you , pushing you harshly against the lockers .And it is not long before her balled fists find a way to your nose , punching so hard that you literally feel the blood dripping down your face. You are so glad that all the students and staff have already gone home , you’d have hated for anyone to witness this.

“You will never lay your filthy hands on me again, y/l/n. ” she wraps her left hand around your throat while the other one pulls your hair with the strength of a bull. You scream in pain. Your body goes limp for a second - not from pain but from fear , but you realise it’s too late now. You should have thought about your fears before punching Anya.

Now all you can do is save yourself and escape.

The numbing pain from your scalp spreads through your head , going down your face and then attacking your throat. It gets harder to breathe.

“I’ll tell you what , Anya , you deserved it. You deserved all of it. ” you croak , “I told you to stop spreading filthy rumours about my cousin but you didn’t stop , I told you to stop bothering me but you didn’t listen. And now you’ve gone as far as spreading bullshit about my boyfriend who you’ve never even met ! I hate to break this to you but all of this is not going to make your trash personality any cooler. ”

Anya yelps with anger , increasing the grip on your throat and hair as you kick your legs helplessly, coughing .

“Shut up, y/l/n .” She growls , “ and as a matter of fact, Your boyfriend is just a mere dancer , how funny. An A-grade college student dating a poor street dancer. What happened , y/n, ran out of good guys for yourself?”

You want to yell at her and tell her that Minho is anything but a mere street dancer . He’s an amazingly talented artist who loves expressing himself through dancing , he’s a hardworking and honest person who is part of the country’s biggest dancing crew , and he’s your safe place , your home , your everything and god save anyone who dare hurt him.

But you bite your tongue this time.

“What now? Afraid ?” Anya raises her eyebrow, her lips curving into an ugly, sadistic smile.

You hate that smile.

You use one of your free hands to grab her hair while the other one slams hard against her jaw.

“Shit.” She mutters , falling back into the hallway.

But you’re not done yet.

You walk toward her with furious eyes and balled fists , and it isn’t long before she lands on the floor on her butt with a bloody nose and a black eye.

“Keep your mouth shut or you’ll end up on a hospital bed next time. In a coma. ” you spit out those words while she holds her tears back, face caked with humiliation.

Then you turn on your heels and walk out of the stupid college campus which would yet again be filled with more bullies by tomorrow morning, just like it has for centuries.

The dorm in which Minho lives almost always smells like freshly baked cookies ( courtesy: Lee Felix) and on rare occasions, it smells like burnt pancakes ( also courtesy: Lee Felix). Today , it smells like the former and you sigh in relief.

“Oh , my god ,y/n. What happened?” Changbin opens the door after you knock thrice , “Minho, dude, Come out , y/n is here!”

You shuffle into their big living room , head hanging low and eyes avoiding all sorts of confrontation , afraid of having to explain your stupid behavior.

“Y/n?” Minho sucks in a deep breath at your sorry sight , his eyes glazed with dread and fear as he walks toward you, ”Oh god, what happened?”

He swiftly takes out a handkerchief from his pockets , pressing it against your bleeding nose. His eyes are glossy with fear.

“I-it’s nothing. I fell down the stairs.” You lie. Can he please shut up and hug you already? You hate his questions so much , especially when you just can’t answer him.

“Y/n , that is not what a fall looks like. I’m not stupid. Whom did you beat up this time?” He asks , crossing his arms across his chest. And you really do almost blurt out the truth because it’s that easy for you to open up to him and because he knows you like no one else does. You’ve dated him long enough for him to know you like the back of his own hand. And that sometimes gets you in so much trouble. Lying to him is a near impossible task.

“Y/n, look at me!” He says , slightly annoyed now. He touches your chin gently, coaxing you to look at him but you’re too afraid to face him right now. Too guilty. So you shrug him off and walk into his shared room with Hyunjin, a homely feeling enveloping you almost instantly.

“Y/n, don’t you dare ignore me.”

Ugh. He can be so nosy at times.

“I came here for comfort , not for an interrogation. ” you pout , plopping down on the bed.

Minho scoffs , closing the door behind him. He wears a loose black t-shirt with a pair of shorts , and he smells like the expensive shampoo you had bought for him a few months ago ,which he initially refused to take but now loves it. He looks so good and smells so good and suddenly all you want to do is cuddle him and talk about his day, with his Winnie The Pooh blanket draped around your bodies.

“You aren’t getting any comfort till you tell me what happened.” He says . He stands with his back against the door , and stares at you as if you were a criminal. Maybe you were one ,but that doesn’t mean he’ll hate you or something ,right?

“Did you hit the professor’s daughter?” He asks when you don’t answer even after two whole minutes. Your stomach does a somersault, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You regret telling him about Anya a few weeks ago and you specifically saying that you’d one day ’ punch her brains out ’. You wish you’d shut up sometimes.

You play with your fingers, staring at your feet. You can’t look him in the eye anymore , not when you did the exact (and only) thing he had asked you not to do. You feel horribly guilty.

“Well in my defense, she was being a bitch ,okay? She was calling you a good for nothing dancer and ugly and underqualified and - ” you sigh , “ My point is, I couldn’t bear listening to all that, okay?” You admit , cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Minho doesn’t answer, very unusual of him by the way, and you snap your head to look at him.

The eyes that had once held concern and fear for your well being now are clouded with disappointment . He’s mad at you.

“She’s not wrong though. I am a good for nothing dancer, I go to a stupid cyber college. Nothing worth fighting over. Why the fuck did you put yourself in danger like that!” And he’s yelling now , his relaxed posture from before now replaced with a tensed one. You notice his clenched fists and teeth ,and you shudder with fear. He is furious. But at what? You don’t really know.

“Are you seriously justifying her actions? Minho, she can’t talk shit about you. I will not let her do that! ” You yell back ,getting up from the bed , “She doesn’t even know you!”

“Which is exactly why her opinions on my lifestyle do not matter ! And you don’t have to just go around acting like my bodyguard all the time!” He says.

Your heart drops, brows furrowed in confusion at his words that feel like a dagger is plunged into your heart.

You walk up to him, trying to take his hand in yours but he extracts it right back. “I’m sorry, okay? I wasn’t thinking. You know how crazy I get when I’m angry.”

“A ’ sorry ’ doesn’t suffice it. The damage is already done. And if tomorrow, you are thrown out of the university, who’s fault would it be? ” he presses his hand to his face, trying to calm himself down , “I can’t believe I am dating such an immature woman ,y /n. Grow the fuck up, will you?” He says , his anger filled eyes staring right into your soul . Your heart breaks into millions of small pieces , as your breath hitches in your throat. He had never said something so harsh to you in the many years that you’ve dated him and you really wish he hadn’t done it today either because you realise you’re not very good at handling hurtful words, especially from Minho. At all.

“Minho , I know you’re angry - ”

“Leave.” The world stops spinning for a second , your eyes widening with shock, “Go home. Don’t come back again.”

You want to cry but tears seemed to have given up on you too , his words striking you harder than any of Anya’s punches ever did. All your feelings seem to have converted into a much worse state of numbness when those words leave his mouth.

“Y-you are not breaking up with me, right?” Your usually loud voice comes out as a whisper.

“I am. Go, please. I don’t want to see you right now.” He opens the room door for you to exit, his eyes never meeting yours. His lower lip is caught between his teeth, a sign that he’s about to tear up yet you don’t know if he wants too be comforted by you right now, or ever. So picking up the remaining pieces of your damaged heart , you walk out of the room , stopping only to glance over at him one last time , in hopes that he’d change his mind. But no, his angry demeanor is still there , strong and tough and unbreakable.

And when you finally leave , Minho is grateful that Hyunjin wasn’t home - for he would have hated to cry in front of his roommate.

The bright neon sign with ’ Kim’s Restaurant ’ written on it shines in the distance , blurred only by the tears in your eyes and not by the tiny droplets of water slowly falling from the sky.

You feel a soft blanket of comfort draping over you when you walk toward the familiar building.

Your aunt and uncle have worked hard to build a proper business from a small shop that had once just sold fried chicken and cold drinks ; and it makes you so happy to see their new restaurant still packed with people this late in the evening.

“Oh , y/n. I was just about to call you. Did you not go to your dorm yet? ” your aunt asks from the reception desk , chewing her favorite gum and typing aggressively into the computer.

“I stayed back today. Project work.” You lie. Your aunt lifts up her head , her eyebrows knitted together and a suspicious scowl gracing her face , almost mimicking your mother. Your mom and your aunt are twin sisters , born just three minutes apart , and since then it has become your mom’s life mission to remind your aunt of the whooping three minute gap every chance she gets. It’s hilarious, really.

“Don’t make that face at me. You look exactly like mom.” You mutter , leaning against the wooden desk.

“I do look exactly like your mom , y/n. ” she replies with a chuckle, “Anyway, what’s going on? You look tired.”

Honestly, you’d love to talk about Minho and the impulsive breakup and the aching in your heart with your aunt because there’s no better person to seek advice from, but you don’t feel it right to burden her when she’s working plus a part of you doesn’t really trust your aunt to keep all the secrets to herself.

“No, I’m okay. Just mid college crisis.” you say.

Your aunt hums in response, probably not buying it but you’re happy she doesn’t push it anymore, “ Are you hungry? Want something to eat?”

A bag of fries with a bucket full of chicken wings sounds terribly tempting right now but you’ve lost all your appetite for the day the moment Minho closed the door behind you. Now all you feel is drained, tired, sad. Moreover, that is not what you were here for, “Nah, I’m good. Is Yugyeom home though?”

The door to your aunt’s house opens only after you ring the stupid bell at least three times , as you stand on the porch, judging the loud music that blasts from within the walls. “Wow , you look like shit.” Yugyeom always has some snarky comments up his sleeve but you are in no mood to be playing word games with him right now. You barge into the house , pushing past your cousin who you smells like donuts and Axe.

“Shut up.” You say, plopping down on his bed . You really want to cry right now but Yugyeom has never been big on consoling so you try to hold it in .

“What’s wrong? I’m not joking.” He sits beside you, putting down his gaming console on the table by the bed.

You play with your fingers , breathing in and out to calm your nerves. Yugyeom, out of all the people in the world , is the easiest to talk to but today , you find yourself on the edge , trying to be very careful with your choice of words. Maybe you were afraid of angering him as well.

“I..I kind of beat Anya up.” You confess ,swallowing the lump in your throat.

Yugyeom becomes still for a moment , staring at you with his mouth gaping and then his face breaks into the widest grin in the world.

“You really beat that bitch up? Like for real?” He asks , excitedly bro fisting the air like an athlete after winning an important match.

You nod , “And then I went to see Minho. He obviously didn’t react the way you did. He was very angry and then he broke up with me. ”

Yugyeom’s celebrations are short lived as you continue to tell him the details of what had happened earlier, his smile slowly dissolving into a frown.

“Y/n, first of all you really need to learn how to break news to other people. It’s always the bad one first and then the good one. Noob.” Yugyeom bumps his shoulder softly to yours. You would otherwise have argued with him and told him why the happy news should always be first and why the bad news should be last but you feel too exhausted to speak anymore. Your shoulders slump as you put your hands on either side of your head.

“How could he just break up with me like that? He had no logical reason to! He’s so selfish.” You mutter , tears gathering up in your eyes. You try to blink them away before your cousin notices them.

“I don’t think he did it for himself , y/n. You told him that you hit Anya because she was speaking trash about him. Of course he’d distance himself from you so you wouldn’t want to fight his fights for him.” Yugyeom says.

“I wasn’t fighting his fights! She trash talks about you and me and him and everyone else. It was the last straw for me. I didn’t do anything wrong. ” you explain , your heart hammering against your chest.

“I didn’t say what you did was wrong ,y/n. You have a right to be angry with her. But what we’re talking about is Minho. Think about this from his point of view,” Yugyeom replies, his hands on your shoulders , “You beat Anya up , got hurt and possibly put yourself in trouble with her mother all because of him. He feels guilty.” Yugyeom is speaking to you like he’s speaking in one of those debates that he does at college. You love seeing him speak, mostly because he is so manipulative yet subtle , smart yet observant and he can convince you so easily. He could easily pass as the best debater in your college - too bad you’d already taken that place.

“Or it could be because he doesn’t want more trouble in his account. Maybe he’s ashamed of me. ” you whisper, “ And I told you, I didn’t do it just for him. I did it for me and you too and all those people she bullies and makes fun of. Why is he the only one reacting like this? ”

Yugyeom sighs, “Yes , I appreciate your concern for my well being, y/n. But he might not be thinking the same way as I am. I was happy that you beat Anya up , but he was worried about you. He obviously doesn’t want you to get badly hurt.”

You rub the tears that flow down your face with the heel of your hand then place your head on Yugyeom ’s shoulder.

“He might have fallen out of love with me. Maybe he just needed an excuse to call it off.” You mutter.

“You know Minho’s better than that, y/n.”

He’s right . Minho really is better than that.

Break ups suck. In the truest sense. But what you now realize is that break ups don’t hurt that much immediately, but slowly , as the days go by and the memories start flashing in front of your eyes every waking moment , you feel like nothing more than a sack of meat and bones, drained of all emotions.

“For this unit of organic chemistry, I need all of you to memorise the reaction mechanisms over the weekend.” Your professor’s voice feels distant to you , as if there were a wall in between the two of you , even though he stands just a few steps away.

Your classmates start murmuring among themselves, fixing study dates that almost always are unsuccessful and gathering notes they hadn’t bothered to complete until now. But you remain seated in your chair , staring out the window, not bothering to talk to anyone.

It is a bright sunny afternoon and you see all the happy faces out on the field - couples, friends , classmates. You feel jealous. You clearly remember planning a weekend trip with Minho a few days ago and If you hadn’t decided to mess things up so bad, he’d have already been at your college gate by now , waiting in his father’s old car. You clearly remember how excited he was about the trip.

The dismissal bell rings not long after and as you walk out of the college gate, surrounded by thousands of students, you feel lonelier as ever. And your mind imagines his car below the tall banyan tree , his lean frame leaning against the door with a silly grin. You could almost see him there. Even though its just in your mind.

You miss him so much that it gets hard for you to even breathe properly.

“Okay , how long are we going to stay here? I have better things to do than stalk your girlfriend, Lee.” Changbin’s whiny voice breaks the silence in Minho’s car, much to his annoyance.

“Just a few more minutes. Till she reaches the dorm.” Minho replies , his hand limp on the steering wheel and his lips pressed in a tense line.

His eyes are focused on you , your slump shoulders and your unusually slow walk and the dark circles under your eyes. It is obvious that Minho wasn’t the only one having sleepless nights .

“Dude , why don’t you just talk to her? I’m sure she would listen.” Hyunjin says from the backseat , munching on peanuts, “ Plus I think she saw us.”

Minho watches as you turn around a corner and walk toward your dorm building , away from him. He almost wishes you’d seen him.

“It’s not that easy.” Minho mutters, turning the engine on.

At least he knows you’re okay, and safe. That’s enough reassurance for him to try and move on but he somehow always ends up driving to your college gates during dismissal, the brief view of your face still making the worst of his days better.

“It’s not that easy.” He repeats to reassure himself .

“Guess what.” Yugyeom chimes in early one morning, leaning against the locker door beside yours.

“What?” You ask , not sparing him a glance. Your hands busy themselves in flipping over the pages of your notebook ; last minute revisions before tests are more important than the actual studying.

“I saw Anya this morning. She was running late , I think, and she bumped into a junior near the gate. I was sure all hell was about to break loose but she just apologized and left!” Yugyeom says , laughing.

You turn to look at him, a look of surprise plastered on your face. Anya actually did that? Instead of being her usual, defensive, violent self she actually chose to apologize? It’s hard to digest but you’re sure Yugyeom wouldn’t be making all that up. He’s not that creative.

“The sun must have risen from West today.” You reply with a chuckle.

The morning bell rings throughout the corridor, indicating the commencement of your classes. Throwing in your notebook ,you close your locker and heave a sigh. Its just a small quiz but you find yourself stressing over every single thing these days.

“Oh and by the way , it’s Jackson Wang’s birthday party tomorrow.” Yugyeom adds as the two of you start making your way towards the chemistry lab , coats hanging by your arms.

“And we’re going?” You question ,cocking your eyebrow.

Yugyeom is not really into parties , especially the over-the-top , spectacular , rich-kid parties that Jackson Wang often finds himself throwing, yet Yugyeom always goes because a) Jackson is his best friend and b) Who doesn’t like to feel like a rich man even if it’s just for one night?

“Yes. Both of us.” He says. You shrug your shoulders. You have always liked going to Jackson ’s parties and fawning over his huge mansion and the various cuisines placed in front of you that you can’t even name properly and watching other rich kids like himself play golf in the living room. It was pretty entertaining . Even with your post break up gloominess, you wouldn’t want to miss all of that.

“Okay.”

“And one more thing,” he starts ,“I saw Lee Minho outside our college gate yesterday. You might want to do something about that.”

No, unlike what was expected of you, you didn’t really do anything about it but Yugyeom’s words stick to you like a piece of gum throughout the whole day ,consuming every thought and pulling out all those thoughts that you’d stacked up and thrown away into the top most drawers of your mind. You were convinced that the day he broke up with you , he was done. He didn’t want to look back or reconsider. He wasn’t coming back to you. And you’ve been trying to move on as best as you could ,keeping your mind occupied and busy all the time. Yet you had to accept that in the wee hours of the night , staring at the ceiling ,you would often find yourself reminiscing him and whatever you two had. The gentle touches , the late night walks, shy smiles and endless talks ; you missed them.

But his presence outside the college changes the whole game, doesn’t it?

Later that day, you kind of regret agreeing to go to Jackson’s party because you soon realised that both Minho and Jackson went to the same dancing school at one point of time , and Minho probably (like a 99.9% probability because Jackson Wang never leaves anyone uninvited) was invited too.

You dread every second in Yugyeom’s stupid car that brings you one more step closer to seeing Lee Minho again. And although you would never dare say it out loud , a part of you was a little excited too.

“Dude , y/n , I have never felt so underdressed in my entire life.” Yugyeom breathes in as the car stops in front of the huge metal gates of Jackson’s mansion.

“Me neither.” You agree, your eyes glued to the people walking in and out of the doors, wearing tuxedos and dresses and sparkly jewelry. You feel horribly out of place all of a sudden, like a fish flying in the sky and a bird swimming deep under the water- you feel like you don’t belong here.

You look down at your black converse , tightly laced and washed for this very party and your loose ,dark green tshirt and ripped jeans .

“Why didn’t you tell me this was a fucking masquerade ball or soemthing?"you hiss at your cousin.

"Shut up, y/n , you’re not the only one feeling odd. ” Yugyeom shoots back

But all of that discomfort is gone the moment you see Jackson Wang sitting on the huge sofa in the living room , wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and a white tank top , drunk and wasted and blabbering.

“Let’s go before he sees us.” Yugyeom says , pushing you through the crowds of people clad in silks and pure cotton , “Drunk Jackson is difficult to handle.”

“Oh , I beg to differ , All Jacksons are difficult to handle.”

The garden behind the mansion is filled with even more people than your brain was accustomed to seeing while the DJ stands at the top of a platform , headphones on and screaming into the mic every once in a while to hype up the crowd in front of him , but you realise it’s hardly needed. People are already way too hyped up in here.

“Y/n?” You hear a voice say and you immediately turn around to face Hwang Hyunjin standing under the wonderful night sky, looking as gorgeous as ever. But then again ,when does he not look pretty?

“Hey, Hyunjin. How have you been?” You ask with a smile. Your awkward hand movements do not go unnoticed by him but he thankfully doesn’t comment on it.

“I’ve been good. How have you been ?” He replies , inching closer to you. From the corner of your eye, you see Yugyeom slowing disappearing into the crowds, leaving you all alone to deal with your ex boyfriend’s best friend. You make a mental note to never lend your Netflix account to him again.

“I’m okay, too.” You say.

Hyunjin nods, his eyes staring at you curiously, “Tell me , y/n , how have you really been? I know what happened between you and Minho.”

You gulp , heat creeping up to your cheeks.

“I’m fine, really. Don’t worry about it.” You say, biting the inside of your cheeks nervously.

“If you say so.” he grins , putting an arm around you , “But I’ll be real honest with you , Minho - ”

The words are cut off when the DJ suddenly blasts a new song through the speakers , simultaneously yelling into the mic. The sweaty, wasted , hopeless crowd around you yell a few ’ Let’s GO! ’s and ’ Fuck It Up ’s in response.

“What were you saying?” You yell over the music , pinching Hyunjin’s t-shirt to get his attention. He glances at back you then points toward his left , “That.”

You turn your head in that direction , your heart skipping a beat the moment your eyes meet Minho’s nervous ones. You see him walk towards you in long strides ,his handsome features painted with anxiousness and worry and a foreign sense of guilt. You were angry at him ,yes ,but as he makes his way to you , his silky hair bouncing softly ,his pink lips slightly parted, his starry eyes locked on you ,he looks…Brilliant? Breathtaking? Gorgeous? Stunning? All of these?

He wears a blue tshirt with black pants and has a jacket tied around his waist. He looks beautiful- even though you are mad at him. He looks way too beautiful to not acknowledge it.

And just a few seconds before he reaches you , you break away from Hyunjin’s hold and run away into the crowd.

“Y/n, wait!” You hear the both of them yell at the same time. But only one of them follows behind you and you don’t even have to look back to know who it is.

Fear and anger creep into your body , slow but painful like poison. You remember the last few days and how horrible it had been for you , all because of Minho and his lack of understanding in a moment when it was needed the most. Over the past few weeks, your ex boyfriend had made no attempts to contact you whatsoever and if he thinks he could just pop out of nowhere and start talking to you again, then he’s gravely mistaken. You might still love him and want nothing more than to hold him close , but that doesn’t mean you aren’t angry anymore . You are not ready to face him. At all.

Your feet burn as you run further away from Minho, jogging up the stairs inside the mansion with your hand tightly gripping the cold metal railing.

“Y/n, please, just listen to me once.” He yells, still not giving up.

You scoff , “Why should I? You didn’t listen to me that day either!”

You find a door at the end of the staircase, your hands pushing it to reach the empty terrace that you’d heard Jackson bragging about during your English classes when everyone was too bored to listen to the professor. The terrace really was beautiful, with all kinds of flowers blooming and a fountain with lights , you would have almost been breath taken if not for the man closing up behind you.

“Y/n, damnit, ” Minho huffs, reaching his hand out toward you, panting, “Stop, okay? Just listen to me , please.”

Not like you have an option anyway. You sigh in defeat , walking toward the fountain, the carpet grass rustling under your feet. “What?” You demand, your voice bitter with anger.

Minho stands in front of you , his brown unkempt hair and firey eyes reminding you of the night you guys had kissed for the first time. He stands at an arm’s distance, giving you enough space to think things through. He would never want to force you to do something you wouldn’t want to. And even if everything turned out to be not in his favor tonight, he’d gladly accept it because he deserved it after treating you so badly.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers after a few seconds.

You roll your eyes, “For what? What did you do? As far as I know, THE Lee Minho never makes mistakes!”

He hangs his head low with shame ; he didn’t mean a single word he’d said that night. He was worried, yes, he was very worried about your bashful attitude but he was also very grateful to you for always having his back. It physically hurt him to see you bleeding and completely worn out that day.

“Well, I did make a mistake this time. I said some words that I didn’t mean at all and I’m afraid the girl I intended those words at hates me.” He says , pressing his lips in a line.

“Damn right , she does.” You can’t even look into his eyes anymore because you’re too afraid of laying your true feelings bare in front of him.

“I’m really, really sorry, baby. I know I’m an asshole and I hurt you. I have no excuses to offer but I just want you to know that a single second more away from you will drive me crazy. ”

You process his sentences slowly - letter by letter, inking those words permanently into your memories. “Why?” You ask. What a silly question ,y/n, do you really want to torment this man so much ?

Minho gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement, “Because you’re quite literally my everything.”

Minho only dares to grin a little when you no longer throw virtual daggers from your eyes at him. “I hate you , you know?” You say.

“I know ,y/n. I don’t even blame you. I shouldn’t have said all that. I was just so, so mad. But that really wasn’t an excuse to be so rude to you or break up. I should have talked it out instead . I deserve the hate.” He admits.

The frown on your lips dissipates slowly ,making way for a sad, small smile.

“It was so hard, Minho. You don’t even know. I had never felt so lonely in my entire life.” You say.

“Believe me, y/n, I know.” He whispers as your hands find their way to his cheeks, rubbing them ever so gently.

You scan his face, absorbing in the fact that he was actually in front of you and this wasn’t one of your unrealistic imaginations.

Minho takes not more than a half step towards you and you automatically wrap your arms around his neck , like the millions of times you’d already done before. Everything about him is so familiar yet so new. Like layers and layers to discover and only one goddamn lifetime.

He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck , mumbling soft apologies against your skin, his arms tightening around your waist with every passing second.

“I missed you so much.” You admit, playing with his beautiful brown locks, taking in the smell of his (your) favorite body wash.

“I missed you too.” He replies , “So goddamn much. I almost wanted to cuddle Hwang Hyunjin at night.”

You laugh ,as he admires the way your noes scrunches up when you giggle and the way your eyes bend into crescent moons. In that moment, Minho realises how much he loves seeing you laugh ,especially when he’s the reason behind it. It fills him up with so much pride.

You hear the DJ change the song into a slow , romantic one as his voice booms through the speakers once again , “Ladies and gentlemen, grab the person next to you, with consent of course, and hold them close for this one because tonight is all about dancing with strangers!”

The crowd goes feral.

Minho raises an eyebrow at the DJ’s words , a sly smile playing on his lips , “Shall we?”

He pulls away from the embrace, gently bowing toward you and offering you his hand like some gentleman right out of a fairytale.

“He said dancing with a stranger, not girlfriend.” You deadpan but you take his hand anyway.

He chuckles, leaning closer to rest his forehead on yours, “Technically, we’re still broken up. That makes us strangers.”

You have to give in - not because of his weird reasoning but because of how terribly cute he looks when he smiles like that at you. He holds you close, swaying slowly to the music and grinning like there’s no tomorrow.

“What’s so funny, Lee Minho?” You ask , raising your eyebrow.

He shakes his head, still grinning, “I just realised how rare it is to find a woman who would quite literally declare war for you.”

“Now, you’re exaggerating a little bit with the war thing but yes, that’s the essence of it.” You reply with a proud smile.

He laughs, as you put your hand on his cheek once again and press your lips softly to his. You’d missed this so much - not just kissing him but also this feeling of intimacy you share with him everytime you’re in a closed space, sharing the same air. You missed his teasing, his stupidly sweet laughter, the warmth of his embrace. You missed Lee Minho - your safe place, your best friend, your world.

And even after everything, you both know for sure that you would fight the world for Minho if need be, and he’d do the exact same thing for you. Every single time.

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