#because he wasn’t like close enough to the explosion to go blind

[worldofkuro]

Painted Smile

Painted Smile XXXV

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Summary: You couldn't wait to meet new friends. What you didn't expect was this smiling little boy, only one year older than you, that would take such a big place in your life.

Notes: I couldn't wait but read your reaction to this chapters. It seems like everyone have hidden cards on their side, what about you?

You coughed as soon as you entered the burning building. You could see people killed because of the explosion and some who seemed unconscious. You tore your eyes from the scene, you couldn’t help them.

You ran toward the stairs, placing your hands on your nose and mouth. You couldn’t ask the air spirit to come with you, what if it gave more power to the flame around you? You couldn’t risk it…

You looked around you, watching  the flames licking the walls around you. You couldn’t help but shiver, you still remember Trey’s eye in the sky before you went inside the building. Did he prepare all of this? Was that why the maid in the RicheMont’s mansion knew you were supposed to be here…

Did Trey try to kill you and your family in one blow..?

You felt like you could vomit on the floor. This man was crazy enough to try to kill a child? 

You shook your head, the smoke was taking more place in the air and you were lucky that you could still see where you were going. From what you guessed, the explosion came from the 4th floor, where Alastor and Alice were supposed to be.

You tore a pan of your dress and put the tissue in front of your nose. Breathing was becoming more difficult by the minutes and you weren’t near your destination yet. You kept walking the stairs, being mindful of your steps. 

You wanted to block the sound of anguish and pain from the people around you. They were trying to reach you, asking for help, but you couldn’t… You couldn’t help all of them, you couldn’t even use your power to save them…

You finally made it to the fourth floor, your eyes were crying because of the fire around you. You felt like your eyes were melting… You kneeled, trying to breathe the air that wasn’t poisoned by the smoke. Alastor’s door wasn’t far away, you knew the way by heart…

You took a deep breath before standing up and walking toward the door you knew was supposed to be here. You squinted your eyes as you saw a shadow in front of you trying to… What was it doing..?

You raised your hand, ready to attack. What if it was some kind of trap made by Trey? You couldn’t hesitate, every suspicious things would be destroyed by you–

“ Mrs. Sanglar? What are you doing here?”

“ Victor..?”

You blinked and sigh in relief when you manage to recognize Victor who was trying to kick your husband's office’s door open. The tall man was bleeding from his hand and he had a cut near his eye, forcing him to keep his eye closed. You hoped he wasn’t going to be blind…

“ I’m here for Alastor and Alice..!” You shout, coughing. Your throat was so dry…

“ Get out! Alastor will kil mel once he learns I let you in such a dangerous place!” Victor screamed before kicking the door once more. 

You needed him to leave, for his life of course but also so you could use your power and destroy the door that was separating you from your family.

“ Victor, leave!”

“ No!”

You felt like you would tear your hair from your skull. Victor was a loyal friend, you knew it but you wanted to kill him right now! But you couldn’t be mad at him, in his eyes you were a fragile woman, what could you possibly do if he couldn’t break down that door..?

“ Victor, go fetch some help!”

“ And let you stay here? Look at your state, even your eyes are red! You will die, leave the building!” He smashed his shoulder against the door once more.

You blinked, you didn’t even notice your eyes weren’t hurting anymore… Maybe you could use your power when Victor was kicking the door so he would think he did it by himself and the two of you would go inside. You looked at the door and frowned when you saw a soft glow around it.

You recognize that goldish glow. It was definitely Trey’s power. How powerful this man was to use his power inside a burning building while not being around.

Or was he closer than you thought..?

You felt the wind whispering in your ears. It was almost inaudible. Maybe because he didn’t want to rekindle the fire more than it already was. You concentrated on the whispers and gasped.

It was Alice’s voice, she was crying.

You felt power swirling inside of you and as soon as Victor’s feet kicked the door you used your telekinesis to burst the door open. Unfortunately, the door didn’t open, it only shook a little.

You were feeling more desperate as the minute passed by and the door wasn’t moving. You could hear your daughter’s voice thanks to the wind, but Alastor’s voice was non-existent. You couldn’t hear anything from your husband, even the telepathy wasn’t working.

“ Victor, please, go downstairs, I saw an ax which is for this kind of situation!” You shouted. Victor stopped his kicks and stared at you before nodding, making you promise you would not do anything stupid while he was gone.

You stood in front of the door with so much hate and anger you could feel the air around you move, making your clothes and hair move. You tried to bash the door open once more with your telekinesis, trying to create a shield around the door so you could open it but nothing was working.

The door was shining in a goldish light, taunting you. It was like it was telling you that you couldn’t reach your family because you were alive and they were already dea–

You screamed in anger and stared at your shadow who was buzzing with fire because of the situation. Then you remembered, Alastor would use his shadow as a portal from one localisation to another. You didn’t know if you could do like Alastor, using your shadow as some kind of portal… You already did it for yourself but would you be able to do it for Alice and Alastor..

You would do it or you would die trying.

You fell inside your own shadow and then appeared inside your husband’s office. You looked around and gasped at the scene. The studio was completely destroyed, Alastor’s notes were all burned down…The walls which were a welcoming red were now black because of the flames. You coughed once more, trying to find your family and then you saw them.

Alastor was lying on the floor, his eyes were closed and you could see blood pouring from his forehead. You were surprised that he didn’t have any more bruises, he didn’t seem burnt or anything…

You ran toward him and smiled with tears in your eyes when you saw in his arms,your daughter. She was staying in her father's arms, crying while holding Eamon. You tried to touch her but your hand fell on an invisible barrier..

What the..?

You tried to grab your daughter or husband but each time your hands were stopped by this invisible shield. 

You felt like you were going crazy.

Did Trey use the same power as you? Was he taunting you? You were going to kill this man, slaughtered him, force him to eat his own organs while you–

“ Mommy, I’m scared!”

Your gaze fell on your daughter who finally noticed you. She was terrified, she was clinging to her father but you could see in her eyes she wanted to reach for you. You put your hands on the shield with the most soft smile you could manage right now.

“ I’m here, Alice. I’m here, my baby.”

You felt like crying, screaming, killing someone. In this burning space that had been so lively a few hours ago, you could only hear your daughter’s cries, and the silence of your husband. What could you do, you couldn’t destroy this shield, and what if you hurted them while trying..?

You watched as your shadow tried to go inside the shield but with no success. You could feel tears dripping on your cheeks. Was it the end..? After years of fighting, your end was right now? Did God finally decide that you would be punished for your evil deed by dying with your family?

You dropped your forehead against the shield, looking at your baby and husband. It couldn’t be the end… right..?

And yet, you felt so useless…

You could feel the fire being more and more powerful around you but it seemed like, unlike you, Alice and Alastor were protected by the shield… At least, they wouldn’t burn alive… 

Wait…

You gasped as reality hit you. You felt like a fresh breeze came inside your own lungs, making you powerful once more as you understood what you had mistaken since you put a foot in this burning place.

The shield wasn’t trapping your daughter and husband.

It was protecting them.

You stared at the shield with a new force inside you. Did Alastor conjure it before falling unconscious ? You needed to reach his soul before it was too late. 

Your gaze fell on Eamon, you needed to save it too, you didn’t want to think about your bound if Eamon was injured. You closed your eyes and felt your soul being lifted off your body. You saw your body hit the ground, wincing when you saw your daughter panicking even more. You pass through the shield and caress Alastor’s cheek.

My Love… Alastor…? It’s me… drop the shield…

You could feel your bound but there were no answers.  The red thread around your finger was still present and still attached to Alastor’s ring finger…and yet he wasn’t answering.

In that form, you could feel all kinds of energy more intently than usual, so you were pretty surprised when you concentrated on the shield’s energy and felt that it wasn’t coming from Alastor. You looked at the energy, trying to find the source of it.

Alice…

Your eyes widened when you saw the purple energy moving around your daughter. She was the one making this shield…? The purple threads of energy was circling around your daughter who was crying, scared that both of her parents were unconscious.  You quickly came back inside your body as the fire was becoming more dangerous for you.

You opened your eyes and quickly sat up, not caring about the need to vomit on the floor.

“ Alice, baby, look at mommy. Look at me.” You whispered as your daughter sobbed, her hand against the shield. “ Do you remember what I told you in the bath..? When you are feeling overwhelmed, what do you do…?”

“ I .. I make a shield…” she sobbed, squeezing Eamon against her.

“ Yes, that’s right my baby.” You nodded, trying to keep your panic in check as the ceiling was making worrying noises. You didn’t want to be crushed now that you knew how to save your family. “ You listened to mommy, right ? You created a shield?” You asked with an encouraging smile even if your heart beat too fast and you had problems breathing correctly.

Your daughter seemed confused, maybe she wasn’t aware of it…

“ Alice, I need you to listen to me. You are safe with Mommy and Dad, right?” You waited for her to nod.

“ But Dad is..” 

“ Dad is resting. Because he feels so safe with us…so so safe… Don’t you want to be safe in Mommy’s arms?” You asked, and smiled when Alice nodded. You opened your arms wide open, trying to hide how your body was shaking. “ Come to mommy.”

You were breathing faster, the fire was being more intense by the seconds, your throat felt like you were breathing lava and your vision was getting blurrier by the minutes. You needed Alice to understand something she didn' know existed. Even if she was a clever child, she was still a child… She was your baby girl.. 

Alice stared at you, keeping Eamon against her chest. She then looked at her plushie, you tried to make her look at you but her eyes were trained on the deer. Your heart was beating so fast, why wasn’t she looking at you? She stood up slowly and then before you understood it, your daughter was in your arms, sobbing, clenching at your dress.

The shield had dropped… Alice did it..

You kissed her multiple times on her forehead before going to Alastor. You shook him  violently, shouting for his name even if you felt like you could cough blood because of all the smoke you inhaled.

Finally, Alastor’s eyes opened and when he saw you he quickly sat up. You crashed into him, Alice still in your arms and cried. Your family was alive, everything was going to be fine.. You looked at Alastor, already ready to heal his wound but a gunshot was heard behind you.

You all turned your heads toward the door which opened itself and then you saw Victor and John. It seemed like John shot the lock open… And the door had lost its glow from before..

“ Alastor, Alice!” Victor entered the room and froze when he saw you. He must be questioning how you manage to enter if the door was still there when he arrived but you would answer the question later. You took Alice in your arms and helped Alastor standing up, he was silent, he couldn’t walk correctly… He wasn’t looking at you, his eyes were open but his eyes weren’t looking…  You were so worried, you needed to heal him.. but you were too weak to keep him standing.

Your eyes widened as John entered the room and moved you away from Alastor before helping him walk, Victor on the other side of your husband. Both of the men were keeping your husband standing.

“ Let’s go !” John shouted at you with worry in his eyes. You nodded at him and squeezed Alice against your chest before leaving 

Victor made you pass through an emergency exit because the stairs couldn’t be used anymore. You telekinesis some rubbled when the men weren’t looking so you wouldn’t be crushed underneath those debris.

You don’t really remember how you managed to finally leave the building but you remember the firefighter taking care of you immediately. Alice didn’t want to leave your arms and you didn't want to leave her nor Alastor. But John and Victorhad  already brought him to the paramedics…

You could see journalists trying to come closer to ask questions, asking if it was an accident or not. You clenched Alice against you when you felt hands on her, you could hear the voices saying they wanted to make sure your daughter was okay but you shook your head.

 Your daughter was safer in yours arms.

“ Who is Mrs. Sanglar?” A paramedic asked. You walked toward him, trying to see his face clearly as your vision was fuzzy. “ Your husband needs you, lady. He doesn’t want us to touch him, it seems like the fire touched his eyes, he might be blind for a few days or more if he doesn’t let us touch him.”

You nodded and quickly went toward Alastor who was laying in a litter inside the ambulance. Once you were alone in the vehicul, you sat next to him and whispered, not being able to be loud because of how dry your throat was.

“ Alastor…” You murmured. 

“ My Love…” He whispered back.

You sniffed as you felt his hand on your cheek. His eyes were closed, it seemed like he couldn’t open them for now, and yet, he was already craving your presence. Even with his eyes closed, he could still know where you were.

“ You need to let them heal you…” You kissed his hand multiple times, tears running down your cheeks.

“ Don’t let them touch me, my love… Don’t let them hurt me again.. Don’t let them separate us…”

You didn’t know if he was completely conscious but you cried at his words. You felt like you were back in the past, when Alastor’s father was still torturing him. You knew that Alastor was close to one of his episodes where he couldn’t be touched by anyone but you. You stroke his hair with a soft smile, trying to reassure him and yet your heart broke when you saw him flinch at your touch.

“ I promise, Alastor.”

“ Where… Where is Alice…?”

You looked at your daughter against your chest, not moving since she was in your arms. She was keeping Eamon against her, her eyes closed too. It seemed like she was close to fall asleep. If she really had created a shield, you wouldn’t be surprised she was exhausted.

“ She is with me…”

“ This brat… “ He said before falling unconscious. 

You  looked around and placed your hands above his eyes. You could feel your daughter’s gaze on you as power emerged from you. Your eyes were red with a purple hue, something your daughter never saw.

You focused on your husband and began to heal all of his wounds.  You knew he was going to be angry with you once he woke up but you didn't care. 

“ Mr. Felleur wants to talk with you, is it okay Mrs. Sanglar?”

You stopped your healing and turned your head to an officer who was watching you. You nodded, looking at him as he left to fetch John. You went back to heal your husband and after all of his observable wounds were cured you stroke his cheek. He didn’t have any burn on him, did Alice create her shield as soon as the explosion happened ? You looked at your daughter who was asleep, making you smile at the scene.

“ Still alive, I see.”

You turned your head and froze when you saw the last person you wanted to meet in this situation.

Trey Felleur was looking at you with an innocent smile.

He went inside the vehicle and closed the door before sitting in front of you, Alastor’s litter being the only thing that was separating you. You knew your eyes were red, but you didn’t care. 

“ You truly have a guardian angel with you, Mrs. Sanglar. You were supposed to die with your family because of the explosion.” He hummed, tilting his head, looking at you curiously. “ But then, I heard you went to my home and killed one of my maid.”

“ This isn’t your place, this mansion is under the name of the RicheMont, you sick bastard.”You spat at him with all the hatred you could conjure. “ And she killed herself after torturing the head of the family. It seems like justice will come for you…”

“ Oh yes, I guess Maurice would have wanted to bring me in front of Justice. The maid was hired by me after all… She must have told him everything !” He laughed with a fond smile. “ Unfortunately for you, I came with sad news. Maurice RicheMont died in the hospital.”

You felt like you had been punched in the stomach.

No… No… it couldn’t be… You saved him… Even with his wounds, he should have made it. He would have been disfigured for the rest of his life but he should have lived..!

You lifted your eyes at the man in front of you.

“ You killed him…”

“ What made you think such a thing?” He looked at you, hurt. You wanted to take his eye that seemed to know too much. “ Now, I came here to talk.” He leaned toward you, his smile dropping. “ How the fuck did you survived ?”

You felt a shiver in your whole body, the temperature dropping cold even if the fire was still raging outside, eating at the building. You leaned back, keeping your daughter against your chest and peeking at Alastor.

My Love… Wake up…

“ Ha-ha, eyes on me.” He said, making you look at him while  trying to stop your shaking. “ Good.” You frowned at his words. “ So, how did you survive?”

“ Why would I answer a murderer ?”

“ Because we are the same.”

“ Don’t fuck with me !” You shouted, feeling blood in your throat because of the strength you used for your voice to sound so strong. “ We are nothing alike, I don’t kill innocents.”

“ I don't either. “ You opened your mouth to talk but he shut you up with just his gaze. “ If you are talking about Alice, you knew she wasn't innocent. The Richemont have their one elite killer, Alice wasn’t innocent. If you weren't a friend, maybe you would have killed her.”

Your whole body was shaking with anger and hatred. You were nothing like this monster, you and Alastor weren’t like him..

right..?

You were lost in your thoughts but what made you come back was the hand of Trey going toward your daughter. You slapped his hand, looking at him with fear and confusion. What was he trying to do?

“ You named her Alice, right?” Trey said as he leaned back. “ How cute… “

“ Don’t look at her, you pervert.” You spat, the wind around you moving at your will.

“ Hum? Oh, that’s what is interesting you see. I can’t see her.” He said as he played with his ring. He still didn’t take off his wedding ring..? “ If you remember our last conversation, I had told you that I couldn’t spy on you anymore because your powers… or should I say spirits, are hiding you from my eyes..” He lifted his head to look at you with a gold eyed gaze.

You gulped, moving your hand subtly toward Alastor’s hand. You were getting more scared as the seconds pass, you were alone with Trey, your husband and daughter asleep. You knew you didn't have any more strength left in you to protect them.

“ Well, it is the same with your sweet child. I can’t see her.” He spat at you before standing up. You were shaking because of the cold around you. Could you win against Trey..? You watched as your shadow was behind him, waiting for your order.

“ I won’t repeat it anymore. How did you survive?”

You nodded at your shadow who jumped on Trey but you only had the time to blink before looking at the scene in front of you.

Trey had his hand around your throat, your shadow was around him, your arms were protecting Alice and you could see a blade inside Trey’s arms… This blade that you knew too well...

“ Alastor!”

You looked at your husband who was awake and had his blade deep inside Trey’s flesh. His eyes were red and he had his usual smile that made you relax. Everything was under control now that your husband was here with you.

“ Ahh, the Felleur really live to touch women that don’t want them, huh?”

You notice Trey’s face wincing at Alastor’s words. Was he hurt that he had married a woman who never loved him?

“ Alastor Sanglar, and here I was hoping you would die today.”

“ I choose my own death, thank you.”

Alastor took his blade from Trey’s arm and the man stepped back. He was looking at you then Alastor, putting his polite smile back.   Your husband was standing in front of you, his smile never leaving his lips which seemed to upset Trey.

“ Mrs. Sanglar, are you oka–”

You turned your eyes toward John who opened the door. He stared at Alastor and Trey and you wondered what he was thinking. Was he choosing a side? What side would he choose, both sides had murderers… 

“ Trey… What are you doing here?” John asked, his voice calm. Treys smiled at him while hiding his bleeding arm from his cousin. You wondered why, it would be the best move to make, show John that Alastor assaulted him and take him to prison…? Why was he hiding his arm..?

“ Well, when I heard the explosion I had to check if you needed help. I knew you would come here to save as many people as you could, you always have been like that.” Trey patted his shoulder before leaving the vehicle. “ See you soon.”

John looked at you and Alastor before closing the door once more. You sighed but then you felt Alastor’s on your wrist.

“ You healed me… again..” 

“ Yes–”

“ Why would you put yourself in such danger? You know I always have a plan.” He said, his grip getting stronger on your wrist. You looked at him with a soft smile, your hand moving slowly to cup his cheek. He didn’t flinch..” Where are you hurt? Are you burned somewhere ?”

“ Alastor, do you know why I’m okay?” You smiled at him when you saw the confusion in his eyes. He must have thought his injuries were too dangerous for you to heal and yet you were in front of him, completely okay if not form the little bruises. “ Our little Alice saved you.”

“ She what?”

You explained everything to him, from the mansion’s crime to Trey’s arrival. You never let go of his hand, you tried touching his cheek once more but when you saw him flinch you decided to keep his hand in yours and not touch him until he asked.

“ I see…” Alastor said, observing Alice. “ Purple energy, huh? Doesn’t it ring a bell for you?” He asked as you tilted your head, confused. “ Purple is Baron Samedi’s color, don't you remember ? Your eyes are slightly purple when you are healing me.”

“ You… Wait, Alice made a deal with Baron Samedi?” You asked, not knowing if you were supposed to be happy or scared.

“ No, I just think she is to be Baron Samedi’s protégée.” Alastor said as he sat down next to you.” Who would have thought Alice would have power so soon..”

You observed your husband. You didn't know if you liked the thought you couldn’t help but be grateful to Baron Samedi. If Alice hadn’t used her shield, she and Alastor would have died from smoke inhalation… But to be a spirit’s protégée… Did it not mean you had to create a deal with them? You didn’t know everything about voodoo… You should ask Papa Legba next time.

You looked at your daughter who was sleeping peacefully in your arms with Eamon against her. You sighed in relief, kissing her forehead multiple times. You gently moved your hand from Alastor’s hand toward his wrist, when you noticed he wasn’t flinching you cup his cheek once more.

“ I was so scared, Alastor…”

Alastor stared at you and took Alice from your arms before laying her down on the litter, then he tugged you against his torso. You closed your eyes as you grabbed his shirt, trying to contain your emotion.

“ Why were you scared ? Did you really think I was going to die?” He scoffed at you, running his finger into your hair.

“ The fire was so…”

“ Darling, curse of my sanity… I knew something was up before the explosion.” He said as you lifted your head toward him, ready to ask for answers. “ I know how I left my office, by heart. I knew someone entered my studio…”

“ So… You stayed there..?” You stared at him, confused. If he didn’t have a true reason for his behavior you were going to strangle him. 

“ Yes.” Alastor stared at you with a fond smile as he stared at the wind around you moving with your emotion. “ You trust me, dear, right?”

You stared at his eyes. Those eyes that made you fall into the pit of Hell. Those eyes that made you kill without remorse… Those eyes that seemed so confident…Those eyes that were staring at you with maniac glint, obsession… and blood lust.

“ Yes, I trust you.” You whispered, knowing your eyes were the same as Alastor’s. Your husband smiled at you before leaning toward you, kissing your lips with a twisted smile. What did your husband know that you didn't..? What did Alastor’s eyes see that you still couldn’t see…

No matter what, those eyes would defeat the eye that Trey had trained on you.

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[callsignhood]

König on a rampage

Tags: Angst / Headcanons /‼️Description of violence and cruelty‼️ / Not proofread /Dark König??

Word count: 500ish

König was always on missions during his twenties. Sometimes it lasted for days, sometimes for weeks.

Being deployed and following commands was almost a therapy for him. It provided him the focus on something that could be controlled, rather than his untouchable anxiety.

Handling weapons and aiming targets was easier than handling relationships, which he was slow at.

He wasn’t too close to his team, but they weren’t strangers either, of course. He just had trouble to open himself up to anyone.

He was young, with a body built like an oak tree and nerves of steel. He always tried to maintain calculated during gunfights. Although he was young, he never acted recklessly. He was even willing to retreat if the consequences of pushing forward were high.

König rarely got shot since was agile and vigilant on the battlefield. If he was, he knew how to treat wounds because it was given as mandatory training.

His pain tolerance was very high. Or maybe he’s just good at keeping everything by himself. He’d clench his teeth and wrap the flesh tightly to stop the blood flow, take a few breaths, self-evaluate if he can do this or not, then continued to fight.

He barely had any rest, because he believed he didn’t need much of that. If he had a day off, he would wash off all the blood and sweat on his body, eat until he’s satisfied, then slam himself on the bed and sleep for an entire day.

König was then deployed to Berlin. It was a rescue operation from the hands of Al-Quatala, and he led a team of five.

It was a mission under raining bullets. The commander has underestimated enemies’ resources, and König’s team was struggling with limited assets.

One of them was down during this twelve hours pain-in-the-ass battle. It made König frustrated at the whole situation.

He sweated under his gears and gloves, changing mags and yelling out order behind cover. He counted his bullets, not enough. His commander has not yet telling them to retreat.

Fucking bullshit, he mumbled. This better not be a suicide mission.

He then e saw a child being thrown out instead of a grenade, a few feet beside him. As he was taking in this sudden information, a flash of explosion blinded his eyes, he felt himself being knocked out by the shockwave.

He growled at the pain, got up from the bloody ground after a few seconds of struggle, then he saw half of an arm and one foot. Small. Belonged to the child.

König took a few breaths, their death sinking into his brain and it made his blood boil. For the first time, he didn’t wait for further instruction by the commander, as he let rage takeover the body.

And it became his weapon, he stormed into the room with his assault rifle, shot down a few panicked enemy that was fleeing to take cover. They did not expect anyone would storm into their base recklessly like this.

He double-tapped them, then took pursuit on the rest like a beast going rogue. Six were on the base floor, four on the roof top. If his ammo ran out, he’d ditch it and grab a rifle from the dead enemies. Turns out they had a fucking heavy machine gun, that’s why König’s squad were showered with bullets.

If there was a chance for melee combat, he’d use the most painful method without a blink.

He got shot twice on the arm, once on the leg form the back. He bit through it, half with adrenaline, half with his flaming rage. He had enough with this. Nothing could stop König on his rampage.

The remaining two were guarding the hostages. König took aim and shot one of them dead with one bullet.

The other screamed and wanted to run, but König was faster, pinned him down and grabbed him like a prey. His own blood stained the clothing, and the burning revenge was dripping down from his eyes, glared down at the enemy.

“You like to be cruel, ja?” König spitted, stabbed the knife into his eye. “Then I’ll pay it back to you!” He gutted out those painful screams. Again and again, as it was the only way to calm himself down.

When König was done venting his fire out, he turned to the hostages. He was almost covered in red with a pair bloodlust eyes. They were trembling at the sight of this man, refused to go with him.

They had to be convinced by the rest of his team, so they could be finally escorted to safety. The team also took care of König. They were terrified too.

König finally passed out on the retreat heli by the blood lost and by his overwhelmed mind.

[weyrleaders]

im having so much fun with these @vapolis thank you for my life

also orla couldnt be in this one because if she was things would have gone very differently and i wouldnt have been able to do what i set out to do

gets a bit violent lol but no more than this game gets i dont think

There’s a saying about best-laid plans.

Jax whips back behind cover, slamming against the doorframe, narrowly dodging another round of gunfire. When it stops, he reaches around the doorframe and takes a few shots of his own. There’s a shout. Jax hopes he hit something important.

Orla was meeting with the head of the Vipers to settle a territory deal. It was supposed to be quick and simple, and the Vipers were supposed to have top-notch security. Apparently their people weren’t as good as they thought, because the meeting was attacked halfway through by a group Jax has yet to identify.

Aster had been closer to Orla than Jax, and had just picked her up and took off. Not that Jax blames him. Especially since Orla isn’t going to appreciate being treated like a damsel in distress no matter how fueled by blind panic Aster was at the time.

Still, someone had to cover Orla’s escape. The idiots must be content with taking out one of Orla’s people if they can’t have her, because as soon as they realized she was gone and Jax wasn’t they were quick to switch targets.

That, or they just don’t know who they’re supposed to be after. 

He hears something roll in the hallway, but isn’t stupid enough to risk peeking.

There’s an explosion and plenty of smoke down the hall, though, and he jerks his head up in time to see Aster sprinting toward him out of the smoke while their attackers are busy coughing their lungs out. He slides his mask down around his neck and tosses another smoke bomb for good measure before they both take off.

They aren’t running for long before Jax hears another few wild shots. Aster growls and answers with a few of his own.

After a few turns, Aster slows unexpectedly, and Jax nearly outpaces him. He stops short and turns to see Aster leaning against the wall, panting and pressing his hand against his shoulder. Blood wells between his fingers, barely visible against the black of his vest.

“Orla sent you back for me?” Jax asks.

“Probably,” Aster grits out.

“Probably?”

“I was already making for the door when she opened her mouth,” replies Aster as he pushes away from the wall.

He takes the lead as they round the next several turns, heading deeper into the complex. Jax had been leading the uninvited guests away from the direction Aster had taken Orla, so it wasn’t as if Aster could just lead them back out the way he came in. There’s no other halls connected to this one, just doors scattered throughout. There has to be an exit soon. Unless the complex’s architect refused to follow fire code. Jax knows they must be underground since he went down a flight of stairs early on, but apart from that he’s lost.

Aster is slowing down, though, breathing going ragged. Jax looks over his shoulder to check on him.

He’s ghostly pale, face drawn and teeth bared. He wipes sweat from his face, leaving behind a red smudge. Jax bravely resists picking on him for it.

They find a staircase. Jax glances at Aster, then eyes the stairs.

“I can make it,” mutters Aster, brushing past Jax. “Let’s go.”

And he does, even if he collapses against the wall at the top and slides down to the floor while Jax closes the door behind them.

Jax feels along the wall for a switch. There’s no point in trying to hide. Their pursuers know exactly where they are.

Jax flips the first switch he finds, and maybe half of the lights come on.

They’re in the auditorium of a church, of all places, judging by the Jesus posters. It doesn’t look like it’s been used in a good while, though the basketball floor looks well-maintained. There’s a huge stack of dusty folding chairs off in the corner and some flimsy tables, but nothing substantial enough that it could block the door they just came through. Jax can spot a bin of sports equipment across the room, but even if there’s something he could use to tie the door shut he doubts he could get there, find it, and get back before they’re caught.

There’s a side door off in the far end of the room, mostly hidden in a darkened corner. Jax would’ve missed it if not for the glowing exit sign.

“Come on,” he orders, hauling Aster to his feet by his uninjured arm.

It still hurts regardless, if Aster’s sharp inhale is any indication, but he doesn’t make any other noise. And he still follows Jax, surprisingly stable considering how much blood he’s lost. Continues to lose, blood dripping slowly from his fingers.

The door behind them bursts open when they’re still a few yards away. Jax grabs Aster and picks up speed, all but dragging him along.

Jax hears gunfire, but doesn’t bother turning to look. Bullets zip past them, narrowly missing.

The exit door suddenly swings open, crashing into the outside wall. Someone darts past them and into the building.

There’s a scream, then a wet crunch, followed by more gunfire.

Jax practically throws Aster outside and whips around.

There’s one man on the ground not that from the door, weakly dragging himself forward with one hand and clutching at the knife buried in his neck with the other. There’s a woman against the wall, blood staining the front of her shirt as she cradles a terribly-broken jaw. Her pistol is several feet away, entirely forgotten. Jax can see bare bone gleaming between her fingers.

He follows the trail of destruction until he reaches Ray, currently straddling someone’s chest as he slams his fists into their face. No, not his fists. Jax isn’t sure when Ray managed to get those spiked knuckles back from the last time he tried to sneak them into the club, but Jax knows how particular Ray is about his weapons. He wouldn’t just go buy a new set.

(Which means it’s time to move the stash again, notes Jax.)

Jax closes the door. He gets one last glimpse through the window of Ray rolling away from his current victim to escape a round of bullets before he turns to make sure Aster is on his feet.

“How did he get here so fast?” Jax wonders aloud, leading Aster across the parking lot. There’s a dumpster he can hide behind while Jax goes back to help Ray finish cleaning up.

“He was probably outside the whole time,” says Aster faintly.

“Orla didn’t ask him to be here.”

Aster rolls his eyes.

“That’s sixteen,” he replies.

There’s a box full of newspapers behind the dumpster, and Aster drops onto it without prompting.

“This is the sixteenth time I’ve tried to tell you and Orla this,” continues Aster. “and neither of you ever believes me.”

“About what?” Jax asks. “Ray?”

“Yes.”

Jax takes a moment to reload. He slips the old magazine into his coat. There’s still three bullets left, by his count, but he’d prefer to go in with a fresh one.

“He doesn’t like these missions. He thinks they’re boring, if he’s standing around inside,” Aster explains. “So he pretends he’s too mouthy for Orla to trust him with them.”

Jax peers around the dumpster. No one has followed them out.

“But he doesn’t like to be left out, so he sets up across the street and watches.”

“I think you’re giving him too much credit,” Jax mutters.

“I think you’re not giving him enough,” retorts Aster.

Jax ducks down and makes a run for it back toward the church. He’s nearly there when the door opens again, much less dramatically this time.

Ray steps out.

His face is flushed, chest still heaving from the fight. His hair is matted against his forehead with blood, left eye already purpling spectacularly. He could probably save the leather jacket, if he’s fast. Red drips from his spiked knuckles, and Jax notices a small tuft of hair, skin still attached, stuck to one deadly point.

Ray’s mouth is stained red, as is the front of his formerly-white crop top. Jax can just barely make out the “don’t forget to smile” decal through the mess. Kind of a shame. Jax knows it’s one of Ray’s favorites.

(Not that he probably won’t keep it anyway.)

He smiles, and his teeth are bloody. There’s a wild look in his eyes, and Jax has the inexplicable urge to kiss his busted lip. What took you so long and your place or mine and thank you dance on the tip of his tongue.

“Did you fucking bite someone?” Jax asks instead.

Ray laughs.

“Woof, woof.”

[noctilucous-sunni]

29. ❛ they’re dangerous? well unfortunately, so am i. ❜

RIP bc smth weird happened with tumblr and the ask disappeared when i answered it but then put it in my drafts. here is a screenshot of the ask. anyways sorry it took so long anon, things have been crazy around here!! lmao i hope that the characterization is alright 💀💀 and i hope you like it!!

100 f. event masterlist

overall masterlist

cw: suggestive themes, light possessiveness, sagau, (not proofread🫠)

You scowl, glaring at the Yashiro Commissioner.

“I’m going and you can’t stop me.”

“I wasn’t planning to. I’m simply concerned for your safety.”

Ayato flips through some paperwork on his desk, before looking up at you sitting on said desk. Nobody would ever dare do something rather disrespectful, but being the All-Creator had its perks. Including that the head of the Kamisato Clan would do anything and everything for you. Yet Ayato was so smug about the fact that out of all your acolytes, he was exclusively given your attention and affections. You’re utterly fond of the entire Kamisato household, he just so happens to be your personal favourite.

Jealousy seems to just spill out of nearly every other clan within Inazuma and even its own Archon looks upon the Kamisato Clan with such envy. (And you don’t even want to get started on the other nations)

Ayato is the one who calms you down after a sudden explosion of provoked rage, who wipes your tears and strokes your hair after a particularly jarring flashback. As long as the Yashiro Commissioner is around, you’re able to be vulnerable enough to fall into an easy sleep, often peacefully dozing on his lap. As long as the Yashiro Commissioner is around, you feel safe and completely at ease.

Your features soften, looking more like the gentle and graceful god of Teyvat you’re said to be.

Ayato stands up and walks over to you, leaning in close to move a strand of hair from your face. You sigh and close your eyes, pressing your head into the crook of his neck.

“I should go. I have to go.” You mumble resignedly into his clothing.

“Stay.” He holds your jaw gently, lifting your head and locking onto your gaze. You pout, enjoying the warmth of his hands.

“It could be dangerous.” He adds on, caressing your cheek.

You scoff at that. “The entirety of Teyvat bows before me. I’ll be fine.”

Ayato sighs. He just wants you all to himself for a little longer. You chuckle, bringing him out of his thoughts.

“This is what you get for not coming home, pretty boy.” You tease, playing with his hair, as he marvels at the fact that you, his beloved god, was here in the flesh.

A punishment?

He thought those in Mondstat certainly deserved one for what they had done to you. For being so blinded in worship they didn’t even recognize their real god.

“My sincere apologies, darling, but it seems like you came home to me instead.” Ayato hums, placing a quick kiss on your lips, relishing in seeing a pink blush bloom across your face.

You slap him on the shoulder lightly. Hearing the mischievous lilt in his voice, you knew he was up to something. Before you even try to speak, his hands drop down to your waist. Pulling you across the desk, to get even closer to you, so that your bodies are pressed together, he smirks.

If your heart rate hadn’t spiked already before, now you were sure it was going crazy.

Ayato starts to place yet another kiss, and then more and more up your jaw, pausing shortly between his words. “I don’t see the urgency in going to Mondstat, sweetheart.” He kisses back down your jaw now, silencing a whimper from your lips as kisses them once more.

“Ayato… There’s around hundreds of letters requesting my return. Some sort of apology… Poor Thoma had to deal with lots of them simply piling up and even resorted to burning some because there were just too many.” You finally speak, your voice breathless and a little shaky.

“I don’t… trust them. They’re dangerous. And what about treasure hoarders?”

They’re dangerous.

You stiffen, and Ayato notices that the ever so bright stars within your eyes have turned dark. He can see a storm brewing, dark clouds and wind blowing harshly with flashes of red electricity in its midst. Any other acolyte would tremble in terror, but Ayato has seen it before and he absolutely admires its beauty, your beauty.

“They’re dangerous?” You repeat, and the wind outside starts to whistle. The storm outside starts to resemble the storm inside of Teyvat’s own god. Lightning strikes loudly outside the estate.

“Well unfortunately, so am I.” You finish, but the more Ayato lays down soft kisses down your jaw, down your neck, the more he hums and utters sweet nothings across your skin, warm breath fanning over your face as he holds your waist tightly, the storm starts to recede and diminish until it goes back to way that it always was. Gone was the red lightning, as it turned back into its natural colour.

The Yashiro Commissioner smiles, a light hearted chuckle escaping him. “I know you are.”

You sigh as you feel his lips on your neck, closing your eyes in pleasure as he starts nibbling and leaving bites all over. Ayato knew that when you went to Monstadt (with him, preferably) they would all see that he was yours, and that you wanted him only, just like how he wanted you all to himself, for eternity.

[callsign-bunnie]

Are you quitting regency AU? I saw you haven't posted it this week...

No of course not! Sorry, I seem to have taken too many things on my plate and I didn't quite realize how full my workload is until this week!

I'm working on two fics that aren't being posted until they're done so you guys couldn't really see the progress being made on those ones

I still work on AAP, which isn't exactly hard and only takes up one day, but that's still a day, haha

I also work on a zombie AU, am starting a fairy au (you won't see that one until one of the aforementioned fics is done) and I am starting two smaller series

I recently took stock of everything I was doing and I was like oh my god, so while my interactivity is down on tumblr, I decided to refocus my energy to the two fics so I can get them done ASAP

I promise, I am not quitting Regency AU, I have way too many things I need to do with the plot to quit it. Since I didn't post anything, here's a small scene from the future that I wrote when bored

If you are missing me for content, I still do "characters as" asks and I still do headcanons, and hell, if you send me an ask game, I will gladly do it. Fuck, just send me memes for tweets and I will scream with joy. (Hell, if you want to send me an ask about some random ass bullshit, I will laugh and respond, because I love interacting with you guys)

--

Roach put his hands on his hips and huffed at the bars. Maybe if he glared at them deeply enough, they might magically fall off. No, he didn’t… know any incantation or spell or sigil that would magically remove bars. 

He doubted Artemea would grant him such a large blessing, anyway. 

Why were there even bars on this window? He wrapped his hand around one of them and shook it slightly. It didn’t give, even slightly. Roach made a frustrated sound. He couldn’t find any other windows, as this was the only one away from… everyone else.

“Are you alright?” Roach jumped at a voice from behind himself. He turned to the man, meeting warm brown eyes. The voice belonged to a man with deep scarring along his face, but despite that, or maybe because of it, he was gorgeous. Roach felt his face warm and he nodded.

‘Just fine.’ He signed, hoping the man would get the message and leave. He could smell alpha and… that made him nervous but he was a prince. If the alpha tried anything, he’d scream and blind him. 

“You don’t seem fine.” 

Roach jerked to stare at him. ‘You speak sign?’

“Yes. I learned as a child.” The alpha seemed almost amused. Roach frowned and looked over him, again. He was wearing a blood red suit, and a black cloak which hung half off of his shoulder. A noble. 

‘I am fine.’ Roach repeated. He knew telling the truth of what he was doing would not end well for himself. So, he didn’t and instead turned back to the bars. Hmm, he didn’t know any to magically remove bars, but he knew a few that would blow things up.

God, if Kyle could see him now. He’d be so amused. He would help. But, Kyle wasn’t there… Roach was alone.

“You seem to be staring rather intently at those bars.” The alpha spoke again. Roach closed his eyes in annoyance. “I don’t think staring at them will make them disappear.”

Roach threw him a glare before again wrapping his hand around the bar. He gave it a push. Still no give. It would require a huge explosion and that would definitely be noticed. Damnit. ‘Can you make a commotion for me? Distract everyone so I can go out the big door.’

“Why would I do that?” The alpha raised an eyebrow. “Are you on the run?”

‘Yes, from my husband. Or rather… my future husband.’ Roach glanced around him down the hallway to the ceremony room was. ‘It only needs to be a small distraction. Say you found a corpse.’

“So this is your wedding?” The alpha frowned. “Why are you running away? Shouldn’t you be happy you’re marrying?”

‘Because the alpha I am to marry is said to eat omegas and use their bones to pick his teeth.’ Roach huffed. ‘And because I do not wish to marry him.’

“I doubt he eats omegas.” The alpha tilted his head. “How do you know that he wishes to marry you?”

Roach stopped and considered. Hmm, he supposed he couldn’t know that. But… ‘If he doesn’t, then he’ll be grateful I left.’

The alpha laughed softly. “Sound logical.” He shrugged. “So… what? I go to the ceremony room and… scream? Claim somebody died.”

‘Whatever freaks everyone out the most and gets them away from the door.’ Roach shrugged, perking up. So the stranger would help him. Thank the gods. ‘I could cut myself and put blood on your cloak? So it really plays it up.’

“That is not necessary. I will… not be doing that.” The stranger sighed.

Roach frowned. Well, he supposed it was a bit dramatic of a ruse. ‘You could say I passed out. Prince Garaidh is my name.’

“I know.” The stranger nodded. He was giving Roach an odd look. “Do you know what your future husband looks like?”

Roach winced, since he did not. He’d seen him a few times, but he was always wearing that mask and it was hard to get a good look at his face. ‘No. I do not. Does it matter? He likely does not know much of me.’

“That is fair.” The stranger shrugged. “Do you know anything about him? Besides his dietary habits, that is.”

Roach flushed dark, a little irritated by that. He was being made fun of, somehow. ‘No. I’ve… seen him a few times. He doesn’t seem very kind.’

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” The stranger seemed genuinely sorrowful. “You seem very wonderful. I am sure he would enjoy being married to you. Perhaps he could even love you?”

Roach laughed and sighed. ‘You cannot love someone you do not know.’ He was confident on that point. He would not love Ghost. He could not love Ghost. ‘Look, are you going to help me or not?’

“Sadly, I will not. I have no plans to.” The stranger sighed. “My apologies.”

Roach furrowed his brows and huffed. ‘Why not?’ The stranger had made it seem like he would help and now he was saying he would not? That was unfair. And kind of cruel. Why get his hopes up if he was going to smash them? 

“I think I am already breaking many rules by seeing you. It is bad luck and not allowed.” The stranger sighed again, watching him.

Roach frowned deeply, unsure why- oh. His face flamed bright red. He didn’t respond and looked at the ground, clenching his hands into fists. He wasn’t sure if there was anything he could say to really save this situation. He’d just admitted to his future husband that he was trying to escape marrying… him… 

“I have no intentions of helping my fiance escape our marriage. I am sorry.” Ghost bowed his head. “I wish you luck, though.” He then turned and left.

Roach’s face flamed bright red.

--

Sorry I hope this makes up for the absence!

[coffeewhiskeyandotherdarkthings]

Keep You (Until the End Prequel)

rating: E (18+ only, MDNI)

Series Summary: A single afternoon changes everything. A reflective on the ten years before leaving the Boston QZ.

Series Warnings: smut (m/f pairing, oral, intercourse, dom/sub undertones, a pinch of Daddy kink) angst, suicidal ideation, grief, mentions of child loss, cannon typical violence, infidelity, no use of Y/N, reader has nickname (of sorts), no explicit body descriptions

This is not an exhaustive list but should serve as an indication of the general content.

Word Count: 11.4K (oops)

One Two Three Four

A/N: This is the conclusion of the prequel. Series debut of Until the End is scheduled for 09/01/23.

The next time I saved Joel Miller’s life was… well.

It wasn’t obvious, to either of us, until years later.

It was a little over a year since Tommy had left Boston and headed west with the Fireflies. Two, sometimes three times a month, he’d get a message to Joel, just a few words to let him know he was alive, doing well—safe. Every now and then he’d ask about me or Tess, the interest purely for form. If Tess took offense to the dismissal, she didn’t make her feelings known. If I’d taken offense—which I didn’t—I wouldn’t have had much of a leg to stand on.

Not that it mattered, since Joel was offended enough for all of us.

“It’s rude, is what I’m saying.” He scowled at the ceiling, one arm thrown over his head, the other curled around my waist, keeping me anchored against him. “Our mama raised us better than that.”

“Joel.” I stretched up until I was able to press my lips to his chin. “I don’t think either of us are in a position to complain about someone’s lack of manners.”

He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath before lapsing into silence, absentmindedly tapping his fingers against the scar I carried from the Firefly explosion. I laid my head on his chest, the sound of his steady breathing lulling me toward sleep. I was almost there when he said, “Bill wants to know if you’d be willing to make a house call.”

I sat up, or tried to, as Joel instinctively tightened his grip when I moved. Twisting my neck until I was able to look up at him, I said, “A house call? Bill wants a doctor?”

“Not for him. For Frank.”

“Ah.” That made more sense. “Did he say why?”

“No.” Joel frowned, his gaze still locked on the ceiling. “I know the last time we were there, Frank looked a little frail. Mentioned he hadn’t been able to run like he used to—legs kept trying to give out on him. Saw him drop a few things, too, like he couldn’t get a good grip.”

“Anything else?” Information that vague wouldn’t even come close to helping narrow down a diagnosis but it was better than going into the situation blind. When Joel shook his head, I sighed and laid my head back on his chest. “Okay. I’ve got people coming in for the next few days but I should be able to clear my schedule for a week or so after that.”

“That’s fine. Need some time to pull together supplies anyway. Go over business with Tess before we leave.”

“She’s not coming with us?”

“No.” He shifted and a moment later I felt his lips brush the top of my head. “I think we deserve a little time for ourselves.”

I’d only been out of the QZ three times since Tommy had left, primarily because the clinic kept me too busy to be gone for weeks at a time. The other, unspoken reason was an attempt at fairness, a laughable one but one nonetheless. When they were outside the QZ, Tess could pretend I didn’t exist and that things between her and Joel were exactly the same as they’d been almost eight years earlier. Joel still lived in the apartment next door, still slept in the same bed with her, still cared for her and about her.

But I was right next door.

And I wasn’t leaving.

And if for some reason I did, Tess knew I wouldn’t be leaving alone.

So she made no comment about the amount of time he spent with me and I made no complaint about being confined to the QZ. A laughable attempt at fairness.

I spent the next three days working almost nonstop in an effort to clear my schedule, taking patients well past my normal operating hours, sacrificing precious pills to bribe the FEDRA agents who patrolled the surrounding blocks so curfew wouldn’t be an issue. When I closed the door on the final patient, sending them off to nurse a vague illness they’d described as “feeling poorly” with an herbal tea, Joel looked up from the paperwork strewn across the table and frowned. “You should have booted him out the second he walked in. He was only here for drugs.”

“Then he was an idiot because it’s well known you have to be on the verge of dying before I’ll even think about giving you anything.” I rolled my shoulders as I meticulously set every lock, doing my best to ignore the fist-sized knot which had taken up residence between my shoulder blades at some point in the last few hours. “Besides, I’m low on the good stuff, at least until the next supply run.”

“Thought you just stocked up last month.”

“And you know FEDRA only deals in three, possibly four, types of currency, depending on the agent.” I turned to find him leaning against the archway separating the kitchen from the general living space, studying me with his arms crossed. Rolling my shoulders again, I sighed, dragging one hand through my hair. “The only one I had on hand and was willing to use was the good stuff.”

“Hmm.” He pushed off the doorframe and ambled toward the sofa, dropping down on it with a thud which made me wince and wonder if he’d finally broken it. Draping one arm across the back, he crooked a finger at me with his free hand. “C’me here.”

“I should straighten up the exam room.” And yet, I half walked, half stumbled across the room, toeing off my well-worn Converse before stretching out on the sofa, pillowing my head on his thigh. “What time are we leaving?”

“Sunrise is around seven. We leave here around four, we should be able to blend in with the late crews headed home, get out of the QZ no later than five-thirty.” He trailed a single finger up my back, caressing each vertebrae. “Wait for the sun to come up. Take the route through the hotel—it was clear last time Tess and I went through. Should be able to make it to Lincoln by one, two at the latest.” When he reached the knot, he pressed his finger down hard, murmuring under his breath when I whined and tried to squirm away. “Thought so. Pushed yourself too hard, baby.”

“Had to.” I whined again when he switched from a single finger to the heel of his palm, applying more pressure. “Ouch, Joel.”

“Poor baby.” Even without looking, I knew he was fighting a smile. “Want me to stop?”

Before I could answer, he circled his palm around the knot, releasing the first bit of tightness, and I moaned at the nearly carnal pleasure.

He chuckled, the low, smoky sound causing other muscles to tighten. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’.” He continued working on the knot, murmuring soft praise as I gradually relaxed, all but sinking into the sofa, head lolling on his thigh as my mind emptied of everything except him. After he soothed the final muscle into submission, he stroked his hand down my back once before reversing course, cupping the nape of my neck, rubbing his thumb over where my pulse beat thick and sluggish. “Sweet girl. You work too hard.”

“Hmm.” I pressed my lips to his denim-covered knee, the only part of him I could reach. I sighed when he helped me turn over, brushing the hair out of my face until we could see each other clearly. When he pressed his thumb to my chin, I offered him a lazy smile. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself.” He chuckled again, brushing his thumb over my lower lip. “You’re beautiful. You know that, right?” He dug his nail into my lip when I started to shake my head, frowning at me. “You are. But when you’re like this… soft… pliable… blissed out….” He punctuated each bit of praise with a stroke of his finger—my cheekbone, the bridge of my nose, the line of my jaw, swallowing hard when I sighed again, unintentionally arching my hips. “The Lord himself would be tempted for a taste of you.”

“Joel.” I tried to push up to my elbows, grumbling when he tightened his grip, an unspoken signal to not move. “Please?”

“Please what, darlin’?” He slid the very tip of his thumb between my lips, too shallow for me to suckle on, and I let my eyes flutter shut. “You’re so pretty when you use your words for me.”

Which wouldn’t have been a problem if his hands hadn’t already coaxed so many endorphins out of me that stringing together a complete sentence seemed like an insurmountable task. I’d told him once he was good with his hands and he’d proven it time and time again. It took only a single touch to reduce me to trembling and little more than that to empty my mind of anything except him.

So trying to put into words what I wanted was… difficult.

“Suppose it’s not fair, asking you to do something like that when I know you don’t have a single thought in that pretty head of yours.” He slipped his thumb further into my mouth and I curled my tongue around it, humming low in contentment at the first taste of him. I heard the faint rustle of fabric as he shifted above me and a moment later felt his free hand comb through my hair, spreading the loose strands over his thighs. “Still, you know the rules, sugar.”  He wound my hair around his hand, tugging once before pulling his thumb free, chuckling when I whimpered in obvious disappointment. “So—please what?”

“Please.” I moved to sit up again and this time he let me, maneuvering me until I was straddling one thigh, his palm resting heavy against the small of my back, holding me in place. Leaning forward, I nuzzled the curve of his neck, breathing deep until the air in my lungs was filled with the scent of him. “Take care of me.”

Take care of me. Let me keep you. In the morning. Mine. We had our own language, Joel and I, our own way of acknowledging the emotions we were still too superstitious to name, a language which confused people even as they accepted that our relationship was more than what we showed the world. In much the same way we’d kept our griefs between us, we kept the depth of our feelings for us and us alone—one thing the world couldn’t have, couldn’t touch.

We’d already given the world enough.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout takin’ care of ya all day.” His accent, always so soft around the edges, grew even softer when we moved into this dynamic, not quite a drawl but close and I sighed and cuddled closer, my eyelids starting to droop. “But you’re tired and we got an early start and a long walk tomorrow.” He tugged on my hair until I lifted my head and met his gaze, deep brown irises almost obscured by his dilated pupils. “Don’t want you hurtin’ tomorrow, sweet girl.”

“I won’t complain. Promise.” I peppered his chin with soft kisses, brushed my lips over the tip of his nose, smiling when he scrunched it up. “Please?”

“No.” His eyes might have been mournful but his tone was firm and I shivered in response. Unwinding his hand from my hair, he cupped my chin, tutting when I pouted. “Now, don’t be that way, darlin’ or I’mma have to send you off to bed without your reward.” He tapped his thumb on my lower lip, frowning when I continued to pout. “Y’know I only want what’s best for ya.” After another moment, I relented, pulling my lip in, and he stroked his thumb over my skin. “There’s my good girl.”

“What—.” I cut off my own question with a massive yawn, both of us wincing as my jaw cracked. Blinking rapidly, I said, “Sorry.”

“Told ya you were tired.” He pushed to his feet, holding me flush against him until I was mostly steady, both of us choosing to ignore the way I swayed like a sapling in a light breeze. “Come’n. Off to bed.”

“But you said—.”

“As soon as you’re in bed.” He flashed me a grin which would have made my knees weak if they weren’t already. “Promise, darlin’. I’mma take care of you.”

“But—.”

“You’re breakin’ my heart, sweet girl.” He walked me backward toward the bedroom, his forehead creasing as he frowned even though his pupils were still wide with lust. “I’mma give you one last chance to settle down and be good—shouldn’t, since we both know you know better but I’m gonna be patient with you since I know you’re tired.” He stopped when my knees hit the edge of the mattress, holding me steady with one hand while stripping my clothes off with the other, letting them pile at our feet. He gave me a gentle push, allowing me to scoot up the bed before crawling after me. Leaning over and caging me in with his body, he brushed his lips over mine. “Now, you close your eyes, darling, and dream happy dreams.”

I snorted out a laugh only to squeal when he nipped at the curve of my breast. He gripped my hip with one hand, pinning me to the mattress when I tried to squirm away. Scowling up at me through his lashes, he said, “Kay.”

I immediately stilled, taking a deep breath and closing my eyes. Just that, the use of my not-real name, was enough to let me know Joel had had enough of my attitude. When we were alone, he referred to me by one endearment or another. My not-real name was reserved for public, for serious conversations, and for the rare times when he believed I was being a brat and wasn’t in the mood to indulge me.

This, apparently, was one of those times.

“Good girl.” He pressed a chaste kiss to my sternum before nuzzling the inside curve of one breast. “Happy dreams, darling. “

I concentrated on my breathing as he trailed kisses down my torso, inhaling for three beats, holding for two, and exhaling for three. Even when he swirled his tongue over my scar, which we’d both been surprised to learn was sensitive in the best way, I continued taking steady breaths. He chuckled against my hip, his beard rasping over my skin. “You’re supposed to be relaxing, sugar. I can hear you thinking all the way down here.”

“Just my breathing.” I was surprised to find my voice was already thick with sleep, my limbs heavy with it. When he settled between my thighs, shifting one of my legs to rest on his shoulder, I sighed and snuggled deeper into the mattress. “Helps me relax.”

“Got somethin’ little better in mind.” He pressed a light kiss to my clit, humming low in his throat before easing his tongue between my folds, dragging it down and back up before circling my clit, sucking gently. I lifted one hand, threading my fingers through his hair but making no attempt to direct his attentions. Releasing the sensitive bundle of nerves with a soft popping sound, he murmured, “Don’t pay me no mind, baby. You go on to sleep now.”

“Not tired.” An absolute lie, especially given the fact I was all but slurring my words, but one Joel chose not to call me on. “Want you.”

“You got me, sweet girl.” Another soft kiss to my clit and I felt the bed shift underneath me as he adjusted his position, sliding one hand under me to cup my ass while the other traced random circles on my inner thigh. “Sleep.”

I was out before he coaxed the first orgasm from me.

I wouldn’t say it was the best sleep of my life. But it was absolutely in the top five.

The next morning, we were up and out the door before the sun rose. Even so early, the streets were relatively busy, making it easy to blend in and avoid FEDRA. The walk through the ruins of Boston was uneventful even it did highlight one or two areas for concern. For instance, the hotel—which was far and away the safest route through—was showing its age, with small sections of the roof caving in and others clearly being supported by hopes and prayers. The streets themselves were still largely free of infected but whereas in the past they’d stayed deep within buildings, the massive, twisted collection of bodies was all but spilling on to the sidewalk in certain areas. I waited until we were clear of the city center and on the actual road toward Lincoln before speaking. “You’re going to have to find a new route through the city soon.”

“Probably.” If Joel was worried, it didn’t show. If anything, he seemed more relaxed, more at ease, than I’d seen in quite a while. Taking my hand and lacing our fingers together, he rubbed his thumb over my knuckles. “Making good time. Should get to Lincon by noon.” My stomach let out an involuntary rumble and he chuckled. “Feel the same way, darlin’. Wonder what Bill has on the menu.”

“Does it matter?” I laughed when he immediately shook his head, lifting our hands and spinning me under his arm in some long forgotten dance move. When I stumbled on a rock, he pulled me flush against him, steadying me for a moment only to spin me again. “Joel!”

“What do you miss from before?” He paused, then rushed to clarify. “Not a person but a thing. Or something you used to do.”

“Huh.” I blinked, nonplussed. “I don’t know. After the outbreak, I just… everything from before seemed almost like a dream or like it happened to somebody else.” I let him twirl me one, two, three more times before planting my feet, looking up at him. “Reading outside.” He lifted one brow in question and I laughed. “Sometimes, when Cam was in daycare and Daniel was at school or the hospital, I’d take my books and notes and go study in the park near our house. Maybe bring some snacks, have a little picnic.” I started walking backward, pulling on his hand until he began to follow me. “Not really something you can do these days.”

Joel snorted out a laugh. “No, not really.”

“What about you?” I studied him, the early morning sun glinting off the grey in his stubble. When he didn’t immediately answer, I drew up short, frowning up at him and tugging his hand. “Joel?”

“Sundresses.”

I stared at him. “I’m confused.”

“Temps start hitting in the eighties and nineties in Texas before the end of April and every woman between the ages of twenty and fifty trades her jeans and boots in for sundresses and sandals.” He leaned in and kissed the tip of my nose. “And I might have been too old for half and too young for the other half but it didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy the view. Respectfully, of course.”

“Of course.” I let him turn me forward again, walking in silence for a few minutes. I cleared my throat but my voice was still thin and about an octave too high when I spoke again, doing my best to fight back a fit of giggles. “Sundresses?”

“I’m a simple man, darlin’.” He pulled me close and brushed his lips over my hair. “Only ever wanted a good and simple life.”

We reached Lincoln about half past noon then waited another ten minutes or so for Bill to come clear us through the gate, even though we both had the security code. The older man might have mellowed some through the years, at least according to Joel and Tess, but he was still prone to shooting first and asking questions later. As far as post-outbreak philosophies went, it was one I understood and respected and absolutely did not want to see in action.

When Bill finally reached us, grunting a general greeting, the first thing I noticed was the shadows under his eyes. The second thing I noticed was the pallor underneath his ruddy color. The third, and most telling, observation was the realization that both Joel and I had to shorten our strides and slow our pace in order to not leave the other man behind us. While Bill admittedly exercised only when Frank nagged him into it and then only begrudgingly, I’d heard stories from both men about Bill’s general stamina.

I might have been asked out to Lincoln to examine Frank but if I had my way I was going to spend a few minutes poking and prodding Bill before I left.

“When you sent word you’d be staying for a few days, we went ahead and cleaned up one of the other houses. Nothing fancy, just some sweeping, dusting, that sort of thing. Put new sheets on the bed, towels in the bathroom, couple pillows and blankets.” Bill slowed even further, shielding his eyes from the sun with the flat of his hand as he nodded at a small house across the street from the one he and Frank shared. “Figured it’d be better if we weren’t all living in each other’s pockets. Thought you might like some space for yourself.”

I glanced at Joel, tucking my tongue in my cheek to keep from laughing at the expression on his face, which could only be described as gobsmacked. Although it wasn’t necessary, seeing as Bill was an inch or so shorter than me, I still stretched up on my toes to press my cheek to his. “Thank you. We appreciate it.” My stomach chose that moment to remind me we’d skipped breakfast and it was closing in on close to eighteen hours since I’d last eaten. Now I did laugh as I dropped back on my toes while behind me Joel snorted and shook his head in disbelief. “We’d also appreciate lunch, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

An hour later, we were finishing the sort of meal which would have put a restaurant on the map in pre-outbreak days. Bill and Frank were both on their second glass of wine while Joel was just reaching the end of his first. I’d taken three sips so as not to offend either of our hosts before switching to water. I’d thought that little fact had gone unnoticed until Frank said, “Doc, I didn’t take you for a teetotler.”

“No, just….” I trailed off, tracing the foot of the wine glass with one finger before finally laughing and shaking my head. “Red wine gives me migraines.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Frank paused for a moment, frowning. “We have white. And rose.” He looked at Bill, waiting until his partner nodded in confirmation before continuing. “It wouldn’t have been a problem to open another bottle.”

“I’ll admit it’s been quite a few years since I had to worry about food and wine pairings but I do remember that red meat gets red wine.” I nudged my glass toward Joel and then turned my attention back to Frank. “And I am also absolutely not going to disrespect this meal with the wrong wine because I’m relatively certain if some higher power didn’t strike me down then Bill’s disappointment would do the trick.” I waited until their laughter died away before adding, “Besides, it’s generally considered a bad idea to practice medicine when you’re intoxicated.”

Frank’s frown deepened, his gaze hardening as he shifted his attention back to Bill, his voice low and tight. “I thought you said they were coming for a visit.”

“They are—visiting, I mean.” If Bill seemed bothered by Frank’s tone, it didn’t show as he set his fork down and folded his hands in front of his plate. “But there’s nothing wrong in having Doc take a look at you, either.” Frank started to open his mouth, no doubt to protest, when Bill said, “Please. For me.”

“Damn it.” Frank flung his own fork down and sat back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “Fine. For you.” He pointed at Bill. “But if she’s taking a look at me, she’s going to take a look at you, too.”

Bill picked up his fork with a grumble. “Fine.”

“Great.” I looked at the glass of wine I’d passed to Joel and contemplated taking a sip for courage but decided against it. “Who’s first?”

An hour later, Bill shuffled out of the spare bedroom I’d turned into an exam room, just as cranky as when he’d entered but with a bit more color in his cheeks. Not for the first time since I’d returned to the medical field did I find myself wishing for tests and labs in which to run them. As it stood, I could only rule out ailments and then make educated guesses about the remaining possibilities. In Bill’s case, it seemed as if some of the fatigue was due to low iron, with the best remedy being an increase in greens since I knew he had them in the garden. The majority, however, seemed to be a result of reduced sleep, which Bill had admitted was due to worry about Frank. Since telling him not to worry about the man he loved would be as useless as trying to keep the sun from rising, I didn’t even try.

There was a cursory knock on the door before Frank slipped into the room, closing the door behind him. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he rocked on his heels for a moment before saying, “So. Let’s get this over with, yeah?”

“Just a minute.” I took a moment to finish my notes for Bill’s file—old habits die hard—before slipping it back in my bag and pulling out a fresh folder. Glancing up at Frank, I said, “You can sit down. We’re going to talk a bit first before I do any sort of examination.”

“Everything good with Bill?” The other man perched on the edge of the bed, his back ramrod straight. “I know he hasn’t been sleeping a lot lately.”

“You know I can’t discuss his medical history with you unless he gives me consent.” I shook my head when he scowled at me. “The world might have ended and ethics in general might be a thing of the past but there are still lines.”

“Damn ethics.” His scowl melted into a half-hearted smile, his shoulders slumping as he took a deep breath. “Same goes for me, right? You can’t tell Bill anything about medical about me, right?”

“Right.” I studied him for a moment, taking note of the tension around his eyes and mouth, the slight tremble in his hands. “So Bill told Joel a few things and Joel passed them on to me, just for background. Still, I’d like for you to tell me how you’ve been feeling, any concerns you have, and then I’ll do a brief physical exam.”

He took another deep breath, this one shakier. “Okay.”

I tried to keep the conversation light, casual, as we moved through the exam, encouraging Frank to talk about his art while I checked his vitals, his glands, his chest and stomach. Satisfied with the initial results, I jotted down a few notes before pulling a small rubber ball and a reflex hammer. Setting them aside, I held my hands out to Frank. “Okay. Squeeze my hands as hard as you can.”

The second part of the exam took close to an hour, primarily because I double-checked and then triple-checked his reactions. The longer the exam continued, the more noticeable Frank’s fatigue and general weakness became, and by the time I finished he was nearly as pale as the bed linens. Returning to my chair, I said, “Do you want to take a few minutes and rest? I can go grab you some juice if you have any.”

“No.” He shook his head. “No, I’m fine.” Bracing his hands on the bed, he said, “Give it to me straight, Doc.”

“Best guess, you have some sort of disease affecting your nervous system. If I had to pick one, I’d say amyotrophic lateral sclerosis—you’ve probably heard it referred to as Lou Gehrig’s disease.” I kept my tone neutral, almost brisk, as if it would somehow make the bombshell I was dropping on him more bearable. “Again, best guess, and I’d emphasize the guessing part of that phrase. Pre-outbreak, your doctor would have ran tests and imaging, ruling out any other possibilities before diagnosing you with ALS.”

“Best guess is better than none at all, right?” He gave a weak laugh. “So what’s next? Or what would be next?”

“Over time, your motor functionality will decrease as more nerve cells break down. Partial paralysis is a very good possibility.” I paused. “Do you want the rest?”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

“Muscle relaxers and physical therapy will slow the progress of the disease but there’s no cure.” It was my turn to swallow down the knot in my throat and blink back the corresponding tears. “Average life expectancy after diagnosis is two to five years.” Despite my efforts, a single tear still slipped free. “I’m sorry, Frank. I’m so sorry.”

“Me, too.” We sat in silence for a few minutes before he chuckled. “It’s almost anti-climatic, isn’t it? In a post-apocalyptic world, the thing that’s going to kill me is essentially bad genetics?”

“Doctors don’t really know what causes ALS—it might be inherited but it might also be a case of… well, like you said—bad genetics.” I hesitated for a moment, considering the possibility I might be overstepping but deciding I didn’t really care either way. “I know Joel and Tess have a connection in one of the FEDRA factories, someone who supplies them with narcotics. They should be able to supply muscle relaxers as well.” And if they couldn’t, I’d take the time to research a homeopathic alternative. “As far as physical therapy—.”

“I’ve got it covered.” He offered me a ghost of a smile. “Put some of my pre-outbreak knowledge to use.” He dragged a hand through his hair and sighed. “Bill doesn’t need to know. Not yet.”

“The longer you wait to tell him, the more difficult it’s going to be for both of you.” I held up a hand, cutting him off before he could protest. “This disease is manageable in the short term, yes, but it’s not manageable without help.” Lowering my hand, I fixed him with a stare. “Leaving that aside, it’s a really shitty thing to do to someone who loves you and who you love.”

“I know.” When I continued to stare at him, he sighed. “I know. But Bill… he’s… for all the exterior toughness, he’s remarkably fragile.”

I smiled in spite of myself. “People used to think I was fragile, too.”

“And?”

“I blew up half an apartment building.”

Frank barked out a laugh. “Bet that changed their mind.”

“Maybe.” I began putting my instruments and papers away, pausing when I was struck with a thought. “You mentioned something once about a boutique here in Lincoln, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, had to fight Bill tooth and nail to get him to fix it up.” He lifted his brows. “Feeling like doing a little shopping?”

Dinner was a muted affair, with Bill staring at me, Frank staring at Bill, and Joel seemingly lost in thought. By the end of the meal, I was nodding off into my wine—white, served by Frank with a wink—and when Bill escorted us across the street, I stumbled on the sidewalk, nearly faceplanting on the pavement. Muttering something vaguely uncomplimentary under his breath, Joel scooped me up, grunting as he adjusted my weight before following Bill.

“I can walk.” Even to my own ears, the protest sounded weak.

“Sure you can, baby.” He brushed his lips over my temple. “Maybe I just feel like carrying you.”

“Hmm.” I turned my face toward his chest, rubbing my cheek over his flannel. “Tired.”

“I know.” Another whisper of a kiss. “Go on to sleep now.”

“In the morning.” I drew in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the scent of him. “Promise.”

“In the morning.”

I was asleep before he laid me in bed.

When I woke the next morning, I was alone.

I rolled to my stomach and pressed my face into the sheets, still warm from Joel’s body, content to simply laze away the morning. As the fog of sleep began to fade, I became aware of the dull thud of rain against the roof and when I turned my face and opened my eyes I saw nothing but wet and grey through the windows. I stared for a moment longer before rolling to my back, grabbing a pillow, and using it to muffle a groan.

There went my seemingly perfect plan for the day.

“Well, that’s a fine way to say ‘good morning’.” Joel’s voice was deep and gravely, still thick with sleep and a hint of amusement. “And I even brought you coffee.”

“Coffee?” I sat up, dropping the pillow in my lap. “Really?”

“Bill set us up with enough for a few days, which might be the nicest thing he’s ever done.” Pushing off the door frame, he ambled across the room, passing me the cup as he eased his way onto the bed. “Scootch over, darlin’, or I may change my mind about sharing.”

“Meanie.” I took the cup from him as I scooted back to my side of the mattress, inhaling the rich aroma before taking a tentative sip, biting back a moan at the first taste. “I haven’t had coffee in years.”

“I swear I used to live on it. Probably drank six cups a day.” He waited until I took another, longer sip before taking the mug back. “Guessing you drank more between school and Cam.”

“I think my consumption might have actually reached a point where I was drinking solely for the taste because the caffeine didn’t really an impact.” I took the mug from him and sipped again. “God, I missed this.”

For a few minutes the only sound in the room was the rain pouring down outside as we finished the single cup of coffee. Joel offered me the final sip, humming low in his throat when I shook my head. “Thank you, darlin’.” Setting the empty cup on the nightstand, he curled his arm around my shoulders, pulling me tight against him. “Got a confession.”

“Hmm?” The rain was counteracting the effects of the caffeine, lulling me back to sleep. “What’s that?”

“Planned a surprise for you, something special.” He tangled his fingers in the ends of my hair, tugging gently. “Damn rain went and ruined it.”

“Had a surprise for you, too.” I pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Damn rain.”

“Hmm.” He continued playing with my hair, his fingers stilling after a moment. “Maybe….”

“What?”

“Why don’t you stay up here, have yourself a nice little lie-in?” He slipped out of bed, arranging the pillows behind me before tugging the blanket up over me. Leaning down, he kissed my forehead. “I’m gonna get dressed, take care of a few things, and then we can have lunch.”

“Lunch?” I glanced at the clock, gasping when I saw the time. “Is that the right time? Really? It’s so late! I never sleep this late.”

“Which is why it isn’t a sin that you did it now so stop worrying.” He pressed his thumb to the spot between my eyebrows. “And before you say you aren’t, I can see your mind gearing up for a good worry session.” Giving me a quick kiss, he said, “Take a nap, darlin’. I’ll come get you when lunch is ready.”

“Wake me up before then. I want to take a shower.” Struck with a thought, I started to sit up only to plop back down against the pillows when Joel gave me a gentle shove. “I just wanted to check and see if we had hot water.”

“Bill said he took care of it.” Planting his fist next to my head, he leaned down and nipped at my chin. “Now, do like I asked and take a nap. I gotta tell you again and I’m gonna have to hold your surprise until after your punishment.” He chuckled when my breathing hitched. “Probably shouldn’t have threatened you with a good time but still… be a sweet girl for me and I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Fine.” When he frowned at me, tilting his head ever so slightly, I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“Hmm.” He straightened, brushing a hand over my hair before flicking the tip of my nose. “Don’t think you won’t get punished for that little bit of sass, sugar.”

I watched him putter around the room, muttering under his breath as he pulled on jeans and a flannel shirt, glancing over at me every once in a while as if to make sure I was still following directions. Seemingly satisfied, he gave me one last kiss before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. I closed my eyes, certain I wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, certain my mind was simply too full to let me relax.

So when Joel woke me with a series of gentle kisses, I was more than a little confused.

“Waswrong?” I slid one hand into his hair, scratching my nails over his scalp. “S’mergency?”

“No, baby.” He chuckled as he pulled me up to a sitting position, shifting me until I was able to rest my chin on his shoulder. “We’re in Lincoln, remember?” Stroking a hand down my back, he chuckled again when I simply hummed my understanding. “You sleep hard when you get the chance, don’t you?”

“Hmm.” Turning my face until I could press my lips to his pulse, I murmured, “Haven’t slept like that since before the outbreak.” Drawing back until I could look at him, I said, “Did you sleep?”

“Only time I get a good sleep is when I’m with you.” He brushed his thumb over my cheekbone, his gaze steady on mine. “Go on and take your shower, darlin’. Give me a holler when you’re ready, I’ll come up and get you.”

“If I do that, it’ll ruin your surprise.” I laughed when he lifted his brows in question. “And no, no hints.”

“Fair enough.” He slipped out of bed, pulling me with him and turning me toward the bathroom, giving me a light tap on my ass. “Off you go.”

A half hour later, I studied myself in the mirror, giving an experimental twirl and watching the skirt of the dress float out around me before settling in place. The selection at the boutique had been limited, especially in my size, but fortunately had ran to simple, classic styles. In the end, I’d chosen a dark blue sundress with a rucched and shirred bodice snug enough to lift my breasts above the neckline and create a significant amount of cleavage. The skirt ended an inch or so above my knees and billowed beautifully with every movement.

Unpinning my hair from the tight bun I’d put it up in before my shower, I shook it out, pleased to find the steam had worked waves and not frizz into the length. For the first time in close to two decades, I found myself wishing almost desperately for make-up, even something as simple as mascara.

I wanted to look pretty.

Even as I had the thought, I flushed with embarrassment. Or maybe shame. It seemed almost selfish to be thinking about my appearance in a world where survival required a certain level of brutality. Except we were in Lincoln, which was probably one of the, if not the, safest places left in this new world. For the next few days, I had no responsibilities, no pressing concerns, no real worries. And Joel was waiting for me downstairs.

Maybe I was allowed to be selfish. on occasion.

“I’m not trying to rush you, darlin’, but you got about two minutes before I go up there, throw you over my shoulder, and haul your butt downstairs.” His threat might have carried a bit more weight if I hadn’t been able to hear the laughter in his voice and if he hadn’t continued speaking. “And you keep rolling your eyes like that you’re gonna roll them clean out of your head.”

“I wasn’t rolling my eyes,” I called out as I left the bathroom, pausing at the bedroom door and peeking my head around the doorframe. “Where are you?”

“In the living room.”

“Close your eyes.” Now I did roll my eyes when I heard him grunt. “Please?” He grumbled for a moment before going silent and I raised my voice. “Are they closed?”

“Kay.”

“I’m coming downstairs now.” When I reached the bottom step and turned toward the archway separating the hall from the living room, I ran smack into Joel, nearly sending both of us to the floor. He managed to keep us on our feet and keep his eyes closed, which made me smile. “You could have mentioned you were practically blocking the entrance.”

“Suppose you’re right.” He kissed my forehead. “Surprise is behind me.”

“Do you want me to close my eyes?”

“Probably a bad idea for us both to be walking around here blind.” Much as he’d done on the road to Lincoln, he twirled me away from him, turning at the same time so when he pulled me in, we were facing the living room with my back to his chest. Resting his chin on my shoulder, he murmured, “Not quite a picnic in a park but….”

He’d pushed the furniture to the perimeter of the room, leaving the center of the room open, allowing him to create a little nest of blankets and pillows. The coffee table had been turned into a small buffet, two bottles of champagne tucked snuggly in an ice bucket. Dozens of candles flickered on the mantel and in the hearth, casting a glow around the dim room.

“Awful quiet, darlin’.” He pressed his lips to my temple. “Makin’ me worried.”

“It’s better.” I had to pause to swallow the lump in my throat, to blink away the sudden rush of tears. “No ants.”

“Didn’t mean’ta make you sad.” Another kiss, even softer than the last. “Just wanted to do something special for you.”

“I’m not sad.” I didn’t have to see his face to know he was frowning and I managed a watery chuckle. “I’m not. I promise.” Slipping out of his embrace, I turned to face him, taking a few steps back before running my hands over the dress to smooth out any last minute wrinkles, real or imagined. “Okay. You can open your eyes now.”

When he did, his face went completely slack, his mouth falling open a bit. He took his time looking me over, his eyes dilating with each passing second until only the thinnest rim of brown remained visible. One hand flexed next to his thigh, fingers trembling slightly, while the other came up to grab his belt buckle, hooking his thumb in his jeans. After a few minutes, I said, “Awful quiet.”

“Took my breath away, darlin’.” He took a step forward only to immediately stop, shaking his head. “Need another minute.”

“Is that good or bad?” When he didn’t answer, I clasped my hands at my waist, fighting the urge to fidget. “Joel?”

“Darlin’, if I put my hands on you right now I’m gonna ruin that pretty dress.” He shifted his gaze to mine and my breath caught, heat slicing through me at the hunger in his eyes. “And then I’m gonna ruin you.”

Before I even realized I was moving, I’d closed the distance between us, my hands sliding up into his hair as he wrapped his arms around me, crushing my mouth under his. He grabbed the back of my dress, twisting and fisting the fabric, and through the pounding in my ears I heard something rip, felt the sudden give in the dress as something tore. When he would have pulled away, I dug my nails into his scalp, swallowing down his moan, only to have him break the kiss and rasp out, “Told ya I’d ruin it.”

“Don’t care.” I ran my tongue over his lower lip before digging my teeth into the tender flesh, every part of me melting when he growled low in his throat. “More.”

“Fuck.” Dragging me to the floor, he hooked his hand in the bodice of the dress, twisting and pulling until the seams ripped and he was able to yank the material down to my waist. Immediately he bent, drawing one nipple into his mouth and suckling with a ruthlessness which bordered on painful. Letting it pop free, he rubbed his cheek over my breast, the scratch of his beard raising goosebumps on my skin. “Sweet girl. Mine.” Turning his head, he gave my other nipple the same attention, only easing when I began to whine. Shifting his weight to one elbow, he moved up and took my mouth again before asking, “Want me to ruin you, too?”

“Too late.” I rocked my hips against his, bringing one leg up to curl around his waist, wanting him almost to the point of mindlessness. “Already did.”

“Goddamnit.” He pushed up to a kneeling position, tugging his shirt over his head and sending it flying before stripping my dress and his jeans with the same hurried, desperate efficiency. Pulling my legs up and hooking my knees over his hips, he slid one hand underneath my ass, gripping his cock with the other. Between one breath and the next he snapped his hips forward, driving the full length of his cock deep in my cunt, bringing our lower bodies snug against each other. Bracing one hand on the blanket next to my head, he clenched his jaw, grinding out, “Fuck. Fuck, darlin’.” Dropping his head to my shoulder, he took a series of deep, shuddering breaths before brushing his lips over my pulse. “Talk to me, sweet girl.”

In theory, an easy instruction. In practice, finding words was impossible since I’d lost not only the ability to speak but to think.

“Baby.” He kissed my temple and then my cheekbone, the side of my nose and my jaw, before finally giving me his mouth, not drawing back until my bones were as soft as warm wax and I was all but melting underneath him. Lowering his body until his full weight was on me, he nudged my chin with his nose before giving me another kiss. “Was wrong when I said you were beautiful like this.” He curled one hand around my hip, fitting me more tightly against him as he continued to dust kisses over my face and neck and shoulders—anywhere he could reach. “More’n beautiful. Otherworldly.” He sighed against my throat, his own taut muscles relaxing with each passing moment. “Are you real?”

“Are you?” Because it was impossible for me to believe in the nightmare of this world that someone like Joel could be real, could be here with me. I draped my arms over his shoulders, massaging the nape of his neck with one hand while tracing random circles on his back with the fingers of the other. The teeth-and-claw desperation which had brought us to the floor had dissipated, leaving a desire as mellow and rich as aged wine. Bringing my mouth to his, I whispered, “Stay.”

“Until the end.” Reaching up, he took one of my hands and drew it down to the pillow next to my head, lacing his fingers with mine. “Whenever it is. Wherever it is. Until the end.”

“Until the end.” My breath caught when he began to move, a slow, gentle roll of his hips, our bodies never separating. I pulled him closer, my lips trembling as I blinked back tears. “Joel.”

“I know, baby.” He kissed the corner of one eye and then the other, no doubt tasting the tears on my lashes. His breath whispered over my cheek as he sighed before dropping his chin to my shoulder. “Want you to cum for me, sweet girl. Want to feel you coming apart for me.” As if on cue, I instinctively tightened the walls of my cunt, bearing down on his cock, and we both groaned. “Yeah, like that, just like that.” He began to rock his hips faster, grinding his pubic bone against my clit with each forward movement. “Such a good girl for me.”

“Joel.” I half gasped, half whined out his name, one hand still clutching desperately at the sweaty curls sticking to the nape of his neck. “I need….”

“I know, darlin’.” Snaking his free hand between our bodies, he began rolling his thumb over my clit in slow, steady circles, cursing under his breath when I instantly grew wetter, warm fluid coating his cock before spilling out of me, drenching the blanket under us. “Goddamnit.” His pace faltered, stuttered for a moment before smoothing out, each thrust sharp and brutal. “Another. Give me another, sweet girl.”

I shook my head. “Can’t.”

“Liar.” As if to prove it, he scraped his nail over my clit before pinching the sensitive bundle of nerves. He brought his lips down on mine at the same time, swallowing my whimper, cursing into my mouth as I orgasmed again, squeezing my cunt even tighter around his cock. “Again.”

“You first.” I was almost dizzy with pleasure, the room spinning around me in slow circles. “Want to feel you.”

“No.” Somehow he wrenched himself free from me, sliding down my body, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses to my breasts and torso, wedging my legs open with his shoulders as he slicked his tongue over my scar and then further down, dragging his teeth over my hipbone. Settling between my thighs, he exhaled, worrying at my clit again with his thumbnail, pinning me to the floor when I tried to arch my hips, his grip fierce enough to bruise. “So fucking pretty, darlin’. So fucking pretty. Could stare at you all day.” He switched to massaging my clit with firm strokes, sliding two fingers into my cunt, groaning when more wetness spilled over and around his fingers. “Yes, baby, just like that. Give me more.”

“Joel.” I moaned his name, digging my nails into the back of his hand still clasped with mine. “Please.”

“Please what, sweet girl?” He worked a third finger inside me, curling them until he was able to rub his calloused fingertips over the soft, spongy spot with exquisite precision. “Tell me what you want.” He pressed a gentle, almost chaste, kiss directly above my clit. “Tell Daddy what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

“Oh, God.” I squirmed against his hand, riding his fingers shamelessly, tears streaking down my cheeks, both my body and mind overstimulated to the point of pain. Something about the honorific, the natural way it rolled off his tongue, brought the hunger and the desperation roaring back to the surface, nearly drowning me with its intensity. “Joel… Daddy…want your cock, please, please, please—.”

“Such a good girl.” He pulled his fingers from my cunt, shushing me when I let out a long, broken, high-pitched whimper. Sliding up my torso, he drove his cock deep inside me, the head bumping against my cervix and pulling another whimper from me. He brushed tangled strands of hair away from my sweaty forehead before kissing my temple. “Daddy’s got you, sweet girl. Gonna take care of you.”

“Kiss me.” I threaded my fingers through his hair and pulled him to me, catching his mouth with mine, sliding my tongue over his lower lip before slipping it into his mouth, spinning out the moment until we were both breathless. Even then, when I pulled back for air, he followed me, giving me no time to catch my breath. Pulling back again, I gasped out, “Please.”

“Spend the rest of my life listenin’ to you beg.” He began to move again, slow and steady and deep, the head of his cock nudging my cervix with each thrust, the minute pain exquisitely beautiful. “Cum for me again, baby, squeeze my cock with that pretty cunt of yours and Daddy’ll give you his cum.” He groaned when I hitched my legs higher, crossing my ankles and resting them against his back, pulling him tighter. “Knew that’s what ya wanted, darlin’. Be a good girl and cum for me, cum for me now, cum—.”

The orgasm ripped through me, left me speechless and breathless and mindless, my vision blurring and going dark at the edges. Joel slowed for a heartbeat, maybe two, before simply hammering into me, no skill, no finesse, just desperate need. I was still riding the waves of my release when he slammed his hips against me one final time, emptying himself into me with a low, throaty moan before going completely limp and collapsing on top of me.

After long, long minutes, Joel roused himself enough to roll away from me, both of us groaning when his cock slipped free. Untangling his fingers from mine, he cupped my cheek, stroking his thumb over my lower lip. “Hey.”

“Hey.” I was still floating, drifting along on a river of endorphins, but I managed to smile at him. “Best picnic ever.”

“Hmm.” He tilted my chin up until I met his gaze, his lips curving in an indulgent smile. “Think you can give me a number?”

“Six. Maybe seven.” Over the years we’d developed a scale, a way to indicate how deep I’d slipped into subspace, how intense the endorphin drop would be, how much aftercare we’d both need. I gave a half-hearted stretch, sighing at the pleasant ache. “‘Daddy’? That was new.”

“Yeah.” He pressed his thumb to the center of my lip, not enough to hurt, simply to ensure I knew he was there. “Surprised myself a little there. You?”

“Like I said, new. Different.” I shrugged lazily. “Didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He sighed, pressing his forehead to my shoulder. “I’d say I’d buy you another dress but….”

“Uh-uh.” I rolled to face him, pillowing my head on my arm. “I was up there, stressing because I didn’t have any makeup, didn’t have a curling iron, worrying the dress didn’t fit right—I wanted to look pretty.”

“Sweet girl.” He leaned in and kissed the tip of my nose. “Don’t know what I’m gonna do with you.”

“Keep me.”

“Think that’d be a good idea.” He stroked his hand down my back, trailing his fingers over my vertebrae. “Probably leave the day after tomorrow, unless the weather’s still bad or you need more time with Frank.”

“No.” I laid my hand on his cheek, spreading my fingers wide. “There’s nothing more I can do for him.”

“That bad?” When I didn’t answer, Joel sighed. “That bad.”

“It’s one of the most frustrating parts of medicine, knowing there are some things we can’t cure, no matter how hard we try.” I traced the bridge of his nose with one finger, then the curve of his eyebrow, lingering over the tiny scar. “Not just terminal illnesses but things which seem as if they should be easy to cure—fever blisters, warts, even something like chicken pox, once it’s in your system it’s always there, even if there are no obvious symptoms.” I dragged my nail around his ear, unable to stop touching him. “One of the hardest things to treat is toenail fungus. It can take months, over a year, even, of daily treatments to see results, depending on the severity of the infection.”

“And people still talk about a cure for… well, whatever the hell you want to call those things.” He snorted. “Or a vaccine.”

“Idiots.” It was my turn to snort, the sound dissolving into a giggle when Joel danced his fingers over my ribs. “Stop that. You can’t vaccinate against a fungus.” I tried to squirm away only to have him pull me closer. “There were no fungal vaccines before the outbreak and since medicine and scientific research pretty much ceased making any advancements or innovations at the same time I’m pretty confident in saying there are no fungal vaccines available now.”

 “Maybe some mad scientist has been working on it in a secret underground lab somewhere.”

“Joel.” I fixed a bland stare on him. “It took close to twenty years to develop a vaccine for polio. The vaccine for influenza, which requires adjustments and tweaks every year and doesn’t even prevent the flu so much as make the symptoms more tolerable, took nearly as long. It took centuries to develop a vaccine for smallpox. And those were vaccines which had backing from governments, sometimes multiple governments, and very healthy funding. And even once a vaccine is developed, it has to go through multiple testing stages, animal and human, before it can be distributed to the general population.” I waited a beat and then lifted my brows. “Now, do you really think a single person working with no funds, outdated equipment, and outdated knowledge is going to be able to accomplish something on that scale?”

“Think you made your point, darlin’.”  He poked my ribs with a single finger. “Really get on your high horse about that topic, don’t you?”

“Look, I want a preventative or a cure as much as the next person. I want to be able to take walks in the woods or through a field and not worry about being attacked by infected. If I had children, I’d want them to be able to grow up in a world where this was one era in the history of humanity and not the new normal.” I rolled to my back, tucking my arm under my head and frowning at the ceiling. “But I know that’s not possible. Letting people believe it is, that if they just suffer a bit more, if they commit a few more acts of barbarism, that things will change for the better is cruel.”

“Like I said, gets you up on your high horse.” The room was silent for long minutes before Joel cleared his throat. “You ever think about kids?”

I turned my head to look at him, studying the careful neutral expression of his face. “Do you?”

“Now and then.” He reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Sarah’d be a little over thirty. Maybe she’d be married, have kids of her own.” He chuckled softly. “Or maybe she’d have gone to some sort of fancy school and be getting started in a career. Girl had a brain on her that made my head spin.” He tapped a finger in the center of my forehead. “Kinda like yours.”

“Maybe she would have gone to school a little further north. Johns Hopkins for medicine, Georgetown for law.” I wrapped my fingers around his wrist and drew his hand down so I could press a kiss to his palm. “Or maybe you would have come to the D.C. area on vacation and we’d have ran into each other in a museum.” I smiled. “Gone for coffee.”

“Not much of a museum guy but Sarah would have dragged me to a dozen of’em.” He cradled my cheek in his palm. “Maybe y’all would’ve come down to Austin, caught a music festival. Run into you in the crowd and convince you to have a dance or two with me.”

“You would have regretted that—Daniel always told me I had two left feet.” I laughed when he winced. “He wasn’t much better but his mother did make him take dance lessons for his bar mitzvah.” My smile faded and with it, Joel’s. “I loved Daniel. When I… when he died, when my children died… I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say part of me died, too.”

“I know.” He laced our fingers together, bringing our joined hands up and brushing his lips over my knuckles. “I understand.”

“If I could somehow turn back time or change history, make it so the outbreak never happened, I would do it without hesitation.” I shifted closer, resting our joined hands on his cheek. “And I know, whether it was in D.C. or Austin, a museum or a festival or just walking down the street, I would have found you.”

“And if you didn’t….” He trailed off, swallowing hard and clearing his throat before continuing. “If you didn’t, I would have found you.”

We left Lincoln a few days later, making a detour in Cambridge at my request so I could scour the Harvard libraries for medical textbooks. Even if they were out of date, they were still useful, especially if I wanted to start training a nursing assistant. The labs and pharmacy were as picked over as I expected but there were a few little gems, including some muscle relaxers I would be able to send to Frank.

Life, our life, in the QZ fell back into its normal patterns, with Joel and Tess making supply runs while I ran the clinic. Over the next year or so, Joel gradually moved from the apartment next door into mine, only spending the night with Tess on rare occasions. It wasn’t something we discussed, simply something which happened, and if Tess resented the change she never discussed it with me.

At the same time, messages from Tommy grew fewer and further between, eventually dwindling to once a month. He’d left the Fireflies, never specifying why, and joined another small group, making their way through the upper Midwest. I kept my worries to myself, knowing Joel was easily twice as worried, if not more so. It showed in the extra shifts he picked up, the shortness of his temper, the way he clung to me in the middle of the night when he thought I was asleep.

I knew before he did that we were leaving to go find Tommy. I pushed the nursing assistant harder, rushing him through training and starting a second assistant at the same time. Even if I wasn’t in the QZ, people still deserved good medical care and people they could trust. I worked with Frankie to set up an independent supply chain for the clinic and to stock us for our trip west, wherever we were going. I hoarded light, non-perishable food items, unpacking and repacking things into the smallest package possible.

Joel came back to the apartment one night an hour or so before I closed the clinic, trudging through the front door as if there were twenty pound weights attached to each foot. I watched him move around the apartment out of the corner of my eye, opening and closing cabinets, wandering aimlessly. When the last patient left, I sent both assistants home as well, locking the door behind them before joining Joel at the kitchen table.

He passed me the glass of whiskey he’d been nursing, waiting until I took the first sip before speaking. “Still no word from Tommy. Never taken him this long to get a message back before.”

I nodded, waiting.

“Talked to Tess.” He pulled the glass back, staring at the amber liquid. “She’s got a lead on a car battery. And I’m pulling strings to get an old FEDRA vehicle.” He looked up at me, his face as somber as the day he’d sat at Frankie’s bar and asked me for water. “I gotta go find him, Kay.”

“I know.” I took the glass back and finished it off. “When are we leaving?” He sat back, scrubbing one hand over his face, and started to open his mouth, no doubt to protest, only to snap it shut when I shook my head. “Until the end, Joel. Whenever it is, wherever it is.”

“I know but….” He trailed off, reaching across the table and taking my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles before sighing, looking up at me with a soft smile. “Until the end. Whenever it is, wherever it is.” Bringing our hands up, he kissed my knuckles. “A week. No more than that.”

I nodded. “Okay. I’ll be ready.”

And a week later, I was finishing notes in a patient file when the apartment door flew open and Joel shoved a rumpled and very pissed-off teenager inside. He stared at her for a moment before glancing at me, his features inscrutable. “Kay. Sorry about the door. She’s coming with us.”

I blinked. “Okay.”

“Can you take a minute and look her over? Hit her head earlier.”

She whirled around, scowling at him. “Because you threw me into a wall, you asshole!”

“Hmm.” Biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling, I closed the file and set it aside, nodding at the chair across from me. “Take a seat. I’ll see if you’re concussed or just cranky.”

“Things have gone a little… sideways with the battery.” Joel flicked a look at the teenager, who was still glaring at him as if she would be more than happy to put a knife through him. “As of now, we’ve got another option but Tess is checking a few things. If everything is good, we’ll leave tonight.”

“Okay.” I continued smiling at the girl. “Sit or you don’t get a lollipop when I’m finished.”

She snorted. “Do you even have lollipops?”

“Well, you’re not gonna find out if you don’t sit down and let me do a quick exam.” I shifted my gaze to Joel, taking note of the shadows under his eyes. “Go grab a nap. We’ll be fine.”

Crossing the room, he flopped down on the sofa, draping one arm over his head and closing his eyes. Not even two minutes later, his breathing had evened out and I knew he was asleep. Turning back to the girl, I found her staring at me as if I’d just performed a magic trick or a miracle. Tucking my tongue in my cheek, I took a moment to compose myself before asking, “So what exactly did you do which made Joel through you into a wall?”

“I tried to stab him. How did you do that?”

“Do what?” I pointed at the chair next to me, waiting for her to sit before continuing. “And why did you try to stab him?”

“He surprised me.” She winced as I probed the back of her head, scowling again. “You told him to take a nap and he just… did.”

“Remind me not to surprise you. Follow my finger with your eyes.” I also took the opportunity to examine her pupils, satisfied to find them neither dilated or blown. “And I didn’t tell him to take a nap, I suggested it. It simply happened to be a suggestion which was beneficial for him.” Sitting down, I tilted the chair back on two legs until I was able to open one of the kitchen drawers, snagging a lollipop before letting the chair drop back to the floor. Tossing it to her, I said, “You’re not concussed. Got a little bump on the back of your head, may feel a little tender, but otherwise you’re good.”

“Great.” She stared at the plastic wrapped sweet for a moment before looking at me. “Really?”

“I’m a big believer in keeping my promises.” We studied each other for a few minutes, Joel’s delicate snoring echoing through the room. Finally, I said, “You can call me Doc. Pretty much everybody does.”

“He called you ‘Kay.’”

“Yes, he did.” I lifted my brows. “Like I said, you can call me Doc. Pretty much everybody does.” After a beat, I said, “This is the part of the introduction where you tell me your name.”

Crossing her arms, she kicked the table leg. “Why does he get to call you Kay?”

“Because he’s not everybody else.” I glanced over at him again, satisfied he was actually sleeping. “What’s your name?”

She let out a massive sigh and even without looking at her I knew she was rolling her eyes. “Ellie. My name is Ellie.”

[winterpinetrees]

Vya (The Gap Years Part 10)

June 19th 2019

Vya, NV

I’m switching POVs with near reckless abandon. The trials and tribulations of trying to write down a story that wasn’t really written to make sense!

……

At about 8 in the morning high on the Nevada steppe, Sierra Bracken finally lets herself admit it. This was a horrible idea. She was the one to introduce this whole road trip plan back in the winter of junior year. She and Mama had finally gotten Dad’s stupid prototype up and running, (If he's right that it's like some Star Trek spaceship, then she's is going to call it The Audacity because how dare anything be that unsafe to drive…) and it had been becoming increasingly clear that wherever Sierra went for college, the two boys wouldn’t be joining her. It was a joke at first. They’d take the car and drive off into the sunset , leaving their responsibilities behind on some grand adventure. Then they started to make plans. Soon enough Sierra was telling MIT to defer her admittance for a year and they were buying road maps for the entire continental United States. She knew that magic was real, but she never expected to wind up on an actual quest.

It’s early. She’s tired. Marin keeps giving her looks when she drinks black coffee so she’s currently running on nothing but a bad night’s sleep and the lizard brain fear that she’s about to be shot by an alien. Sierra holds the device that used to be a Gieger counter in one outstretched hand. It’s ticking less than usual now that Marin has dropped the illusion over the car. He’s saving his strength for the actual visit, apparently. Elves seem pretty fragile, and she’s running out of tolerance for it. Sierra may not be an athlete like the boys, but she isn’t some fragile damsel either. Most cars are two thousand pound beasts that run on tiny explosions and electric ones aren’t much better. She can haul steel and break glass and put in long hours, no matter what her last name might suggest. Sierra’s a billionaire’s daughter, but she’s no high-society princess. Sierra is short and takes up space and has a habit of wearing hoodies and cargo pants even when it isn’t desert-a-mile-above-sea-level cold. She’s her mother’s daughter. They were never supposed to get this far, but Sierra’s not a quitter and she doesn't want to die.

The thing is, there’s nothing out here to fight. The sun blinds them from the east, washing out the gray dirt and scraggly plants with white light. They aren’t that far northeast of the Sierra Nevadas. Unlike Clay, she’s never had much love for the mountains she was named for. (She’ll never admit it, but she almost wishes Mama hadn’t talked Dad out of another of his outrageous billionaire names. Her half-siblings are named Kestrel and Neptune). Suddenly though, Marin points at the air beside the rear-view mirror.

“Slow the car! We’re close”.

Brian obeys. “We are?”

“See that shimmer? That’s a huge illusion. There’s probably half a dozen commoners working to keep it up,” he explains.

Sierra tries to focus and see the change, but she can’t see anything. Maybe only people with magic can see the signs? She wonders how the illusion is maintained. Do all the elves need to have the same idea of what they are hiding? Are there places where the illusions overlap, or do they all cover the entire town? Marin has explained that Vya is the largest settlement in Nevada, and one of the closest truly secret places to “The Nuclear Zone”. She assumes that means the Nevada Test Range to the south. Vya is isolated enough that the population won’t have any loyalty to nearby humans, but he also thinks that the inhabitants dislike the nobility in general. They might oppose the Mercurali. They also will probably oppose Marin. Fortunately, they won’t know Marin is Marin.

They drive closer, and Sierra still can’t see anything but a few old wooden huts. Brian stops the car. Marin walks them through the plan again. He will cast the strongest illusion he can to appear like a particularly gifted commoner. He’ll say he’s traveling for fun, with two human minions he brainwashed and is treating humanely (Apparently this is very normal???). Clay will stay with the car in case he was photographed back in Eagleville. If things go wrong, they will book it back to the car and drive off into the dust. That’s really the whole plan. Marin can’t bring the TARDIS bag or the big gun without being suspicious, so they’re traveling light. Sierra’s thrown together a new gadget though that might be a bit useful though. All it really took was the ability to shut off safety controls.

“Would it be suspicious for me to have my headphones?” She asks.

Marin shakes his head. The prince has already cast his illusion. He still looks about the same with long dreadlocks, dark skin, and the same athletic frame, but the details are off. His eyes are more narrow and nearly black, and the points of his ears are much less extreme. The bags under his eyes are gone. Marin extends a hand to them like how cowboys calm down horses in the movies.

“Remember, I charmed all of you”

Sierra can’t help but joke. “Yes, we remember”.

He sighs. “That’s the behavior you need to avoid. I mean that you need to be quiet and generally tolerate anything that happens. Don’t pick fights”.

Brian raises an eyebrow “What could happen?”

“Nothing bad. There’s protocol for this. Don’t worry about it”.

…….…

It’s cold up on the steppe. Amedi knows this, but their squad is less prepared for gloves and thermal gear.

It’s two days before Mid-Year’s Night, and for elves raised in temperate, coastal, climates, short nights mean warm days. Amedi is not one of them. They were raised at an even higher altitude than this, somewhere far closer to the equator where the summer solstice meant the start of the rainy season. The Capital on the foggy Pacific coast is too cold in winter and dry in summer for their liking. It’s nice to be here, even if it’s an ocean and a world away from their home.

A traveling elf walks past them and into the building that is the regional center of government. It’s tan, geometric, and built with architecture that was actually made for this climate. There was debate among the council on what to do with elven enclaves in the human world. Some of them, Devana and Ryn feared, might be too loyal to the wilders. Ryn was raised in a town practically full of wild born humans, and Devana speaks French and Romanian with accents so accurate that she just has to have a history there. The council eventually decided to deal with settlements on a case by case basis. If a village seemed like a risk, they’d send troops. There was actually a fight here, even back before they got word that Marin could be nearby.

There’s no guarantee that Marin will even come to the little town. If he does though, then he’ll be faced with half a regiment of strike troops. That’s sixty soldiers for the thousand person population of Vya. Most of them are commoners, but a few are nobleborn or graduated from the Conservatory. They’ve chosen two of these nobility-by-merit as lieutenants. The whole situation is a bit nostalgic, actually. Amedi fought to the death only a single elven week before, but they haven’t led in combat since their final war game in school. For a moment in their combat gear, Amedi remembers the thrill of the arenas. They were under a different sort of pressure then. Fighting to prove yourself and survive is different than fighting for the future of your entire species.

They’re still getting used to this sort of power, too. Amedi spent their years at the Conservatory scrambling after a breakout fourth year. They made the choice that no one else would during the Midnight Trial, and earned a mark on their vambrace (engraved with flower buds and fiddlehead ferns for the spring army) that sparked a successful campaign to victory. They’d plotted, fought, and tricked their way through the fog of war to the fourth year crown, only to find that the real prize was a target on their back for the next five years. Amedi still remembers that night they were awakened to find their bunkmate locked in combat with an elf trying to attack them. Maybe that was the real reason Ryn and his family stayed awake through the middle of the night…

Back then, power was dangerous and limited, no matter how unstoppable they felt. Now, it’s secure, but they are solidly at the bottom of the High Council’s hierarchy. Here though, in the dust, Amedi is a living legend. They’re part of the Mercuralis household. They have a seneschal. (They hope Esther is doing well…) When elvenkind conquers the human world, Amedi will be part of the pantheon of legends like Lazarus, Leda and the first Ishtar were four thousand years ago. Even Andros, the former leader of the mission, defers to every word that they say.

The soldiers pace and wait with glowing eyes and hidden guns. Marin may not show up, but he certainly will not leave.

………………

Lazarus help him! Marin is not qualified for this. He’s in the center of the regional government, looking at a middle-aged commoner woman and trying to keep it together. Luckily for him, he has less magical power than most of the high nobility. That means he can pass as a commoner if he borrows his father’s less recognizable colors. There’s a lot more variation among elves than most nobility think. Marin’s mother and her twin showed that well (Marin wonders about the tenses in that statement. Cai Sondaica is probably still alive, no matter how much everyone wished the traitor wasn’t). He has Sierra and Brian stand behind him while he asks for the list of names.

The woman gives him a dissatisfied look. She has long dark hair and features that suggest a large part of her ancestry is from these American mountains.

“I’ll get that for you, but you really shouldn’t bother with the nobility. Everyone thinks that things are going to change just because the Apex had a kid with a spark, but…” She trails off. Marin can guess the end of the sentence. Nothing ever changes with the nobility. Ishtar will break all of her promises and in a few hundred years Sondaica will be back on an identical throne. Well, he doesn’t want to wait centuries. The woman returns with the printed list. There’s standardized formatting for this, white ink on black paper just like the invitations to the Conservatory. Each entry is a full name and then who killed them. There will be a few names at the bottom without killers due to collateral damage or the fog of war. They are breaks in the web that hold the nobility together.

Marin actively does not look over the paper too closely while at the desk, but he notices that it almost fits on a single page. His great-uncle’s coup, the one that his mother took part in, had a list of names that covered four. He thanks her and puts the list away.

The woman looks at his friends “Do you have noble blood? Two humans are a bit to manage”.

Breathe. Focus. Lie. “Yes. My mother, actually”.

“Well, be careful around her kind. There was a fight here after the coup. All those petty noble gens going at it. There was actually a casualty. Never liked him much, but it seems like a bad sign.”

She looks past Marin at something, and he turns as well. Two young elves enter the room through the main door and Marin can see the air shift around them. They’re both hiding something too. One has a noble vambrace.

She narrows her eyes at the strangers “I hardly remember the last coup. I don’t think it shook things up this much”.

“I guess they call Mercurali ‘earth shakers’ for a reason!” He jokes, hating it.

Marin thanks the woman again and leaves with his friends. They were all right. This place is not safe.

As they leave, Sierra pauses and stares at one of the strangers. Charmed humans do not stare, and she’s being pretty obvious about it. Brian doesn’t notice anything is wrong either.

“Sierra, we’re leaving,” Marin says. He puts magic behind the words, and his eyes glow the earthy olive of his father’s genus. Now Brian is staring at him. Great. Sierra finally turns and they start walking

The noble stranger approaches them. She’s walking at the same pace that they are, using the sound of their footsteps to hide her own movements. It’s clearly stealth training. The elf is small, with short wavy hair dyed to a strange blend of purple and orange. Marin keeps walking. Commoners don’t get spooked easily.

“Excuse me, citizen. What is your name?” He’s going to die.

“Kennedy Agrion”. There is no Kennedy Agrion. However, there are quite a few commoners with the last name Agrion along the southeast coast where his mother spent her youth, and many of them have olive colored magic. It’s a plausible name, and one he can defend.

“What brings you to Vya?”

“I was traveling. I heard there had been a coup, and I thought here would be the best place to find the list”. He decides that a commoner wouldn’t be happy about this interrogation. “Who’s asking?”

The woman tilts her head back. “Princeps Lios Kithara. You are traveling with two wilders?” So she’s not only a graduate of the Conservatory, she’s the type to insist everyone uses the title. Her vambrace has more than a few kill marks and engraved greenery. She’s from the spring army, stereotyped for fury and impulsive behavior.

“I am. They’re very well behaved, I haven’t had any trouble”.

Lios smirks a bit. Brian steps closer to her. He’s nearly a foot taller than Lios, and much stronger looking than Marin. The move is protective. He shouldn’t have done that.

She looks up at the human. “Where did you meet your master?” Her irises glow the same shade as her hair. Brian’s own eyes become that featureless purple-peach as Lios seizes him in a much less subtle sort of brainwashing.

The answer is dragged out of him. “San Francisco”

The noble smiles. “Who is he?”

Marin strikes forward like a bent branch snapping back to place. His eyes flare emerald as he tackles the woman to the ground. Brian staggers backwards. The magic fades from his blue eyes.

“Run!”

To their credit, Brian and Sierra are very fast learners. They were already running.

…………………

Not sure if I’m going to keep “master” as the term for elves in relation to humans. Lios might just be rude.

Yes every time Marin swears on Lazarus’s name he’s invoking his ancestor who was a real guy four thousand years ago. It’s a whole thing.

Princeps is the title for any graduate of the Conservatory.

Lios’s magic is the color of Helium in a discharge tube and her name is short for Helios. No I don’t know why I gave such a cool name and trait to a minor character.

[yes-i-have-thoughts]

Who wants some tidbits about OCs that I never talk about because my Tumblr profile has slowly been getting murdered thanks to hiatus

[REDACTED]/KREATUR/WESEN

- Spawned from the one (1) time I drew GL!Ranboo as a creature (because why not) while listening to ‘Bloody Mary’ on a five-hour loop and the idea that came from it went so far off course from canon that it went from an AU to an original story idea

- (In my defense I drew him when I was only 20 minutes into the first episode. I barely had any idea what I was getting into at the time so of course my creative drive was going to derail)

- (My brain needs to stop dragging people up when I’m 30 seconds into their source (iykyk))

- ANYWAY.

- Wesen’s real name has been lost to time. He’s not that old, he just doesn’t remember his name due to being punished whenever he tried to correct his captor on what it was

- His captor called him Kreatur ("Creature"; "die Kreatur - creature, creation, wretch, minion") to dehumanize and objectify him. This drove him insane for obvious reasons so he somehow got his hands on a German dictionary and fought to change his name to Wesen ("das Wesen [German] being, nature, essence, creature, character, entity") instead. Because if you’re gonna call him a creature you could at least be nice about it

- His captor let it go and he’s gone by Wesen for years since.

- Wesen’s also a walking bomb! He has a kill switch built in to the base of his skull that can also be used to give him a headache ranging from “oh owie” to “my brain is pressing against my skull and I am in agony”. If his captor cranks it all the way up his head will explode. It’s supposed to stop any act of rebellion and is therefore a literal explosive leash.

- He’s not aware of its existence and his captor gives him a headache severe enough to make him pass out from the pain if any of his fellow prisoners draw attention to it, so he won’t know it exists until it’s too late.

- It likely might’ve been put on him since he killed two people when a team tried to catch him. Maybe they should’ve left him alone, then.

- Wesen isn’t human. Avery (a fellow prisoner) calls him a canine, and she’s half right. He’s a dog-like bipedal creature with white fur covered in black spots

- I’ll get around to drawing him one day. He’s on the planned roster for Art Fight.

- He wouldn’t hurt a fly, most of the time. He’s sort of a doormat. That said, he’s not totally innocent and he does have blood on his hands--not all of it unintentional, either. His captor holds this above his head as a reason why they can’t let him go.

- He’s a lot smarter than he acts. Turns out he’s playing dumb, since—as he’ll later tell Avery—it’s saved his life over and over again.

- He’s masculine-leaning agender.

BELPHALAGOR

- Goes by “Bel”. Also masculine-leaning, but more genderfluid than agender.

- Belphalagor is a bipedal goat who swears he’s average height and everyone else is just a tallass. They use Wesen as its “proof” of this, but Wesen’s barely an inch over average height (5′ 9″)

- Whereas Bel herself is 3-4 feet tall.

- Bel is made of ink, sort of. He has flesh, but their blood is black, smells strongly of something not natural and is poison to ingest (as some more feral enemies will find out). It obviously wasn’t born this way but tends to dodge the question as to how this came to be.

- She’s stuck in a suit most of the time, but prefer wearing dresses. The once time he gets a chance to they jump on it.

- Bel’s eyes are closed 90% of the time, rendering them blind. It heavily depends on Wesen to guide her around.

- Something happens later on that reveals why he prefers to keep their eyes closed as much as possible.

- (he/they/it/she pronouns. Bugger’s collecting the things.)

[REDACTED]/AVERY

- Avery is the must humanoid of the bunch. This is because unlike the other two she’s not a canine creature or Mountain Goat stolen, experimented on, then stolen again. She’s a human that got kidnapped and freed herself when they tried turning her into a bird woman. (These people really like amalgamating animals with the weirdest shit.)

- She acts like your typical action woman cliche—no-nonsense, only sane person in the group, tragic backstory, “I don’t need a man”—but she’s not immune to being silly. She slowly drops her guard the more time she spends around idiots 1 and 2 (affectionate).

- They’re both fools but they’re HER fools and she loves them. (The sentiment is returned ten-fold once she drops the “I’m too good for you” act.)

- She’s a bit of a fool too, though she won’t admit it.

- She has a plague doctor mask pretty much fused to her face. A modern-day one, based off a crow. She can take it off, but it’s very painful and what’s underneath isn’t pretty.

- Her hair is pretty short and growing...Weird. It’s all spikey and feathered. She’s kept it short as much as she could until she can find someone to reverse this bloody bird transfusion.

- She’s also got feathers growing out of her arms. It’s painfully slow, but they’re becoming more noticeable as time goes on.

- She and Bel butt heads often over who should do what in what context. Sometimes they fight for so long that by the time they’ve worked it out Wesen’s solved the problem already.

- She and Wesen didn’t exactly hit it off immediately. She was a bit patronizing towards him; treating him like a dog or very slow human. Once she learns that he’s not that fucking dim, though, they bond very quickly.

- She’s the only cisgender one of the group. Bel calls her the “token female” despite also using she/her pronouns (likely just to piss off Avery, who always takes the bait).

- Avery’s name was given to be a play on “aviary”. She can’t stand it, but she doesn’t remember her old name so she’s currently stuck with it.

[dimensionhoppinghybrids]

Vengeance given (Short drabble)

Bellum had been in his workshop, when Noel came into his forge, barging in, her face stained with tears as she came to him. A sword in her hand that clattered on his floor, a blade he knew, because he had forged that piece for one Lucario, Vance. He looked at the blade, then noted the bandana in her other paw.

Her tears streaked down her face, his retort of what she was doing dying in his tongue as he looked at her.

Then she did the only thing she could to someone that was pretty much her Uncle.

She ran into his chest, burying her face into his bare chest, and crying. Proper, ugly sorrowful howling of a cry that made even his emotionally awkward hearts ache.

He knew something terrible had happened. And it took her a good ten or fifteen minutes to just calm down and be able to tell him what happened.

She told him of meeting Pavarotti, of his offer of a rescue team, his attempts to butter up the deal. Then, Vance's death.

Vance had been a friend. One of the few he had. And hearing that he was dead...

The heat around him coiled into an intense inferno. Hot enough to dry Noel's tears, and make her back away.

"U-uncle?" She asked, concerned.

She looked into his eyes, and saw blazing torches of an inferno that seemed to look down at her like the gaze of a large beast. She knew that her Uncle wouldn't hurt her. He'd never dare. But at that moment, she saw a sight of him that she had never seen before. It was a sight of something dark, and promising violence and death. And she was just glad it wasn't aimed at her.

With a considerable effort of willpower, Bellum forced himself to calm down.

He gave a deep sigh after a deep inhale, and he put his hands on Noel's trembling shoulders.

"What do you want to do?" He asked her in a firm tone.

The answer was too easy, too much of an obvious.

"I want to kill that son of a bitch that killed my Dad!" She spat, her tears returning as the venom in her veins helped to break her from her sudden daze. She was angry, and she wanted to wrench that chickens neck!

Bellum gave a nod. He could understand that. And he wasn't going to deny her.

"What do you need?" He asked, and she told him of her designed wants.

The kimono she asked for was out of his range of abilities. So, while he waited on the leather and kimono, which Desire went into with a firm resolve of his own. Meanwhile Bellum told Noel to bury her father and lay him to rest, and if at all possible, tell Aura. He needed to know too, then tell the rest.

After that, Bellum closed his doors to everyone, even Zane and Morello, and he went to work on giving Noel some added protection.

He first started with chain armor, made out of mithril, since it was lightweight and would protect her.

Then he took some beskar, and made a shoulder pad out of it. She'd need the protection, and even found leather he could put over it to fashion a double layer pauldron for her. Then he made a trick-shot gauntlet for her, which was tricky since it was mostly fine work and details, but he managed it. Even made a few extra things. Like a grappling hook, and a single shot cannon. It would only take a single 12 gauge, but it would effectively blow a hole through most things.

Then, he started on the weapons for her. If she was going to bring in hell, he'd need to give her the best he could give her.

With her being blind, she'd need to know where everything was. So, he made a simple order for her.

Two sets of grenades.

Fraggers on the top, smoke on the bottom. They would at least hide her, and she could use her aura to pinpoint anyone in her way. And even then, explosives were always a good incentive to run like hell.

After that was done, Bellum got a knock at the door. A firm one.

It was Desire at the other end, with a package. "Thanks Des." Bellum.said as he looked at the carefully wrapped package.

"Don't thank me yet, little brother." Desire said in a cool voice. "Noel is my family too. So teach these bastards what that means." Desire said, his own eyes going slitted, like a cats. "These fools have forgotten us too easily. Remind them of your reputation, and what it holds." He told Bellum before leaving at a brisk pace.

Desire had a valid point. These assholes were dead men walking. They just didn't know it yet.

The Kimono was a very pretty one. It was a Saturday blossom pink, with white petals as a decoration. At the back though, there was a duality of symbols. On one half, there was a half the circle of a cherry blossom, and the other was a black backdrop, with an Eastern dragon, showing its fangs in a snarl of fury and vengeance. At least, its what Bellum interpreted it as. The seams were set in a silver thread. Giving that symbol an almost moonlight like appearance. It was sort of a yin and yang. Cherry blossoms usually inspired peace and tranquility, and an angry dragon spoke of a fury and a want for destruction.

Kinda fitting honestly.

The jacket that was underneath was made out of leather from something tough, but lightweight. He knew that she would be able to move in this, and he’d be able to put the chain armor in there rather comfortably, if he adjusted it a bit.

After fitting it all, and making a few adjustments, Bellum finally called Noel back. She wasn't looking good, but then again, he didn't expect her too. She looked hard, and angry. But also sad, and heartbroken. He felt for her, as she was supposed to see her dad grow old. Not die like that.

"I have your equipment." He said, and stopped Noel before she could spring up to get it. "But I have one compromise with it."

Noel settled back down, and gulped. Waiting for him to either to tell her to not go by herself, or insist on doing it himself. He was protective, she knew that. But she was also ready to defend herself against his objections.

“I want to come with you.” Bellum told her as he looked down at her. She could sense that he was firm in his resolve, and it wasn’t exactly him stopping her, but... “I am not a baby, Uncle.” She said tersely as she did her best to give a glower at Bellum. “I know.” He said, his tone frank and his posture firm in its own right. “But if this guy has more goons to throw at you, then you need someone to cut them down while you get this asshole.” He retorted, and she found herself unable to question that logic.

If Pavarotti had a rescue team, or something equal to it, then he would have multiple teams under him, if her scouting him out was anything to go by.

Feeling like she was being told she wasn’t able to do this, she still sounded firm in her voice, even as it quavered a bit. “I still want to kill him myself.” She told him, and Bellum gave a nod. “I understand.” He said gently, his voice a touch lighter as he approached Noel, and gently put his hand on her head, reassuring her. “And you’ll get your chance. But you need to trust me. You can’t do this alone.” He told her.

Then he let her go and gently pushed her to the table. “Now, go and get your gear while I get mine.” He told her and gave her a good pat on the shoulder. Stifling a slight yelp, she did as she was bidden and checked out her gear. Her eyes, even if blind, going as wide as saucers as she inspected her new equipment.

When Bellum returned, he was in his full on battle rattle. Helmet on, and plasma axe ready on his back. “Ready twerp?” He asked as he looked to Noelle.

She looked ready alright. As ready as she could be with her new gear, and everything that he had readied for her. She looked to his vicinity, her eyes looking at her clothes. “Thank you, Uncle.” Noel said as she looked to him. “Don’t thank me yet.” He said as he motioned her to come along. The shirt she wore hid the chain armor well, and fit her too. He had tried to do it so the chains wouldn’t chafe, but they might add a bit more weight, but not much hopefully.

“Lets go then.” He said, as he motioned to Noel, as she got herself ready for battle. And with that done, they headed for the Seventh Heaven district. Where Bellum would reign his own kind of hell on those bastards.

Because as they went there, Bellum let her go a bit more to the side, where she wouldn’t be noticed and hide behind buildings, while he went to work.

So, he came to be where this Pavarotti asshole was hiding, or kept his little operation, and stood for a moment, before taking his helmet off, and roaring in a loud and angry roar; “PAVAROTTI YOU LITTLE SHITSTAIN BIRD ON A COOKING STICK! I CHALLENGE YOU AND YOUR ASSHOLE TROUPE, COME HERE AND FIGHT ME LIKE A MAN, OR FIND YOUR HEAD RIPPED OFF BY MY OWN HANDS, YOU COWARDLY CLOACA MUCUS!”

His voice rang out everywhere, the street halting into a deafening silence as things stirred.

Pokemon from this group began to come out of hiding at the challenge, and he knew they’d taken the bait. They could probably guess why he was here, and the more that came out of hiding, and the more civilians that ran away, the more of a grin Bellum had on him. He placed the helmet back on his head, and he gave a roar of glee. “Come get some!” He roared at them, and he charged forward, his axe now ablaze as it rang out and cut a Pokemon in half, then bisected another.

Now he showed he was a real threat, and those brave enough, or stupid enough, charged at him as he hacked them like feeble wood in two.

Sometimes mixing some moves or a flamethrower, or just making barricades for himself to funnel them through. The more he moved and hacked, the more time Noel got.

He wished her luck, while the Pokemon did their best to swarm him with numbers. The heat around him blazed like the core of a volcano, and those weak to it recoiled away.

Grinning more, he gave the best, evil howling cackle he could to just egg them on!

[uselesslesbiab]

Can you make some headcanons about Ryuji going partially deaf/blind after the explosion in Shido's Palace?

Ooh I’ve never really had people request headcanons like this before but I really like this idea. If people want I’ll definitely do more requests in the future!

DISCLAIMER I AM NOT BLIND OR DEAF SO THESE MAY NOT BE ACCURATE BUT I USED MY BEST FRIEND WHO IS PARTIALLY DEAF AS A REFERENCE THANKS @rosesandoleander UR SO FUCKIN SEXY MWAH I LOVE YOU

The rest of the Phantom Thieves were relieved beyond words to see Ryuji walk up to them unscathed after the explosion

Ann definitely gave him a good punch in the arm for the comment about her crying face, but that was the extent of it. She hugged him afterwards and they fell back into their usual banter

They only thing that wasn’t usual was the ringing in Ryuji’s ears

He’d seen action movies where an explosion or something happens and the characters hear some ringing in their ears for a few moments so he didn’t really think anything of it

The only problem was, the ringing never really stopped

It subsided later on sure, but even the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, there was still that constant ringing

He tried to ignore it the best he could but one day after class Ren pulled out one of his earbuds and offered it to Ryuji to listen to some new song his favorite band had released

“Dude turn it up I can barely hear it!”

He knew something was wrong when Ren stopped walking in the middle of the hallway and stared

“Ryuji...it’s already at max volume” Fuck

It was pretty rough coming to terms with the fact that he’ll probably never get his full hearing back, but the bright side was that he wasn’t fully deaf

Thanks to Japan’s healthcare system hearing aids weren’t super expensive but they were still up there in price. Haru heard him casually mention that him and his mother were going to have to save up for them and immediately dragged him back to the hearing clinic and paid for them right then and there.

Of course his hearing aids can only help so much. His right ear was the worst, so you can often find him standing so whoever he’s talking to is on his left side.

He’s a big fan of turning off his hearing aids whenever teachers are yelling at him. It’s not like they can do anything about it.

Given how the metaverse enhances their abilities so much he doesn’t need his hearing aids all that much when he’s there, but it doesn’t fix his hearing completely.

He’s scared that he’ll lose his hearing completely as he gets older, so he does his best to learn sign language while he can.

Spoiler alert sign language is really fucking difficult

He studies with Ren and Makoto as much as possible and the rest of the Phantom Thieves promised to learn alongside him so they’d all be in it together.

[companionjones]

Different

Pairing: Eleventh!Doctor x Fem!Reader

Fandom: Doctor Who

Summary: You’re to be executed, and the Doctor has to find a way to save you. Or have you already saved yourself?

Warnings: Blood, injuries, sadness over partner being hurt

*******

    The Doctor was blinded by his fear, which was awful because he needed to be focused to find one very special thing: you.

    There was a reason the Doctor liked you so much. You were compassionate enough to want to help a princess who was in danger, and you were clever enough to find a way to get her onto a ship and away from the country she was held prisoner in.

    Unfortunately, you had been captured for your deeds, and were sentenced to death. Your execution would be carried out at sunset that day. The Doctor needed to find you.

    He was desperately searching the dungeons when he discovered proof that his worst fear had come to pass: You had been taken to the throne room early. You were likely already dead.

    When the Doctor stormed the main room of the castle--tears were brimming his eyes--he was met with a scene that was completely opposite from what he had been expecting.

    Multiple men were on the floor, either unconscious or dead, and the rest of the guards were pointing their weapons at the King’s head. Or, rather, slightly to the right of the King’s head. There you were, holding a knife to the King’s throat.

    From the state of you, it had not been an easy fight. Scraps and cuts littered all of your exposed skin, and you still had a look on your face that made it obvious that you wanted out.

    The Doctor opened, “I told you boys she wasn’t going without a fight. Granted, I thought that fight would be coming from me, but I guess we’ve all made the mistake of underestimating a woman today.”

    “Any...Any ideas, Doctor?” you struggled to speak due to a red stain on your shirt that was only growing in size.

    The Doctor took a moment to compose himself after spotting your worst injury, “Just a moment, I’m thinking. Not all of us do as well on their feet as apparently you do.” Despite the gravity of the situation, the Doctor wanted to put a smile on your face. His hearts soared when he was successful.

    The King started to say something. Something that showed how completely horrified he was at your behavior while also managing to be condescending at the same time. However, the King had just managed to get his first couple words out when the Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver to cause an explosion as a distraction.

    It worked. Your only roadblock to the Doctor was one of the guards managing to get in your way. But you blocked his sword’s attack with your knife, punched the man in his face, then took the Doctor’s hand. The two of you were out of there.

    Of course, the King sent his men after you, and you and the Doctor ran all the way back to the TARDIS. You were about ready to collapse when the blue door closed behind you, but the Doctor caught your bloody form. “Oh, no. You’re not done yet.” As quickly as he could, he helped you to the infirmary. He lifted you onto one of the metal tables and rushed to fetch the needed medical supplies.

    “This would go over easier if you laid down,” the Doctor softly notified, but you just shook your head. “Let’s just get this this over with.”

    You both cringed as the Doctor spread the fast-healing cream over the stab wound in your side. You gritted your teeth at the sensation and let out a rough exhale.

    You were different from the other companions. The Doctor would never dream of taking you home because of who you were to him. He also knew that if he were to ever somehow succeed in getting you home, you would find a way to travel space and time back to him to make him regret ever even thinking about leaving you. That didn’t mean that he could stand seeing you hurt.

    As he spread the ointment over the rest of your injuries, you leaned your head on the Doctor’s shoulder. When your face had to be done, you leaned against his forehead. As he wiped the cream onto your skin, you wiped the tears from his cheeks. When he was done, you held him to you for a moment, and captured his lips with your own.

    “Thank you,” he breathed when you parted from him.

    You smiled and returned the sentiment. “Thank you.”

*******

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, you should check out my masterlist. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you. <3 <3 <3

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

Hey bestie can u make a eren x reader one shot where eren just won’t let the reader move on🙃

thank u anon for this lovely idea

scumbag!eren x crybaby!fem!reader

WARNINGS: dubcon/noncon, past toxic relationship, slut-shaming, possessive behavior, yandere tendencies,

WC: 1.8k

He pins your wrists against the dingy bathroom tiles with an unrelenting grip, and you swear you've never felt more claustrophobic in your life.

The dark-haired boy eyes the glitter on your cheekbones, the neon-colored eyeliner, the rogue on your lips, and the black satin of your mini dress exposing a substantial amount of plush thighs. He's never seen you like this-never allowed you like this before.

You almost feel like uncharted territory but nothing escapes his observant nature. From the tremble of your lips, and the water starting to collect in your lower lash lines, Eren knows this you. Maybe not who you were pretending to be in the strappy heels, low neckline, and the party-girl masquerade you put on in front of your shallow ditzy friends, but he knows who you really are. Vulnerable. Scared of your own shadow.

"E-eren,' You stammer, "Please let me go." You try not to think about the voice cracks, trying to sound as assertive as you could without meeting his eyes. Eren, of course, thinks you look like a baby mouse. Hopeless and trapped.

"Don’t you miss me?" He mummers into the nape of your neck. You have an explosive No prepared in the roof of your mouth, ready to sound out the single syllable, until his hand, adorned with chunky silver rings, covers your mouth, muffling your whimpers. You could taste the metal.

“It’s a rhetorical question.” He’s smirking, green eyes lit up dangerously under the too-white bright lights, “Let me talk okay? I just want you to listen.”

All you’ve ever been doing is letting him walk and talk over you. And then when you finally got the nerve to stand up for yourself-

“I haven’t seen you the past three months” his low voice interrupts your contemplation, “It’s like you’ve been ignoring me.” He finishes flatly, his thin lips stretched into a line. His multitude of ear piercings catches the light, glinting sharply.

It’s too overpowering, his close proximity after going cold turkey. His presence is like a drag of a cigarette after not smoking for months. Hurts your lungs but the remnants of what you used to feel with the sudden rush of nicotine bubbling up again. Because when all is said and done, you’re still deliriously attracted to him. And you hate yourself for it.

You try to focus on the other sensations, sensations that aren’t busy on the feel of his warm breath or his hands holding yours down. You can still hear the song playing from the club.

All my bitches feel like I dodged the county

Fucking with you feel like jail n——-

Yeah, it really did.

Changing tactics, he holds you by your neck instead, giving your aching wrists sweet relief but that relief is nothing compared to the panic of having his beefy hand on your thrumming pulse.

His grasp wasn’t tight. You could breathe, but it was the kind of tight that let you know he would go tighter if you didn’t listen properly. React properly.

“You’re fucking ignoring me again” he’s practically growling the words out, baring all teeth, “I know I’m pretty difficult to tune out, so I would like to know what the fuck you’re thinking about.”

His hand leaves your delicate throat- his knee between your thighs keeps you in place- to roam down the satin of your dress, the fabric clinging to every curve. You hate how scrutinizing his viridian eyes are, feeling a wave of insecurity wash over the previous hot-girl-summer confidence.

He hated how good you looked on the dance floor, laughing with your stupid friends like you had lost all your inhibitions. Hated that you looked so good, everyone could see it. Hated how you didn't notice his eyes boring holes into you. Do you remember the time how you used to be hyper-focused around him? Aware of every movement, aware of every tonal shift?

And now you didn't even look at him.

"Are you thinking of other guys? I saw you grinding on those men like a slut." He presses his body deeper, "Have you fucked any other guys since we broke up? You must have. I know how slutty your pussy is"

You bite down on his hand. Hard.

You're counting on his reflexes, for him to retract his hand and give you an opportunity to run to the door. But Eren has been fighting for years and predicts your maneuver. With a calculated sidestep, Eren lets go of his hand, before promptly slamming you against the bathroom wall again but this time front-first.

Clouds dance in your vision, and you're sure you would have fallen by now if not for him holding you up. Eren uses this newfound position to his advantage by groping your ass, rutting his dick against your backside.

Deciding to be petty, you let the spite-coated venom escape your pretty lips, "Yeah. I fucked so many boys, and they were so much better than y-"

Anger blinded him. Roughly, he turned you around to face him once more, forcing you to look up at the green-eyed monster. He flipped your dress up, nearly ripping it during the process, shoved your lacy panty aside, and plunged his fingers inside. He felt a visceral sense of validation course through him at finding wetness coating his slender fingers to your utter mortification.

"Liar. I know you haven't been fucking anyone else." His smile is all teeth, pearly white and sharp,

You gulp, feeling sweat beading down your neck and arousal pooling at the bottom of your stomach. Damn yourself.

"You don't know that."

He looks almost feral, green eyes in slits and hair all mussed up, falling out of his usual bun. The top few buttons of his black button-up are left unfastened giving you a gracious view of his smooth muscular chest, and the dangling silver cross-chain.

"No, I do. See a little birdie told me all you've been doing the past few months is crying yourself to sleep, and eating frozen meals. This is the first time you've been out since I broke up with you, huh?" Condescension drips with every word.

He thumbs away the tear falling down your cheek with a mocking kindness and adds, "There, there. Don't cry. Good thing I happened to be here tonight, right?"

You're full-blown crying now, too upset to care if you're smudging your make-up. This is the real you. This is how Eren remembers you.

"Awe, my precious little crybaby, don't worry. You came here tonight looking for dick? I'll give it to you. It's okay," He coos, breath tickling the shell of your sensitive ears. Well, every part of you felt sensitive right now.

You're rubbing your eyes, sniffling, "E-exactly. You b-broke up with me, so why are you here? Why can't you just let me be?"

The dark-haired boy sighs, and with an uncharacteristic softness, leans his head down to press his forehead against yours, and intertwines his hand with yours, noses almost touching.

"To be honest, it was just to teach you a lesson." A soft exhale, "I didn't think you'd actually stay broken up with me." He's crushing your fingers now, "Didn't think we'd be broken up with for real."

Your eyes flash with indignation, feeling your body surge with an emotion you couldn't qualify, "I don't care. Yeah, I was sad but god, you were a terrible boyfriend! I'm so much better off without you. All those lonely nights are still better than any night I've ever had with you!"

You're breathless by the time you're done.

"Done with your little monologue?"*

You can feel your shoulders shaking, and you almost want to laugh from the indecorousness of it all. How could he not care? Was this how little you mattered to him?

"I know you're lying because" Without any preamble, he shoves his fingers inside of you again, finding that spongy spot that made your knees weak, eliciting a soft moan from your downturned mouth, "You're wet. And you want me."

"In fact," an edge of excitement colors his voice, "I bet your insides are still molded to fit my dick."

It's hard to talk when one thumb is violently brushing over your clit, and his tongue is forced into your mouth, drowning any whines of protests. You close your eyes, focusing and unfocusing. A hand snakes up your dress to fondle your tits and tease your perky nipples.

It's just one sensation over another, and your sex-deprived body was welcoming all these feelings with open arms. Eren knows your body like it came with an instruction manual and that manual advised him to bite your earlobe, which was especially sensitive. He knew where on your collarbone you liked to be marked, how hard you wanted your nipples pinched, and how you could ride his face with complete abandon.

But right now, he didn't want to pleasure you. He's coaxed enough orgasms out of you throughout your relationship.

He unbuckles his belt and frees his long slender cock, the head a flushed angry red, dribbling with precum. He lines his full-mast cock to your entrance. Fully alert as to what was about to happen, pretty pleas of "no Eren, please don't, no" are falling out of your mouth, wide starlit eyes dotted with pearlescent tears. He kisses the top of your head like the way he always used to.

And then he thrusts himself inside. You give up so easily, he thinks. Do you even realize how you're swinging your hips on your own accord? How you're wrapping your lush legs around his waist to pull him deeper?

His pace is ruthless, making your head bob up and down. Moans and grunts drown out the music from the club. You're begging him to slow down.

"You're mine. Always mine. Always were. Can't fucking believe you really thought-" He doesn't even finish his thought because a violent shudder rips throughout his body.

Your nails are digging into his back, so sharp it could have been clawed. You could feel yourself right on the edge-

The door shakes to reveal a tall young man with slicked-back blond hair with a frat-boy laugh.

"Holy shit! Eren?!"

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckcufkcufkcufckfuckfuckfuckfuc

Shame burns your face. You have no choice but to cover yourself behind Eren's broad frame. You're just hoping to every god he'll go away, and keep this to himself.

Your dark-haired ex-boyfriend turns around to face the blond, "A little busy here, Porco. Shut the door. I'm uh, getting reacquainted with someone."

"Goddamn. Is that ___" You don't even have to look at Porco to recognize how impressed he was.

"Get out Porco." Eren growls.

The door closes with a loud thud.

You're borderline hysterical at this point begging Eren to get out of you, but his grip on your hips is iron-tight.

Outside you hear stunned gasps, but one phrase stands out to your straining ears: "Yeah, I guess they're back together."

Eren kisses the top of your head once more, "After I fuck you, we'll go home together girlfriend."

----------

* {A/N}: This line "Done with your little monologue?" is inspired by this delicious fic by @hotwings0203.

[burnedbyshoto]

the bodyguard

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

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pairing: bodyguard!kirishima eijirou x idol!reader

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

word count: 20,500

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

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“I’ll be okay.”

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

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

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

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

What had he done?

What in the fucking world had he done?!

BOOM!

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

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

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

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

05:30.

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

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Better?

No, not yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Cause I’m a stalker, duh.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Kirishima-kun, are you okay?”

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

“Kirishima-kun?”

“Yo, he’s not looking too hot?”

“Kirishima?!”

“Can you hear us?!”

Silence.

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

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

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

He was okay.

He was okay.

He was okay.

“Kirishima?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

But he was obviously not the first choice still.

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

“Toshinori—”

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

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

He had barely passed the admittance test.

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

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

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

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

“I can do it.”

A smile.

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were tiny.

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

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

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

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

“Six months tops.”

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

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

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

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

“...no,” Kirishima answers truthfully.

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

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

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

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

Fuck, that one hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

“Six months,” Kirishima agreed.

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

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

“You got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, yes, let’s continue.”

So, the contract was discussed to full detail.

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

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

Or so the contract said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, so much for a good case.

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

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

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

You always managed to sneak away from him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ya, okay, bye!”

“By—”

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

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

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

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

He wanted to be just a fan.

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I can’t do that it’s not—”

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

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

And then there’s only silence.

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

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

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

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

He knew that.

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

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

You were a good person.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...how interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

“Very much.”

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

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

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

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

So much for change.

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

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

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

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

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

It had been a hard morning.

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

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

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

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

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

But today, Kirishima was exhausted.

Today, Kirishima wanted to sleep.

Today… Kirishima broke.

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

You ignore him.

“We’re leaving, now.”

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

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

He grabs your wrist and begins pulling you away.

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

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

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

Oh, right.

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

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

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

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

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

“Compromises aren’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Wh-”

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

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

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

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

And for a moment, it’s quiet.

Until a single name is screamed.

“SERGEANT!”

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

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

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

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

The van turns on.

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

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

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

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

T082-23

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

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

Well, shit.

So much for the month of no attacks.

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

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

But they also gave him an essential piece of information.

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

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

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

For now, he was waiting for you.

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

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

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

“Should we go?”

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

“I actually wanted to talk before we left.”

Oh?

“Of what, if I may ask?”

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

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

“Sure.”

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

The contract was then discussed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, Kirishima.”

“Oh, and y/n?” 

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kirishima stood in the softly lit hallways of a sauna.

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

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

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

Well, everyone but Kirishima, that was.

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

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

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

A stressful month had passed into a friendlier one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-If that’s okay?”

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

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

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

“No, I’m okay,” you politely decline.

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

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

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

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

“So, what questions do you have?”

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A pause.

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

A nod.

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

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

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

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

What had happened?

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

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

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

“Was that um, Major—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t made of glass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

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

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

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

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

“PERVERT!”

“What?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, his dreams were never like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kirishima stepped back out to the hot spring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jenny, are you okay?” you called.

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

“We weren’t fucking you prude!”

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

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

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

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

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

What was he going to do now?

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

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

Bad, Kirishima, bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That sounds amazing, Kimiko!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whoever it was, pfft.

Kirishima was willing to bet on who it was already.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something.

Anything.

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

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

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

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

He was going to.

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready to move out?”

“We’re all clear.”

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

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

“Damn right I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Such a brat.”

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

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

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

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

T082-23.

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

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

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

You really came to life right now.

You were beautiful.

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

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

He was here.

Every warning bell sounded in Kirishima’s head.

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

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

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

Wait.

“What?! Family member?!”

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

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

There was no way you wouldn’t.

Was he wrong?

Who was it?

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

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

Oh fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

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

“...she’s drunk?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a reason why you were considered a legend.

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

You smile.

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

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

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

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

How were they related?

What connected them?

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

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

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

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

Kirishima panted as he looked before him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was he ready?

Actually ready?

Save her, his past whispered.

Save her, his nightmares screamed.

Save her, his heart yelled.

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

BANG!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you resisted and might have been harsher than needed.

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

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

But it was growing late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown. 

“Where will you be sleeping then?”

“My couch is just fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I’ll be leaving—”

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

“Oh, sure!”

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

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

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

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

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

He was relaxed.

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

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

“Really?”

“One hundred percent.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get on the bed,” Kirishima commands against your mouth. “Let me fuck you.”

The words were nearly embarrassingly desperate, but the tone of his voice spoke of the absolute domination he wished to assert on you. He wanted you in one exact way, and you had a feeling you knew what it was. But if he had been paying attention, Kirishima should already know that getting you to listen was not easy.

“No,” you grin against his mouth.

Kirishima pulls away instantly, his lips red and swollen as he replays your word in his head. He looks frazzled, absolutely delirious already at the simple, passion-filled makeout. As soon as his eyes clear away the fog, your grin drops, and instead, you look at him with fierce determination and defiance. 

“No?” he repeats.

“No,” you confirm.

Your chest feels light, your head spinning as the hands on your waist tighten, and his eyes flash dangerously. The tip of his tongue pushes past his lips before quickly disappearing again. 

“Of course, you’re a brat in bed too, such a fucking princess,” Kirishima shakes his head, but his mouth curving into a shark-like grin. 

Menacing, promising, sending chilling shivers down your spine.

The world spins faster than you can keep up, your mouth opening to shriek as Kirishima easily lifts you up, and has you lying against his lap. 

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret, princess,” Kirishima begins, his large fingers hooking into the waistband of the sweats you have on and the panties you’re wearing. “My princess gets rewards for being good. If she can behave properly, she gets to be fucked with dick, her pussy gets to be fucked just the way she pleases.”

You can’t help but stifle a moan that threatens to spill out with his words and the way his hands move down the curve of your ass, exposing the naked skin to him. The waistband of both your panties and sweats stay high up your thighs, and it’s almost embarrassing to know you’re still so clothed despite what’s to come.

“And just what does the Sergeant do to bad girls?” you ask, unable to keep your tongue down, your hips rolling against his lap in undeserved friction.

Unexpectedly, abruptly, a hand comes down harshly onto your bare ass.

The contact is rough, stinging against your ass as you cry out in slight pain.

The hand not currently rubbing a warning circle into your ass twists the hair at the top of your head, lifting your head up so that your ear could near his mouth.

“Bad girls get punishments. They get what I want to give them. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Holy shit,” you whimper, heat flaring between your thighs at the thought of Kirishima doing anything to you regardless of if you were good or bad. You rut your ass back against his hand, longing for a heavier touch, a plea for something more.

“What does the princess want?”

“Nothing,” you bite, and the crashing smack of another spank has you moaning loudly at the stinging pleasure-filled pain. 

“You moaning like a whore at a simple spank says otherwise,” Kirishima chuckles darkly, his fingers pinching your stinging ass as your body bucks against him. He spanks you again, again, and again. Each slap is intentful, powerful, wanting to get you to admit what you want, and you cry against your hands each time, your eyes fluttering as the pain feels good. 

“Of course, a slut like you would be getting off on this,” Kirishima seems amused, his thick finger pressing to the slit of your cunt, spreading your dripping essence against your cunt. He presses against your entrance with just the tip of his finger, and you shriek in a sound for more, your hips jerking backward to get his finger into you, to fuck you with those thick fingers to do something about the growing desperate heat. 

“Kirishima!” you scream, your body sweating and twisting on his lap, desperate to find some way to get him to finger fuck you. 

“Ah, there we go,” he sighs in delight as his fingers swirl at your entrance, increasing the teasing and making your mind spin. “Tell me what you want, brat.”

“You!” you wail, two of his fingers carting between your wet, sloppy heated lips. They graze your clit, stimulating you further as you can do nothing but instinctively jerk against his hold, trying to get him to give you the needed pleasure to build up to an orgasm. “I want you to fuck me so good! Please, Sergeant, please, I want you to fuck me until I can’t remember anything but your name.”

“But you haven’t proven to be a good princess,” Kirishima tuts, his hands disappearing from your pussy despite your crying pleas. His hand grabs your ass, though, massaging the abused skin, grasping it tightly.

You moan, embarrassed at the sensation of his massive hand easily cupping your ass cheek, your fingers fisting into the fabric of his pants as you shake your head.

“Are you going to prove that you’re good?” he asks you, his tone like that of a parent chastising a child. “Gonna prove to me that you can be good?”

You shake pathetically against his legs, but you can’t keep yourself from shaking your head. You can’t prove to him that you would be.

“I can’t!” you whimper loudly, your body twisting on his lap to look up at him, your eyes filled with tears and pleading need. Kirishima looked down at you with lust filled eyes and an undeniable need to be followed.

“You can’t?” he repeats, his head tilting, eyes narrowing, and his fingers dug into your ass. “Or you won’t?”

You tremble on top of him, unable to answer because you weren’t ready to hand over the reins just yet. You didn’t want to submit so fast, you wanted to make his own head dizzy with need but the stubbornness to continue punishing you the way he was promising.

“I won’t,” you gasp, eyes fluttering at the way he finally drops your head.

You gasp loudly as you find him shoving you off his lap, and with your panties and sweats sitting so awkwardly high on your legs, you find yourself tumbling off his lap and onto the floor.

“Guess if you don’t want to behave, I’ll treat you like some fucking pussy pocket and dispose of you once I’m done,” Kirishima easily breathes, and you look up at the now standing man as he tears his shirt off.

Your mouth waters, your cunt throbbing at the sight of the rippling muscles and dark lines of his tattoos on his upper body. You watch fascinated, like one does to a masterpiece, as he undresses until he’s in nothing but his socks. And at the sight of his dick, you can feel at once all the blood in your flushed face drop directly into your throbbing cunt.

He was fucking enormous, his girth barely fitting into his hand, and the angry red head spilled its precum against his abs. A black happy trail connecting Kirishima’s abs to his vein throbbing cock.

Holy fuck, he could quickly kill you with that.

Kirishima doesn’t ask any questions as he watches your awkwardly dressed state of a body on the floor. His head is tilted upwards, a small pleased smile on his face as he looks down on you, his hand slowly, leisurely fisting his cock as you can do nothing but stare.

You make some insane noise at the back of your throat at this sight, your thighs trembling with need, and you're pushing off your side, your ass burning, and your balance off as you open your mouth, offering all you could to him.

And thankfully, Kirishima allows it.

He’s much too tall for you to suck him off on your knees, so he sits back down onto the bed, letting you scamper between his legs, mouth open wide like some needy pet.

“Such a good little slut,” Kirishima sighs, sinking his cock into your wet, hot mouth. “Such a fucking cockwhore, all it took was a single glance for you to lose your will.”

You whine against his dick, your jaw tight with the stretch, your tongue lapping so desperately around the cock that was no more than halfway in yet couldn’t go in any further.

“Suck me right, and I’ll reward you by fucking that pretty little pussy of yours,” Kirishima grunts, his fingers pressing into the side of your neck as he ruts his hips up into your mouth, shoving his cock even further into your mouth. “And don’t you dare look away from me while you suck me off.”

It feels like fire.

His cock driving down your throat hurts, the taste of his salty pre-cum slathering all over your tongue and dripping out of your mouth with the saliva you can’t control. His cock hits the back of your throat, and you continue to bob your head, continue to fuck him with your throat as animalistic, praiseworthy noises begin spilling from Kirishima’s mouth.

You whimper at the sight of his head dipping back, and you nearly whine when he shoves the fingers he had gathered your juices on into his mouth. He moans at the contact and with his pleasure with your actions so obvious as you choke against his girth. That was hot, holy fuck, you wanted him to fuck you, please fuck you. 

Your eyes close as he begins to fuck faster into your mouth, his delight in hearing you choke around him his driving force. Tears start pouring from your eyes despite your best efforts, your throat and inner thighs burning with lust and need as Kirishima groans, his cock twitching deep in your throat.

Slap!

“Hey!”

Slap!

You gag harshly as your cheeks sting with his heavy slap, your teeth grazing underneath his cock, right against a thick, twisting vein.

“Did I tell you to close your eyes?” Kirishima practically growls, his hands grasping the back of your neck, the other one slapping you across the face yet again. “No. I said… fuck… I said, keep your eyes on me!”

Tears weep down your face, your eyes struggling to keep focus on him as he continued to fuck deep and intensely into your mouth, shoving himself further into you until you could feel his thighs grazing your chin. Oxygen wasn’t flowing anymore; your gags and chokes the only time the burning element could manage to flow through you, but Kirishima doesn’t seem to care. He seems to delight in the way you are, despite it all, are moaning and looking at him in a pleading way for more.

More, you plead.

And he delivers. 

Kirishima pulls his still hard, not yet cummed, dick out of your mouth and stands. 

You splutter with the sudden intake of oxygen to your lungs, burning you from the inside out as you splutter on the ground.

“W-What’s going on?” you hoarsely stammer, your jaw and throat aching from its prolonged abuse. “E-Ei?”

However, Kirishima seems dead set on getting you naked, and you squeal in flustered excitement as he rips the shirt off of you and his mouth pressing against yours again. His mouth crashes against yours, and you moan into his mouth immediately.

His tongue curls into your mouth and your tongues press and rub against each other. Each passing second growing more desperate, needier, more intense as your clothes are ripped one by one off your body.

“Holy fuck, I’ve wanted you for so long,” Kirishima nearly whines, his mouth trailing down your neck, biting and sucking against every centimeter of skin he passed. “Wanted to fuck you against the wall, in my bed, and now I get to do that.”

“Please, please, fuck me, please,” you beg, your voice bordering a wail as your arms wrap around his neck, letting him lift you up off the floor. Despite you being so much smaller than him that when he held you to him, your cunt wasn’t pressed to his angry leaking cock, you continued to desperately roll your hips against his abs, the friction welcomed and easing the building pressure. It was an action conveying just what you wanted. “I need you in me, Sergeant!”

“Just cuz… holy fuck,” Kirishima breathes ragged, his body twisting around, and you cried when the cold sheets pressed into your back. “Imma fuck you, Imma… god, just fucking watch.”

Your head thrashed back onto the pillow as Kirishima’s teeth sunk into your collarbone, then captured your sensitive nipples, his fingers dancing against your clit and teasing your center. 

“Now!” you cry, fingers digging into his shoulder. “Put it in!”

This time, Kirishima didn’t need to be told twice.

His larger body was suddenly pressed entirely against yours, dwarfing you immediately as your arms wrapped around his back as his cock slammed into you. You screamed at the sudden intrusion, your pussy stretched beyond its typical limits by his girth, his size, his power.

Your cunt throbbed around him, your face buried within his pecs as you, despite the searing pain, shove your hips up towards him. Fucking into him, sucking him further into you.

“Holy shit,” Kirishima groans, “you’re amazing.”

“Talk less, fuck me more!” you screech, your body spasming, twitching so hard from the splitting pleasure and the lava pit in your stomach, and Kirishima does that exactly.

His hips begin to meet yours in equaled power, slamming into you so that the bed creaked beneath you. He fucked you until he had to hold a hand on your hip so you could stay there, and you kept a hand on the wall to continue to push yourself down onto his cock.

You screamed with pleasure, cried for more, Kirishima’s shark-like smirk getting bolder, darker, hotter with every slam of his hips until his tattooed right arm shot down. His hand wrapped around your throat, choking you.

“You’re so loud, princess,” Kirishima moans, clearly liking your loud noises, “but you’re going to wake everyone in Tokyo.”

His hand around your throat is enough to have your legs trembling around his waist, your choked and muffled moans and splutters drowning out even more as he pressed a kiss onto you. He kissed you, licking your mouth, and devouring your every word and thought. Your core twisted, tightened, and burned. It throbbed and clenched with it’s impending orgasm, and your body began to tense to the heavens as his cock throbbed deep within you.

“Who saved you?”

“E-Ei did,” you garble.

“Who’s fucking you?”

“E-Ei is!”

“Who’s going to fucking cum when I tell her to?”

“Me! Fuck, me!”

Kirishima laughs, his arms wrapping around your waist, and in one final, fleeting burst of strength, fucks into you with his own power, needs, and desire, and you can only take it. “Cum, princess,” he whispered almost sweetly against the top of your head, and it was all over. Your teeth sink into his chest as you scream, a blinding white light erupting through your vision as you cum around his cock.

Kirishima whimpers, his cock still pushing deep into your cunt, until you can feel the warm spill of his seed in your womb.

He collapses to the side of you, taking you with him so that you were resting on his sweaty chest.

“Holy shit,” Kirishima whispered after a bit, your body already warm and too lethargic to notice the star-like tone to his voice. “That was fucking… holy shit.”

“Does this mean you like me?” you half tease, half wonder.

There’s a pause, a silence, and you wonder if maybe he had fallen asleep.

But he didn’t.

“I’ve been in love with you for some time now, I think,” he admits, his hand beginning to rub small circles into your back.

You find that despite the exhaustion, warmth floods your cheeks.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I guess we’re going to have to discuss a more… permanent and maybe different contract tomorrow morning, huh?”

Kirishima chuckles, and you find yourself smiling into his chest.

“I think we do.”

[wrenqueenisboss]

DSMP Angsty Imagines - React to Your Death pt. 3 --- c!Wilbur Soot

Part 3 to my series of “dsmp boys react to your death”:  Pronouns used: they/them (if mentioned) Warnings: explosions, spoilers for the events of Dream SMP, death, grief Words: 1.3+

The list: c!George c!Bench Trio c!Wilbur - (you are currently on this post)  c!Dream c!Technoblade - (coming soon!)

You had tried convincing your boyfriend not to blow up L’Manburg. But Wilbur Soot wouldn’t listen to you. He wouldn’t listen to anyone. Not in this state.

It had been a long time coming, honestly. Everyone should have noticed the signs. You should have noticed the signs, but it wasn’t as if you were actively looking for a reason to paint your lover as an insane psychopath. 

For months, Wilbur had slowly been descending into insanity. Looking back, the tells were all there. Very irregular sleeping patterns; sleeping not at all and then way too much, days when it seemed as if his emotions had been completely turned off, days when his temper seemed too volatile, the times when you’d catch him obsessing over books explaining the mechanics of tnt. It had all been laid in front of you, but you were too blind. 

That’s the thing about love, children. You either find yourself forced into relationships that make you unhappy or find yourself so in love with someone that it practically erases reality and judgment. There are a few lucky people. A few who find the loves of their lives and spend the remainder of their days in perfect happiness. No intoxicating amounts of infatuation, no feelings of emotional claustrophobia. You were not one of those lucky people. Not at all.

It was already too late to turn back by now. The two of you were already heading to the Button Room. Tommy, Tubbo, and Quackity were supposed to be with you, but they didn’t agree with Wilbur’s plan, so they stayed behind.

The three had been desperately trying to convince Wilbur to step down, to destroy the button and give up on his wild fantasies of watching his unfinished symphony burn to the ground. But that hadn’t worked, So they turned to you.

And as much as you agreed with their reluctance - and disagreed with your boyfriend, you had to support him. For that’s what he did with you. When you had been a newcomer to the server and no one would help you, he did. At the very least you owed him that. But you were beginning to doubt how far your support would actually go when you found yourself standing in the button room.

You and Wilbur looked up at all of the signs on the walls, each singing L’Manburg’s National Anthem in your head.

I heard there was a special place where men could go and emancipate the brutality and tyranny of their rulers Well, this place is real you needn’t fret with Wilbur-

“You’ve been so good to me, Y/n.” Wilbur’s unusually quiet voice interrupted the anthem playing in your mind.

“I’m your partner, Will. I’m also your friend. It’s my job.” For some reason, you could bring yourself to say it was because you loved him. Your heart knew it was because you didn’t love him anymore. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. It was a different type of love now. Much less blinding, and much more clear.

Wilbur reached up a faintly-scarred hand to touch one of the signs on the walls. “You’ve stuck by me and supported me even when no one else did.”

You could feel your face begin to heat up. “Will, about that.... Are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure this is the right thing to do?”

Your boyfriend whirled around at that. And for some reason, your mind began to sing the National Anthem once more.

My L’Manburg My L’Manburg

“Don’t flake out on me now, Y/n. We’re so incredibly close. We’ve come this far together. You can’t possibly be thinking of abandoning me?” His eyes narrowed dangerously, sending ominous shivers down your spine.

My L’Manburg My L’Manburg

“No! Of course not! I just think it would... make sense if you... thought about this some more,” you stammered, desperately fumbling for the right words.

Wilbur stepped toward you suddenly and you flinched backwards. He didn’t seem to notice - or care. “Y/n, if you don’t support me in this plan, I have no choice but to kill you. You know too much. And yes, I do remember that you’re on your last life. That changes nothing.”

Your thoughts froze, so did you. Never, did you expect him to go this far. Sure, you’d been aware of the fact that he was slowly becoming insane for weeks, but threatening your life? That was something you could never prepare yourself for.

You were trapped. Either way, you were pretty sure you’d die. If you agreed, the explosions would kill you. If you didn’t, Wilbur would. 

For freedom and for liberty our nation sought to build on these a victory for all under our freedom

“I’m going through with the plan, Will. We’re going through with it.”

Well the darkness came and then it went we built a home and watched it sink and from the rubble emerged my great-

Once again, the anthem in your head was interrupted. This time by Philza. Philza Minecraft. Your boyfriend’s father.

Your heart raced as it realized how close to pressing the button Will had been only heartbeats before. Philza and Wilbur were having a whole debate in the background. It was only when your name was called that you snapped out of your trance.

“Y/n?” Will asked softly, placing a hand on your shoulder.

Your head snapped up. “Yes?”

You almost shut down at the sad acceptance in Wilbur’s eyes. Had it worked? Had Phil really talked him out of pressing the button and triggering the tnt?

“Phil here has convinced me that maybe the button isn’t worth pressing.”

Hope sprung in your chest. It spread its wings.

My L’Manburg My L’Manburg My L’Manburg My L’Manburg

Your boyfriend leaned down to hug you, head resting on your shoulder as his back faced Phil. You were just about to hug him back when his whispered voice reached your ears, making you shiver.

“It’s all up to you now, Y/n.”

He straightened and left the Button Room, but not before giving you a pointed glance. 

With bloodied hands and weakened knees.

Your body felt frozen, pinned by impossible choices. By the future and the past.

“Y/n?” Philza’s concerned voice carried across the cave. “Are you okay?”

You scrambled for a convincing enough excuse. “Y-yeah. I just need a moment. Today has been... rough.” None of that was a lie.

With a slight furrow of his brows, Phil nodded. He began walking away.

Our people rose like the phoenix

You stopped him, though. “Philza.”

He turned around.

Our empty fields and canals ‘round L’Mantree

“There was a saying, Phil, by a traitor, once a part of L’Manburg.”

Phil didn’t know how to react. He just nodded, clearly uncomfortable with the atmosphere, the tension.

With sweat and tears we armed our ranks we laid foundations in our land

“Have you ever heard of Eret?”

Once again, Philza only nodded.

You could feel your body heat up with anticipation. The moment was nearing.

And from every lips for here up to infinity

“Yeah, he had a saying, Phil.” You felt your fingertips ghost the surface of the button.

We sing L’Manburg We sing L’Manburg We sing L’Manburg We sing L’Manburg

“It was never meant to be.”

~-~-~-~-~-~-

Wilbur Soot was too busy smiling at the series of explosions going off behind him to realize the fact that you were dead.

And even when those around him cried as they mourned your death, not a single tear streaked down his cheek. No pang of sadness or remorse was felt by this man who had strayed too far down the path of insanity.

Perhaps once, he would have torn up the world looking for a way to revive you. But that Wilbur was long gone. That Wilbur was the one you’d fallen for, the one you’d follow to the ends of the server.

But you’d failed to realize that the Wilbur of today was not the Wilbur you loved. And that mistake turned out to be fatal.

[alrightberries]

“may i?”

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff & angst.  ❈ word count: 8k

❈ summary: you’re the medic assigned to take care of captain levi as he heals from the explosion. you’re also the only person he tolerates.

alternatively: in which you create prosthetics for humanity’s most war torn soldier.

❈ trigger warnings: manga spoliers. profanity. mentions of violence, blood, gore, and death. mentions of sexual themes.

a/n: levi’s kinda ooc bc i couldn’t write the progress of his relationship with reader without making it longer than it already is. also this is medically inaccurate (re: healing time of broken bones and amputations) for the sake of the plot so pls no one throw hands. 

Levi doesn't like looking at mirrors.

There was no tragic backstory behind his distaste for the reflective surface, no deeper meaning or hidden symbolism as one would expect from a man with his past. The reason behind it was simple: he just saw no reason to.

He wasn't vain, wasn't too concerned about his face, didn't care much to look at his physical appearance aside from when he had to cut his hair or get ready for the day to look presentable to his comrades. He knew he was attractive, and effortlessly so. The little letters and gifts he’d received from fans and admirers proved as much, and his title of “Humanity’s Strongest” only added to the appeal. Really, there was no reason for him to always be looking into a mirror.

But now... Levi simply couldn’t understand why that mindset had vanished. It was replaced with the fervor to always be staring at his own reflection— not out of vanity but out of disgust.

The disgust of staring at his mutilated face.

He warily lifts up the small mirror he held in his hand, features contorting into a grimace at the man staring back at him. Scars and cuts littered his cheeks— some deeper than others, but none as terrible as the long jagged scar that ran down the right side of his face. It started from his forehead and ended at his bottom lip, held together by ugly black stitches the medics had hurriedly sewn on him the second he got back to the base. His right eye was split in half, completely useless, completely blind; held together by the same black stitches that donned the ugliest scar of all.

And Levi couldn’t help but think that this man was hideous.

He was hideous.

Levi reaches out with his right hand to touch his scars out of habit. He feels his heart tighten when he realizes there’s only air where his fingers should be and he nearly breaks the small mirror he held in his good hand from how hard he was squeezing it. 

The mirror makes a gentle clink as he sets it down onto the mahogany of his desk. Bitterly, he stares at his three fingered right hand. His pointer and middle finger were gone, nothing but pathetic stumps protruding from his knuckles where they used to be. It was still covered in bandages and a makeshift brace so he wouldn’t strain himself when he moved, but he knew it was useless. He couldn’t move those stumps even if he tried.

He probably should’ve been thankful to have made it out of that explosion alive— not unscathed, but alive nonetheless. Though Hange had tried cheering him up (“Look on the bright side, we can wear matching eyepatches now!”) he simply couldn’t find it in himself to celebrate coming back so... useless. 

His writing was as legible as chicken scratches. His right eye spasmed in pain every time he blinked. He couldn’t even try to relearn how to use the ODM gear with his new circumstance, and he mentally curses out his orders to stay put and heal.

Too many things were lost, too many people, too many lives.

All because of that damned explosion.

All because of that damned bearded bastard.

Levi is pulled from his thoughts when three soft knocks reverberate throughout his otherwise quiet office, and he rushes to put his eyepatch on and hide the mirror in his desk drawer. He attempts to sit in what he hopes was a seemingly ‘professional’ position but his stiffness gives away his discomfort. 

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

He feels himself release a breath he didn’t even know he was holding once he hears the voice. Your voice. 

“Come in.”

The wooden door creaks open before it closes with a soft click, floorboards making minuscule sounds at the weight as you make your way to his desk. Levi pretends to look busy as his good eye scans the document he held in his hand. 

The sound of porcelain clinking against porcelain grabs his attention.

“Brought you tea.” You murmured. “I figured it won’t be up to your standards again but I did try my best.”

Levi still doesn’t look up as you set the tray down on his desk, and his good hand reaches for the steaming cup to take a small sip. His eye twitches at the taste.

“If you were going to bring me shit tea anyway then why bother.”

He hears a gentle chuckle but doesn’t see the way you smile at his contradictory words and actions. He made no move to throw the “shit tea” away, something he was infamous for with teas that didn’t meet his standards. Instead, he keeps sipping, gently placing the cup down onto his table once he finished.

“I thought that maybe distracting you with terrible tea would keep your mind off me changing your bandages.” You explained, and Levi nods but doesn’t speak. When silence once again filled the room, interrupted only by the occasional crumple of documents you knew he wasn’t reading, you take it as your cue to pick up your pen and clipboard to start the checkup.

“Have you felt any discomfort or pain in any of your extremities such as your right eye or your right hand?”

“No.”

“Have you felt any throbbing or other sensations in any part of your body?”

“No.”

“Have you experienced any fevers, headaches, dizziness, or sudden spasms in any part of your body?”

“No.”

He hears you set your clipboard down and his skin tingles from your doubtful stare. He didn’t have to look to know it was there. He risks a glimpse at the papers attached to the wooden board in your hands but just as he expected, you didn’t write down any of his answers.

“Have you lied to any or all of the questions I’ve asked during your routine checkup for today?”

“...yes.”

A soft sigh escape through your nose and your eyebrows furrow in disappointment. “Captain, lying to your medic won’t get you to the battlefield faster. You’re of no use to anyone when you’re injured.”

Levi clicks his tongue at your reply but he holds his smart ass comments back. He knew you were right, and it infuriated him so much.

“Fine,” he grits out. “My right eye’s been twitching all day. The fucking stumps on my right hand don’t feel like stumps. It feels like I still have fingers there, and I know it’s complete bullshit since they were lying next to my face when they got blown off.”

His angry glance finally lands on you. “That the answer you were looking for, oh medic of mine?”

It was now your turn to click your tongue. “Not quite,” you mumble, writing down his answers onto the file in your hands. “Feeling your missing limbs even after they’re amputated is normal. It’s called phantom touch.”

You place the clipboard back onto his desk and reach into your pockets, pulling out pristine white gloves before gingerly putting them on.

“Your right eye still spasming though, that’s concerning.” You add. Your hands slowly reach out to his face, and Levi momentarily flinches away out of habit. But you made no move to touch him.

He eyes you warily, tense muscles relaxing even just the slightest as he sees your gentle stare.

“May I?” You ask softly, a caring smile on your face.

Levi only nods, not trusting his words, and he once again tenses up as he feels your hands unbuckle the leather straps of his eyepatch before setting it down onto his table. He keeps his bad eye shut.

Your hands are gentle as you touch his face, touch nothing but a soft caress in such a way that his tender stitches felt no pain. Your eyes are focused on his stitches, lacking any judgement or ill will, and Levi’s suddenly aware of how close you actually were to his face.

Your eyes were beautiful, he noticed. They always were. The little furrow in your eyebrows as you concentrated was cute, and the soft caress of your hands on his cheeks as you inspected his face felt... nice, and dare he even say relaxing. Momentarily, when he finally lets himself adjust to the atmosphere, he lets his tense muscles ease.

“Can you open your right eye, Levi?”

“Y-yeah.”

FUCK.

What the fuck.

Did he just fucking stutter?

Levi’s surprise is only painted on his face for a few mere seconds before he schools his expression back to one of stoicness and neutrality, and he prays to all the existing gods he knew of that you wouldn’t notice.

He risks another glance at you. One of your eyebrows is arched and the corner of your lip is quirked up in a small smirk, but you dared not comment on the captain’s speech mishap.

Fuck. So you did notice.

Before he could try to save face by dishing out some bullshit reprimand of being disrespectful for calling him by his name and not his title, the words die on his tongue as you lean in impossibly close and oh god your noses were almost touching, your eyes are even more beautiful up close, and what the fuck is—

“Captain,” you repeat. “Can you open your right eye please?”

Oh, right.

He doesn’t speak as he does what he was told. He feels his eye open but no vision comes to his senses. 

“It’s looking... not so good.” He hears you mumble, face contorted into one of concern. “It’s actually looking pretty bad.”

Levi scoffs. “Not one to beat around the bush, are you.”

You roll your eyes, the small smile once again returning to your lips.

“How long have you been keeping the eyepatch on?” You ask. Your hands are holding his head in place now, grasp a little more firm but not enough to hurt.

“An hour at most.”

“Are you lying again?”

He sighs. “Yes.”

You nod but made no further comment, leaning back to grab the clipboard once more to write down your observations. 

“So,” you start. “Are you going to tell me the truth or do I have to poke your bad eye?”

Levi’s lips turn into a frown at the notion. “I’ve kept it on the entire day. And I know you’re probably lying about poking my eye, but in case you’re not, no. I do not want you poking my eye.”

You nod your head again, writing more things down onto your little clipboard.

“You should let it breathe. Keep it on for an hour or two at most but take it off when you sleep. Too much friction with the eyepatch might cause irritation.”

As the consultation draws on, Levi tries (keyword: tries) to be as honest as he could. Not that he could be dishonest when you were so good at snooping out his lies, though. You were already used to his stubbornness.

He wasn’t lying, however, when he tells himself that his heartbeat did not speed up when your hands gently held his own as you changed his bandages and cleaned his amputation; he wasn’t lying when he tells himself that the tips of his ears were not burning a bright red, cheeks flushed as you asked him to take off his shirt; and he definitely wasn’t lying when he tells himself that his dick did not twitch in his pants when your hands caressed his abdomen and back, accidentally hitting sweet spots he didn’t even know existed, to inspect his still purple bruises and healing ribs.

Yeah, he definitely was not lying.

“Okay, I think we’re done for today.” You say cheerfully. “I’ll be back same time tomorrow for another checkup.”

He glances up as he finishes buttoning the last buttons on his shirt. The gloves from your hands are taken off and tucked back into your pockets, and you hand him a small vial full of pills.

“Take one of these, twice a day at most, whenever you feel pain in your right eye.”

“I’m not feeling any—“

“Sure you’re not.” You cut him off with a smile. “I believe you. But feel free to contact me for any pain or discomfort you feel at any time of the day. I’ll be more than glad to find you.”

Levi says nothing, opting to instead stare at you as you gather the now empty teacup and kettle, placing them back onto the tray along with your clipboard and pen.

“Oh, by the way.” You speak, walking towards the door and opening it. You don’t spare him another glance as you finish your sentence. “I don’t think I can prescribe any pills to lessen blood flow to your dick.”

The door shuts with a soft click behind you, and Levi’s momentarily mortified as he processes your words. He risks yet another glance, this time down to his lap.

Shit, he thinks before he sighs. His hands readjust the hard-on in his pants.

Nothing goes past your observant eyes.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

Levi doesn’t bother to look busy like he did last week, you noticed, because this time he was actually busy. Which was odd considering he was taken off paperwork duty until he could write again.

“What’re you up to?” You ask, setting the tray down onto his desk and pouring him a cup of tea. Your eyes curiously glance at the papers scattered about his usually clean desk, each filled with indiscernible writings of his name.

“Trying to write. I’m useless until I can.” He mumbles before he scoffs. “This would be easier if I had all my fingers.”

You nod along to his replies yet made no move to stop him. You picked up your pen and clipboard to write things down as well.

“You’re not supposed to be using your right hand, your amputation is still too tender.”

“Tch, what do you expect me to do then?”

“Uh... use your non-injured, complete left hand?”

Levi blinks at your words, and he has half a mind to slap his forehead for being dumb and not thinking of that. Which he undoubtedly would’ve done had you not pushed the steaming cup of tea closer to his sitting form.

“Have some tea. You look like you’re about to pop a vein.”

Your smart remark is met with silence and a steely glare, and surprisingly, as Levi drank the tea you prepared, he notices it’s not downright terrible.

“Your brew’s better.” 

“Yeah. I finally took your advice of using a thermometer to get ‘the perfect temperature’ after you complained about my ‘shitty tea’ for the nth time that week.”

Levi hides his little smirk behind the teacup, silently reveling in his small triumph before setting it down. From the corner of his eye, he notices you eyeing something, and his heart drops as his gaze follows your own.

The mirror. He forgot to hide the mirror.

Discreetly (or as discreet as he could) he takes the mirror and shoves it back into his desk drawer. You had many questions, that much he knew, but he was thankful when you didn’t push it further.

“Shall we begin?” You ask instead.

“Yeah.”

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

Levi’s been trying to write again, you surmised, as you glanced at his focused eyes and the tenseness of his shoulders. Scattered papers still littered his desk and he was still trying to write his name. This time though, you were relieved when you saw he was using his left hand.

“Finally took my advice?” You asked, pouring him a cup of tea.

“Regretting it.” He doesn’t look up from his task as he answers, something you noticed he always did. “It’s been three days since I took your advice and my handwriting’s shittier than it was then.”

You smile, hand reaching out to hold his incomplete one that was clenched into a fist on the desk. He immediately stops writing, opting to instead stare at your hand atop his before glancing up at you.

“What are you doing?”

“Making you relax. You might tear your stitches.”

He feels you give his hand a gentle squeeze, and the warmth of your hand is suddenly gone from his own. You reach for the cup of tea you prepared, and he wills his cheeks to not show his blush at the small gesture. You slide the teacup across the table.

“What makes you think holding my hand will make me relax?” He asks snarkily. He reaches for the tea with his good hand.

“Are you relaxed?”

Levi ponders the question in his mind, noticing how his muscles were no longer tense, his shoulders were now slumped down, and his eyebrows were no longer scrunched. He sips the tea.

“Your brew’s still shit.” He replies instead.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I came here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

Your head peaks out from behind his door as you enter, closing it with your foot and making your way to his desk. You were no longer surprised when you saw him still writing and scribbling messily at his desk as he’s done for days now, and you discreetly eye the papers as you pour him his tea.

“You don’t have to keep bringing me tea.” He comments, still focused on writing.

“I know.” You reply. “But how am I going to perfect your brew if I don’t practice?”

Levi glances up, and he raises his eyebrow as he sees you sat on his table, a cheeky grin on your face. He makes no move to scold you for being so casual in his office and instead reaches out to take a sip of the tea. He notices your expectant eyes, the grin on your face widening as he nods in approval.

“Your tea’s not bad today.”

“Really?! You think it’s good?”

“I said not bad, I didn’t say it was good.”

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

The first thing you noticed as you entered Levi’s office was, of course, the scattered paper around his desk, face focused as he continued to practice his writing. The second thing you noticed was that he was no longer using his left hand.

“It’s barely been two weeks. Did you give up already?” You ask as you pour his tea.

“I write better with my right hand.” He simply replies, not even glancing up as you slide him the beverage. He uses his good hand to reach out for the cup, silently preparing his tongue for another unpleasant attack.

He takes a sip and his eyebrows shoot up from surprise. The tea was... delicious, absolutely delicious, and Levi couldn’t find anything to complain about. The temperature was right, it wasn’t too bitter but wasn’t too sweet, and the aroma was delectable. He takes a sip once more to double check if his taste buds were deceiving him, but the second sip was just as good as the last.

His suspicious eye makes contact with yours, a shit eating grin painted on your face as you eagerly awaited his feedback. The porcelain makes a sound as he sets it down.

“You bought this from the tea shop across the barracks. That’s cheating.”

“For fuck’s sake!”

Three soft knocks reverberate through the door to Levi’s office. The captain hastily hides the papers with your name scribbled on, shoving them inside his desk drawer. A shiny glint catches his eye before he could close the shelf and he pauses as he realizes it was his mirror. He hadn’t taken it out in a while. He was always too distracted with criticizing your piss poor tea to even think about his appearance.

“Name and business.” He calls out, still eyeing the shiny object.

“Hange Zoe. Y/N asked me to do your daily checkup.”

Levi's eyes widened, heartbeat stopping for a second as he heard Hange’s voice. Where were you?

“Come in.” He closes the drawer as the door opens and Hange walks in. 

Levi couldn’t help but notice that he was becoming uncomfortable the closer his friend got; skin prickling, hands sweating, his collar feeling a little too tight. Little by little getting more conscious of himself as Hange walked closer.

Was this what insecurity felt like?

He briefly wonders why he didn’t feel it with you, but his mind answers him with a simple fact: you were the only person who’s seen him mangled and bruised, and each time, you showed nothing but gentleness and care. Yet even with this knowledge, the notion that a person other than you would be doing his checkup today didn’t sit right with him.

He pushes his discomfort to the back of his mind, telling himself to remain objective. But it didn’t stop him from subconsciously adjusting his eyepatch and hiding his incomplete hand underneath the desk. He eyes the tray in Hange’s hands, spotting the kettle and teacup.

“I don’t want your shitty tea.”

Hange doesn’t look up as they pour him a cup, humming a tune Levi doesn’t recognize as they hand him the warm beverage.

“It’s not my shitty tea.” They reply. “It’s Y/N’s shitty tea. They made you a batch before they left for the mission.”

Levi’s good hand pauses for a brief second as he reaches for the cup, mind still processing the fact that Hange said Y/N and mission. You hadn’t mentioned anything to him, and since he wasn’t allowed paperwork duty until he could write legibly, he wasn’t aware of any missions.

“I see.” He takes a sip, and he immediately squints his eyes in doubt once his tongue caught taste of the flavor. “This isn’t Y/N’s tea.”

Hange looks up from the clipboard they were writing on, eyebrows are arched in curiosity. “What?”

“This isn’t Y/N’s tea. This is from the tea shop down the road.”

Hange’s confused face stays still for a few seconds, silently assessing whether Levi was being serious or not. A smile cracks on their face, turning into a grin as small chuckles left their lips, before finally turning into full blown laughter. The captain waits for the eccentric soldier to stop cackling and start explaining, but Hange’s answer only serves to confuse him more.

“Nice try, shorty. You crack me up.”

Levi ignores the remark about his height. “What do you mean?”

“Y/N owns the tea shop down the road. Made the recipe for the black tea you love so much, even.”

The captain’s good eye twitches, and if Hange notices, they don't comment. Levi takes a sip of the tea once more, a little more doubtful this time, before sighing in content as the drink makes its way down his throat.

“Why did Y/N go on the mission? I thought they were to be my caretaker until further notice.” He chooses to ask, placing the cup down and pretending to busy himself as he absentmindedly starts practicing his writing.

“Y/N is our topic medic, their skills are more valuable on the battlefield than in an office with you.” They reply, and the captain pretends that the truthfulness of the statement doesn’t sting the slightest.

“Besides,” Hange pulls out white gloves from their pockets, sliding the cloth over their hands to prepare for the checkup. “Y/N personally asked to be reassigned.”

Levi sputters and chokes on his tea at the sudden revelation, and he feels Hange’s hand patting his back as he tries to compose himself. You asked to be reassigned? But why?

“Why?” He manages to choke out before once more descending into a coughing fit. Hange silently hands him a napkin.

“They didn’t say.”

Perhaps you were done with his incessant criticizing of your tea making skills (if so, then why’d you keep brewing him a crappy batch? Clearly you could’ve made good tea whenever you wanted.) Perhaps you grew tired of watching over him everyday when you could’ve been attending to more injured soldiers in the medical wing or the battlefield. Or perhaps you felt a little cooped up in the office with him, hating that you were confined when you could’ve gone on missions to help the wounded.

Whatever your reason may be, Levi finally gets himself to stop coughing and wipes his mouth. Any questions he had, he would ask you. For now, he pushes his feelings to the back of his mind to ask a more important question.

“Why are you here and not on the expedition, Commander?”

Hange shrugs.

“I wanted to bond over eyepatches with you.”

Levi was trying, okay? He was really trying.

But god, the new caretaker assigned to him was nothing short of a complete and utter noob. His bandages were always either too loose or too tight, his touches every time he tried to inspect Levi’s scars were always an ironclad grip, and worst of all, his tea was pure and utter shit.

“Watch it!” Levi barks, and his caretaker jumps about two feet away from him at his yell. “What’re you trying to do?! Are you inspecting my broken ribs or trying to give me a broken rib?”

Oh, that too. His caretaker was the hands on type, something Levi wouldn’t have minded if not for the fact that his caretaker was also heavy-handed, and Levi had had enough of this bullshit.

“Stop it, just stop. Get out of my office, right now, and find me a new caretaker.”

“B-but, Captain, there’s no one else who can—“

His caretaker is cut off when he makes eye contact with the enraged captain. Levi’s eyebrows were knitted together in anger, and the glare on his left eye was nothing short of terrifying. The fact that he only had one good eye left did nothing to lessen the intimidation of his glare; if anything, it made it even more intimidating.

“I will not repeat my order. Go.”

The boy in front of him nods nervously, head bowed down and metaphorical tail tucked between his legs as he quickly scurries out of the room. Once Levi hears the soft click of the door shutting, he takes a deep breath and lets his body slump into his chair.

That was the fifth caretaker he’d kicked out this month. He wasn’t picky, he tells himself; he just had standards. Standards that apparently these damned amateurs they kept sending him couldn’t meet.

Briefly, his conscience contradicts him; the image of a certain top medic popping in his mind, one that he hadn’t spoken to in almost a month since they dropped him out of the blue. Maybe, just maybe, he was being picky. With a dash of passive aggressive and a sprinkle of butthurt. But Levi quickly brushes that thought aside when he remembers the incompetence of all his recent caretakers.

That was definitely it. He wasn’t petty, all his caretakers were simply idiots.

The captain hears three loud knocks on his wooden door, and he grits his teeth as he mentally prepares himself for whatever fuckery the clown caretaker they assigned to him was about to do this time. True to his words, Levi did end up breaking a rib from how heavy handed the last one was, and though he knew it was partially because his body was still quite fragile, it didn’t hurt his request for a new medic.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here to do your daily checkup.”

Levi feels his eyes widen and heart speed up, and he once again rushes to hide all the papers scribbled with your name as he shoves them into his desk drawer. He composes himself, trying to appear uninterested and professional as he speaks.

“Come in.”

The door squeaks open and Levi doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes soften and his shoulders slump in relief as he sees the familiar sight of you. A soft smile dawned on your face as you gently kicked the door close, walking towards his desk and setting down the tray you held in your hands.

“Heard you fired everybody who came after me.” You mused, eyes teasing as you poured him a cup of tea. He didn’t think he’d miss someone pouring him a cup of tea as much as he did now.

“Their tea was shit.” He replies, taking a sip of the warm beverage and holding back his sputter at the god awful taste. “Yours is too.”

You chuckle, picking up the clipboard and pen to start writing for today’s checkup. “Can’t help that I suck at brewing tea.”

“You don’t have to keep making me shit tea anymore. The secret’s out.”

You freeze in your spot, eyes widening for a fraction of a second before you nervously clear your throat. Levi definitely noticed.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I know you own the tea shop, Y/N. Stop lying.”

You let out an irritated sigh. “Hange told you, didn’t they?”

“Yep.” He replies, popping the ‘p’.

I’m going to fucking kill Hange, you think to yourself, silently gathering your composure once more. Levi watches you intently, continuing to sip on the terrible tea before deciding that he’d assaulted his taste buds enough and placing it down.

“Why’d you do it?” You hear him ask. “And don’t lie to me. You’re not the only one who’s gotten better at spotting lies.”

Why’d you brew shitty him tea? Is he that affected by it?

Your reply was already on the tip of your tongue, head glancing up from your clipboard to say your answer. But your words don’t come out and your mind suddenly cleared when you saw the look in his eye.

Levi’s eyes were nothing short of gorgeous; a beautiful gunmetal gray with a gaze deadly enough to kill a man with one mere look. But right now, even though they were schooled into his usual look of disinterest, you could see him... wavering. A mix of unanswered questions, curiosity, and— for the briefest second you swore you saw— hurt.

“I take it you’re not asking me why I brewed you crappy tea for the past three months?”

Levi clicks his tongue in irritation. “No, you idiot. I’m asking you why you left out of the blue. If you had a problem you could’ve brought it up with me—“

“No!” You quickly interrupt. “No, god no, you’re perfect.”

The captain’s eyes widen, and you suddenly realize the words you’d spoken as you quickly try to explain before Levi could interject.

“There was no problem, okay? I didn’t request to be reassigned because I had a problem. It’s quite the opposite, actually.” You murmur.

He eyes you curiously.

“What do you mean?”

“I think I have a solution. May I?” You gesture, asking if you could sit on his desk. Levi nods, not understanding why you needed permission now when you’ve done it of your own volition countless times before, but he suddenly understands when you sit directly in front him and not across from him like you usually would.

He watches as you pull a small brown box from your jacket, placing it down onto his desk before opening it. Levi is quiet as he eyes the item inside.

“It’s just a prototype for now. I was hoping to carve out a better one in my free time, one that would be a custom fit, but my free time kinda went flying out the window when you started firing people left and right until no one would accept you but me.”

You pick up the wooden prosthetic fingers and gently place them onto his desk. Your hand opens palm up, waiting for Levi to be comfortable enough to lend his hand to you, and he does so silently.

“The prosthetic’s made from redwood and the joints are connected by small metal rods. It’s light and durable, and I weatherproofed it so it wouldn’t break down so easily when you use them.” You explain, unwrapping the bandages around his hand. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out the concept, actually. I just took a pair of standard issue Survey Corps gloves and cut out all the fingers. Then, y’know, attached the wooden fingers to where the pointer and middle should be.”

Levi could only nod. You weren’t sure if his silence was good or bad and you couldn’t read his look. But Levi— Levi was speechless. In his mind, he dared not speak in fear of looking like a fool. Especially not in front of the person who gave back a piece of himself (quite literally, at that.)

He tenderly looks at the way you fitted the prosthetics onto his own hand, fastening brown leather straps around his wrists to secure the glove. The minute the glove is on and he sees all five fingers for the first time since the explosion, he feels like he’s about to cry.

“I had Hange help me with the anatomy so you could still bend them as you would normal fingers. I couldn’t figure out how to make them move on their own though, so you’d have to manually do that yourself.”

To demonstrate, you bend one of the prosthetics, the wood imitating the bend of his finger but not springing back up despite his brain commanding it to do so. You watch intently as he fumbles around with his hand, moving the fingers about. The wonder and astonishment in his usually unimpressed eye didn’t go unnoticed by you, and it spurred  you to continue on.

“Unfortunately, it’s not strong enough to flick the switches on ODM gear. You still have to relearn how to hold your blades when you’re cleared for training again.” You say regrettably. “But it’s strong enough to hold a pen.”

Your hand reaches for the forgotten quill across his desk, dipping it in the inkwell before offering it to him with a small smile. Levi slowly takes it, still speechless, as he readjusts his prosthetic to hold the quill and write.

His writing is still shit, undoubtedly; still no better than chicken scratches as he messily writes down the words. But god, the sight of the indiscernible handwriting next to five fingers brought tears to his eyes as he finally finished writing his name. The slightly legible letters of ‘Levi Ackerman’ stared back at him.

Levi couldn’t hold it back anymore. He immediately set the quill down before standing up to engross you in a warm embrace. You tense in his arms, not used to Levi willingly initiating any form of physical touch at all. But as he tucks his head into the curve of your neck and his shoulders start shaking, splotches of wet dripping onto your collarbones, you feel your arms encircle his waist, bringing him closer as you whisper sweet nothings into his ear and let him cry in peace.

Your hands ran through his scalp, willing him to calm down. Though normally the sight of a crying Captain Levi was something you never thought you’d see, you couldn’t help but feel honored he chose to share this rare moment of vulnerability with you.

You let him cry, still holding onto him, giving him his time. Briefly, you wonder what he was thinking. What pushed him to tears? Did the captain ever let himself mourn his losses? Does he mourn his friends, his family, the little pieces of himself that he’d lost along the way?

Though you had a million questions in your mind you dared not pry as you continued to comfort the weeping man in front of you.

Finally, after a few moments of nothing but silent sniffles and your sweet words, Levi finds it in himself to finally speak.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

Night had fallen around the base, encasing the world in darkness that beckons slumber. Levi continued to stay awake, still in his office, staring at the prosthetic you had given him hours before.

Curiously, he feels himself form his right hand into a fist, not surprised that the two wooden fingers didn’t comply like the rest. It was imperfect and he himself thought it could use some tiny adjustments for the sake of comfort— something he definitely would bring up to you as requested.

And yet, despite knowing his ‘fingers’ were nothing but wood, leather and metal, he couldn’t help but think it was the best thing he could ever ask for. 

Silently, under the lone glowing light of his oil lamp, Levi pulls out a blank sheet of paper and begins to turn his feelings into thoughts, thoughts into words, and words into sentences as his quill meets the white surface.

Hours later, he finds himself in front of your quarters, a candle in his left hand while his right held a pristine white envelope. The envelope containing unsaid words, unspoken wishes, and hidden feelings.

Your eyes are sleepy when you answer the door, half lidded and hair a mess when his knocks had woken you from your slumber. You rub your eye, adjusting to the light as you stare at the person in front of you.

“Captain?” You ask, stifling a yawn. “What’re you doing here so late?”

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he opts to look at you with an unreadable expression as he asks, “Can I come in?”

You stare at him for a few seconds more, and the thought of you slamming the door on his face crossed Levi’s mind; but that didn’t happen. Rather, you nodded and ushered him inside your bedroom, closing the door behind him as you once again flopped onto your bed. 

He places the candle down on your bedside table and now he was unsure what to do. He had a plan— or, he thought he had a plan— but awkwardly standing in your room in the middle of the night wasn’t part of it.

Quietly, you chuckle at the sight of Humanity’s Strongest looking so odd and out of place, unsure and slightly panicked. You pat the spot next to you, inviting him to sit, and he complies.

Both of you had your knees pulled up to your chests and you were thankful when you noticed Levi had taken his shoes off before sitting on the bed. A comfortable silence encompasses the atmosphere in the dimly lit room. Shoulders touching, heads not daring to turn because of the close proximity. 

From the corner of your eye, Levi looked like he was deep in thought. Not the kind you saw plenty of times in the battlefield or in strategy meetings, not the kind you saw when you entered his office as he hastily tried to hide his mirror. But the kind you saw when he quietly suffered through his own living hell. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask, finally breaking the silence. He shakes his head. 

“Well, what brings the mighty Captain Levi to my humble little room?”

“Levi.” 

“What?”

“Call me Levi.” He murmurs, downcast staring intently at the envelope on his lap. “In this room, I’m not your captain. I’m not your patient. I’m not Humanity’s Strongest.”

You feel your eyebrows scrunch as surprise and curiosity paint your face, but not because of the captain’s offer to call him so casually. No— the surprise you showed was because he unclasped the prosthetic you made, not even sparing it a second glance as he carelessly threw it to you, and you barely managed to catch the limbs you’d spent countless hours and sleepless nights to create.

“Levi, what are you—“

“But I’m not a broken teacup for you to fix either.” He says, eyeing the stumps on right hand. “I’m not a doll who’s missing some parts. I’m not a charity case accepting donations.”

You were looking at him now, head turned in his direction as he unclasps his eyepatch and lets it fall onto his lap. He raises his head, eyes making contact with yours.

“I’m just Levi.”

A few moments of silence pass but neither of you look away. The reason why the captain continued to stare wasn’t something you knew. But the reason why you never looked away was because of his eyes. 

Levi’s eyes were still as gorgeous as you remembered them to be. Though his right eye was a different shade from his left, a lighter and paler shade of gray; though it lacked the light and emotions his unharmed eye bore; though it had a jagged scar running through it from where he was hit, you couldn’t help but think that his eyes were still the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen.

Gingerly, you lift up your hand to touch the right side of his face where his battle wounds lie, the prosthetic forgotten as it falls somewhere in the sheets. He doesn’t flinch like he did the first few times you did it, when you reached for his face during checkups to inspect his scars. But it didn’t stop you from asking.

“May I?” 

Levi doesn’t answer. Instead, he brings your hand to rest on his cheek as his head leaned closer to your touch. His eyes closed momentarily, almost as if he were reveling in your warmth. But they opened once more, and you willed yourself not to get lost in the sea of gray.

“You were never a charity case to me, Levi. Or any of the things you just said.”

“Then what am I to you?”

Your heart stops, eyes widening ever so slightly at his question. Would you tell him? No, you couldn’t. Not when—

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N.” His grip on your hand tightens a bit, not enough to hurt but enough to distract you from your thoughts. You realize the hand that held your own against his cheeks was his broken hand, his mutilated hand.

...would you really tell him?

You sigh, eyes finally leaving his. “You’re just another soldier who got hurt from a battle, asking a medic to take the pain away.”

Your hand slips out of his grip and goes back to your side, and you turn away from him once more. 

“Are you lying?” He asks.

“No.”

“Then look into my eyes and tell me what I am to you.”

“I can’t.”

Your voice cracks ever so slightly, hesitant but determined to stick to your words. And Levi knew that he was never going to get an answer. He sighs, shoulders slumping down in defeat. It was now his turn to look away from you, gaze falling to his lap. The envelope holding the letter crinkles and he’s reminded why he’s here.

“I know.” He whispers back. “But do me a favor.”

He doesn’t look your way as he hands you the letter. He doesn’t look your way when you silently took it, eyeing the red wax seal that bore his initials, fingers tracing over the edges before—

“Don’t open it yet. Open it tomorrow morning before you come in for my checkup.”

You only nodded in response. You reached out, placing the envelope on your bedside table before once again sitting next to Levi. Just as you had started, a comfortable silence blankets the atmosphere. Shoulders touching, heads not daring to turn because of the proximity.

But this time, it was he who breaks the silence.

“I don’t know what the future holds.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know what the future holds.” He repeats. “I could die in action tomorrow and be one of the bodies they wheel back from war, or you could die trying to save someone in the battlefield. Even if neither of us die tomorrow, there’s always a possibility that we’ll die the day after that. And the day after that and the day after that. Such are the risks of our jobs.”

He takes a deep breath. “But tonight, I don’t want to focus on tomorrow. I don’t want to focus on what the future holds. I don’t want to focus on titans or enemy troops or looking after my team.”

“Then what do you want?” 

“You.” 

Your eyes soften. “But what am I to you?”

You didn’t know what to expect, what his answer may be. But you know you didn’t expect it when Levi’s fingers gently grabbed your chin and coaxed your head to look in his direction. You didn’t expect it when you opened your eyes and met his, his warm palm resting on your cheek. And what you didn’t expect most was for his eyes to look at you with so much love, so much care and adoration. Gone were the facades of boredom and disinterest; the stoicness and detachment they always seemed to reflect. All there was left was softness, warmth, and what seemed to be the unmistakable swirls of vulnerability.

“You’re just another medic too busy putting other peoples’ lives before your own.”

“Are you lying?” 

“No.” He whispers. “But you make me want to plan for a future I know we won’t have— a future we can’t have.” 

And for the first time, you knew he meant it. You knew what he meant. 

In your line of work full of death and violence and risks almost too big to take. In what you once thought was your little world, turning out to be too big for you to handle. In your personal brand of hell where tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed, and loss was the only constant— it was enough. This small moment was enough.

“You have the most beautiful eyes.” You whispered, entranced. A soft chuckle leaves Levi’s lips, eyes turning into crescent moons so fitting of his gray orbs and your heart twitches at the sight and sound of his melodious laughter.

His thumb brushes over your cheek and your eyes meet his once again, the beautiful shades of gray staring you back. You didn’t know who did it first but at this point you didn’t care enough to find out because slowly, you both leaned in. Slowly, you both closed your eyes. And slowly, you both tilted your heads.

He pauses.

“May I?” Levi asks, lips merely inches away from yours. You nod.

“You may.”

And suddenly, the distance between your lips was no more.

There were no fireworks, no explosions in your heart or butterflies in your belly. There was no feeling of cloud nine, no feeling of want or need. There was only warmth in your chest, the feeling of a small fireplace crackling and glowing in the coldness of the night. The feeling of warm sheets and warm bodies cuddled up in an embrace.

Home. 

The feeling of home.

Because that’s what you were to Levi, and what Levi was to you.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your routine checkup.”

“Come in.”

As the door opens and you set the tray down on his desk, hands gently holding the kettle to pour him his cup of tea, you noticed that Levi was still trying to write. But what caught your attention wasn’t the fact that it was no longer his name he tried to scribble, opting to write down complete sentences. What caught your attention was that he was wearing his prosthetics, and his eyepatch wasn’t on.

“Did you read the letter?” He asks. His hands were still writing and his eyes were still staring at the papers in front of him. But you could tell he was anxious.

“Yes.” You simply reply, and he nods.

“Good.”

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[matwith1t]

A/N: More fluff!! Ahh!! And a request?! 😱  Thank you to the anon who sent it in! Please enjoy some boyfriend Mat content!! Feedback is my favorite thing in the world and I’d love to know every detail of your thoughts!! Thanks a million for all of your kind reblogs/messages/tags about my previous writings 🥺  It means the absolute world to me 🥺  Requests are still open!!! Send ‘em my way if you have any 😎

Request: Mat Barzal taking care of a sick girlfriend !!! Fluffy mat is superior… In which you’re sick and Mat takes care of you.

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂 | Mat Barzal x Reader

Warnings: throwing up // WC: 2.4K // Fluff

Waking up with an excruciating pounding sensation right in the middle of your forehead was less than ideal. And the sun peaking through the slits of the blinds made it even worse. But the one thing that made the headache pain––and the bile churning in your stomach––a little less dull, was the feeling of your boyfriend’s arm around your waist, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

You tried your hardest to concentrate on the soft breaths that came from Mat’s slightly parted lips that fanned your neck. Tried your hardest to concentrate on his hand that slightly squeezed your waist, his telltale sign that he was waking up. And tried your hardest to keep your eyes shut as Mat slid one of his legs between yours.

“Morning,” Mat mumbled as he placed a soft kiss on the base of your neck.

But even that wasn’t enough to stop the discomfort in your stomach as you felt an increase of saliva in the back of your mouth.

Hastily, you threw the sheets off you and stumbled out of bed.

The bathroom door was left wide open and ran as fast as you could to the toilet. And once the lid of the toilet was up, your head faced downward into the bowl, you emptied out the contents of your stomach from the night before. The ugly sound of bile coming up through your esophagus was one you tried your hardest to keep quiet, but it was no use as it echoed off the bathroom walls.

Not even a minute after you bolted into the bathroom alone, you felt a presence behind you. Mat ran his fingers slowly up and down your spine, as his other hand made sure there were no loose strands of hair in front of your face. You clutched the outer rim of the toilet and he was silent as he just offered up his presence.

You felt moisture in the corner of your eyes from squeezing them so tight. But after a few deep breaths, and the wave of nausea floating away, you closed the lid of the seat and flushed the toilet. With your arms on the lid of the toilet, the porcelain felt cool on your skin.

Tilting your head to the side, so that your cheek rested on your arm, you looked up at Mat who had his eyebrows pulled together in worry, “Morning to you too.”

Mat rolled his eyes and let out a soft laugh at your late response to his morning greeting. With his fingers still stroking your spine, he gave you a sympathetic smile, “Feeling better?”

“No.”

At your honest answer, Mat let out another laugh as he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “Let’s get you back to bed.”

With a groan, you told him you wanted to brush your teeth first. So he grabbed you a new toothbrush, and after you brushed your teeth, you sluggishly made your way back to his bed. The lingering pressure of your headache was still present, so you wrapped yourself up in his blankets and buried your head into the pillow he slept on last night.

You felt a dip in the mattress next to where you laid curled up, and then felt a hand slowly rub your shoulder, “Do you want anything to eat? Toast always makes me feel better after I’m sick.”

The thought of putting any food into your stomach at the moment made you even more nauseous than you were a few moments ago. So you shook your head no.

“Tea?” He offered.

Again, you shook your head.

“Water? Or––”

“I just want to sleep,” your voice was muffled as you spoke into the pillow. But you knew Mat heard you when he squeezed your shoulder.

You didn’t want to admit it, but part of you was embarrassed with yourself throwing up in front of Mat. Sure, he was your boyfriend and had most likely seen you in worse situations, but the sudden sickness came out of nowhere. And there was part of you that wanted to be left alone––to sit with your embarrassment until it passed like the nausea––but when you felt his hand retract from your shoulder, you wished his touch didn’t go away.

As Mat stood up, the dip in the mattress was no longer present, and for the third time in the morning, he pressed a gentle kiss on your temple, “Alright.”

You heard his footsteps softly trek out of his room, and you so badly wanted to reach out and ask him to stay. Because you knew that he had the capability to make you feel like the stomach bug would pass instantly, but the logical part of you let him walk away. If he were to get sick, that wouldn’t go over so well with hockey.

Ten minutes later, you heard the door slightly creek open. You barely lifted your head up from the pillow to see Mat walking towards you with a steaming cup of tea and thermometer in his hand. He set the mug of tea down on his nightstand and sat down on the side of the mattress, next to you.

Mat tapped the thermometer on your cheek, “Open up.”

But like before, you just shook your head no, “We already know I’m sick.”

“I just want to know if you have a fever,” he whispered just as soft as the look in his eyes. You didn’t want to have your temperature taken, but when you opened your eyes more and saw his messy hair sticking up in a few directions, affectionate eyes wide in a silent plea, paired with the softest smile you had ever seen, you opened your mouth. Triumphantly, his smile widened as he placed the thermometer under your tongue, “There we go.”

The faint beep of the thermometer working to take your temperature sounded louder in the silence. But when it rang a few times, signaling it was done, you crossed your eyes to see if you could see the final temperature. But Mat had taken the stick out of your mouth and grimaced.

“One-oh-one point eight.”

With a groan, you buried your head back into the pillow, “See, I told you––”

“I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t a super high fever,” Mat spoke in a caring voice as he caressed your cheek, “I’m going to pick some stuff up from the store. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

Before he could turn away, a whine left your lips as you rolled over and took hold of his wrist, “Don’t go.”

He bent down so he was eye level with you and rested his palm on your forehead, “You’re burning up. I promise it’ll be the fastest trip ever, you won’t even know I’m gone.”

With a hmpf, you let go of his wrist and curled yourself back into a fetal position to stop the chills running through your body. You heard Mat let out a chuckle as he bent down to press another kiss to your temple as he whispered another promise to be back soon.

You tried your best to get some sleep, but with your body chills soon turning into body aches, it was pointless. And with the headache pain still looming about, you didn’t want to scroll through your phone. So you stared up at Mat’s ceiling, and tried to count up to the highest number you could.

You didn’t know what number you were on, but it was long forgotten when you heard his front door open and the rattling of bags together. And soon enough, you saw Mat in the doorway––both hands holding onto plastic pharmacy bags––and couldn’t help but smile.

“I’ll be in soon,” he mirrored your smile, “Promise.”

With a nod, you fell back onto the pillow as a chill ran down your spine. And while you wished he would’ve been back with you sooner, he didn’t break his promise. Because soon enough, Mat pushed the door open with his hip and closed it with the back of his foot. And you would’ve taken a picture of him if the harsh brightness of your phone screen didn’t cause your head to feel like it was splitting in half.

In his right hand, he held a steaming hot bowl of broth. In his left hand, he held a few packages of over the counter medication. Under his chin, pressed in between his chest, he clutched a few magazines, pencils, and word search books. And over his left shoulder hung a heavy blanket.

You felt your shoulders drop at how adorable he looked waddling over to your side of the bed. First, he set the steaming bowl of broth down next to the mug of lukewarm tea. Then, he set the medication down in a pile on the bed. After that, he brought both hands up to successfully take the magazines and word search books out from under his chin without them falling to the ground. And then finally, he shrugged the blanket off his shoulder so that it landed on your face.

“Sorry,” Mat chuckled as you pushed the blanket away. “I called my mom,” he said as he put the puzzle books on his nightstand to sit on the edge of the bed, “She said broth would help you feel better. And told me what medicine to get.”

The explosion of love you felt in your chest was stronger than the sharp pain that shot through your head.

“And I got us a few puzzle books,” he picked up a neon blue book, “I figured it would hurt to look at your phone or any screen, so no Netflix today for us.” He plopped the book down back on the nightstand as he picked up the bowl of broth.

Slowly, you pushed yourself up by your forearms and leaned against the headboard, “For us?”

Mat nodded his head as he stared into the broth, concentrating harder than any person should as they stirred liquid, “Yeah, I don’t want to do anything that would make you feel even worse, so no screens,” he looked up at you and shrugged his shoulders, “I like word searches.”

You let out a small laugh and tilted your head slightly out of admiration for the man sitting in front of you, wondering how on earth you got so lucky.

“And I saw you curl up before I left,” he directed his eyes to the blanket on your lap, “So I figured you needed to be warmer.”

You didn’t think you could love him––or any other person––more than you did in this moment.

“I love you,” you voiced the thought that circled around your mind on repeat.

Like every time Mat heard those three words from your lips, a wide and contiguous smile lit up his face, “I love you, too,” Mat affirmed his love for you as he shoveled up some liquid onto the spoon. You could see a few steam clouds from the spoon, but Mat softly blew on it to cool it down, “Open up.”

He was just as persistent with the broth as he was the thermometer. But like before, you shook your head, “You don’t need to feed me.”

Mat dropped his shoulders, as he jutted out his bottom lip, “Just one spoonful––”

You continued to shake your head, “I’m not hungry.”

Mat rolled his eyes and brought the spoon closer to your face. He let out a deep sigh as you recoiled away, “Please.” But you shook your head no. At your adamance of not wanting Mat to feed you, he let out a deep sigh, “If I give you the bowl, will you eat some?”

While you weren’t hungry in the slightest, the thought of food didn’t make your skin crawl as much as it did before when he offered you toast. Wordlessly, you took the bowl from Mat after he set the spoon in it. And to make him happy, you took three sips of the broth he made for you.

With a satisfied smile, Mat took the blanket and spread it on top of the other blankets you were already swamped under. And with a neon blue word search book, Mat climbed over you to get to the other side of the bed. Once he was next to you under the covers, he leaned his back on the headboard as he grabbed a pencil and opened the book.

Your eyebrows were raised high, an amused expression on your face as you let out a single breathy chuckle through your nose. The sound caused Mat to peer up at you and raise his eyebrows at you, “Yeah?”

“Aren’t you afraid of getting sick?”

Mat let out a pft sound, “It can’t be anything worse than what I could get in the locker room.”

Sinking down into the bed, you brought the multiple blankets you were buried under up under your chin, as you laughed so hard it caused your head to hurt. But the joy you felt course through your body almost made you forget about your body aches. And with Mat’s casual dismissal of whatever virus infected your body, he lifted his arm up for you to come right up next to him.

Happily, you rested your head on his warm chest and looped an arm around the front of his stomach the same time his arm curled around your neck. While it was a little difficult for Mat to complete his word searches, he assured you that he had grabbed the advanced copy so he spent more time than he would’ve liked to find the words.

In record time of shutting your eyes, you fell fast asleep without having to stare up at the ceiling to count up to an obscene number.

While you felt like a brand new person a week later, Mat had started to get the chills and a runny nose. And the day after his first symptoms appeared, he kicked the bedsheets off early in the morning––just like you had––and made a mad dash to the bathroom.

And when Mat called out of practice that morning, he said that he had probably caught something from the locker room.