#right as I was drinking my tea and being an anxiety mess

[sometimes-i-write-good]

5 + 1

Top Gun: Maverick - Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x f!pilot reader (callsign: Fallbeil)

4.4k || 5 times Bob remembers your little quirks and habits, and 1 time you remember his. 

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Genre: Fluff, crushing, love confessions

CW: mentions of drinking, swearing

Author’s Note: Bob is such an acts of service kind of person - I can feel it deep in my soul. Also, I thought the idea of him ending up with someone who has a scary ass callsign like Guillotine (which is Fallbeil in German) despite him being a cinnamon roll would be the funniest thing in the world. || cross-posted on ao3

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The first time you noticed something was because Hangman had that stupid ass look on his face again. That same one he always had, the only one he had in all honesty. The one that, recently, only ever seemed to be directed at you and that pissed you off most of all. 

“What?” He asked, but the smirk pulling his lips back into the stupid, smug fucking smile told you clearly: he knew exactly what.

“Leave her alone, Bagman. I’m not in the mood today,” Rooster said, and you could tell he meant it. HIs voice sounded surprisingly tired considering mornings were his prime time of existence. Maverick insisted on calling these meetings earlier and earlier, chinking away at everyone's stability, and it was proving to be too much for even the earliest of risers. 

Hangman scoffed, pressing his hand to his chest, and feigning offense. “Why am I always the bad guy? What if today was the day Fallbeil finally snapped and did something to me instead?” 

You rolled your eyes. “If I snapped, you wouldn’t be holding a conversation with me. Your head wouldn’t even be attached to your body.” 

“Living up to your name as always, doll.” 

Rooster slid into one of the empty chairs at the conference table, slapping down a notebook, and turned to look at you. “I’ll punch him if you want.” 

“I’m perfectly capable of throwing my own punches, thank you.” The look on Rooster’s face said he didn’t trust you not to take it too far. 

“And coffee mugs.” Hangman glanced over his shoulder; eyes trained on the spot where a cracked, open travel cup lay open. Opened and spilled, everywhere. “Which I managed to dodge.” 

“Try to dodge my-” but your insult was cut short by Rooster saying, “Coffee? You hate coffee.” 

You set your lips in a thin, embarrassed line. “He told me that it was tea.” 

“And you believed him?” Rooster snorted. 

You slunk back into your chair, crossing your arms with a pout. “It’s early! I’m basically the walking dead right now, birdbrain.” 

As with every mission of this sheer level of importance, your anxiety had been too great to let you sleep. Usually Bob or Phoenix or Rooster, the early risers of the group, would be up to go for a job or hit the gym with you. You were up well before all of them today and had taken it upon yourself to go for a run, shower, and be painfully early to this briefing. You had hoped Bob would be the first one there, he typically was, but the universe was out to get you because instead of those sweet, doe eyes behind some thick-lensed glasses all you got was a stupid pair of lips messing with a toothpick. 

“Don’t be too hard on, Rooster.” Phoenix called out, walking into the hangar with Fanboy, Payback, and Coyote in tow. “I already smoked him during our run this morning. He’s fragile.” 

Before Rooster could get all up in arms or Hangman could jump on a moment of vulnerability, Maverick walked in. He had his way to the head of the table while everyone else found their seats. “Good morning, everyone.” Tired, disjointed voices repeated the sentiment, pulling a smile onto Mav’s face. “I see we’re all ready for a busy day. What do you say we get started?” 

“Sorry, I’m late, sir!” Bob’s voice comes from behind you. “I couldn’t find the kettle.” 

Kettle, you thought to yourself, but Maverick just waved for him to sit down and continued talking. Before Bob headed over to the only open seat, by Hangman of all people, he placed a small cup of tea in front of you without a word. In your favorite mug, too. You brought it up to your lips to taste it… and it was perfect. Exactly the way you liked it. 

‘Thank you,’ you mouthed at him after he sat down. Bob just nodded and focused his attention on Maverick. You did the same, not even registering that he didn’t have a cup of anything for himself. 

–

The second time you noticed something nice Bob did for you was during poker night. Fanboy and Payback had decided tempting fate and coming out the other side had bonded you all for life. A point any of you could hardly disagree with. That mission was not something any of you were supposed to come back from. So, the idea of a movie night had been tossed around, but Payback always tried to guess the endings and Hangman tried to outdo the one-liners and Rooster just had to know if he knew that actor from another movie - needless to say, movie nights were shelved very fast. 

Then the idea of bar hopping came about, followed by karaoke night, followed by trivia night. Each of which ended up in all of you spending too much money on booze and drunkenly embarrassing yourselves with horrible vocals or blatantly wrong answers to obscure history questions. You all settled on the idea of a game night. It seemed to work well enough. A ‘family’ dinner followed by a board game. Except for the fact that Payback instead of placing bets no matter if it was CandyLand or Monopoly, which Coyote would double, and Hangman would triple. Leaving you all spending just as much money as you had at the bar. 

It was Bob who brought up the idea of having poker nights. Something with betting already designed into it so that none of you had to worry about emptying your bank accounts at the end of the night. That was the problem with setting elite competitors against one another, they never knew when to quit. 

You’d all been kept relatively close to TOPGUN, usually stationed a few hours away max. Months where distance wasn’t a problem, you all tried to meet once a week. If one of you weren’t stateside, then once a month worked just fine. Six months into poker nights so far and you’d been able to have at least one every month. Every time the list of things to bring shifted down a person, so that each time a new person would be in charge of chips or appetizers or the main entree, etc. It was a system that worked with military precision. 

Until the one time it didn’t. 

Bob was the last through the door of Payback’s small apartment. At least, it looked small with so many people crammed in there. “Here, I got special plates this time.” He raised them high above his head like a prize. Large, sturdy, and compartmentalized. Like the trays you’d get in the mess hall or for a school lunch. 

The statement caused immediate uproar.

“I was on plates and napkins!” Coyote said around a mouthful of sour cream and onion chips, brought by yours truly. And Hangman started making comments about how if no one was going to follow the list, then he wasn’t going to either. 

“You weren’t in charge of plates, Bob!” Fanboy tried his best not to get too worked up over it. He had created a spreadsheet of everyone’s responsibilities. Verifying everyone knew their roles was his main role in making sure this whole operation ran smoothly. “Please tell me you still brought dessert.” 

“I’ve got dessert. My grandma came out this weekend and made a peach cobbler.” 

The mention of his grandma’s baking ensured the pitchforks and torches were put away, for now. That woman had godly skills in the kitchen. You would gladly sit down and eat an entire cobbler of hers by yourself in one sitting.

Coyote, still hurt by his duty being impeded on, asked, “So then what are the plates for?” 

“Fallbeil doesn’t like when her food touches,” Bob said as though it were the most common knowledge in the world. “You guys always insist on getting plates that are way too small.” 

He set down the plates on the counter, followed by the pie, and went to take off his shoes and didn’t bring anything like that up again for the rest of the night. 

–

The third time you noticed something nice that Bob did for you was a day he had to leave early. A helicopter was coming to pick him and Phoenix up to take them overseas. Just for a few days, or so said those in charge, and you knew how easily a few days could change to a few weeks to a few months. 

The thought of possibly not seeing them for a while aggravated you. It meant being stuck on a ship hundreds of miles from the nearest shore without your two best friends. You’d known what you were signing up for when you first started. The military liked to keep their secrets. At any moment you could be swept away for a mission, but it still felt unfair when you woke up only to realize that your wingwoman and her WSO are replaced by strangers.

Back soon, take care. 

Not signed but the handwriting was so obviously Bob. Cursive with careful, purposeful loops. Hangman tried to tear him apart for taking so much care in his notes during the pre-briefs before the uranium mission. The insults died out fast once everyone realized he had chicken scratch for handwriting. Funny how spreading a rumor Hangman deserved the callsign Rooster over Bradley could put him in his place so quickly. 

Back soon, take care.

You stared at the sticky note, so carefully pressed against the outside of your locker. It was easy to imagine the conversation among him and Phoenix. 

“I’m leaving her a note.” 

“She’ll be fine, Bob. We’ve got to go.” 

“Four words.” 

He’d gotten into the habit of leaving sticky note updates in between lengthy letters. They held more emotion than an email or text, and you found that you liked it more than digital words on a screen. You could trace your fingers over each letter. Pretend as though he were pressed up in the seat next to you like when you’d go to the Hard Deck on a busy night and everyone would shove together in a few booths. A closeness you’d found yourself longing for in all moments spent together despite there being no reason for the two of you to share an armchair in the common room. 

You had crushes before. A few relationships littered your history of schooling, but you, like many others who had graduated from TOPGUN, assumed the sky was to be your first and only love. And then Bob showed up with his quiet, gentle ways and your heart would soar every time he walked into a room. There were days you went without talking, but you could count on some kind of a note to be waiting for you on your door or waiting for you on the control of your jet. 

Reminders that he was thinking of you. The way a best friend would. Surely. That’s all it had to be. No sense in constructing something out of nothing. Something that could wreck this perfect routine the two of you had created in one another’s lives. 

You peeled the sticky note off the front of your locker to place inside, out of harm's way. Your finger traced each letter. It was likely he and Phoenix were off somewhere with Coyote or Rooster or Hangman doing something far more dangerous than the intelligence patrol you’d been assigned to. As you swung open your locker, you wished you’d had enough sense to write him a letter before he’d left. Something reminding him and Phoenix to be safe, but you hadn’t known he was leaving. You hadn’t even let the thought cross your mind.

“Oh, Bob,” you sighed. 

A smile tugs its way onto your face. He’d left a mug in your locker. Not filled with tea this time, but with pens and highlighters and all your favorite stationary to use on your paperwork. You usually had a pencil case with you filled with pens that flowed smoothly and didn’t smudge or highlighters that didn’t bleed through the page.

He must have packed extra in his bag in case you’d forgotten that pencil case, which you had. But that wasn’t the best part. Somehow he’d managed to keep a rose alive and blooming to stick amongst the stationary. For, what it seemed to you, the sole purpose of making you smile. 

–

The fourth time you noticed something nice that Bob did for you was at Coyote’s birthday cookout. You were running late. Very late. More late than you’d ever been in your whole life to a point that you would have turned around if you could have, but you had been stuck on a highway without an exit for miles on end. The need to pee had never been stronger. 

Stuck in the literal sense. Construction fed into traffic fed into cars stopping for no reason at all fed into fender benders fed into your frustration. “Please just move!” You shouted at the trail of brake lights in front of you. All you had to do was make it to the next exit two miles away. 

But no one met your frustrated request. Instead, the standstill continued. You were destined to never arrive at this party. It had been weeks since you’d seen everyone together in one spot. Poker night had been postponed to tomorrow. Bound to be a dismal affair of hangovers and stale chips left out in bowls overnight. A slice of heaven on earth. Though, you would say that for just about anything if it meant being released from a fucking prison of a car. 

Your phone went off. The distinct sound of big band music filling your car. Bob’s ringtone. 

“Where are you?” His voice came through the other line at the same moment you shouted, “I want to rip my head off!” 

An amused chuckle filled your car which only caused you to fume further. “I’m serious, Robert. This two-hour drive has become four- maybe five. I lost count when I had to come to a full and complete stop for the three millionth time today. It would be so much easier if Coyote had a runway in his backyard. Then I could just fly there-”

“Fallbeil,” Bob cut in, “are you almost here?” 

“I’m a mile from my exit. I should be there in twenty. If I’m allowed to take my foot off the brake for more than a few seconds.” You let out a loud groan. “I’m going to stop at a gas station because I think my bladder might explode. So expect me in thirty actually-” 

Bob laughed and spoke once more, saving you from yet another breathless tangent. “I’m excited to see you.” 

You smiled to yourself. Grinning at the stopped cars in front of you like an idiot. “Yeah?” 

“Have I ever not been?” 

“I’m excited to see you too.” You could envision Bob’s own shy grin. No, you couldn’t hear the sounds of the party going on around him. He had closed himself off alone in a room to talk to you, which would mean the smile would be big and beaming. “Coyote enjoying himself?” 

“I think he might have cried when Natasha put on the birthday playlist she made for him.” 

“She’s good at that.” 

“Good?” Bob laughed. “She’s elite at it.” Then, after a moment of comfortable silence fell over the two of you he said, “Want me to stay on the phone until you show up?”  

If it were a normal poker night, you would have jumped on the offer. Phone calls with Bob had become a staple in that routine in one another’s lives. Letters and notes were not nearly enough to tide the two of you over. But today was a special occasion. 

“No,” you told him. “I’ll be there soon.” He deserved to go enjoy the party. Not be tied up in a phone call where you were bound to blow your lid if the car in front of you did not speed up. 

“Be careful. Drive safe.” The line clicked. 

Be careful, you turned the words over in your head wondering what they would sound like punctuated with a kiss every morning when you headed out the door. 

You turned down Coyote’s street, knowing exactly what you’d find. Cars taking every spot. Coyote was the most popular out of the crew. Charming personality, willingness to help everyone so much as passing by, and good looks. The combination needed for a party of the century. 

And the shouts of excitement that flowed from his backyard told you just that was happening. Without you, and it would continue to go on without you if you couldn’t find an open spot to park. Bob waited at the end of Coyote’s packed driveway, hands stuffed into his jeans. A surprising amount of muscle strained beneath the button up shirt he wore to every part. More cars shoved onto the asphalt and spilled over onto the lawn.

Bob waved, waited patiently for you to park the car in the middle of the street, and then came around to the driver's side of the car. “Hey,” he said as he popped open your door. “How was the drive?” 

You shot him a look. One that immediately set that bright, beautiful smile on his face. “Funny.” 

“Here, get out.” 

“What?”

“Get out. Go inside and say hi.” He leaned over to unbuckle you and the scent of his cologne tickled your nose. “I have a plate of food for you in the oven, on low so it stays warm. There’s one in the fridge too with the cold stuff.” 

“Bob-” 

“They’re all separated.” He waved you out of the car, grabbing your hand to help, and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I’m glad you’re here, Fallbeil.” 

You saw him again ten minutes later because he had to park two blocks away and walk back. 

–

The fifth time you really noticed Bob going out of his way for you was a few months into the two of you moving in together. Solely as roommates, two best friends making the most of a perfect situation. Rent was going up, you had an extra room, and Bob had just gotten hired as an instructor at TOPGUN. The timing couldn’t have been better. 

In truth, nothing could be better. The two of you fit perfectly into each other’s lives. Bob with his early habits. Having tea on the table for you alongside the crossword section of the newspaper he insisted on reading every morning. The hardest word always filled in as a starting point. He’d saved you the frustration of straining your mind over a word you couldn’t have dreamed up in the wildest corners of your imagination. 

The preference over sticky notes as communication over texts still remained the same. Left on the mirror in your shared bathroom always signed with “be careful” or “take care.” Sometimes there is nothing of importance to say, but Bob would write those two words anyway as a reminder. 

You’d leave voicemails if it was something that needed your immediate attention - talking on the phone to Bob became a bright spot in your week. You tried your hardest to leave them only for emergencies but hearing his voice every day had spoiled you. Sometimes your mind would lock on something you would absolutely have to tell him. Then you would find yourself pulling out your phone, typing in his number, and putting it away with a great sigh. You had planes to fly, he had students to teach, and the torture of being apart for a few hours each day made returning home to him all the sweeter. Returning home to movie nights or long walks on the beach or stories of students who remind Bob of each member of the Dagger Crew. 

Phoenix would crash often when she got called back to TOPGUN, and Bradley hung around often enough seeing that Mav and Penny had made their lives here. Everyone cycled through at some point. Even Hangman had a welcome place on your couch if he ever needed it. 

There was one night Jake had spent the night. Out of the blue and completely inconvenient as was the case with Hangman, but he offered to cook dinner while the two of you were at work and you came home to a good meal and surprisingly good company. What a sight to see the three of you laughing at a small table. 

You hadn’t minded Hangman staying over. Though he did scare the shit out of you when he knocked on your door and let himself into your room to talk. “You know he likes you,” he had said, perched on the corner of your bed with that same stupid ass look on his face that meant trouble. “I think he might even be in love with you.” 

“Bagman-” 

“Hey, I come in here to tell you some life-altering news and you start with insulting me.” Hangman had let out a low whistle. “Think about it, Fallbeil.” 

“What if it ruins everything? We’re doing so well.” 

“What if it changes everything for the better?” 

You hadn’t expected those words to play in your head as often as they did when Hangman finally left. It had been weeks since you’d last seen him. Poker night was tonight. He was hosting, and you had a feeling he was going to corner you with all sorts of questions as to if you’d made a move on Bob yet. A foolish notion. Bob might not be a skittish dog, but making a move on him still might cause spontaneous combustion. You were just trying to figure out which one of you it would be. 

What could be the right time to tell your best friend and roommate that you loved him? That you have always wanted to be more? 

You thought it over as you wiped sleep from your eyes and made your way into the bathroom. Bob had left earlier than usual this morning. It was a test day for the students and he was nothing if not prepared. Likely that kind, painfully chirpy teacher in the early hours of the day. 

There was a sticky note on the mirror. As expected. Longer than usual. Unexpected. 

Took your car this morning. Saw you needed an oil change. Be home late, then he can head to Bagman’s. Hope that’s okay. My keys are on the counter. Be safe. Love you.

You traced those last two words with the tip of your finger. It was the first time he’d added those two words. 

And they fit so naturally on the note. Like they always belonged there.

–

The one time (the first time) you realized you were going out of your way to do things because you loved Robert Floyd when you went into the mall with a head full of ideas to get for Rooster’s birthday and came out twenty minutes later with one thing. One thing not for Rooster. 

A model plane for Bob. Before he’d gotten so overwhelmed with his responsibilities at TOPGUN to cease having many hobbies, he’d built model planes. It’s what had gotten him into a love of planes. At least, that’s what he had told you one night at the Hard Deck, when the two of you were shoved up against one another. 

Growing up in a small midwestern farm town didn’t give him many chances growing up to be around planes, but he’d watch the ones that flew over crops with rapt interest. He memorized flight patterns, sat alongside fields, and watched them every chance he got. Then, in the late nights where he only had his imagination to keep him company, Bob built model planes and memorized their histories.

“I’ve always wanted to be around planes.” He had slurred the words a bit back then. One too many sips of beer between handfuls of peanuts. “I kept them around me as much as I could.” 

You hadn’t been able to figure out how crop planes became fighter jets in his history, but more stories came out as the two of you moved in together. Dismissive comments about school bullies. Talks about how he knew he wasn’t the strongest, but had always felt the need to prove himself. It seemed to fit into this idea people created of him - always a bit behind the rest. You respected him for sticking to what people told him he couldn’t do and making a name for himself in spite of it all. 

And you loved that he trusted you enough to bring you in on those hobbies of his. Building fighter jets in the low light of desk lamps and night lights. Reminding you of the purpose of each piece. Telling the history of each plane. But your favorite part of all was when the two of you would build a jet you were flying and he would include all your statistics, everything you’ve accomplished, and, when you caught him in rare form, things Bob imagined you would do that would etch your name into the very fabric of history. 

“Did you get a present for Bradley?” He asked, hearing the click of the door behind you. There was a rag thrown over his shoulder. Bob turned to face you with a smile. In the midst of cooking, glasses slightly fogged from whatever it was he was cooking, and your heart couldn’t take it. 

“N-no,” you said, tripping up on your words. “I, um, I forgot.” 

“But on the phone you said you couldn’t wait to show me what you got?” He tilted his head, watching as you kicked off your shoes, and placed your shopping bag on the table. “I hope you’re not trying to sign your name onto my gift, Fallbeil. I spent three months finding a vintage record of ‘Great Balls of Fire’ for him.” 

You smiled at his thoughtfulness. “No, Robert, I will not steal credit for your gift. He’ll know it’s from you anyway.” You took a deep, shaky breath. “I got something for you instead.” 

Bob’s brows scrunched in confusion. “Me, but it’s Bradley’s birthday?” 

You pulled the model F-18 from the bag and held it out towards him. Your hands shook slightly. Silly considering the two of you were always going out of your way to do things for each other. Plates and oil changes and parking cars. Small things. Nothing as momentous as a declaration of pure understanding of one another. 

He said your name with a softness you’d never heard before. As though he were praying. 

“I love you.” You said it at the same time as him. And the words fell so naturally from both your lips. Like they always belonged there.

===

ask and you shall receive (taglist): @whoeverineedtobe​ @dhwanishah09​

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Lyrics: Nothing fucks with my baby/Nothing can get a look in on my baby (NFWMB -Hozier)

Character: August Walker (maybe he’s mean but over protective)

Take Care of You

Warnings: needles, self-doubt, illness, and some possible unmentioned triggers.

Character: August Walker

Summary: You try to feel better with the help of your new boyfriend.

I hope I didn't go too far out to the left with his.

As always, I appreciate all kinds of feedback. A like and reblog means so much to me! <3

“Make sure you finish your tea, honey,” his deep voice rumbles through you, the heat between your palms seeping through the prevalent chill. “It’ll make you feel better.”

You groan and sink back into the pillows, cradling the porcelain as the steam wafts up your nose. You rest it daintily above your chest. “I don’t feel like I’ll ever be better, Auggy,” you moan, “every day, I just feel worse and worse.”

He gives a tight-lipped smile, bittersweet even. He brings his fingers up to tickle the hair above his lip. Your ears pulse and your bones ache. You’ve never felt this sort of fatigue. You’re exhausted yet all you do is sleep.

“You will, I know you will,” he sits on the edge of the bed, “but we gotta listen to the professionals, right? Dr. Kemp knows what he’s talking about, okay?”

“I’m so lucky,” you cough and your head lolls as you wet your dry tongue, “so lucky to have you here…” you lift your head and raise the mug shakily. You blow across the tea before sipping it. It’s stringent but soothing.

“Of course,” he takes the script from the night table. You remember Dr. Kemp, handsome with  a swoop in his hair. “I’m lucky to be here for you, you know that.”

“N-nooo,” you shake your head weakly, “no, I… I hate to think you’re missing work for me.”

“Doctor’s orders, can’t leave you alone.”

You take another drink and stare into the orange depth. He rubs your leg and slowly retracts his hand to touch the bottom of your mug, “here, we should put this down. Just until you have your medicine.”

“Oh,” you let him take the cup but can’t hide your anxiety, “do I have to? Can’t I just have some more tylenol?”

“It’s not helping, kitten. You have to do this.”

You cringe and give a quick peak to the wrapped syringe. Oh, you hate needles. You pout and stifle a sob.

“It’s just a small prick,” he assures you as he grabs the vial.

“No, it’s not that,” you recline again, deflated, “I’m so tired of this. Of being sick. I just feel so helpless.” Your head drifts to the side, “I feel like a burden. Auggy, it’s barely three months and you’re already taking care of my like some… some old lady.”

“Shhh,” he hushes you softly, “it’s okay. You’re going to get better. You have to,” he peels away the wrapper from the syringe, “because I’m gonna take you on the best date of your life. Just like I promised.”

“Heh,” you force out a weak laugh, “you better…”

You watch him draw from the vial with the long tip of the needle. He pulls it out and you meet his gaze. You give a nervous grimace.

“What is your perfect date?” He asks, “tell me everything you ever dreamt of.”

He rests his hand on your arm and rubs it. You know he’s distracting you. You need that. You take the bait.

“Hmm, well, flowers. I love flowers. Sunflowers are nice but I guess roses are more romantic…” you look up as you think. He caresses your forearm. He’s so nice, so supportive, and it feels so unreal. You feel like you barely know him but he always knows exactly what you need.

He hums as he listens; the ferris wheel piques his attention as he tilts his head. As you weigh the option of a boat ride out load, you feel a prick and give a yipe. He quickly presses his thumb to your arm and removes the needle tip. You look down and whimper.

“All done, wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“No,” you answer as you wiggle your fingers.

“See, I told you. You got this,” he looks you in the face as he sets the needle aside. He leans forward and kisses your forehead. “Finish your tea.”

He stands up and gathers up the mess, capping the needle with the plastic sheath before crunching up the wrappers. You look away. You’re so pathetic. He has to do everything. You just can’t get used to that. You weren’t like this before. You never got sick. Ever.

Not until you met him.

[mcflymemes]

MISCELLANEOUS SENTENCE PROMPTS *  collection #9

i just wanted to take another look at you.

next time, you can clean up your own mess.

come on, let's go dance.

i will make you so sorry for what you've done to my family.

it might be done now, but it was beautiful, and it was real.

you felt it. i felt it. don't lie.

maybe we're both gross inside.

it's the same story told over and over, forever.

everyone in this bar is talented at one thing or another.

that's just the truth.

are you fucking kidding?

i felt like we had a secret, just the two of us.

i hate the fact that you wore a football jersey to dinner.

you're afraid to be alive. you're afraid to live.

i do this! time after time after time! i do all this shit for other people, and then i wake up and i'm empty! i have nothing!

just look at me while you do it.

we took down some very big guys.

i would never say anything bad about your father in front of you, but your father is a sick son-of-a-bitch.

thank you, by the way.

i saw the way you were looking at me.

this place never felt like home before.

you can fuck me if you turn the lights off, okay?

i was trying to be romantic.

the art of survival is a story that never ends.

you're a conformist.

you know what? forget i offered to help you.

can we stop at the library?

i have a ring on my finger. we have a child together.

don't repeat that... but yes.

don't you understand what i'm trying to tell you?

i'm not supposed to be talking like this.

i'm gonna stay here a few days.

i'm sorry that i ever met you.

keep your voice down.

the car's a little dinged up.

you got any other questions?

i opened up to you, and you judged me.

you forgot where you were going in the first place.

could i ask you a personal question?

we have a very unconventional chemistry.

why did you order tea?

did you ever have to find a way to survive and you knew your choices were bad, but you had to survive?

you have poor social skills. you have a problem.

i don't sing my own songs.

i get anxiety when i have to meet people.

do you feel that? that's emotion.

we're not exactly friends here.

have some respect for what i do.

what you have right now goes way beyond just this.

i just don't feel comfortable.

i could get used to this shit.

you don't have to show it to me. i've been looking at it all night.

you're full of shit.

i'm telling you the truth.

if i really wanted to fucking bother you, this is what i would do.

you might not have experienced the shit that i did, but you loved hearing about it, didn't you?

you wanna go back to baltimore?

humanity is just nasty and there's no silver lining.

what's wrong with my hair?

who's that? who are you with?

it's really amazing what you're doing.

let me just touch it for a second.

don't make such a big deal.

you're a hypocrite.

can i tell you a secret?

i can't begin to explain that.

i love you. i knew it the minute i met you.

i think you might be a songwriter.

just get the hell out of here.

it's not bullshit! i read it in an article.

maybe that could work.

you say more inappropriate things than appropriate things.

nobody ever asks about you, huh.

did you just write that now?

there will always be a part of me that is sloppy and dirty, but i like that, just like all the other parts of myself.

maybe its time to let the old ways die.

you didn't do anything. it's not your fault.

if i don't say this then i'll never forgive myself.

all you got to do is trust me.

how am i being rude?

i haven't dated since before my marriage so i don't really remember how this works.

you want to get a drink sometime?

i'm not flirting with you.

you gotta pay attention this time.

you had nothing to fucking say.

why don't you have another drink?

let me walk you down to your car.

you're just fucking ugly.

i won't do this again. i won't come and find you.

you know, what i'd like is for my boyfriend to love me.

we have to change the color of your hair.

have a good one.

i think it's pretty fucking good.

the world will break your heart ten ways to sunday.

what do you want me to play?

you gotta be careful.

what are you trying to say?

can you forgive? are you capable of that?

i thought you were doing it.

i used to think that you were the best thing that ever happened to me, but now i think that you're the worst thing.

[hsgucci94]

requests are open!

hiii. welcome to the little world of my stories. hope you enjoy them! much love. x 

Thighs

The one where Y/N asks Harry to ride his tiger.

Moans & Thighs

Showers & Tea

PART 3 (pending)

Sharing is caring

The one where Harry and Y/N share the bed for the night while secretly having feelings for each other.

One

Two

His weakness

The one where Y/N gets hurt for being the girl of a mafia leader.

"I didn't think you were the type to lose your sanity for a girl,” Wyatt, his right hand, admitted, pouring himself a glass of scotch and sitting in the armchair opposite to him.

"I didn't either," Harry simply replied, looking at a fixed point.

Wyatt chuckled, "Well, I only hope she won't interfere with our business, or she'll eventually regret messing with the mafia."

Harry gave him a death stare, and that was enough to keep his partner silent. "She won't," he stated, now playing with the rings on his fingers, "I would have never guessed she was the type to stay with someone like me, but she is."

"Does that mean you'll take her with you when the time comes?"

"It means I'll do anything to protect her. And I can't do that from prison."

He was doing business with the devil while running from the FBI. And while it was not the ideal lifestyle, it was his, and you were willing to go through it all for him.

Some said you had been brainwashed, others that you had gone crazy, but little did they know that you just happened to have fallen in love with a criminal.

Hurting

Horny

Heartbroken

PART 4

PART 5

PART 6

[ recap page ]

▹ Individual short stories

The ride (AU)

The one where Harry and Bella like each other. The issue? She's his boss' daughter.

Her first

The one where Y/N joins One Direction on tour and decides to lose it to Harry.

Rome wasn’t built in a day (AU)

It’s 1950 and Y/N’s fighting for women’s right and freedom to work, alongside her husband, Harry. But she forgets it’s a long fight that can’t be conquered in a short time, which causes them to argue.

Needy

The one where Y/N’s feeling horny and the car is the nearest place to relieve her.

It was supposed to be a quiet afternoon at home

The one where a quiet afternoon at home soon spices up for Harry and Y/N.

Long day

The one where Harry wants attention but Y/N’s working.

Don’t break my heart

The one where Y/N feels insecure when she sees Harry talking to someone else.

Surprise

The one where Harry makes it to Y/N’s birthday party just on time.

I don’t hate you

The one where Harry prevents Y/N from drinking an intoxicated beverage while they secretly have feelings for each other.

Date night at home

The one where Harry cooks for Y/N.

Overthinking

The one where Y/N feels like hers and Harry’s relationship is just sex.

A safe place

The one where Harry goes to Y/N for comfort.

The ghosts came out to play

The one where Harry and Y/N attend a Halloween party and the ghost of his ex-wife is all over the house.

The sex talk

The one where Harry wants to talk about sex but Y/N finds it uncomfortable.

Professor Styles

The one where Y/N’s summer fling turns out to be her new literature professor.

The frat boy’s girl

The one where Harry Styles might or might not have feelings for Y/N, his much more reserved and geek friend.

What’s not being said out loud

The one where Harry’s got feelings for his best friend but she’s dating some else.

The CEO

The one where you confessed your feelings for Harry, your older boss, but then he showed up at your doorstep.

Office hours

The one where Harry Styles is your part-time boss and full-time boyfriend, which makes office hours interesting.

Sexy mama

The one where you get annoyed because Harry won’t have sex with you because you’re pregnant.

❋ Love On Tour scenarios:

One day maybe

The one where Harry Styles and Y/N Y/L/N are dating off the spotlight and he gets jealous when he sees someone else (Tom Hiddleston) flirting with his girl.

Crowds

The one where Harry knows how bad Y/N’s anxiety gets in a crowd and offers her to watch his live show from his dressing room.

Pre-show nerves

The one where Harry’s feeling anxious before playing Wembley and Y/N’s there for him.

He’s in love

After Coachella Night Two, Harry can’t help but shower Y/N with love words backstage.

Haircuts and ripped pants

Pretty self explanatory… iykyk

~ Excerpts from books I’ll never write:

Untitled #1

Angst

Getting used to you

Fictional

Fragile

He’s feeling down

Untitled #2

Heartbroken

Take it off

Denim jealousy

Scars

Halloween

Dadrry

Let’s shower

[parad-ice-lostandfound]

DEVILDOM SHENANIGANS (FT. THE AUTHOR PT 4)

Lucifer: Satan, keep an eye on Mammon today. He’s going to say something to the wrong person and get punched.

Satan: Sure, I’d love to see Mammon get punched.

Lucifer: Try again.

Satan, sighing: I will stop Mammon from getting punched.

Me: You lying, cheating, piece of shit!

Solomon: Oh yeah? You’re the idiot who thinks you can get away with everything you do. WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD!!

Me: I’m leaving, and I’M TAKING LUKE WITH ME-

Simeon, picking up the monopoly board: I think we’re gonna stop playing now.

Levi: I think Ice was right.

Satan: I’m surprised she hasn’t marched in here to say ‘I told you so.’

Mammon: She wouldn’t do that.

Me: You’re right, Mammon. For once in your life, you’re 100% right. I would never say that.

Me: *turns around, the shirt I’m wearing says 'I Told You So’ on the back*

Mammon: *Screams*

Levi: *Screams louder to assert dominance*

Beel: Should we do something?

Me, observing: No, I wanna to see who wins this.

*Squad reactions to being told ‘I love you’*

Asmo: Thanks darling!

Satan: Oh no-

Me: *cries* I love you too

Levi: Sounds fake but okay

Mammon: *A flustered mess*

Belphie: Can I get a refund?

Me: Dumbest scar stories, go!

Satan: I burned my tongue once drinking tea.

Asmo: I dropped a hair dryer on my leg once and burned it.

Levi: I have a piece of graphite in my leg for accidentally stabbing myself with a pencil in the first grade.

Mammon: I was taking a cup of noodles out of the microwave and spilled it on my hand and I got a really bad burn.

Belphie:

Belphie: I have emotional scars.

Me:

Me: Same bro-

Me: Name a more iconic duo than my crippling fear of abandonment and my anxiety. I’ll wait.

Diavolo : You and me!!!

Me, tearing up: Okay.

Me: You’re my best friend, I would do anything for you.

Diavolo : I want you to eat three meals a day and have a decent sleep schedule.

Me: Absolutely not.

[aroacesigma]

do you have any sigzai hcs (or just hcs about sigma or dazai separately)

you're going to regret asking this . headcanons under the cut cause im gonna feel annoying otherwise . most of them are what i headcanon as happening like post canon in a nice world where everyone is alive and happy lol

sigzais <3

ok so to me they are THE transmasc qpps ever . i might be projecting a little but both dazai and sigma are both so transmasc to me. on one hand you have sigma who wears 10 billion shirt layers and a long ass coat and goes on and on about being an ordinary man, and then on the other hand you have dazai who also wears clothes like that and bandages over his chest

hc sigma as oriented aroace with ???? orientation . hes just very confused . theyre so confused . and dazai as bi aroacespec and not particularly averse to any stuff just doesnt feel the attraction most of the time

poor sigma has spent all this time around fyolai like 'god why the fuck are people like this' and then he meets dazai and is like ohhhhhhh. oh .

when sigma joins the ada (and they will u mark my words) him and dazai end up sharing an apartment

at first dazais excited because maybe he wont be living off horrible cooking

unfortunately sigma also cannot cook for shit . he fucking sucks . legitimately the only thing he can cook is cookies in a packet mix .

sigma is unfortunately going through the same phase that kids of controlling parents go through when they finally get freedom, which is making a bunch of stupid decisions . dazai , being the wonderful boyfriend he is, is encouraging all the dumb decisions because he thinks its funny

most of their dates is just going to cafes because sigma has the worlds most horrendous sweet tooth and sigma has no moral objections to guilt tripping him into it

despite being pretty bad at it themself, sigma has a tendency to hit dazai with a pillow until he takes care of himself

vice versa dazai will be a distracting little bitch and wont stop if he thinks sigma is overworking himself

sigma

he/they sigma is so real to me btw just need everyone to know this . they like messing around with neos as well sometimes i think

even though he's pretty much always tired , isnt really a huge fan of coffee , definitely prefers really fancy tea and energy drinks

decided to run with the whole purple thing cause of his hair , abolutely loves the colour. anything he owns is purple if they can get it .

smiles all happy while listening to music in a way that makes you think its something nice . its not . his only musical requirements are loud and screaming to drown out the Anxiety™

not my headcanon but i saw someone say once that they headcanon that occasionally people get an uncanny valley kinda vibe from looking at him cause of his weird origins and honestly i think thats pretty interesting

very happy to join the ada . not quite as impressed by the paycheck .

like , really not impressed by the paycheck . theyre struggling with the dwindling clothes budget . i can totally see him trying to decide whether he wants dinner or new earrings . and probably picking the earrings .

they get along with everyone at the agency really well . a few people dont really trust him straight up but atsushi and dazai vouching for him shuts that down relatively quickly

he gets along the best with atsushi

they have a friendly rivalry with kunikida . agency productivity going straight up just because those two keep trying to outdo each other

dazai

100% has multiple troll accounts online . he enjoys being a menace . not in the mean way , in the absolutely fucking infuriating kind of way

remained in denial (or more oblivious really) about being trans until he was 16 because he asked chuuya if everyone felt like that one time and chuuya was like well yeah (also trans and stupid)

on a related note (this one is kind of about dazai and chuuya but it still counts) mori was kind of like ohhh teenage boys are so much easier to deal with right ? kouyou decided it was best not to inform him that hrt gives you mood swings .

adhd. adhd. adhd.

hes a candy crush mum . its a problem .

eats everyone at the ada's food . but he doesnt eat the whole thing he'll just take a bite . its high up on kunikidas 'things that make me want to string dazai up by his legs and attach him to a ceiling fan' list

has been known to send 12 yr olds graphic violent death threats after losing to them in video games

he has the music taste of a 14 yr old cishet girl . i will let you decide what that entails .

my deepest apologies for making you read all this but i love them both dearly and i have lots of Thoughts

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hi! For the Bishop Follower au… (God I love this au❤️)

Could you write a one shot of Kallamar panicking cause he got sick for the first time and the reader ( a Cult member ) calming him down and taking care of him.

"D-Damned Lamb..I knew they wanted to get rid of me...!” Kallamar clutched his stomach in pain, realizing that for the first time ever...he was feeling sick.

Indeed, a terrible bug plagued him. He only noticed it after the feast in the temple. Maybe he overstuffed himself or ate something bad, but to actually experience what he had once brought unto his followers was terrifying. 

It’s cruel irony: a bishop of pestilence being afraid of sickness.

He was trembling, weak, barely able to move. And any follower who saw him would see his face turning green.

With all the outhouses occupied, he had no choice but to get sick elsewhere--specifically behind a tree that had only recently grown. It was the only place where he could get some privacy, away from the others.

Yet it did little to relieve his aching stomach, as he could only kneel and huddle against the tree, sobbing weakly. ‘This has to be karma..I..I made Lamb’s followers suffer and now I’m-’

“Kall?”

Oh no.

The squid tensed upon seeing you approach him, axe in-hand. But after seeing the miserable state he was in, you dropped it and rushed to him in worry. 

“S-Stay away!” He shouted, feeling his stomach lurch with anxiety. “You’ll just be cursed with this plague, too!!”

“No I won’t. I’m here to take you to the healing bay.” You knelt down, frowning. “You know we have several of those, right?”

Kallamar blinked, his anger leaving him as soon as it came. “You..you do?”

“Yeah, our Leader just improved them all.” You gestured to one of the bushy structures with a flag. "We have plenty of camellia for medicine.”

He only stared at it. “...I’m allowed to use it?”

“Wha..of course you are. Now c’mon. Someone else will clean up the mess.”

Nodding, he slowly got to his feet, still clutching his stomach as you guided him to the healing bay. Once you both arrived, he sniffled and laid down underneath the canopy. You stuck the thermometer in his mouth. Then you got to work grinding up the camellia petals, brewing them into a tea.

Once it was cool enough, you offered a bowl to Kallamar. “Drink up, it’ll relieve the stomach cramps.”

But akin to a fussy child who refused to take their medicine, he just shook his head and huffed. “I can’t accept it. Let this be my retribution..for how gravely ill I-I made you and your friends.”

At first, his stubbornness was annoying. Though you sighed softly, remembering that he was still new to this life as a simple follower. He’s done unspeakable things as a bishop for a millennia..and felt extreme guilt to the point where he didn’t think he deserve medicine.

Poor guy.

“Kallamar, the longer you’re sick, the more likely others will get sick. I know you don’t want that. Just have a little sip.” You offered the bowl once again. “Please? At least for me? I’ll be happy if you do.”

After some hesitance, he finally drank some of the tea, his eyes glossy with tears. Only now he realized you weren’t doing this because Lamb ordered you to..but because you genuinely wanted to see him get well, even if he didn’t think he deserved it.

When he finished, he seemed a lot better as the green hue faded from his face. “Thank you.” He murmured, laying his head down and eventually dozing off, exhaustion finally catching up to him.

You simply smiled and patted his head, before getting up to attend to your other duties.

Of course, no amount of tea could cure his paranoia and guilt. But you’ll help him every step of the way.

[sleepdeprivedqueer]

Dancing In The Rain

Chapter 11

WARNING: Yandere behavior

Werewolf!Ace x GN!Reader

It's been three weeks since Ace came back injured, those two weeks you were healing yourself. Your feet got better to the point that you can walk, that meant you can work. But that also meant working overtime without a raise or any money for it. At the end of the day, your feet ached as much as they did when you were healing. Not only that but you were tired, overworked and body sore, almost too sore to even do anything other than plop down. You couldn't even cook, just ordering food, hell you were almost too tired to eat. Ace had to force you to eat, in fact he was right by you almost the entire time you worked. Even growling at the dogs that you trained, watching as they protected you. But luck was on his side when one of your coworkers suggested that he was trained a bit. Happily against your legs and then charging fully force at the guy, knocking him over.

Isuka didn't like it at first, but when he protected her, she started to trust him. Bringing in dog cookie treats for him, which he oh so happily enjoyed. She even whined whenever you pretend to give him one, and it was an actual cookie. He had whined about how bitter they actually were.

You sat at a table in the lunch room eating a salad, you had gained a bit of weight when healing. So you tried to be healthy, it made Ace whine everytime he saw you order salad and healthy stuff. Always thinking that it was for him but was extremely happy when you ordered meat. 'Pyro' was quickly eating a bacon and overeasy egg toast sandwich. Licking his lips when the yolk got on his lips. Then happily drinking some green tea, getting oats and rubs every now and again.

When a couple of creepy coworkers entered the room, he started to growl, a very low growl. The amount of times he has seen them staring at you whenever you bend over a little bit. Laughing and pointing, he didn't like it, the fact that they were staring at you, a lustful look in their eyes, their pointing. It angered him to his core, becoming possessive whenever they got home. He's seen them following you outside to your car, it disgusted him.

"Hey bud, what's the matter," you whispered, giving a rub to his shoulders, a shudder left him. Your nails scratching a little bit did something to him. Looking to the other side of the room where the fridge was, realizing that he was growling over the guys that gathered and laughed about something, "hey, it's alright. They're not going to do anything. Especially when you're here."

A soft giggle leaving your lips, bringing the fork up to your mouth, opening and then wrapping your lips around the fork. Pulling the fork out and started chewing, brown eyes staring up at your face.

"Hey there, Y/N is it?"

You turned around to one of the boys that was walking towards you.

"Yeah, it's Y/N."

"Ah, I thought that was your name. I was wanting to know if maybe you would like to go to a party, some of the other coworkers are going. I can even find someone to babysit that-" 'Pyro' growled, "your dog."

Something didn't feel right about him, how he spoke, how the tone changed with different words. Not only that, but Ace usually didn't act like this with most of the men in the building.

"Hmm, no thank you. I'm currently being worked overtime and by the time I'm home I'm too tired to even turn the TV on. And 'Pyro' is a mess when he isn't with me. He has severe separation anxiety, I guess it's that German Shepherd part of him," you half joked, pulling him close to you. His head on your thigh, glaring up at the disgusting man.

"Aah, well, it's a shame. If you ever change your mind, here's my number-" Ace snapped at his hand when he was handing you the piece of paper. He stumbled back, holding his hand as the paper fell.

You put all of your things up and stood up, excusing yourself as politely as possible. Putting Ace on the leash as walked out of the lunch room, missing how they stared at you. Walking over to your locker and putting everything away, taking a deep sigh. Taking the Vaseline red rose tined chapstick, using the mirror to help you apply it. Making sure not to get any on anything other than your lips.

"You know Ace, you have to stop being so possessive. You may get me fired," you half joked, getting on your knees and patting his head. Those brown eyes softened at your affection, happily wagging that fluffy tail of his, "come on, just about 5 or 6 more hours to go."

~~

Correction, it was 9 hours, the last two was cleaning almost the whole fucking building. The time you stood up, every bone in your body popped fucking twice. TWICE. Even getting in the care was hard, forcing yourself to turn the car on. Ace sitting in the passenger seat, watching you as you struggled. Watching the raid carefully, once he was sure that no one would see him, he started to shift. Hearing the familiar bone cracking a, and the painful ripping of skin made your eyes go wide. He was fucking shifting in your car.

"Ace what the hell are you doing!?" You yelled, scanning the area to look for anyone that may see him. The road was kind of empty, the side walks seemed creepy. The orange tinted lights seemed to make you extra sleepy.

"Making sure you don't crash the car," reaching into the backseat and grabbing a pair of boxers and sweatpants. Raising his hips a bit and putting them on, as always, they were hanging off of his hips. V-line and happy trail on display, leaning towards you as you made a turn into a road.

Damn him, for being so cute and sexy. How could some kind of His make a creature like him, so kind, strong, handsome, cute, protective. Damn whatever God did make him, hell Ace may be a Good himself.

Pulling up to your house and parking outside, turning the vehicle off and sighing. Grabbing your stuff as Ace opened his door, walked around, and opened your door. Once you had everything in your hand, you felt an arm wrap around your torso and one wrapping underneath your thighs. Cradling you to his chest as he shut the car door and walked up to the house. Too tired to even protest against Ace, just blushing a bit. His warm body made you feel like you were in your bed, under the covers, in a nice winter night. It was pretty chilly.

Lazily unlocking the door, opening the door and the kind gentleman closing it. Walking over to the hallway and walking down it, squinting his eyes in the darkness. Opening the door and softly walking in, setting you down on your bed. And being the kind gentleman once again, he took your shoes and socks off. Letting your hair down and taking your uniform off, but quickly putting something over you. Tucking you in and wiping some of your bangs away.

God, you were so beautiful, so kind and generous. A soft smile tugging on his lips as he walked out of your room, closing the door. Tip toeing to the living room and plopping onto the couch, resting the sore body of his. Even his body got sore, energy drained, turning into a dog and staying in that form for a while drained a lot of his energy. Laying down on the couch and staring up at the ceiling.

Thinking about that day, when he fought Law, thinking about the walk back. Thinking about what Izou said.

How for the first time in forever his tone was filled with sorrow, how he talked about his past so freely, it was the first time. Izou was always so sensitive about his past, unless it was about his little sister Kiku. But was Izou right about what he said? Was he really becoming a possessive werewolf, fighting anyone for you to prove to you that he's strong?

Ace shook his head to shake the thoughts out, turning onto his side to sleep. He needed it, if you could barely drive at night then he would need to be the one to be awake. Staring at blank dark TV, very slowly shutting his eyes and falling asleep.

~~

A loud knock erupted his sleep, looking around groggily to see that it was 6:47 AM. Your alarm should have gotten off at least 20 minutes ago.

Jumping up, not thinking straight as he stumbled to the door, opening it up.

"Hm, what do you need?" He grumbled. Blinking a few times, the face was familiar, very familiar.

It was one of the perverts.

Something in his mind snapped, a wicked and possessive thought made him stand up tall. Eyes becoming dark, puffing his chest out as in a challenge to the man. Watching as the man turned from cocky to looking a little pup with his tail between his legs.

"Is there something you need, or are you just waisting my precious sleeping time?" Ace asked, raising a brow. In the corner of his eye, he noticed two women and the rest of the boys, damn, something was going on.

"I uhm, is Y/N by any chance live here?" He asked, seeming to start regretting his decision.

"What's in it to you?" He got closer to the man.

"Well, we work together and our boss said that they could have two days off. Shanks said something to them," sweat started to run down his face.

"Hm, well thank you for letting me know, I'll make sure to tell them. Now, if you don't mind he asking you. Leave the property, I don't like the thought of a stranger on these steps of my house," Ace growled. Hearing a soft gasp from a couple of the women.

The man nodded as quickly getting off and porch and away from the house. Leaning against the door frame and watched them, waiting for them to leave, brows furrowed. One of the ladies waved at him and winked before being dragged by her boyfriend into the car. Watching as they drove off, head tilting to the side as he fixed his sweatpants, scratching his happy trail before yawning loudly.

"Ace? What are you doing?"

Turning to your tired form, uniform on in a messy way, hair was also up in a messy way.

"Making sure you don't get kidnapped," Ace said, closing the door. Walking towards you and started to usher you back to your bed.

"Ace, we need to get going-"

"Noooo we don't. Your coworkers were here and told me that Shanks out a word in this the bitchy boss. And now you have two days off, now get back in bed!" Grabbing the keys and setting them on the counter, continuing to usher you back into your bed.

It was kind of like herding cattle, or herding a sheep back to the herd. Opening the door for you and then closing it, being kind enough to look away when you changed into more comfortable clothing. Then once that was done and over with, he turned the lights off and was about to leave-

"Ace, were you really trying to save me from being kidnapped?" You asked, voice scratchy.

Oh boy.

"Well, uhm. Yes I kind of was. I wasn't sure if they were going to actually do it, but they did show up and you didn't them your address. Plus they creep me out," he mumbled the last part, turning to look at your slightly scared expression, "but don't worry! I scared them off with my oh so manly body!"

"You have freckles dotted on your skin like a teenager just starting to got through puberty."

He let out a terrified and very offended gasp, looking at you with wide eyes and wide mouth.

"How, dare you! Do you know how long it took me to get this body?"

"Probably not very long, I haven't seen you workout once so I think it's permanent."

You let out a soft chuckle, but it left when Ace walked over to you.

"Ace, what are you doing!?"

"Imma show you just how manly I can be!" He plopped on your bed and just laid next to you, "if any robber or if those men come back and really do try to kidnap you. I bet they'll be scared away by my body. You just watch."

You laughed again, snorting even, making Ace's heart skip a beat as you covered your mouth. Apologizing for it, God you were adorable.

A pout appeared on his lips as he crossed his arms, mumbling like a heart little baby.

"Ace, I'm not doubting you in any way. I believe that you're strong, you are a damn werewolf, so I'm not doubting your strength. But sometimes it's not always the body, it's the eyes that can tell the most things. Your body may say one thing, but your eyes show the truth, that's also why it can be hard to make eye contact-"

Your voice blurred out as you continued to talk, letting you ramble on. Finding it adorable about how you knew a lot about body posture and eyes.

"That's all very interesting, but what about sleep?"

You only grumbled, curling up under the blanket and cursing as you yawned. A soft smirk on the dark haired male's lips. Watching as your body relaxed, happy that you had two days off. He kept his promise, being on alert the whole time while you rested. Keeping his ears open and eyes wide as he looked around the dark room, even looking at the window. But as time passes, and everything was calm and left right, he also fell asleep, leaning his head against yours.

~~

Law hissed, stomping around the dark, dim lit, wet, and blood smelling stone basement. Flipping through pages of old books, medicine, old stories, old folk tales, urban legends. Trying to find fucking ANYTHING. Anything to try and fully defeat that shithead, to try and find anything that could be drawing him to the blood. Finding anything to you keep you an immortal so he could feast on your forever.

He was hungry.

He was angry.

Once again, the book was useless, letting out a irritated cry as he threw the book at the wall. Hearing it crack as it fell to the floor. 312 years he has been alive, and never, NEVER, has he had anyone like you. Anyone with such delicious and mouth watering blood, not being able to get any from you was making him mad. That damn mut that you had, your 'good boy' who always listened to you. Law knew that you knew, you knew about Ace and Law too. But the fact that you trusted a creature that enjoyed ripping people apart, going after women, happily kidnapping and giving them a painful process to shift. Law wasn't that bad, vampires were more modest, more polite. Of course they were blood thirsty and horny, but they didn't tear people apart. They just sucked blood, shifting into a vampire wasn't as painful.

Throwing book after book and after book around to find nothing, making him bare his fangs. Opening up a glass cabin and grabbing a wine glass, opening up a blood wine bottle and pouring it into the glass. After drinking the glass, he threw the cup and just grabbed the bottle. Chugging it as he the went on the rampage in the room, until he found a book. A book of werewolves, a very old book, it was so old that it was written in a very ancient writing.

Translating word by word, it was things that ticked them off, how their behavior matched with natural wild wolves. Not only that, but which breed their behavior matches best, what made them go crazy. What made the crave humans if they didn't eat them, what just made them snap.

Werewolves were more possessive than normal wolves, their scent glands stronger. Mating seasons were longer, more breeding driven. Possibly because they were almost brought to extinction. It made Law smirk, Ace was a hot head, easily angered, he was going to show you.

Law was going to show you how bad Ace can be, how you can't trust him. He was going to give you PTSD so that way you would want to stay by him. Making you believe that he was better and was going to be safer with him.

It made him laugh, he already had a plan, if it worked though, those creepy coworkers didn't seem to strong and seemed cocky.

"Uhm, sir, excuse me?" One of the men walked in, looking at his hunched over form. His eyes looking around the dark and large basement, books thrown everywhere.

"Did you do what I asked?" Law asked coldly.

"Well yeah, but uhm, we didn't them."

Law stopped.

"You didn't get Y/N?"

"No, there was a strange man there. I think he's their boyfriend-"

A book was thrown at him, making him wince.

"You could have maybe came up with something quick to distract him! I asked you to do one simple thing for a very good pay and you failed!" Law growled, showing his fangs. It seemed to shaken him up.

"I! Uhm, it's your fault in the first place! You shouldn't be trying to kidnap anyone!"

His eyes widened in fear as Law took steps towards him, a scowl on his face.

Faint screams left the basement, his friends followed.

~~

"What happened to Ace again Izou?"

"He was fighting a vampire, it was pretty bloody when Shanks and I appeared," he hummed, taking a sip from the hot green tea.

Marco snorted.

"Of course he was. I knew I scent some kind of tension in that house when we got there," Marco chuckled and pinched the bridge of his nose.

The rest of the boys laughed loudly.

"Where is he anyways?"

"He's now a pet dog for a K-9 dog trainer. He also got them injured, thorns in their feet and it seemed they also had a bit of a cold," Marco sighed, taking bites out of his food.

Thatch laughed loudly.

"A pet dog!? He's a fucking pet dog!? You're telling me that he's doing tricks and being dressed up in dog clothing!? Being washed in some kind strawberry shampoo or something!? Pfft!" Thatch fell to his knees, clutching his stomach.

The whole room was filled with loud laughter, some of them choking on their food. Thankfully Pops was asleep, if he were to hear about Ace, things wouldn't turn out good for you and Ace.

~~

"Slow down Ace! You're going to choke! Eh!? You fell asleep!?" You yelled as Ace was snoring, head laid back, mouth full as snores left his mouth.

You were fixing him lunch in a thanks for him looking out for you. Sighing as you focused on cooking more meat for him, a faint blush on your cheeks.

When you woke up from your nap, you felt hot breaths on the top of your head, a warm body against you. Ace was leaning his head on top of yours, arm wrapped around you. It was enough for you to start freaking out. The air conditioning was shut off so the house was very warm. The stove being on didn't help. There was some popsicles in the freezer that you made to help cool the both of you off. Just the thought of one now made your mouth water.

"More please!" Ace said, thrusting his plate to you. Making you laugh as you grabbed his plate. Putting more food on it and giving it back, almost immediately he dives right in. Falling asleep once again, he's learned to not fall in his food when passing out.

It was less of a mess for you, turning the stove off and putting the rest of the food on his plate. Putting the pan in the sink, opening the fridge and grabbing one of the popsicles. Pulling one out and start sucking on it. Cooling down as soon as it entered your mouth. Leaning against the counter and relaxed, not noticing the look in Ace's eyes as he stared at you. But when a piece of food fell off of his fork he went back to shoving down his throat.

Enjoying the wonderful flavor that your amazing skills made, even the smell. The meat you always made some juicy, the amount of flavor mixed with the other food. God he loved it.

Your satisfying coldness was interrupted by the sound of a gag, looking at Ace as be hanged on the island with his fist. Coughing and used his other hand to punch his chest.

Setting your popsicle on the wrapper and quickly getting him a large cup of water. Rushing over to him and tried to give him the water but Ace refused it. Turning away and he continued to cough and gag.

"I-I'm fi-i-ine."

"No you're not! Drink some water! I told you not to eat so fast!" You scolded, continuing to try and get him to drink water.

"No no, I-I'm not cho-o-oking. I-" he coughed hard, finally getting his breath under control, "the fork, it hit the back of my throat-"

Ace gagged again.

Damn, he most likely was a virgin.

"You really are a virgin, aren't you?" Of course your mind had to be dirty.

Ace whipped his head around so quick to look at you. A strong red blush painted his cheeks.

"What the hell does that have to do anything!? I just accidentally shoved it too far-" he stopped when you made that face, he realized it now, "you! Stop being so damn dirty minded!"

You laughed loudly, walking back to your popsicle, sucking on it once again. Staring at him as he squinted at you, a judgemental look in his eyes.

"You know, it would be hard to believe if you said you're not a virgin since your too cute," you said, a soft smile on your face.

"Don't say that to me! You don't know me!"

Your laughter rang loudly.

Chapter 1

Previous Chapter

[dawnfire-nate]

little mha ocs info

I'm bored so here's a bit about some ocs of mine, mostly focusing on Akumu Bousou and Yatsude Bousou (don't think I ever mentioned Yatsude but he's Akumu's twin) but I'll also talk about Kokoro Maboroshi, an oc I haven't mentioned before

Akumu Bousou:

Akumu is a trans libra-boy (mostly agender but a bit boi) he/him they/them it/its he's Apothisexual and Panromantic Demiromantic (don't call him a pandemic, he hates that joke) he's in class 1-A he often keeps essential oils, he isn't those crazies who think it'll fix all his issues but he likes to hope that they'll help at least a bit (I don't believe oils help much but I'mma still add it to my ocs, I may try them someday because who knows, they may work) oils he has: eucalyptus - sleep and anxiety lavender - carry around for stress rose - aromatherapy massage for anxiety and period pains chamomile - depression (I did search up how these oils work and stuff) his favorite drink is elderflower tea his favorite foods are gyudon and tempura he isn't much for sweets but when he feels like it he'll have something like pocky but most of the time he goes for dark chocolate or licorice he likes rock, indie, metal, and punk music! especially the sad/emo stuff his outfits are inspired by cybergoth and dark academia though some are just causal stuff he for some reason bought a fake brass dog head and now just keeps it on his desk and sometimes put things like pencils in it's eyes for later his hobbies: reading writing parkour/freerunning DnD drawing singing caring for plants (mostly mushrooms and moss) (cw // these playlist contain songs that mention su!c!de, self hatred, and violence) playlist https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7ByPiO7Mkdhjf1QWI66VzK?si=98070ff779494b1c clean playlist https://open.spotify.com/playlist/14jq7zIfEWuHWLnCLSWJ1y?si=24adb1cbd9f247d1 Sleeper's playlist https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2o4N5vJtrzvWEZvm6B2tk8?si=5ffb07b9924c49e6 Sleeper's clean playlist https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4hD2TGz3NO1NqdORFTKCSR?si=f9ba1d9e8f2d464a

Yatsude Bousou

Yatsude is cisgender male he/him he's heteroflex he's in class 1-B his favorite drink is raspberry tea and milk tea his favorite food is eggs! he loves sweet things! often putting sugar in some of his foods, main one being rice with eggs and sugar (rice with butter, salt, and a bit of sugar and two raw eggs mixed in the rice with a bit more sugar and salt) he loves indie pop and pop rock! especially happy songs I haven't decided his outfits yet but I thinking I'll have his outfits inspired by cottagecore and dark academia he once broke his mirror and decided to just cover the cracks with moss and fake gold his hobbies: DnD dressing up repurposing trash collecting sewing whipping puppetting playlist https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7fmfINkYsKFcSy7zNcSZnw?si=f6d3e81d934f4a84 clean playlist https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4NHJcKWdn0PjOycLjkhMsQ?si=a11bdc1a92584871 picrew used: https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/1414503 (cw // this picrew has body horror)

Kokoro Maboroshi

Kokoro is cisgender male he/him she/her he's aroace he's class 1-B he's 16 his favorite drink is honey milk his favorite food is strawberry yogurt he prefers salty snacks he enjoys folk-pop and piano rock I haven't really decided on many outfits or aesthetics for him except for his main outfit which is a turtle neck with a sweater over it and gloves and also angelcore. the main reason he wears such warm clothes is because of his quirk quirk: his quirk is Ghostly Presence, he can do ghost things like become intangible, vanish, go through walls, etc but the drawback is that he becomes really cold and if he stays ghost like for too long his senses get all messed up rest of this is to be continued when I finish him no playlist right now! I will make one for him soon picrew used: https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/708151 (cw // this picrew has blood)

[sortofanobsession]

hi! i’ve genuinely read every single one of your roy/jamie fics and i’m obsessed with your writing!

i’d love an angsty established relationship fic — they get into a fight or break up but they’re trying to not have it affect the team or jamie’s playing but it’s hard when they have to see each other everyday. so the team + coaches try to parent trap them back together x

A/N There was a second ask that added this: i just wanted to add i love the way u depict darker themes so diving into their respective unhealthy coping mechanisms for dealing with the breakup would be amazing to read! x

I honestly wanted to keep what breaks them up vague, because I thought it was bit more interesting wondering. I have what I think it was, and I drop hits. But I might save that for it's own thing...maybe not sure.

Word count: 6k+

Ao3

Ted Lasso Masterlist

Paring: Roy x Jamie (Romantic), Jamie x Ted (platonic), Roy x Ted (platonic), Keeley x Jamie (platonic, formerly romantic), Jamie x AFC Richmond Himbos (platonic, duh, but Sam, Dani and Jamie are besties)

Content warning: Anxiety, nausea, mentions of vomiting, heavy drinking, mentions of violence, fear, paranoia, manipulation, injury, self-esteem issues, ptsd, self-deprecation, swearing/cursing/cussing, jealousy.

It’s Phoebe, so yeah

Roy had been staying with his sister until he could find a new place, and as much as he loved his sister and Phoebe, it was frustrating.

"Just admit you miss Jamie," his sister said as she sipped her tea as her brother prepared for training.

"Like a hole in my head," Roy says. 

"You don't think just abruptly stopping his training will mess with his game?"

"So you think I should have stayed in a failing relationship so he doesn't suck?"

"I am just saying, don't take shit out on him or the team. You aren't the only one miserable here," his sister says. 

"You think I'm that unprofessional?"

"You took your shit with Keeley out on Jamie, but the difference is, back then, he was a willing participant. Just don't ruin your career as a coach because you and your boyfriend had a spat and broke up."

Jamie is fucking miserable. He hates being alone. Dread had already had his morning shake threatening to make a reappearance twice before he made it to the Nelson Road car park. But he had nearly two decades of hiding his pain and misery. And heartbreak couldn't be as hard as hiding bruised ribs or broken toes, right? The team didn't have to know they split. How would they know that Roy had left him? Roy wouldn't tell them. He didn't like people knowing about his life. All Jamie had to do was go in, change into his kit, do his job, and he could go home and fall apart. He jumped slightly when someone knocked on his window. 

"You good, bruv?" Isaac asks when Jamie gets out.

"Yeah, just a rough morning," Jamie says. He is already ruining his own plan. 

"Try and shake it off. We have a brutal match tomorrow," Isaac says.

"Yeah, 'course," Jamie agrees as they walk into the building. "I'm sure I'll be fine once we get on the pitch, normalcy, yeah?"

"There we go, good vibes," Isaac says as they enter the locker room. Jamie keeps his head down and goes through the motions of getting changed. He mentally talks himself through the well-rehearsed process to keep his mind from wandering so he doesn't think about anything else. He must mutter something out loud because Cockburn gives him an odd look. 

"Miss training this morning?" He asks Jamie.

"What?" Jamie asks, shocked he was so terrible at hiding shit these days. 

"You are usually a ball of energy, but you're like a…live wire today," Cockburn says.

"Oh, yeah, slept like shit, so yeah, no training." He didn't have to tell him that it was because Roy didn't want to see him anymore. That Jamie had fucked up and ruined everything again. And now he was risking fucking up the team again. And he hadn't been this anxious for training since he came back to Richmond after getting booted from Man City. Yeah, he just keeps fucking up.

"Well, channel that shit into the ball. You're good at that."

"Yeah, thanks," Jamie says before he finishes changing. When his boots are laced, he doesn't wait to be told to head out. He just does. Maybe Cockburn is right, and he can work his shit out on the pitch. He is already out warming up by the time the team joins him. He doesn't notice the way Ted and Beard look at each other as Jamie silently joins them. 

Roy does everything he can to avoid looking at Jamie. He won't admit it out loud, but he's a bit concerned about what he will see when he finally does. He hadn't missed what Cockburn had said or how Jamie had responded from where he was waiting on Ted by the office. He thinks about what his sister has said, and then Cockburn calling Jamie a live wire. But this is Jamie Tartt. Sure, he might have an off day, but he's young. He's talented. He'll bounce back in a day or two. He ignores the tiny voice of doubt in the back of his mind that points out Jamie never got over Keeley. If he did, it was because of Roy. So he might not get over it until he finds someone new. And that made something twist in Roy's stomach. The idea of Jamie with anyone hurt, even though Roy was the one that walked out. He had no right to be mad at a hypothetical version of Jamie. So he tried to focus on doing his job. He was thankful that Ted called for 11 on 11. That meant Roy wouldn't have to try and coach Jamie and the other forward players directly yet. Because he isn't sure, he is ready. That little voice is back, asking him if he ever will be. He has to finally look at Jamie when he misses an easy shot. And just looking at him, he can already tell Jamie is being harder on himself than anyone else could be. He knows that from the way Jamie waves off Dani and Sam, trying to cheer him up. Normally, Roy would go over, hype Jamie up, and get him over whatever is in his head, and it would be fine. But Roy's the problem this time. He knows it. He is the one that packed his shit and walked out on Jamie. And he can't do that to Jamie. He doesn't want to be that couple that breaks up constantly. No. He has to stay away from Jamie. It's for Jamie's own good. He's young. Being with Roy could fuck up his career. The little voice points out he already has. Jamie's a mess, missing wide-open shots and shutting out his friends. Jamie’s backslid, and it's Roy's fault. Roy really needed a drink. As soon as he got out of training, he was going to the pub. 

Jamie is wound tight like a spring and rung out like a rag by the time training ends. He doesn't say anything to anyone. He just changed and goes home. At home, he doesn't eat or even change out of his clothes. He face plants on his bed, which still kinda smells like Roy, and tries to shut his brain off. He stays there until he eventually falls asleep after hours of tossing and turning. He wakes up, and everything is dark except for his phone. His phone is ringing. 

"Hmm?" He answers.

"Jesus, Jamie, I've been trying to get a hold of you for hours. The team is freaking out. What is going on?"

"Roy broke it off," Jamie tells her.

"I'm sorry, babe, how you feeling?"

"Like shit," Jamie admits. 

"Right," Keeley says as she thinks about it. "You get some sleep tonight. I'll let Sam know we talked. He's worried. And I'll come by tomorrow night, and we can talk, yeah?"

"Okay," Jamie says. He hangs up, double-checks his alarm, and goes back to sleep. 

Roy goes to the pub but ends up just getting food and leaving. He was not in the mood to deal with annoying fans. Normally he just tells them to fuck off, but he just wants to eat his dinner and drown his sorrows. So he goes back to his sister’s, goes to her liquor cupboard, and grabs a bottle, not really caring what it is. He pours a glass of whiskey and eats his dinner. Phoebe joins him, and he goes through the motions of listening to her. He tries, but he just doesn’t have it in him to entertain her. But he doesn’t send her to her room or get mad at her. It’s her home, and he’s just crashing there. The glass doesn’t stay empty for long. He drinks a bit more than he probably should before he passes out on the couch. He wakes up with a hangover. He finds a bottle of water and painkillers left for him by his sister. And he hates himself for being so stupid and being a burden on his family. 

Jamie’s stomach threatens to reject the small breakfast he managed to eat. But like the day before, he pushes through. 

"You look like shit," Colin says when Jamie walks into the locker room to prepare for the match, they have later in the day.

"Good to see you too, Colin." 

Jamie takes a nasty tackle during the match. He is so pissed at himself that nothing anyone says registers as he makes his way to the locker room. He'd come down hard on his wrist, and it was already swelling by the time he gets to there. The med team splints it and gives him an ice pack. He sniffles when he is alone in the treatment room. A voice that sounds suspiciously like his dad mentally berates him for being weak, for being soft, and a crybaby. He looks up to see Ted approaching him.

"Should be fine in a bit, don't use me hands in the game anyway, so should be good to go in-"

"Not sure that's the best idea, Jamie. Took a heck of a hit. You should rest."

"I'd feel better if I was back out there."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, you have been struggling before that hit. Have been since yesterday. I figured you'd talk to someone eventually, but clearly, it is starting to impact your ability to play-"

"You're benching me because of this?" He gestures to his splinted wristed.

"I'm benching you because you don't look well, Jamie. And I tried to see if you could sort it out on your own, but short of calling your mom, I'm not sure how else to get through to you. Take a day or two and try and sort yourself out. Call someone if you need to."

"You're serious," Jamie says in disbelief.

"Go home, Jamie, rest up. Heal up. Check-in with you tomorrow, okay?"

"Yes, sir," Jamie says, his tone a bit cold. He goes back to the locker room and changes out of his kit. He leaves before the team even knows he's out of the game.

"You what?!" Roy shouts at Ted.

"Sent him home, he's injured, and clearly he-"

"He needs his support network, not to be sent home to overthink every mistake he made."

"For someone that walked out on the guy, you sure seem to be mad."

Roy has no comeback for that. All he can do is send a text to Keeley asking her to check on Jamie. And Keeley leaves the match early to do so.

"When was the last time you ate?" Keeley asks him when he lets her into his flat. 

"Earlier," Jamie says.

"Did you eat after they gave you pain meds?"

"Not hungry."

"Tell that to the future ulcer in your stomach from taking painkillers on an empty stomach."

"If I eat a sandwich, can I go back to bed?" 

"Jamie, I know you are hurting, but you can't just sleep all day."

"I'm not allowed to train. I can't focus on shit. I'll heal faster if I sleep, so seems fine to me."

"You aren't resting to heal. You're depressed. I know breakups are hard, but you can't just-"

"Yes, I can," Jamie says. 

"Jamie," Keeley was shocked by how defiant he was being. He had been a prick in the past, but this felt different. This was him determined to wallow in sadness. 

"Sorry," he mutters before going to make a sandwich he didn't even want but would eat because Keeley said so. "No guarantees it stays down," he adds.

"Are you sick?" She goes over and feels his forehead, and he lets her. But he knows he isn't sick sick. It was just in his head. 

"I'm not that kind of sick," he points out. He taps his head. "It's in me head. I just, I think about having to go to training. About having to see him. About letting the team down again. I feel like I'm back trying to get accepted at Richmond all over again, but I just keep fucking up, and everyone is going to hate me. And I can't even train to be better because he was the one training me, and I try to eat, but my stomach won't let me. I try to sleep, and I can't and-" He doesn't realize he is crying until Keeley hugs him.

"It's understandable to be anxious, babe," she drags him into the living room and sits him down. She gets out and orders him something she thinks he can eat to be delivered and something for herself because she has a feeling she isn't going anywhere for now. 

After they eat, Jamie falls asleep snuggled against her on the couch. Her phone buzzes, and she checks it. She rolls her eyes. It's Roy asking if Jamie is okay for the sixth time.

Keeley: if you are so concerned why not see for yourself

Roy-o: I'll only make it worse 

Keeley: how

Roy-o: because I am the reason he is this way

Keeley: no shit

Keeley: that means you could also fix it

Keeley: you're an idiot and a right prick you're both miserable

Keeley: you could fix it for both of you but you won't 

When Roy doesn't respond, she gets frustrated. She texts Ted.

Keeley: I got Jamie to eat, take something for his wrist, and sleep.

Ted: how bad is he?

Keeley: he is an anxious and heartbroken mess that has himself worked up that he is letting the team down

Ted: which only makes it seem like he is failing more which makes it worse and he's caught in a spiral of bad. Got it. 

Keeley: I'll stay with him tonight but I have to work tomorrow.

Ted: don't sweat it. We'll handle it.

Keeley: thanks Ted

Roy is the last one in the office, and the locker room is empty. Everyone else had gone home after the game. No one was in the mood to celebrate. An injured and benched striker could really hurt their chances in the league. Roy had thrown his phone across his desk after rereading the texts from Keeley. He gets a bottle of scotch out of his desk drawer and pours himself a drink. He wanted to check on Jamie himself. He wanted to make sure that Jamie wasn’t beating himself up for someone else tackling him. But he knew he couldn’t. He had been the one that put Jamie off his game. His phone goes off. 

Ted: You’re right. He needs his team.

Ted: He will still be at training but he is not allowed to train.

Roy leaves him on read and drains the rest of his drink before heading back to his sister’s place.

Keeley is trying to coax Jamie to eat the next morning when his doorbell rings. She finds a smiling Dani Rojas and a concerned-looking Sam Obisanya. 

"Oh, hi," she gives them a tired smile.

"Coach said Jamie needed friends," Dani says. 

"And breakfast," Sam adds. 

"He does," she nods and lets them in. "Look who dropped by, Jamie." 

Jamie immediately gets up from his spot on his sofa but relaxes a bit when he sees it's just Dani and Sam. 

"Hi guys," Jamie says. 

"I have to run home before work. Text me if you need anything." She hugs Jamie. "Let them help you," she whispers to him. "They care about you like I do. Don't fight them." She feels him a nod. She gives Jamie a kiss on the cheek, which earns her a small smile. "Okay, babes, see you all later." 

"How is your wrist?" Sam asks as he sets the takeaway containers on Jamie's coffee table. Dani hands him a paper cup. And Jamie smells the lovely scent of coffee, and he almost cries because Keeley is right. His friends are there because they care. They don't hate him. He hasn't actually ruined his relationship with his teammates. Maybe it was all in his head.

"I…fuck, it's good to see you guys," Jamie says, and he does have tears in his eyes.

"Of course, mi amigo," Dani smiles. "All you have to do is ask. We will be here."

"But we cannot help you if we don't know what is wrong," Sam says. And Jamie tells them everything because he can't keep it in, and he is a fucking mess. But Dani hugs him and tells him he is okay that he isn't bad or a failure. 

"You haven't ruined anything," Sam says. "Well, nothing that cannot be fixed. If you need someone to train with, just ask. Might not be 4 in the morning, but a few extra hours could be good."

"And we can do it together," Dani agrees. "Always more fun with more friends."

"You guys would do that for me?"

"Of course we will, you are our friend and our teammate, and this could help all of us be better, but not until after your arm is healed. Until then, we can still keep you company." Sam finds the remote and turns on the TV. He finds some mindless show that will work as background noise or a distraction. And they all settle in to eat. 

A few hours later, Sam has to leave to help his dad at Ola's, but Ted swings by to take his place for a bit. Dani and Ted fill the quiet and put Jamie's mind at ease until Dani leaves in the afternoon. Leaving just Jamie and Ted. 

"How you feeling?" Ted asks as they eat a light dinner.

"Better, actually. Like my thoughts aren't so loud, and I can eat without it coming back up."

"That's good, Jamie," Ted smiles at him. "You know I didn't send you home as punishment, right? I knew you were struggling, and I was going to call and check on you after the match. I was worried, but being with the team was making it worse, so I figured you needed a breather. Maybe I should have waited until after the match, but you do need rest, Jamie. Maybe not the time away from the team, but you need to let yourself relax. And I know that being alone ain't helpful when your head gets caught up in everything, but running yourself into the ground isn't good for you. You don't have to hide it, though. No one will think less of you for being in a rut. You have friends. You haven't failed anyone. You've worried them, but the team knows that this isn't the normal you. They aren't mad. They want to help. Let your team help you."

"It's just hard because…" Jamie can't say it.

"Because Roy is there?" Ted finishes for him. Jamie nods. "I can't imagine that is easy to deal with. But you aren't alone. You have the team. They're a good buffer and a great distraction. Now that Sam and Dani know, they'll help you. Keep you out of your head. Hopefully, keep a few of the others from asking questions."

Jamie groans because he knows the whole team is going to know now, and they will probably blame Jamie or Roy, and it could get even more awkward. He doesn't want anyone to be mad at Roy. He wasn't even mad at Roy. He missed Roy, and having to see him every day didn't make it any easier not to miss him. He was so fucking close, but it wasn't the same, and it hurt Jamie's soul. 

"Jamie," Ted starts. "This is just another obstacle you have to learn to navigate. Can't be avoided, but it can be overcome. You might need a bit of a boost from your buddies, but you can, and you will get past it. It just takes time. It will get easier."

"Thanks, Coach," Jamie says. 

Roy gets a text from Ted that Roy's going to be working with the defenders and reserves for the time being. And Roy knew this was coming. When Keeley told him, he was an idiot. His sister was right. He needed to find a way to make this work, or he'd have to leave Richmond. He couldn't let his issues ruin Jamie's career. And Richmond was good for Jamie. Yeah, it was Roy's home, but Jamie thrived there. He was hours away from his fucking old man. So he was safe from that bullshit. He had friends on the team that loved him. And he had Ted. Roy could find a new team if he needed to. He didn't want to, but he wanted Jamie to get better. And he did want Jamie to get better. But fuck, he didn't know how else to fix this. Jamie deserved better. 

A few days go by of Roy coaching the defenders. He tried to ignore the way Sam and a few of the team members would look at him. It made Roy feel uneasy. Most, if not all, of the players, knew that he'd left Jamie, and that is why Jamie was struggling. They knew Roy could see Jamie suffering, and as Keeley figured, he was just being a prick by letting it go on. They didn't know that they had fought over stuff they do all the time. That Jamie would be better off with someone that wouldn't ruin his career if the press found out. That Jamie deserved to be with someone his age. The nights are filled with liquor, and Roy’s mornings are usually a blur from being hung over. 

Keeley and Sam meet Ted and Beard at the Crown and Anchor. 

"We have to do something," Keeley says as she takes a pull off her drink. "They are both miserable, but Roy thinks Jamie is better off without him, even though Jamie is clearly not better off." 

"How do you know Roy thinks that?" Beard asks.

"Because his sister told me so, that and he has been drinking more than usual, and as much as Phoebe loves having her uncle around 24/7, his sister knows it isn't good for Roy."

"Okay, so what do we do?" 

"Make them realize they are idiots in love and are at their best when they are together."

"You want to Parent Trap them?" Ted asks.

"Exactly!"  Keeley grins. 

"But how?” Sam asks. “Neither of them are parents."

"Technically, they aren't,” Keeley states. “But I know at least one child they both would do anything for, and her mum is willing to help."

Keeley drops by training with Phoebe a week later. The match the day before had been a draw, and tensions were high. But they all knew something had to give. She leaves Phoebe with Ted and goes, as planned, to see Rebecca. 

Roy has no fucking clue how it happens, but one minute his niece is fine kicking the ball around with a few players. The next moment she is crying. Jamie is, of course, faster than he is and is physically closer to her. He is there before Roy even realizes what is going on. Even with his splinted wrist, Jamie picks Phoebe up and takes her inside. Ted tells Roy to go with them, and he'll find out what happens. Roy doesn't need to be told twice. He finds them in the treatment room with the med team looking over Phoebe's ankle. She sniffles, but Jamie is on the treatment table next to her, talking her through it. Her small little hand was in his. Jamie gets up when Roy enters and looks like he is about to leave. "Your Uncle's here now. You'll be-" Jamie starts to say, but Phoebe interrupts him.

"No!" Phoebe shouts and sniffles. She whispers something neither can hear to the medic, and the medic leaves. Both Roy and Jamie gape at Phoebe as she hops down off the table and hurries out the door. It slams closed, and they hear it lock behind her. Roy tries the door, but it doesn't open.

"Phoebe, open the door," Roy demands.

"No! Not until you two fix it," Phoebe's muffled voice shouts. "You love each other. So fix it!"

"Open the door now, Phoebe!" Roy shouts, and Jamie winces at the volume in the small space. 

"No!" She repeats.

"Did we just fall into a trap set by an 8-year-old girl?" Jamie asks. And Roy grunts.

"She has a key," Roy points out. "Which means she had help."

"Is it even legal to have a door lock like this in a public building?" Jamie wonders.

"Probably not, but she had help, and if Beard was in on it, then we are fucking stuck." 

Jamie goes to put his hands in the pocket of his trackies and winces as it moves his sore wrist.

"She didn't make it worse, did she?" Roy asks, now worried Phoebe just made Jamie's life even more difficult than it already was. 

"It's fine," Jamie says, now fiddling with the velcro on the splint and staring at the floor. "She's not that heavy."

"I know," Roy starts. "But if it's bad enough you can't play, then-"

"It's fine, Roy," Jamie repeats. "It's Phoebe. Wasn't just going to sit there and do nothing."

"Even if it made your injury worse?"

"It's Phoebe, so yeah," Jamie shrugs. "You might not like me anymore, but I'm not going to-"

"Who says I don't like you anymore, Jamie?" 

"Leaving with your bag and avoid me like the plague since has made that crystal fucking clear," Jamie says. "I'm going to visit my mum after the match in Blackburn. So you can get your shit if you want."

"Jamie," Roy starts, but he doesn't know how to finish. It is awkwardly silent. Because Roy asked for this, he wanted Jamie to move on. But even when Jamie was a prick to him and literally toasted to Roy's death, it didn't hurt this much. Because he hadn’t loved Jamie back then. And now, Jamie was guarded. Cold. He made Jamie this way. 

"Thought so," Jamie muttered. He pushes past Roy to the door. "Phoebe, I know you mean well, but can you please open the door? No matter what happens, you still have me. You have my number. You can use it. And I'm not mad you tricked us. And your uncle won't be either if you open the door," Jamie kept his tone just loud enough for her to hear through the door but not in an angry shout because he wasn't mad. He was numb. It was quiet for a minute before they heard the door unlock, and then it opened. Jamie gives Phoebe a sad smile. "Thanks, Phoebs." He pats her head with his good hand. "I owe you a quid," Jamie says, and he heads to the locker room. 

"Are you mad?" Phoebe asks Roy. 

"Not at you, kid," Roy says honestly.

"Are you mad at Jamie?" She asks.

"Fuck no," Roy says. He sighs. "I'm mad at whoever gave you that key. And myself, because I think I did more damage than I thought I did."

"Oh, is Jamie's hand okay?" She asks.

"I think so," Roy assures her. "He doesn't mind if it is sore. He cares more about you than he does his wrist. And he's right. No matter what happens, you still have both of us. If you want to talk to Jamie, you can. Be kind of shitty of me to take away another person in your life."

"I know," she says, her tone sad because both Roy and Jamie were still upset.

"Let's find Keeley, and you can make her get you ice cream."

"Okay," Phoebe says. 

"Fuck you," Roy glares at Ted as he throws the key Phoebe had given him before she left with Keeley. Keeley had already received a full Roy speech about using his niece in a childish plan. Roy goes and pours himself a drink because he is beyond done. His day is fucked, and there is no way he can do without something to take the edge off. 

"Hold on, let me-" Ted starts to say, but Roy is not having it. He growls as he slams the drawer of his desk and is back in the main office. 

"Fuck both of you!" Roy shouts at Beard too. "What gives you the right to fucking do what you did? She is a fucking child. You had her fucking lie to me. My own fucking family! You risked Jamie Tartt hurting his wrist worse because, of fucking course he wasn't going to let an injury stop him from helping Phoebe. He loves her like his fucking own. If you ever think of involving Phoebe in your fucking Rom-Communism bullshit again, I will punch you in the throat. She is a child!” He glares at Ted. “You are a fucking father! You should fucking know better! And this isn't a fucking movie! Things are never that simple, and you only made it worse! Because now he fucking hates me more! Made that perfectly clear! So stay the fuck out of it!" 

Roy storms out of the office. A few players and staff members hurry to get out of his way. 

"Well, that's not good," Ted says, looking over at Beard. 

"Nope," Beard agrees.

"Hey, Ted," Keeley says later that day when she calls him. "I need to warn you that-"

"Roy is very angry, I know," Ted sighs. 

"Well, yeah, but I think we did some additional damage to Jamie." She says.

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean, I called to ask if he wanted me to pick up dinner and come see him, but he said not to bother. He just wants to get his stuff ready for Blackburn and for going to his mum's. Told me he wasn't mad, but he is just done."

"What do you mean done?" 

"I don't know," Keeley admits. "He says he cleared it with Rebecca and Higgins to take the week after the Blackburn match off. He's going to Manchester. Just wanted to give you a heads up."

They load the bus for the 4-hour drive to Blackburn, and it is oddly subdued compared to the normal liveliness of the team. Everyone knows Jamie wasn't going to be returning with them. He'll be at the game, but he is taking the train to Manchester after. Jamie had assured his friends he'd be back in Richmond after a week. He didn't see his mum much, and with his wrist being fucked anyway, he was going to stay with her. 

The trip there was an uneasy one. 

Jamie and Dani Rojas shared a room. Normally he roomed with Sam or even Roy, but Sam had admitted to helping Phoebe with her plan, and Jamie had said he wasn't mad, but he still wasn't happy. He forgave Sam before the match, but nothing changed.

Roy paces around his hotel room after the match. Jamie had told him he was going to see his mum. But knowing he was and seeing him leave were two very different things. He had watched the team say goodbye. Some members of the team gave Roy pitying looks, and a couple of them glared at him. But Jamie had barely looked at Roy. And that had Roy's chest feeling painfully tight. He still loved Jamie. He couldn’t deny it. He’d already eaten the food he ordered and more than one beer. Only stopping when he realized how stupid it was to keep drinking like that. Jamie didn’t mind if the people in his life drank. But he was not a fan of drunks. Jamie’s father had thrown a few too many bottles at him while pissed. Roy ended up leaving the rest of the pack in the hotel room fridge untouched. He needed to get his shit together and drink until he passes out because of the idea of falling asleep without Jamie beside him fucking hurt. 

After a mostly sleepless night, Roy made a decision. He had everything set before most of the team was probably even awake. He went and knocked on Ted's door. 

"I am going to Manchester."

"What?" Ted was half awake.

"I'm going to Manchester. I won't be on the bus."

"Going after Jamie?" Ted asked hopefully.

"Might end up a fucking disaster, but I'm going to go."

"Good luck," Ted says. "Let me know how it goes."

Jamie thinks he's losing his mind when his mum answers the door, and he can swear he hears Roy. He makes his way to the hall and hears her arguing with someone. When he rounds the corner to the stairs, he freezes. It was Roy. 

Roy's eyes meet his, and he can see how tired Roy looks. 

"Fine," Jamie hears his mum say. "But you upset him, and I will throw you out. This is my house."

"Understood," Roy says, looking back at Georgie. She disappears down the hall and into the kitchen. Roy steps further into the entryway and closes the door behind him. He looks up at Jamie again.

"Hi," Roy says.

"Eh…hi," Jamie says. "What are you doing here?" 

"Can we talk?" 

"Sure," Jamie makes his way down the rest of the stairs and leads Roy to the living room. Jamie waits silently.

"I don't want to get my shit. I don't want to find a new flat. I…want to go home."

"You want me to move?" Jamie asks, annoyance in his tone. 

"Fuck no," Roy says. "Not really home if you aren't there." 

Jamie just stares at him. Roy sighs.

"Phoebe was right. I need to fix this." Roy gestures between Jamie and himself. "I know I fucked up. I just keep thinking you would be so much better off with anyone else. Someone that isn't an angry and broken idiot."

"But what if I don't want anyone else? What if I'm happy with an angry and broken idiot?"

"Are you happy?" Roy asks bluntly.

"Been a shitty few fucking weeks," Jamie says. "But I was happy before that."

"Even when I pick fights for stupid reasons?" Roy asks.

"Even then, because when we fight it out, the sex is fucking awesome," Jamie grins but it fades. "Not so much when you leave and don't come back. Even when you had the chance." 

"I didn't want to make things harder for you," Roy admits.

"Harder? Roy, I couldn't eat or sleep unless Keeley, Sam, or Dani stayed with me. I fucked up my wrist and couldn't even play. It was already too fucking hard. And after what happened with Phoebe, I didn't even want to see them. I just shut down. Went numb."

Roy grimaces. "I thought it would be better for you in the long run if you had the team. You would find someone new."

"I don't want anyone new!" Jamie shouts. "I just want you."

"I know but-"

He is cut off by Jamie grabbing his wrist and dragging Roy upstairs to his childhood bedroom. "Fucking look!" Jamie gestures to Roy's poster on the wall. "I told you I fucking loved you. Loved watching you play. Then I said I love you for you. Fucked up knee and-" Jamie goes over and takes the plastic whistle off the wall. "And your stupid fucking allergy to whistles." He throws it at Roy. He points at the poster again. "You fucking think I would want anyone else? I used to fucking dream of this, you fucking prick. Quit trying to fucking fight me, and let me love you."

Roy stares at the whistle as everything Jamie just said sinks in. Jamie loves every version of Roy. He can see that now. And it's a violent and terrifying feeling of love at times. But he feels it. And Roy is moving before he even knows what he's doing, but he just needs to be with Jamie. He feels like shit when Jamie isn't there. He pulls Jamie in and kisses him. 

"I can't fucking sleep either," Roy tells him. "Could only drink until I could actually sleep. Seeing you struggle and not being able to help was eating away at my fucking heart. Fucking shattered it when you told me you wanted me to move out."

"I never wanted you to leave, and if I was there when you came to get your stuff, I'm not sure I could have kept it together. I'd have lost my shit and either begged you to stay or just cry. So I gave you an out."

"I don't want an out," Roy puts a hand on Jamie's cheek and wipes away a few stray tears that were there. "I want you to be happy."

"I'm happy with you, you fucking bellend." Jamie kisses him desperately, hoping to make his point. "No one is ever happy all the time, not even Ted. It's how you handle the shit times that matters. You can't just run away, Roy."

"I know, and I won't. Not like this. Not again." Roy holds him close. 

"Fucking good," Jamie says. He even nudges Roy until the older man is sitting on his bed. Jamie goes over and kicks his door closed. "Now fucking prove it."

"Fulfilling those childhood dreams of yours?" Roy grins. 

"Fuck yeah," Jamie says as he straddles Roy's hips. 

"I fucking missed you," Roy growls before pulling Jamie into a kiss. 

"Missed you too," Jamie says against his lips.

"Fucking love you, you know that, right?" Roy grunts when Jamie shifts his weight, and he hits Roy's clothed and half-hard dick. 

"Yeah, I do," Jamie grins. "Fucking love you too. Now shut up before my mum hears you." Jamie kisses him. Roy swallows Jamie's moan when in a quick move, Roy pins him to the bed. 

If Jamie's mum hears them, she doesn't say anything when they finally make it back downstairs. She gives Roy another lecture about taking care of her son before telling Roy he is welcome to stay. Roy thanks her but says he booked a hotel. She even serves him tea.

"For how long?" Jamie asks.

 "Didn't want to assume you'd just accept me back," Roy says. "Or that your parents would even let me in."

"Thought you'd have to prove it, yeah?" Jamie says. The striker smirks when Roy chokes on his tea. Jamie had told him to prove it in his bedroom, and Roy had fucked Jamie under Roy's Chelsea poster.

"Goodness, Roy," Jamie's mum took the mug of tea from him as he coughed. "Are you alright?"

Roy nods. His eyes were watering. "Yeah, I'm good," Roy manages when he can breathe again. "Sorry," he says. 

"No need to apologize. Just try not to inhale it this time," Georgie insists. She hands him back the mug. 

"Thanks," Roy says. Jamie laughs. 

"Fucking finally," Someone says as Roy and Jamie walked into the locker room together a week later. 

"Fuck off," Roy glares.

"We're just happy for you," Sam says. "Feeling better?" He asks Jamie. 

"Yeah, thanks, mate," Jamie grins and puts his hand over his heart. "Didn't know you all missed me so much. I'm touched." 

That earns a mix of laughs and boos.

"Well, I'm glad you are back, mi amigo," Dani hugs him.

Jamie hugs him back. "Me too, mate, me too." 

[pleb-the-original]

Day 15: Mothman

(Ah yes, the grand return of everyone's favorite psychically driven anxiety insect. Honestly, I quite like writing for the guy. Something about him is just so nice. It's probably the anxiety.) Hello there diary- journal- thing? I don’t know. Coraline just told me to write down interesting things that happen in here. Says it might help me feel a little better about life. Like what happened a few days ago! I’ve been hanging by this tree for a little while. I’ve been sensing for a bit now that something is going to happen with that tree. It’s old and brittle and I can hear the cracking it does. Not to mention the aura of danger it gives off. Luckily there were plenty of flowers nearby so I could at least drink something. Oh shoot, I almost forgot to mention. It was right by a road. That’s why I was so worried. I figured it would fall someday, I just didn’t know if it would fall on someone or something. But as usual my instincts were correct. There was a big storm this morning, really bad. The rain was just pouring and pouring and the wind was howling really loud. I was pretty scared since usually I tend to sit out storms. They aren’t very good for my wings, all the rain does a number on my scales. But then I could hear the tree being pulled out of its roots. Even worse, I saw headlights! There was a car coming down the street! I knew that car too, it was Weatherby’s. I had sensed a small bit of that danger around her but I ignored it since the tree was stronger. I was panicking really badly then. That’s when I actually decided to do something. I ran right onto that road and I spread my wings out as much as they could! I didn’t even care about the rain and wind. I also had to make my eyes glow a lot. The flashes always stop people. I could see her shock through the car window but what I focused on was hearing the tree crash behind me. That wasn’t the worst part however, oh no. I wasn’t paying attention and a branch went straight through my wing. That’s when I fell to the ground. Then the strangest thing happened. I was picked up. I didn’t want to move, both because of the pain and because of how confused I was. But Ms. Weatherby had actually taken me into her car! I was surprised once I got my bearings. We both know how I get around people. But she let me stay for a bit and even took the branch out of my wing. She was so kind to me. She didn’t care about what I was, she was just grateful that I saved her. I can’t talk so I wrote to her telling her about my powers and my work trying to help people. And she actually believed me! I thought they would never believe me, not after the bridge. She was wonderful. Even better, she was able to send a letter over to the warehouse inviting me for tea and nectar! I’ve never been invited anywhere before. I hope I don’t mess it up. I’ll write in here again afterwards. I guess Coraline was right. I feel better already. 

[theselfshiphassailed]

Aizawa and Nishiki give me a bit of a pep talk before I go in to my new job.

1.1k words

Akira and I had been having our morning tea and coffee at the kitchen island, respectively while we waited for Masato to make breakfast as he often did. I tapped my foot against the footrest of the barstool I’d been sitting on, staring down into my cup of coffee as my thumbs grazed the rim. I noticed that I’d spilled some coffee on the white marble at some point but my mind was too preoccupied to worry about cleaning it right now. Suddenly, I felt myself being pulled by my chair toward Akira.

“Oi,” he whispered against my temple, his voice still so very thick with sleep. “Don’t be so nervous. You’re gonna do great.”

I could hear him but I still couldn’t break myself from my coffee cup and what surrounded it.I could only manage a mumble, “Maybe.”

“C’mere, babe.” he said through gritted teeth, deciding that he had no choice but to force me out of my concentration, he tenderly pressed his fingers into my jawline and guided me to face him. “What I need is for you to be positive, alright? You’re a great driver. Better than me, even. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I could… wreck a company car. They’re so much bigger than I gave them credit for.”

“You’ll get used to it, babe!” his nose wrinkled as he smiled at me. “You’ll be swinging that van around like it’s yours in no time. You just gotta be patient with yourself.”

I sat there in silence for a while, my entire body tense and I wondered if drinking coffee on top of this anxiety was a mistake. “If you say so,” I said finally, my voice horrendously shaky.

“I know so.” he said, pulling me closer. “Now, take a deep breath.”

“My breath smells like coffee…”

“I can handle it.”

I let out a long, heavy breath and after I’m done, he whispered, “Good girl.” then slipped his hand to the back of my neck, bringing me in even closer so that he could kiss me gently.

The boom of Masato’s voice is what startled me out of Akira’s kiss, not that it needed to but when I got anxious I was always so unnecessarily jumpy. 

“Morning,” he said through a yawn as he entered the kitchen from behind us.

“Good mornin’, Masa.”

“Morning, big guy.”

“I’d ask what you guys are having but from the looks of it, I’d say each other.” Masato joked as he slipped his hands around my waist, joining me at my side. 

They’re so comfortable making jokes like this and usually I am too but for some reason, be it my anxiety or the early morning, all I could do was retreat within myself, my face burning with embarrassment. Akira had the better view of my face and could see that I was flustered which only made him chuckle because he enjoyed seeing me when I was like this. It wasn’t all that often. He caressed my chin and smiled at me. Masato leaned me back into him so that he could kiss me. He never started any morning without one.

“I made coffee.” I said, stroking his cheek. “Have some with us?”

“Sure, amor.” he said, stealing one last kiss before finally slinking off to collect his favorite mug.

“Masato-kun,” Akira began, eyeing the smooth pour of his coffee. “You’ve got perfect timing.”

He returned the glass carafe to the hot plate then twisted off the lids for the powdered cream and sugar. He liked his coffee sweet and I could never quite get it right so I watched him take heap after heaping heap of sugar and creamer into his coffee and tried to mentally figure out the measurements.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, so, you know her ride-along is today, right?”

“Right,” he said, stirring his concoction.

Akira gripped at my thigh and smiled, “Seems our girl is worried she’s gonna mess it up somehow.”

Masato tasted his coffee, then added three more spoonfuls of sugar before looking over at me as he stirred it again.

“Amor… Are you nervous?”

“A little.”

“Have you taken your anxiety medication?”

“I did.”

“Have you had coffee?”

“It’s her second cup.” Akira answered for me.

“Amor…”

“I know…”

“Then I won’t get onto you but, what exactly are you nervous about?” he asked, finally drinking his coffee as it was now, clearly perfect– I don’t understand.

“What if I fuck up the van? Like, what if I wreck or something or hit someone’s property? Or what if I fall into a ditch or something because I got stuck on a super narrow road? Like… Those vans are so much bigger than I thought they were from a distance but once I got inside for my test yesterday I realized just how big they really are.” I said, gripping at the hand that had been supportively holding onto my thigh.

“You’re a great driver though, amor. You’ve never done any of those things. It’s not as if you’re gonna suddenly forget how to drive once you get behind the wheel of one of their vans. You passed their test yesterday with little coaching. You’re gonna do great, I promise.”

“Plus, they had you doing maneuvers that you will more than likely never even need to use. That’s probably what’s got you overthinking this. Don’t overthink, babe. You’re gonna be fine.” Akira said, giving me a squeeze.

“You’re a better driver than this guy, that’s for sure. I feel much safer knowing that a company put you on the road. If they’d have hired him, I’d have some questions.” Masato said.

“Oi, oi.” Akira groaned, “I said talk her down, not talk down about me! I’m not a bad driver!”

“You could be better.” Masato said.

“You don’t even drive! What do you know?” 

“Why should I? I’ve got two pros here that love to do it!”

As usual, a simple conversation turned into the two of them bickering about something completely inconsequential but it was enough to make me forget my anxiety and just be in the moment with them.

“Then, unless she’s free you can start walking, since I’m such a bad driver.” Akira said, waving his hands offensively, “I don’t want you feeling unsafe.”

“Of course you’re gonna be a fucking baby about it!”

“I’m not being a baby! You just insulted my skills!”

“What skills?! Yelling at people through the windows?”

“You can’t bitch about something you do with me!”

“Fair enough.”

They both laughed and there was something about the silliness of their little back and forth that made me wonder if maybe I was being silly here too? I took in another deep breath and smiled, I was determined. Today would be a good day.

“Thanks, guys.”

[nonewpictures]

the gravedigger returns

Scars.

All over my body, from my thighs to my breasts, minor cuts on my ankles and wrists, it’s like every counter I’ve ever hit, every item that’s fallen on my toe, or every door I’ve ever walked into seemed to leave a mark on my body.

“Why are you staring so hard, babe?” Luisa, my partner, asked. She sat hunched over, a position I hated seeing her in, on our Ottoman, her red jersey and black midway shorts outfit clashing hard with the white layout of the room. 

But when she stood up and wrapped her arms around my waist, my black lingerie set and white silk robe seemed to go together. “What's wrong?” She asked softly, resting her head on my shoulder and watching my eyes through the full-body mirror. I lightly shrugged my shoulders “Just not feeling like myself I guess.”

Scars from my teenage years that never left my body, some disappeared, but not all. The C-section scar on my waist from the child I never got to raise, the hip dips, and random bruises all seemed to add up to a mess of a figurine, and clothing can only do so much when I have to come back to this body day in and day out. “Hey,” she said pulling my face to face hers, her fingers barely touched me but I longed for more.. “What’s wrong?” She asked again, this time using her eyes, those crazy lizard-green eyes that I’d never seen on anyone other than her. 

I didn’t know what to say to her… ‘Oh, I'm just feeling a little insecure’ sounded right and it was accurate but it just never made it past my lips, I couldn’t bring myself to answer when her hand was gliding around my waist, never staying still just lightly touching my waist, my hips, my knackers. I knew that if I took my eyes off of her and faced the mirror she’d just make me watch as she dug a finger into my panties and fingered me until I couldn’t stand. It wouldn’t be the first time and I’d be lying if I said I wanted it to be the last. It’s like the woman was trained in pushing me over the edge. 

“What do you see in me?” I asked closing my eyes so I could focus on her. Her hands stilled just above my scar and, for whatever reason, my breath got caught in my throat and I opened my eyes, afraid I had said something wrong. Where she was a pro at pleasing, I was a pro at overthinking, overtalking, being overdramatic, the list of over’s was practically endless when it came to me. 

“My love,” she started, smiling at me, “I see… a future.” 

“I see a life with the love of my life.” She continued kissing my shoulder. For as long as our relationship continued I wasn’t sure when these feelings of insecurity and anxiety would leave but we both knew it probably wasn’t going to be anytime soon. And sex wouldn’t fix it but, at the very least, it would feel good. “What do you see in me?” She asked, her voice muffled as she didn’t seem to be interested in stopping her lovemaking session with my neck.

I shifted my neck to the side, giving her more access which she happily took as she began biting and sucking on the tender skin. “Hm, what do you see in me?” She asked lifting her head, practically gazing into my soul. I couldn’t hide the smile on my lips, there was a reason I saw this woman being the only one I wanted to marry.

“A future.” I said softly, repeating her words. “I see a hot stud drinking a cocktail… probably a long island ice tea or a sangria, whichever she’s in the mood for.” I started lowering her hands to my hips, pulling our bodies closer. “I see us traveling the country, loving each other eternally." I finished, giggling and locking eyes with her

“That’s all that pretty mind of yours needs to be looking at.” She said and kissed my forehead.

[ellanainthetardis]

Lmao so I had discovered your fics and actually sent an anon once like "I'll fail university because of this" and you were kind enough to give advice- well, since then Hayffie practically took over my life, I practically read all of HADS and some of your chaptered stories and have been following your tumblr hcs. My exams start tomorrow and I sure hope the questions will be on your hc's bc I am not ready for anything else hasahhjah

Lmao I’m so sooorry!

I’m sending good thoughts your way and heeey in my experience if you don’t know what to answer going with your guts is never a wrong choice 😅 good luck, anon!

[cherryskyies]

We'll meet again

Levi x Reader // gn!reader

•you and Levi spend a night together before a dangerous mission outside the walls.

Word count: 700

Warnings: no one dies, but it is foreshadowed if ykwim, angst/fluff, cute moments spent together before disaster basically.

Part two

a/n: guys I try so hard to write happy things for you, but I'm just not built for it.

Masterlist || Navigation || Ao3

“I think,” you trailed off, eyes lingering on the sky, watching the colors blend together as you turned your head to Levi. “All I want in this life is to be something- to have my name known, y’know?” 

Your eyes met his, he was silent sitting beside your sprawled out body, white dress fluttering in the breeze, finding your presence more captivating than the sunset. 

Part of him didn’t understand, he’d give anything to lead a normal life for just a moment. His name would follow him to the grave and beyond, his ghost would not know peace in death. The bigger- better, part of him understood, though. 

What would Levi be if not an Ackerman? 

He pondered a moment longer, gazing down at you- have you always been this beautiful? You were a work of art, he thought. “Yes, I do.”

The breeze ruffled your hair, dark brown strands tangling together. It will be a bitch to detangle later, it always was, but it had always been worth it.

"Do you think-" your question was caught in the wind, blown away like a dandelion. "The stars are beautiful."

Truthfully, they looked mundane with you lying beside him, it took half a heart for him to not say some sappy shit about you being prettier.

Words caught in his throat, huffing out a meek "yeah," as you fiddled with his hand, tracing hearts on his bruised knuckles. 

Has he always been this nervous around you? Or was the fact you could very well die tomorrow getting to him? Either way, he couldn't look into your memorizing eyes without a lump in his throat forming- embarrassing, truly and utterly embarrassing. 

The stoic, untouched captain was head-over-heels in love, as Hange had so bluntly put it one afternoon, having watched him stare you down all throughout training and in the mess hall- there was no saving Levi.

As the wind picked up, grass tickling your skin, you couldn’t help but smile at the man. He never said a word, didn't have to, you knew. 

Perhaps he likes that about you, your uncanny ability to read his mind. For you, he was an open book- one of your favorites, having surpassed even Shakespeare.

Levi raked his fingers through your hair, catching in knots made by the wind. "Can you promise me something?" His voice was steady, if it hadn't been for the slight tremor of his hand you wouldn't have caught the anxiety flooding through him.

Looking up, you moved your head into his lap, Levi's hand caressing your face instinctively, "If this is about me drinking your tea, then no I can't promise to leave it alone." 

Your attempt at lightning the mood was well received, Levi snorting in response while he locked eyes with you; he had the prettiest eyes you'd ever seen, you could only hope they would be the last thing you'd see before death.

His hand found yours, intertwining, "My tea is yours, just make sure to leave me some," his tone was sincere, dripping with adoration for you. "But seriously," he started, smile falling. "I need you to promise me that you won't leave my sight tomorrow."

Levi Ackerman knew better than to make you promise not to die, fate was out of your hands; so he opted to prevent fate from taking what was his once again, the least he could do was try. 

Without hesitating, you agreed. The universe would have to pry you from his cold, dead hands before they took a treasure like you.

It felt wrong to even suggest you may die, to put that energy into the universe to manifest, but you couldn't help the words that slipped past your lips. 

"We'll meet again, you know that, right? Don't know where, don't know when, but we can't be separated forever; however long that may be." 

Though it left an uncomfortable silence, accepting the reality that you might die always did, it was still comforting to a degree. 

Levi, no matter the year or universe, will hold you again. Even if you're a pile of bone and ash, you'll form again molded perfectly for him: he is yours and you are his, universe be damned. 

Humming in acknowledgement, he reached down to kiss your head, "I'll search for you, forever and always."

[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.”