#this was many hours ago I am still shaken up by it

[squirrelthing85]

I am all for being corruptionpilled jane prentiss kin or whatever in Theory (being consumed by what loves me) but my ass? Could Not handle the bugs. Maybe I’m a poser. but I’m sorry my love. Creepy Crawlies in my House and Home? I shudder at the thought

[pepperyduck]

breakin' dishes - shiu kong

synopsis: shiu comes back after a night of too much fun, to find his unhappy fiancée, who's only out for blood.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: hurt/no comfort, angst, cheating, reader is a little cray, fighting, throwing breakables at shiu, brief gun mention, getting arrested, female reader.

notes: prob offensive. will prob delete later. will prob make a part 2.

who the hell does he think you are?

that is the only question that runs through your mind as the clock hits 3 a.m. leg bouncing slightly with anticipation of his arrival.

and who the hell does shiu think he is?

you look at your phone again at the message from toji.

‘your boy just hooked up with my girl’s friend. sorry.’

the image attached had caused you a great deal of pain a few hours ago. it contained your beloved shiu, shed of his blazer with his tie messed up, a hot bombshell sitting on his lap. straddling him, more like. her tongue shoved down his throat. but all the tears were dried now, and only sheer rage was left towards your fiancé.

“fucking idiot,” you mumble, clicking your phone off and tossing it next to you on the couch.

speak of the devil and he shall appear.

the door to your home squeaks open, shiu appearing in the doorway, an unlit cigarette hanging lazily from his lips. you allow him to come inside and greet his usual, “hey doll, why are you still up?” before you stand up.

shiu can see it instantly. the anger. why was toji such a snitch? why was shiu such a moron?

“who the hell do you think i am, shiu?” you shout, grabbing an empty beer bottle from a few nights ago and tossing it at your fiancé. it breaks with an ear-piercing shatter, right next to his head, and his eyes widen in surprise. the cigarette drops from his mouth.

“listen, doll-,” shiu begins, raising his hands up to try and wave you off.

but you weren’t stopping. no; you were only seeing red.

“shut the fuck up, bastard!” you yell, grabbing the only picture frame off of the side table – a picture of you and him at your favorite restaurant – and hurdling it right towards his eyes. he quickly dodged it, allowing the frame to crack against the door and clatter against the ground.

he darts into the kitchen to his right, disappearing behind the wall for only a second. you’re too quick. you follow him, and the instant he senses your eyes on him again he freezes in place and turns around, beginning to back away slowly. now, shiu is a normally calm and composed man, not shaken by many things. however, with his soon-to-be wife on a rampage because of a stupid mistake he made – he was terrified.

“didn’t think i’d find out, huh?” you step towards him, efficiently backing him against the counter – even though you were practically the whole distance of the kitchen away from him. “think you can go off and do whatever-the-fuck you want?” you interrogate him, watching him with intent as his shaky hands crept behind him to balance himself on the cold marble of the counter. you reach for the stack of glass plates you washed earlier – their placement convenient as ever right next to you – and you toss it at shiu stronger than before. “answer me!”

he barely dodges the dish, allowing it to shatter against the cabinets next to him.  as he goes to look at the aftermath of the plate breaking, another one is hurled at him, knocking him in the shoulder and falling down against the counter, fracturing as soon as it hits the surface. shiu rushes himself to look at you again, only to see another plate flying towards him. he swiftly ducks down, the dish shatters against the counter and the fragments rain atop him, shallowly scraping the skin of his face.

“we can talk- please, baby, we can talk-,” shiu pleads, slowly stepping in the direction of the closest exit – inching away from you. you can hear the cracks of the ceramic under his dress shoes. “baby, listen to me-,”

“did you fucking forget i’m an assassin, too? did it just slip your mind i’m just as capable of killing you as toji?” you cut him off, voice raising louder and louder the more you speak, and yet another plate weighs itself at shiu’s face forcefully.

shiu runs for it again, leaping out of the kitchen, attempting to go around the kitchen and out the door. but there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell you’re letting him out so easy. your senses had kicked in, the intuition so proficiently built over your tenure as an assassin proving to help you –

even when it came to the man you loved.

shiu needed to be scared shitless by you – you knew it was the only way he was going to behave. he had his chance to fuck around, he should’ve known that he would find out if he tried to do anything when it came to you. he did know that. he was just stupid, and drunk. and the influence of one toji ze’nin – the most infamous bachelor out of your whole organization – wasn’t easy to overcome.

you hastily counter his movements, grabbing your .22 out of the drawer closest to the door and rushing to block the door so he couldn’t leave. the moment shiu sees the matte black pistol in your hand, he runs up the stairs, and you chase after him, dropping the gun on your way up behind him.

that threat was eliminated, but the threat known as you was nowhere near done.

shiu dashes through the upstairs hallway into your shared bedroom, closing the door behind him before you push it back open with strength fueled by anger, sending him stumbling to the floor. he turns over and scoots away as best he can, backing into the wall.

“what the fuck shiu?” you scream, wrapping your hands around the vase that kept this week’s bouquet shiu bought you and throwing it at him. this time, you didn’t aim for him, just at the windowsill to scare him. “how the fuck could you do this to me?”

a few bangs on the door could be heard downstairs, but you couldn’t think about that – only about your fiancé in front of you. your mind drowned out the sounds of your door breaking open and the rush of footsteps downstairs as you continue to yell.

“i’m gonna kill that bastard toji – what the hell were you thinking?”

“calm down- calm down, doll, please,” shiu mumbles, paying mind to the voices growing louder downstairs. however shiu’s urging falls to deaf ears as you resume your berating.

“you dumb bastard! i love you, you asshole!”

inevitably, you make the grave mistake of grabbing another picture frame – this time, a picture of yourself shiu took a while ago – and hauling it at him – just in time for the cops to show up behind you and start to yell for you to put your hands up. your eyes widen, finally grasping the reality of the situation as you look at your fiancé, terrified. tears well up in your eyes when forceful hands grab your wrists, quickly locking handcuffs around your limbs in an uncomfortable way.

“wait, wait!” shiu shouts, rushing over to the cops, “it’s okay, we just had an argument- let her go!” his pleas are barely audible to the officers, as they drag you out of your room and downstairs, and you hesitantly comply.

“shiu!” you cry, whipping your head around to see your man quickly following behind you.

for the first time, shiu sees real tears of fear roll down your face. he isn’t quite sure why you’re so terrified – but he doesn’t care.

“hey, stop!” shiu demands, pulling on the shoulder of one of the officers that held you. he is quickly shrugged off, told to ‘stand back’ in a rough tone by the cop.

your unrelenting love for shiu bounces back in a second, you felt stupid for being so angry…but you had a reason. shiu understood you. you know he did. this situation was a whole screw up – you just hoped it was able to be fixed; shiu did, too. he would make sure it was fixed. although yes, he had severely messed up, he was going to fix everything with you like always.

shiu hears your sobs as you’re dragged out to the patrol car, the further away you get the more you begin to resist. you kick your feet and sob out for your fiancé, and the officers become rougher with you the more you fight against them. it’s a sight shiu never wants to see again.

“shiu, please,” you cry, a mess of so many emotions because of all you’ve been through in the past hours.

your fiancé tries his best to console you as the police haul you away, forcing you into the back seat of the car, “i’ll get you out, doll, just don’t say anything,” shiu commands, in a tone that he always used after fights – the tone that comforts you, “i’ll be there soon, i promise! i love you, baby!” he yells as the door is slammed by an officer, and shiu is knocked out of the way as the cop quickly slides into the driver’s door.

shiu stumbles back, the moment of you being driven away in the back of a cop car turning itself into a blur in his mind. he stands there for a good 27 minutes, head turned in the direction the cop car took you. guilt forced its way into shiu’s chest.

he said he would come soon…but he couldn’t make himself do it just yet.

so, shiu walks to the curb, pulling a pack of his favorite cigarettes out of his pocket, habitually sticking one in the side of his mouth and lighting it. his lighter was a gift from you, from an overseas job you had. he would never get rid of it; he would only refill the fluid in it every time it ran out.

“shit, baby.”

shiu mumbles to himself as he allows the pained feeling of someone who’s soon-to-be wife found out he was cheating. it was a dreadful feeling, to have all that guilt laid on his shoulders – he didn’t chase after you yet because he knew he couldn’t bare to see you so upset. shiu takes a few more drags of the tobacco before throwing his head back and mumbling some more about how crazy you are.

but he loves it.

and shiu was going to come for you, soon.

[scandinavianfairytale]

Safe in your arms

Pairing: Tangerine x Reader

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, misogyny, threat of violence (not towards the Reader)

A/N: I decided his real name is Ethan, with no context or back story. I just like the name and it would suit him 😁

Tangerine had your number memorized - he ought to, given how many times he has dialed it. In fact, he memorized it as soon as you wrote it on the piece of napkin when he met you in that rooftop bar in London.

He was working with Lemon, completely focused on their target, until he saw you getting harassed. He stepped in, kissing your cheek, and met the man's eyes. The dude was visibly shaken.

"You didn't say you had a new toy."

"I don't owe you anything, Marcus. Least of all a list of who I'm seeing." You glared at the man.

"Have fun with a used woman." Marcus spat at Tangerine. As he turned around, Tangerine wanted to grab him by the neck and throw him off of the roof, but your hand stopped him.

"Leave him. His ego is wounded, and he's lashing out." You waved your hand and let go of the situation.

"What a child." Tangerine muttered.

"Male fragility more like it."

"Do you usually go for men like that?"

"I don't date boys - him included." You finally met Tangerines' eyes.

"So what happened to him?"

"I told him I'm not interested, but he has yet to grasp that idea."

"How many times did you have to say no?"

"I think now it was the fourth time."

"Why keep being polite?"

"Because being mean might get me in trouble."

"Well, I'd be happy to assist you. If you want him to stop bothering you, just say the word and you will never hear from him again."

Your eyebrows shot up and you considered the man in front of you. He was very handsome. Strong, but at the same time still delicate.

"I don't doubt you'd do that, but I don't need your help. Thank you, though. That was very kind of you to jump in before." You smiled at him and jumped off the bar stool. Only then did you realize how much taller he really was.

"Wait. I know that this is a bit forward of me, but I was hoping you'd give me your phone number?" Tangerine wanted to bite his tongue immediately after saying those words.

He was glad his mouth was quicker than his brain. Five years later, and you were still in his life. The phone rang six times, before he heard your still groggy voice pick up.

"It's nine am, Love. Are you still in bed?" Tangerine grinned.

"Ethan, morning." He could hear you smile. He loved hearing his name roll from your lips. He could picture you right now, lazing around, still in your underwear with his T-shirt, with the work laptop turned on, giving the illusion that you were already working.

"It's already evening here." He almost scolded.

"When are you coming back? I feel like it's been weeks since I saw you."

"Have you been thinking about me?" Tangerine smirked as he whispered into the phone, looking around to see if anyone was listening.

"You know I have." You smirked into the phone on your side of the world. "Although I appreciate that no one is hogging the whole bed every night." You joked.

"I hate to tell you this, Love, but you're the bed hog."

"Agree to disagree." You smiled. "Are you okay?"

"I'm doing good. How are you holding up?" Tangerine looked out of the window at the passing landscape.

"I'm okay. I met some friends yesterday, and we ended up going for cocktails. It was a bad idea, drinking on a work day." You giggled.

"I'm glad you had fun. But take it easy today, and please don't go out jogging if you feel sick."

"Ethan, stop worrying about me, just come home as soon as you can, okay?" Your voice got serious.

"Okay. We are almost done, I'll be there hogging the bed again in no time." Tangerine smiled.

"Okay. I love you." You smacked your lips, sending him a vitual kiss.

"I love you." He smiled and hung up.

Contrary to his fantasy, you have been up for the last 3 hours, worrying about your boyfriend. He should've been back several days ago, but he took an extra job since he was already in Tokyo. But something felt off to you, and you have been worried since then. Going out drinking helped you out with putting the nagging feeling away at least for a bit. But then you woke up from another nightmare, still drunk from a few hours before.

However, hearing him just now made you feel so much better and you were able to focus and stop dreading what may go wrong. You went back to hoping and impatiently waiting for Ethan to be back, safe in your arms.

Thank you for reading ✨️😊

The GIF belongs to the amazing creator 🙏✨️

[heartfullofleeches]

I am not sucrose anon but I am equally cursed and also a barista and I would like a coffee shop AU where reader owns a popular cafe using coffee sweetened with Sucrose fluids a la Sweeney Todd

I'm gonna drain the bitch

[Warnings: (candy) body horror if you squint. Reader commits a health code violation. (Does it count if they're a person made of pure sugar?) Either way, they commit some sort of crime against humanity and minors dni]

You smile at the next customer approaches the counter. "Hi, what can I get for you today?"

"Hello, can I get a cherry surprise frappe?"

You eye the door to the back, a blur of pink ducking behind the glass. "Oh, I'm sorry, but we just ran out of the main ingredient for that. It's one of our most popular drinks. If you can wait a minute, I'll run to the back real quick to grab another bottle."

Excusing yourself from the customer and the growing crowd, you head to the back. Recollections of your life before the sudden popularity boost of your cafe flood your mind as passive conversation buzzes around you.

"This is the best coffee shop I've ever been to."

"I wake up an hour earlier to beat the morning rush, but now it looks like I'll have to get up an extra thirty minutes before."

Such praise was but a fever dream for you until three short months ago. It's understandable for business to take a while to pick off when you're starting from the ground up, but almost a year in and no sign of major progress would damper just about anyone's spirits. All your troubles and woes changed that fate-filled day - when the kind baker from across the street offered you their special ingredients.

"Sucrose? You busy?"

A breathy, shaken trial at laughter comes from one of the counters; legs twitching at the note of concern in your voice. Busy - what a silly question to ask. As a model baker and business owner, Sucrose prided themselves in having fresh stock every morning and enough to last the entire day. Slaving through the night and lacking a need for sleep left their hands free for the more important things to do during the day, such as the task you'd dumped on them since your merge.

"hehe.. r...right here, gumdrop, same as always. Was starting to get a little long without ya.. Need my assistance?" Sucrose props themselves up on the smooth metal surface, melting, sticky thighs glueing them to place. You hand on their bare chest guides them to a full upright position, thumb and index finger rolling over their hardened buds.

"Not really, besides the usual. We ran out right in the middle of a rush so I have to make this quick."

Sucrose swallows, pinkish saliva trailing down their lips as their eyes fog over. "Y-yes, muffin. I'm still a little stimulated from the last few rounds, but anything for you..."

That drink really was only meant for you. Seeing their favorite human in trouble, Sucrose wanted to help out in the best way their sickeningly sweet heart could muster. Human emotion was still a new thing for them. They were bursting with so much love for that cute barista across the street that it came out in ways indescribable with words. Being sweeter than the average individual, they saw no harm in pouring their love into something to make you feel better, so they made their best attempt at iced coffee with the knowledge they picked up watching you. The look you gave them when you came back for more made it impossible to say no.

"It's almost funny really. I thought we had filled up two bottles alone last night, but they were empty before noon." Dropping to your knees, you roll the baker's apron and skirt up to their stomach, erection peaked and sprouting upwards free from the restrain of the tangled frills. The shaft was that same bubblegum pink as most of their body, head teetering on rouge. Teasing your tongue across the leaking tip produces more of that cherry flavoring so many had come love, but relief for the already frazzled baker was cut brief as you remember you had forgotten something. Sucrose picked up on your mistake the second you fell to the floor - producing a bottle with a funnel before you could go far. Their eyes avoid yours as another weak fit of laughter hits them.

"That... is definitely odd, haha. As you can see I've been in here all day so I couldn't possibly have had a hand in-..ah!"

While you'd love to hear their excuses, you have customers to get back to. Glossing your lips up their shaft as they spoke, you cut Sucrose's speech short as you part them slipping the confectioner's cock into the warmth of your mouth. Sweet as the cupcakes they're famous for, the taste of cherry taffy washes your taste buds coating the walls of your mouth sweetness as you pump your tongue in tandem with each bob of your head. Sucrose was completely over the edge with your speed and all the "preparation" they'd done while watching you from the window. Could there be any turn on greater than seeing your beloved hard at work, and hands deep in product of your own making.

"Oh.. Sweetheart, give a fiend a warning next time...aha.."

Sucrose shoves their apron so far down their throat they would've choked if they had the needs. In the same vein they could feel their cock hitting the back of yours, all willpower bled into keeping their hands on the counter and their moans to a minimum. The fans would cut out most of the sound, but they didn't want to risk anything that could jeopardize their time with you. Sucrose's lust would be the end of your already limited time together as their hands reach down to tangle in your hair. You brace yourself for what's to come by grabbing onto their leg and angling your head in a better position for the brute pace they'd set.

"Y/n... love you.." Throwing their free leg over your shoulder and around your neck, Sucrose fucks your throat as sweet nothing ramble on from their empty head. The whole reason they had gotten caught was due to a similar lapse of control. They wanted to surprise you with another bottle of their syrup and wanted it to be as fresh as possible, commiting their misdeeds right in the bliss of your bedroom. When you found them out, you weren't mad, nor as disgusted as they'd imagined. Why would you be? You're their wonderful little gumdrop who's taught them so much about the human realm. So sweet and addictive, just like the sugary concoction brewing in their loins. You were their everything. Perfection.

"Gumdrop, you're always so good to me... I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you, but I'll give you everything."

Sap-like fluid creating a slug trail down your throat, you tap Sucrose's leg to let them know to let go before it's too late. They pay no heed to your warning as their hips edge off the counter and your nose rides against their crotch; melting digits keeping you in place as they hold you under the force of their high.

"Take it... It's all yours. You're the only one who should be able to have this, but I let you share because I love you so much.. Yours.."

Sucrose rambles on as your palate is overtake by their taste. It's like a mixture of syrup and coffee creamer. That heavy, honey consistency with a creamy cherry filled softness. The type of flavor that was good in small quantities or paired with something instead of being pumped straight into your stomach like what was happening to you. Introducing your teeth to their flesh finally got them to loosen their grip. The pain only prolonged their orgasm, but Sucrose knew by now what that meant. They take the bottle from you and attach it to themselves as you head for the sink. The heat of your mouth melted their skin more to the point you were good on sugar for the rest of the week...or until they were unable to perform on their own again.

"All done!"

Sucrose proudly displays the syrup bottle on the counter beside you. A full eight ounce jar filled to the brim. They kiss you as you come up from rinsing out your mouth, reach back to squeeze your ass as their tongue catches the spit still clinging to the corner of your mouth.

"Make sure to watch your supplies more closely, Gumdrop. See you soon."

Sucrose wonders back to their side of the kitchen to figure out how to pour out the syrup again without you noticed as you head back out to the front - plucking taffy from your hair. After finishing the customer's order and handing them their change, they lean over the counter to whisper something.

"Um, hey, not to be rude, but you have something pink on your.. back pocket. It kinda looks like a handprint."

[hircine-hunter]

Since I first played Skyrim, I have never felt as many emotions in a game as I did with this one, The Cosmic Wheel Sisterhood. The game is extraordinary. Amazing. It isn't something you can play with a sensitive mind, so your best option would be to make sure you're in a good place mentally to play. So, that's why it's taken me a while to finish it.

Fortuna became a new character I love, feeling for the Oracle witch in her centuries long solitude. I have laughed with her and cried with her. I have smiled and felt broken.

Àbramar was amazing and honestly, I have a bit of a crush on the demonic Behemoth. He wasn't evil, not in my eyes. He cared for Fortuna, and I think, loves her. He truly was not the vile beast that the game's other characters make him out to be.

I finished the game about two hours ago as I wrote this. I am still shaken. I can play again for different results and endings, but Fortuna and Àbramar will always have a special place in my heart. They have become special to me, much like Skyrim. I really hope y'all search this up on the Nintendo E Shop, as it's available on the Switch. And this game is amazing, I highly recommend it.

I hope you have fun with it like I have, too. And if you have already played it, let me know what you thought of it. I love it. Thanks so much to the developers for making this game. It's amazing, darkly beautiful. I adore it.

[anonymusfanficwritter]

The border of our hearts

Chapter 2 - Prelude for Play

Present time 

Down Winery was as tranquil as it gets. Wind delicately caressed ripe grapes, ready to be picked any day and made into finest wine in the region, little critters that made this part of land their home, were lazing around sunbathing, tending to themselves or their offspring. Even dangerous beings like slimes that frequent near the outskirts were calm and content with such fine weather. Summer was truly upon land of freedom, the only thing that disturbed overall serene scene was the master of the winery, fiery locks so untamed moved with the rhythm of the horse. Diluc Ragnvindr, heir to those lands, was aggravated, angry even and the cause of those troubles were many. 

“ Hello master Diluc” one of the maids stopped sweeping the porch from remains of earlier delivery of wheat. “ Shall we prepare afternoon tea?” He gracefully got off the horse, and gave reins to the horse keeper before answering with a heavy sigh, “ yes, please. And tell Adelinde to prepare me a bath, thank you” he didn't even see the girl bow slightly to him before opening massive oak doors, not wanting for interruption Diluc quickened his steps and practically leaped towards the second floor, going straight to the master bedroom.

Diluc wasn't so old yet, he was barely in his twenties, and yet the stress that came with managing the business caught up to him - that's what most would think. The stress came mainly from his nightly alter ego. Protecting his beloved country was the reason his sleep schedule was absolutely rect. Some time ago one of his spies stopped reporting, and that in itself would already put the young master at edge, but to add to it, the spy was located in Snezhnaya’s capital. Diluc could not travel to the nation of snow, his adventures when he was 18 made him gain a permanent ban of crossing Mondstat - Snezhnayan border. 

The fall of a well-built body, that could throw a weighty claymore, made the mattress on an oak-framed bed slightly jump, and the old furniture whimpered in protest. Deep crimson threads spilled upon a fresh and fluffy cushion, a handsome face burrowed into welcoming plush and finest silk.

“Uhh” a muffled groan resounded around the room, Diluc turned around and gazed upon the ceiling, just like in his childhood he tried to focus on a single spot and organize his thoughts. 

“ I have no way to check if Silia is okay, I can't go to Snezhnaya myself, and sending someone else is too risky. If they discovered one spy, they might have discovered others." Behind the window, the sun was slowly ending its journey upon the sky. It was still early, but in an hour or two the horizon would be painted in many colours, and Diluc would have to go off to the city. Hopefully, it's going to be a peaceful night for him and the residents. 

Pressure on his temple signalled another headache incoming. He had to get some sleep, his body, though strong, could not withstand another sleepless night. He was drained, the harvest season, the Fatui, the Abyss order. All on his single back, like a weight that cannot be shaken off. Eyelids become heavy, too heavy to fight the drowsiness, gentle breeze lulled to rest, as if Barbatos was singing him the most beautiful lullabies for dreaming the most beautiful dreams.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dark, so dark in here 

sun, where is the sun?

 Can't see

can't catch … breath

cold, so cold, can't feel my hands, my legs, my body

dead? Am I Dead? Father? Father ! Help! Father, help me! Please!

Cold cold cold coldbreatcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldicoldcoldcoldcoldcan’tcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcold

Breathe

She woke up gasping, the third day in a row and the same nightmare. She didn't scream any more when she awoke, just laid in her bed and looked at the ceiling. This nightmare was a memory, one of more cruel trials she was subjected to as a child. Ruvlovs needed to be more resistant to cold than an average person, and so they have to train from their early childhoods. Most of the trials are bordering torture, but it is just a prelude to what they have to be subjected to later on in their lives. 

She raised from the bed, there was no point in lazing around when she had to be up in a few hours anyway. Walked over to the table where the documents laid, recently they had managed to detect someone who was too nosy for Fatui's standards, everyone in Snezhnaya is a gossip to some extent, that's how people survive, by sharing information with each other, but snooping around the Royal archives is unacceptable. 

Ruvlov was guessing who the girl might have been working for. Only one name came to mind

“Ragnvindr, are you trying to thwart my plans again?” she drank the already cold tea that was left over from her earlier document reading session. Diluc Ragnvindr was perhaps one of the biggest thorns in Fatui's side, and she constantly found signs of his scheming while reading the reports from Mondstat. She had to admit, it was starting to get tiresome to read about the political failures of her subordinates and about "a very influential, dangerous and hot-tempered man with an exceptionally sharp tongue and sword."

Fortunately, during these 5 years of her post, she learned to cope with it. All you had to do was redirect his attention elsewhere, and he would rush to play a hero. This often worked, but such an influential and wealthy man as Ragnvindr had many tricks, they were particularly annoying during the last major campaign at Mondstat that was supposed to gather information about the Abyss order movement. For some reason, there were more attacks on the border than previously. Shneznaya and the land of freedom were divided by a big mountain range, it was extremely difficult and dangerous to climb it, a perfect place for organization such as the Abyss. Of course, the moment she sent soldiers to scan the area, and they crossed onto Mond’s territory, they were quickly chased off by the red head. 

“ I still need to gather information about this place, but sending more of my man will only result in your anger, is that right, Mr. Ragnvindr?” Her intense gaze was solely focused on the portrait of a very handsome young man with big, sharp eyes. 

“ I suppose, it is time to take those meters into my own hands” Ruvlov delicately took a map and rolled it in. “ I hoped we would not have the pleasure to meet, but you made your move a long time ago, so now it's my turn to torment you some.”

[officialleehadan]

Helping Hands

Broken Earth

+++

The store was packed.

Tisha was always glad to see customers in the store, but she wasn’t sure where all of these ones came from.

“What’s going on?” she asked Tina hurriedly between trips back in to the kitchen to restock the chocolates. They were almost out of the ones with orchids on the top. She already texted Nick to get him to bring them more. The chocolates were already cooling, but they weren’t finished without the tiny orchids on top. “it’s a Wednesday. We’re never this busy.”

“I put out a few ads and sent a couple boxes to these people online,” Tina said smugly. “There’s a reviewer that does a channel online about great eats in the city. They never replied, but I guess they liked them!”

“Which ones did you send?” Tisha hadn’t known anything at all about that, but Tina was the one who handled all their marketing. She was great at all of that, so Tisha kept her nose out of it, just like Tina was happy to taste new flavors, but left all the chocolates to Tisha. “This is crazy!”

“The new vanilla pod ones – don’t worry, I didn’t reveal our mysterious supplier, the orchids of course, and a selection of your other original flavors.”

It was a good choice, but Tisha was still astonished by how many people were packing in the store. There was even a line out the door.

“Call Mickey,” she said when it became apparent that the line was only getting longer. “And Shells. You need someone out here and I need to be in the back.”

“Will do. I’ll try and slow things down enough to buy you some time.”

“You’re my favorite twin.”

“I’m your only twin.”

Tisha laughed and headed back into the kitchen just in time to catch Nick coming through the door with a whole box of orchid flowers for her.

“My hero!” she said gratefully as he passed them over and she immediately began washing them, quick but careful not to crush the delicate blooms. “You’re a life-saver. Tina did this marketing thing, and now we’re swamped!”

“How can I help?” he said, much to her surprise, and pulled off his coat so he could roll up his sleeves and wash his hands. “I’m not much of a cook, but I can follow instructions.”

“You— really?” Tisha paused in her work, shocked by the offer and his clear intent to work with her. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” he told her and gave her one of his barely-there smiles. “So, what am I doing first?”

Tisha thought fast, and handed him the orchids, now clean and shaken dry. “Okay, here, lemme show you how these go on the chocolates. They’re done except for this part.”

“Orchids I can do,” he agreed, still smiling. “Just point me in the right direction and I’m there.”

It didn’t take long to teach Nick how to attach the flowers to the chocolates, and then how to place the gold foil on a different batch. They worked in silence together, against the backdrop of the busy store, until Shells, sometimes known as Shelly, Tina’s sister-in-law arrived, and Tisha passed fillings off to her. Shells rarely came into work with them, but once in a rare while, she filled in if Tisha was sick.

With three people in the kitchen, they managed to keep up, just barely, with the huge line of customers, until tina finally came in at the end of the day with her arms full of takeout, and her husband in her wake.

“We’re closed,” she said as she found a clear table and began laying out the food. Tisha breathed a sigh of relief. They ran out of almost all their fillings more than an hour ago. The last batch of chocolates were simple cocoa-dusted ones that would keep fine until tomorrow. “I dunno how you three did it, but we managed to sell out of everything, right up to the moment we closed.”

“best team ever,” Tisha said and slid the chocolates into the cooler before she smiled tiredly at Nick and Shells. “You guys did amazing. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Let me know if you need more help some time,” Nick said, and turned for the door, but was stopped by Tina catching his arm with hers. “Uh…”

“People who save our butts get fed. Gramma’s rules,” Tina said and forcibly propelled Nick towards Tisha, who pulled a stool over for him beside hers, and the one Shells already sat on. “Sorry Sugar, you helped when we needed you. You’re family now.”

“Didn’t think decorating chocolates put me up for adoption,” Nick said, but he sat and accepted a plate form Mickey with a nod of thanks. “But it was interesting. Haven’t ever done that kind of work before.”

“We’ll make a proper cook out of you, just you wait,” Tisha threatened him as she took her own food. “But I won’t blame you if you like the orchids better.”

“It’s a hard choice, but I’m better at flowers,” he joked, but he settled down to eat with them. Tisha was so glad for what it meant for him. For just a little of that sadness to leave the corners of his eyes. She wondered how long it had been since he had a meal with friends. Probably too long. “Will you be this busy again tomorrow?”

“Probably,” Tina said, equal parts delighted, and despairing. “If we can restock in time. What do you think, Tish?”

“If we hit the supply store early enough, and maybe open late, there’s time,” Tisha mused seriously between bites of Chinese takeaway. She itched for a shower, but that could wait. “I think the supply store across town is open late. Might be able to restock tonight. It’s only what, five?”

“Six by the time we’re done eating. Enough time,” Tina agreed and leaned on her husband’s shoulder. “Nick, any chance you have more orchids ready to go? I know we burned a lot of your inventory today.”

“I can have them for you early tomorrow. Vanilla too,” he said, much to Tisha’s astonishment and bumped her shoulder with his. “Wouldn’t be much of a hero if I couldn’t pull that much off, right?”

“You can be our hero any time,” Tisha said, and proffered the fried rice to him. “We’ll pay in bad takeout and tea you hate.”

“As long as there’s a few chocolates in the mix, I’ll count myself well-rewarded,” Nick said, and finally smiled for real as he took the rice. “So, what do you need for tomorrow? I’ll raid my greenhouse and see if I can’t find a few things to stun the masses even more.”

+++

Broken Earth: (FULL COLLECTION)

Orchid Delivery

Not Coffee (Subscriber Only!)

Picky Tea

Raspberry-Ginger

Unexpected Unfriend (Subscriber Only!)

Old-Fashioned Flavors (Subscriber Only!)

Vanilla Welcome

Twin Talk (Subscriber Only!)

Helping Hands

Healing Orchids (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

[good-old-gossip]

Slaughter in a school 

Reported by -

Khuloud Rabah Sulaiman The Electronic Intifada 11 June 2024

Israel attacked a UN school in central Gaza on 6 June. (Omar Ashtawy APA images)

Ahmad Hassanien woke up to feel that everything was being shaken violently.

First, he heard part of a school building collapse. Then he heard the screams of people who – like his family – were taking shelter at the school.

As his wife attended to their children, Ahmad opened a classroom door so that he could check what was happening. He could see barely anything and had trouble breathing because there the air was thick with smoke.

Enough smoke had cleared within a few minutes for him to get a clearer view. He could see shrapnel flying near the classroom in which he had taken shelter.

Some of the shrapnel penetrated the doors of neighboring rooms. Many people were injured.

The school – located in Nuseirat refugee camp, central Gaza – came under attack on 6 June. It is one of many facilities run by the UN agency for Palestine refugees (UNRWA) that Israel has targeted since declaring a genocidal war on Gaza.

Ambulances, cars and donkey-drawn carts were used in bringing the wounded from the school to al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital in the nearby city of Deir al-Balah.

Ahmad was among those who spent hours digging in the rubble, trying to rescue people.

At least 40 people were killed in the attack, including 14 children.

Ahmad observed how some people taking shelter in the school lost a number of family members.

“I couldn’t hold back my tears,” he said. “My heart ached for them.”

Some of the scenes he witnessed were especially gruesome.

He saw a boy gathering his sister’s flesh before burying it in a pile of sand in the school yard.

He saw an injured man tearing his clothes to pieces as he grieved for his family, most of whom had been killed.

He saw a girl sitting in a corridor at the school, trembling in fear and with blood streaming down her leg.

Ahmad asked her about her family.

“I don’t know where they are,” the girl replied. “I don’t know if they are still alive.”

Ahmad was speechless. He then took the girl to hospital.

“I still cannot get these scenes out of my head,” Ahmad said. “I sometimes have flashbacks.”

“I am afraid of losing my own children,” he added. “I could not live without them.”

“No safety”

Yasmin Mousa was praying when she realized the school was under attack. Malak, her 3-year-old daughter, immediately woke up.

As a number of classrooms in the school caught fire, Yasmin’s husband joined other men in trying to douse the flames with water.

A civil defense team eventually managed to extinguish the fire.

Yasmin sought to comfort people who had just learned that members of their family had been killed.

“I came across a dad who had collapsed to the floor,” she said. The man’s daughter – named Mais – had been killed.

The man spoke of how the previous night Mais had hugged him and told him that she loved him. “It was as if she sensed that she was going to die,” Yasmin said.

Yasmin and her family had to flee Nuseirat refugee camp a few months ago as their home was destroyed. They went to Rafah, Gaza’s southernmost city, and stayed with relatives there.

After Israel invaded Rafah last month, the family returned to Nuseirat and took shelter in the school.

Nuseirat has been repeatedly subjected to extreme violence lately. Just a few days after the school massacre, Israel killedmore than 270 Palestinians in another assault on the refugee camp.

“There are no safe places left,” Yasmin said.

“Hospitals are not safe, tents are not safe, schools are not safe,” she added. “There is no safety but in heaven.”

Samia Tafish was in a classroom opposite the school building which Israel targeted.

She witnessed many people running away from the school in panic. Parents were carrying children or leading them by the hand as they feared that the school would be struck again.

There was a general sense of confusion about where people should go. Some sat down on the street.

Once the bombing had stopped, Samia and her family went to al-Awda hospital a few kilometers away.

When they arrived, they saw many dead bodies at the entrance to the hospital.

While looking around the hospital to find somewhere her family could shelter, Samia noticed Rajab, a neighbor of hers at the school. Rajab had been rescued from the rubble but his 10-year-old brother was among those killed in the massacre.

Rajab refused to get treatment for his own injuries until he buried his brother.

“I did not know what I could say to him,” Yasmin said. “His brother’s body had been torn apart.”

Khuloud Rabah Sulaiman is a journalist living in Gaza.

[waltwhitmansbeard]

go on, claim my heart: chapter thirteen

see my masterpost for what came before this.

Percy is deep into an account of emptying cemeteries in Whitestone when his shoulder is shaken roughly, jerking his attention up and away from his reading. Vex smiles softly down at him, dark circles under her eyes. "It is late. We ought to sleep before we leave."

He looks reluctantly down at the report in his hands. He cannot stop now, not when he is, for the first time in over a decade, learning about his home. "You go on," he says, nodding toward the door. "I'll be in in a bit."

She frowns at him. "You're no good to anyone exhausted, Percival. Not Keyleth, and not them." She gestures to all of his reading on Whitestone, and he knows what she means.

He takes her hand and kisses the back of it. "I will be in soon. I promise. I just want to finish this."

It is a lie, and they both know it, but she lets him tell it anyway. She kisses the top of his head and makes for the door. Percy nods to Vax, who is ushering an exhausted Keyleth out as well. Pike pries Scanlan off of the book he's been drooling on for hours and waves good night to Percy and Grog, who, too big for any of the beds in the house, curls up on a nest of blankets on the floor in front of a crackling fire and passes out, and then, Percy is alone.

In the past several hours, he has learned a great number of things about his home. Both imports and exports have declined steadily since the Briarwoods have come to power, suggesting a declining population and workforce, and tourism, once a thriving segment of the Whitestone economy, has all but ground to a halt. For years, those with family members in Whitestone have filed complaints with their own rulers, citing unusual silences from their loved ones and claims of being denied access to the city to see them.

The Briarwoods make themselves known in neighboring courts sparingly, maybe once or twice per year, enough to keep up appearances without needing to answer too many questions. They were last seen about six months ago at an event in Emon, the wedding of one of King Uriel's children. Percy recalls Sovereign Korrin and Keyleth receiving an invitation to that event, but given that it was scheduled right around the time of Vilya's birth, the Ashari Nation sent a gift in their stead.

Most disturbing are the whispers coming from within Whitestone itself, rumors that the dead walk again. This is not a surprise to Percy; shortly after he arrived on the doorstep of the Zephran castle, scarred and terrified, Sovereign Korrin sent spies to investigate the Briarwoods that Percy had claimed slaughtered his family. One of these spies was able to relay that the Lady Briarwood had studied the necromantic arts on the continent of Wildemount before word returned that said spy was found dead, mysteriously drained of blood. That Delilah Briarwood has reanimated the dead of Whitestone for her own aims does not shake him. What does is the idea that some of those dead might share his blood.

Percy's eyes are starting to cross, so long has he been staring at these reports by dim candlelight, but it is only the creak of the parlor door behind him that moves him to look away. He turns to see a most unwelcome sight at the entrance to the room: Syldor Vessar, still dressed himself, frowning at Percy. "Do humans not sleep?"

Percy grits his teeth. "We do, my lord. Perhaps I do not do so as much as I should."

Syldor enters the room, eying the snoring Grog by the fireplace with disdain, and approaches the table upon whichPercy has piled his completed reading. "My wife tells me you are a de Rolo."

The air in the room goes very still. "I am."

"It is...surprising to learn that a member of that family still lives."

"It is a piece of information that the Ashari Nation graciously kept to themselves these many years." Percy tips his head, curious. "Were you acquainted with my family, Lord Vessar?"

Much to Percy's surprise, Syldor settles in a chair beside him. "As city-states in a world of kingdoms, there has long been a...friendship between Syngorn and Whitestone. We have advocated on each other's behalves on numerous occasions, and our trade partnership goes back further than even I remember. I was...saddened to hear of the illness that took your family, though, I suppose that is the way of humans." He pauses, his frown deepening. "Though I am starting to believe that the story we were told about the fates of the de Rolos contains fewer truths than we once believed."

Percy gathers up as much of the reading on Whitestone in one hand as he can and tosses it closer to Syldor. "Read for yourself. The Briarwoods murdered my family and have, in the intervening years, clearly attempted the same to my home. I will not know for certain how well they have succeeded until I see it with my own eyes."

Syldor does not move for the pages. "And these are the people who have kidnapped my...son's daughter?"

He wonders what is harder for Syldor, admitting that Vilya is his granddaughter or admitting that Vax is his son. "Yes. Lord Briarwood leaves behind a...signature of sorts. One that I saw with my own eyes as a child, and again the morning Princess Vilya was discovered to be missing."

"Then I should wish you the best of luck in your endeavors. Syngorn would enjoy a...renewed partnership with Whitestone, should the rightful caretakers be reestablished."

"Is that what concerns you? Syngorn's relationship with Whitestone?"

Syldor bristles. "Lord de Rolo—"

"Please, I am the lord of nothing and no one. Call me Percy."

"Lord de Rolo, I understand that you have a..." His eyes flick up to the ceiling in annoyance. "...rapport with Vex'ahlia, one that I prefer to know nothing about—"

"How wonderful, I prefer to tell you nothing about it."

"That being said, I do not know the light in which my children have painted me in their time in Zephrah, though I cannot imagine that it is flattering."

"No need to imagine, Lord Vessar."

Syldor's nostrils flare; it is clear he is not used to being spoken with such flippancy to by someone who is technically his peer. "The twins were nightmares while they were in this house, and though I regret their manner of leaving, I cannot deny that I felt relief at their absence. You may feel however you wish about them, about her, but know that I will not be chastised in my own home for doing what I believe is the best for my family."

Percy blinks. What a thing, to live as many years as this elf will, and to spend all of them in such self-imposed, abject misery. He leans forward to rest his forearms on his knees. "Lord Vessar, no one would ever accuse you of not doing what you believe to be best. It is clear from every syllable from your lips, every expression of scorn on your face that you are utterly consumed by achieving whatever passes for best in your sad, cold world. You have expressed to your children an intense desire for them to be as far from your gloomy little kingdom as physically possible as soon as the dawn breaks, but let me tell you this: your nightmares are the rest of the world's dreams. Vax'ildan and Vex'ahlia are bright, dedicated, compassionate, loyal, and, most importantly, undeniably better than you."

"Good sir—"

"Oh shut up. Have you not heard enough of your own voice? Do you not grow tired of objecting to every inconvenience and slight that musses your impeccably pressed robes? Do you care more for your perception at court than for the lives of your own children, children whom, might I add, would not exist without your indiscretions in Byroden?" Syldor's face colors in embarrassment and outrage. "Let me be clear: I do not care if you get to have the light of your children in your life. I do not care if you lock yourself in these marble walls and mold over like bread kept in a cupboard. How you craft your misery for yourself is your business. But while they are here, while they are in earshot of your contemptuous tongue, you will speak to them with respect. You will remember that you speak to the Champion of the Raven Queen and the husband of the future sovereign of the Ashari Nation, and you will remember that you speak to the Captain of the Royal Guard of Zephrah and the chosen of the rightful heir to Whitestone. And so help me, Syldor, if you ever again speak to them as you did today, Syngorn's future relationship with Whitestone will be the least of your problems."

With that, Percy shoves himself to his feet and stalks from the room, not giving Syldor a breath to respond. He storms down the hall to the room he is to be sharing with Vex and, quietly as his rage allows, pushes inside. Vex is asleep, sprawled in the middle of the bed in such a way that Percy has no idea how he is meant to get in bedside her. Rolling his eyes affectionately, he strips down to his underthings, sets his eyeglasses atop the beside table, and manages to nudge her limbs so that he can slip beneath the covers, claiming what slice of the bed he can.

Clearly sensing him there, Vex moves in her sleep, twists until she is curled into his side the way a puppy snuggles into its littermate. Percy presses a kiss into the top of her head and marvels at her beauty in the sliver of moonlight peeking in through the curtains. How that man could be so ignorant of the gift he has given the world, this wonderful thing he created and set loose like a song on the wind, melodious and heartbreaking? Percy should be endlessly proud of a daughter half as capable, half as scintillating, half as intelligent as Vex. He slides an arm over her to pull her in close and closes his eyes, breathing her in as he drifts off into whatever dreams, dark and haunted as they may be, await him.

[imaginingmoonlight]

The Sun and the Shadows- Alastor & daughter!reader (eventually)

Chapter three: Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!

Word count: 2208

Notes:

GUESS WHO UPDATED? MEEEE!!! It took longer then I wanted so sorry about that. I’m currently doing exams so updates will be random and unpredictable but I’ll post as often as I can! I’m so sorry for any mistakes, I’m trying to proof read but I’m tired soooo yeah. Enjoy!

Why had you done it? Why? Why had you accepted the deal without a hint of hesitation left to linger? Accepting a deal with someone in hell was clearly a bad choice, let alone one involving your soul. You knew this. You'd heard the stories, you weren't dumb. Never make a deal with the devil. So that was the question. Why had you done it? Maybe it was being saved. The shock from those shark people attacking you had really shaken you up. Maybe it was his aura. Despite the threat he posed for others, he certainly didn't seem like he was intending to hurt you. Maybe... Maybe it was simply the fact that you were a teenager in hell, alone, scared and injured. A promise of protection didn't sound so bad, no matter the price.

You eyed Alastor warily as one of his shadow-creature thingies supported you, walking down the street. He walked with such confidence, such poise, such authority. You, however, found yourself following him like some lost, shy puppy. A shy puppy with a limp. God, was your leg still in agony. He'd taken your soul just an hour ago now- and it had somehow been one of the worst pains of your life. It had felt like dying all over again. Your chest had ached as if a large part of it was missing in that moment. It probably was, to be fair. But you had recovered, and you felt the safest you thought you could in, well, quite literal hell. The demon wasted no time (a fan of cutting to the chase so far, you observed) in requesting you to go with him to... Some sort of hotel? Hasbeen? Hazbin? Whatever it was, he had declared it to be the safest place for you right now.

"So, uh, this hotel." You started, avoiding eye contact. Alastor looked at you, signalling for you to continue. "Where is it? What is it? What will happen when we get there?"

"Goodness me, so many questions! You'll see when we get there. I'm upholding my end of the deal." Still, his smile didn't fall. Surely his face was about to fall off, keeping that grin up all the time. Not even a twitch of fatigue. How odd.

"Well, how long am I going to have to walk on my leg? I have no idea whatsoever how I'm supposed to treat it-"

"My acquaintances there will be able to fix up your leg just fine. As for the walk, it's only around the corner for here. You can hold out that long, can't you now." His eyes narrowed and all you could do was nod and look away. No way did you want to feel like a burden. He clearly did not appreciate questions, but these were important for you, weren’t they?

“Yes, okay. Awesome.” Nodding, you fixed your gaze straight ahead. Just up the street, a demon couple noticed the two of you and scurried off, eyes wide with fear. That wasn’t the first time that had happened on this walk. Not by a long shot. You’d started noticing more after the third time.

“…why is everyone so scared of you?” You ask quietly, looking around.

“That’s none of your concern, dear. Just don’t do anything offensive and there is no reason to fear me. My job is to protect you, is it not?” Okay, then. You weren’t getting an explanation any time soon. He was unnecessarily mysterious. You couldn’t help the shiver run down your spine as you nodded again.

He stayed true to his word, however. The hotel was only just around the block from there. And it was grand, ever so grand. Compared to the grimy, filth-ridden streets of hell, it could be described as beautiful. It was almost heavenly, angelic in architecture, discounting the vibrant red colour scheme that gave away its hellish origins.

“This is gorgeous.” You breathed, awe struck.

“This is home.” Alastor replied, almost wistfully, before snapping back to the harsh demeanour he’d showcased previously. Aha. A chink in the armour. At least you knew he felt emotions other than anger and frustration. Walking with purpose, he flung open the twin doors at the entrance and entered the building. You followed.

The hotel’s atmosphere was friendly. Friendly, warm and kind. Nothing like outside. In the lobby there were sofas set out around a crackling fire (as if this place needed any more heat, but the sound was pleasant), candles everywhere emitting a soft glow and even a cosy little bar area where the bartender, an incredibly tired-looking cat, was listening to a white and pink demon chat away. But what caught your attention most was the photographs. They were everywhere, stuck on walls, notice boards, framed on tables and sides. All the same 8 or so people, with others appearing every now and then. You spotted several with Alastor in, all of which he was either facing backwards or his face was obscured by something. Not a photo guy?

At the back of the lobby, smack-bang in the middle, rested a portrait of a demon, much larger than any of the other photos. A snake demon, wearing what appeared to be some sort of uniform. He looked happy. Happy and proud. Surrounding it were bunches of flowers, some wilting but some bursting with colour. You smiled. This person was clearly well loved.

You turned your attention back over to Alastor, who was leaning casually on the reception desk. The desk was unmanned.

“Charlie? Charlie dear?” Alastor called, his voice echoing in the high ceiling above. A beat. A second beat. Then a blonde girl came whizzing into the room, sporting a tuxedo in a similar blinding red as Alastor's coat. She was buried under a stack of paperwork, until she plonked it all down into the desk.

"What's up, Al? Nice morning walk?" Suddenly, she caught your eye. This, presumably, was Charlie. You gave a small wave and she broke out into a wide grin. If sunshine was a person, it would be her, for definite. "Who's this we have here? A new client?" Her eyes were practically sparkling.

"Quite possibly, dear, quite possibly. Meet Florence, the newest soul under my wing." Charlie's face immediately faltered, but sprung back to life before looking at you again. You noticed how there was now an ever so small hint of sadness behind her eyes. That wasn’t a good sign, now, was it? Uh oh.

"Well, welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, Florence! My name is Charlie. I'm the founder. Are you interested in staying with us?

"I think so." You replied, more confidently than you felt. Charlie bounced on the balls of her feet and did a little clap.

"Oh, brilliant! I'm so pleased that we'll have another person trying for redemption!" Redemption? What did she mean, redemption?

“Oh, I haven’t told our new friend about the redemption side of things here yet. But right now, she has an injury I think we need to attend to.” He gestured to your leg, which was limp, as you held your weight on your good leg. Charlie looked at it and immediately her eyes widened.

“Is it broken?” She asked, rushing over to support you by putting her arm around your shoulders.

“I think so?” You replied. You certainly couldn’t walk on it or move it, that was for sure.

“Come on then, let’s get you sorted out. You can tell me all about yourself while I fix you up!” Charlie said gently, flashing you a reassuring grin. The two of you hobbled off, her leading you to another room, while Alastor wandered elsewhere.

The medical room was so incredibly comfortable. The lights were dimmed and the wallpaper was somehow detailed yet subtle at the same time- it was fascinating to look at. Ease-inducing, too. You felt so calm in here. The calm in the eye of the storm. Sitting back, you admired the room as Charlie started to bandage up your leg.

“So how did you get into hell, Florence?” She asked cheerily, eyes glued to her work.

“Well I died a little while ago, you see. Just an accident, super boring. I lived in heaven for a year. I've always strived to be a good person. But then... Some sort of sketchy things started happening? There was the whole trial with the princess of hell and the seraphims. That caused drama. I watched the whole thing-"

"The Princess of hell? You mean me?" Charlie chuckled. You stared at her, mouth agape.

"Oh my god. Uhm- uh- your majesty? I'm sorry, I had no idea. I'm new," not knowing what to do, you hastily bowed (the best you could while sitting). She only shook her head, gigging, and gestured for you to continue.

"I'm sorry, I genuinely didn't know. Okay, well, I knew that Adam wasn't that good of a person so I started asking questions about his place in heaven. He was being really rude to people all the time so I challenged it, thinking other people would agree. Nope. The head Seraphim sentenced me to hell. I'm a fallen angel now, I guess." Explaining, you looked down at the floor. Charlie gave you a pitying look, tying your bandage up before patting your arm with a touch as light as a feather.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that. That sounds awful!" She looked up, right in your eyes, and you could tell she was being completely genuine. In your head, you made the decision to trust her immediately, just as you had done for Alastor. You hoped you wouldn't regret your choices.

“Yeah, well, it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m all good.”

“But still! Hell is no place for a young girl like you. Thank god Al found you in town.

You nodded.

"I'd be dead without him, yknow. He saved me from these shark thingies? I nearly got shot by one."

"Alastor? Saved a kid? That's not like him," a new voice rung out in the room. It was female, low, and was coming from the doorway. You turned to look. Another girl stood, with long white hair tied up in a ponytail and- were those wings? Angel wings? Just like yours.

"Vaggie!" Charlie leapt up at once and ran to the girl, planting a tender kiss on her cheek. The girl- Vaggie?- smiled, but her gaze hardened when she turned to look at you.

"Hi," you wave awkwardly, suddenly very wary of the spear she carried. That was an angelic spear, right?

"Florence, this is Vaggie. She's my girlfriend! Vaggie, this is Florence. As you heard, Alastor saved her and brought her back here," Charlie introduced the two of you, eyes shining with excitement.

"Nice to meet you, Florence." Vaggie turned back to Charlie, and you let out a small sigh of relief now you weren't being stared at.

"But Char, since when does Alastor just save someone? He's the kind of person that would finish them off himself. There's gotta be an ulterior motive. I don't trust him."

"If it helps, he then immediately after made a deal for my soul," you piped up. Vaggie's head snapped round to look at you again.

"He took your soul? That explains that, then. Always looking for a way to manipulate someone else. I'm telling you, Char, he's no good-"

"But he did offer me protection from hell. I know it was unwise to take it as fast as I did but I had nearly just died. For the second time! I don't think he's all bad, as long as he holds his side of the deal..." why did you defend him? He certainly didn't seem like the best guy. Maybe you just really wanted to trust him. Eyes softening, Vaggie walked over to you. She sat in an armchair next to you, crossing her legs politely.

"You seem way too innocent to be in hell. What's your deal?"

You told them both everything. From you dying in the car accident and living in heaven all the way to being cast into hell like nothing but garbage.

"So you're a fallen angel, huh?" asked Vaggie quietly. You nodded in clarification.

“Me too, actually.” She spread her wings, matching yours, and winked (blinked? She only had one eye. The other was covered by a large red cross ).

“How’d you fall then?” You were curious.

“I was an exterminator. You know what one of those is now, right? Yeah of course you do, the whole case thing happened. I let a demon child go free on the job and I got caught. By Lute, actually. She ripped my eye out and left me to rot down here.” You let out a shaky breath.

“Wow. That’s-“

“It’s fine. On the sunny side, I was saved by this charming lady right here,” she turned to Charlie and rested her head on her girlfriend’s bright blazer shoulder. You smiled kindly.

“You guys are so sweet!” It was refreshing to see such a healthy couple down in hell, of all places. Charlie spoke up again.

“Hey, how about we introduce you to the others? I say we show you what this hotel is all about!”

[mizumiii]

Hiraeth - Part I

Table of contents 

HIRAETH, n. (Welsh) A spiritual longing for a home which maybe never was. Nostalgia for ancient places to which we cannot return. The echo of the lost places of our soul's past and our grief for them. In the wind, rocks, and waves, it is nowhere and everywhere.

Donan x Fem!Reader

@drooland it is done!

Hello ! As usual, I wanted to read about a character nobody gave a damn about so I had to indulge myself. Here is a fanfiction about Donan, a side character in Diablo IV. I tried not to cover what the game already did, but there's sometimes I could not just go around. Anyway, it would be better to read it after finishing the story.

I wrote around 20 pages and just reached Act IV. I don't know how much more I'll write but I want to cover the end of the game. So I'll see.

Warning : NSFW

Enjoy :)

The estate was almost silent this evening. The only faint noises came from the large house where you could guess servants going on and back to get everything put for the night. You glared at the moon already shining in the sky, maybe you were being a bit too shameless by coming at such an hour. But now it was too late to turn back. So you left your horse in the stables, not even bothering to tie him up. He and you had gone through so much hardship, you preferred he would be able to flee if anything dangerous arose, and at the same time, you knew he would come back to you when you needed him. 

“Good evening”, you politely said to the steward.

"Good evening. What brought you here at this hour ?" Wilfred asked with just enough innuendo to make you feel bad about it. He obviously recognised you from your previous visit, two days ago. 

“Donan wanted me to inform him of any progress in my research, so here I am”, you nonchalantly lied. 

“I will see if he agrees to meet you…” The at that ungodly hour was almost audible.

He left you to wait outside, making you wonder where you would go if Donan really refused to let you enter. After all, you had only met him twice, it was hard to get a good grasp of someone's personality in such a short amount of time.  Still, you were drawn to his persona. Fine, it was his physical features which first caught your attention, but then it had been his relationship with his son awkward and caring, then his relationship with the people around him magnanimous and generous, then the whole deal around Astaroth's elimination… But what had made you really eager to know more about him had been the little glimpse into his privacy you had witnessed in his study. Seeing him working in the middle of the night, looking so tired but still going on… And then how he had resisted Lilith when so many had simply given in to her temptation… Really, he was fascinating.

“The master welcomes you…” Wilfred informed you with a dejected smirk.

“Thanks”, you sang while walking beside him to get in. 

He sighed before leading with all the dignified and resigned appearance he could muster. You walked through the same corridors for the second time. The place felt so empty despite a couple of servants going on around. He finally left you in front of the chimney. Donan was reading some documents with a half-eaten meal on a corner of his table. It seemed odd to see him study there, but you could understand that his study was not a place that felt safe any longer. 

“The Wanderer, sir…”

“Yes, thank you.”

The ancient Horadrim waited for his steward to leave the room before looking up to you while putting his reading aside. 

“Should I worry to see you come back at such an hour?” He asked you with a scoff. 

“No, not for now at least”, you shredded before carrying a chair, putting it in front of him and finally letting you fall on it. “But your estate looked far more comfy and warm than any place I have recently been, so I was not going to let go of such an opportunity.”

This time you were far more sincere, it was almost all the truth.

“It did not occur to me that I was renting rooms”, his large frame was shaken by a rasping laugh. 

“Don't worry I will not tell anyone else”, you added in confidence. 

“Wilfred, please bring something to eat to our guest”, Donan ordered after observing you in silence for a second.

“Thank you…”

You waited without a word, simply watching as your host was putting the table in order. It took only a minute for the steward to appear again with a warm plate for you and his master. You thanked him again, feeling touched by his obvious care for Donan. 

“Thank you, Wilfred, it was not necessary”, the man smiled tiredly. 

“You must eat properly, what would the young master say if he learned about it ?” 

“You're right, as always.”

The servant's behaviour made you both laugh lightly. Wilfred went back, carrying the old plates with him, leaving you alone. 

“Let's hear your report then”, Donan inquired between sips at his soup. 

His question seemed innocent but the way he was glancing at you was way too curious. 

“Breigstag is in disarray, they are attacked by wraiths coming from deeper in the lands. The druids and knights are working together… difficulty.”

“There are no surprises here”, he winced.

You glared at him, curious if he was finally going to ask you what was obviously eating him away. However, he kept his composure, seemingly waiting politely for you to keep going. 

“Thankfully there’s a very mature young knight keeping everyone’s head clear”, you innocently led. “I think you know him…”

“What’s his name? I should reward him for being able to handle those two.”

“Hmm, it was something like Yoran? Yorun?” You had to bite back a laugh between each nervous tic of your companion.

“Yorin”, he drily corrected you.

“Yes, that’s it! Yorin! Sweet boy!” You agreed vigorously. “He helped me a great deal back there, leading me through the Weeping Cairns.”

“I told him to stay close to the Knight Penitent”, Donan grunted displeased. 

“He’s quite dependable though”, you shrugged, “clear-headed in action, knowledgeable, I’m not judging anything but he clearly knows how to handle himself. And that’s quite the compliment coming from someone like me.”

“He is just a boy”, his answer was even more dry than the previous one, you were obviously touching a sensible cord.

You remembered the note you had read in his chamber, from the Reverend Mother Prava, the head priestess, urging Donan to let Thorin join the Church of Light.

“I’m not trying to force you into anything”, you corrected while putting your forks down. “I am… merely trying to appease your worry.”

Thankfully, Donan's frown eyebrows slowly eased in front of your sincere words.  

“I suppose I am partially at fault too, I know I overprotected him, and still am, but he is too kind for his own good”, he justified himself while pouring you some wine. 

“I'll wait to have children of my own before judging you”, you jested.  

After that, you kept eating and drinking while talking about the concerning situation before going on to other subjects like the druids and the church until you had enough alcohol in your blood to dare to talk about your true motivation. 

“So I heard you had some trouble finding sleep…”

It was hard to bring up the subject naturally when you had found that information by roaming in his bedroom and stumbling upon his potion table with a recipe for a mixture against insomnia. 

“Who can boast about sleeping peacefully nowadays?”, he chuckled before emptying his cup while looking away. 

“Me”, you bragged playfully. “I think I know exactly how to help you… Do you want to try my method ?” You asked without waiting. 

“What could happen? Worst case scenario I would stay up all night, that's something I am familiar with. But you, should you not rest to be able to deal with the Remains tomorrow?”

“I'm touched by your concern but don't worry, I'm used to fighting in dire situations. Let's go to the stables.”

You emptied your glasses enthusiastically, your plate finished long ago while Donan was doing pretty much the same. You looked at him moving his large frame around the table, his face was slightly red because of all the vine you had drunk. It only made the green of his eyes shine brighter…

“Should I get my horse ready?” Donan asked you once you stopped in front of the stables.

The air was cold but not too much since you did not have to put any cloak on. 

“No”, you shake your head proudly, “Brother, my horse will be enough. And to be honest, I’m not sure any other horse could follow us…”

“Should I start worrying for my safety? And Brother who names his horse like this?” He sneered while looking at you taking off the saddle to accommodate you. 

“Maybe you should…”, you answered with a smirk while helping him get on the dark horse before easily jumping in front of him. 

You rode silently for a couple of minutes, leaving the estate behind. The night was silent too. As if the whole world was holding his breath, waiting… Since the attack by the goatmen, Donan had sent back the people working in the field, so there was nobody around. 

“I found my horse as a foal when I was in my teens”, you explained after a while, “he has not left me since. That’s why no other could compare to him.”

“Have you been living by yourself since then?”

You found his warm voice quite pleasant, even closing your eyes to enjoy it. For now, he had been able to hold on without putting his hands on your hips which amused you greatly. 

“Yeah pretty much. But enough about me,” you said, turning your head in his direction, “I think you’re too busy working your ass off on boring matters so you don’t have your fill of excitement to be able to sleep correctly, so I’ll remedy it!”

“That’s the worst explanation I ever heard”, he laughed, his eyes shining. 

“Maybe but you have nothing to lose trying it!”

And without any more explanation, you pushed your mount to run. Donan was almost ejected, he grabbed you without thinking, and his weight crashed on you. The wind howled in your ears, messed with your hair, and froze you. The strong sensation of freedom and excitement made you laugh without restraint, almost forgetting about the man behind you. 

Brother went climbing dreadful cliffs, rushing between creatures screaming against you both, but he never hesitated. He only stopped when you gently patted his neck.

“We’re here”, you informed Donan after jumping down.

He looked down at you: you looked like a scarecrow with your cheeks red from the vine and the wind, your hand extended in his direction. He could not hold back a deep, sincere laugh that made him feel more alive than he had felt for way too long.

“If I'm sleeping tonight I will have nightmares about your riding skills!"

“‘I’ll take that as a compliment”, you scoffed before turning around with your arms spread. “I found this place the other day when I first came to your estate.”

It was a nice place from where it was possible to admire the whole druids' land. Even if it was dark and gloomy, it was still really impressive. Donan stayed really silent while looking at it. You stopped staring at it after a couple of minutes, switching to the man at your sides. You wondered about what he was saying in this landscape: surely memories of old times. After all, he had already fought against demons, he knew how bad things could get while you were just starting to get it. Still, he did not look happy while looking out there, his expression was gloomy, painful even, and sad. But what shocked you was how much you wanted to help him feel better.  After what had happened to Vigo you had thought you would not be able to get close to someone else, it was too hard to lose them… 

Despite all your fears, you put a hand on his arm.

“It’s hard to let people in, but if we don’t we would not be able to experience such wonderful memories”, you thought out loud.

You were more talking to yourself than addressing Donan, but when his green eyes turned into yours, you felt intense pain and also… Gratefulness. For a brief instant, you both stand very close, your hand on his arm and his on yours. Despite the cold air, you could feel his warmth through his clothes. Were you succeeding in reaching him? Your heart was growing so big in your chest, desperate to make the man understand how much you cared for him. 

Then you heard worrying monstrous screams.

“I think those fucking fallen followed us”, Donan scoffed. 

“I guess we'll have to fight our way back then", you smirked. 

Almost an hour later you were both back at the estate, after decimating half the population of the local fallen. You had to clean yourself from the blood and dirt, and now you were standing in front of Donan’s bedroom ready to bid him a goodnight. 

“I wish you a good night then”, you said before adding with a grin, “If you still can't sleep, I'll come to take care of you myself…”

“Be careful with what you say or I could take you at your word”, Donan scoffed, his hands on his hips.

The both of you stood in front of his bedroom, daring the other to cross the invisible line between you.

The ancient Horadrim was overtowering you but was far from making you feel intimidated, on the contrary, you were thrilled even more.

“Maybe we should not waste our time and go straight to it”, you whispered while walking closer to him. 

“Was it your plan from the beginning?” Donan sneered at you but you could see from his eyes trying to decipher you that he was only acting confident.

“I just wanted you to feel better”, you admitted taking one last step to make your body touch in the process. “Can I kiss you?”

For all answers, the man bent to put his lips on yours. You melted at his touch, your hands hungrily grabbing his head. His salt-and-pepper beard was softer than what you had expected, you twined your fingers in it, making him unable to escape you. Donan was blocked by the door behind him, and you pressed against him. He had not thought that far ahead, underestimating your reaction. So he put an arm around your waist, and with the other, he blindly opened his bedroom. In a swift movement, he led the both of you in and closed the door behind you this time. 

Meanwhile, you had not stopped kissing him, your lips greedy against his, your mind long forgotten behind all the passion building in your lower belly. Once Donan successfully hid you from the indiscreet eyes, he grabbed your hair to deepen your kiss. His tongue dominated yours, earning muffled moans from you. His large frame was crushing you against the door, but you did not complain, rather you rubbed your needy womanhood against his legs without thinking.

Once Donan noticed your shameless behaviour, he let go of your waist to press his hand between your tight. The surprise and sudden pleasure made you gasp and wine for more. His scoff disappeared in your mouth while he applied himself to masturbating you. However, he never let you come. When your moans became numerous and desperate, he pulled your hair to separate your mouths and looked at your dishevelled appearance. With a smirk, he rubbed faster, but each time he felt you close to peak, he led his fingers on your vagina, leaving your clitoris throbbing. 

“Please”, you begged only standing by holding onto Donan’s arms. 

“Do you want something?” He scoffed his eyes eating you alive, he even went to kiss you and bite your lips.

“Please, make me cum”, you pleaded, your body twitching in despair.

His fingers went back to your weak point and in a matter of seconds, you were climaxing on his hand. Even with your eyes closed you could feel him watching you with perverse desire. And in fact, he did not give you the time to recover. You were suddenly thrown onto the large bed, he made quick work of undressing you before doing the same for him. You half opened your eyes, your legs squeezed from the waves of pleasure still hitting you, but you were not ready for the sight of the Horadrim standing tall, his dark skin slightly bright by the light of the candles, and his erection throbbing in front of his massive body. 

“Can I fuck you?” He asked in a soft but husky voice while slowly stroking his manhood.

“Y-yes”, you stuttered, parting your legs with enthusiasm.

He smiled, taking an extra second to enjoy the sight of you offering yourself to him without hesitation. Then he lowered himself without going onto the bed, he was totally covering you, his arms on each part of your head, his belly touching yours, and his cock slightly caressing your vagina. Then while he kissed you, he pushed into you in one go. Your previous climax made it easier, but you still felt your walls stretching against his massive member. You put your legs around his waist, grabbed his head and let yourself be fucked. His thrusts were hard and deep, he was making you moan louder and louder, drinking the sounds of it directly from your mouth. It felt incredible, the fire in your belly radiating to your whole body. You thought that he was going to come several times but despite his own loud grunts he never stopped.

When you thought that you could not withstand it anymore, he climbed onto the bed, on his knees, pulled you closer with your legs making you half lift and then he trusted even deeper and harder. You could not even moan, you choked on the air, and your eyes widened. You watched as his face was no longer composed, he was sweating a lot, his mouth making an exciting sound of pleasure. Like this, he thrust again and again, each time he cursed.

“By the light… God…” He speeded up. “G-go on masturbate you…” He ordered you.

Unable to think or do much by yourself at this point, you gladly put your fingers on your vulva and started rubbing you. Your voice came back at that moment, your hips twitching each time you rubbed yourself, torturing Donan. Each one of his trusts coincided with each one of your rubs, and soon after you were both climaxing. 

The man tried to lay on the side of the bed but you pulled him on you with enough strength. He was too weak to protest, and you were too happy to bask under his weight. Like this, your loud respirations echoed in the room until one of you had recovered enough to talk.

“You plan to kill me not to make me sleep aren’t you?” Donan laughed.

“Recognize that I was close with the ride earlier”, you giggled. “I’m going to wash again, do you want me to sleep with you or not?”

You already had a great time, and the way the man looked felt as if the weight of his responsibilities a little bit less crushed him. But you knew that you could never be the wife of someone, and never dreamed of it, but still, you wanted to know if you were just a means to release some steam or if there was more going on. Either way, you would accept his answer. It was your wish to be by his side, not his. You would hate it to be one more concern for him. 

Meanwhile, you were trying hard to ignore the closed closet just at the left side of your sight. The first time you had come to this estate you had looked through all the rooms, and what you had found in here had clearly set the limits of any relationship you could ever build with Donan…

“If you do not mind me waking up and roaming in the room during the night, you are welcome to sleep with me”, he offered with a smirk.

“Oh I don’t mind, I’ll be here shortly!”

He chuckled in front of your enthusiasm. And like this, you shared your first night together.

Next part

[outlying-hyppocrate]

i'm certainly not pleased he took his hands to the fragile thing i live in with its protruding bones, tendencies to feel unwell, what is this? i'm actually okay, but i speak like an idiot. although, minds shaken maybe, become intoxicated on my thoughts, yes, i find you will. i am perfectly normal. without these words what would i see? i am just putting down the words that come to me in my mind. i am normal. i am sound. i cannot stop imagining the moment when his fist connected with my shoulder blade and i shot up, near tears, however this is not so? it is overly dramatic. i speak the truth but i did not cry in this instance. it pains me even now. it happened less than an hour ago. will he resent me? have i become so and devolved into this being, strange being, still crispin (for every clarification but she thinks crispin is not so and crispin is a façade and) my words scare you off and i am so sorry. to be quite honest i can switch this mode of speaking on and off. see? i'm. completely fucking fine. but i'd rather not as it's inarticulate. the words mother speaks to me genuinely has led to believe me that crispin is just a game i play for you but it's not but it's not and i can feel tears nearing me and slightly blurring my vision and apologies many apologies on my behalf, please practice vivisekcija leptira. and still i've the gall to end the façade of unwellness (look, see, i can kill crispin off for a bit, become her if it pleases you - mihi placet) put something here #random thoughts

[loneranger0369]

I... I hope this doesn't piss off someone again, leading them to bully me.

I am a 32 Year old Indian, born Hindu and currently working on doing further Studies.

Since I developed the Ability to remember, I have been bullied, at school by other Students and Teachers, at college by some Professors, seniors and most people of my batch and now by my Past.

I am still in contact with people of my College, which is why I can work on my Present for a good Future. They always used to bully me by telling me that I am good for nothing and that I shouldn't even try, because I surely will fail. I want to succeed. Then I could show my Bullies, that they have been wrong the whole time and that I can achieve. I don't know why I have this Urge to prove them wrong and somehow rub it in their face...

But this is possible.

Althougy I had a severe Accident 3 years ago, leading to temporary life Support while in Coma, then to temporary Handicap and painful physiotherapy. At that Time, temporarily I couldn't do many things on my own, like eating on my own, showering on my own and for a few days I needed to get cleaned after pooping..... Despite all that, I find that the most mentally traumatic part of my life was when I was about 12. In an Indian School in my home City... Cannot forget those memories...

Bullied by teachers.

Bullied by almost all Students.

Couldn't stand up to myself, because I didn't even know that I had to. I read that I was in that 'Fight or Flight' state all the time. After my accident I kind of got shaken from that state. When I talk about those memories now, my family is like 'It has been 2 Decades! Get over it!'

Till my Accident I used to pray. A LOT! After all that physical Torture I gave up. Now I am a strong believer that there is no God.

Psychologists don't have any understanding for the kind of Torture I went through. Atleast the ones I met in India don't. Uselessly spending hours talking, but no Result. Time and money wasted due to these visits.

I read books, which didn't help. Like... 'Forgive and forget' , 'Subtle Art of not giving a Fuck' and a few others. Nothing helped.

Making a Video may not help, because Bullies always find new ways to bully people.

Writing a Book... I don't know. Maybe after settling down...

Occasionally on some Posts here, when I reply 'I was bullied. I know Bullies. You are bullying people. Please stop'. I get bullied in reverse. I don't know what makes Bullies to realize what they are doing. But maybe that is not my Business.

What can I do to improve my mental condition..? How would I be able to help myself? Time has passed by, quite a lot of it. But it has not helped very much.

I made a similar post maybe about 2 months ago. I got no Response. I am trying once again with some hope of getting Help.

If possible, please help.

[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.”

[watchmegetobsessed]

Sparkles - Harry Styles

happy new year folks! this is my NYE gift for all of you, hope 2021 will treat you well and see you soon with hopefully a lot of content! thank you for being here with me this year, 2020 was an emotional ride for me, but tumblr remained my happy place. thank you for all the support you showed me and my art this year, cheers to a new one! enjoy this little soon-to-be-dad!harry piece as celebration

word count: 2.5k

masterlist

Harry finishes up the last touch on the virgin mojitos, adorning his work he did with the sugar-coated edge of the glass, feeling quite proud how he nailed it. He softly hums along the music that’s flowing from the record-player as he cleans up after himself, leaving the kitchen spotless, just when he hears his name called out.

“Harry? Can you help me?” Y/N’s voice comes from their shared bedroom and he is quick to drop everything to come to her rescue.

“Coming!”

He shuffles into the room, finding his very pregnant wife sitting on the edge of their bed, her favorite pair of heels at her feet that go well with the loose dress she is wearing. She has ditched wearing anything tight a while ago, feeling way more comfortable in baggy clothes since her bump started showing. He never tried to convince her to wear her usual clothes, he has read enough to know how much she goes through with her body image during pregnancy, so he just always wanted to make sure she feels comfortable over fashionable. Also, she looks breathtakingly beautiful to him regardless of what she is wearing. Or what she is not wearing…

Her eyes lift up to him as he appears in the room, she is leant back on one arm behind her while her other hand is cupping her bump.

“Can you please help me put them on?” she pouts and Harry is on his knees in front of her without a second thought. It’s not the first time she struggles to put her shoes on, but Harry doesn’t mind helping her do such mundane things, if anything, it just makes him feel involved, like he is able to take just a tiny part of the hard side of pregnancy away even if it’s just as small as putting on her shoes or shaving her legs in the parts where she can’t reach anymore.

“You sure you’ll be fine in heels all night, baby?” he asks, carefully sliding her slightly swollen feet into the heels, but they luckily still fit.

“Already packed a change, don’t worry,” she grins, her hand running up and down her stomach as Harry finishes up the task. Smirking up at her he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to her bump, cupping the sides in his palms. Though he can’t wait to finally meet their little baby girl in just three short weeks, he gotta admit he’ll miss the bump.

Over the course of this pregnancy, he has grown to love this state of the woman he is in love with. See her go through the changes, experience new things and grow a new life in her own body, it’s been a privilege to be by her side through the journey and Harry can’t wait to see her do it again whenever the time is going to be right.

Standing up he helps her to her feet, she smoothes out the soft fabric of the dress that reaches just above her knees.

“You look amazing, baby,” he smiles, kissing her lips softly.

“Thank you. What time is it, should we leave?”

“Let’s drink our cocktails and then we can leave,” Harry nods. They move out to the kitchen and she squeals in happiness seeing the mojitos she requested from him earlier.

“These look so nice!” she gasps doing a little happy dance as she takes the one Harry hands her. “Is yours alcohol free too?”

“Of course.”

“You know you can drink, right? I don’t mind it.”

“I know. But I don’t want to,” he smiles down at her, clinking his glass against hers. “Cheers, baby.”

She smiles up at him stealing a quick kiss before they both taste the drink.

“Mm, this is amazing, H,” she nods to herself, gulping from the cocktail again and again.

“Yeah? You like it?”

“Yes. Can’t wait to have one with actual alcohol in it,” she smirks making him chuckle. He presses a soft kiss to the top of her head before chugging down his own drink.

Not so much later they get in the car and head over to one of their friends’ New Year’s Eve party they’ve been invited to. Harry was hesitant to accept the invitation at first, knowing well she would be close to full term at this point, but she seemed too excited to go out, something she hasn’t done too much lately. Pregnancy has made her way too tired most of the time to even leave the house, her natural habitat became their king sized bed, wearing mostly Harry’s jumpers with just her knickers.

Upon arriving to the party that’s held in a penthouse, Harry keeps a hand on her lower back at all times, making sure she is okay, whether it’s about needing something to drink, to eat or if she decides to change her shoes. That happens quite fast, barely over an hour into the evening Y/N makes her way to one of the plush couches and Harry gladly helps her get rid of the torturous heels and put on her ballerina shoes.

It’s past eleven when he first lets her out of his sight, only so she could go to the bathroom, though he asks if she needs help with that as well.

“I think I’ll manage,” she smiles at him, hand sliding to the back of his neck to pull him down for a quick kiss.

His eyes cautiously follow her disappear down one of the hallways, nursing the same soda he opened an hour ago. He returns his attention to the conversation they were in before her leaving and barely notices that she is taking way too long in the bathroom. When he realizes that she hasn’t returned, he excuses himself from the little group to go and find his wife. Dodging anyone who tries to pull him into another conversation, he makes his way down the hallway he last saw Y/N waddle away. It’s not his first time here, so he knows exactly where to find the bathroom, however, his eyes fall on something that diverts from his destination.

Walking past one of the many bedrooms, he notices an all too familiar pair of slightly swollen feet propped up on the edge of a bed through the door that’s ajar and a smile falls on his lips right away as he pushes it further open. Lying comfortably on top of the king sized bed, there is Y/N resting on her side, the only position she can sleep these days, hugging one of the giant pillows to herself, snoozing adorably.

Harry knew she would get tired way too early, though she was convinced it wouldn’t be a problem, staying up past midnight, yet here she is, sleeping the night away while the party is still buzzing outside. Her shoes are abandoned at the leg of the bed, purse tossed to the nightstand and Harry swears she probably came in to just lie down for a bit because her back was starting to hurt, but eventually fell asleep.

Walking inside he closes the door behind him, the bedside lamp illuminating the room enough for him to navigate to the other side of the bed as he kicks his shoes off. He couldn’t care less about all the people outside, it doesn’t matter that they probably should be out there mingling, right now he just wants to hold his pregnant wife and have a nap with her, regardless of the fact that they might miss midnight.

As soon as he lies down behind her, his arm circles around her, hand coming to rest just above her popped out belly button and though he tried to be as careful as possible, she still wakes up, blinking at him over her shoulder a little groggily.

“Harry? I fell asleep,” she whispers, partially to herself, rather than to him.

“I know baby. It’s alright.”

“M’sorry, I just came in here to have a breather, but I just felt so tired,” she adds, yawning into her words at the end.

“Don’t worry. Wanna stay a little longer or do you wanna go out?”

“How much time do we have until midnight?” she asks, furrowing her eyebrows before her eyes go wide. “Wait, did I sleep through midnight?”

“No, you didn’t,” he chuckles softly, kissing her shoulder. “Want me to set an alarm for us?”

“Please,” she nods, dropping her head back to the pillow. He fishes his phone out of his back pocket, setting an alarm ten minutes before midnight so they have a little over twenty minutes to rest before they have to emerge from their temporary bedroom.

Dropping the phone behind him to the mattress, he places back his palm to her bump, gently caressing it as she leans back against his body, enjoying the warm embrace of him. They both doze off soon, the party outside is long forgotten as they enjoy some alone time, but those twenty minutes go by faster than they wanted it to and they are shaken up from their shallow sleep by the sound of his phone’s alert.

“Ah fuck,” he slurs, blindly tapping around the mattress behind him until his hand finally finds the phone and he turns it off.

“Why am I so tired?” she breathes out rolling to her back, staring up at the ceiling with sleepy eyes. Harry’s eyes wander down on her body and he can’t help the smile forming on his lips seeing her bump towering high. He is still struggling to wrap his head around the fact that there’s a tiny baby girl in there, his baby girl.

“Because you are growing our baby. That needs a lot of energy,” he mumbles kissing her tummy softly, running his hand up and down on it.

“Do you think she’ll look more like you or me?” she asks excitedly, tangling her graceful fingers through his hair as he presses his cheek gently against the side of her bump.

“I hope she’ll take more after you,” he smiles at her.

“Really?”

“Of course. But like, with a hint of me,” he adds, making her chuckle.

“I want her to have your eyes. I love them,” she muses and reaching out she runs a finger delicately through his left eyebrow, bringing it down the side of his face until it reaches his lips. He turns his head slightly, pressing a kiss to the pad of her finger, tugging her smile wider with the softness of his actions.

They hear the buzzing increase outside, so they figure the countdown is close. Though the both know they should be heading out to be with the rest of the guests, neither of them moves.

“I’m a little afraid though,” she whispers as the smile falls from her lips.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It’ll be weird that it won’t be just the two of us anymore.”

“Do you… regret…?” he implies hesitantly, a little afraid of her answer even though he knows it.

“Of course not,” she breathes out with a soft smile. “I wanted this. We both wanted, right?” Harry nods at her question. “I just… I’m a little afraid we will lose… us. You know what I mean?”

“I think I do,” he nods again, pushing himself up before he scoots closer, caging her between his arms on the bed as he holds himself up above her. “And I promise you I will never stop working on us. I’ll try my best to keep these sparkles alive for as long as we live.”

“So you still feel the sparkles?” she asks with a shy smile, hands sliding to the back of his neck as she starts playing with his curls.

“Of course I do,” he smirks.

“Even after spending five years with me, you still haven’t gotten bored of me?”

“I could never,” he chuckles shaking his head dramatically, making his curls brush against her forehead.

“Yeah?” she giggles. “Not even when I’m making you watch Big Hero 6 for the millionth time?”

“Not even then,” he assures her. He could never say no to her pouty look whenever she is trying to make him watch it again, because it’s her favorite Disney movie of all times. If anything, he cherishes the moments when she is all cuddled up to his side and quotes the lines perfectly, eyes shining so brightly. He would do anything to make her happy.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!” The countdown begins outside, yet they still don’t move. Staring at each other, they preserve this precious moment, one of the last ones where they are on their own. Her hands go to cup his cheeks, her thumb running along the soft skin under his eyes.

“I love you. So much,” he breathes out, closing his eyes for a short moment to enjoy her soft touch.

“Seven! Six! Five! Four!”

“I love you too,” she whispers, getting lost in his eyes once they lock on hers again.

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”

“Happy New Year, my love. I can’t wait to see what this year brings for us.”

“Happy New Year, baby,” she smiles, pulling him down for a sweet and appreciative kiss, the first one of the year.

They drag the moment a little longer, enjoying the sparkles that are still clearly there, before they pull back, grinning at each other like crazy.

“We should head back, don’t we?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Can we leave soon though? I don’t think I can stay awake much longer.”

“Of course,” he chuckles pecking her lips one last time before he scoots to the edge of the bed to get off of it.

“Harry?” she calls out and when his eyes return to her frame, she is still lying in the same position.

“Love, we really shouldn’t stay any longer in here,” he huffs, eyes soft on her, but she shakes her head.

“It’s not that. I think… I think I need some help getting up,” she admits chuckling.

“Oh right,” he mumbles shuffling over to her side to grab her hands and gently pull her up until she sits on the edge of the bed. He kneels down without a second thought, putting on her shoes, making her smile. “There,” he breathes out, helping her to her feet. She circles her arms around his neck, pulling him as close as possible with her bump.

“You are going to be such an amazing dad, Harry,” she breathes out kissing him delicately.

“I hope so,” he chuckles nervously, his hands squeezing her hips gently. “Come on, let’s schmooze a little longer so we can go home and sleep.”

“That’s the best thing you said tonight,” she sighs dramatically, making his eyes go wide.

“Oh really? That was the best?”

“Just kidding!” she chuckles pinching his cheek before adding in a mumble: “Kinda.”

“You’re lucky you are pregnant, I wouldn't let this slide otherwise,” he shakes his head, taking her hand as they head towards the door.

“Oh, but you love me too much to get mad at me, right?”

Smirking he opens the door and holds it open for her.

“I do love you a lot.”

Thank you for reading! Like/reblog if you liked it and leave a feedback!

[what-even-is-thiss]

2nd COVID Birthday

I wrote this literally in the 30 minutes before midnight and edited it in like 5 minutes and I wanted to share it with someone and I can already see all of the problems that a literary journal would have with it so I hope someone on here likes it.

.......

In the last half hour before midnight on June 28, 2021 I sit by myself on my dad’s couch. I have long had a habit of watching myself become older. The clock strikes midnight, and in the eyes of the law I am now an older man. Not a wiser man, because in reality only a second has past, even if that second almost always feels like it lasts an eternity.

Still despite this uselessness, I watch the clock turn over. Feeling a weight that doesn’t exist. An artificial bookend to another chapter that I’ve constructed in my mind.

I remember watching myself turn seven, perhaps the first time I did this. Waiting patiently on the living room couch long after my parents and baby brother had gone to bed, looking at what was, to me, an impossibly insurmountable and exciting mountain of presents forming a shapeless blob in the dark, knowing as I moved from one numeral to the next that I was so close to knowing what it held.

Now I sit on my dad’s couch waiting. Half an hour too early. As a joke to myself and nobody else I put on my headphones and scroll through my phone to the bottom of my list of songs.

Still stuck in my liminal space of waiting for my number to tick over I reach the number section of songs at the bottom.

22. Taylor Swift. Classic. Touch. Start. Pop. Happy. Dread.

I drop my phone. I’m not sure when. The song isn’t over. I’m not 23 yet. My phone isn’t damaged. I let the song end against my better judgement and only then after Ms. Swift has finished do I rip the headphones off and start breathing again.

“It feels like a perfect night to dress up like hipsters and make fun of our exes”

I have no exes. I hold my headphones. I breathe. I have to write. Now.

There’s a lot of things that young adults are expected to experience and it seems as though most of us are under the impression that we are doing it wrong and all of the other young adults are doing it correctly. Finish whatever school is needed or wanted, fall in love, go to parties, get married, get a job, settle down and become a new and improved version of your parents.

Teenagers on the internet tell me that I’m old. I feel like I’ve just crawled out of a cave and seen the sun for the first time. Have I had sex yet? Do I want to have sex? Do I want to fall in love? What do I want to do with my life?

I was going to answer all of those questions when I was 22. Stupid plan in retrospect, but all plans made in the last year and a half seem stupid in retrospect.

A friend of mine is engaged. Her future husband is moving from Colorado to California. She has a real job now. I bang my head against the wall trying not to compare my life to hers but somehow during all the unpleasantness she managed to get her life started and even with everything I’ve accomplished I still feel like I’m nothing.

The unpleasantness. The thing that is going on right now. You know… that. We all know. The whole (speaker waves their hands around vaguely) plague that upset the fabric of society and took over all of our lives and has inevitably shaken up everyone that has survived it even if they themselves were not directly impacted. The phenomenon that lasted for the entire time that I was 22. You know. That thing. That thing we are tired of saying out loud.

I watched myself turn 22 in the midst of the pandemic thinking that by the time I turned 23 that I would already be out in the world. So many of those moments that I watched myself turn older are crystalized in my mind, but not that one. Not turning 22. It’s as vague and confusing and one note as the past year spent here inside on my dad’s couch.

The moments in which I turned 20 and 21 are perfectly preserved in my mind. My anxieties, my fears, my final thoughts and hopes in the second before the digital clock wordlessly ticked over. The second I turned 22 though? Is lost to history. To time. Faded into the background noise of the apocalypse that never came.

I don’t know who I’ve become. I don’t know who any of us have become. Societal and personal identity has been swirling and changing in the past year and now it’s all been tossed up in the air and I don’t know what will come crashing down or what it will look like but it’s coming. Whatever impact comes the next decade will feel it tenfold.

Five minutes remain. It’s 11:55 pm. I am only going to turn 23 once. I am going to spend it crystalizing this societal feeling in time. The feeling that we don’t know what the hell we are doing. This is not a year worthy of nostalgia. This is not a year worthy of romanticizing. This was hell.

How different was it to be 22 nine years ago when that song came out? I have never been to a club. I have never gotten so drunk that I’ve thrown up. I’ve never made out with a stranger and I’ve never fallen in love and the thing is that I’m not sure if I want to do any of those things but this was the year that I was going to try.

It’s 11:59 pm.

I’m still typing. There’s still racism and people dying of COVID-19. I said it. The thing we’re all tired of hearing. The disease. The thing. The YouTube demonetization word.

It’s 12:00 am.

I’m no wiser now than I was when I started typing this. I watched the clock turn over. Happy birthday to me.