#also sorry to everyone who has their screen brightness low

[rolybug]

(pretend that i wrote a really good awesome cool caption here)

#uuhh #blood #gore #body horror #the dragon one is a mess but i like that it feels like it's about to segueway into a tv ad for knight repellent #'don't you hate it when this happens? 🙄 ugh so annoying' #also sorry to everyone who has their screen brightness low #art #digital art #scopophobia #decapitation cw #sorta

[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.”

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

[teasty]

hold on tight || b.c (m)

"hi! can you write something about streetracer!chan x f reader where things got heated up 🥺🥺 i really like your works by the way, kiss yourself really is one of my jisung’s fav fic !!" - anon

a/n: holyashjdljzhldsa just the thought of streetracer!chan makes me... omg i don’t even KNOW, i'd actually go crazy... and omg tysm! that means so much to me :,( and you're gonna have to excuse me since there's so many things heated could mean i'm just gonna make it angsty and smutty,, also kinda went off for a fluffy ending because it's bang chan, the christiano bangnaldo, how can i not???

● pairing: bang chan x (fem) reader

● genre: a lil bit of fluff at the beginning | angst | smut (mdi!)

● warnings: chan acts like a dick but he really isn't | illegal gambling/street racing | established relationship | angry sex | (of course) car sex | hair pulling | degradation + praise | dom!chan, sub!reader | fighting :( | semi - public sex | profanity | suggestive dialogue | reader slaps chan once :( | unprotected sex (please be safe!) | choking | kind of a quickie???? | super happy ending because i'm sappy like that

● requested? yes!

● words: 8.7k

→ summary:

You’ve never known about your boyfriend’s secret and very illegal job, if you could even call it that.

"Shut up, buckle up and hold on tight 'cause it's gonna be one hell of a night for us, darling."

It’s a cold, rainy night. You’re waiting comfortably on the couch, sitting there wrapped up in one of Chan’s blankets, waiting ever so patiently for his return. He’s not usually out this late, neither did his job usually end this late. Your mind was getting the worst kinds of ideas as you held your phone in your hand, more worry than anger coming over you. You couldn’t be mad at him, really, you were just worried something happened to him, since he wasn’t picking up your calls or even looking at your texts.

It’s around midnight, and you swore you wouldn’t sleep until you watched Chan, in all his glory, walk through the front door of your guys’s shared apartment. You’ve been dating Chan for years, ever since high school. And, now, even after graduating college and finding a stable job and apartment, Chan still tended to keep things from you. It was a bad habit of his, yes, but you couldn’t really be too mad at him for it. Besides, you’ll be able to help him out of that habit. Once he comes back, at least.

To wait, you decided to watch a bit of television to let your mind wander from the thought of something bad happening to Chan. Of course, the subtle thought of him cheating crossed your mind a few times, but Chan’s only ever been the most loyal and dedicated boyfriend, even past his pretty hard shell. He acts pretty tough sometimes, but you know that he’s just a little bit insecure about himself on the inside. Which, to you, is completely normal. Everyone’s at least a little bit insecure. You couldn’t blame him for that.

Getting with Chan was actually very difficult at first. You both had a rocky start before you started dating, since Chan was kind of like the cliche popular bad boy, and you were the snarky book nerd. You both started off arguing and bickering about everything. But, when you both got closer and closer, you began to see a softer, kinder side to him. And, like magic, you two started dating. You don’t really remember how it happened. It might’ve been just Chan saying, “Wanna date me?” or something like that just ‘cause it’s simple. However, getting it past your parents about your relationship with Chan was the most difficult in the world. They did not approve of him whatsoever. Even today, they’re still cautious of him even though Chan’s already proven his loyalty to you and swore to your parents that he’d never lay an aggressive finger on you.

You’re parents didn’t really like him because of his choice of outfits and friends, which was a stupid way to judge somebody in your opinion. So, no matter how many times they tried to break things off or distance you from Chan, you two always found your way back to each other. Though it was fun, all the sneaking out at three in the morning, saying you’re going over to a friends house when you’re really going to go see Chan and all the late night calls in a hushed tone, you’re glad you can finally relax about it and live peacefully with Chan without the need to sneak around.

But, your mind hasn’t been so peaceful these last few hours. There’s still no sign of Chan and no opened messages. You gave up on calling him after the fifth call had gone unanswered, and just decided to wait. Clutching your phone to your chest in case he were to call or text. Your eyes switch between the screen and the front door (which led into the living room).

You nearly jumped out of your blanket when your phone started ringing obnoxiously loud. Your heart beat loudly as you scrambled to look at the caller’s I.D. And, thankfully, it’s Chan. You’ve never answered so quickly.

“Chan?” Your excited voice squeaked out when you brought the phone close to your ear, a bright smile etching over your lips. Just happy that he’s in contact with you.

“Hey, darling,” Chan’s voice was husky and tired, and a little deeper than you remember. He must be exhausted, and you wondered if he had to stay late at work, “I’m so sorry for being out late. I’ll be home soon.”

“Alright… Is everything okay? What were you doing out so late?” You ask carefully, wrapping the blanket tightly around you.

“Work. My boss had me work over time. I would have texted you, but I was pretty busy,” in the distance, you can hear the sound of his car’s engine. He must be driving pretty fast. Chan also has a really nice car he saved up for and worked really hard for. It’s a smaller, good looking and really, really fast car. You could recognize that engine anywhere.

“Oh… I’m sorry about that,” You respond after a moment.

“It’s alright. Nothing to worry too much over,” you can hear Chan’s smile even through the phone, “And, by the way, could you do something for me before I get home?”

“Sure.”

“Could you make me something small to eat? I didn’t have the chance to eat dinner at work. If you could do that, that’d be so great, baby.” Chan says, and you get up off of the couch. Already heading for the kitchen.

“I could make you some jjajangmyeon? We have all the ingredients,” you say, surfing through your pantry.

“That’d be great, (Y/N). Thank you,” Chan sighs through the phone, and you pull out the ingredients.

“Of course. When will you be home?” You ask before he could hang up.

“I’ll be home in the next ten to fifteen minutes, at the least.” He says, and you can hear the engine get a little bit louder behind him, “I have to focus on the road. I’ll be home soon. I love you, baby.”

“Love you, too, Chan.” You respond, and hang up. Now with the satisfaction and the relief of knowing Chan’s coming home, you separate the ingredients out and start cooking (thank god you took that home economics class back in high school. You couldn’t cook for shit before that). Since Jjajangmyeon is a pretty slow cooked dish, you try your best with temperature control to fit it into the timeframe for when Chan gets home, wanting it to be ready for him.

You had your hair tied back as you cooked, occasionally looking up to watch the television, which was still on the random news channel from before. It talked about things you weren’t too interested in, so you only kept it on for background noise.

You were so immersed in cooking, you didn’t even notice the door slamming open and closed and a pair of heavy footsteps walking up to the kitchen. You jumped when Chan’s arms wrapped around your waist, his chin planting itself on your shoulder. He laughs tiredly at your reaction, and you turn to give him a subtle glare, but your smile deceived you.

“Hey, baby. I’m sorry for coming home so late. I promise it wasn’t my intention,” Chan grumbles out, his words low and slightly slurred, mostly because he’s tired.

“It’s alright, don’t apologize,” you chuckle softly as you arrange two portions of the jjajangmyeon into two different bowls. Chan watches silently over your shoulder, “I’m just glad you’re home. You worried me. Please text me next time, before you stay overtime and don’t bother texting me. I worry a lot, you know?”

“I know, (Y/N). I know you worry too much for your own good,” Chan smiles softly, chuckling tiredly, “It’s one of the reasons I love you so much.”

You smile, flustered, and raise a warm hand to press against Chan’s cheek, turning your head to press a loving kiss to his temple, which is cold, even in the warm kitchen. “Dinner’s ready. Do you want to eat in bed?”

“Not if you’ll make me do the dishes directly afterwards,” Chan lets go of you to take his dish, and you take yours.

You cock a brow at him, “I was going to make you do them anyways. You’re not getting out of it that easily.” You giggle and tap his nose with the tip of your finger. “Come on. Take mine, too. I’ll shut everything down.” You hand your bowl to Chan, who takes it quickly as you scurry around, turning off the television. Turning off lights and putting the dishes in the sink.

Once Chan’s changed into more comfortable wear and you’re both comfortable in bed, watching some show on the TV while eating. Time at home was usually like this; relaxing. You’re cuddled up to Chan while he ate slowly. Once you both finished, you placed them on the nightstands for the time being.

Chan was asleep instantly. You were up a bit longer, still a bit run on adrenaline from worrying so much earlier, despite knowing you have to be up early for work. Chan didn’t have to work till the afternoon, but you had to be up early since you’re a librarian at the local public high school. Chan’s an assistant producer and works under a decently big entertainment company. It’s quite the drastic difference, but you being a pretty big book worm yourself, you decided it would be fun to be a librarian (mostly using your literature degree), even if it’s stressful at times. Chan’s work, however, is much more tedious than your own. Where you can usually go at your own pace, he has more strict deadlines and sometimes more difficult work.

So, you let Chan sleep on your stomach. His arms wrapped around you securely as his face nuzzled into the soft fabric of the oversized shirt you were wearing. You were up a bit longer, watching the TV while running your hands through Chan’s soft hair. Enjoying the moment for the time being before you, yourself, drifted off into a deep sleep.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

You were the first one to wake up the next morning, per usual. You woke up to your alarm that Chan thankfully slept through. You got ready as quickly and quietly as you could. Since you work in a pretty professional environment, you wear something modest, but fits well with the fall weather and your fashion style. You wore a white long sleeved shirt and a pair of black slacks under a jacket with your university’s logo on it and a pair of sneakers. They weren’t too big on dress code for the teachers at the school, but the students still had to wear uniforms.

Before you left, you made Chan lunch for the day and yourself a lunch. You even bothered to wake him up briefly to give him a kiss goodbye and that you’ll be back early afternoon, although he’ll probably be at work, then. Chan, although three fourths asleep, gave you a tight hug and a kiss with a slurred ‘Love you’ before plopping back onto the bed and instantly falling back asleep.

Although Chan had quite the expensive car, he wasn’t quite fond of you driving it. You have your own car, and it’s fine. Mostly used to drive to and from work and nothing more, since most other things you were with Chan, so you both usually took his car. It’s not so much a matter of richer and poorer, his car just had more little trinkets and things that are just more convenient. You’re not completely sure what model his car is, all you know is that it’s expensive.

The school isn’t too far. It’s actually a ten minute drive from your apartment. You have to make it there pretty early, so the roads aren’t jam packed like they would be when Chan has to drive to work. So, you have a bit of an advantage there. When you get there, you’re met with the people in the front office, who bow respectfully to you, and you make your way to the library.

You set up at the large, round desk. You especially like being a librarian, because it’s quiet. You don’t think you’d do too well as a teacher, so you settled for a librarian since it was a good and easy way to use your literature degree and put it to good use, other than the fact you’re writing a novel, but that’s a whole other story (hehet).

It’s about half an hour before some students pile in, bidding you good morning and sitting down at the tables to study for whatever assignment or test they have, or to finish homework. Some of them go around to look at books, but most just sit by their lonesome and work on whatever while blasting profane music into their poor ears.

You were busying yourself going through overdue books, and emailing parents about student’s overdue books. You were immersed in your work, so you were somewhat shocked when someone tapped your shoulder. When you turned, you were met with the smiling face of your coworker. A middle aged, pretty woman named Jung Migyeong, who gave you the permission to call her ‘unnie’. She’s considerably your work - best friend. She’s the only person who really delved into conversation with you, unlike most of the other teachers who only talked to you about whatever book they’re class reading or for book suggestions (and you just choose the first book in the library that comes to mind).

“Oh, you scared me!” You giggle in a hushed tone, and Eunmi smiled brightly, her motherly aura giving you a sense of calmness.

“Sorry, sorry!” Eunmi sits on your desk, more leaning against it. Eunmi is really a pretty lady. Her hair is cut short to her shoulders, and she never wears makeup. Her natural tone is without blemishes or acne. She always wears pretty dresses to work, and she always carries around her purse for some odd reason. “I wanted to catch up with you. I didn’t realize you were so immersed in your work. I should’ve known, you’re more responsible than half the teachers here.”

“I try, I really do,” You respond, leaning back in the chair and smiling up at her, “Do you have a free period for the first hour?”

Eunmi nods, “Yes, I do. They switched it up just ‘cause of something wrong in the student's schedules. But, that’s past the point. How have things been going? In the home life?”

You shrug a shoulder, your smile dropping, “It’s… going. My boyfriend didn’t come home until, like, twelve - thirty last night. He said he had to stay late for work, but I don’t get it, Eunmi. He wouldn’t answer my calls or texts, and I don’t think his job prevents him from at least opening a text until he gets off, you know?”

“You said he’s a producer, right?” Eunmi asks, her head tilting down to look at you more clearly. You nod, “Well, he might’ve been busy with the idol. It’s pretty difficult work, I’m surprised he’s been able to keep up with it well.”

“Well, he came home hungry and tired,” you sigh again, “Which is weird because if he stays late he usually grabs something from the kitchen at the company building or fast food and eats it before he comes home. But, he was hungry… not super hungry, but I made him jjajangmyeon.”

"Jajangmyeon?" Eunmi’s head tilts, and one brow lifts and she scoffs, “That’s like a fifty minute dinner.”

“Not if you toy around with the temperatures, no,” you smile, and Eunmi shrugs a shoulder, “Eh, I was the one who suggested it to him. It’s one of his favorites, and he sounded exhausted and overworked so I though, you know, might as well. But, after eating, he was out like a light. You wouldn’t think that producing would make someone so tired.”

“You never know,” Eunmi reassures, “You seem to be really worried about this. You don’t think he’s cheating, do you?”

You quickly shake your head, “No, no! I know him, and I know that he would never do that to me. I think he’s just trying to hide something from me. I’m not mad at him, I just don’t want him to keep anything from me.”

“You’re not mad… yet!” Eunmi corrects, and your lips purse, “If he’s really hiding something from you, it must be pretty big. I would personally be surprised if you were able to keep your temper if you found out whatever it is he’s hiding. Cheating or not.”

You’ve never really been one to get extremely mad or even start arguments. As said before, you and Chan did have petty arguments back in high school, but since then, you’ve both matured. Chan always shut down a fight if you were getting too agitated, and you were usually never the first one to start up an argument, since your patience isn’t as thin as before. You will admit, though, you’d be decently upset if you found out Chan really was hiding something from you. You trust him so much, you thought there should’ve been nothing to hide.

“I suppose you’re right,” you lean your head against your hand, resting your elbow on the desk, “If there’s a good chance, I’ll talk to him about it tonight. If I want things to really work out with him, then there has to be complete trust and honesty with each other.”

“That’s the spirit,” Eunmi proudly says, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with him, unnie,” you admit shamelessly, and Eunmi smiles wistfully, “I want to grow old with him. But I don’t want to live waking up every day at four in the morning and coming home to no one for hours on end. And, sometimes he won't come till midnight or morning.”

“Well, my husband and I used to have a lot of secrets, too. That we kept from each other,” Eunmi admits, reassuring you that you’re not the only one going through something like this, “The only way we were able to sort things through was by sitting down and talking to each other. Just telling all of our secrets to each other, even if they’re embarrassing or stupid. Just knowing the fact that we can trust each other with everything gives us that reassurance that we’re meant to be. Honesty is everything.”

You look down, thinking about the advice Eunmi had just given you, and you swallow down the growing lump of frustration in your throat, “Thank you for the advice, unnie. It means a lot to me.”

“Of course. I’m always free to talk, and you have my number if anything happens,” Eunmi smiles fondly, “And my doors are always open to you. I’ve spoken to my husband about you and he said that he’s always willing to keep our doors open. Just in case anything happens. You can’t be too careful, right?”

“Right,” you smile, flustered by Eunmi’s kindness, “Thank you so much. I’m… you’re right. If the worst of the worst happens and I’m booted out of my own apartment, then I’m at least glad to know that there’s some place I can go to that’s not three cities over.”

Eunmi laughs softly, and you laugh along with her, “I’m glad. Anyways, it’s about that time. I’m going to start heading back to my classroom. Let Chan know that I said hello, and that I wish you both well. Good luck, (Y/N).”

“Thanks, unnie. I’ll call you later,” you wave briefly as Eunmi makes her way out of the library, students bowing briefly to her as she passes.

You’re glad to have a friend like Eunmi. You’re lucky to have someone open their doors to you. Sometimes, you wonder if Eunmi views you as a younger sister, since she constantly rambles on and on about how she loves being called unnie or noona by her younger coworkers, even if she’s among the younger teachers. She’s like the sister you’ve never had. Sure, things had to be professional, but you’d like to spend more time with her out of the workplace. That would be fun.

The rest of the day is pretty slow. You had a few classes come in to pick up literature books, math books and to check out some books, but that was really it. You didn’t see Eunmi again, and left a few hours after the school closed. There was a bit of traffic on the way home, but it was mostly cleared up.

When you got home, you weren’t surprised to be met with an empty house. No sign of Chan, except the lunch you made him was gone, meaning he took it with him, thankfully, and he left a cute little note on a sticky note saying his thanks to you for making it for him. Which he usually did for you (you never bothered to throw them away. You actually kept them all in a little cigar box for safekeeping. Why? You didn’t know. You just felt like it.)

Like every day when you come home, you change into a pair of more comfortable clothing, which was just one of Chan’s hoodies you took out of his side of the closet, and a pair of ripped jeans. Since Chan didn’t do the dishes before he left, like you thought he would, you decided to do them to pass the time. In doing so, you turned on the TV for some background noise as you rolled up your sleeves to start scrubbing the dishes.

However, your attention was soon caught by the TV when the regular news anchor started talking about crime. At first, it was just about a robbery that took place in uptown, and that didn’t really suit your interest. What did catch your attention, enough to turn off the faucet and ignore the dishes to watch the TV, was when an all - too familiar black car with tinted windows and no license plate appeared on the screen, and there was a red car, too, but you didn’t recognize that one.

You turned up the volume, “Today, police are trying to look for these cars with no license plates caught on camera last night. They were suspected to be illegally street racing and gambling last night at around eleven o’ clock at night before being caught on security footage of a hotel nearby. If you can identify these cars, please contact the police immediately. One has been identified as a black Ferrari SF90 Stradale. The other has yet to be identified. If you see anything suspicious on the streets, please contact authorities. Here’s a clearer picture of both cars.”

And, that’s when it sparked you. One of the pictures of the black Ferrari was of the front. Despite the tinted window, you could clearly see a black ice Little Tree air freshener hanging from the mirror and a familiar hand gripping the wheel tightly. How could you recognize it? Despite the low quality, you can see a familiar ring on the middle finger. A celtic design Chan loved so much.

“Oh… my fucking god,” your mouth drops open as realization hits, and you immediately dash to the bedroom to yank open Chan’s dresser drawer, one left vacant for paperwork to “keep things safe”, and you pull out his insurance for his car. And, there it is, in plain sight. Ferrari SF90 Stradale. Color; black. Windows; tinted. At first, shock pools through you. Doubt climbing up. There’s no way Chan’s a criminal. There’s no way that he’s the one in the Ferrari. It has to be someone else.

But, there was only one way to find out. You had to be sure it was him.

So, you grabbed your purse and your keys and threw on a pair of slip - on vans. The sun was already setting, and you nearly forgot to lock up before running to your car. Barely unlocking it before you throw yourself into it, not even bothering to buckle your seatbelt before driving off to god knows where. Your gut leading you, immediately driving towards the area shown on the news. You pull out your phone, trusting the wheel in one hand as you pull up Chan’s profile and call him, pressing the phone to your ear.

The ringing carries on and on until the familiar voice of Chan speaks up, telling you that he’s not available and to leave a message after the beep.

“Oh, fuck off!” You scream at your phone before trying to call him again. Again and again it led to voicemail. Voicemail after voicemail. You couldn’t text him, not with you driving.

After the tenth call, you let out a frustrated yell, hitting your wheel with your palm and trying your best not to cry. You might be overreacting, since there’s a large chance that it isn’t Chan. But, for some reason, you believed it. You believed, at least somewhat, that it was Chan’s car. That it was Chan in the car. You didn’t want to believe it, but you did.

And your questions coursing through your mind were soon answered when you pulled up to the spot from the news, it now twilight, the sun just being set over the city’s horizon. You pulled onto an empty freeway, and parked in an alley between two buildings. There’s a group of people and a ton of expensive cars around the freeway. There were people crowded around a table. Some girls sat on top of cars, talking and laughing to each other while wearing vulgar and revealing clothes. Your brows furrow, deciding to stay low for a while. You turn off the engine to your car and watch carefully, gripping your phone in your hand. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, popping beer bottles, laughing and talking amongst themselves.

But, it’s when the sound of a loud engine came into earshot, and everyone, including you, turned to see the source of the sound. The moment the crowd of people see who it is, they start to cheer loudly. Throwing up their hands. However, your mouth falls open once more as the black Ferrari SF90 Stradale with tinted windows and a black ice Little Tree air freshener hanging from the rear - view mirror. It pulls up to the crowd, and they all part to make way for it.

Instead of shock or sadness, anger and rage begins to boil inside of you, and you grip your steering wheel tightly as you watch Chan, Christopher Bang, step out of the car. People pat his shoulder, and he smiles widely at them. Giving a few people hugs and even smiling to some of the women, who tried to steal a hug from him, too. He’s wearing clothes you don’t ever remember seeing. He wears a black leather jacket over a white button up and black skinny jeans. You’d be impressed by how good he looks if you weren’t so upset.

You didn’t even have to look at your phone as you pulled up Chan’s profile and called him, pressing the phone roughly to your ear.

“Pick up… Pick the fuck up,” you grumble under your breath as you watch Chan. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, and looks at it briefly.

Not even hesitating to hang up.

As you heard the familiar sound of Chan’s sweet voice telling you he’s not available at the moment and to leave a message after the beep, you finally have enough courage to get out of your car. Slamming the door shut and making your way out of the alley. They’re not too far, but it's a long enough walk for you to catch the eye of some people. You don’t even pause to rethink your decisions when a girl taps the chest of one of the guys, who glares at you with a raised brow.

The man that glared at you stepped away from the crowd, and you could barely see Chan over the people. He walks over to you, and you stop when the man is right in front of you, peering down you. The smell of cheap beer oozing off of him.

“And who the fuck are you?”

“Chan’s girlfriend, now get the fuck out of my way,” you try to push past him, but he grabs you by the arm. Tightly, too. Probably tight enough to leave a bruise after a while. “Hey! Let go of me.”

“No can do, princess,” the man says, smirking mercilessly down at you, his grip not loosening one bit, “Whether or not you’re Chan’s bitch doesn’t matter to me. It’s either you leave or I take you home and we have a good time. Well, I will, at least.” So, you tried to yank your arm from his, trying your best not to use your free hand to punch him in the face.

“Where’s Chan? Bring him to me.” You demand, and the man scoffs, chuckling.

“Fine, have it your way,” the man turns his head towards the crowd, a few people watch, and he says, “Grab Chan. This chick says she’s his girlfriend.” A few of them laugh at him, thinking it’s a joke. But, you stand your ground, glaring through the crowd. One of the people that laughed pushed through a few people. It takes a minute, and there’s a tense silence between you and the man as you try to pry his hand off.

But, as you suspected, a smiling Chan pushes through, but his smile instantly drops when he sees you.

“Hey, Chan. This chick’s babbling on about being your girl. Should I kick-”

“Get your hands off her right now before I shoot you in the face.” Chan interrupts, anger lacing his dark, deep voice. The man holding your arm instantly lets go and steps away, his hands rising in defense. Mumbling something about just ‘trying to keep things safe’. Once the man is away, Chan walks up to you, now being the one tightly gripping your arms. Leaning down so his face is close to yours.

“Why are you here, (Y/N)? Why the hell are you here?” He asks harshly, his voice full of surprise and desperation. He even shakes you slightly.

“You seriously thought I wouldn’t find out?” You snap, ignoring his question all together, “You thought I was dumb enough to let this go under? Well, I’ve been dumb for too long, Christopher. I’m not going to be like that anymore.” You know he’s not too big a fan of being called by his real name, but you do it anyway.

“Go home (Y/N). I’ll explain everything to you afterwards.” Chan says, placing a hand on your shoulder, trying to turn you away.

“No!” You yell, pushing his arms off you, “I am not going home, Chan! I am staying with you. I need to know what the hell all of this is. Right. Now.” You demand, and Chan shakes his head.

“No. You’re going home, (Y/N),” Chan tries to push you away again, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly and trying to turn you from the curious crowd. However, you weren’t going to be let off so easily. You swiftly turned around, letting your flying hand come in contact with Chan’s cheek. Smacking him. You made sure not to backhand him, knowing how much that could hurt. Besides, you don’t want to hurt him too much, you just want to get your point across, and he wasn’t listening to your words. He lets go of you again, his head flinging to the side because of the impact.

“I said no. I’m staying here,” You repeat yourself, and Chan’s eyes no longer lace with aggression, but worry. He doesn’t seem upset that you hit him. In fact, he seems to gloss over it. “I need to know what’s going on-”

You weren’t able to finish your sentence until Chan grabs you by the wrist and pulls you into the crowd. They part to make way for him, and you aren’t able to muster out a sentence before Chan unlocked his car and shoves you forcefully into the passenger seat.

“Chan, what -”

“Shut up, buckle up and hold on tight ‘cause it’s gonna be one hell of a night for us, darling,” Chan snaps, and your lips clamp close at his harsh words. You didn’t expect that out of him. You could nearly cry right there. Chan backs away and slams the door shut, and you quickly scramble to put the seatbelt on as Chan yells something at the crowd, and they erupt in cheers. A few people scramble to get into different cars, and the rest stay back, keeping their distance. However, Chan didn’t seem too pleased as he walked around the car and into the passenger’s seat, locking the doors.

“Chan…”

“Quiet,” Chan snaps, revving the engine of the car. You can faintly hear the cheer of the onlookers behind as Chan pulls alongside the other three cars. A young woman wearing small shorts and an exposed shirt too small for fall walks ahead, and pulls a red cloth out of her back pocket. Her red lips smile bright as she lifts her red cloth. She holds up one finger, and Chan’s engine growls from behind, the car shaking along with it. Your hands go to grip the first thing, which is the cup holder in the center console and the door. Bracing yourself for what’s about to happen.

“Chan!”

“I said quiet!” Chan yells, sparing you a glance and your brows creased with worry as the woman holds up a second finger, and Chan’s hand grips the wheel as the other rests over the buttons.

She doesn’t hold up a third finger. Instead, she throws down the red cloth, and the moment she does so, Chan is off on the road. His foot slammed against the gas as he pushed his back against the seat and used one hand to effortlessly steer. You feel so impossibly scared in the car. A small part of you was debating whether or not you should have gone home, but you knew that it was the right decision to stay. To truly understand what’s been going on and what this is all about.

You try your best not to scream as the loud engine nearly bursts your eardrums.

“Chan… Chan, stop the car!” You scream, the need to vomit creeping up, even though you try to gulp it down.

“I can’t, (Y/N). I really can’t right now.” He says loudly over the engine.

“Please, Chan, just stop the car…!” You yell out again, and Chan finally glances at you, seeing your distressed look before his head snaps ahead again.

His hand swiftly reaches over to grip your thigh, as if trying to prove that you’re secure, “Calm down, (Y/N). You’ll be fine. We’re fine. I’m not stopping the car. Sorry, but I just can’t.”

“I should hate you for this, Chan!” You say, and you can see the way his knuckles turn white from gripping the wheel. “But I can’t… I just… Goddamn it, why!?”

“I can’t tell you that right now!” He yells back, looking over briefly before making a sharp turn, making you clutch onto the seat belt for protection, his hand now back over the buttons, “You just need to sit there until this is over, got it? I don’t care how scared you are, you’re gonna get through it like the strong woman you are, (Y/N), and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

You look over to Chan, and his lips are downturned, his brows furrowed and his eyes glossed over, as if he could cry right there.

“But why didn’t you just tell me?! We wouldn’t be like this right now if you just told me, Chan, and that’s the truth.” You yell over the engine, and Chan bitterly and breathily chuckles, shaking his head as an angry smile casts over his lips.

“You wouldn’t have stayed with me if I told you, (Y/N), you know that.” His voice is a little softer. If any softer, you wouldn’t have heard him. “You would’ve left me.”

Your mouth falls open, and you shake your head, “Never… Never! Never, ever, accuse me of that. I would never leave you even if you killed a man, Chan, and that’s the truth!” He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even look at you as he turns another sharp corner, and you can see the other cars following behind, closing in. He sees it, too, and he presses some buttons you didn’t bother reading and slams his foot on the gas again. You let out a deep breath, still clutching the seat belt, “I just want to know why, Chan. Why are you resulting to this even though you have a stable job at the entertainment company, I-... I just want you to be honest with me.”

“I’ll tell you later, (Y/N). Just sit tight and keep your mouth shut. I need to focus or we’ll fucking crash, you got it!” He yells, and you flinch at his harsh tone. Finally keeping quiet.

The race seems like it lasts forever, when it was probably only five minutes. With sharp twists and turns and screeching of the engine in wheels, it feels like torture. You hate this, but there’s no backing out yet.

Chan doesn’t utter a word. Only cursing at the other cars when they do something that they weren’t supposed to do, or somehow start catching up to him. You let a few tears slip as you watch his hands and Chan as he focuses solely on the road. The lump in your throat is growing bigger and bigger, and swallowing it down seems to get more and more difficult.

But, it’s over at some point. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and Chan finally slowed down after reaching a pathetic excuse of a finish line. Your trembling hands grip the hem of the hoodie you were wearing as Chan comes to a steady stop. People come cheering as the other three cars pull up behind, being careful not to bump into anyone from the crowd. You breath heavily, and look over to Chan, who rolls down his window, plastering a triumphant smile on his lips.

“I don’t even get why I race against you, mate. You always win. Just take the money and get outta here,” says one of the racers playfully, tossing Chan a briefcase through the window.

“Thanks man. Good race,” Chan says, “Now, I have business to attend to. If you’ll excuse me.”

He rolls up the window, and the man who handed Chan the briefcase smacks the window playfully as Chan rushes off, his smile instantly vanishing as he goes through backgrounds to try and get to a main road without drawing too much attention. Chan’s smile drops, and he hands you the briefcase.

“You want to know so badly? Open it and be careful. It’ll be hell to clean up if you drop it,” Chan grumbles, looking over as you look to him for reassurance. He only gives you a cocked brow as you look back to the case in your lap before unlocking it and opening it. Your jaw falls as you look at the thousands of bills stacked on top of each other, rubber bands holding equal stacks together, and you gawk at just how much money Chan won from one race.

After a minute of you staring at the money, Chan slams the case closed in your lap, locking it with one hand and tossing it in the backseat making you jump at how hasty he is.

You both sit there, Chan driving to god knows where in tense silence. You're holding your head in your hands as Chan shifted his gaze between you and the road.

It’s about fifteen minutes until you look up, surprised that he’s still driving and nowhere near home. It’s an emptier city, but Chan seems to know the area well.

“Chan, where are we?” You ask, but Chan gives no answer. Only driving a bit further before pulling into an alley between two old buildings. “Chan, I said -”

You were quickly by Chan yanking off his seatbelt and leaning over the center console to firmly grab your face and pull you into a rough kiss. It isn’t too rushed, but it’s not at all gentle. You’re caught by surprise at first, but couldn’t help melting into it. It’s almost instinct at this point to kiss him back, but you push him away after a moment. “What… What the fuck are you doing?”

“Kissing you,” Chan answers briefly before grabbing locks of your hair at the back of your head and pulling you into another kiss, his other hand creeping down to unbuckle your seatbelt, and you let it slam against the car as it flies off you.

“No, Chan… We need to talk,” You grumble out as you try to pull away, and he presses wet, sloppy kisses to the side of your mouth. His eyes are fluttered shut, and your’s are half lidded. You will admit, you love this. The kisses and how unnaturally aggressive Chan is being. But, you knew that you have to talk things out, or you’d never get to figure out how the hell things turned out like this, “Chan, I’m serious right now.”

“Then relax, baby,” Chan breathily whispers out, and your thighs squeeze together, “Let me make things up to you, okay? I’ll fuck you so good, baby.” He pulls away for a moment, and he stares at you with a teasing smirk, “Think of it as my apology, alright?”

“Chan, I’m… I’m - ah! Chan!” You gasp when Chan’s lips come in contact with the side of your neck. Your neck is already tilting to give him more room, despite trying pathetically to push him away. There’s no getting through to him anymore. You’ve passed the point of no return, and there’s not much you could get past him without slapping him again. And that didn’t seem like a very good idea to you. Your hand flies up to grip the back of his neck, the other loosely clutching the hem of his button up.

“You know that… ah… that we are going to talk about this at some point…” you groan out, and Chan only groans against your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin. “You can’t get out of it like this…”

“Shut it, (Y/N),” Chan snaps, and your head falls back. Chan leans his seat back, aggressively grabbing you by the thighs to pull you over and sit on top of him. Straddling his waist despite it being such a tight environment. He pulls you down by the hoodie, into another kiss. You could feel how frustrated Chan is by the way he grips you tightly, as if you’re going to magically vanish, and by how he talks to you.

It’s rushed, too. Chan is impossibly quick to pull up your hoodie, his hot, sweaty hands creeping up your warm back, caressing it with a different, quick sense of gentleness. His lips connect with yours once again. His tongue already pressing against your lips. The quick, sloppy kiss all too lust filled. The erotic sounds coming from the both of you almost making you gloss over the fact that you should still be very mad at Chan. But, you just can’t find the need to pull away from him. You need to let off the steam, too.

You flush your body firm against him, one hand on his chest and the other by his head, holding onto the head of the seat for support. Breathing as slowly as you can through your nose to savor the air Chan so selfishly takes from you from the heated kiss. Your thoughts begin to vanish and your worry and concern for Chan’s life choices begin to falter for the time being. So immersed in the heated kiss to forget about it entirely. All your focus is now on Chan. You can tell how stressed he is, and the loving part of you wants to help him let off that steam. But, now, you’re in the same boat. So, he’s going to have to do so much for you as you’ve been doing for him.

Chan’s hands don’t bother to hesitate before they loop underneath your jeans, not caring to unbutton them as he tries his best to pull them off by himself. Because of how restricted you both are because of the size of the car, you had to do it yourself. You parted from the kiss and pressed your head against his shoulder to unbutton your jeans and pull them down as quickly as you could before throwing them in the back (along with your shoes and socks. You can already see how hard Chan’s gotten as his rough hands massage and knead your ass, only covered by the thin, black cloth keeping you at least somewhat covered. But, if this was like any other time, they’d be gone quicker than you’d imagine.

Your hands fly up again once your pants are thrown to the back, resting on either side of Chan’s head as he grips your hips, grinding your womanhood against his clothed hardon (you’re also clothed, but it’s so wet from your juices that it basically attaches itself to your skin). His head throws itself back, his eyes closing and a pleasure filled smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. You press yourself against him, now propped up to be looming over him, sitting on him.

When you do press against him, his head snaps forward again, and his dark eyes glare up at you, “Don’t start getting proud, (Y/N). I’m gonna fucking break you.” His hand crawls up to grip your face in his hand. One of your hands weakly comes up to grip his wrist. His hand moving down to grip your throat, and your lips part blissfully as his fingers press into the sides of your neck, still allowing airflow through you. “Oh, fuck. You like being choked, huh? You like being choked like a slut don’t you?” You don’t answer, too nervous to and too caught up in the pleasure to actually let something other than a moan escape your lips.

“Talk to me, (Y/N). Use your fucking words,” Chan growls, and you swallow. The lump in your throat pressing painfully, yet blissfully against Chan’s hand.

“Fuck me, Chris. Fuck me…” You utter out his name, and Chan’s brow raises. But, he smirks nonetheless and lets go of your neck, and you let out a breath as he undoes his jeans and pulls them down to his feet. His hand palming his clothed cock briefly before pulling it out. His hard dick already leaking with precum.

“Condom…” You mutter, and Chan shakes his head. You look up to him with worry.

“Trust me, baby,” he mutters, and you sigh, leaning against him, pressing your body against his as Chan moves your panties out of the way before he aligns your throbbing cunt with his dick, and slowly pushing himself into you, raw. As his raw cock slowly becomes engulfed by your heat, Chan lets out low groans. Your face nuzzles into the side of his neck as Chan slowly guides you down until you’re sitting on his cock.

At first, he stays there like that. Not moving. You suspect it’s because the sane part of him wants you to get used to the feeling of his cock so deep in you without a condom, but Chan seems to keep you there for a few moments just for the sake of how good it feels without a condom. The way his head is leaned back, his lips slightly ajar and his eyes fluttered shut.

But, it doesn’t last long before Chan’s strong arms wrap around your waist, holding you up and starts ramming into you. His hips move so quickly, yet so efficiently as he burns your wet walls. You erupt in a series of loud moans, mixtures of Chan’s name and curses spilling out, too. Chan groans sometimes, right next to your ear. The sound of skin slapping against the fabric of Chan’s boxers echoing through the air tight car.

Your pussy burns from how fast Chan thrusts into you, keeping you at a steady position so he could have an easier time ramming himself into you without the difficulty of it being such a confined and restrictive place in the car (especially in the driver’s seat). The burn is so good for you, though. It’s such a numbing, euphoric feeling that you’ll crave later. A type of burn you could never provide yourself, only Chan.

Chan’s hands go from gripping your body to sliding up your side to gripping your hair and yanking your head back so he could look at you. A judgemental, sexy smirk adorning his lips as he sees how fucked out you are. Your mouth open as you moan, and your half lidded eyes occasionally closing from the bliss.

“Fucking hell… you’re so good for me, (Y/N). You take my cock so fucking well, don’t you?” You let out a choked moan as Chan’s hand grips harder on your hair, craning your neck. “Mmm… Baby girl can’t even talk to me… I know I said to shut it…” he laughs darkly through his moans, and your moans get louder when Chan lets go of your hair, letting your face fall back onto his shoulder as his hands grip your ass. Kneading them as he fucks himself into you. You clench helplessly around his cock.

“Oh… fuck, you’re gonna cum, aren’t you? You wanna cum around my cock, baby girl?” You nod frantically, your climax climbing up as you push your body back to meet with Chan’s aggressive thrusts. Your overstimulated cunt only being destroyed by Chan’s cock as he thrusts harder into you, his hips staggering slightly as you clench around him. “Mmm! - Cum for me, baby. Cum for me.” Chan growls out as his hand grips your face again, forcing your head up as your eyes roll into the back of your head, a loud string of moans escaping your lips as you cum all over Chan’s cock, and he pulls out just quick enough to spurt out a string of cum along your ass.

He lets go of your face, and you breath heavily as you rest your head on Chan’s chest, closing your eyes to catch your breath. A burning sensation still resting in your core as you relax, your womanhood’s muscles contracting every now and then from the orgasm.

Chan cleans you both up with a napkin he had in the center console and helped you put your jeans back on (deciding to toss your soiled panties) and he slipped his jeans back on silently. It’s not until you’re sitting on his lap, resting your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat when he speaks.

“You know I love you so much, right?” Chan mumbles out, and you look up to him. “I was so mean to you today… when you must’ve been so confused.” His head falls back, and he looks out the window with a longing look in his eyes, “I’m the worst boyfriend in the world, aren’t I?”

“No, you’re not. Don’t even think things like that. Yes, I am still a bit upset, but you know what? We’re going to get past this because I love you, too, Channie.” You stare at him with an adoring expression adorning your sparkling eyes (trying to ignore the burning in your core).

“You… You want to know the real reason I’m a street racer, (Y/N)? Why the fuck I'm doing this?” Chan asks softly, his hand stroking your hair.

“If you could… I’ve been asking all day,” you chuckle softly, and Chan smiles bitterly.

“Well… I… I’m doing this all for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“No job will pay for the things I want to give you, (Y/N).” He turns over, reaching into the center console to pull out a black box, and your eyes widen as he opens it. You can’t see it, but you can barely see the sparkle of a something reflective. “I… I couldn’t pay for this myself. I knew I couldn’t. I hate how this is how I’m asking you… but, (Y/N), will you-”

“Oh my god, yes!”

#bang chan #chan #bang chan stray kids #bangchan x reader #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #chan imagines #bang chan smut #chan smut #chan angst #bang chan angst #smut #angst #kpop #kpop angst #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz bang chan #skz chan #chan scenarios #stray kids bang chan imagine #bang chan x y/n #christopher bang #stray kids imagine #stray kids smut #skz imagine #skz smut #skz angst #kpop scenarios

[cheolbooluvr]

I found these: Lovers, Baby, Comfort.

Seems like a huge fluff story, and I love fluff hehe. Thanks in advance 💕

+ Oh no that's me! Fluff loving anon but forgot to add a member to the ask! (Lovers, baby, comfort)

If I could ask for coups please...? 💕

Looking forward! 😊😊

this one is like so very fluffy at the end to make up for the angst throughout the story which i hope you don’t mind!! i hope you like it anon, thank you for requesting it and also for being so patient w me while i wrote it. take care <3

requests: [CLOSED]

this is part of my milestone prompt game! - also [CLOSED]

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peek-a-boo

pairing: fiance!seungcheol x baby (ft. gn!reader)

genre: established relationship, angst, fluff, babysitter cheol :)

word count: 2.1k (broke the wc again ahahahaha)

warnings: cursing, indirect mentions of anxiety, low self-esteem, author's baby fever is showing HELP

my masterlist ＼ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ／

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also, just bc i can, this is part of the ficscafe dialogue prompt event:

10. “Please don’t be afraid of me.”

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“I’m so glad we finally get to spend some time together,” Seungcheol said, setting a plate of breakfast in front of you, followed by a tender kiss on your cheek.

“I know, I’m so excited,” you replied. Seven months had passed since Seungcheol proposed to you, expressing his undying desire to spend the rest of his life with you. However, as luck would have it, you both became increasingly busier at your respective jobs, making it hard for you two to take in the momentous decision that would, no, already has changed your lives for the better. Today, you finally had time to truly celebrate your engagement, the two of you alternating picking activities for the day.

A sudden buzzing from your phone interrupted your breakfast. Seungcheol noticed the immediate change in your expression as you stared at your screen.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s just…” your voice trailed off.

“Just what?”

You looked up at him with disappointment. “I think we’ll have to postpone our plans.” Seungcheol’s shoulders dropped at your announcement. “My brother-in-law’s dad slipped and they need to take him to the hospital now. My sister asked if we could watch after Hana today.”

Of course he wanted to spend today with you, but your family was important to you, and you being important to him meant that your family was also important to him by extension. “That’s a bummer,” he mumbled. You nodded in agreement, your eyes re-reading your sister’s text message in case maybe you misread it. “But maybe I can get some work done while we’re there.”

“I’m really sorry, Cheol.” You reached across the table, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it tightly. “I know how much you were looking forward to today.”

“It’s okay,” he said, returning a gentle smile. “Our time will come.”

You quickly finished up breakfast and packed your things, heading over to your sister’s with little time to spare. She greeted you at the door, embracing you both in tight hugs. “Thanks for covering for me, I owe you both big time,” she told you.

“Yeah, you do,” you nudged her playfully. You side-stepped her, sauntering over to your beautiful niece who was preoccupied with flinging her food everywhere at the kitchen table. Hana was one of the best things that came out of your family—she was bright and energetic, a true ball of fluff and sunshine who made everyone’s lives a million times better. Only six months old, she was already beginning to talk, though it mostly came out as garbled nonsense. Close enough though, right?

“Call me if you need anything, but the hubs is waiting for me downstairs in the car,” your sister told you.

“Tell him we say hi! We’ll take it from here,” you reassured her. Seungcheol saw her off before closing the door behind him. He made his way to the kitchen to join you and Hana, but to his despair, the moment she saw him, her face contorted. She began screaming, tears falling from her eyes like there was no tomorrow. Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrowed at her reaction. In all the time you had spent with her, she was always an easy-going baby, not one to ever cry this much. You took her in your arms, cradling her tiny body in your hands as you bounced her a bit to calm her down. “Hana, it’s okay, it’s just your Uncle Cheol.” Soon enough, she relaxed, allowing you to put her down on the living room floor. Seungcheol was sitting at the kitchen table watching you play with your niece; he couldn’t help but admire the way you interacted with kids, though he couldn’t blame them for being captivated by your bright energy. Whether it was kids, adults, the elderly, everyone was always drawn to you like moths to a flame. Hell, even cats and dogs loved you, and how could they not?

Perhaps he would try his luck with the baby again, abandoning his seat to join you on the floor. His attempt was all in vain because the moment Hana laid her eyes on him, the wailing began again. Seungcheol stared at you as if to ask, “Did I do something wrong?” You shook your head at him, taking the girl back into your arms to console her. You made funny faces and blubbered your lips to make her laugh and just like that, her tears stopped once more. Your fiancé decided right then that he would stop trying and leave you to play with the baby until she fell asleep.

It hadn’t even been thirty minutes since you’d arrived at your sister’s house when your phone began ringing again. Hana was distracted by the characters on the TV screen in front of her which allowed you to get up to answer the call.

Your boss’ voice echoed through the other end as he apologized profusely for calling you on your day off, but there was an emergency at the office and they desperately needed your help. Your one day off in a long time that was meant to be with your one true love had fallen through the cracks yet again. The poor man was typing away on his laptop at the kitchen table when he paused momentarily to look at you, his mouth reading, “What’s up?”

“Alright, I can be there in thirty minutes,” you told your boss. He thanked you, promising to make it up to you soon before you hung up. “Boss called.”

“Oh no.” Seungcheol’s expression immediately dropped—he could already predict what you were going to say next. “What does he want?”

“They need me at the office,” you sighed. “Guess it’s an emergency.”

“What about the baby?”

“Can you look after her? I won’t be gone for too long, maybe two-three hours max. She’s had lunch already, so she’ll probably be sleepy pretty soon.”

“Wait, but she always cries when she sees me—”

“Call me if you need anything, okay? I’ll be back in a bit!”

“Wait, what—” Before he could get another word in, you were already out the door, leaving the two of them in the apartment…alone. His eyes shifted to Hana who was still staring at the TV. Inhale, exhale, the two words repeating in his mind as he stared at the baby. Slowly, he made his way next to her, his steps careful so as not to frighten her. Hana’s head turned in slo-mo, as if the two of them were in a movie, their eyes meeting. “Oh no. Please—”

There was that frown that Seungcheol had now become very familiar with.

“Please, don’t cry.”

Now, her lips were quivering.

“Please, don’t.”

Wails came from her mouth as she burst into tears.

“Please don’t be afraid of me.” Seungcheol’s voice cracked as he pleaded with the child.

He could call you, but it had only been several minutes since you left, and you and your family were trusting him to take care of Hana. Besides, he was a prideful person — if he could manage hundreds of people at work everyday, surely a small human being wouldn’t be a problem. What was it again that you always did?

Funny faces?

Nope.

Baby talk?

He sounded like an absolute idiot.

Maybe he’d try picking her up and bouncing her around like you did.

Her wailing only increased in volume.

Seungcheol was running out of options, his sanity wearing thin with every second that passed. He placed her on the couch and sat in front of her. The infant’s cries bounced off the walls and he had no doubt the neighbors would soon be calling protective services on his ass.

“Shit…” he mumbled to himself. The situation was bad, and not just because of the crying baby, but ever since he asked you to marry him, he began doubting himself, wondering if he was even good enough for you. He’d been doing a pretty good job of suppressing the thoughts, but seeing Hana cry, the thoughts resurfaced in record time. One look at the sobbing child was all it took for everything to just come crumbling down.

“Why?” he asked the baby. “Why do you hate me?”

Of course, the only thing he got in response was her crying. If he couldn’t handle her, how did he expect to become a father? Or maybe this was a sign. Maybe this was the universe’s way of telling him to turn around, go back and undo everything before he caused anybody more pain, before he caused you pain.

Tears formed at the corner of his eyes and before he knew it, there was a steady stream on both of his cheeks. “What am I doing wrong? What if I’m a terrible father? What if we get divorced? What if the marriage doesn’t even last?”

Every catastrophic “what if” fell from his mouth like a toppling building, the weight in his heart pulling him down further into the emotional rabbit hole. “See? It’s me. I’m the problem. I can’t do this. I’m not fit for this.” Now, he was full on bawling, his sobs drowning out the baby’s.

For ten minutes, he continued sniveling in full force, snot and all. He only realized the baby had stopped her crying when he felt her minuscule hand on his wet cheek. He opened his eyes to find her leaning towards him, her eyes — that were much too big for her tiny head — full of curiosity. Leaning into her small touch, he soon realized why you loved her, why anyone loved her.

He had one last trick up his sleeve, and there was no time like now to give it a shot. Bringing both hands up to cover his face, he opened them and whispered meekly, “Peek-a-boo…?”

Hana paused, tilting her head to the side to process what just happened. It wasn’t long before she broke out into a fit of giggles, her laughter causing her to fall over (babies have horrible balance, he noted). Seungcheol, though slightly confused by the series of events, also began to laugh along with her. He could have sworn her laughter added ten years to his life. Everything was beginning to make sense now. She was adorable, truly a bundle of joy, a ball of complete, unfiltered, sunshine.

Several rounds of peek-a-boo later, he could see that she was getting sleepy as indicated by her constant yawning and failure to keep her eyes open.

Meanwhile, you had just finished dealing with the emergency at your office—as luck would have it, some old geezer at the company accidentally wiped out the company’s data from the website and the only person who knew how to fix it was you, the head site designer. When you finished up, you texted your fiancé to check on him.

Now, you weren’t one to normally worry if Seungcheol didn’t text you back right away, but you felt bad about leaving him alone to take care of your niece. When the bus arrived at the stop in front of your sister’s apartment, you quickly made your way up to apartment 526.

When you opened the door, the living room and kitchen table were empty. “Seungcheol?”

No answer.

“Cheol, are you home?”

Peeking your head in the baby’s room, you found the crib empty. “Where is he?” you whispered to yourself. You decided to try your luck in the guest room. Nothing in life could have ever prepared you for the sight in front of your eyes. Hana and Seungcheol were sound asleep on the guest bed, her extremely small fingers gripping tightly onto his comparably ginormous index finger. Your heart burst into a million pieces, and honestly, you were on the brink of tears just seeing them like this. Rounding the bed to the side he was on, you knelt down by him. He had a stray hair in front of his face which you moved, sweetly tucking it behind his ear.

“Seungcheol,” you called softly so as to not wake the baby. It took a couple tries before he opened his eyes.

“You’re home?” He turned to you, not realizing Hana had claimed his finger for herself. A gentle smile crept across his face as you kissed his cheek.

“I am. Everything okay?”

“Never been better,” he touted, his smile quickly turning into a grin.

“Are you sure? Why are your eyes so puffy?”

The key to your long-lasting relationship with Seungcheol was the fact that you two were always very honest with each other, seldom keeping secrets. But this time, just this once, he was going to make an exception.

“I’m just tired.”

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a/n: thanks for reading! feedback is highly encouraged and appreciated either through reblogs/tags, comments, or asks! plz feel free to share your thoughts w me, i’d love to know what you thought :)

#ficscafe #ficscafe dpe #cheolbooluvr requests #seventeen #svt #svt fic #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen fic #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagine #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt imagines #svt fanfic #svt fanfiction #svt scenario #svt scenarios #svt fluff #svt angst #choi seungcheol #seungcheol #seventeen seungcheol #seventeen scoups #scoups #scoups fic #seungcheol fic #seungcheol imagine

[thefanficmonster]

Filterless

Corpse Husband x Plus-sized Reader (Female)

Warnings: Body Image Insecurities, Low self-esteem, Swearing

Genre:  Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Feeling comfortable in her skin has hardly ever been the case for Y/N who’s been struggling with body image issues all her life. However, they only get worse when she sees the ‘type’ of girls her crush is into.

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your request (hits close to home 😅) I’m so sorry it has taken me so long to fulfill it and post it but here it finally is and if you’ve stuck around long enough to read it, I hope you enjoy! ALSO! - Never forget how beautiful and amazing you are. Never compare your beauty to someone else’s. We’re all beautiful people and we all shine so brightly and uniquely. No one deserves to be compared to anyone when we’re all so different yet so incredible. Love you and appreciate you with all my heart, Vy ❤

If I ever need my ego taken down a few notches - it never does, it’s barely even present, to be honest - all I have to do is go on Instagram. To be honest, regardless of how I’m feeling, opening that app is bound to make my mood plummet and come crashing into the ground so hard it drives a hole in it - probably in the form of a broken heart.

Being a content creator myself, I often get asked questions about my absence on that social platform specifically. I mean, the questions are based and rational I guess, considering I’m not a faceless YouTuber and yet my Instagram account is void of any photos. It’s not like I don’t post at all - I do! I post on my story often but it’s more often than not scenery I find pretty or a poster I’ve made for a movie/video game. Bottom line is: I barely ever allow a picture of me to make it online. The most my fans are ever gonna get of me is a selfie which is also a super rare occurrence because of how long it takes me to take and choose one I don’t hate.

Ok, but how am I supposed to find the motivation to post any sort of picture of myself when on my timeline I’m always faced with people worthy of posting pictures of themselves. People with such perfect bodies and beautiful faces. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not jealous or envious of those people - good for them! They know what they’re working with and they’re working it well. I have nothing against them, in fact, I love seeing people proud of their bodies no matter their size, shape or weight. Those are my role-models: people who are proud of themselves, their bodies, their attributes and capabilities and don’t hesitate to show them off. Those are the people I look up to but, deep down inside I know I’ll never be like.

Insecure about my body, having been referred to as ‘chubby’ and ‘squishy’ all my life. Inappreciative of the stuff I do: starting from my job as a graphic designer leading towards my job on YouTube - nothing I do, professionally or otherwise, satisfies me. Nothing I do is enough in my eyes because I feel incapable of ever being able to do enough. I’ve been called lazy and a half-asser a few too many times to be able to brush it off as a meaningless insult. 

With these problems I’ve had with myself and my own perception of who I am and the work I do, I’ve never had the time for romance or romantic relationships. I second-guess the intentions of everyone who ever shows any interest in me because in my mind I’m nothing special and I have nothing to offer - nothing attractive or likable at least. That being said, I haven’t even been one to make heart eyes at others either. I busy myself with my job and some side-gigs, brushing off any relationship questions with the excuse that I’m ‘just too busy to be in a relationship’ which is technically true.

Having spent twenty plus years with that mindset, one can imagine how surprised I was when I found myself catching feelings for someone. And that someone just couldn’t be any other than the biggest YouTube sensation at the moment - Corpse Husband.

I’m close friends with Poki - her and I were roommates at one point too - so her inviting me to play Among Us with them wasn’t so strange. One or two games, I thought, nothing unusual there, just friendly curtesy. I wasn’t expecting to warm up to the group of famous streamers nor did I expect them to welcome me among them so easily, mostly because my channel is so small and practically invisible to the YouTube algorithm. But soon enough, I became a permanent member of the team, making friends with every single one of those YouTubers I practically thought of a celebrities.

This journey of branching out to other content creators has proven itself to be surprisingly pleasant and has packed my book of friendships to the brim. All of that came unexpectedly, along with a wave of new subs and a higher view count. However, as I mentioned, it hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows. I came to finally understand what my high school friends were talking about when they were head over heels for a boy - the butterflies in the stomach whenever he speaks your name; the importance of the laugh you share with him, how special and different it is; how cool it is to be impostors with him - ok they never said that, obviously, but it’s what I have as a substitute to the ‘when the two of you make eye-contact’ bullshit since Corpse and I have never seen each other in person. That is, of course, because of him being a faceless YouTuber and me being a self-conscious and insecure girl.

We do talk all the time though - texting, calling, chilling on Discord, you name it. Our conversations range from deeply philosophical to ones that might mislead someone into thinking we’re high. There’s no topic we haven’t touched upon and yet we still manage to find something new to talk about. We have plenty of similarities but we also never seem to run out of differences we slowly come across as we keep getting to know each other better and better. 

And somewhere along that journey I ended up catching feelings.

Human nature of wanting to connect with other people, I curse you for what you’ve done to me.

You might think I’m being overdramatic about the whole ordeal and that this is just a normal, natural occurrence many people experience in their life - some even daily. Well, not only am I far from used to it, but it’s also taking a toll of a different kind on me.

It’s like a constant slap to the face. 

That slap turned into a punch when Corpse and I started following each other on Instagram and I started getting daily reminders of how out of my depth I am with this crush on him. In over my head, especially when you look at all those girls whose pics and videos he reposts on his story. Imagine how that makes me feel, what that does to me - puts me back into the ‘Constantly not good enough‘ basket, the one I’ve been fighting to get out of all my life. In the past and in different contexts I could easily say that it was all just my mind hating me intensely but now - now that I know for a fact I’m not good enough and don’t fit Corpse’s criteria - it hurts ten times as much. I’m not one to do shit for someone’s attention or to attract someone’s eyes, but it really hurts my feelings. Often times, it also leads me to doing dumb things and making rash decisions. 

Like the one I made two days ago.

Imagine me cringing and shaking my head at my own stupidity as I admit this: I, in a frenzy, ordered a whole e-girl getup with overnight delivery. 

Wait, hold up, it gets worse. 

I received it yesterday and spent the whole day regretting that decision, but then, in my most insecure hours - which was somewhere around midnight - I equipped the get-up, took a picture and posted it on my Instagram page. First full body pic I’ve ever posted on there. First pic I’ve posted there of any kind. There to stay, not to be gone in twenty four hours. First pic, and it’s not even of me. It’s of who I want to be in order to fit someone’s criteria. And that fucking stings.

As you might imagine, I’ve spent today’s day regretting that decision as well. Recently my mood’s been nothing but regretting rash decisions that have surfaced under the influence of my ridiculous, constantly-present insecurities. And I would’ve probably gotten over it rather quickly had I not received a message from Corpse that read:

“Didn’t think of you with an e-girl aesthetic“

I didn’t open the message, I peeped at it as it was a notification on my lock screen. It’s still there, an unread notification. It’s been two hours since I received it and I cannot think of a single thing to say in response to that. 

Truth is, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of so many things right now.

I’m afraid of becoming that girl in the photo, cause I’m most definitely not her.

I’m afraid of letting Corpse down by admitting I’m not her.

I’m afraid of what my own mind has made me do because it hates me so much and I’m terrified of what it might do in the future.

I’m afraid and stranded on things to do.

You can’t be her forever, you know. Being her won’t make your insecurities go away, it’ll only make them worse. Haven’t you learned that by now?

I sigh, frustrated and irritated with myself as I grab my phone and tap on the notification, finally deciding to face the music and allow my instincts to carry me through the interaction. Improvisation, that’s one of the few things I’m good at. Let’s hope it doesn’t fail me.

I’m just about to type out my response - not sure what it’s gonna say - when I give the message Corpse has sent me a second glance.  I furrow my brows, finding there’s more to it than that peep through the notification let me see.

“Didn’t think of you with an e-girl aesthetic. You’re personality is so bright and colorful, I could’ve never imagined you were into the darks and blacks“

Because I’m not

I fail to realize until the message has been sent that my thoughts are exactly what I typed out and sent.

And honestly, I’m glad. It feels like I’ve spoken my truth, like I’ve lifted a huge boulder off my chest.

With that rare confidence in mind I go on and delete the picture.

In its spot, I post a picture I just now took - a mirror selfie in my homey get-up consisting of hot pink sweatpants and an oversized blue tee, my hair in a messy bun, my face free of make-up.

I caption it: ‘Oops, had the e-girl filter on for the last one. This is filterless me tho so...Hi 🥴’

A lot better, I’m surprised to hear my inner voice say. I hope I don’t get used to all this kindness on my brain’s part, probably won’t last, but damn if I don’t milk every second of it.

Just then, I receive a new message from non other than Corpse.

“Now that’s the girl I see when I think of you. She’s super cute 😉“

My, oh my, who would’ve guessed Corpse has a game like that - and by that I mean the ability to make me blush so intensely with only a text message.

Now ain’t that better than being someone else, Y/N?

It sure is, it sure is.

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#corpse husband #corpse #corpse fanfiction #corpse fic #corpse fluff #corpse fandom #corpse fanfic #corpse x y/n #corpse x you #corpse x reader #corpse imagine #corpse imagines #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband fanficiton #corpse husband fanfic #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband fanfiction #corpse husband fluff #corpse husband fic #corpse husband imagine #corpse simp #corpse husband is ruining my life #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #fan #fandom #fluff #requests open #request

[homoose]

Weird is Good

Summary: A story about two people tryna make it through the age of COVID-19 in a country where people are fucking dumb lmao. My hc is that Spencer would be like wtf at all these science-denying anti-maskers. Also, two teachers just tryna make it through quarantine and remote teaching in a one bedroom apartment (this is taking place during a mandatory leave/lecture cycle).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: no warnings. reader is both a kindergarten teacher and a bruh girl with a pirate’s mouth. lots of Spencer x factz.

Word count: 3.1k

———

“We’re home for the next two weeks. ”

Spencer looked up from his desk to see Y/N kicking off her shoes, dropping her bag, and walking directly to the sink. “Starting when?”

“We get to go in on Monday to say goodbye to the kids and get any materials we might need. Then we’re home for two weeks. They’re calling it an early, extended spring break.” Y/N began her hand washing routine. As a kindergarten teacher, she’d always been a strict hand-washer. In the time of COVID, she had only become more zealous. She looked at Spencer. “Have you heard anything?”

“Since we’re so close to the end of the semester, the department head thinks they’ll try to finish out the year as normal.” He set down his pen. “I honestly don’t know. It will all depend on whether people follow the CDC guidelines. The spread of any virus is deducible mathematically, and SARS-COV2 is no different. Based on the outbreak in Italy prior to their lockdown, we can accurately describe its reproductive number, or Rt, to between 2.43 – 3.10.”

Y/N shut off the water and dried her hands on a paper towel. “In layman's terms, Dr. Reid.”

“The Rt tells how many people are infected by the contagious host,” he explained. “In the case of this strain, each infected person is infecting between two and three others. For comparison, the standard seasonal flu has an average Rt between 1.4 and 1.7.”

“So in other words, fucking yikes,” Y/N groaned. She moved to perch on the edge of Spencer’s desk.

“Indeed,” Spencer agreed. “We know how fast the flu can travel through an office or a classroom, so imagine if it was two times as transmissible. But it's also really important to understand that this number changes depending on the mitigations in place. Even prior to full lockdown, mask wearing and social distancing was somewhat common in Italy, so it’s likely the uncontrolled Rt is higher.”

“Jesus Christ.” Y/N scrubbed a hand over her face. “We’ll probably never go back.”

Spencer rubbed his hand up from her ankle to the inside of her knee. “The good news is there’s nothing special about this virus compared to others in terms of how it spreads— it’s just aerosols. So if everyone wears their mask, we’ll be able to keep the spread low.”

⧭⧭⧭

“It’s safe to say that everyone did not wear their fucking masks,” Y/N snapped. She watched from the couch as Mayor Bowser delivered the news that DC Public Schools would remain closed for the remainder of the year. “This is crazy. I mean, I knew it was coming because people in this country are absolute buffoons.” She looked at Spencer, fingers pressed to her temple. “But holy shit, are we ever going to be able to go outside again?”

“With schools and universities closed, people working remotely, and lockdown orders in place, the Rt in the US could stay low. But masks have to be worn at all times, and social distancing has to be strictly followed.” Spencer pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I just— I can’t believe people are refusing to wear masks. The empirical, peer-reviewed data clearly shows—”

“This is ‘Murica, boy.” Y/N mocked. “Ain’t no tyrannical government gonna tell me what to do!” She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, your choice to abstain from social media is paying dividends to your sanity right now.”

Spencer looked truly dumbfounded, setting his newspaper down in his lap. “But that’s just it. It’s not just in social media circles.” He gestured to the article in front of him. “This economist just argued for ‘reopening’ the economy using the justification of herd immunity. Herd immunity can be a plausible option for less lethal diseases. But this virus is not like varicella—the chickenpox,” he clarified at Y/N’s raised eyebrow. He waved his hands around in exasperation. “Putting aside the fact that one facet of herd immunity is vaccinating as many people as possible, its success completely hinges on the Rt of a disease. If you model a population based on an Rt of 2.5, herd immunity wouldn’t be achieved until approximately sixty percent of the population has been infected. Consider that the US population is currently 328 million, and sixty percent of that is 196.8 million. The current mortality rate for SARS-COV2 is 3.06 percent. 196,800,000 multiplied by 0.0306 is 6,022,080. Over six million people would die. It's simple mathematics.”

Y/N let out an exasperated breath. “It used to be that simple math and facts were enough. Now you’ve got basement scientists who think they know better than actual, literal scientists who’ve spent their entire lives studying these things.” She ran a hand over her face and gestured at the news conference still playing. “How long do you think it’ll be before we’re both trying to teach from this tiny ass living room?”

⧭⧭⧭

“Goooooooood morning, kindergarten! It’s Friday, and no Friday is a bad Friday!” Spencer smiled. As he poured his first cup of coffee, he hummed along with Y/N and 23 six-year-olds as they sang their morning song. Observing fourteen days of remote kindergarten from across the living room had given Spencer a new appreciation for elementary school teachers, particularly Y/N. She sang, danced, conducted science experiments, held puppet shows, read stories, led art projects, and fielded questions for four hours a day— three hours less than when they were in the school building. He was exhausted by proxy.

But he was also grateful for the opportunity to watch Y/N in her element. Even though they were at home, she still got dressed every day in bright, patterned sweaters and dresses— her Ms. Frizzle attire, she’d told him once. She was able to channel her personality into a kid-friendly version that her students clearly adored, never afraid to be silly or strange to get their attention and keep them engaged during the long days. He worked from home whenever possible, strangely happy to have the background noise of kindergarten over his quiet university office.

...

“Okay, but where do I put the biiiiiiiiiiiig number?” Y/N made a wide gesture with her arms. “Ariah, where should I put it? In the big box, yes! But oh no, my small number needs a friend. My three is soooooo lonely!” Y/N drew her mouth into a pout. “DJ, how can I help my three not be so sad? You’re absolutely right, let’s put that two right next to him in our number bond.”

…

“I’ve been waitin’  for a girl to mute,” Y/N sang into the gold karaoke mic. “I said, muuuuuuuuuute, I’m blinded by loud sounds. No, I can’t hear the friend who’s tryin’ to talk.”

…

“Oh boy. Kev, honey, we can— we can see you. Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. We can see all of you. I can’t turn your camera off, buddy. You gotta— there we go.”

…

“Mute please, I need— I need everybody to mute, please. Oh my goodness where is that music coming from?” Y/N frantically searched for her index card with the picture of the mute icon, as the sounds of a highly inappropriate song blared through the computer speaker. “I know it’s so loud, guys. Why is my mute power gone?! This is why we need to make sure we keep our mute button on, kindergarten.”

…

“No sweetie, it’s not time to log off yet. I’m sorry, I know it’s such a long day. We have about an hour left. Do you guys wanna do a countdown? It’s the fin-al count-down! Do-do doo dooooo. Do-do-d-do-dooo…”

…

“Annnnnd, I should see all my friends on mute. William, hang on just a second. All my friends need to look at my picture, it’s an oval with a line through it… Okay, William, what did you bring to show us?” Y/N leaned toward the computer screen. “Grandma Kathy? O-oh, she’s— she’s in the—“ Y/N’s eyes widened. “Is that— is that an urn? Oh wow. Um, well, wow. It’s beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing that with us, William. Grandma Kathy, may she rest in peace.”

⧭⧭⧭

A week into Y/N teaching kindergarten from their living room, the university had announced its transition to online coursework for the remainder of the academic year. Spencer had to host his first zoom lecture, and he was absolutely dreading it.

“Spence, it’s going to be fine. It’s not like you’ve never been on a video conference,” Y/N assured him. She sat cross-legged on the couch, waiting for him to let her in to his practice zoom.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t running those meetings. I just showed up.” He squinted at the computer screen. “Are you in?”

Y/N barely resisted the urge to make a joke, knowing that Spencer probably wouldn’t appreciate the innuendo. “No, you have to admit me.”

“What do you mean? How do I do that?”

“There should be a box with a button that says admit.”

Spencer gestured at the computer. “Well there’s a bunch of boxes— which one should I be looking at?”

Y/N sighed and got up from the couch. “IQ of 187 and can’t find the box.”

Spencer dragged a hand through his hair. “I know I shouldn’t find this so difficult. I’m sorry you have to waste your time on this.”

“Hey, it was a joke.” Y/N grabbed his hand from where he was frustratedly pulling on his frazzled curls. “I’m sorry. That was mean and you’re already stressed enough.” She used her free hand to smooth his hair back into place. She scrunched her nose. “I love you and your limited technology skills. And honestly it’s kind of nice to have one thing I can actually teach you about.” She squeezed his hand, leaning over him to peer at his computer screen. “All right, let’s find that elusive admit button.”

When the day of his lecture rolled around, Spencer thanked all the atoms in the observable universe that Y/N had a break during his class. Within the first ten minutes, he’d managed to accidentally kick himself out of his own meeting and then somehow lose track of the screenshare button.

“No one can see me and I don’t know what happened to the screenshare option. It was there and now it’s just… gone,” he told Y/N.

She leaned over his desk, eyes tracking over the screen and mouse clicking around the desktop. “How in the world did you manage to block your camera?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t even touch it!” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t understand how it’s even possible to be this bad at this.”

Y/N bumped his knee with her own, pulling up his camera settings and preferences. “Relax. You can’t be good at everything. It’s a refreshing reminder that you’re a mere mortal like the rest of us.” With a few rapid clicks, Y/N unblocked his camera and located the screenshare bar. “There. Crisis averted. I’m just going to share your whole screen in case you want to toggle between application windows. So just be aware that they’ll be able to see everything. And then you just click here when you’re ready to stop sharing.”

When Y/N turned her head toward him to check that he understood, Spencer grabbed the side of her face and caught her lips in a kiss. Y/N smiled against his mouth, heart speeding up as he traced the seam of her mouth with his tongue.

“Um, Dr. Reid? Your um— your camera’s working now.”

Spencer nearly fell out of his chair, his cheeks about the color of the Leave Meeting icon. Y/N dropped her head, debating whether she wanted to laugh or let the earth open up and swallow her whole. She ultimately decided to compose herself, stepping back and giving a little wave to the sea of tiny, grinning zoom faces before slinking out of frame, miming sorry to one very mortified professor.

⧭⧭⧭

“Would you want to be our mystery reader next week?” Y/N asked, bookmarking the page of her novel and reclining back in bed. “You just have to pick a story to read. Oh, and think of four clues about your identity to give the kiddos.”

Spencer raised his eyebrow, continuing to read. “Any story?”

Y/N laughed. “Well they’re six, so maybe hold off on the Chaucer and Bradbury for now. A picture book would be preferable.”

“Did you know that the first picture book, Orbis Sensualium Pictus, or Visible World in Pictures, was published in 1658?” He looked up from his own book. “Czech educator John Amos Comenius wanted to create a book that would be accessible to children of all levels of ability. The educational theories he explored are actually still in practice in the field of early childhood education.” He turned toward her from his spot under the covers. “For example, when you have your students make a hissing sound and slither their arms when they produce the sound represented by the letter s? Comenius included an alphabet chart with various animal and human sounds representing each letter. He wanted to demonstrate that the incorporation of multiple senses could help increase learning.”

“I guess you don’t fix what isn’t broken,” Y/N mused. “300 years later, and we’re still using the same methods.”

“362, actually,” Spencer corrected.

She gave him a look. “Maybe we can save the Comenius for another time.”

“The genre of children’s literature encompasses some of the most profound and philosophical story telling of all time.” Spencer returned his attention to his reading.

“...So is that a yes?”

Spencer smiled. “I’ve got a book in mind.”

“And clues,” Y/N reminded him, snuggling down under the covers and reopening her book. “We need some fun clues, mystery reader.”

…

“Kindergarten, we have a very special mystery reader this week. Oh man, are you ready for the first clue? The mystery reader loves jell-o! Raise your little hand if you love jell-o, too. Okay, kindergarten, I see you! Lots of jell-o lovers in the house.”

…

“Okay, clue number two! Our mystery reader works as a community helper— remember we learned about all different kinds of community helpers; firefighters, nurses, police officers. But if the mystery reader could be anything, they’d want to be a cowboy! How cool is that?”

...

“Clue number three for our mystery reader!” Y/N sucked in a gasp. “You guys. The mystery reader can do magic. Oh my goodness, I am so excited for Friday,” she sing-songed. “Will they show us a trick? Hmmm, I don’t know. Maybe if you ask nicely.”

…

“Okay, my friends, the last clue. The mystery reader loves reading. They read every day, and they’ve been reading since 1983! Yes, that was a very long time ago.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Okay, any last guesses about who our mystery reader might be?” Y/N questioned.

“I think it’s your dad,” a little voice called out.

Spencer made a choking noise from where he sat, slightly off camera. Y/N laughed. “The mystery reader is decidedly not my dad, Keyshon. Remember I showed you guys the picture of him— my dad’s a farmer, so he’s kind of already a cowboy.” She clapped her hands together. “Okay, without further ado, drumroll please... Our mystery reader is…” Y/N pushed her desk chair out of frame to allow Spencer to roll in, holding her hands out. “Spencer!”

He gave a little wave, smoothing his hair, suddenly painfully self-aware and nervous about the opinions of two dozen six-year-olds. “Hi guys.”

“You’re the boy on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone.”

“Your hair is so fluffy!”

“Do you have a cowboy hat?”

“I like your sweater.”

“Can you really do magic?”

“What’s your favorite jell-o?”

“Whoa, okay, let’s remember our mute button,” Y/N, holding up her index card. “I promise you’ll get to ask Spencer all your questions after he reads the story.”

Spencer smiled at the excited faces beaming through the screen. “Yes, I’m on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone; I don’t own a cowboy hat, yet; yes, I really can do magic; and the red jell-o is my favorite.”

Y/N watched with interest as Spencer pulled out his book. He’d been secretive about his choice, so she was as curious as her students.

“This is one of my favorite stories. It’s written by Munro Leaf, and illustrated by Robert Lawson. It’s The Story of Ferdinand.” Spencer held the cover up to the camera. “Ferdinand is the bull here on the cover. This story was written in 1935, which was a long time ago! Okay are you ready?” Spencer looked out on a sea of thumbs up, turning the page to the beginning of the story. “Once upon a time in Spain, there was a bull, and his name was Ferdinand.”

Y/N smiled as she listened to Spencer read each page, recounting the story of the peaceful bull. He was an excellent storyteller, changing the inflection and expression of his voice to match each sentence. He held each page up for just the right amount of time, panning it so her students could see each detail of the black and white pictures. He added his own wonderings and exclamations here and there, and her students were decidedly enthralled. Her heart ached at how comfortable he was, how natural this was for him. She rested her chin in her hand, trying to keep her mind in the present— ignoring the persistent little mental image of Spencer as a dad.

“So they had to take Ferdinand home. And for all I know, he is sitting there still, under his favorite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly. He is very happy… And that’s The Story of Ferdinand.” Spencer closed the book with a soft smile. “I love this story. Ferdinand is a very special bull. What do you think makes him so special?”

“Ferdinand didn’t fight,” a little voice piped up.

“Yes!” Spencer agreed. “He practiced pacifism in the face of the persistent, ingrained militarism of his country’s culture.”

Y/N placed a hand on Spencer’s knee and gave a quick squeeze. “Right, Ferdinand chose not to fight, even though everybody else he knew wanted to.” Y/N winked at him before turning back to the screen full of kids. “All his friends thought he was kind of weird, but he just really wanted to hang out in the shade and smell the flowers, huh? Sounds pretty good to me.”

“He wasn’t bothered that the other bulls thought he was strange for wanting to be peaceful,” Spencer added. “Sometimes being different can be a good thing. The Story of Ferdinand reminds me that it’s okay to be yourself, even if other people think you’re weird.” His eyes met Y/N’s. “Because there will always be people who love and appreciate you for who you are.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #criminals minds self insert #dr spencer reid #professor spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #homoose writes

[sugawara-sweetheart]

𝔰𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔯𝔦𝔳𝔞𝔩𝔯𝔶

❣︎anon: Aaand one more cant help myself, but a dominance battle between Kei-nii and Aki-nii? Brothers battle for little little sisters attention? It could be dark or not honestly, bc hust the thought of being fought over by those two giants ugh😩

i hope you enjoy this. thank you for requesting + i hope you don’t mind there’s no smut in it i just wanted a chance to explore their psyche more? <33

tsukishima kei x reader | akiteru x reader

warnings: tw yandere, tw incest, tw possessiveness, mentions of masturbation, obsessive behaviour, 18+ dark themes

word count: 2.5k

❦note: part ii is posted

tsukishima hates the facade akiteru puts on: the sickly sweet smiles, the tender touches at the small of your back that just always dips a little too low, pulling you into tight hugs flat against his body at unreasonable times. he doesn’t like how when you’re whimpering in the dead of the night because of a nightmare, you’re crawling into akiteru’s bed instead of his own, begging for him to be the one to hold you. you don’t ever resist when akiteru walks up behind you and engulfs you in a hug, nuzzling his face into your neck and pressing your ass against his crotch and whenever he makes you promise to never ever look at any boys.

“i promise, akiteru-nii!” you cry with a bright smile, giggling when he cups your face and squeezes your cheeks.

“so cute, y/n! but good, all men are nasty. you only need your akiteru-nii, okay?” you nod, not noticing tsukishima trying to hold back from spitting a nasty remark of how dumb you are to not realise that akiteru is trying to own you, to make sure nobody else can have you. he hates how you agree to it, not even paying attention to him when he’s your brother too, he can’t stop his mind racing with thoughts of you too, he can’t even look at other girls because none of them are anything like you. he wants to have you, not akiteru.

tsukishima remembers the time when you were whining about being forced to do your own laundry, insisted by your mother who claims you need to learn some basic life skills, you can’t rely on akiteru forever! but as soon as she leaves the living room, akiteru smiles wide at you, wrapping his arms around you as he draws you into his chest. you’re so much smaller, towered by his tall, broad frame and you nuzzle into him, pouting.

“akiteru-nii, i can’t do it! what if i turn everything pink- or shrink it?!” you cry.

“it’s not that hard.” tsukishima remarks coldly at you, your eyes widening but akiteru chuckles, eyes gleaming as he caresses your hair.

‘don’t worry, you know this nii-san will help.” tsukishima finds it hard to hold back when you smile and whisper how much you love akiteru-nii. it’s worse when akiteru presses a kiss to your cheek, a bit too close to the corner of your mouth but his brown eyes are locked with tsukishima’s.

it doesn’t end there. tsukishima is horrified when he walks into the laundry room, stopping in his tracks with his heart thumping to see akiteru kneeling on the tiled floor, your laundry basket in front of him and one of your bright pink panties pressed to his nose. he knows it’s dirty but akiteru is shameless, inhaling deeply with a hand pressed to his crotch, palming himself audaciously to you, their precious little sister. he isn’t at all bashful, instead turning to face tsukishima with a malicious gleam in his eye as he groans out, muffled slightly by the fabric of your panties.

“you’re gross.” tsukishima says coldly, shaking his head with a grimace but really he can’t stop the jealousy seeping into him- he wants to be stroking the soft cotton of your panties, smelling you and wrapping your underwear around the head of cock when he strokes himself to lewd fantasies of you. akiteru only smiles, chuckling as he pockets your sweet, pretty panties.

“yet she still likes me more though, doesn’t she?” tsukishima grits his teeth as his grip on his own laundry basket tightens, knuckles paling at the surge of jealous anger rushing through him. no, he doesn’t want to think that you could possibly like akiteru better than him- no, he has to be the best person in your life, the only person.

but tsukishima has his own ways. he can’t be nice like akiteru but he sees the want in your eyes, that desire for attention and your meek trembles whenever he walks into the room.

“kei-nii,” you say quietly, batting your lashes as you stand in front of him, hands trembling slightly. “i was wondering if you could look over my college assignment-” you flinch when tsukishima snatches it from you and he has to hide the smirk that threatens to grow; he knows you're scared of him- years of teasing you throughout childhood till you were reduced to an anxious, teary mess did that- but you also craved his approval, just begging for a semblance of love and approval from your cold older brother.

you squirm as he reads it, your quivering hands picking at the skin of your lips as you watch him anxiously. you wince when he scoffs.

“there’s mistakes on the first line.” he sneers, tossing it back to you dismissively. “have you even proofread it?” your head sinks low as you hold your papers close to your chest. behind you, akiteru shifts from his position on the couch, his eyes tearing away from the television to watch you both with a clenched jaw.

“i’m sorry, kei-nii.” you mumble, your eyes softening as your shoulders slouch. “i’ll re-write it and do better for you.” tsukishima huffs as he reaches for his headphones but despite his dismissive nature, you still stand there shifting your weight nervously from foot to foot. it makes him swell with power, knowing that you’re so good and submissive to him. that he really can have you all to himself, that not even akiteru can compete; after all, you love the kindness akiteru gives you but how much must you love tsukishima to always trail after him, even after he’s so harsh to you?

it gives tsukishima the upper hand to have so much influence over you, even when he’s bitter and critical. sure, akiteru is sweeter but he has to try whereas tsukishima is so effortlessly powerful- he knows he has you right in the centre of his palm, his precious little pet to play with.

“i’m sorry, kei-nii.” you say again, nodding solemnly. “i just want to make you proud of me.” tsukishima stiffens at your words but it’s not out of dislike- instead he has never felt so warm, so high and mighty to hear you craving his approval, slouching pathetically in front of him. there’s a small hiss, missed by you but loud enough for tsukishima to smile to himself. akiteru looks like he wants to blow, his jaw clenched and the vein in his temple throbbing.

“y/n, i’m proud of you.” he says. his voice is low and stern, even if he usually coats it in sugar for you but you smile warmly at him- a smile tsukishima hates to realise you never give him.

“thank you, nii-san but i want kei-nii to love me too.” as you leave the room, muttering over rewording your assignment words you don’t notice the thick tension that fills it, the air of competition.

it’s pathetic but your need to please tsukishima is easy to see when he walks into your bedroom one day and you yelp, your phone dropping from your hands as you wrap your arms around yourself. tsukishima is frozen in the doorway, his eyes widening as they drop down your body- your beautiful body all out on display for him in a lacy, pastel lingerie set he doesn’t quite recognise.

“kei-nii!” you cry but tsukishima doesn’t leave. your face drops when he closes the door behind him, moving forward with darkened eyes to pick up your phone. “no- don’t!” he inhales sharply at your screen, his blood rushing at the sight of all your pretty pictures displayed: you with your ass pushed out, you holding your pretty tits and pouting at the camera, looking like pure utter sin.

“please give me my phone back, please-” you whimper when tsukishima faces you, his brow furrowed as he holds your phone up high, knowing you won’t risk jumping to reach it.

“who are these for?” he demands. his voice is calm but cold. it’s threatening.

“no one!” you insist, wide eyes filling with tears. “i promise- they’re just for me! i’m not sending them to anyone.” he scoffs, shaking his head with faux disgust but really his heart is pounding and he’s hoping you won’t notice his cock growing harder and straining against the fabric of his pants.

“really?” he scoffs. “are you being a whore, begging for attention from men? why are you like that?” he makes sure to grimace, just to see you shake your head wildly and tears fill your eyes.

“no! i’m not, kei-nii, i promise!” you’re pleading and it just makes tsukishima harder, hearing your pathetic whines as you’re stood in such revealing lingerie just inches away from him. “i don’t want anyone’s attention! i just-” you look down sheepishly at the floor, tears rolling down your cheek as you hug yourself. “i promise- i don’t want any man.”

tsukishima wants to smile proudly, maybe even reward you with a kiss that stings with possession but he knows he can’t, not yet. but it’s enough to hear you promise never to look at other men, to know that you’ll push away everyone else to make sure he’s the only one you’ll ever love. but he isn’t done yet- an opportunity like this is far too good to pass up. nobody has ever seen these photos before, has never seen you like this before...not even precious akiteru.

“i’ll have to delete them, just to make sure.” you nod, sniffling as you reach for your sweater at the end of the bed. tsukishima tries to ignore the fact that it used to belong to akiteru, him marking you with his clothes that still smell strongly of his aftershave. but it’s okay, because now he has these pictures, the ones he sends to himself and deletes from the chat history and your photo album, nodding when he hands you your phone back. “don’t do this again.”

“okay, kei-nii.” you say meekly, crawling onto your bed and wiping your cheeks.

that evening, you’re too embarrassed to come out of your room, leaving akiteru and tsukishima alone in the living room. akiteru sighs heavily, pausing the game he’s playing as he scratches his blond hair.

“what’s up with y/n? i want her to come out of her room. what’s she doing in there?” he fidgets as he speaks, his eyes rounded with worry- akiteru can never cope well without you, a little bit of distance or less contact than usual always sends him into anxious fits.

“i’m sure she’ll be fine soon.” tsukishima says with an air of nonchalance that makes akiteru narrow his eyes at him. it’s at this moment tsukishima angles his phone screen towards his brother, making sure he can see every sinful photo of you displayed on his screen, lewd and unmistakable and enough to make them both hard.

tsukishima and akiteru only end up on the same page when they’re both as disgruntled as each other the evening you come dancing into the living room, smiling bright with exhilaration and your face pretty with makeup. they’re itching for answers: where were you? who with? where did you go? what were you doing? but they can’t, not when their mother smiles tenderly at you, asking about your day spent out with a mysterious ‘friend’.

“i’m so happy you’re finding new people to meet rather than tagging after your brothers all day.” she smiles, patting your head as you grin. neither you nor your mother notice the small hisses akiteru and tsukishima release; they’re your brothers, you don’t need anyone else when you have them!

tsukishima knows something is wrong when akiteru comes into his room the next day, snapping the door shut behind him and ice in his eyes, jaw clenched as he’s gripping your pink fluffy notebook. tsukishima knows akiteru likes to ‘clean’ your room, insisting you relax in the living room whilst he rifles through your belongings, feeling your clothes and inhaling your scent that clings to your pillow and reading your diaries and sometimes, tsukishima hears the low grunts through the thin wall, knowing that akiteru is probably jerking himself off in your own bed. but tsukishima can’t really judge him for the last thing, not when there’s been times he’s been home alone and has gone into your bedroom, settling himself at your desk and staring at the photographs you’ve stuck on the wall. his favourite is the photograph of you at the beach in your skimpy bikini and wet hair and droplets of salt water glistening off your body- he always stares at it intently, panting as he fists his own cock, imagining what it’d feel like to touch you and all the pretty sounds you’d make. it’s embarrassing almost how quickly he cums, his mind too overtaken by his arousal that he releases into his own hand within minutes, your name heavy on his lips.

“what?” tsukishima demands, sliding off one headphone as akiteru tosses him the notebook.

“you know what y/n’s been up to? our precious little sister?” he’s seething; it’s rare for akiteru to get so angry but when he does, it’s like a volcanic eruption. explosive. fiery. dangerous.

tsukishima frowns as he opens the book, eyes widening at the words you’ve scrawled in pink pen, the hearts you’ve adorned a familiar name with, one that makes his stomach churn.

he kissed me so well it was the best first kiss i could’ve ever wished for!! i can’t wait to see him again, i really think i’ll end up loving him. maybe he’ll be the one?

“the one?” tsukishima scoffs, his face contorting with disgust. hot, green jealousy fills him, shuddering as he throws the diary to the end of his bed but the words are still burning in his mind. another man? how? how can you even dare think of another man when he’s here, your dear brother, the only man who deserves your attention. does that mean all the sickly-sweet ‘i love you’ declarations and the way you pined for him wasn’t true...but just for attention? are you really just an attention whore? yet he’s still calmer than akiteru, the older brother pacing the length of the room with his hands curled into fists.

“going to fucking teach her a lesson. ‘the one’- bullshit, she only needs me! i’m the one here for her, me! everyone else will just hurt her but not me! she doesn’t need anyone, no one else.” there’s a loud bang as he punches the desk, hissing through the pain but he looks unrecognisable in his anger. tsukishima inhales, rolling his eyes as he leans back against the headboard of his bed, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his lips. the cogs inside his brain are turning.

“for once, akiteru, i agree with you. no one else can have her- no one else should.” akiteru is breathing heavily as he considers his brother, eyebrows raising with intrigue as he waits for him to continue. “we’ll just have to make sure she knows that.”

#tw incest #tw yandere #tw possessiveness #darkconfectionery #yandere!tsukishima #yandere!akiteru #yandere!haikyuu #yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyuu x reader #yandere hq #yandere!hq #yandere hq x reader #yandere tsukishima #yandere akiteru #dark fiction #tsukishima #akiteru #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x y/n #akiteru x reader #akiteru x y/n #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fic #tsukishima imagines #tsukishima fic #akiteru imagines #akiteru fic

[tender-rosiey]

Hi! I really love your writing, they always make me so happy! Can I request Dazai and Chuuya headcannons with a s/o, preferably a female s/o, who is bright and verbally affectionate, but isn't really physically affectionate because they often have sweaty palms and are insecure about it? How will they react to it?

I personally have this condition and I'm really insecure about it. If you can write about it it would mean a lot to me. Thank you so much. Sending you all my love <3

❥ Chuuya and Dazai with a s/o with sweaty palms

ᴀ/ɴ: heyo! I am so happy that you like them bubs <3 I actually have a friend that has the same thing and personally I love any type of affection and like when me and her hold hands, I hope you like this and remember that everything about you is perfect 🥺💘

Dazai Osamu:

Yosh lets start-

So he was confused at first so he was getting m o r e observant about your past and actions

Like he loves your praise and your verbal affection

But what’s stopping the physical one?

I feel like Dazai is the type to rub off good things in the face of others

So he likes whenever you compliment him so he can just go

“Look at my belladonna! She is so nice and helps me feel good about myself; I bet you people don’t have a queen who does that!”

Obviously he gets hit on the head by Kunikida

Because “DAZAI BEHAVE YOURSELF! PDA IS NOT ALLOWED-“

Now back to the thing at hand

Get it? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Hands? The scenario? Nevermind I am being lame I am sorry

How he found out?

He respects your boundaries

He really does

But he wanted that hand to be intertwined with his as he swings them while strolling down the city

What a beautifully romantic feeling <3

So one day he just held it suddenly and smirked like said little shit he is

Then you pulled back anxious and tried to laughing it off

Bby was wounded

But nevertheless held it again and put it in his pocket

“You have some explanation to give once we get home.”

Low-key scared the hell out of me too girl 😔

Honestly I don’t think he will mind sweaty palms at all

Like queen he looks like a man who loves hand holding and probably wouldn’t care about it

Maybe if you yourself don’t like it then he will have a pretty little napkin whenever you get anxious about your hand

BUT

He will kiss it before you rub or do anything

He doesn’t want you to think he doesn’t like it

:(

“BELLADONNA I LOVE HOLDING YOUR HANDS DONT YOU DARE PULL IT BACK EVER AGAIN >:(“

Will always reminds you that he doesn’t care about it

Now he can swings hands with you and just hug the shit out of you in front of everyone

‘Eat that Kunikida-kun ಠwಠ’

Very mature man

Again

HE LOVES YOUR HAND NEVERTHELESS SO DONT THINK ABOUT IT OR I WILL COME THROUGH THE SCREEN AND HOLD IT MYSELF (ง'̀-'́)ง

Chuuya Nakahara:

Mr Fancy Hat

...wouldn’t notice until a really long time

Cause he wears gloves 24/7 so corruption doesnt go “Caillou Ni Hao”

He loves your praise as well obviously

Makes him feel good about himself

Especially if it’s something along the lines of reassuring him that his height is okay and that he isnt fat

Chuuya you are a damn stick baby

I feel like chu chu loves hug and showing off what he has

‘You peasants can’t stand a chance’

Yeah and it’s the same person who is soft for puppies and helps old ladies despite being a mafia executive 🥺

He thought about trying to hold your hand before and when you pulled away apologizing

He thought you might still not be that comfortable with him yet so he forgot about it but a little sad :(

And he respected that

UNTIL

On a fateful day when he just happens to have his gloves off and takes a hold of your hand to assert dominance over others that he has you and they don’t

Yes pride shadows the rest

He feels that your palms are sweaty

To which he react to with ???

“Babe are you feeling hot?”

Tho it would’ve been confusing cause y’all were in December and yeah he took off his glove to also take your body warmth <3

AND

you had to tell him because he was about to take your jackets off for you so you don’t feel uncomfortable

Despite you looking like a baby chick that came out of freezing water and slapping his hands away millions of times

Now I believe he will just need some time to get used it, that is talking that he doesn’t wear his gloves

But he will get used to it and will grow to love it even

Keeps his hands moist 👀

Not a dirty type of moist you little shits

I mean, you know when your hand is a little too dry for you liking?

Low key me right now btw the ocean did a number on my hand

I even sometimes get jealous of my friend who does get sweaty palms often -3-

Anyways so if his does feel like that then he will just hold your hand and kiss your palm

He will chuckle and rub your hands in his

Definitely holds your hand without hesitation anyways

copyright © 2020 tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

#anime #anime aesthetic #anime fluff #anime scenery #anime community #anime gif #anime headcanons #bsd anime #bsd dazai #dazai osamu fluff #dazaibsd #dazai headcanons #dazai fluff #dazai x you #dazai imagines #dazai osamu #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #bungou stray dogs dazai #chuuya x y/n #chuuya headcanons #chuuya imagines #chuuya x reader #chuuya fluff #bsd chuuya #chuuya x you #bungou stray dogs chuuya #chuuya scenarios #bungo stray dogs #bsd headcanons

[dandelionflower]

She’s not here

They were all on the bus, heading back to the hotel for dinner and rest.

It was hard work, fixing up a park, but the class did it well. By the end of the day, it was beautiful, all traces of trash had disappeared and they had even managed to give some benches a new coat of paint.

Lila beamed and clapped as it was over, promising everyone a scoop of ice cream, as was tradition when she finished a big project. However, when they found a place that was selling ice cream, she realized she left her wallet in her room.

Apologizing profusely, she swore that she’d get them a treat some other time.

“This has never happened before; I’m so sorry everyone!”

Alya patted her shoulder. “It’s okay, girl. You already helped so much to heal that park; let us do something for you.”

“At least let me order for all of you.”

“If you want, girl, sure.”

“Okay, I’m usually really good at guessing people’s favorite ice cream flavors once I get to know them, so I should be good for most of you, but since Marinette and I haven’t been on such good terms lately, I’ll probably need to ask her. Where is she?”

“I dunno. Mari!” Alya called into the meager crowd of students. “Come on out, hun, we need to know your pick for ice cream!”

Adrien piped up from the back, where he was chatting with Rose. “I don’t think she’s here. She must not have come back from her walk.”

Alya felt her heart race with concern. “Lila, I know you want us to have ice cream, but there’s no way we can just leave Marinette in the forest.”

“Of course not, Alya.” She placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll go look for her after I place our orders. I know these woods better than anybody; I’ll have her back in a jiff.”

“Okay, thanks Lila.” She let out a breath, leaning against Nino.

True to her word, Lila left soon after ordering for everyone, heading down the sidewalk to look for Marinette. Sure, she seemed to be going the wrong way, but it was probably a shortcut she forgot to mention.

—

The walk back to the hotel was lovely, with Alya and Adrien arguing over which picture of Ladybug should be the new header for her blog and Nino holding her hand the whole way.

It was only when she got back to the hotel and saw Lila lounging beside a cute boy, did she remember that her BFF was missing.

“Lila! Did you find her?”

Adrien jolted, mid-sentence and looked up at Lila with hopeful eyes. It seemed that he forgot about Marinette too.

Lila sat still for a moment, before a look of remorse crossed her face.

“I’m so sorry, Alya. I couldn’t find her. I scoured every path, but nothing.”

“I should probably check.” Adrien raised his hand. “After all, I’m her boyfriend.”

“That’s a great idea.” Lila stood and walked to clasp Adrien’s arm. “I’ll come too, so we don’t get lost like Marinette.”

An odd look crossed Adrien’s face, but he nodded nevertheless. They began walking to the exit.

“Ah!” Lila flinched, clutching her leg. “My leg! I must have sprained it while looking for Marinette.”

“Oh!” Alya rushed to Lila’s other side, helping Adrien hold her up. “Let’s get you to our room, maybe get some ice for that leg.”

“No, I know you and Nino probably wanted to spend some time together. Adrien can take me. After all, what are all of those fencing lessons for?” She nudged him with a teasing grin, which he shakily returned. Poor guy, probably so worried about Marinette.

“Okay, make sure you call me if you need anything.” She grabbed both of her shoulders. “Anything.”

“Of course.” She smiled and patted her arm before tugging Adrien to the stairs.

Alya turned to Nino with a beam. “Soo, wanna hang out?”

He rolled his eyes, slipping his headphones back around his neck. “Of course, it’s not like we’ve talked about it since we found out about the trip.”

She leaned into his side, pressing a kiss on his jaw. “I’ve looked up a map, and I’m ready to show you all the sights.”

“Hi!” An unfamiliar voice surprised them; it was chirpy like Rose, but not quite as high. They turned in unison and saw a willowy girl with a long ponytail trailing down her back. An odd headband was woven into the deep purple locks.

“Sorry to eavesdrop, but I heard you two were looking for a place to hang out? Might I suggest…” her eyes landed on Alya’s face before brightening up again. “The aquarium? In the evening like this, the lights turn on and everything seems to glow an incredible blue.”

“Really?” She glanced at Nino with a grin. “That sounds like an incredible thing to put on my blog! Come on, Nino, let’s go!”

“Okay.” He chuckled and allowed himself to be pulled down a random hallway.

“Just take a right, then a left. It should be two doors down!”

They both giggled like kindergartners as they ran down the halls. Nino stopped and cocked a brow when she continued pulling him past the door the girl mentioned.

“Let’s play a game.” She whispered. “We both get lost and try to meet back here. Video chat so we know we don’t cheat.”

He pulled out his phone and called her in response.

Once they had gotten thoroughly lost, Alya set a timer and began dashing back to the aquarium.

It took her three minutes. (she may have cheated a little bit, but it wasn’t her fault! Nino is really cute when he gets winded from running!) She stumbled into the room, listening to Nino complain about how much she was making him run.

It was incredible. The latent orange from the sunset and the blues from the aquarium blended in a perfect contrast that she almost dropped her phone.

“Whereisshe...”

“You say something babe?” She glanced down at her phone. It was blank; no service.

Oh well, Nino would tell her what he said when he got here. Meanwhile, she raised her camera app to capture the stunning sight before her.

“She’snothere...”

A flicker at the corner of her screen. She lowered her phone, but nothing was there. It was slipped into her pocket as she turned to the larger aquarium. The fish seemed to be missing, except for one bright orange angel fish.

“She’snothere...”

The fish swam in hypnotizing figure eights. Alya stared at it, entranced. It felt like with every figure eight, the fish was stealing a little bit of breath from her.

“She’snothere.”

The fish moved faster and faster, until the swift motions combined with her shortness of breath made it look almost like it was forming a circle.

“She’snothere.”

No, not a circle.... a face. A face with thick rimmed glasses and a mole just above her eye. A face that looked like hers, but not.

“She’snothere. She’snothere. She’s. Not. HERE.”

A body erupted from the water, and Alya flinched from the waved, but they didn’t even spray her with a mist. Almost like they weren’t there.

A girl stood before her, hair in knots, staring at Alya. She was in a fancy blue dress that looked like it should be poofy, if not for the water dripping from the hem.

Alya stood stock-still, chest heaving. “Who are you?”

“Where is she?” A voice hissed from nowhere.

The girl looked at her with hollow eyes. “She’s not here.”

“Who are you walking about? What was that voice?”

The figure jolted, like a glitching video. Suddenly, her hair was neat and styled. Her dress was dry and fanned out around her.

“Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“Where is she?” The bodiless voice asked again, this time in a tone so sickly sweet, Alya felt like retching.

Her mirror image grinned at the ceiling, walking closer to the empty aquarium. She put her hand on it, like she was about to push open a door.

“She’s right here.”

Spectral waves rushed from the glass, assaulting and surrounding Alya. Her breaths became more and more shallow, it felt like her throat was closing up.

Like she was drowning.

—

When Nino came in, panting and just barely biting his tongue from cussing, Alya was curled in a ball on the floor, wheezing.

“Als!” He fell to his knees beside her, taking in her vitals like he learned in the akuma relief seminar. “You okay? It looks like you had either an allergic reaction or a panic attack. What was in that ice cream you ate?”

“Don’t...know... Lila ordered.” She gripped his hand tightly and pulled herself up, pulling out her phone and dialing Lila’s number.

“Alya!” She could hear the smile in her voice. “Adrien, come on over, it’s Alya.”

“Hey Alya.”

“What... was in the ice cream?”

“The ice cream I ordered? I can’t remember... hazelnuts, I think?”

She glanced at Nino with wide eyes. She was allergic to hazelnuts. Not enough to do anything serious, but enough that she had a little trouble breathing afterwards. That must also explain that weird stuff she saw too; oxygen deprivation.

Nino grabbed her arm, fully intent on taking her to her room to recuperate for the rest of the night. She allowed him to, still a little shaken.

—

A sleek fox sat in front of a broken-eyed ghost. So?

“She’s not here.” Anya replied, glaring at the ceiling. She looked back down, her defiant eyes turning sad. “She’s not here.”

Not true. She’s here, and she’s safe and sound in her room.

Her broken eyes lit up and she floated purposefully towards the best room in the home.

Not yet you don’t! Finny hovered in front of the ghost. She’s sleeping and you won’t bother her!

The ghost nodded forlornly and dissipated.

That settles it, doesn’t it? Grace asked once the ghost was gone

Yep, Allegra moved forwards. These students are helping them pass on. Once they impart their knowledge, and scare them straight, they get their free will back, to haunt or help who they choose.

It’s weird though, isn’t it? Finny mused. How just one word could have changed everything? If Anny had just lied to her, none of this will be happening.

But she didn’t. Allegra reminded him softly. None of them did, and this is the price they pay.

Yeah... Finny flew low. Hey Allegra?

Yeah, Fin?

She’s here. Giddiness oozed from his voice.

Yeah, Allegra stared at the hallway leading to the girl that gave their lives purpose again, she is.

………

The rest

………

@merry-madness @calliopeia @drama-queen-supreme @kaydenth3gayden @mcheang @nomiegnome @never-say-donuts @vixen-uchiha @miracul0us-multishipper @hauntedfreakdeputyhero @chocolatecustarddanish @iwantswifttoblessmysoul @digitalmagpie @ilseofskadi @nerdy-and-a-little-birdy @minty-goose @nataladriana9 @constellation-king @animegirlweeb @persephonebutkore @ahalloweengirl @r0sebutch @marinettepotterandplagg @beelzzebop @akalovelymaybe @pleasefollowmeuwu @angelost4r @constancetruggle @speaknowtome @some-oxymoron @nerdy-scifi-birdy @purplesundaze @aestheticnpoetic @neptuningkai @2confused-2doanything @goggles-mcgee @grumpy-kitten-vixen @atremisdragona @lookatthestars1 @demonicbusiness @toodaloo-kangaroo

#felinette #marinette dupain cheng #ml marinette #ml salt #felix culpa #ml adrien #alya cesaire #ml Alya #djwifi #ml nino #nino lahiffe #oc grace #oc finny #ml Allegra #tw drowning #a scribble #Lila salt #ml class salt

[crestfallercanyon]

I've done something that's not quite like me!

I made a very soft fluffy thomally fic (with the very background ship of Nalby too!)

I'm posting it to my ao3, but I'm also going to put it here --

Questions Bathed in Blue

Summary

It's three in the morning. Gally was fast asleep, but he's woken up by Thomas who clearly has something on his mind. And as always, when something's on Thomas's mind, it's not long before it's on Gally's too.

Tags

Modern AU, Fluff and Humor, Comfort No Hurt, Domestic Fluff, Late Night Conversations, Literal Sleeping Together, Sharing a Bed, Insecurity, Overthinking, Love, Discussions of Marriage

___

A blue light, rather than the sun, was what woke Gally up.

It was brighter than Thomas’s phone — Thomas had a horrible habit of looking at his phone when he couldn’t sleep, Gally’d long gotten used to tuning that out — no this was as if a blue-light spotlight was shining into the room.

“Are aliens abducting us?” Gally groaned into his pillow.

“Sorry!” Thomas whispered next to him, and the blue light jostled, Gally no longer felt the static of it clinging to his skin.

It was too late. Gally was already up.

Gally opened his eyes as gradually as he could, untucking his face from the pillow and squinting at the night, trying to make solid the rest of Thomas’s bedroom. Next to him Thomas was lit by his old laptop that was set on the center of his bed. The computer was so old it sounded like a jet plane getting ready for take off, it struggled to do the most basic of tasks. Thomas looked like he was windswept by those jet turbines, too. He was utterly disheveled: his chin hooked over his pulled up knees, his hair mussed up, his eyebrows feathery, his gaze droopy, his t-shirt pulled at the neckline so Gally could see the mole by his collarbone.

It still caught Gally off guard to see Thomas so tame. Cooped up in blankets, softened with drowsiness, he was loose and pliant and pretty. It was nice to see what he looked like settled down. Still, Gally frowned.

“What are you doing?”

Thomas turned to look at him. His brown eyes were impossibly warm even in the blue light. There was something to his expression, something that told Gally that he wasn’t going to sleep any time soon.

“I didn’t think it would be that bright, I’m sorry.”

His voice was far too clear. Nothing like Gally’s, which no matter how he cleared his throat was a low rumble, roughed up from being pulled awake from sleep. That meant Thomas had been up for a while. Sometimes, on nights like this, Gally’d find out that he hadn’t slept at all.

Hopefully it wasn’t one of those nights.

Rubbing his eyes, Gally propped himself up a little. Dared to look at the screen, even though his eyeballs felt like they were burning. “Those look like plane tickets.”

“Mhm. I’m booking the flights for Newt and Alby’s wedding.”

Gally’s head thunked against the wall behind them. “Are we going to ignore the fact that when I asked you about this three days ago, you said you’d already done it?”

“Can we?”

Thomas’s shoulders scrunched up, the muscles of his back being pushed around by his sharp bones shifting underneath his t-shirt. His neck bowed, tucking himself in to a ball. Gally could track all the sheepishness in his posture. He looked back at Gally and gave a squirmy smile.

Gally looked to his clock on Thomas’s nightstand: Three in the morning. He closed his eyes and breathed a sigh out his nose.

“Fine.”

He kind of figured Thomas hadn’t done it because when Gally asked him about the price of the tickets he said he didn’t remember off the top of his head, which usually meant that he didn’t know because he hadn’t actually done it yet. Thomas just wasn’t forgetful enough for Gally to really believe the lie. But it’d get done. They’d get to Newt and Alby’s wedding somehow anyway, lest Alby have their heads.

They were their closest friends. Finally getting married after years of back and forth, long distance and insecurities. It was sweet. Everyone was looking forward to the affair, even Gally, though he wasn’t usually a big party-goer.

“Maybe flights are cheaper this time of morning,” Gally offered.

Thomas snorted. That wasn’t true, but all Gally meant was that it didn’t matter.

Then Thomas reached back, his fingertips tracing the tendon of Gally’s arm until he wrapped his hand around Gally’s wrist. Thomas’s fingers were hot from his computer, which was kind of nice, even though his palm was a little clammy.

Thomas kept clicking around on the computer, his thumb stroking idly along Gally’s skin. It was enough for Gally to go back to sleep, but there was this hitch that was keeping him up. Maybe it was Thomas’s hand. Maybe it was the fact that, on second look, Thomas seemed almost too still. He wasn’t relaxed, all kinetic masking as static, as if he was about to burst out of his own skin. His eyes looked tired, strained, staring at the screen.

“Are we going to need to check a bag?” Thomas asked.

“Yes. Your backpack’s not gonna hold your suit.”

Thomas laughed. “I’m sure there’s a way to army roll a suit.”

Gally snorted this time, then put his hand over Thomas’s. Thomas squeezed.

“Newt would shoot you.”

He watched that wicked grin Thomas got stretch over his loose lips. “No he wouldn’t. He’d have to pick another best man.”

“Minho’s gonna be right there.”

Thomas’s jaw dropped. “You think I’m so easily replaced?”

Gally shrugged. “‘m just saying. You won’t have to worry about it so long as you don’t try to shove your suit into a backpack.”

“Fuckin’ rude.”

Clicking onto the next page, Thomas hummed. Typed in his credit card information with one hand while continuing to squeeze and let go of Gally’s arm.

“You have that memorized?”

“Yup. Makes impulse spending so much easier,” Thomas teased. Gally chuckled. In truth, Thomas was as frugal as Gally was. Knew exactly what he spent on and when he spent on it. “There. Done.”

Gally skated his hand up Thomas’s arm to that mole on his neck. Traced a circle around it. Thomas flushed, a violet color in the blue light, then he shivered. Reached up and laced his fingers with Gally’s and brought their folded hands back underneath the covers.

“Thanks. And sorry for…” Thomas gestured to the computer. “And I’m sorry about waking you, too, I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t think a laptop and typing would wake me up?” Gally asked drily.

Thomas hummed. “Well, maybe I kind of wanted you awake. But I didn’t mean to be mean about it. I was kind of hoping you’d wake up naturally. Somehow.”

“At three in the morning?”

“You’ve had weirder nights.”

Gally ticked an eyebrow up at him and covered his yawn with the back of his hand. He wasn’t wrong, but usually when Gally woke up in the middle of the night and stayed up, it’s because he had a project in mind. A solution to a work problem. A design for a woodcarving he wanted to write down. Every once in a while he did the Thomas thing — out-think sleep into oblivion — but most of the time Gally was able to jot whatever worried him into a notebook.

That was, unless he and Thomas got into an in-depth conversation. Tonight felt like one of those nights. Snow dusting off the roof of Thomas's apartment building, falling outside the window like it was coming down fresh. The curtains swaying to the sound of the heater. And Thomas, speaking in quiet whispers, even though they were the only two in the room. Intimate and secretive.

“Something on your mind?”

Thomas shrugged. “Just one of those nights where I can’t stop thinking.” He pressed his palm onto his cheekbone and slumped against his knees. His face looked tired-bruised. “Then I wanted to buy the tickets, because I forgot and told you I didn’t and, I don’t know. Felt bad.”

“It doesn’t matter, Tom.”

“I’m sorry anyway.”

This was a bit more guilt-laden than Gally expected. Self-deprecation landing on the tongue like burnt popcorn, filling the mouth with ash and making Gally’s nerves come undone. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Thomas wrapped his arm around his blanketed knees. Despite boxing himself in, he had an open look on his face. Vulnerable. An expression Gally wished he was a little bit more awake to make sure he was treading carefully over.

“Are you still my plus one?” Thomas asked.

“Thomas. We’re both invited to the wedding, so neither of us are plus ones. We’re just… Ones?”

Thomas chuckled. “Guests.”

“Guests.” It was three in the morning, so Gally thought he was allowed to be a bit of an idiot.

“Okay. But like. You’re my plus one in theory, right? You’re still going to sit next to me and stuff?”

“‘Course.“ Gally furrowed his eyebrows, scrutinized Thomas’s questions. Thomas knew it too what with the way he shifted, tried to shrug this off as normal conversation. “Did I say something that made you think I wouldn’t?”

Gally didn’t mean to make him feel like he was being interrogated, but, he also didn’t understand where this was coming from.

“No, no. I’m just… Checking in. Making sure you still want to go together.”

“I do. Do you?” Gally tried to keep his voice even, but if Thomas answered otherwise, he wasn’t sure he could continue to lay in Thomas’s bed. Not that it should matter that much, but it did. He didn’t think he was capable of being rejected, even in this small way, only to just turn over and go back to sleep.

They’d been together long enough, though, that Thomas picked up on Gally’s internal panic. “Of course!”

“Okay.” Gally pointed at the computer. “Hence the plane tickets.”

“Exactly.”

“Thomas. You want to tell me what’s on your mind?”

“Do you want to get married?”

Gally’s heart tried to kamikaze itself out of his chest. His eyes widened, his lungs caught. He pulled himself upright.

“What?”

It wasn’t — it wasn’t that Gally hadn’t thought about it. He had. They’d been dating for a while now, and while they don’t share an apartment, they alternate between their places, almost always sharing a bed. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Thomas, though he was still getting used to saying it on a regular basis, the words coming out of his mouth as though they tripped over his teeth each time.

Gally did see this as long term. He did. He really did. But Gally moved slower than Thomas, always had. He wasn’t planning on officially moving in together or marriage proposals or anything like that until a whole year went by, maybe two. Didn’t mind the idea of a long engagement on top of that, either.

Gally liked to be sure. Which was why he was glad Thomas wasn’t like that. Because Gally sometimes waited too long, got too comfortable in the wait that he forgot how much he wanted the ending. Thomas… Thomas charged into things in an instance with a confidence Gally envied.

This was a little quick, though, even for Thomas. And Thomas, appropriately, froze at his own words. His jaw quivered, his eyes were wide, his pupils narrowed. “I didn’t mean that.” Gally blinked, his heart turning over in his chest. Didn’t mean that, what the fuck does that — “Not like that! Just, not the way it sounded. That wasn’t a proposal. It wasn’t meant to be a proposal, I’m not proposing. Promise.”

Gally nodded. That was… good.

“I’m not saying that I never will —”

“Thomas.”

“Right. Right. Sorry, I’m so fucking this up.”

Gally would say he wasn’t, but he had no idea what Thomas was doing. Instead he made a sound that was supposed to be a laugh but instead just sounded like panic turning over in his chest. Thomas responded with a wheezy exhale.

“I just, I didn’t mean — You don’t have to — I don’t mean get married to me,” Thomas tried to amend, which, wasn’t much of an amendment at all. Gally was currently laying in Thomas’s bed. Who the hell else would he be marrying? Who the hell else did Thomas think he would consider?

“What?”

The nervous laughter that bubbled out of Thomas’s lips would have had Gally laughing if he wasn’t still shocked out of his air. “Don’t what me, stop with the heart attack face.” Thomas reached over and poked Gally’s cheek, cupped his jaw, strummed his thumb along his jawline. “Let me think a minute. I know what I’m trying to ask, just, wording.”

“Please figure it out quickly,” Gally said weakly.

Thomas smiled and it was so so fond. Didn’t remove his hand from Gally’s face, continued his idle caresses while his gaze drifted, thinking through everything. The touches made Gally’s lips buzz. Thomas always gentle, but his fingertips were sure, like Gally was in some sort of museum.

It was nice. No one had ever done that to Gally before.

It was definitely because it was three in the morning, but for a moment, Gally wondered if he didn’t mind the idea of an actual proposal. He didn’t mind the idea of this for the rest of his life. Middle of the night wasn’t so bad. A future the bed was theirs and they had a house and everything was exactly the same but entirely settled; no back and forth, no hurry up and wait.

Thomas clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth which brought Gally out of his thoughts. “Do you see yourself getting married? Do you believe in, um, the… tradition? Of marriage? Or are you one of those people who think marriage is a sham and an opportunity for the government to spy on you, kind of thing?”

Gally laughed. “Don’t think that’s the main concern people have with marriage,” Gally argued. Thomas gave a slantwise smile, a sound dying in the back of his throat.

Gally could have sworn they’d talked about this before, but he didn’t mind talking about it again. It was three in the morning. There was a strangely worried expression on Thomas’s face, he seemed wound up and intense in a way that Gally didn’t know how to reel in without wading through a conversation like this. Thomas��s wheels were spinning out, and he was trying to find traction.

“I believe in marriage. I like the idea of being married some day.”

“Cool.” Thomas said the word as if it was something to savor; he nodded to himself and licked his lips. Tucked his feet underneath his furnace of a laptop. “So do I.”

“I know.”

Thomas scoffed. “You know, huh?”

Yes, Gally knew. It wasn’t hard to figure out. If Thomas hadn’t been interested in weddings, he wouldn’t have participated in half the shit Newt asked him to as excitedly as he had. Determining wedding colors, picking out ties, helping them figure out suits, looking at centerpieces. The kind of detail-oriented stuff that would drive Thomas up a wall if he wasn’t interested in the subject, but for this he was thrilled.

Gally didn’t say that, though. Summed up with, “You’ve been a very enthusiastic best man.”

Thomas frowned. “Newt’s my best friend. I don’t want to let him down.”

Gally rolled his eyes. “Your bachelor party could be pizza bites in a crummy basement and Newt would still gush over how grateful he was you were his friend and thank you for the time you took to plan such a party.”

“Pizza bites in a basement?”

“You know what I mean.” Gally reached up and put a hand on Thomas’s back, sliding up his shirt. It was still taut, he jolted underneath Gally’s palm. Then he soothed, his body going slack, let more of his body dip into the bed. His eyes fluttered closed and he felt Thomas breathe, and Gally couldn’t help but smile. It seemed like they were getting somewhere.

“I’ve been working on my speech.”

“Oh?” Gally rubbed up and down his spine, swirling his fingers over Thomas’s skin.

“It’s nice, talking about them. I’ve wanted them to get together for so long, I was so worried it wouldn’t happen, even though they both seemed to like each other so much,” Thomas said, his voice distant and dreamy. “But it’s funny, writing about what people look for in relationships, talking about what love they ended up finding.”

Thomas looked over at Gally then. Gave him a small, hurried smile.

“And what’s your conclusion, hm?”

Gally felt Thomas’s huff of a laugh, a small jump in the muscles of his back.

“My conclusion is that I need to rewrite my speech.”

Gally raised his eyebrows at that. Sat forward, slipped his hand out of Thomas’s shirt and began to comb his hands through Thomas’s hair, trying to coax him to lean back and sleep. Thomas hummed happy, his smile drowsy and stretched. “Why?”

“It’s not right.” Gally cocked his head to the side, waiting for Thomas’s elaboration. It was one of those few times where Gally couldn’t see the end of Thomas’s thought, where Thomas had to guide him to the ending. And he found he really wanted to know. “It’s not about what you find. It’s about what you make. Little moments that build up to mean everything.”

“Think you’ll remember that for the morning, or do you want to type it out right now?” Gally reached for Thomas’s computer, pushing it toward him.

“Oh, I’ll remember.” He took the computer and shut it. Their bedroom lost all of its light, and Gally’s eyes took a moment to adjust. Thomas was staring him down. “I’ve got plenty of reminders all around me. Like waking up your partner in the middle of the night and them just hearing you out. Not getting mad over unpurchased plane tickets.”

Gally stilled. His heart was high in his throat. It was early in the morning and Gally was an idiot, but he knew what Thomas was getting at. He didn’t know why, but it was like saying I love you — made him nervous, made him feel unsteady.

“Someone’s feeling sentimental,” he murmured, trying to deflect. Thomas laughed, a soft, lofted thing, that was more to humor Gally than anything else, Gally was sure.

Another kindness. Another small moment, knowing the give and take of vulnerability, knowing when to humor the other and when to reach beyond the shield they put up and touch their heart.

Great, now Gally was waxing poetic.

“I don’t know. I just felt like I was missing something, so I couldn’t sleep. You ever get like that?”

Gally’s mouth ticked up. “No, actually, I have a boyfriend who doesn’t tell me when I’m missing things because he claims to already have them.”

That shocked a laugh out of Thomas. “Mm. Nice shot, I deserved that.”

“Thanks. And you did.”

“You’re such a jerk,” Thomas said, but there was no animosity there. In fact, it made Gally’s insides feel ridiculously mushy.

“C’mere.” He wrapped his arm around Thomas’s waist and began pulling him to his side. Thomas was warm and pliant, let Gally maneuver him onto his side where Gally could curl around him. “At this rate you’re not going to get any sleep, and then you’ll be miserable all day tomorrow.”

“You’re probably right.”

They resettled under the covers, Thomas plastered against Gally’s front, Gally able to feel how Thomas’s breath slowed and heavied. Gally traced his fingertips down Thomas’s sternum.

“You know I love you, right?” Thomas asked.

It didn’t make Gally’s heart jump like the first time. Instead it warmed him, soothed, like putting cold hands under warm water. Gally let out a long exhale into Thomas’s hair.

“Mmhm.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of Thomas’s neck, sliding further under the covers. Pressed his nose into Thomas’s shoulder and murmured.

“Love you too.”

Thomas spun around in his arms. Reached up and pinched Gally’s nose, a habit he’d taken to when they were still barely friends. Gally glared at him halfheartedly, too tired to really pull it off. Thomas only gave him a gooey smile, laid his hands on Gally’s chest and slumped against his arm.

“I know.” He closed his eyes. “Nice to hear it, though.”

“I’m working on that.”

But Thomas shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. You may not say it, but I hear it all the time.”

“What does that mean?”

Thomas didn’t respond, instead opting to burrow closer, tangle his legs with Gally’s.

“Goodnight, Gal.”

Gally hummed but let it go. Instead smoothed out one of Thomas’s ruffled eyebrows, traced the line to his temple, then dragged his fingers through Thomas’s hair.

Looking down at Thomas, eased down and comfortable, Gally had to wonder… Maybe he wouldn’t wait that much longer on a proposal. For once, he didn’t feel the overwhelming desire to wait it out. He already felt pretty sure.

“Goodnight, Tom.”

They can talk more about it in the morning.

#my fic #not short but it's light #thomally #myfic #the maze runner #tmr gally #tmr thomas #mentions of nalby #tmr #soft fic #domestic

[dclsbaby]

tolerate it - Dominic Calvert Lewin 🦋

Summary: despite being in love, you and dom drift apart during a career hiccup and it breaks your heart into tiny little pieces

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: angst? pain?

A/N: hi everyone! I took the looongest hiatus known to mankind and I just want to thank everyone who has still stuck by this blog! I haven't written in a while and this isn't by best work but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway! ily!

masterlist

I wake and watch you breathing with your eyes closed

I wake and watch you breathing with your eyes closed

I sit and watch

I notice everything you do or don’t do

Every little thing he does leaves you in awe. The man can’t do no wrong in your eyes. You notice the way he breathes, his little gestures, his subtle movements. Others can envision an entire story just by observing the way he looks at you. As you lay in bed with his body next to yours, his chest rising with every breath taken, you discover a newfound appreciation to add to the list of things you love about him. You have never felt a feeling so intense, so visceral. Love is terrifying, isn’t it? Love often leads to infatuation, and this was no different to you. You wear your heart on your sleeves, feel every emotion, from the exhilarating highs, to the excruciating lows. To be dependent on another human for happiness is a dangerous game. You fear love. And with fear comes paranoia.

It started when your conversations became shorter and shorter by the day. Then, it’s him arriving late from training, to no longer waking you up before he leaves for early morning training. No more forehead kisses when you’re still asleep, no more post-it notes on refrigerator doors telling you he’s made you breakfast, no nothing. Bodies that were once intertwined each night now rest apart with unwanted distance in between. Distance you so wanted to close.

As the weather turned cold, so did he.

I wait by the door like I’m just a kid

Use my best colours for your portrait

Lay the table with fancy shit

And watch you tolerate it

Without fail, you would always wait for him to come home, run to the door when you hear his car pull over on your driveway and leap into his arms the second he steps in your shared home. He would hold you up as your legs wrap around his waist, and whisper “I’ve been waiting to come home to you all day,” in your ear. A memory you long to relive.

You knew he had been struggling, coping with a plateau in his career, playing less and less, becoming a resident of the substitution bench. It hurt you to see him hurt, but it also pained you that he did not turn to you for comfort. “Nothing is wrong,” he says, over and over. Lies, you thought. You know him better than anyone else. So you try and convince him that he could trust you, and that keeping it all in would only make it worse. I mean you would know, as you have been suppressing so much pain this whole time. But he wins this battle yet again, and with his ego intact, he shrugs it off, ignores his frustration, and pushes you away.

While you were out building other worlds, where was I?

Where’s that man who’d throw blankets over my barbed wire?

I made you my temple, my mural my sky

Now I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life

As months passed by, you were no longer his live-in partner, but a stranger he has to coexist with, leaving you lonely each night as he drifted off to sleep inches away from you. Even then your love for him is still as potent, as strong. Your loyalty is a crime.

Your efforts to make him feel better never ceased, as you continue cooking him his favourite meals after training, helping him pack his bags the night before he leaves for international duty, doing household chores so he never had to bother with them after coming home from an exhausting day, making playlists of songs you think he’d like, and putting movies and tv series you know he would enjoy in his Netflix list.

You would do anything for some form of acknowledgement.

You would do anything to bring back those first two years back.

You would do anything for a simple touch, a hug, an embrace.

You would do anything for… something.

Everything you did, you did for him. Every thought that passes your mind, involves him.

It’s just a phase. It’s just a phase. You try to convince yourself. That’s a lie, another subconscious voice says.

---

It was the night before the Merseyside derby, which happens to be the final match of the season. The most anticipated match of the year. The perfect match. The match that determines if Everton is crowned Premier League champions. Half of the city at war with the other half. Two colours, two clubs with a historic rivalry battle it out on the pitch once again.

He was nervous, you could tell. You catch him playing with his food and struggle to finish his meal as he was sick to his stomach. After months of hate comments, online trolling, and being subject to pundits’ criticism, this was the perfect match to prove all the doubters that he is worthy of wearing his blue jersey. He spent several more minutes tossing pieces of food with his fork until he got up, placed his plate on the sink, and made his way up the stairs to sleep. No “see you upstairs”, or a last goodbye before he sleeps. You had to resist every temptation to start a fight and argue that you deserve more than silence. But you knew how important tomorrow’s occasion is, and decided against it.

Shortly after you make your way into your bedroom. He was curled on the edge of the bed, eyes closed, bedroom lights dimmed. You go to your shared bathroom, take what’s left of your makeup off, and get ready for bed. You stare at yourself in the mirror. Darkened under eyes, lips cracked down the middle. You were dehydrated, tired, exhausted, and looked almost ghastly. Turns out having a broken heart does have implications on your vanity. How much longer can I do this? You thought. You felt pathetic, feeling sorry for yourself. You exhale a deep sigh and make your way back into the bedroom, joining him in bed. As you settle on the bed, you turn your body away from him, and tug the duvet your way, curling into a fetal position and tuck yourself in, and drift off to sleep.

All of a sudden, you hear sounds of shifting sheets, the bed slightly moving with every turn he makes. You could tell he was awake. You knew the events of tomorrow are playing on his mind and making him lose sleep. With only a little hesitation, you extend an arm and rest your hand on his back, causing him to shudder a little. Your touch had stopped the shifting and brought him comfort he did not know he needed. Not long after, you could hear soft snores from his side of the bed.

---

You woke up to an empty bed, which was not unusual. You forgive him though, since it is a big day and he probably had to tune into the game day mentality early in the morning.

You watch the game from home and stare at the TV screen as the cameras zoom into Dom, his face serious, ready to fight it out on the pitch. Since the second the referee blew the first while, it had already gotten intense. Both teams began attacking from the get-go, a handful of chances created even though it’s barely been a quarter of an hour.

Minutes passed, and yellow cards have been handed out for several players. Every spectator in different time zones all glued to their screens, all on the edge of their seats until half-time. The camera catches a glimpse of him walking off the pitch. He looked angry and frustrated, you could tell. He was responsible for most of the chances created during the game, though he couldn’t seem to poach one in.

Ben had made a long pass that Dom couldn’t quite convert into a goal.

Lucas had delivered a stunning, almost perfect cross that landed on Dom’s head, but it went wide.

Richy had attempted a shot on his own, which pissed Dom off.

It’s all square at half-time, but football is a game of two halves, and to decide which side of the city will celebrate tonight is determined by the next 45 minutes at least.

Every player is now back on the pitch, ready to give it their all.

10 minutes in, it’s long balls and defending, the opposition giving no room to maneuver through the box. That is until Lucas passed another strikingly accurate cross.

“MISS AGAIN! How could he have missed a cross like that a second time?”

“Everton’s number 9 squashes an open goal opportunity, what a shame, that.”

“He’s going to hate himself for that,”

“He already does, Calvert-Lewin looks like he’s about to see red.”

You listen to the commentators as they describe Dom’s frustration. You watch with anxiety, occasionally scrolling through your phone to avoid the intensity.

---

Into the final minute of the game 90+3.  Still all square at the Goodison. It’s now or never.

“Free kick!”

“The free-kick will be done 20 yards off the goal post.”

“This could be the last chance of the game!”

“It’s been decided that Sigurdsson will take the free kick, Calvert-Lewin leaps into the air, ball’s on his head—GOAL!!!”

And just like that, in the final minute of the game, his team clinches the winner, and your man is hailed the hero of the night.

You watch the screen as the referee blows the final whistle of the game, Dom doing sprints around the pitch with his teammates, bodies jumping on each other, veins popping through every neck, roars of exhilaration filling the open air as Everton is calculated to win the league.

You watch him immerse himself in the exhilaration of crowning his team champions of the Premier League. The blue confetti rained over the stadium in the crisp yet comfortable afternoon air, cheering noises blasting through the speakers. You watch the screen zoom into the love of your life, or was. You see his perfectly chiseled face, those bright green eyes, brunette locks still perfectly put together even after a hard-fought game, his sweet smile warming your heart. Your eyes glued to the screen as your man is hailed a hero, and feel an overwhelming sense of pride.

Though not even the cheering and happy faces on TV could distract you from the churning feeling in your stomach. It’s a feeling you can’t quite pinpoint. Is it confusion? Anger? Happiness? You don’t even know.

You’re happy for him, truly. But you can’t seem to shake the fact that it took him being distant from you, and completely ignoring your existence to get his head back in the game. It’s like you and football were mutually exclusive, and he can’t focus on both things he loves most at the same time. You weren’t going to make him choose either.

---

He didn’t come home that night, and you saw it coming. You knew he was going to go out with his teammates, and rightfully so, they achieved a massive milestone after all. But it bothered you that he didn’t say anything, no texts, no voicemails, nothing to tell you of his whereabouts. You thought he would at least change after all that success, but still nothing. Everything is going to stay the same, isn’t it? You thought.

The next morning you wake up to an empty bed. Again. Totally expected. You reach out for your phone and see 10 missed calls from your best friend and several text messages with picture attachments. You were not prepared for what you were about to see.

Attached were pictures of him in a club with his teammates, pictured awfully close to a woman you don’t recognise. He was smiling and looked happy. You can’t remember the last time he looked like that, or even smiled at you. You haven’t even stood as close as they way that woman is in his space, for months. He hasn’t looked at you the way he’s looking at her in those pictures for months.

You felt sick. Your mind is racing. Your heart feels like it’s about to fall out of your chest. You wanted to cry and scream but nothing came out. Total silence. Pure shock. You had no tears left to cry, as you wasted it all from crying yourself to sleep just inches away from the man who broke your heart every day.

Should I have seen it coming? Has he been going out with her for months? When did it start? You try to remember every single detail over the past few months. Every single pain, every single action that you could have overlooked.

---

By the afternoon, you’ve already spent hours sitting on your bed, staring at the pictures sent to you. More links have appeared as gossip sites picked up on the story.

“Dominic Calvert-Lewin celebrates historic Merseyside win with a mystery girl who is not his missus”

“Everton Hero – Also a Cheat”

“Cursed WAGs – DCL celebrates PL win with mystery woman as his missus is MIA”

The more you read these news outlets, the number you feel. The whole of England knows your dirty laundry, you felt like a fool.

You were done.

Drawing hearts in the byline

Always taking up too much space or time

You assume I’m fine, but what would you do if I…

Break free and leave us in ruins

Took this dagger in me and removed it

Gain the weight of you, then lose it

Believe me I could do it

Shortly after you hear keys rattling downstairs, followed by the sound of doors shutting. You hear footsteps walking up the stairs, and you mentally prepare to see his face. You still don’t know how you’re going to react, not until you see him.

As he steps into the doorframe, he sees your bloodshot eyes and stops in his tracks.

“So, I presume you’ve seen what’s being said about me,” he moans.

“Yeah, yeah I’ve seen,” you shrug.

“It’s absolutely ridiculous isn’t it, shouldn’t believe everything you say,” he says.

“-is it though? Is it absolutely ridiculous that what they say could be true?” you cross your arms.

“Of course, it is! What are you even saying?” he says, offended.

“I’m saying that I have spent months slaving for you, putting you before myself without getting anything in return! I’m saying that I have been so miserable in this sad excuse of a relationship, holding onto the last memory of when you last said you loved me which was months ago! I’m saying that it would not be so unbelievable if you had been cheating on me, and that I had to find out from some tabloids!”  

“If you had been so miserable then why didn’t you say anything? You could have said something if you’ve been so unhappy!” Dom yells.

“Because I have been tiptoeing around you! Afraid of saying the wrong things to set you off, I did not want to be a burden during a time when I know you’re struggling,” you sigh.

Dom’s body nearly goes limp after hearing your confession.

“I put you before myself over and over again for the past year, and you have the nerve to assume I’m fine? Fine with what? Being ignored? Being second best? You don’t know what that does to a person,” you cry.

“Do you regret it?” he asks with tears in his eyes. “Do you regret me?” he looks at you.

“No, Dom. No, I don’t. I don’t regret you because I’ve spent the last few months giving it my all to a relationship on the brink of ruins. I never gave up on you, and I never gave up on our love, or what’s left of it,” you sigh. “Deep down, I think I knew that I deserved more than a pathetic excuse of a career hiccup, but I was prepared to stand by you through it all,” you break into cries. “My love was strong enough to ignore every warning sign, strong enough to mute fire alarm bells ringing in my head, alerting me to leave a relationship where I was no longer appreciated,” you rest your head on your hand. “Maybe we’re all allotted a certain amount of fight to give per love, and today… Today I ran out,” look up at him.

“Don’t fucking say that. Do not say that. I am not done fighting for this relationship, I know I fucked up! You don’t think I know that? I will fix everything, you don’t have to do anything, let me do everything I will fix us!” Dom begs.

“There’s no fixing us. It takes two people to fix a relationship, I learned that the hard way and I singlehandedly attempted to piece us back together only for you to break through what I’ve built and held together with my bare fucking hands,” you say as you wipe your tears away.

Dom drops to the floor as he could no longer stand the pain he feels from what you’ve just said.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I-I don’t know what to say,” he pleads

“If it took you this long, and if it took me standing here yelling at you for you to regret what you did then we are past the point of fixing,”

“You know what football means to me, I felt stuck, everything that I had dreamed of as a kid was slowly fading, I couldn’t bear it,” Dom reasons.

“I would never get in between you and football. I would never have even considered making you choose, Dom. I would have done absolutely anything for you, anything, you said. “I just needed you to tell me what the hell is going on so I could have helped you. I did not deserve to be swept under the rug, to be left feeling useless, while you were out doing god knows what with god knows who after training every. Single. Day.”

“Are you implying that I cheated on you?! That I, me – someone you’ve known for years, is cheating on you?”

If it’s all in my head, tell me now

Tell me I’ve got it wrong somehow

“Go on then! Tell me I’m making all of this up in my head. Tell me that I am not wrong to assume such insane thoughts, tell me that it is so beyond the realm of possibility that you could ever be unfaithful.”

Dom stayed silent.

You simply nodded and picked up your belongings, ready to leave.

“Nothing happened. I swear,” he pleaded.

“Your silence was enough,

Goodbye.”

I know my love should be celebrated

But you tolerate it

#dominic calvert lewin #dominic calvert lewin imagine #dominic calvert lewin imagines #football imagine #dclsbaby #everton fc

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “Ash.”

A couple people were showing some interest in other Alien characters aboard the ship, and I thought I would give you all some insight into that. I hope you enjoy, and I hope you all have a great day. 

“You have ruined this family.”

“What have you done!” 

“The war is the only thing left for you now, so make yourself useful and die.”

-

Etium slowly lifted his head from the computer where he sat staring blankly at the accounting spreadsheet on the screen. Beside him, the other two Tesraki’s chairs were empty. He sighed, and slowly turned back to the accounting. They had likely finished their half of the books hours ago, leaving him to sit in the darkness alone with his own strange thoughts. His four fingered hands clicked at the keys of the human made keyboard,

He was good at typing, pretty fast for someone who was missing two requisite fingers, but he was nothing in comparison to the others.

He was nothing in comparison to most Tesraki.

Etium was slow when it came to doing the books, repeatedly checking every line and ever string of numbers for any possible mistake that could have been made. The process took him hours longer than it should have, but finally he stood, pushing back his chair and hopping down to the floor. The human ship whirred softly in the distance. It was a comforting sound, but he had always found some measure of comfort in humanity.

Etium had been hit the hardest by the huminization phenomenon. It didn’t surprise him all that much. He had fought side by side with humans since the Drev war, and the changes in him had taken a long time to develop. They ran deep now through his body as sure as his blood. WIth skills honed in human war, and being one of few survivors, he was quick to react to sounds, followed movement more easily, and could read body language better than almost any other alien he knew.

Dr Krill wasn’t even as good as he considered himself.

That’s what war did to a person.

He reached up to his torn ear and shivered at the smell of smoke that seemed to waft up from his fur. He could never get the smell of ash out of his head no matter how hard he tried.

Etium knew there was something wrong with him, but he kept that to himself. The others tended to avoid him, and that was alright. He was friends with the Finnari, and while they were a bit sensitive, he supposed that was ok. He didn’t need anyone asking questions about what he was doing and why he was there.

He ducked through one of the maintenance corridors, and into the hallway behind the rec room.

He could hear humans and Drev talking and laughing on the other side, but when he passed through the next door, he found the hall opened into a large-ish storage room that was lined in boxes and crates. Inside was what remained of the Omen crew. Tesraki, Finnari, Celzex and Yeb. They had a little place here for those aliens who found it difficult to constantly interact with humans.

Yeb was a bit of a special case as she seemed to hop between both without much trouble. She lounged on one of the crates, her tail swishing back and forth against the box below her, bright green fur along her back, waving slightly in the air currents.

Etium leaned against the wall making no noise, and interacting with no one.

He wouldn’t have minded hanging out with humans, and drev, but….. Every time he did he just couldn’t shake the smell of smoke.

Why was he here?

Because he had seen a human boldly risk his life for two wounded alien soldiers.

Etium remembered the red sky above and the ash covered ground beneath. He remembered the wounded Rundi soldier at his side as the creature stalked towards them from the darkness. He remembered the flash of blue, and then an animal howl as the human came charging from nowhere.

When he closed his eyes, he could still hear the blood curdling scream of pain the human had given off as his limbs were ripped from his body.

He shook himself trying to shake the smoke away.

“Clan is more important than anything else.”

Etium lifted his head, arms still crossed over his chest.

“Then mean nothing.” Yeb was saying, “My parents abandoned me in an ice cave when I was just a cub.”

“Not our fault your species is defective.” Lord Avex was saying.

The burg lifted his hands in an attempt to keep the piece, technicolor wings flickering behind him, “Not now, all of you we must remember that as different species we all have different beliefs and needs. He pressed his hands together. The Burg do find clan very important, but it was for our survival for the longest time. There are plenty of other species that don’t need such things, like the Vrul or the Gibb for example, who are solitary creatures.”

The group of three finnari huddled close together and nodded.

They wouldn’t be likely to argue, they hated conflict and tried to keep the peace as much as it was possible.

He glanced over to the side surprised to find Waffles, the dog, lying with her head on her paws, around her neck, the snake creature Jeffery hung like a boa scarf.

He supposed she had any right to be here like the rest of them, she wasn’t human and neither was the snake. Though neither of them were classified as sentient and didn’t have the intelligence to speak. Waffles licked at her paws and Jeffery lifted his head turning to look at the speakers as if he was listening intently.

“This is not about biology, this is about the facts. There is strength in numbers, and numbers can win out over force anyday. Humans are the best example of this and you all know it. They managed to survive on a death world by making packs.”

Lord Avex did have a point, but lord Avex was also known for being an egotistical asshole.

That was sort of the defining feature of Celzex.

The furry little creatures were very proud, and very loyal, so they were both a blessing and an absolute pain to have on your side.

Most of the time they just liked causing problems for the sake of causing problems.

“There is nothing wrong with a solitary existence. My species has been living as single occupants inside a distanced society for a very long time.”

Lord Avex snorted, “Might I also point out that you society is a fascist Authoritarian dictatorship recovering from a pandemic crisis and refuses to join the GA to control their own citizens?”

The hair on the back of her body stood up, “Oh like your planet is any better. Roving warring clans who eat their own children.”

“Please, Peace.” THe burg was saying.

“You have no place in this. The burg have lived under a corrupted monarchy for ages.”

Etium sighed and closed his eyes.

Apparently, he had sighed much louder than he intended, and when he opened his eyes the entire room was looking at him,

“You got something to say.” Avex growled, “Anything to offer from a corporate capitalist hellscape.”

Etium pushed himself off from the wall, “No, I have nothing to say.”

Avex bristled, and when he did he got even fluffier, “I don’t think we are done here. I want to hear what you have to say.”

Etium sighed, knowing that he wasn’t going to get out of this one, “I think that all of our societies suck, they just all do it equally.”

The room bristled, but he kept going. He had stuck his foot in it and now he was going to have to deal. He looked at yeb and Avex, “Both of you are true about the other, same with the burg sorry to say.” He nodded over at the winged creature, “But think about it, all of us suck in some way or another,. My species destroyed our own natural habitats in the name of progress, He looked at the Finnari, No cohesive leadership, and a societal wide inability to make decisions. The Vrul live under a corrupted communist system and the Rundi are all politicians, so guess where that leads us. The Drev are a fractured group of clans bent on killing each other for no other reason than the fact that it is honorable. And don’t even get me started on humans, they are the worst of us all, since they can do everything we can and more.”

He sort of expected the uproar that followed, but kept his head low to avoid having to deal with it. He brushed a hand through his fur, attempting, mostly to brush the ash from it, and despite being able to feel it with his fingertips, he saw none break loose.

The room grew louder and louder until a sharp bark broke the silence.

The room went very quiet very suddenly.

He turned to see waffles had risen up into a sitting position, her hackles raised.

She growled low in her throat , and the entire room calmed down very quickly after that, Jeffery opened his mouth and turned his head like a periscope around the room.

Waffles slid back onto the floor and rested her chin on her paws ears sticking straight up as she sighed.

The room was only slowly able to return to its former discussion, though everyone remained mostly quiet.

Etium slumped back against the wall. He could see the other Tesraki across the room staring at him. He tried to ignore them for the most part, he didn’t really fit in with them to any sort of degree. He didn’t blame them.

He wasn’t particularly good with finances.

He didn’t have to be though, most humans were pretty poort at it too, so any ability whatsoever was considered good. That was another reason why he was here. If he was slow and ok at handling money, then he was going to be fine. If he tried to work anywhere else as a Tesraki….

He'd be fired

Or disowned…

Etium quietly slipped from the room, out and down the hallway. He knew where he was going, and followed his own memory down through the hallways until he came to a door. He knocked once.

“Come in.”

The door slid open and he stepped into a room lit by soft yellow light. Dr Adric was sitting at his desk, skin glowing a pale yellow in the dim lighting. He looked up, and when he smiled his teeth flashed white.

“Etium, it is good to see you. I didn’t expect you till our session tomorrow.”

Etium wandered into the room glancing down at the diagrams on the wall, and the large books on the shelves beside the desk. “Do you want me to leave.”

“No, of course not, take a seat.”

He did and stared up at the ceiling with a sigh.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Etium was quiet for a while, but finally opened his mouth to speak, “I can still smell the ash sometimes, Feel it in my fur when I go to bed. It…. doesn't really bother me most of the time, and I know it’s not real, but it certainly feels that way.”

Dr Adtric leaned on his desk and nodded, “Did you know somatic hallucinations are extremely common In Tesraki.”

He rubbed his fur, “Really?”

“Yes, at least one in twenty report small things. Feelings of items brushing over their fur even when nothing is there. If it starts to bother you, come to me and we will look into helping it. Otherwise just remember the exercises I taught you.”

He shifted in his seat and absently looked at the wall, “So if Somatic hallucinations are common in Tesraki….. Than what about everyone else?”

Dr Adric smiled at him. His expression, both charming and calming at the same time. He had an eir about him that just seemed to make things slow down and relax. It was a nice feeling to have.

“Well both Vrul and Gibb are prone to psychosis with obsessive and grandiosity characteristics. Most Vrul I know could be classified as having some sort of anxiety. Rundi are commonly seen with OCD. Celzex presents with characteristics of Antisocial personality disorder.  Finnari can commonly be seen with dependent personality disorders. Both the Drevb and the Starborn, have a high rate of narcissism. In the case of the starborn, they have a 100% rate at this time…. Though to be fair we only have one starborn”

Etium couldn’t help but smile just a little. “Humans have all of those things I guess, since you have a name for all of them.”

“Yes. Though, I would say that I work most closely with Post Traumatic Stress.”

“Like what I have?”

“Similarly yes, though yours presents differently.”

“That’s what the Admiral’s dog is for? He said she was a PTSD dog.”

“That would be correct.”

Etium leaned back in his seat and stared out the window behind Adric. The man said he presented with listlessness, difficulty concentrating, and emotional detachment. He didn’t have flashbacks or stress associated, which is why he couldn't be entirely diagnosed, bu7t the two of them were pretty sure whatever he had was similar. They had thought about depression on one or two occasions, but he didn’t have trouble getting out of bed, or doing things that he enjoyed. He just got listless and distracted a lot.

Adric thought it might be an entirely different issue from what humans could get, but as of yet, there wasn’t enough research to determine that. They were working on it in their own right now, and he had been feeling a little more present, but he still wasn’t really there yet.

He hoped that soon he would be out of the rut he was stuck in.,

“Have you managed to tell the Admiral, like we had been talking about.”

Etium picked at the fur on his arm, “He seems…. Too busy to talk to me and I…. well I don’t know what it would accomplish.”

“I think it would be good for you to talk to someone who experienced the war.”

Etium sighed, “I didn’t really do much in the war. I sat there and just… was scared. The humans did everything.”

“I think you might find there are humans that feel the same way you do. I encourage you to talk to him. Knowing the man myself, I have no doubt that he will be accepting  of your story.” He held up his hands, “I don’t want to push you, but I do encourage you to let him know.”

I think it would be good for both of you

[koolkat9]

HWS Germany Ship Event 2021: Day 1

Prompt: Highschool

Paring: GerEng, side of Itapan

Promposal Gone Wrong? Or Right?

“You and Arthur are going to prom right?” Feliciano asked.

Ludwig almost choked on his food at the sudden question. He, Feliciano, and Kiku were having lunch and of course, as usual, Feliciano was complaining about the cafeteria food (why he didn’t just bring his own was the question Ludwig always had but never voiced), so when he suddenly asked about prom, Ludwig was thrown off slightly. Honestly, he wasn’t planning it. He and Arthur weren’t big on social events and were quite content just settling in at home with a movie. But now that Feliciano was bringing it up, he had never asked if Arthur was interested and maybe he should have. It was a tradition and if done right, very romantic, and Arthur tended to like both.

“I-I don’t know. W-We haven’t really talked about it?” Ludwig stuttered out, picking at the sausage he had prepared for himself that morning.

“You have to Luddy! It's tradition. Picture, you and Arthur, all dressed up in nice suits, low lights, music blaring. A slow dance comes on, you both look at each other hesitantly, but you end up taking his hand and guide him to the dance floor. Wrapping your arms around each other you begin swaying, you tell him how much you love him and-”

“Okay I get the picture,” Ludwig grumbled, his cheeks now bright red. That scenario did seem nice, but he still wasn’t sure.

“You should talk to Arthur about it first,” Kiku suggested, “if you do end up going, you can ride with Feliciano and me.”

Kiku was a breath of fresh air. As much as he loved Feliciano and his enthusiasm, he could be a bit much at times. Kiku balanced him out with his calm and level-headedness. They were the perfect match for each other and surprisingly worked out really well. He gave them an assuring smile and agreed to ask Arthur.

Not long after, said Brit entered the cafeteria, his eyes scanning over the room. When his eyes met Ludwig, his lips twitched into a small smile and he made his way over. With a quick kiss on Ludwig’s cheek, he took a seat beside him and took out his lunch. “Did I miss anything,” he asked, looking around at the three friends.”

Feliciano turned to Ludwig, nodding towards Arthur and encouraging him to ask his question.

“Just prom things,” Ludwig replied, trying to keep his nerves out of his voice. He let out an awkward cough before continuing, “S-Speaking of... I-I was wondering...how do you feel about it?”

Arthur quirked a brow. “Well, I haven’t thought about it. But it's one of the last events of our high school year so maybe...u-unless you don’t want to.”

“I don’t mind. I-If you’d like to go. Kiku and Feli are also going if that’s any incentive.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his two friends watching them with fond smiles and Feliciano was clearly suppressing a squeal. He never understood why his relationship seemed to bring so much joy to Kiku and Feliciano, but he never asked since it wasn’t hurting anyone so why bother? 

Ignoring their antics Ludwig turned his attention back to his lover who seemed to be mulling the idea over. “Alfred has been bugging me about it,” Arthur finally stated, “And a night out with friends would be nice.”

“So it looks like we’re in agreement.” Arthur gave the German’s arm a squeeze before turning his attention to his meal.

Ludwig couldn’t help but feel elated even though he wasn’t one for parties, but anything with Arthur made him happy. This feeling did not last long however as he recalled the tradition of a ‘’prom-prosal.” Was Arthur expecting one? Did he want one? Or was Arthur going to take the lead in this? Did they even need one in the first place since they were dating? Should he ask? But they were usually a surprise, weren’t they?

“Love...is everything okay?” Arthur asked, pulling Ludwig out of his thoughts. “We don’t have to go to prom if you don’t want to.”

“N-Nien, it's nothing like that. I’m just…”

“Overthinking?”

“Ja…”

They had almost forgotten Feliciano and Kiku were there until they announced their departure. “I think we better get going, Feli. We got that big project coming up this week so let's get to class early to get the best supplies.”

Feliciano scrunched his nose up in confusion, but then it dawned on him what his boyfriend’s true motives were. “Oh, si. Bye Lud, bye Arthur!”

And so the other pair of lovers were left alone at the table. They fell into casual conversation, Arthur hoping to get Ludwig’s mind off whatever he was thinking about. It seemed to be working as he was engaged and there was a slight smile on his face much to Arthur’s relief. Soon enough, however, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, and Arthur and Ludwig parted ways for class.

---

It had been a couple of days since Ludwig had agreed to go to prom with Arthur and since then he had been stressing over it, specifically if a promposal was in order.

“I say go for it,” Gilbert, Ludwig’s older brother, suggested, “what’s the worst that could happen? Who could be mad at a grand romantic gesture?”

“I-I don’t know...he..we aren’t big on that kind of thing. And what could I even do?”

“Well...do something unique to you. And like you said, you guys don’t do grand so don’t worry about whatever everyone else is doing, Do something unique to you.” 

With a ruffle of Ludwig’s hair, Gilbert got up and headed to the kitchen to start dinner.

“Something unique to us,” Ludwig muttered to himself. His phone buzzed and a message popped up on his screen. Of course, Feliciano was asking if he had any ideas yet. After typing a simple reply of ‘I’m still thinking’ he exited the messaging app to his home screen. He lingered on the background photo. Arthur, laughing, cheeks pink and face covered in batter and flour. Ludwig couldn’t help but smile at the picture and the memory it brought. 

It was from one of their first dates. Both of them liked baking so Ludwig had invited Arthur over to teach him how to make Kuchen. Despite Ludwig’s nerves, things had been going well until he had to mix the batter. He had become distracted one way or another and ended up setting the mixer too high leading to himself and Arthur becoming covered in batter. He expected the Englishman to be angry since he was often quick to temper, but instead, he was met with the beautiful sound of Arthur’s laughter. For a moment his brain stopped working and just listened, mesmerized by it. He had snapped the picture shortly after to save the moment. Looking back, he was surprised Arthur had let him keep it, but then again, the man was full of surprises. He often let Ludwig get away with things no one else could, which he was grateful for.

As he admired the picture, an idea came to mind. Practically jumping from his spot he ran over to the bookshelf, skimming through for a particular one. He eventually came across an old, brown-covered book whose title read “Beilschmidt Rezepte.” He flipped through it eventually landing on a simple cake recipe. 'What's more us than baking?’ Ludwig thought to himself as he grabbed a piece of paper and began writing down the needed ingredients. 

---

The next day, Ludwig got to school even earlier than usual to ensure everything was in order before Arthur arrived. He placed down the box, opening it to make sure the icing didn’t smear (he had brought some extra tubes of icing in case he had to fix anything) and luckily it was untouched. The words ‘Will you go to prom with me?’ were written in clear, loopy green letters. 

“Ludwig?” A familiar voice called, causing the German to immediately shut the box. Arthur walked up behind him, guitar in hand and a quizzical look on his face. “What are you doing here so early?”

Ludwig felt his cheeks heat up, feeling as though he had been caught. “W-Well you...you see…I...here.” Without another word, Ludwig shoved the box towards Arthur.

“Ludwig…” Arthur broke out into a fit of laughter leading to Ludwig’s blush deepening. His chest became tight and something like humiliation began to sink in. Usually, Arthur's laugher was a beautiful sound for him, but he couldn't help but feel hurt, thinking Arthur was laughing at him and his promposal. At least no one was around to witness this awkwardness.  

“What’s so funny?” Ludwig finally hissed out.

His laughter finally began to die down. “I’m...I’m… so sorry love. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, it's just...I had been planning something too.”

Before Ludwig could reply, Arthur put the cake aside, pulled out his guitar, and began to strum a familiar tune.

“Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help falling in love with you

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

If I can’t help falling in love with you.”

Ludwig was left speechless as his lover’s sweet voice filled the air, proclaiming his love loudly. The green eyes that Ludwig loved so much remained fixated on him as the song continued. It sent the German’s heart fluttering and made his throat tight. 

“Take my hand

Take my whole life too

For I can’t help falling in love with you

For I can’t help falling in love with you”

And as the song came to an end and Arthur lowered his guitar, he gave Ludwig a loving smile before saying, “Ludwig...will you go to prom for me?”

“I don’t know Arthur,” Ludwig replied, a smirk growing on his face as he picked up the cake once more, “would you go to prom with me.”

Arthur let out another laugh, “Of course my darling.” 

And so the two made their way inside to the cafeteria where they got some plastic utensils and shared some cake before everyone else arrived. 

#germanyshipevent2021 #hetalia #hws #gereng #engger #geruk #human au #highschool au #promposal #i didn't get a prom so they get one #fluff #hws england #hws germany #fanfiction #hetalia fanfiction #itapan #though its on the side #hws italy #hws japan

[nicosbrainrot]

here's something I wrote after talking to @kamiart about rin's fight in round 3 because I am full of love for rin & wanted to write an interaction for them <3

~

Ikuto was watching from the seats with the rest of his classmates. It was the third round of the sports festival and Rin was going up against Taishiro, both students in Sato sensei's class. The fight was a fast paced one, and it seemed like Rin could win it, depending on how much energy she had reserved, she had the advantage seeing that Taishiro couldn't use his quirk on her projectiles. Ikuto watched diligently, knowing that her quirk required moonlight and so she was running on a limited supply. She had faked out her last opponent by pretending to run out of energy, but after two whole fights she might actually be running low. Eventually she threw a kick at her opponent, which he quickly rewound and sent her flying. She wouldn't get up close unless she had to, this meant she was out of energy. The fight now could easily turn in Taishiro's favor but they locked onto each other, caught in a struggle with neither letting up. Suddenly Taishiro said something, not quite audible to the audience, but Ikuto could make out the word "dad," and he could see, even from the stands, something change in Rin's expression.

She said something, low and quiet, before shouting, "At least you have a father to fight for!" Her voice shot through the stadium, and she said something else, though still not quite audible, before shouting again, something about being able to do this on her own, and their surroundings quickly exploded into a bright flash of blinding light, but only for a moment.

Ikuto looked back at the arena after the blinding flash and saw as Rin stood there, staggering, and almost shot up from his seat when her body collapsed to the floor. Taishiro didn't seem to have done any damage, that was the result of her quirk, the result of her energy reserves being completely depleted. He watched as Miss Me quickly rushed into the ring, declaring Taishiro the winner and announcing that he would progress to the next round, as they brought an unconscious Rin off of the field and towards Recovery Girl's office.

After the crowd cheered and fell to a chatter, as it did between every round, Ikuto's thoughts began racing. Many students had been quite roughed up by the end of their fight, but none due to their own quirk. Well, some had overexerted themselves a bit, but they all ended up fine. Ikuto knew the nature of Rin's quirk, that she had an energy reserve that overlapped with her body's own natural calories, which it would cut into when her lunar energy had run out. If it was anything like he was imagining, and she was really on empty when that flash of light happened, she could be in pretty bad shape.

He quickly turned to Hoshizawa, who was sitting next to him on the bench. "I... I'm gonna go check on her, if that's okay."

"Oh yeah, sure." they said, seeming fine to be left on his own.

Ikuto got up out of his seat and headed down in the direction of Recovery Girl's office. He made his way down the hallway and peaked inside the room. Rin was now laying on the bed, still unconscious, Recovery Girl tending to her.

"Uh, excuse me." Ikuto spoke softly, and Recovery Girl turned around to face him. "I'm sorry to intrude, but..."

"You wanted to check on her?" she asked in her cheery tone.

Ikuto just nodded, stepping in from the doorway. He could see that her breathing was shaky, and his brow furrowed just slightly in worry.

"She isn't physically injured, but her body has depleted all its energy, she's overexerted herself. Sadly, I can't do anything to help her besides standard treatment." she told him.

Her quirk allowed her to help a person's body heal at a rapid pace but depleted the person's energy, which was the opposite of what Rin needed right now. He thought for a moment before turning to face the short nurse.

"I could get her something out of the vending machine." he suggested.

She smiled up at him. "Oh, that would be lovely, how sweet." she said, her chipper tone contrasting with Ikuto's monotone voice.

He nodded and quickly turned to leave, walking down the hall to one of the vending machines scattered around the building. He pulled out some money, which he kept loose in his pocket after Aito stole his wallet a few too many times and he got tired of asking for it back. He looked at all the drinks and decided on a bottle of fruit juice, it was sugary but not too processed, and he wasn't sure if she liked soda. He also got her a candy bar, the more she could eat after all this the better. He went back to the nurse's office, quietly walking inside and placing the food and drink on the table beside the bed.

Recovery Girl pulled out a bottle of medication, and Ikuto immediately remembered the bottle he saw near her bed when they were going through everyone's dorm rooms, it was heart medication. He looked over at Rin, who was still asleep on the bed, her breathing choppy. "Her heart, is it..." he started, not looking up from the bedridden girl.

"It's quick and irregular. I have this for her, but I can't give it to her until she wakes up." she said, setting the bottle down on the table.

Ikuto looked over to Recovery Girl. "Would you... like me to try and steady it?" he asked, unsure if she would trust him with that.

She was aware of his quirk, and thought for a moment. "If you're positive you know what you're doing." she said, a bit of hesitation in her voice.

"I do." Ikuto said calmly, and pulled up a chair next to her bed.

He sat down and placed his hand on her inner wrist. He could feel the irregularity in her pulse, and as he activated his quirk he could almost feel the pressure her heart was under. It wasn't unlike that of someone who was malnourished, the strain that puts on your heart. In fact, it was in that moment that Ikuto realized how thin she was, that she was underweight. His worry grew, because that only made the results of overexerting herself worse and far more dangerous. He made a mental note to check in on her eating if given the chance. However, right now he needed to focus, it wasn't difficult to slow her heart rate but steadying it took more concentration. He brought her heart rate down to a normal level, and kept it consistent. If he let go it would return to it's staggered pace, so he just sat there for a while, hand gently resting on her arm.

There was a television in the room silently playing footage of the current round, and Ikuto watched as the quiet battle took place on screen, taking note of any interesting strategies he saw. More and more times passed, and quite a few rounds came and went, but he was in no rush to leave.

After about an hour, Rin shifted slightly. Ikuto resisted his instinctual urge to pull away, not wanting to cause a jolt in her heart rate, and instead gradually let go of his quirk's hold on her, allowing her heart to return to it's irregular pace slowly. Recovery Girl quickly walked over and picked up the bottle of medication as Rin slowly woke up, and Ikuto let his hand fall down to his lap, getting a strange feeling from being disconnected after an hour sitting there holding pace for her.

Recovery Girl set her hand on Rin's shoulder as she slowly sat up, very groggy, holding a hand to her head. She blinked a few times, still exhausted, trying to reorient herself and remember what exactly happened before passing out. Recovery Girl handed her a glass of water and her medicine, which she took with a quiet "thank you" before turning to see Ikuto sitting near the bed.

His shoulders suddenly tensed up as he realized that she may think it's weird of him to have been here this whole time, seeing that they don't know each other very well, but tried his best not to let his worry show and looked up at her with as soft an expression as he could manage.

Rin's face showed a bit of surprise at the sight of someone in the room with her besides the nurse who she had seen just hours earlier. It took them both a moment of awkward silence before Ikuto finally spoke.

"How are you feeling? Are you alright?" he asked, a bit of worry in his voice.

"I... Yeah, I'm alright." she said. She felt exhausted but she wasn't horrible.

"You should eat something." he stated, reaching for the drink and candy bar to hand them to her. "Or uh, drink something... or I could get you something else, but you need something in your system after all that."

It was a bit strange to have this usually very quiet and reserved boy suddenly fussing over making sure she ate. She hesitantly reached out and took the now lukewarm drink and candy bar out of his hands.

"Th-thank you." she said quietly, not really looking him in the eyes.

She looked down at the candy bar in her hands for a moment before slowly unwrapping it and taking a bite. Ikuto just sat there, looking up at the match on the screen, but not really paying much attention to it, he just didn't want to stare at her while she ate.

When she finished the candy bar she realized just how hungry she actually was and silently wished she had another one as she opened the bottle of juice Ikuto had bought her and took a sip.

"I couldn't hear much of what you said during the match but..." he started, before turning to face her. "It was something about family, wasn't it?"

She slowly brought the bottle down from her mouth and swallowed nervously, remembering what exactly had triggered the outburst that landed her in this hospital bed. "Yeah... it was." she said, and for a moment Ikuto thought that was all she would say about it before she looked up at him and asked, "What is your family like, Maekawa-san?"

His eyebrows raised in surprise at the question, and he looked away for a moment to think. "I have a little brother." he said, not looking up from the floor. "He's a bit of a handful, really playful and likes to cause trouble, but he's a sweet kid." She could see a small smile on his face as he spoke.

"You sound like you care for him very much." she said softly, and he did, she could hear it in the way he spoke.

"I... I do." he said, looking as if he had just realized something. "I have to admit, I miss him since moving into the dorms."

There was a moment of silence, though not quite awkward, before she asked, "Y-your parents, what about them?" and there was curiosity in her voice.

He looked up at her, something in his expression that she couldn't quite place, and he hesitated before speaking. "They..." he started, before turning away from her again, looking back at the floor.

"They both have very different ways of showing that they care. My dad has... high expectations. He always says I can do better, wants me to be the best I can. And my mom, she thinks I'm more capable than I really am... and I don't want her to realize she's wrong." He looked back up at her and saw a strange expression on her face, and worried he had said something wrong. "Ah, I shouldn't be complaining. I love my family, they're not bad, I just..." He looked down for a moment before looking back up to meet Rin's gaze. "I don't want to let them down, you know?"

Rin looked him in the eyes for a moment before staring down at her hands, still holding the juice bottle she'd barely drank out of. "No... I don't know, actually." She hesitated for a moment. "I've... never had a family to disappoint."

Ikuto stiffened a bit, surprised, and his head tilted slightly to one side, questioningly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and slight concern at what she had said.

She took this as a request to elaborate. "I... I grew up in a-an orphanage... and I never got adopted, s-so I don't have a family... and I don't think I ever will." she said in a soft voice, a hint of sadness, but mostly just a reluctant acceptance.

He let out a small sigh as he processed this, eyes not leaving Rin's tired but serious face, looking at her and suddenly realizing something. "You mean... you've done all this on your own?" he asked her, his voice slightly more gentle than usual.

Now it was Rin's turn to look confused. "W-what do you mean?" she asked.

"All of this, getting to UA, training to become a hero, you did all that... alone?" he asked, head leaning forward slightly, eyes looking up at her with a soft gaze, as if he were asking if she was okay.

"I..." she started, looking down at her hands for a moment. "I guess so..." She had never really stopped to think about it, everything that had gotten her to this point in her life. She tried to not look back.

Ikuto sat back in his seat and looked off to the side, thinking to himself. He had a great deal of respect for all of his classmates, but to get here without the support of a family was quite a feat, and he hadn't realized before just how driven Rin was. Despite her very quiet and somewhat sad demeanor, it was clear that she worked very hard to get here and was determined to achieve her goals.

Ikuto looked up at her, realizing he was lost in thought for a moment, and finally spoke. "Thank you for sharing this with me, Tsukikage-san. It's... truly admirable that you've gotten here on your own." he told her.

Rin looked over at him, surprised at the praise. "I-it's really nothing." she said, and she really didn't see it as much, it was just what she had to do, and she still had so far to go.

"But it isn't." he stated, surprised that she would say something like that. "You've done a lot, it's important to acknowledge the progress you've made."

She stared at him, thinking about his words carefully. He was right, she had done a lot, gone through so much hardship, all on her own, but it all seemed so small compared to what the future might hold for her. After all this, she wondered if she could make it the rest of the way.

He saw something shift in her expression as she looked at him. He could see worry on her face, as if she had been trying not to think about all of this and he had suddenly pulled it out of her. "I'm sorry, I- I'm sure it's been hard, but... you aren't alone anymore, you know." he started, desperately trying to comfort her but feeling very unsure of what to say. "We- if you ever need anything, anything at all, you can tell me... and I'll try my very best to help." He spoke to her with genuine care in his voice, and she knew he meant his words.

"I-" she started, but couldn't get anything out. She was touched by his kindness, but something felt bittersweet about it. She would be hesitant to reach out to her classmates for anything, but just knowing that she could, with at least one of them, was comforting. She almost felt tears stinging her eyes but held them back. She had wanted for so long to have a family, to feel loved and as though she belonged somewhere, to feel wanted. Yet here she was, after losing the third round foolishly, one of her classmates sitting by her side, worried about her. It had been so long since anyone was worried about her.

She turned away from him, almost ashamed that she didn't know what to say to him. "P-please don't worry about me, I'm fine, r-really." she muttered.

"I know." he said, causing her to look up at him in surprise. "You've made it this far, I know you're capable, but... my offer still stands." His voice softened at that last bit.

He said this so matter-of-factly, it almost puzzled her. She didn't need help, didn't want to be a burden, but... he seemed so sincere. Could this just be pity? No, she didn't hear any pity in his voice, in fact he spoke as if he were talking about something so simple. At that moment she didn't know what to feel or think.

"Do you not like the juice?" he asked, snapping her out of her spiralling thoughts before she even realized she hadn't responded. "You haven't drank much of it, I can get you something else."

"Oh…" She looked down at the bottle still in her hands. "N-no it's fine… thank you, though." she said softly. 

Ikuto just let out a quiet "hm" as he leaned back, not really believing her but figuring it's best to just let it be. The two of them sat in silence for a while, another match on the television coming to a close as Rin slowly sipped her juice.

After a while Ikuto finally cleared his throat and began to stand up. "I uh, should probably let you rest, and get back to the stands." He turned to her once he was standing. "Unless you would like me to stay."

"N-no, it's alright." she said before hesitating for a moment. "Th-thank you for coming to check on me… You really didn't have to." 

"Of course." he said, almost surprised that she would thank him. "I hope you recover quickly… Oh, I almost forgot." he said, quickly pulling out his phone. "I can give you my number, if you'd like, just in case."

She nodded, taking out her own phone, and the two exchanged information. 

"There." he said, handing her phone back to her after writing his contact info in it. "If you need anything, you can let me know. Or just…" His demeanor shifted slightly, seeming a bit more timid. "If you wanted to hang out… I don't know."

"I'd like that." Rin said with a warm smile, and she could see his shoulders relax as she said that.

Ikuto couldn't help but smile softly at her. "I'll hopefully see you soon then. Take care of yourself, okay?" 

"I… I will." she responded, and Ikuto then turned to leave.

"Also," he said, stopping in the doorway. "You can call me Ikuto, if you'd like."

"Okay, Ikuto-san." she said softly with a smile, and she could see a small smile on his lips as well as he nodded politely before turning and walking out the door.

#gosh I'm sorry this took so long #it should not have taken me a WEEK to write this #MORE than a week #but I was writting a bit here & there & school has been trying to strangle me lately #so I hope this is still good #my writing feels boring but at least I got it done #after all that this still feels kinda short #oh well what can I do #I love rin & I hope I did her justice #I'm realizing this is one of the few pieces of writing I'm actually posting #cause most of them never left my drafts #I'll finish them all eventually #for now here this is #posting it then going to sleep <3 gn #ikuto maekawa // cardiac #rin tsukikage // selenity #knha // kimi no hero academia #bnha oc comeback #friends :) #my writing

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Paging Healer Malfoy // Chapter Five - Past Hauntings (D.M.)

A/N: CHAPTER FIVE!! Dates and drama, what more could you ask for? I actually wrote most of this before I even started to write Chapter Four, I was that excited for one bit! I hope you all like! All my medical knowledge comes from ER, so if there’s anything wrong, I apologise!

Summary: Draco has finally asked (Y/N) out, but will their date run smoothly?

Warnings: I made up a jinx, mentions of injuries, brief descriptions of procedures, strong reader, fluff, swearing, mean old men, mentions of food, kissing - IT ENDS WITH A BUTTLOAD OF FLUFF.

Word count: 4.2k

Prologue // Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three // Chapter Four 

Draco lands on (Y/N)’s doorstep half an hour before their reservation at a bistro recommended to him by Dean.

He releases a shaky breath before knocking twice on her front door. Draco had only been to her home three or four times through the length of their friendship; (Y/N) much preferred to relax at his place and at his, she was closer to the hospital should she be called for anything.

Calming his heart, Draco fiddles with the cuff of his white shirt; ensuring that just enough poked out from underneath the black suit jacket he had chosen to wear.

It takes another knock at her door for (Y/N) to answer; she wrenches the door open with an apologetic smile, “I’m so sorry, Draco, I’m almost ready. I just need to find my shoes, jacket and bag and we can go.”

“Don’t apologise,” He laughs; his nerves abating somewhat, “You were dancing weren’t you?”

(Y/N) flushes, “How did you know?”

Draco points above him; to her bedroom where he can hear the well-known sounds of ABBA playing, “You love ABBA, it makes sense you would dance.”

She rolls her eyes, “Alright Sherlock, I was dancing to ABBA and I lost track of time, is that better?”

Draco laughs, nodding, “Much better.”

She smiles, “Good. Let me go grab the rest of my things and we can go.”

Draco doesn’t verbalise his response; he simply nods at her, watching her walk away, admiring her outfit. (Y/N) wears figure hugging tailored trousers; tapered so they’re tighter at the hems. His eyes rake over her body as she climbs the stairs to her room; he chides himself for not acting like a gentlemen but the stirring desire in his veins tells him not to bother.

(Y/N) rushes back down the stairs; almost tripping on the last step as she bounces around, trying to slip her foot into her heel. Draco lurches forward; reaching for her just as she topples forward. He can’t help the laugh that leaves his mouth, “Are you okay?”

She stands with a huff; hoisting her bag on her shoulder having put her jacket on upstairs, “I’m fine. Shall we get going?”

Draco smirks; holding out his arm for her to take, “As you wish, Dancing Queen.”

-------

Draco had booked a table at a small bistro; nothing overly fancy, but still cosy enough to retain the romantic atmosphere he hopes will continue throughout the date.

It’s not an overly large restaurant; fifteen or so tables all covered with red and white gingham cloth. A small kitchen resides in the back of the bistro; the scent of Mediterranean herbs making Draco’s stomach rumble as he and (Y/N) are led to their table.

“How did you find this place?” She asks, sliding into her chair, shucking off her jacket.

“Dean recommended it to me.”

(Y/N) smiles, “I was gonna say. This doesn’t have ‘Malfoy’ written all over it.”

He raises an eyebrow, “And what does?”

She taps a finger to her chin; deliberating with a small smile, “Michelin Stars, for starters. Huge plates with tiny portions of food, and expensive wine lists.”

Draco holds his hands up in surrender, “You’re right. However, my father is the sommelier of the family, I simply drink the stuff.”

(Y/N) snorts, “Is Draco Malfoy a rebel?”

He blushes at her teasing tone; glancing back down to the menu in his hands. A satisfied smile spreads across (Y/N)’s face at the sight of leaving Draco speechless; he so often had comebacks ready. It was a treat to see him so affected by her.

She peers down at the menu, “What are you thinking?”

“Is it completely stereotypical of me to go for the steak?” Draco ponders.

She shakes her head, laughing, “I may have been thinking the same thing.”

They hand their menus over to the waiter; giving their orders and choosing not to drink. Instead, they stick to water. Work tomorrow would be easier if they didn’t have a hangover to deal with as well.

“How long are you on tomorrow?” Draco asks.

(Y/N) shakes her head, “Let’s not talk about work.”

“I can do that,” He comments, “What would you like to talk about?”

She raises an eyebrow, “How did you know I was listening to ABBA? I thought you didn’t care much for muggle music.”

Draco flushes, “I don’t care for a lot of muggle music.”

“But you like ABBA?”

Draco nods; trying not to roll his eyes, “I like ABBA.”

(Y/N) laughs; clapping her hands together in delight, “That is my new favourite thing about you, Draco.”

“Oh?” He smirks, “What was it before?”

(Y/N) flushes as she averts her eyes; glancing around the room, “Truthfully?”

“Now you have me worried…”

She shoots him a glare, “I won’t tell if you’re going to be an arse.”

Draco holds one hand up in surrender; the other crosses over his heart, “I promise I won’t be an arse tonight.”

(Y/N) smiles shyly, “Your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

(Y/N) nods; the flush spreading to her neck as she bites her lip. The specific knowledge settles in Draco; making its home in his heart.

She recovers quickly, “What about you?”

“What about me?” Draco counters; knowing exactly where she’s going with this.

“What’s your favourite thing about me?”

Draco shuffles in his seat; butterflies running riot in his stomach. He reaches for his glass of water; wetting his mouth before speaking, “I don’t have a specific thing.”

(Y/N) visibly deflates; disappointed at his words, “You don’t?”

Draco nods; deciding honesty to be the best policy, “My favourite thing about you is all of you.”

“Oh…” (Y/N) whispers; a mesmerising smile breaking over her face and leaving him breathless. She opens her mouth to say more; to say what she feels in this moment, but as the words start to form on the tip of her tongue she’s interrupted by the arrival of their food.

With practiced flourish, the waiter places their food in front of them. The smell and sight making Draco’s mouth water. He digs in after sending a broad smile over to (Y/N) who watches Draco with bright eyes and a large smile herself.

Conversation is little as they eat; the both of them practiced in the art of needing to eat and rushing off to the next patient.

They get halfway through their main courses when Draco’s pager sounds. He looks at (Y/N) apologetically, “I thought I had turned it off. I told the hospital that I was off for the night, not be called in at any time.”

(Y/N) moves to answer, but she is interrupted by her own pager sounding in her bag. She glances at Draco sheepishly; the apology glimmering in her eyes as she reaches for it. Her expression changes as she reads over the number on the screen; Draco feels so concerned he can’t help but reach for his own pager to read what’s on the screen.

It takes them less than five minutes to pay the bill and rush from the restaurant; hurrying into a side alley to apparate to the emergency room.

They’re greeted by Vera; she looks them up and down, “Did you drink?”

Draco and (Y/N) shake their heads, “We’re both on tomorrow; we stuck to water.”

Vera thrusts trauma gowns at them, “Good. We need you sharp.”

Draco’s senses hone in; attention becoming laser sharp and focused. The shift in him is visible all to watching him; the relaxed posture dropping away to make room for the attending. He looks to Vera as he slides on goggles, “What do we have coming in?”

“Large raid on one of the last death eater hang outs. A battle broke out; everyone injured is coming our way,” Vera shakes her head, “It’s even being reported on muggle news; that’s how bad things got.”

“ETA?”

“Less than two minutes.”

Draco exhales, “Where are the trainees?”

“Behind you Healer Malfoy,” Matthew Kinghorn’s voice calls out.

He turns to find all four already gowned and gloved, ready and waiting. He meets the eyes of each one, “This will be your first large trauma, am I correct?” At their nods, he continues, “Okay. Split off to your attendings; do not get in the way. Help when you can but do not overcrowd. Kinghorn, I want you with me.”

Matthew startles; already heading towards his attending. Draco shakes his head; waiting for the other trainees to file away, “I want to see how you handle a trauma situation after I saw you with our impalement. We don’t exactly know what’s coming in but stay alert. If you think you’re going to be sick, leave the room. Do you understand?”

Matthew nods; remaining silent, following Draco as the first of the injured roll up.

From there, it’s close to a blood bath. St. Mungo’s is the only wizarding hospital in the entire country; supposedly equipped to handle such traumas. However, when the patients are from two groups with such differing ideals, keeping them separated is difficult.

In his head, Draco plans to make another appeal to the Minster for Magic; wondering if Hermione could help him persuade the powers that be for another hospital.

Piercing screams distract Draco from his plans to expand the hospital. With Matthew close behind, Draco rushes towards the sound. Being wheeled in by medics is a young Auror; barely out of his twenties or so Draco assumes – his face and body have been burnt so badly by a jinx that it makes it difficult for Draco to age the patient but also for the patient to offer anything but his screams.

The moment they enter the trauma room, Draco administers a pain potion. In cases like this, the survival rate was low. The most that could be done is to offer as much comfort to the patient as possible.

Draco looks over to Matthew, “How are you feeling, Kinghorn?”

Matthew’s gaze finally meets Draco; his skin looking rather green, “I’ve never seen something so bad.”

“Cases like this are rare, but they do happen. Now, the patient isn’t getting enough oxygen with the mask, what do we need to do?”

Matthew flounders; Draco adjusts the mask on the patient’s face, repeating his words, “What do we need to do, Matthew?”

The use of his first name snaps his out of whatever stupor, “Intubate. He needs to be intubated.”

“Have you seen one done?”

Matthew nods, “Healer (Y/L/N) showed me last week.”

“Good. You know what they say, ‘see one, do one, teach one’. Get over here, Matthew,” Draco leans over the patient, “Sir, we’re going to have to put a tube in your throat to help you breath.”

The patient nods; a tear falling down his face as he realises the likelihood of him coming off the vent is low. At the patient’s nod, Draco administers a sedative – to help the patient and Matthew through this. Draco looks to Matthew; nodding his head slightly for him to begin the procedure.

Matthew bounces to life; rushing to the head of the patient. Draco hands him the scope and tube needed for the procedure; speaking him through it as Matthew visualises the cords, slipping the tube down the patient’s throat – aiming for the lungs and not the stomach.

(Y/N) joins Draco as Matthew finishes intubating the patient; the need for muggle medicine a priority when the jinxes and curses were so bad there was little chance of recovery. This particular patient had been hit with the extensive burn jinx – a nasty jinx that isn’t seen too often as it causes third degree burns across 80% of the body; spreading across the body like a wildfire, giving the witch or wizard hit a low chance of survival.

“How did you find our first date?” Draco asks as (Y/N) begins to debride the burns; giving the patient some chance of relief.

(Y/N) smiles at him from over the trauma, “It’s like you knew exactly what I wanted.”

Draco can’t help the laugh that escapes him; quickly regaining his professionalism, however and apologising to the patient even though he is sedated. He looks back to her, “Can you handle it from here?”

She nods; eyes flickering the trauma room behind, “I’ve got it. I’ll find you when I’m done.”

Draco grins at her; pulling off his gloves and gown before rushing into the next trauma. The patient is agitated; shouting and screaming at the nurses, leaving Jude Prewett scared but firm as she talks him down.

The Auror only gets angrier at the sight of Draco; hollering for the whole floor to hear, “I won’t have you treat me! I demand another Healer. Get me another Healer.”

“Healer Malfoy is the best Healer we have,” Jude reassures; eyes flickering between the patient and Draco.

The patient shakes his head; adamant, “I won’t have a Death Eater treat me. He’ll kill me just as he would look at me.”

Draco wants to shout; wants to get in the patient’s face and list all the ways he’s repented since he was a scared and vulnerable sixteen year old, doing what he thought was right for his family.

He doesn’t though; he sighs sadly, stepping back from the patient, “I understand sir, I’ll go fetch another Healer,” He looks to Jude, “Are you okay for a few more minutes while I go get Healer (Y/L/N)?”

Jude nods; eyes sad from Draco’s quick dismissal. As Draco returns to trauma room one, he hears Jude say, “I hope you know you just insulted one of the best Healers we have.”

(Y/N) looks up as Draco re-enters, “What’s wrong?”

Draco shakes his head; hating the lump that has formed in his throat, “Do you mind treating next door?”

She nods down to the patient she is currently working on, “I’m busy here. Why can’t you do it?”

“He doesn’t want to be treated by me. Wants another Healer.”

“Why?” She demands; voice angry, eyes angrier as they glance into the room behind Draco.

“We’ll talk about it later. Will you please treat him? I can take over here.”

(Y/N) looks like she very much wants to argue with him, but she decides against it. She nods quietly; handing Draco her scalpel before disrobing, “What’s his name?” She asks, referring to the patient.

Draco shrugs; focusing his attention on the burn victim, “We didn’t get that far.”

-----

(Y/N) liked to believe that she was patient; she knew when she began her training as a Healer that she would need to learn the art of patience and fast for there are some patients who have a list of medical complaints a mile long.

However, she did not have any patience for the narrow-minded Auror ranting before her.

“I can’t believe a place like this would hire him.”

“Hire who?” She asks; daring him to say it.

“Him,” He spits; jutting his chin to next door when (Y/N) knows Draco works diligently over another Auror who may only have hours to live due to the extensiveness of their burns.

“That man you’re spitting about happens to be working on your colleague.”

The Auror rolls his eyes, “My colleague wouldn’t be in his mess if it wasn’t for families like his. I knew who he was the moment he walked in the room; Lucius Malfoy’s brat.”

(Y/N) grits her teeth; continuing to stitch up the man’s arm; refusing to rise to his vitriol. He takes her silence as permission to continue, “I’m surprised we didn’t find his father there. We certainly found a lot of his friends; hiding together like rats, plotting their next uprising as if the last one worked. Who are they going to worship now? The Dark Lord is gone.”

“And yet,” (Y/N) breathes, “You cannot say his name without being scared.”

The Auror glares at her; not happy to have his courage questioned. He remains silent through the rest of his treatment; seething at her words, knowing that she called him on his bullshit.

(Y/N) removes her gloves, standing from her chair, “I would say that it’s been a pleasure to heal you given that you’re an Auror, but it hasn’t. I will be contacting your superior for the abuse you’ve shown my colleague – who, for your information, has nothing to repent for. I understand questioning the adults that followed Lord Voldemort, but you do not get to question the children who were innocent bystanders in a game they didn’t understand.”

The Auror laughs menacingly, “Speak to my superior, see if I care.”

(Y/N) grins, “I will. You’ve ballsed up big time – want to know why?”

The Auror remains quiet so (Y/N) tells him anyway, nodding towards Draco, “Your boss is one of his best friends.”

The colour fades from the Auror’s face and (Y/N) admits to herself that she rather enjoyed telling him what’s what. Patience is something that (Y/N) is still learning; even almost ten years into her career, but what she will not stand for in any form, is bullying.

----

Draco takes a moment of leave from the burn patient when his family arrive in floods of tears; asking about statistics and whether he was positive that nothing could be done.

He doesn’t see the commotion, but he hears it; her voice travels down the hall, easily leading Draco to her. He finds her gesturing wildly to an unprepared Harry Potter.

Harry catches his eye; pleading silently for help. Draco makes his way to her side; placing his hand on the small of her back, “What’s happening here?”

“I was just tell Harry about that lovely patient we have

“Auror Flintlock?” Draco asks; taking the chart from (Y/N)’s hands.

Her hands settle on her hips, “Potter, you have to do something about him. He was wildly inappropriate towards Draco.”

Draco sighs, “Patients can refuse to be treated by certain Healers, (Y/N).”

(Y/N) purses her lips; her attention still fixed on Harry, “I want to see him at least written up and giving an official warning for how he continued to speak after Draco left the room.”

Harry nods, “He’ll be written up, (Y/N). He’s been skating on thin ice for a while.”

(Y/N) folds her arms; a victorious look on her face, “Thank you, Potter.”

Harry smiles; nodding at them both, not missing their closeness. He makes a mental note to mention it to Draco the next time they go drinking. Harry looks towards trauma one, “How’s he doing?”

Draco pats Harry’s shoulder, “80% thickness burns to most of his body. It was a nasty jinx, Harry.”

“How long does he have?”

“Hours,” Draco states plainly, “His family is with him now.”

Harry nods; silver lining his eyes, sighing, “Good. They should be. He’s been on the force less than a year.”

With little else to say, Harry leaves Draco and (Y/N) – fulfilling his duty as an Auror; going to comfort the family of one of their own.

Draco and (Y/N) retreat to the break room; never officially being on in the first place. Like always, the ancient television set only displays the muggle news in a hushed volume; the red banner skirting across the bottom of the screen announcing an unexplained explosion on the outskirts of London. The news anchor repeats how lucky it was that no-one was hurt. Draco represses the urge to roll his eyes; muggles weren’t hurt, that’s correct and he’s thankful for that, but his emergency room is filled with Aurors and Death Eaters alike – all injured and vulnerable because of what happened tonight.

Draco settles at the round table in the middle of the room; sighing in relief at getting off his feet for a little bit. (Y/N) sits next to him; her hand reaching for his across the table. An act of affection so naturally displayed that it sends Draco’s heart rate through the roof.

He regrets the fact that their date had been cut short, but with any luck, (Y/N) wouldn’t mind a repeat. He thinks to their brief conversation in the bistro and for a second, he wonders whether she would protest much to his version of wining and dining. Reservations needing to be made weeks in advance; wine lists four pages long – each bottle with multiple zeroes behind the name. He realises he would like to show her the world in which he grew up; the fancy dinners and balls, but he also accepts that he would be happy in any world as long as he’s with her.

“Are you staying with him?” (Y/N) asks; concern in her eyes.

Draco nods, “I’ll stay with him through this. Matthew will need me to help pronounce.”

(Y/N) nods, “I’ll stay with you too.”

He reaches for her hand, “Thank you.”

She squeezes once, shrugging, “One thing’s for certain, you’re not a boring date, Draco.”

“It’s about to get even more wild,” Draco drawls.

“Oh? How’s that?”

Draco points to the pile of unfinished paperwork near his locker, “We have all that to work through.”

(Y/N) fans herself, “Slow down, Romeo. Paperwork is a second date kind of thing isn’t it?”

Draco laughs loudly, “So you see a second date?”

(Y/N) beams at him; pulling a pen from her bag, “I see a second date.”

------

Two hours later, Matthew interrupts their squabble about news anchor’s to say that the young Auror’s oxygen levels have dropped. Draco stands; knowing it won’t be long now.

It isn’t. Less than ten minutes after entering the room, Draco helps Matthew pronounce the young Auror; explaining the death kit and how the nurses do it.

(Y/N) looks up when Draco re-enters the break room; the question written over her face. Draco nods; silently confirming her suspicions.

They apparate back to his place; neither of them hungry after such an extensive trauma. (Y/N) throws herself on the couch; groaning at the softness, “You know, this is the comfiest couch I have ever sat on.”

Draco laughs; picking up her legs and settling them over his as he sits down next to her, “Are you just saying that because you wore heels all night?”

(Y/N) frowns down at her bare feet; having kicked off the offending footwear the moment she landed in Draco’s flat, “That could be part of it.”

“I knew it!” Draco declares with a broad smile, “You only agreed to the date so you could lay on my couch more.”

(Y/N) stretches her limbs out, “Can you blame me? This couch is a gift from Merlin himself.”

Silence falls between the two of them; it’s not awkward – far from it. It’s the kind of silence where they both know they’re thinking over the night’s events and remembering the young Auror who passed less than two hour ago.

“You didn’t have to do that earlier, you know,” Draco whispers.

(Y/N) sits up the couch; swinging her legs around. She cuddles up to Draco, “Yeah, I did. I saw your face in there, I had to do something.”

Draco shakes his head, “It wasn’t the first time; it won’t be the last either.”

“What do you mean it wasn’t the first time?”

“I mean that it wasn’t the first time a patient has refused to be treated by me,” He sighs; heart heavy as he thinks of the early days of his career when the mark on his arm was as dark as the day it had been seared into his skin, “There are still those who have not forgiven my family for their involvement in both wizarding wars.”

(Y/N) frowns; staring up at him, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Draco shrugs, “Truthfully, it hadn’t happened in a while. Auror Flintlock was the first patient in almost a year to refuse my treatment.”

“You still should have told me.”

“I know,” He admits, “Will you forgive me?”

She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, “I don’t know,” She starts, “What’s in it for me?”

Draco chuckles; leaning in to her, “What would you like?”

(Y/N) takes it upon herself to connect their lips. She brushes her lips against Draco’s softly; to gauge his reaction. Draco gasps gently as the touch; unexpected but definitely not unwelcome. She pulls away; a hairsbreadth away from him, but he surges forward, reconnecting their lips in a kiss that screams pent up emotion and long-lasting love.

She lets him take control of the kiss; surrendering herself to his mouth and wandering hands as he presses her further into the couch.

They’re a mess of hands, lips, and tongue. Her hands work on the white button down he wears; unfastening the buttons and pushing it from his shoulders before running her hands down the flat expanse of his stomach.

Draco shudders at her touch; briefly wondering if whether this is what it feels like to internally combust. He’s dreamt of this for long so; sometimes waking up in the middle of the night with the taste of her in his mouth and desire lighting up his veins.

Her hands continue wander as he slows down the kiss; slowing their pace so they move together languidly. He doesn’t want to rush a thing; he wants to feel every inch of her set him on fire.

Breaking the kiss, Draco pulls her from the couch. She throws him a puzzled look as he leads her into his bedroom. Draco gives her a questioning look; searching her eyes for permission, making sure she hasn’t changed her mind since the couch. With a small smile, (Y/N) tugs Draco towards her by grabbing his belt.

He connects their lips once more, kicking the bedroom door shut behind him.

**********

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