#god some of these are so dark if only i had any editing talent at all

[aethon-recs]

23 Tomarrymort Recs for 2023 (Longfic Edition)

Happy New Year! 🤍 Here is a round-up of some of the most engaging multi-chaptered works/longfics that I came across in this ship in 2023.

I found each of these fics, in their depiction of the ship, to be a fresh or surprising take on our familiar beloved characters of Harry and Tom|Voldemort, truly groundbreaking in some way in their approach to the ship. It's amazing to me that even after 20+ years of this ship existing, there's still new themes / tropes / dynamics to explore, and the authors are all so talented in making me think about the ship in some new way — just incredible examples of what it means to be a transformative work of fanfiction.

Criteria for this list: multi-chaptered, Tomarrymort-centric, with at least 1 update published in 2023. As with a previous longfic rec list, I tried to find longer fics that were relatively under-rated (which is hard to define, but below 2K kudos for the most part).

See here for Part 1 (2023 Tomarrymort one-shots), and hope you lose many many happy hours to the unbridled joy of immersing yourself in one or more of these incredibly addictive, lovely longer fics!

*

23 Tomarrymort Recs for 2023 — Multi-Chaptered Fics

A Darkness by Any Other Name by river_marrow (M, 30k, WIP) 

Decades after the war ends, Harry is thrown through the Veil, and finds himself in an alternate reality where the leader of the Muggleborn uprising is the Dark Lord Voldemort.

A Dead God's Faith by @selfishrot (M, 35k, WIP)

Blood and spittle rush to follow Riddle’s words that are dragged out through a wrecked throat. “I will consume you.” Harry felt a thrill run up his spine, along with the usual fear and anger that accompanied Voldemort's threats. “Be gentle, I can feel your soul ripping its stitches.”

And the Living Will Envy the Dead by @k-s-morgan (M, 81k, WIP)

When Harry looks at Tom, he feels overwhelmed. There is a spark that makes him hopeful, the fear that nothing he does will save Tom from himself, and the horror at what his lies might lead to. When Tom looks at Harry, he feels nothing. Until he does, and then Harry’s world starts drowning in blood.

At the expense of the world by @itsevanffs (E, 24k, WIP)

"He had a lover, you know," Jenkins says to Remus once Harry's behind a wall and out of sight again. "A boy, and a gorgeous one at that. Nobody really knew where he came from, and Tom didn't seem to favour him either, at first, but by the end, he was besotted."

Bitumen by @crowcrowcrowthing (E, 32k, WIP)

Harry finds out the hard way that Dementors can’t digest Horcruxes. Now separated from his body, his best option is to seek out a similar soul for help. A love story about immortals with too much time to kill.

Creatures of the Dark we are by @hikarimeroperiddle (M, 25k, WIP)

Banished to his cupboard at age 4, Harry learns to listen only to the Voice in his head. Its teachings wrap all around Harry until no more than dark magic and devotion remains, along with visions of a wraith with red eyes.

Exceeding Expectations by @mosiva (E, 56k, complete)

Harry Potter’s life ran along very different lines than Tom Riddle’s. He knew nothing more of the man than he read in the Daily Prophet. Then they get stuck in a lift together.

Exegesis by liquoricepantomime (M, 38k, WIP)

In exchange for peace, Voldemort asks for Harry Potter. And so, there is a new legacy that forms — of The-Boy-Who-Was-Sold, and his childhood spent in a castle, with a man who has killed his parents. A man who is mad, and whose ire reigns fiery hell. A man he will marry, and yet knows nothing about.

found by @honbug (E, 112k, WIP)

Tom knows from the beginning that he is destined for greatness. Nothing and no one will stop him from achieving his goals. (And then, of course, there are the dreams.)

hook, line, and sinker by @purplemineralwater (E, 21k, WIP)

Harry asks Professor Riddle for help in killing Voldemort. Riddle is endlessly amused.

if we were lovers by @reggieblk (E, 277k, complete)

When Harry arrives at the most prestigious theatrical school in the country, he doesn't have many expectations. The most unexpected thing he encounters is Tom Riddle, and subsequently, falling in love with the only other person who deals with feelings as well as him. But maybe, just maybe, he and Tom will find out that not all love stories have to end in tragedy.

Lover's Spit by @pinktom & @k3uuu (E, 123k, WIP)

Following his father's arrest on a dull hot Sunday in North Yorkshire, 10-year-old Tom Riddle becomes a dark internet sensation.  If Harry Potter listened to his father, he would never speak to Riddle again. But eight years after the arrest, an unexpected and painful encounter leads Harry to reconsider events — and arrive at a conclusion all his own. 

One Year In Every Ten by @saintsenara (E, 189k, WIP)

A decade after the final battle, a serial killer emerges, with a message that proclaims the Dark Lord has risen again. Harry is assigned to the case.

Oversight by @dividawrites (E, 21k, WIP)

Voldemort’s resurrection ritual doesn’t go as smoothly as he’d planned. He requires assistance and there’s only one person he can ask—the boy tied to his father’s gravestone.

Paved With the Best Intentions by @perhaps-sunlight (M, 113k, WIP)

Instead of dying during the Battle of Hogwarts, Voldemort de-ages into an infant. Until he becomes old enough to be legally executed, he will be magically bound to Harry.

Prison Blues by @metalomagnetic (E, 68k, WIP) 

Harry and Voldemort find themselves locked up in a mysterious prison in an A/B/O alternate universe setting.

Revolution of Configured Stars by @tollingreminiscentbells (E, 110k, WIP)

In a Voldemort Wins AU, Harry Potter was spared, and enters his seventh year at Hogwarts wanting to do Arithmancy research and keep his head down. However, after a chance encounter, it looks like it may not be so simple. Marvolo Gaunt seems to have his eye on Harry. The trouble is, Harry has no idea why. 

Tender Reigns Our Night by @noumena-writes (M, 93k, WIP)

Sent on a Ministry mission to fight for magic's survival, Harry goes back in time with two simple objectives: find and destroy any existing Horcruxes, and stop Tom Riddle ever evolving into Voldemort — using any means necessary. Harry thus finds himself working alongside Riddle at Borgin and Burke's, examining dark artefacts and desperately trying to fulfil his orders.

the demiurge, the leontoeides by @ramabear (E, 125k, WIP)

Thomas Gaunt reaches through the dimensions and plucks an eleven-year-old Harry Potter from his world and brings him home again.

the eternal flame by @duplicitywrites (E, 25k, WIP) 

There’s a well-dressed older man who enters the orphanage asking after Tom Riddle. The man’s green eyes fix on Tom’s face, searching and searching.  “My name is Harry Gaunt,” the man says, the tenor of his voice soft and faltering, a reflection of Tom's deepest, most secret anxieties, “and I’m here to adopt you.”

the righteous dead by @aspengray (T, 23k, WIP)

Harry is resurrected, sewn together with thread and magic. He remembers nothing except that he loves his savior, a man named Voldemort.

The Longing by @aglassroseneverfades (M, 33k, WIP)

Harry is not thinking of his parents right now as he trudges up to Voldemort’s eerie castle. He is thinking instead, as he often does, of a name that burns too brightly on his wrist in the pre-dawn light. He is wondering if somehow the fruitless tugging on his heart means that somewhere, some way, Tom is watching over him. 

With a resolute heart by Act_Naturally (M, 157k, WIP)

A Hunger Games-AU featuring Harry and Tom as competing champions.  Harry has a saving people thing. It’s not conducive to surviving a battle royale. He doesn’t fancy his chances. Especially against Tom Riddle.

*

#tomarry #harrymort #tomarrymort #tomarry recs #tomarrymort recs #hp fic recs #longfic recs #ao3 recs #fanfic recs #harrymort recs #2023 reads #2023 recs

[bleach-your-panties]

Hey babe! I need some sexy time with daddy nanami 🥵 maybe number 50 from the prompt list please?

Tumblr has been pissing me off lately and wouldn't let me edit this on my phone, but I hope you enjoy this, babe!

"Is this alright?"

Kento asked while tightening the blindfold over your eyes just a tad bit more.

"Mhm, it's fine Kento.."

The blonde man continued with his actions, making sure that the white cloth around your eyes wasn't too tight and that your hair wasn't caught in the knot at the back.

"What about this? Not too tight?"

As he lightly tugged on the knot made with his black and yellow tie. The soft, silken material was pulled taught enough to keep you restrained, but definitely not enough to form any bruises along your delicate skin.

Despite how dirty and depraved his intentions for you tonight were, your sweet husband still wanted to make sure that you were not in any pain.

No, Kento would never stand for you to be harmed in any manner.

"It's perfect. Thank you, honey. You're so considerate."

A soft smile etched its way across his lips as he leaned up off of the bed to admire his handiwork. You could hear the soft rustle of fabric in the quiet room while Nanami undressed himself.

Then you'd feel his warm hands sliding up your spread legs, rubbing over and underneath your knees.

Warm lips follow the hands as Kento begins kissing up your legs starting from your ankles. The golden anklet with the little 'K' and your birthstone jingles softly from the movements against your right.

A shiver of anticipation races up your spine as you anxiously wait for the moment in which Kento's soft lips and wet tongue will trace over your dripping folds.

He was meticulous with his ministrations, only ever giving you just enough to keep you engaged, but not enough to fully satisfy your pussy's guttural craving for his talented mouth.

"Kento, please, babe..."

He intentionally ignored you with a devious smirk that you were none-the-wiser to. Dual kisses to your kneecaps and the insides of your thighs; at this point you were practically frothing at the mouth.

This would go on for the next several minutes with you whining for Nanami to just go on and eat you out already.

His skilled fingers had scaled every inch of your naked body except for where you needed him the most.

Your blindfold was soaked through with your tears - God, he was torturing you! Why wouldn't he just do something - anything - right now?!

Those bindings were becoming a nuisance now; you began attempting to pull yourself free when Nanami's soft voice reached your ears.

"That's enough teasing, I suppose. Ready now, angel?"

Frantically, you nodded your head. You were more than ready..

"Yes! Hurry, Ken!"

With an airy chuckle, he slipped his thumbs in the sides of his boxers to slip them down his hips.

"Okay, my love."

----

#50 from the sexy prompt list - 'feeling his body in the dark'

reblogs are appreciated!

#kento nanami #nanami kento #nanami smut #nanami x you #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #kento x reader #💗💗🍡°jjk drabbles #💗💗🍡°jjk masterlist #byp🌹

[spotsandsocks]

Fuck it Friday

Another throw back for Fuck it Friday tagged by the wonderfully lovely @disasterbuckdiaz @wikiangela cover art for this fic from the talented @ronordmann

Tagging the creative and marvellous talents of @monsterrae1 @hippolotamus @honestlydarkprincess @loserdiaz @cowboy-buddie @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @elvensorceress @thewolvesof1998 @the-likesofus @like-the-rest-of-la @rogerzsteven @bekkachaos @jobairdxx @thekristen999 @stagefoureddiediaz @heartshapedvows @fiona-fififi @giddyupbuck @alyxmastershipper @spaceprincessem @canonicallyobserving911 @wildlife4life @princessfbi @housewifebuck @shortsighted-owl @buddierights @megsvstheworld if there is any art fics or edits to share

Like Lovers Do

Chim shrugs an apology as he makes a quick exit from the table and the situation he just created with a casual comment. Buck consoles himself with the fact that at least he looks a little sorry this time, not like the last time he dropped Buck in it over this particular mistake. 

The atmosphere around the table had taken a sharp left turn into awkward when Chimney had  jokingly referenced Buck’s brief and unfortunate liaison with the blonde currently laughing with Hen on the other side of the room. 

Buck silently curses as Eddie stares him down from the opposite side of the table.

Chim’s long gone, he abandoned the situation the second he realised Eddie hadn’t known about the kiss, so now Buck’s all alone with his best friend; usually he likes being alone with Eddie but this is definitely not his idea of a good time. 

Eddie’s looking at him with his lips pursed and eyebrows raised. It’s obvious he has questions about this new piece of information. Buck squirms under the scrutiny. He’d rather be anywhere else right now. 

In a cool voice the questioning starts; “You kissed Lucy? You never told me that.”

That’s true he hadn’t told him. Buck had kind of been hoping Eddie would never have to find out because he’s not proud of that particular moment. 

It was a mistake, such a huge mistake, one he preferred not to think about. He’d never cheated before, had always hated the concept and he knows he never would again. Buck had spent weeks trying to work out why he’d let it happen, why he’d kissed back, then kissed again. Even now he hates thinking about it although at least now he understands the why a bit more than he had then. 

Being back in therapy will do that. Over the last year, longer really  things had gotten pretty mixed up and dark in his head.  He’d hardly noticed the spiral downwards, it had been so slow and steady, it had just become normal for him to feel that way. He hadn’t noticed but Eddie had. 

He’d laugh if it was funny; as Eddie had worked through his issues and found his balance Buck had lost his, but Eddie had seen him, noticed what was happening and been there to steady him when he tripped and stumbled.

When things got really bad, the cumulative effects of so many parts of his life, Eddie had gently suggested Buck start talking to a therapist again. Eddie’s apparently a big fan of therapy these days. 

So he had and now he’s spent a fair number of hours talking about all the things that pull at his heart and twist his thoughts and some of those things definitely contributed to the moment that Eddie’s only just found out about. 

His best friend knows a lot about him but he doesn't know everything, god no, not everything. The kiss is only one of the things he’s been keeping to himself. 

Eddie’s still waiting for details and he doesn’t look very impressed with the delay. Unable to see an escape Buck plunges in with the truth.

“It, it was just a stupid thing I did.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, Buck knows what he’s doing and falls for it anyway, he fills the gap with more words, desperate to avoid the silence.

“I was just embarrassed to tell you, you know, because of all the stupid. It wasn’t like I was deliberately not, not telling you.”

It totally was.

“it just didn’t come up.” 

Eddie frowns “Why’d you do it?”

That’s a big question and the answer is more complicated than he wants to get into with the man opposite him. He goes with half an answer, half the truth, the parts that can safely be shared.

Avoiding Eddie’s eyes he explains the best he can “I was unhappy with Taylor.” 

He doesn’t add the rest - because I wasn’t in love with her, I was just clinging to an illusion. Taylor had been another mistake he made. He knows more about that choice as well now.

“and I was drunk” 

Eddie pulls a face, eyebrows shooting up even higher.

“Neither one is an excuse” he adds quickly “I know that.”

“When?”

He fudges that with “a while ago,” and a quieter,  “when you were at dispatch”.

That’s all he’s going to say because the rest of the answer he needs to keep to himself. Eddie can’t know about all of it. They can’t talk about that. 

Weeks of therapy have let Buck see what else played a part in his monumentally stupid decision that evening and he can hardly tell Eddie what he’s worked out. 

No - he can’t imagine a universe where he drops that particular bombshell on his friend.  As if he could just sit down next to Eddie and casually say, ‘hey, did you know I kissed Lucy once and guess what… I’ve worked out that I did it because I was miserable with Taylor and without you. I did it because you told me to move on and didn’t show up that night, because you left me behind and I didn’t know what to do with that feeling.

And the real kicker; his biggest secret, the root of the problem, the thing that they don’t (can’t?) talk about, the thing that laid the first stone in the path to his poor choices.

Well, how is he supposed to explain that, can he say ‘oh yeah and one more thing; you got shot in front of me and it changed me. I had your blood on my face, on my lips and I can still taste it. 

continue on AO3

#buddie #911 fox #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie fic #911 on fox #911fic #911 fic

[chubby-kiyo]

Okay. Time to do Goodbye Despair edition of appearance headcanons

Teruteru Hanamura - (He/Him Hyper pan sexual) I don’t actually hate his design, he looks like the plump chef decorations everyone had in their kitchen in the 90s. He has thick hair and uses a ridiculous amount of pomade and hairspray to style it. (How he doesn’t catch on fire doing flambé is beyond me)

Ultimate Imposter - (They/Them intersex pansexual) They have to hide all of their natural features as part of their talent, but I feel like they probably have a somewhat feminine build. Due to their weight, they can pass more easily as any gender without being questioned (and maybe with some shape wear to help seal the deal) and this is pretty gender affirming for them.

Mahiru Koizumi - (She/They, Lesbian) She is midsized with a small tummy pooch and kind of pear shaped. Her freckles extend to her shoulders and back, and she has somewhat crooked teeth, but in kind of an endearing way. Has a small nose ring.

Peko Pekoyama - (She/Her, grey asexual) Slim and muscular with very little curvature, not that she needs a big pair of jugs to slow her down. She has really long thin fingers, and 9 times out of ten they are ice cold. She also has several scars from weapons training.

Ibuki Mioda - (They/She, pansexual) Built like a board. Just no hips or chest to spare, but they prefer a more androgynous style anyway, as is popular in the scene. Always has raccoon eyes, and will rub or picked at her face, smearing them in the process. Septum and tongue piercings and stretched lobes. Also has light acne scars.

Hiyoko Saonji - (She/Her, Lesbian) Looks like she’s 12. Her hair is very reactive to humidity and she is prone to turning into a poodle if it gets wet. Has a sizable front tooth gap, which only serves to make her look more childish.

Mikan Tsumiki - (She/Her, bisexual-female pref) She is plus sized and has wider hips, which she bumps into stuff with all the time. She has a round face and a button nose, which are always rosy pink, because of how often she is crying. Just chronically puffy eyes.

Gundam Tanaka - (They/Them, pansexual) They are kind of average/slim and don’t have much in the way of muscle. There’s just not as much under those robes as you might expect. Wears corpse paint and other trad goth makeup often but hates going out without at least using a light/white foundation. Black lipstick is a must for special occasions, and they always carry at least one lint roller to maintain their perfect black clothes with the hammies. Has a septum piercing and stretched lobes.

Nekomaru Nidai-(He/Him, Bisexual, female pref) Obviously built like a Greek god. Is very particular about his manscaping, and you bet your ass his fades are always on point. His hands are so fucking huge and blocky that it’s almost comical to see him holding someone else’s hand. His chest is hairy, and he has eyebrow and nipple piercings.

Nagito Komaeda - (He/They, gay) The man is dying of cancer. He is deathly pale and skinny. If he wasn’t a wacko, any sane person would be concerned for him. His hair is dry and coarse, in an over processed bleach kind of way. Has dark circles and yellowing teeth. Somehow though, he still manages to have a smooth, soft baby face and unnaturally clear skin. Is lacking in the eyebrow department, but has white double lashes on Satoru Gojo’s level.

Chiaki Nanami - (She/Her, pan) She is chubby. Like not just on the cusp of plus size, but a few sizes deep. Has stretch marks on her hips, chest, and stomach. Pale skin and puffy eyes from poor sleeping habits. American girl doll teeth and frizzy hair from falling asleep on random surfaces.

Kazuichi Souda (He/They, bisexual female pref) Has a bit of pudge from eating processed junk all the time, but doesn’t seem to mind. He had braces as a kid, so his teeth are perfectly straight and really the only tight laced thing about the guy. Has shaved sides and hates washing his hair, so he uses the beanie to cover up the greasy bits and his little black roots when they grow out. Breaks out easily, and has some acne scars. Pierced nostrils, tongue, and stretched ears.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu - (He/Him FtM, ace spec?) Kind of scrawny and will just never be tall. Freckles on his shoulders and back. Has a tiny amount of peach fuzz over his top lip and is really hoping it will start to fill in. Blonde eyebrows that are barely visible to begin with, that he still insists on shaving slits into. Pierced ears.

Sonia Nevermind - (She/Her, pansexual) Petite all around. Dainty little hands and the softest skin. Very fine hair, and like Fuyuhiko, she is a bit lacking in eyebrow definition, but she has to fill them in. Has a small upturned nose and definitely does the princess peach lip thing.

Akane Owari - (She/Her, pansexual) Muscular and thick all over. As much as she definitely has abs, having them visibly defined is generally speaking, not healthy for most women, so they’re under a smooth soft tummy. She has a wider button nose and full lips that she would love to put gloss on if it didn’t interfere with her snacking. Has somewhat crooked teeth and her hair is consistently tangled.

Hajime Hinata - (He/Him, pansexual) Buff arms. All around pretty stocky but not fat. Stubby thick hands. Tans easily and has the worst farmers’ tan from his stupid polo shirt. Gets freckles across his nose when he’s in the sun a lot. He has bushy eyebrows that could use some attention and thick lips.

#danganronpa #goodbye despair #sdr2 #super danganronpa 2 #hajime hinata #nagito komaeda #chiaki namani #fuyuhiko kuzuryu #gundam tanaka #sonia nevermind #kazuichi souda #mikan tsumiki #hiyoko saionji #ibuki mioda #nekomaru nidai #akane owari #mahiru koizumi #peko pekoyama #ultimate imposter #sagishi #teruteru hanamura #danganronpa headcanons

[morsmordream]

Azkaban sucked. Majorly.

Not that it came as a surprise to Sirius, or any of the other prisoners in the High Security Wing.

But it really, really fucking sucked.

He had been beyond furious at first, at the whole injustice of it all. Sentenced to Azkaban, without a trial, for a crime he didn’t even commit?

Him, the Heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black?

The Ministry had an absolute nerve considering it, never mind actually doing it.

Day one, he sobbed and screamed and prayed to the Gods for this to be a cruel joke. How could James be dead, how could Lily be dead? How could he, of all people, be accused of causing their deaths? How could Peter, mousy weak little Peter, have betrayed them and landed him with the blame?

Day two, he dried his red-rimmed eyes and made sure the guards knew exactly what he would do to them if he wasn’t locked in a cell, patrolled by soul-sucking creatures. He was a Black, through and through, even if he had tried to be better than his relatives. His magical core was dark, as were the spells he cast best, and he was eager to do some practice on the Aurors- former colleagues or not.

Day three, he got some company. Cousin Bella, her husband Rodolphus, his brother Rabastan, and little Barty Crouch. Regulus’ best friend, the Head of the DMLE’s very own son, a terrified nineteen year old boy. He didn’t deserve to be here, especially not without a trial. He had only broken the wards around Longbottom Manor for the other three, hadn’t even been told what they were doing.

The days blurred together after that, even as he carved a tally mark into the stone wall for every day that passed.

Azkaban was so much worse if you were lonely, if no one was able to ground you as the Dementors passed. He got over his animosity towards the four around him, forgave and forgot as best as he could.

He started to understand why Barty was Regulus’ best friend. The boy was a genius, unbelievably talented in all sorts of magic and it accompanying theory.

They would sit against the bars dividing their cells together, hunched over copies of the Daily Prophet, morning and evening. Barty was just as big of a gossip as Sirius was himself.

“Merlin above, Barty! You’ll never believe it! Lucius Bloody Malfoy, on the Hogwarts Board of Governors?”

“Unbelievable,” Barty would scoff, “That bastard would grease palms for anything.”

“Alecto Carrow is betrothed to Cassius Travers, apparently. Could have sworn that she was a lesbian.”

“What? I always thought she was shagging her brother? Was Travers not married to Penelope Borgin, anyway?”

“Keep up, Barty, why, her death was announced 17 editions ago!”

“So Carrow and Travers can actually fucking murder his wife, and yet we are in Azkaban?”

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, Sirius saw how badly Barty was being affected by the Dementors. So much worse than the rest of them. He was too young to suffer like this, though just over a year younger than Sirius himself, his mind couldn’t handle the torture.

Some days, Barty was all but catatonic, rocking backwards and forwards against the bars separating their cells. Sirius would sit with him, those days, his back pressed against Barty’s own, trying desperately to keep him warm and grounded.

337 days in to their life sentence in Hell, Sirius had finally had enough.

He had been training his wandless magic as much as he could. Azkaban didn’t have magic-dampening wards on the cells, the Dementors simply drained so much of their magical core that casting was virtually impossible. But Sirius was an Animagus, sleeping as Padfoot, and he wasn’t as drained as the rest.

On that fateful day, day 337, Sirius picked the perfect time. An hour after the morning Dementor patrol, and 45 minutes after the Auror guards had delivered breakfast- according to his Tempus charm. He had been meditating almost constantly for three days, and he was as ready as he ever would be.

He stood, adopting the perfect posture that had been drilled into him since he learned to so much as crawl, and willed the door to his cell to open.

Somehow, it worked.

The four around him were silent, stunned to disbelief. He strolled out of his cell, and, with a flick of his wrist, unlocked their cells too.

Sirius had suffered for the Order, went to Prison as an innocent man without the Order fighting for him. He was done, he had had enough.

He cared about two things, now.

He would keep his godson safe, for James and Lily, and he would make damn sure Barty Crouch Jr lived the rest of his life outside of a cold, dark cell, for the little brother he never got the chance to say goodbye to.

The Ministry would regret the day they threw Sirius in Azkaban, and Albus Dumbledore would not live to rue the day he left him there.

#sirius black #dark sirius black #hp fandom #harry potter drabble #hp drabble #harry potter fandom #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr #sirius in azkaban #azkaban #harry potter

[escape-from-arcadia]

Zouxie Week: Days 2 and 3 - Angst + Mothers

Inkpot Gods (I)

Read on AO3

Oh, what? These? These aren't tears It's just the rain that wasn't brave enough to fall And what they hear isn't laughter, after all It's just your voice learning for once to stand up tall

And when the rain came down I made a vow out to the dark "Please, let her live just one more day 'Cause she is so much more than all her scars And if she doesn't have the will But it seems the whole world does, I'll stay, because I will be the man my father never was”

Inkpot Gods - The Amazing Devil.

Word Count: 3430

A/N: I accidentally combined prompts one, two, and three for this one. This will be my submission for Days 2 and 3 since I (unfortunately) still have some exams to study for tomorrow. This is an edited and revised version of the fic idea I had drafted but never published from several months back. I'll see about finishing the other chapters over the summer. Based on the song Inkpot Gods by The Amazing Devil.

Tagging: @moppetwithamanbun and @emsprovisions for Zouxie Week 2022!

CW: Discussions of implied past abuse, minor blood mention.

—-

The moon hung low in the sky above Camelot, and the plaza was deserted except for a dark-haired boy running his hand through the water of a fountain at which he sat. Shop windows shuttered, plants sitting in trellises raised their heads to the moon. The hanging lanterns cast a warm glow on the streets and chased the shadows away. Light refracted through the fountain, the gentle splashing accompanying the boy and the silence in the streets. Clouds were gathering on the distant horizon, approaching the kingdom quickly, while waves crashed against the shores, the clifftop kingdom a beacon to all wandering humans. Ever since the war with the trolls, humans in the countryside had begun flocking to the city, leaving behind all they had ever known for safety within the walls of Camelot. It’s how Zoe Ashildr and Hisirdoux Casperan crossed paths, the former returning for a final time from fields of fragrant pink flowers, the latter escaping a city of ash and song.

Here they were, years later, set to meet in the center of town in the middle of the night. Just a month before, Hisirdoux had been taken under the wing of the king’s advisor and the master wizard of Camelot, whisked away to study magic and serve as the wizard’s newest apprentice. Instead of lazy days escaping guards and pulling a scam for his next meal, Hisirdoux spent his days up in the castle, keeping Master Merlin’s workshop tidy and running errands here and there. He had a gold-gilded roof over his head and warm meals to count on, something he was still getting accustomed to. Meanwhile, Zoe remained in the city, creating herbal salves at a local apothecary and repairing broken items. It was a bit of a talent she had acquired, after years of training in her childhood. Salves for just about anything, and repairs so quick, one would’ve thought they were all done by magic.

Because of the busy lives they now led, the two close friends could only meet late at night on these secret rendezvous. The king’s cautiousness with magical beings kept Hisirdoux within the castle walls for the past month, on guard for any signs of treasonous behavior from this street spellcaster; however the king was quickly beginning to realize Hisirdoux’s enthusiasm, incompetence, and youthful recklessness may be signs of a normal magical boy. Still, Hisirdoux made it his mission to sneak out every other night and meet Zoe. In return, she’d bring mince pies from his favorite vendor and tales from the city. As of late, however, their meetings had grown less and less frequent. Duties began piling up during the day, orders to fulfill for the next began late at night.

But today, Hisirdoux convinced his familiar to fly out and tell Zoe to meet him. Archie groaned and gave the boy a short lecture on the importance of responsibility and getting one’s work done before going off to do whatever it was young spellcasters were doing these days, but after the bright smiles and the hours of pleading, the familiar conceded and flew off into the city. Hisirdoux hurried through the day’s work, practically scrambling after Merlin whenever he finished a task for his next. Everything was completed as quickly as possible (though not as well as it usually may have been done). Even the Slorr was milked. When night fell, Hisirdoux managed to slip past the watchful eye of his master and into the city unnoticed. He arrived at their usual spot, the fountain in the village square, and awaited her arrival.

When she finally arrived, he was alarmed.

“Are you crying?”

“Oh, what? These? These aren't tears. I’m not crying, Casperan.”

“You’re crying, Zoe. Come over here.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes which were clearly glistening with tears, but stood by him at the bubbling fountain. The witch folded her arms over her chest, fingertips crackling quietly. The air around her hummed anxiously, and her long brown hair began to frizz. “Happy?”

Shaking his head, he patted next to his seat on the fountain edge. “Come on. Don’t make me cast a spell on you.”

“You can’t. Not while I’ve got this.” Zoe held up a bracelet, glinting silver in the lamplight. He gasped excitedly and aggressively patted next to his seat. The witch joined Hisirdoux, sitting next him and wiping away a stray tear. Wordlessly, he held out his left hand, and she fastened it around his wrist gently. “Now, scrolling through runes should be easier,” she explained, nose wrinkling as she pulled her hair away from her face. “I still need to sort out your rune library. It could do with some expansions because having three or even simply two columns for rune combinations would allow for more complex spellwork. But for now…”

The boy gave the little bracelet a tap, and it clicked to life with glowing blue runes encircling his wrist, connected by a web of light. He grinned, and Zoe gave him a small, but encouraging nod. As he spun through absentmindedly, a hovering rune clicked satisfyingly in place with a light chime as soon as he laid a finger down on it. An orb of sky blue light was manifested from the crackling magical energy around the palm of his hand.

“Oh, bleeding Barloths! How I missed you so!” Hisirdoux cried, hugging his wrist to himself. Zoe smiled softly, sniffling a little as he cradled it to his face. “It’s been a week of no magic and hiding it from Merlin! It was a miracle I was able to finish my work and come see you again today at all! But now, I can get everything done easier with you back around! Thank you, Zoe!”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with disorganized and loose runes anymore. And just as before, once you’ve picked the runes, you’ll hear the chime, and the spell will be cast. You might need an incantation depending on the type of spell and intensity, but otherwise, you’re all set. I’m glad to have helped you.” She grinned wryly, and though her tone was full of its usual snark, it was gentle. “Now, don’t get all cocky casting spells all the time now that you’ve got an improved charm bracelet and you’re living up there in the castle with kings, wizards, and all the meat pies you can imagine. You need to be careful.”

He laughed, soft and bright against the dark night. “I’ll have you know that I’m learning a lot about magic up in Merlin’s workshop. There are all these funny smelling jars and bottles, boxes full of artifacts. He’s got a gnome in a bottle up there, I’m pretty sure, just chattering away. He’s also got an enormous library full of all these books! Ancient tomes floor to ceiling, wall to wall! I can’t read half of them because he’s only just begun teaching me the languages needed to read them, and there always seems to be a mess for me to clean up in that shop, but it’s Merlin, Zoe! Merlin!”

“He’s an Arthurian toolbag,” she sighed. She stretched her arms back, and her fingertips came back damp from the fountain’s waters. “He’s lived up there all his life. And do you know how many apprentices he’s gone through? No one knows what happened with all of them, except for Morgana. But she doesn’t count because she’s the king’s sister.” Zoe wrinkled her nose again, eyebrows knitted together. It was cute seeing her like this, Douxie thought absentmindedly. “When I was a girl, I had Madame Amabel. Was she a little odd? Perhaps. But I’m alive, and she taught me well. Look who’s running Camelot’s best herbalism and repair shop!”

“Cheeky now, eh? What’s that about getting cocky, again?”

“Don’t die on me, Casperan. That’s all I want.” Zoe nudged his arm and sat with her head towards the sky and the stars above. Chin up, stand tall. “And I want you to be happy up there. You look up to Merlin. He might be a toolbag, but he’s your toolbag. I don’t want you to be building up all these high hopes and dreams about who he might be, only for you to learn he’s actually an arse. So if he gives you any trouble, tell me, and I’ll take care of him.”

Douxie laughed again. He sorely missed these conversations with his best friend. There was always Archie, but Zoe was the first human he had truly befriended, all those years ago. It was strange being away from her so long. He remembered running after her with flowers or small gifts he tried to build, much like Zoe would herself all those years ago. He’d tell her stories of his day as she created new salves and oils for Madame Amabel, earning a laugh or worried look, depending on what exactly he had done. This was just like old times, just the two of them, sitting together while the rest of the world felt still and quiet.

Just like old times, he felt his atoms electric and on fire around her, but he couldn’t quite place what it was that made him feel this way. For a long time, he assumed that when two magical beings were together, their sparks would simply collide as his did with Zoe’s. But when he met Merlin, Douxie never felt this way. He never asked Zoe what she made of this.

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I can handle him. It’s usually just a lot of scolding.” He rolled his eyes upwards, voice nasal and hands on his hips. “It’s always ‘Your cutting corners has only wasted my time’ and ‘Go milk the Slorr’, blah, blah, blah. And of course, I can’t forget ‘What is that infernal racket? Hisirdoux! Cease this at once!’ On and on again the old man goes.’' Zoe cackled, gripping her sides tightly. He grinned, happy to see the tears in her eyes the result of laughter. “It’s worth it though, to be studying under Master Merlin, the best wizard in the land. How many spellcasters get that opportunity? And one day, I’m going to make him proud.”

“I’m sure you will, Casperan. But also: he said that about your lute?”

“Oh, yeah. And if you think that’s bad, you should’ve heard him when I first sang. Him and Morgana. The two of them were horrified, though I think I did a pretty fine job, if I do say so myself! It’s as if…it’s as if Merlin were my father, and Morgana was my aunt, or older cousin? No, no, no, she’s an aunt for sure. That’s how it works in families like that, eh?” He looked at Zoe excitedly.

Zoe frowned. “Merlin? Like a father?”

“Like a father!” She stared at him blankly, and he added hastily, “Or a cantankerous old grandfather. You’d have to be there to understand it. He…he just likes keeping his distance, that’s all! I know you don’t think too highly of him, and I may have just sort of kind of maybe mocked him just a tad, but I swear! Just a month, and he feels like a dad to me! And I’m going to be the best apprentice he’s ever had! Oh, I need to pay you for the repairs!”

Douxie began to fumble in his many pockets, but she waved a hand absentmindedly. “It’s alright. I needed an excuse for you to come visit me. As much as I hate to admit it, I…the streets are much lonelier down here without you. I don’t want the master wizard keeping you all to himself. So, come visit me more often, alright? Besides, he’ll want a break from you and your music.”

“Hah, alright then.” His laughter had died down, and they sat at the fountain in silence. A few moments passed. He gave her a quick glance. “So,” Hisirdoux hummed, tapping the cool stone nonchalantly, “Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you? You were crying.” To his surprise, Zoe sighed and flumped her head onto his shoulder. Hesitantly, he wrapped an arm around her.

“Not really. And I wasn’t crying.”

“You can talk to me about anything, Zoe. Bad day at work?” Laughing mirthlessly, she nodded her head and stilled. Looking down, he noticed her hands wringing themselves. Her gaze was focused on a distant point, though he was sure she wasn’t contemplating how nice the newly cobbled paths were. Douxie placed a gentle hand on the witch’s trembling hands. “Easy now. Talk to me.”

Zoe’s nose wrinkled, and she huffed, biting her lip. Curling and stretching her fingers, she looked up at him. Her blue eyes pierced through his of hazel and amber, and her voice was eerily level. “I received a letter from my mother.”

“Your mother?”

Clouds raced overhead, bringing the moonlight in and out of focus. Douxie saw Zoe hesitate. There are parts of ourselves and our pasts, our histories, our stories  that we keep hidden, for better or worse. Revealing such stories  to one you hold dear…there’s a great fear and vulnerability that accompanies it. Not all wish to be in such a vulnerable state. Zoe hesitated, then words came tumbling out, bitter, sharp, and anxious as she spoke. ”I haven’t seen her in years. I’ve done all that I could to avoid her, but now she’s found me again and I- I don’t know what to do.” Here she paused, steading her breath and the sparks on her fingers. She clenched her fists and murmured, barely audible over the fountain, “Is it..alright if I tell you my past with her? It’s…” He nodded, and she inhaled again before she began.

“We lived not too far from Camelot in a small village in the country. I’d help collect flowers and herbs, and we’d sell them in town. But my magic was…volatile. My mother kept trying to keep my magic a secret from the other villagers. I was unnatural, different, a troubled child, she said. She told me to be quiet. Hide myself away. Always. Even before tensions rose between Arthur and the magical beings of this realm, the other people of that village were not keen on magic. So she’d send me away during the day to gather flowers, and every other market day, I’d be allowed to join her at her stall. Beyond that, I was kept under close watch. I wasn’t…pleased with this arrangement, but I never said a word to her.

“But every few months, we’d make a longer trip to sell here in Camelot. Whenever King Arthur would have festivals or tournaments, we would be in the marketplace selling flowers. You have no idea how many people liked buying flowers to give to knights after their tournaments. I loved visiting the city. I had never seen the sea before my first trip here. And Camelot’s streets…they were like a labyrinth I wouldn’t mind getting lost in.

“When I was eleven, I met a girl.

“She was kind, and bright, and sweet. She saw me come in with my mother and asked me to play a game with her. My mother said no, but when her back was turned I followed her. I could hear my mother’s voice as she shouted for me to come back, but I was so caught up in the moment, and honestly, I never wanted to look back.

“The girl led me to the square, where there were other children. And we played together. I rarely got the chance to do that before. But then I let out a spark. They were surprised, but also curious. They hadn’t met a magic user their age before. But then my mother found me and-” Zoe had grown increasingly distressed as she spoke. Douxie put his arms around her as she bit her lips, drawing blood.

“I didn’t know that would happen. It happened all so quickly. Was she keeping me safe from the danger of being found, or was she keeping others safe from being endangered by me? I was so, so, so small then. Just eleven. But I hurt them. In my fear of seeing my mother, I hurt the first friends I had ever made. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Was it wrong for me to want to go into the village square and play with the children that day? Was it- was it my fault for my magic? Sometimes I wish- I wish-”

Zoe didn’t finish her sentence, but she threw her hands up in the air in frustration and brought her elbows to her knees, holding her head in her hands. Clenching her teeth, she tried to keep herself from crying, but hot tears were already streaming down her face. It had been a long time since she last cried like this. Douxie wasn't sure if he had ever seen her cry like this at all.

“Can I hold you?” She nodded. He wrapped his arm around her tighter, in a protective embrace, and gently rubbed her back, in the manner she would after he fell at her knees with a bad scratch as children. There has to be a way to help her, he thought. He couldn’t bear to see her like this.

He spoke in a voice much lower than he expected, “What did she say to you in the letter?”

Zoe sat up and cleared her throat, quickly gathering herself up again and covering up the pieces of herself she left exposed. “She wants me to visit.”

“That’s all?”

Douxie could tell there was something more to the letter, something Zoe did not want to share with him yet. But she had already let herself fall to pieces tonight. She wasn’t willing to share more. Her face softened. In fact, her entire figure softened. The tense and vibrant bundle of energy within her began to soften around the edges. It was as if Douxie was looking at a faded painting. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but a choked sob came out instead. Instinctively, he made to pull her closer, but she stood abruptly, covering her face. After a moment, she brought them to her sides, but her face was unreadable aside from the pinpricks of tears in her eyes.

“Thank you for listening to me speak of all of…that. I’ll see you soon, Douxie. Try to come by the shop tomorrow if you can, alright?”

He leapt to his feet. “Zoe, wait-”

But she had already turned on her heel and began walking down a direction Hisirdoux knew her home did not lie in. He could see her frame trembling, fists clenched; if he could see her face, he was certain he’d see tears. His footsteps, light and quick, rang out in the streets as he began to chase her. But Zoe turned a corner, and by the time he reached her, she was gone.

Douxie stilled in the alley. Thunder shook the ground beneath his feet, and rain began its descent from the sky. One could see him visibly droop, his back hunched in disappointment, fingers tapping against his sides in worry. He leaned against the wall of the nearest building and looked up.

The rain continued to fall.

"Please, let her live just one more day,” he murmured up to the dark sky, “'Cause she is so much more than all her scars.” The sky replied with more rain. He let out a low huff of air. His feet began to tap against the ground, listening to the rhythm of the rain falling around him. After some time, he began to walk back in the direction of the castle. His footsteps slapped against the wet cobble, and he pulled his hood low over his head, hands in his pockets. It was going to be a long night of explaining to Master Merlin why he was soaking wet.

Douxie flicked his wrist around and from his right hand sprung a whirling orb of blue light. Fire was a familiar thing to him. A destructive force, but also one that brought warmth and kept loved ones together. It was passion, creativity, and emotion. To Douxie, fire was life. And as the orb fizzled in the rain, he felt the familiar sparks in his soul fighting to keep blazing. They would keep blazing. He would make sure of it.

“And if she doesn't have the will, but it seems the whole world does, I'll stay. Because I will be the man my father never was.”

#zouxieweek2022 #tales of arcadia #wizards toa #wizards tales of arcadia #zoe ashildr #zoe toa #hisirdoux casperan #zouxie #fanfic #toa fanfic #ananonswriting

[sanstropfremir]

I don’t know if you’re already aware of them but I came across a group called TAN with their debut song du du du (they were formed out of a show called extreme debut:wild idol). I’m OBSESSED with the song for some reason and wanted your thoughts on the music video.

tan my second gen flop group reject beloveds......... you're obsessed with the song bc it's fucking GOOD that's why!!!! also i was not kidding they are hardcore channelling second gen with everything they've fucking got: from the song itself (r&b is decidedly not on trend rn) to the fact that the mv was filmed with $12 but they refused to use any location filming that would smooth out the rough edges to the prop based choreo to the STYLING!!!!!!!!! it is absolutely not reflected in the mv at all but all their music show stages are based around this black/white/gradiant duality styling that is soooooooooooooooo 'we have $8 and some pocket lint and a stray safety pin but by god we're gonna make this work' of second gen like my eyes blew out of my head every new stage i watched. like look at this!:

if someone had told me that was from 120322 instead of from 220312 i would have wholecloth believed them. the only thing that gives them away is that there isn't enough eyeliner. the ONLY thing. and i'm not even joking this is not at all a one off, this was a dedicated intentional choice that they upheld for their ENTIRE promo period:

but by far my favourite is 220326 music core where they have GRADIENT TUXEDOS!!!!!!! actually my other favourite is this gradient pink inkigayo stage, because obviously. it would have been so easy for their stylists to just slap some generic fourth gen type normal clothes on them (which to an extent they did do in the mv), but instead they really dug into this old style coordinating + themed outfits. the mv struggles a bit because there are a lot of ideas happening but see also aforementioned budget of $12. obviously companies wanna put out something big for a debut mv so i don't fault them there but i think they should have encorporated more of the opposites theme of the styling+choreo into the visuals of them mv itself. they could have done a lot more with light/dark imagery and with the umbrella in the choreo they could have gone for a gentleman/'kingsmen' concept that would have been a lot cleaner of a visual and also would smooth over some of the visual discrepency between the fact that one of the members first debuted TEN YEARS AGO and the maknae is still 17, and they can't really do the sexy second gen concept i think they were partially trying to go for. the gratuituous ass shot of taehoon was extremely funny though. you can do very stylized mvs for cheap (see my cheap mvs post!) and i think if they had done something similar to knk's sunset or even oneus' valkyrie (speaking of other insanely good debuts) where there's a heavy emphasis on lighting and camera angles and editing, it would have made much more of an impact. the less money you have to work with the harder it becomes to make maximalist decorated sets work, and sometimes you do have to sacrifice in some areas. regardless of that though i think their debut was success and if you haven't listened to the rest of their mini you should because all the songs fuck (i really hope we get a comeback from them because i want the second half of fix you so bad) and it's very pretty clear that they're all talented and have the vocal chops to back themselves up; see this acapella cover!!

anyways i'll leave y'all with this parting meme that i made when they first debuted:

#kpop questons #tan w #tan #peep jaejun holding the younger members hands in the foreground of that acapella mv he knows what he is doing!! #they put him in the centre for a reason!! #jaejun 🤝 eunkwang in love poem: handholding the babies #i have been saying for years at this point that oneus is the closest anyone has got to filling vixx's shoes #and that's all the way down to being essentially a soft second gen reboot styling #valkyrie is basically what i would have expected the dududu mv to look like if i had only seen the stages #im saying this like valkyrie didnt cost like a million dollars i bet she was SO expensive #with that giant custom stage/lighting cube shape thing #oh maybe a better example would have been onlyoneof mvs. theyre really good at style #text #answers #by hook or by crook we're gonna keep u employed jaejun!!! third time's the charm!!!!! #i say that like he isn't employed as an actual producer lmao #the whiplash i felt when i found out he debuted in c clown. i cannot explain. like physical neck cracking happened #this poor mf has debuted in THREE groups and he's only a 97line. insanity #imo the english version of dududu is better than the kr version on the whole BUT it does not have jooan's sexy growl #so therefore they are equal. and no i am not going to talk about how it was my second most played song in march

[ajoytobeheld]

Top Thirteen Films of 2011 (in no particular order)

January 7th, 2012

BRIDESMAIDS

Oh Kristen Wiig where have you been all my cinematic life?  Your representation of female friendships was bitterweet and your impersonation of a penis was accurate.

DRIVE

Any other director then Nicolas Winding Refn and any other actor then Ryan Gosling and this film could have been directed by Tony Scott and staring Nicholas Cage or Liam Neeson. What a hideous thought. That lift/elevator scene is one of the best things I have seen all year, and I saw a man fit through a tennis racquet.

If this list was in any notable order this would definetely be top.

MIDNIGHT IN PARIS

My first of two Tom Hiddleston films. Pure coincidence. I swear. I really enjoyed the sentiment of this Woody Allen film. A love letter to the literary and cultural greats he admires so feverishly and (you suspect) continually tries to emulate. And Adrian Brody makes a great Dali. It is a nice little dedication to his inspirations and I loved loved watching his interpretations of the personal lives of the great writers from the days of yore. Like Grazia for the readers digest crowd.

THE TREE OF LIFE

Terence Malick can be called many things (mostly by Sean Penn) but unambitious is certainly not one of them. This beautifully flawed film (perfection is sooo overated) manages to cover some pretty big themes (God, morality, the loss of innocence and creation of the universal to name but a few) in a relatively normal running time and introduces us to the talent and luminance that is Jessica Chastain. (Look at her being all the embodiment of Grace and that)

I thought it was at its best when the camera quietly and beautifully observed the relationship between the brothers and parents, like a wonderful hazy memory played in the minds eye of Sean Penn’s troubled architect, and at its worst when the overly earnest voiceovers kicked in. I could have done without those dinosaurs too…. Ultimately it is a far more interesting film thematically and visually then many others that came out last year, even if Sean Penn had no idea what as going on.

THE ADJUSTMENT BUREAU

Not the best plot, nor the best film but the best chemistry I have seen between too actors (Emily Blunt and Matt Damon) all year. Genuinely elevated the film for me to something particularly special.

Watch it and have fun with it you. Have most fun with the bit where they can travel through magical doors that don’t bend to the laws of physics, but only if they are wearing Trilby’s.

ANIMAL KINGDOM

An Australian film about a dysfunctional crime family that both terrifies and disturbs with acting and camera work that is never hysterical or overplayed, just considered and very well done. Jacki Weaver gives a masterclass in acting as a truly terrifying matriarch who makes Joe Pesci look like a de clawed puppy dog with no testicles. Her Oscar nom was very well deserved.

A LIFE IN THE DAY

80,0000 people submitted videos to youtube showing the mundane and interesting events that occurred to them on July 24 2010 and Ridley Scott, Kevin Macdonald and Joe Walker edited it together into a documentary. It produces a smorgasboard of emotions and you can watch it here FOR FREE (what else are you going to be doing? Making some kind of sandwich?)

WORLD’S GREATEST DAD

Weird and dark and mental and made by the guy with the squeaky voice in Police Academy. Robin Williams stars as the father of a throughly unpleasant boy who makes his sons terminal asphyxia wank look like a suicide making him an unlikely poster boy for a mis understood generation.

THE DEEP BLUE SEA

A very British affair with Rachel Weiz as a post war lady who surrenders herself to the tragedy of romantic love but with a steely determination and a stiff upper lip. It felt like a play, but a really good one.

MELANCHOLIA

The first time I saw this film I got motion sickness and had to leave the cinema, the second time I sat further back and closed my eyes for the first ten minutes. Its ending left me in a state of complete and utter despair, confusion and flux. I thank Lars Von Tier for this reaction. The opposite of apathy. The opposite of comfort. The opposite of “meh.”

KILL LIST

This British film about two hit mens “last job” made me feel sick and unnerved for a good long while. Part Coronation Street and Part Wicker man, it’s a very hard piece not to wake up sweating about in the middle of the night.

ANOTHER EARTH

A low budget sci fi film that isn’t really about sci fi but the chance we all have at redemption. Or something like that. Written by and starring Brit Marling, it uses some fairly dodgy science to explore the idea of parallel universes but in a very personal way. The last two minutes are totally killer too.

SENNA

Senna is composed solely from archive footage thus The Academy have ruled it out as a best documentary contender. FOOLS. It is a excellent film about brazilian Formula 1 racing car driver Ayrton Senna, and his triple world championship winning ways and hopefully the much more sensible BAFTA team will give it the recognition it deserves.

Other Notable Contenders

Thor (This film was a monkey barral load of fun, thanks Kenneth and thanks Tom Hiddlestone and OMG AVENGERS! AM I RIGHT?) We Need to Talk about Kevin The Skin I Live In Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy Hugo Super 8 Beginners Rise of the Planet of the Apes

and the less said about X Men the better.

Ellen x

#2012 #ellen!blog #lc!blog

[m39]

Doom WADs’ Roulette: Revenant Awards 2001

DOOMGUY AND THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE DEMON’S STONE – REVENANT AWARDS 2001 EDITION

Well, folks, it’s that time again. The time when I round up the WADs from the Doomworld’s list and give awards to those that gave the most fun. Like 2000, we have a case where the half of the WADs are for the one category while the rest is quite diverse in terms of their map amounts. Not as much as the previous year but still all of that half win by default in their categories whenever they require source port or not.

So, without any further to do, let’s check out our first category, and see which WAD deserves to be called a winner.

SOLE SURVIVOR – BEST ONE-MAP WAD OF THE YEAR

We will start with the WADs that require the source port to be played because these ones are the only ones where there is an actual competition. And choosing the winner was easier than I thought. Phobia (or rather, Despair) was very good but I don’t think it counts as a winner because, one, it’s more like a demo for the WAD that would later win one of the Cacowards, and two, the gameplay options might confuse some people, expecting the typical Doom stuff and ending up with something different.

As for KZDoom7, it was good but the ending of this map went up more towards cheap difficulty.

So now we have the two maps that deserve the award the most: Sin City and Vrack 2. Both have their highlights, and both are perfect for ZDoom/Boom respectively. But if I had to choose one, I would give the Sole Survivor award for the best one-map long WAD to Vrack 2. I basically had more fun with this map despite the fact that Sin City has no hitscanners. I can’t believe I’m saying that.

As for the Vanilla map that won by default, Null Space, I still can’t believe how good this map is. Probably one of the best Doom maps I’ve played at this moment. And the fact that it was created in such a way to be played without requiring a source port, is astonishing.

PLATINUM REVENANT – BEST 10-19 MAPS LONG WAD/MEGAWAD OF THE YEAR

Okay, look, there is no bullshitting around, Equinox is a much better WAD than SlayeR and it gave me much more fun than the latter. It doesn’t matter if both WADs required source port or not, it doesn’t change the fact that SlayeR’s difficulty feels hard for the wrong, unfair reasons half the time. Now looks, Equinox isn’t perfect, it has its own problems, but it is such a good WAD overall, that I feel like its problems can be ignored, unlike SlayeR.

OTHER AWARDS

And now for the WADs that won by default.

Pug of Pink award (2-7 maps) goes to Doom Resurrection. While it’s very annoying that you have to use some editing program to properly launch it by removing one part of it, and then it still ends up unbeatable if you play it without god mode, if you get past those, you will see another case for the WADs focusing more on plot and ZDoom scripting that they are becoming better paced and better story wise.

Full Deck of Diamonds award (30-32 maps) goes to Revolution!. It shows that you don’t need a source port to make a good WAD. You just need an idea and talent to make it stand equally among the other WADs that require a source port.

And the last award of 2001, Off the Wall, (partial/total conversion) goes to The Darkest Hour: A Star Wars WAD. A case of making a WAD based on Dark Forces that turned out to be pretty good in my opinion.

CONCLUSION

And that’s the winners, folks. But unfortunately, that’s not the end for me and 2001. Because I said I will review MAP31 of SlayeR after ending 2001’s Revenant Awards. And I’m gonna keep my promise. Whether I like it or not.

I’ll see you all then.

...

...

Shit...

#award ceremony #doom #Doom 2 #ultimate doom #Doom WAD #doom mod #2001 #doom 2001 #Doom WADs’ Roulette #Revenant Awards

[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

[dadsbongos]

trashy dad

Movie/Game/Show: My Hero Academia Dynamic: Shota Aizawa/Reader (Platonic) Warnings: references (2) to un*s ann*s, one (1) use of (y/n), fem pronouns Summary: Shota trying to support his YouTuber daughter :) cuz social media aus own me Word Count: 2.1K ~~~

"Hey, gamers," you grin at the camera before tossing an arm over your father's shoulders, "My dad's in town and as you can see," you hesitated slightly before turning to face your father, "Dad's not super into taking care of himself. So, I figured what's better than doing a Q&A together while I do his makeup?"

"Hitoshi just did a 'what I eat in a day', didn't he?" Shota quirked a brow, already reaching back to tie up his messy, tangled hair.

"Spoilers!" you quietly whine as you open your phone, "He still has to edit it, silly man. We're gonna have to brush out your hair later, by the way."

Shota's eyes widened, "We? I thought this was your idea and video, (Y/n)."

"No," you huff, scrolling through a few of the questions from fans, "I mean it was but your hair is so… Okay, first question is from - oh my God the names - shrekslongtoe, what was my first word?"

"Are you gonna start putting makeup on me or just sit there?" Shota scratched at his nose before snickering, "That wasn't your first word. Your first word was 'Dada' and it drove Hizashi insane."

"Hizashi is my other dad, by the way," you lean over to grab your makeup bag, "'Toshi and I call him papa. Oooh, oh no," you looked up to Shota, "I don't have your shade, you're gonna look weird."

"I don't really care," the man shrugged, watching as you took out a pink beauty blender, "That looks like a buttplug."

"Don't say that!" your eyes were wide at his words while you got out your foundation, "Youtube doesn't like that."

"Whoops," he deadpanned, "Next question."

"Shit, right."

"Language."

"Japanese," you murmur, going to the next reply, "yoonbumskneecap asks, 'Did you believe in me-’ they said my name but you know, ‘and Hitoshi when they decided to become Youtubers?' And 'in 'Toshi's case - drop out of college to become a professional clout man.'"

"To be honest," Shota closed his eyes, only in slight fear, as you began pressing the foundation into his skin, "I was really worried about Hitoshi, I didn't know if he'd stay as big as he was because he's a lot like me, in the sense that people tend to not like us for our bluntness. So I was worried he'd be a meme for like a month and then people would drop him, but thankfully I was proved wrong," he opened his eyes when he felt you pull away and begin rooting through your bag once again, "With you, I was less worried because you're more like 'Zashi, i.e extremely likable, and you were kind of getting a boost from appearances on Hitoshi's channel. I still worry because the internet is a fickle mistress but I'm not staying up at night about it."

Pulling out a dark eyebrow pencil, you grin at your father, "Aww, that was kinda sweet. Not really but kind of."

"What I'm here for," Shota's eyes followed your hand as you uncapped the pencil and reached up, beginning to mark at his eyebrows, "I'm gonna read the next question while you kill my eyebrows."

"I'm not killing them!" you giggled, "But unlike Papa, you already have pretty thick, full eyebrows so I won't be here long."

"Good," he muttered before furrowing his brows in confusion, ignoring your frustrated groan, "who is daddysero and why is he asking if you pissed today?"

"What?!" you pull your dad's hand back to see what he was looking at, instantly calming down when you saw he was still on Twitter, "Oh, that's just Sero, he asks me that every time I tweet. I thought you went to my Instagram DMs," at Shota's questioning stare you grinned, "Mama's got simps in her DMs."

"Don't ever call yourself 'Mama' in my presence ever again," Shota shook his head, once again ignoring your annoyance, "papichulo46290 wants to know my favorite memory of you."

"If you mix me up with 'Toshi, I'll be so pissed," you return the eyebrow pencil to your bag as Shota speaks.

"I won't... probably," he shrugs while you root through your bag, "So, Hizashi had taken Hitoshi out for ice cream because of - has he mentioned his middle school trauma?" at your nod, he continues, "Hitoshi was having a bad day from middle school, shocking, so you and I were left home alone together. You were probably seven and you really wanted to paint my nails and I let you. You..." he shook his head, snickering, "you fucked them up. So bad. But you were so happy to just be spending time with me- "

"Keep talking, but I'm gonna do your eyeshadow," you lean back in, swishing your brush over a navy blue, almost black shade, "Just so you guys know, Dad wanted to look like shit, don't unsubscribe cuz this is gonna come out bad."

"It won't be too bad, you're talented," Shota did his best to remain still, "But overall, you were just so adorable and it didn't even matter that the smudged nails got me teased in the teacher's lounge the next day. It all came off after like a week because it was shitty polish but you get the idea."

"Aww, I didn't know you kept it on, that's so sweet," you fall back briefly to inspect your work, "It's not awful but I'm only posting this because you're my dad."

"Of course, I did," Shota continued scrolling through the questions, "A lot of people are asking if you mean Dad or Daddy, and a lot more people are asking for pictures of your feet, you should block them all."

"Yeah, I got sickos in my replies too, just gotta scroll past em'."

"Disgusting..." Shota grumbled as you moved to his other eye, "Is 'electrodick' Kaminari, perchance?"

"Unfortunately."

"Gross, he asks if you had an 'I'm not like other girls' phase," Shota hummed quietly in thought, "Maybe when you were eight for like a month, but that's probably because except for Nemuri you didn't have any women in your life. Thankfully you moved on from that pretty quickly."

"Oh yeah, that was a gross, weird time. You and Papa also weren’t shitty people so I didn’t have a lot of misogynist influence."

"I like to think we did a good job," Shota sighed, finally moving back into his slouching position when you pulled away completely, "Is 'explosionmurder' Bakugou?"

"You know it."

"Okay well, he's asking if you plan on fucking up your bronzing again?" he thinks for a moment, “Was that from when you looked kinda copper-ish in a video?

"Oh my God, that was one time, Bakugou!" you shout and shake your brush at the camera, "One time!"

"I don't even know what blending is so you're doing better than I am."

"God, how are we related?"

Without hesitation, Shota replied, "Surrogate. Which answers summerlongsock's question."

"Nice," you chuckle, setting the brush back in your bag, "You probably won't need too much bronze or countour since you're going for bad," you immediately turn to the camera, "And Bakugou isn't gonna say a fucking word about it!"

"Is eyeliner next? And if so, I would enjoy a nice wing," Shota muttered, looking through the remaining questions, "Hitoshi asks why I haven't done a video with him yet."

You nod along while uncapping the liner, "I'm curious about that too. I thought my first video with a parent would be with Papa. I was gonna say family but..." you shrug, "Hitoshi was my first video and then Eri came on."

"He never asked," Shota closed both of his eyes, allowing you to move his head around as you pleased, "You just texted me the video idea and we set it up while I was in town. If Hitoshi wants a video so bad he should come up with an idea."

"Jeez, don't bully the poor boy," you laughed quietly, carefully applying more eyeliner to your father's left lid, "We should all do a video together. I think it'd be fun."

"Come up with an idea," he replied flatly before opening his eyes, "davinky wants to know when you got into makeup. Probably after thirteen, sometime."

"Yeah, I got my first real eyeshadow at like fourteen and then you guys just enabled my love of makeup after that."

"Well, the thing with that was, Hizashi and I didn't want you growing up thinking you had to wear makeup for any reason," Shota opened his eyes once he felt you back away, blinking a few times, "So we waited till you were more mature because giving makeup to a six-year-old is weird."

Capping your eyeliner, you traded it out for mascara, "Yeah, even little play kits are a bit ehhh. Don't close your eyes, but look down."

Following instruction, Shota took the opportunity to read off another question, "I can't see the name but someone's asking what we did together for fun. While you were a kid."

Humming quietly in thought, you move from one eye to the other, "We used to go to diners a lot. Those late-night diner trips, remember?"

"Oh yeah, you were such a little demon about bedtime. I had to take you to this little place for scrambled eggs or some shit and you'd fall asleep on the way back home."

Putting away your mascara, you reach out for your hairbrush before beginning to pull out the hair tie in Shota's hair, "Mina wanted me to ask what videos you show people when they ask what your kids do for a living."

"For Hitoshi, the one where he and Kaminari made Bakugou breakfast with sex toys. For you, the one where you turn yourself into Mina's little character - with the pink skin," Shota winced slightly at the tug of your hairbrush, "And Eri's a teacher so that information comes first since it's the least strange."

As you fussed with his tangled nest of hair, you read another question over Shota's shoulder, "When did you know you loved me? Like after adopting me."

"Not too long after the adoption was finalized actually," Shota grumbled as the brush made its final courses through his hair, "You've always been a really great kid. I don't know when I 'realized' but it was definitely around the time you were born, maybe like the day after."

"That's pretty good considering I was a stranger," you giggled, brushing out the final knots in his dark hair, "A baby stranger."

"Hmm," Shota hummed in response, "You almost done?"

Refraining from rolling your eyes, you fluffed Shota's now smooth and detangled hair around his shoulders with a small smile, "I'm done. Your hair is so pretty when it's brushed out."

"I know," the man muttered, handing your phone back, "Wanna do one more question and then sign off?"

"Yeah," you scroll through some of the questions, "I want it to be the best question that's ever been asked."

"Ask your own, you're great at that."

You shook your head with furrowed brows at his comment, "Is that a compliment?"

"It was meant to be."

"Thanks, but no need, I've found one. Midoriya wants to know if raising two attention whores was hard. He didn't say ‘attention whores’ because he doesn't swear but that's the vibe."

"What's Midoriya's at?" Shota asked.

"SmallMight."

"Of course," the man grumbled, closing his eyes to think, "You two were honestly pretty easy to raise. Not a whole lot of fits compared to what I've heard other parents talk about. You both liked to talk a lot to each other, and, of course, to Hizashi and me. Not terribly difficult at all."

"Aww, I'm glad we didn't make you pull your hair out," you grin.

"Oh, you still did. Absolutely."

"Nice," you giggle before turning off your phone and facing the camera, "Okay guys, well, I hope you don't clown on me as much as usual because if you do, my dad will... I don't know… kick your ass."

"Exactly," Shota nodded, a horrific smile on his face, "I'll beam right into your living room."

"Hopefully you guys come back next week where I'll..." floundering for an answer, you turn to your dad as if he’d give you ideas, "Create wings to do it better than Icarus ever could."

Giving a singular stiff nod, Shota looked dead at the camera, "I'd watch it."

"You heard it from the main man himself, peeps," you waved to the camera, Shota copying the motion, “Bye!”

"If there's one comment about my eyebags, I'm never coming on your channel again," Shota lied as you leaned over to stop recording.

"They're gonna love you, I'm sure," you assure your father, "Wanna see how I edit?"

"God no, Hitoshi showed me how long it takes to edit his videos, it looks like hell."

#bnha x reader #bnha x reader platonic #shota aizawa x reader #shota x reader #aizawa x reader #shota aizawa x daughter reader #aizawa x daughter reader #shota x daughter reader #shota x reader platonic

[k3lynn]

mine — katsuki bakugou

yandere! katsuki bakugou x reader

cw: yandere au, 3rd year bakugou, violence, reader got female genitalia, anger, off-“screen” murder, mention of (minor) character death, blood, lucidness, possessiveness, degradation, manipulation, stalking, threats, masturbation, implication of sex, swearing, assault, narcissism, horror, slightly delusional katsuki, panic attack, non con, mention of suicide

- I do not condone any of the behavior here, nor do I try to romanticize it. (definition: make it seem like a good thing) any future/current dark fics are purely for entertainment purposes. Also, I don’t think bakugou would EVER do this- I’m just using some dark traits he used to have and twisting them to fit this situation. Not completely proof read and edited, I am exhausted right now I’m sorry. I say some mean things about some characters but I don’t mean it 💗

words: 1.8k

𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚃𝙾 𝙱𝙽𝙷𝙰 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 // 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚃𝙾 𝚈𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

Look at me.

Look at me.

Look at me.

Look at me.

Look at me.

WHY WON’T YOU LOOK AT ME.

Poor little Y/N. You’ve caught the Big Bad Wolf’s attention. Ready to snatch you up and drag you into the deepest parts of the forest where no one will ever find you.

You’ll be all mine, and I’ll be the only thing you’ll ever have to see again.

You’ve been in the same class for 3 years now- and all he had to show for it is an occasional wave, and a shy little “Hi Bakugou” every morning that made his heart leap out of his chest.

Enough for most, but not for him.

In turn, he would tsk. Facing away and setting his head down on the desk- attempting to hide the roaring blush adorning his cheeks and the subtle shuffling in his pants- the way your voice alone could make his balls tighten in need.

Still- you give him merely a glance. He is always around you, but your attention is given to someone else.

Any extra would overlook his grumbling for typical-Katsuki doing his own thing. In reality, he’s holding himself back from snapping and taking you by force.

He wants you to come to him.

You have no reason not to. He’s perfect. Probably the best student to ever enter U.A. High, and on path to become the best pro hero to ever graduate from it.

Coming first in both the Entrance Exams AND the sports festival- a victory he still denies, holding some of the highest grades in class- 3rd only to some geek girl he could easily out-rank in combat and that shitty half n’ half. Even perceptiveness, intellect, and determination that can rival dumb Deku.

He even possesses great skills in cooking and music- Katsuki is a natural-born genius. Anybody who isn’t conscious towards his incredible talents might as well be living under a rock-

Unbeknownst to you, he’s giving you the generous chance to decide when you’ll be his. But his patience wears thinner every day.

It would have only taken a second to turn around in your seat and notice his piercing red eyes glaring at the back of your head.

So why don’t you notice me.

-

He doesn’t understand why it’s you he obsesses about. He can’t even remember when this whole mess started.

He tried denying his feelings. But quickly- they built up and festered inside him, begging to come out. Love, possessiveness, same thing.

Whether it be watching your twist and turn in the obstacle course- then running to the nearest bathroom to furiously grip his cock.

Snatching your chapstick when you’re not looking and rubbing it all around his own lips- imagining that’s what your lips would taste like if you just kissed him-

Restraining you during combat training by wrapping his arms around you- squeezing your breast a little more than necessary. Pinning you to the floor until you admit defeat.

Or even sneaking into your dorm while you’re in the shower to grab a new pair of panties from your dirty laundry, adding it to the stash he keeps hidden under his bed.

Stalking you. Keeping you close at all times without you even knowing it.

Indeed, he knows he’s a sick and twisted human being.

But by now he hardly cares- he’s worked too hard to ever even imagine of changing his perfect target. Nobody is more deserving of you than him.

So if he has to confront, threaten, and beat every single person in this stupid school to monopolize you for himself- he gladly will. Anyone who goes againts that is challenging him.

He scoffs anytime a boy approaches you- it’s well known around school that anyone who attempts to buddy up with you mysteriously ends up in a hospital room with no recollection of what happened. People even started seeing you as a sign of bad luck.

He’s nice enough to allow you some friends though. But only ones who will guarantee you’ll be around him as much as possible.

So you sit with him, Kirishima, racoon eyes, dunce face, and tape boy in lunch. No one else. Right in front of him.

You’re chatting away with Mina, but unusually, something special came up in conversation.

He always stays focused on his lunch- switching between listening in and day dreaming about bending you over the lunch table and grinding on your ass-

Katsuki’s stomach dropped. His eyes widened- what did Mina just say?

There’s a boy in the management department, a quirkless 2nd year nobody smart enough to somehow get into U.A.

And he asked you out on a date after school.

Shit.

No.

No no no no-

No- this isn’t how it’s supposed to-

My throat burns.

When did he- when did you-

You’re going to say no, right?

I cant breathe.

You don’t like anyone- I know this

I know everything about you- I-

My chest hurts-

You’re mine.

And if he thinks I’ll share then I’ll-

“Mina stop being so loud please...” your delicate little voice whispered.

The rest of the table already took notice of what was going on- bombarding you with questions that made you flustered.

“Woah woah- Y/n, what’s your answer?” dunce face peeps out, Bakugou swore he could smack that grin off his face right then and there.

Katsuki turns to look at you again- a chill traveling down his spine once he made eye contact, but your stare quickly fell to the floor.

“I’m not sure yet- probably not.. ha.” You shrugged- a light pink dusting over your cheeks. The others, satisfied, dismiss the topic.

Had it have been anybody else observing, they wouldn’t have thought much of it. But Katsuki knows you like the back of his hand. Successfully deceiving him would be harder than taking down All For One.

You’re lying... aren’t you? In front of him too- All because of this quirkless fucking loser-

Katsuki hates lies.

.

.

.

I’m going to kill him.

-

The walk back to your dorm was disappointing to say the least. But you can’t expect someone to be in the best of moods when they’ve been stood up.

You almost couldn’t believe it either- he had seemed so kind and genuine that you stood there for an extra 2 hours. But that’s your luck with boys-

‘I hope you got a good laugh out of it, jerk.’ You huffed before inserting the key into your rooms lock.

Turning on the lights, you allow your eyes to adjust for a moment before stepping inside and walking to your desk.

“You were waiting for that jackass for so long I almost started thinking you would never come back...”

You let out a startled cry before dropping your keys and whirling around in a flash- recognizing Katsuki’s back as he slowly closes the door.

“Bakugou? Why are you-“

“was he really that special.”

“What do you mean was....“ It’s then you noticed the blood dripping down his arms and hands- your door decorated with the same shade of crimson.

“oh my god.. Bakugou,”

That’s why the poor boy never showed up.

You knew about Katsuki’s “little” crush on you for a while now. His stares weren’t exactly the most subtle after all-

You found his uncertainty adorable, heck, a part of you was waiting for him to confess. But you would have never imagined his infatuation went this far.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. He’ll never love you as much as I do.”

He lifts his head, and your eyes meet his. Bloodshot- as if he’d been crying, but the evident smirk on his face showed nothing but pure malice.

“Not that he’ll ever get the chance to anyways”

He’s too fast, too close to the door, he has all the advantage in this situation. But you have to try. You have to leave this room at this very moment or you may never make it out alive. There’s no reasoning with him.

You clutch your heart. He steps forward, and you instinctively bolt to the door.

A few easy moves and he has you pinned by the neck on the ground, legs bent and used to hold your arms from jerking too much. His free hand is outstretched, creating small explosions that made you automatically stiffen your movement.

“Bakugou please- I won’t ever tell anyone, we can forget about this and I’ll pretend it neve-“

“I don’t need you to be quiet. I’m the boy who rejected a direct offer from the League of Villains, one of the best students in U.A. high- even if you do rat me out, they’ll never believe you...”

His grip on your neck tightened- nails cutting through skin and little droplets of blood start showing up. His hand starts heating up and a panic courses through your veins.

“I’ll kill you before they even begin to suspect me.”

Choked sobs escape your lips from the pain and fear surging through your body- “I- I thought you said you lo-loved me.”

“I do... that’s why you’ll be mine forever.”

He leaned down, low enough for you to feel his warm breath- then used his tongue to sadistically lick off the tears running down your cheek, a salty but satisfying flavor entering his mouth.

“In this life, and the next. It’s up to you when we see the later.”

You nod, hoping he relaxes the pressure on your neck. His face softens, something you swore you would never see in Bakugou. He releases his hold.

“You made me mess up your neck, next time don’t be so mean.”

He tilted your chin up, observing the scratches and bruises littered all around it. As soon as he determines there’s no serious injury, he picks you up to lay you on your bed. Climbing in next to you and wrapping an arm around your hips.

“Couples cuddle like this all the time don’t they.”

You gave him silence, although he didn’t mind. With one glare he had you shuffling to move closer to his chest.

“they also kiss.”

You know that right now, there’s no point in fighting. So you give in to what he wants in hopes that one day, you’ll break free from the hold he secretly had on you for so long. You’ll play along. You’ll survive.

You shudder as his hands reach to cradle your cheek, wiping the blood of the boy all over it. He loved it. It proved he won. He gave a light kiss to your lips before attacking your neck, set on putting a new type of bruise on you.

“You should start calling me Katsuki.”

“Ka- Katsuki.” You barely managed to whimper out.

He caresses your hair, cooing soft whispers into your ear in an attempt to calm your sniffling. An action you would have seen as sweet if it weren’t for the constant threat of death over your shoulder.

Your breath hitches in horror as you feel his warm hands trail down your body, gripping your smooth inner thigh before delicately starting to drag his fingers up.

“You know...

You silently beg for him to stop.

“There’s one more thing couples do.”

-if anyone is interested- should I make a part 2? (Future edit, I’m not satisfied with this, I might end up rewriting in the future)

© 2021 k3lynn, do not modify or repost without permission

#bnha smut #bnha x reader #yandere bnha #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki imagine #katsuki x reader #katsuki smut #katsukibakugou #katsuki bakugo headcanons #bnha katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #bakugou imagine #bakugou headcanons #yandere katsuki #yandere bakugou #yandere bakugou x reader #yandere katsuki bakugou #yandere katsuki x reader #yandere katsuki smut #yandere bakugou smut #my hero academia imagines #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia bakugou #my hero academia #my hero academia bakugou #bnha bakugou smut

[onlydreamofmysoul]

The new (and last 😭)sweater weather chapter put this situation in my head and I don’t have the talent to make it real:

How would Remus react after he learns he can be a player on the team? and how does the rest of the team react? and how does the media react? and what does Sirius say? and what is his first game like? And what does Jules and his family think? AND AND AND ????

Of course u don’t have to do anything and I adore your writing just thought I would share some of my frantic ramblings.

I’m getting lots of ones like these! My brain has been spinning with so many ideas but one that stuck with me were Remus’ old superstitions.

Characters and their wonderful world by @lumosinlove

Half Sheer Dumb Luck

Calf stretches before thigh

Remus just stared at coach Weasley.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“We’d like to offer you a place on the team.”

Remus wasn’t sure he could trust himself to blink, never mind talk. “Is this a joke?”

Arthur stepped forward, his face calm and reassuring. “Remus, no, of course not. I’m your friend. I wouldn’t do that to you. We, all of us, the organisation, the team, we’ve reviewed your tapes. We’ve seen you play. And we want you on the team.”

“The team knows.” It was a statement, not a question. 

Arthur nodded.

“Sirius knows.”

He nodded again.

“This is real?”

Arthur smiled as he nodded this time. “As real as me standing here right now.”

“I’ll have to be ready.” Remus’ hands were shaking. “There’s so much to do.”

Coach stepped forward and placed his hand on Remus’ shoulder. “Yeah, there is. But I don’t think there’s a better man up for the job.”

“Oh my god.” Remus thought his knees were going to give way.

Arthur grinned and pushed Remus away from him lightly. “Now go talk to your boy. Not being able to tell you has been killing him.”

Remus nodded and walked away in a daze. Sirius was right where he left him, chatting to Thomas and Noelle. He smiled when he saw Remus.

“He… he wants me to join the team?”

Thomas let out a whoop. “Loops knows!”

The tent went up in cheers but Remus could only see Sirius.

“Is.. Would that be okay for you?”

Sirius frowned, pulling Remus right up against his chest. “Would that be okay? Oh my love, there’s nothing in the world that I would love more.”

Remus laughed, tears beginning to pool in his eyes. “I’m going to be on the Lions.”

Sirius kissed him, slow and filled with love. “You already are.”

“I’m going to have to train non-stop.”

“I’ll help you.”

“You’ll train over the summer?” Remus asked disbelievingly. Sirius kissed his forehead, then his nose and finally his lips. “I’ll do anything for you.”

The rest of the team then decided they had enough waiting and piled on, a massive group hug in the middle of the wedding reception, Remus right in the centre.

Two bottles of water on the bench.

“Mom, I have some news.” Remus said over the video call, his voice shaking. He could practically see his mother looking at his hand to see if there was a ring.

“It’s not that mom jeez, can you grab dad and Jules too?”

Remus waited until they were all together for him to speak again.

“So, the Lions organisation found my old tapes.” He began, “They started looking after they saw me play at family skate.”

Jules was just listening, bouncing in his seat waiting for Remus to get to the point. His mother looked concerned, but his father looked, almost knowing.

Remus swallowed, wishing he could tell them in person - he and Sirius were visiting next week but Remus needed to tell them in order for it to feel real. He was glad he was sitting on the couch at home, he needed some sense of normality.

“I’ve been asked to join the Lions.”

“I don’t understand. You already work with the Lions?”

“No mom, not as staff. I’ve been asked to join. As a player.”

Julian let out a whoop so loud Remus might have heard it without a phone. “Re, did you say yes? You had to say yes, please tell me you said yes!”

Remus laughed, nodding his head. “Of course I said yes.”

Hope promptly burst into tears and there was a definite pool forming in his dad’s eyes.

“Oh Re,” His mother breathed, “Oh my darling this is so, so wonderful.”

“No one deserves this more than you.” His dad was saying. “I am so proud.”

“Re does that mean I get to come to all of your games! Oh my god, you’ll be famous! I mean, you’re already famous, but you’ll be more famous! Re! You’ll be rich!”

Remus burst out laughing, looking around at the ridiculously large house he was in already, “I don’t think I need the money Jules.” While his mother rolled her eyes.

Julian gasped as another thought flew into his head. “Remus! I need to get your jersey!”

Sirius walked into the room, and perked up, “Oui! We need your jersey Re!”

Remus covered his face with his hands. “I don’t even have a jersey.”

“Yet.” Sirius corrected, curling up next to him and kissing his cheek. “You don’t have a jersey yet.”

Right foot first to step onto the ice.

“Es-tu prêt?” Sirius asked as they stood outside the locker room. Remus took a deep breath in.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The clamour of the locker room was deafening, but Remus wouldn't have it any other way.. He nearly cried laughing when he saw that Nado and Kuny had decorated his new stall with pictures of Sirius, all copied and printed from social media with edits of Sirius shirtless and captions and endless heart-eyed emojis. He hugged Leo who was in the stall next to him and when he sat down to lace up his skates, he relished the feeling that he was part of the team. Because he was part of the team now, really and truly.

He met the new PT - Dorcas, with whom he knew he’d become fast friends. He also set about telling her all the ins and outs of working with the boys, their little superstitions, their tells when they were lying about their injuries. She just smiled and thanked him and told him to kindly fuck off and enjoy his first day, he could tell her all this another time.

The boys made a big show of letting Remus be the first out onto the ice (After you my good man) and while Remus rolled his eyes and smacked the back of a few heads playfully (Finn, Thomas and James), this was the moment he had waited for all of his life.

Right foot first, he stepped onto the ice.

Pasta and marinara before home games,

“Loops, what are you doing? I told you I would cook before your first game!”

Remus smiled and tilted his head up to kiss his boyfriend, placing both hands on his chest. “Baby, I love you, but you can cook precisely three dishes, and this isn’t one of them.”

Sirius pouted. “Your mom is teaching me.”

Remus nodded, “I know, that’s the only reason you can make those three dishes.”

Sirius shook his head smiling but he kissed Remus, nipping his bottom lip playfully.

“Are you nervous?”

“Terrified.”

“You’ll be incredible.”

“And if I’m not.”

Sirius kissed him. “If you’re not well then,” Sirius shrugged with one shoulder, “Then you try again next time. What was it a wise man once said? You always have more than one shot.”

Remus scrunched his nose. “That makes me sound like an old man.”

“A sexy old man.” Sirius commented and Remus just groaned. “Oh my god get out of here.”

Chicken and broccoli before away.

“Ha!” Sirius exclaimed when Remus walked into the kitchen and stopped short at the sight of his boyfriend cooking. “Je prépare le dîner ce soir.”

“... You don’t know how to make this one.”

Sirius put a hand to his chest in a wounded gesture. “You think I would give you food that is not good on a game day? Mon loup, how little faith you have.”

Remus felt a smile playing on his lips. “So you’ve magically learned how to cook?”

Sirius shook his head. “Non, that wouldn’t be magic, that would be a miracle. I have however, been taking lessons from your mother. Secret face-time lessons, when you’re out. I’m getting quite good.”

“You’ve been taking secret fact-time cooking lessons from my mother?”

Sirius nodded and held out a spoon for Remus to try. Remus dodged the spoon and kissed him instead. “I love you.”

Eggs morning of, pancakes after a win

“So,” Remus said, stepping into the locker room. “Who’s up for some pancakes?”

The roaring affirmative made Remus laugh before a warm weight barrelled into him.

“Hi Jules!”

Jules had taken to wearing both Remus and Sirius’ jersey at the same time to games, because he apparently couldn’t choose a favourite. He alternated between which one he wore on the outside. Today, it was Remus’, with LUPIN splashed across the back, the number 6 bold in the centre.

“Can I come get pancakes too?”

Sirius appeared behind Julian and threw him up into the air before setting him back on his feet, Jules giggling the whole time. 

“We could never get pancakes without my favourite Lupin!”

“Hey!” Remus protested, but he looked at Julian’s set of jerseys and smiled. 

“I suppose you can have two favourites.”

Finn, walking by, cupped his hands to his mouth. “Preach!”

Drag the puck around the crease twelve times.

“Hey Loops, are you coming to stretch?”

Remus smiled at James. “I’ll be over in a second Pots, I just have to do something first.”

James nodded and went to skate away before pausing. “Wait!” He looked at Remus sheepishly. “Blue?”

Remus shook his head fondly. “You’re so lucky I knew you’d ask for that.” He said ducking to grab a bottle of blue Gatorade he had taken from the kitchen for exactly this purpose. “Love you Fruit Loop!”

“Not as much as me, I hope.” Sirius commented as he stepped out onto the ice. “You coming?”

Remus shook his head. “Just gotta, you know.”

“Skate around the crease twelve times.” Sirius smirked. “I thought you weren’t superstitious.”

Remus flushed a dark red. “I’m not! But I’m not going to risk it either!” He laughed when he realised Sirius was teasing him and pushed him away lightly.

“Oh shove off, you can’t say anything.”

Sirius just continued to smirk at him as he skated backwards. “Love you too.”

Remus looked around the packed stadium as the anthem played and he pressed his star necklace to his lips. Looks like he had another tradition.

#sweater weather lumosinlove #lumosinlove #coast to coast lumosinlove #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #coops #o'knutzy #wolfstar

[aknosde]

Omnes Una Manet Nox

The chronologically first installment of my Reyna Swap AU, Alea Iacta Est // Reyna Avilla Ramírez-Arellano // Fluff & Angst, but minor on the angst // the night before Reyna disappears //  tw: mentions past minor character death // light swearing // 4.4k

ao3

—————

“That went well, didn’t it?” Jason asks with that familiar, absently intense energy. They’ve just descended the steps of the Senate after their monthly meeting with the consuls.

The two consuls, in their late thirties, oversee all of Camp Jupiter. Of course, the legion manages their own grounds and budget, under Jason and Reyna’s command, but the little oversight they do get is from the consuls.

Johnson was one of New Rome’s praetors, a few years back. He doesn’t care much about the legion, being from a legacy family and largely skirting his training and service, and he never ceases to make that known. Malhill is the one that always gets under Jason’s defenses. He’s good on policy, good on veterans, good on kids, everything that they could want. But he was the legion’s champion only ten years ago. A direct son of Apollo, a talented archer but an even better bender of light, a legion praetor, and he’s had his eyes on Jason’s career since day one. Reyna’s seen the way he eyes Jason whenever she and Jason are in New Rome, already pegging him for a consul position once Jason’s old enough.

“It went well, Jace,” she says. “Your mission plan is flawless, the only thing that could make them happier is if you’d go on it.” She regrets the words as soon as they’re out of her mouth.

Her remorse is tangible, visible in the line of his spine, the way he taps the place in his pocket where Ivlivs would sit if they were not inside the Pomerian Line, the subtle flick of his wrist.

Not for the first time, she thinks about Mount Othrys. Everything it took from her. Sometimes when she sleeps–not often, but enough–it plays over in her head. But something is always wrong.

She’s leading the charge, but suddenly it’s Jason next to her instead of Michelle. Or Jason and Michelle run into the throne room, but when she closes the door behind them it locks. She makes it into the throne room, slaying all of the Dracaena, but when she enters Atlas is holding Jason over his head, instead of fighting him hand to hand. On the good nights, Michelle isn’t dead when she bursts through the door, on the bad, she watches Michelle die. The one constant is Jason, gold ichor dripping down his face in a horrific mask. When she and Jason land the killing blow, together, she can always see it.

He doesn’t talk about it, of course. Not about Michelle, not about his election, not about the mountain. But she can see it weighing on him through the big things, like how he hasn’t been out of camp borders since the battle, and the small things, like how he glances up at the stars, as if one will come down and crush him any moment.

She rolls her right shoulder, feeling the ligaments shift, as if it will rid her of the thoughts, prepare her for a topic of conversation that often hits a little too close to home.

“Did you hear how Johnson pronounced my name? He’s even worse than you.” Maybe the small huff of a laugh Jason expels is worth it. “‘Miss Ramírez-Arellano,’” she continues, in a nasally imitation of the consul.

“I don’t say it that badly.”

“You say it like a white boy who didn’t know Spanish was a language until two seconds ago.”

“Ramírez-Arellano,” he says, better than consul Johnson, but she still hates hearing it. That girl is long gone, the only thing connecting her to Reyna is Hylla, and although Reyna loves her sister, she’s grateful for the distance that keeps Hylla from being a constant reminder.

“‘We were– were very, erm, dazzled, by your most recent proposition.’” She continues the impression until they are walking through the Praetorian Gate, Jason half hanging off her shoulder and giggling like they’re thirteen again.

He has a nice laugh. A friendly one. It seems to feed off of her volume, her effort, fluctuating the longer he goes. He shouts at her to stop several times, but he’s doubled over in armor, snorting, and all she wants to do is make him laugh like this forever.

It only gets worse on the steps of the Principa, when he decides a good revenge plan is to trip her. The building is dark like the rest of the legion. Two lamps, invisible under the light of day, flank the double doors, but the light is faint and barely makes its way to the stairs, washing everything in a pale yellow. She side steps his foot–his sneakers have reflective decals on them for the sake of the gods, he’s an idiot–but he’s shifted his weight so much that he ends up tripping himself.

They stumble through the doors, still chuckling, and make their way across the great hall as quickly as possible. They must have gotten a new tender for the Principa, because the lights are off like they forgot that people actually live here. Only two people, but still. The darkness makes the place unsettling, and now she’s counting on Jason to keep her occupied. A job he seems all too willing to fulfill as he runs through the next set of doors, still in full armor, clashing against the wood.

Upstairs is worse, she decides. The abandoned lounge reminds her of her childhood living room. Any moment her father could rise from one of the low couches, ready to scoop her up and throw her in her room, that crazed look in his eye.

Something clangs and she jumps.

“What the heck is this?” Jason’s whisper-shouting when she catches up with him in the hallway outside their rooms. He’s partially on the floor–hands keeping him from being face flat–and something is crinkling under his knee.

For some reason all Reyna can say is: “Did you just say ‘heck?’”

“Shut up,” he whines, and she wishes the lights were on just so she could see his ears turning red.

“Of course, farm-boy.”

He’s sitting back on his heels now, she can see the object’s dark outline as he holds it up, rustling in his hands.

“Seriously, what is this thing?” he asks, looking up at her.

“A bag with my old clothes,” she says, squinting. “I was going to see if any legionnaires need some.”

“And you have it by your door so you don’t forget,” he says, explaining for her. In the stress of running for office, of war, she forgot the ways in which they are attuned to each other. She forgot that she doesn’t have to explain and defend her every little action to him. It’s sad that it’s taken her almost two months to remember.

He sets the bag back down, nudging it into almost its exact spot, and hefts himself to his feet with a sigh. His brow furrows once he’s standing, looking out into the middle distance, but he sees the quirk of her brow and quickly explains himself, “We have that meeting with the centurions tomorrow after breakfast.”

Jason is a social person. A true extrovert. He hates being alone, working alone, and the quiet that comes with both. So what he’s really saying is that he has work left to do and wants some company. And who is she to deny him that? “Do you want to work in the main hall, office, or my room?”

He grins, clapping his hands and then raises his palms to the sky. “Bedroom, praise Fortuna.”

“Five minutes, Sparkplug,” she says, bumping her shoulder into his own as she sidesteps him into her room. His eyes follow her as she goes, like she’s his North Star, and damn him for making her heart skip a beat, because in the empty space Venus’ words always echo. She stomps them down, before her face can fall, before the hollow silence can fill the hallway, and in their place she jams a smirk. “If you’re lucky I’ll even edit your speech.”

As her door clicks behind her she can hear him groan, “I just prayed to Fortuna.”

She stands with her hands on her hips, briefly surveying her room to decide what to do first.

Being praetor has its perks, like private bath and bedrooms across the hall from her best friend and king sized beds, but it also means she is no longer in the practice of keeping her space ready for inspections. Her comforter is pulled up, but her bed isn’t made, files are scattered across her desk and on her dresser, and her wardrobe is wide open.

She decides on doing everything at once, which involves a crooked path across her room as she shucks off armor, not bothering with her armor stand, and changes out of the nice clothes she wore to meet the consuls. All the while she turns on lights, puts on sweats, makes her bed, and tucks away files.

Jason knocks on her door five minutes later, that ever punctual bastard, just as she’s zipping her hoodie over her tank top.

“Help me, Reyna,” he says, holding a typed copy of his speech out to her in both hands like some sort of trophy. “You’re my only hope.”

She snorts, snatching the pages out of his hands. “Nice reference.”

He cocks his head to the side, brow furrowed, and she bets if he were actually a wolf one of his ears would be turned as well.

“You just made a Star Wars reference,” she says, but he looks just as confused.

“What’s Star Wars?” He asks warily.

She swears to herself in Spanish, because otherwise he’ll tease her about the legion’s anti-swearing policies, collapsing dramatically back on her bed, and sighs. “It’s a movie trilogy, wolf boy.”

“Ah.”

Another thing she forgot, apparently, is how little Jason knows about basically anything outside of camp. He says he arrived when he was three, and wasn’t even allowed into the city until he was eight, which apparently means he’s never been to a movie theater.

By now he seems used to her telling him about the more innocent aspects of the mortal world, and at the very least takes his lack of knowledge in stride. If only he would watch the movies and shows she’s downloaded on his laptop for him.

When she looks up after reading his introduction he is sitting at her desk, picking at some invisible blemish while subtly putting highlighters away, and looking around her room.

“If you start cleaning I’m throwing you out.”

He grumbles to himself, but she makes out a yes ma’am somewhere in the mix, so she decides to throw him a bone.

“If you want to occupy yourself I have a speech about legion veterans you can fact check,” she says, faux casual, not that he can tell. He needs to do something before he starts picking at his nails instead of the wood.

“Sure.”

“It’s in one of the red folders.”

“Would that be the one on the floor under your desk or the one on your dresser,” he says, sounding far too cheeky.

“The one on my dresser, and stop pretending you’re better than me, asshole.”

He clutches his chest dramatically, walking to her dresser. “Better than the best? How could I be?”

“Mmmhmm,” she responds, half ignoring him in favor of his speech, aware of the ticking clock.

It’s truly impossible for him to stay awake past ten, a fact that is only proven the next time she looks up and he’s asleep at her desk, pen still in hand and a research paper opened on her laptop. No matter how often she reminds him that the regimented lights out of the legion no longer applies to them, he just can’t seem to break the habit.

“Jason.” She nudges his shoulder, extracting the pen at the same moment so he can’t smudge her speech.

His head jerks, eyes alert, but voice groggy when he says, “What’s going on?” All legionnaires wake up in a similar manner, but for some reason it only strikes her as amusing when he does it.

She hadn’t thought of what she was waking him up for, besides a need to do it, and her mind wanders to the Forum, wondering if her favorite café would still be open at this hour. She’s starving, she realizes. Their meeting with the consuls had been pushed back and they had had to skip dinner to make it.

She grins. “Are you hungry?”

“Uh, yeah. How did you know?”

“Roof s’mores?”

“Reyna,” he drags out the last syllable, fading it into a sigh. “That takes energy.”

“Okay, but–” She holds her hands out, weighing them. “Would you rather spend the energy to just walk across the hall and go to sleep, or climb up to the roof with me and roast us a couple marshmallows?”

Jason looks at her like is that a real question? which had been her intention. She folds her hands into a pleading gesture and pouts emphatically–he’s always more flexible when she acts a little silly. “Please, Jace. I got that cheap chocolate you like. I’ll even get the stuff myself, you can go straight up.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes and she smiles, satisfied, and already on her way out the door.

The praetorian kitchen reminds her of office break rooms on television, besides the fact that it looks perpetually unnatural, mostly due to the fact that only three people go inside–her, Jason, and the Principa tender–and it’s always pristine. The only things actually kept in there are coffee, tea, and of course: her and Jason’s secret stash of s’more supplies, buried in the back of the cabinet with the untouched bowls.

By the time she’s through the roof access door, conveniently placed to hide it from the view of anyone on the ground, Jason is already sitting by the dark spot of ash that signifies their pastime. Because, yes, they started coming up here long before either of them were elected Praetor.

He’s a dark outline against the night sky, sitting criss-crossed and looking down at the façades of the other legion buildings, and briefly she has the thought that somebody could make a painting out of this. She slides her old Camp Jupiter ID back between the lock and door jamb, willing the thought to disappear with the potential of the fire alarm going off.

She shivers as she sits next to him, nose wrinkling with the cold now that she’s fully vulnerable to the elements. Without a word Jason removes his sweatshirt and passes it to her.

“I’m already wearing one.”

“Mine is thicker, trade me.”

And because he’s Jason, she does.

It’s slightly big on her, his shoulders just a few inches broader than her own, and a forest green. On the back is a printed vine of purple flowers and a date. She recognizes it as one of the prizes of the Ludi Florae, or Games of Flora, from Floralia last year. The festival sits right between April and May, and last year’s was the grandest of all. Or so Jason says. Everyone had been anxious about Mount Othrys, and apparently all of that energy had been funnelled into the events.

Reyna herself had been busy running for praetor. All she remembers from the festival is campaigning. And Jason, running up to her looking flushed, this sweatshirt thrown over one shoulder.

“Remember when I told you that you were the best, Jace,” she says sweetly once she is safely swaddled in his hoodie. He’s right–it is thicker.

Jason grins up at her, wrapping his hands around two marshmallows. “I may recall something along those lines having been said a long, long time ago.”

“Well, I just want to inform you that I retract that statement, because this sweatshirt is ugly and the cuffs are burnt.”

The electricity that had been slowly coursing over the ridges of his fingers flares for a second, and his hands fly open as if he was handed metal straight from the forges. “Oops.” Both of the marshmallows are burnt, but his lips are turned up in a poorly concealed smirk.

“I forget you’re a heathen,” she says primly, sticking her nose in the air instead of saying any of the less wholesome options at the back of her throat.

“Does liking burnt marshmallows make me a heathen?”

She pretends to mull it over for a second, extracting the rest of their supplies. “Yes. You have to buy the next bag because you’re mean and I say so.”

She takes the burnt marshmallow regardless, sandwiching it between her own chocolate and graham crackers. Jason takes three squares of the Hershey bar he likes for absolutely no good reason, and does the same. She shakes her head. He’s the fucking all American boy who sticks with the classics even when he doesn’t know they’re the classics. She has no idea how he does it.

They don’t talk while they eat, regrettably the silence reminding her of her childhood, no matter how hard she pushes against it. She looks up at the stars, trying to forget the cold kitchen, cold house, even in hundred degree heat. It’s times like this when the ring, and the chain she wears it on, weigh heavy on her neck.

It feels like a noose right now, just as much as it feels like freedom, like power, every other second of her life. Like a sentence, compelling her to pay for her crimes, to confess to them, to wreck her world so terribly that she would lose up from down and die. A fair punishment.

“What are you thinking about,” Jason asks a while after they’ve finished. She looks at him, sitting back on his hands, looking at her, not the sky. It’s dark on the roof, but the light from the street lamps seems to center around him. It glints off his hair, visibly blond even in the night, and pours into his eyes. They’re always so blue. So blue it looks fake. But they never cease to pull Reyna in. Sometimes she swears she can see lightning arc across his irises.

He’s always asking her questions like this. Innocent and curious, no ulterior motives, no goals. He genuinely wants to know. And if she doesn’t answer, he’ll drop it, because he always does. It’s not something she’s used to, even after all these years; this place she has in his mind, if not his heart. A place of utter respect. He doesn’t question her because he knows what she is thinking, and when he doesn’t, he accepts her. Would he still, if he knew what she did to her father?

She breaks his gaze with that thought. It’s too much. “My sister,” she says instead, and it doesn’t feel right to look back. Under oath, Reyna would say that Jason is the most important person in her life. Her best friend; the person she sees every day, talks to every day, eats with and works with. He is the closest thing she has to a family here. And she– And she loves him. Maybe as a little more than a friend. But talking about her sister while looking him in the eye feels too intimate, too intense. “She would like you.”

It is something to say, simply to say something, but maybe she isn’t wrong. There is something in Jason that reminds her of the Queen Anne’s Revenge, and not in the way that haunts her nightmares and twists her sheets around her until they become bonds she can’t quite break free of. Being on Blackbeard’s crew, that’s how Reyna learned hard work, in a way she never had before. It had instilled a drive in her, to change everything, to rewrite systems, to make something so beautiful it was unrecognizable. And perhaps Jason doesn’t have that same drive, but he knows the work. He goes out of his way to do it dirty and hard and long. He refuses to take the thousands of shortcuts he’s offered. And Hylla would admire that, she thinks.

“I had a sister,” he whispers.

For a second–just a second–she’s stuck. “What?”

“I had a sister.” He picks at a loose thread on his jeans for a moment, and that’s how she knows he’s serious, because he hates ripping his jeans more than almost anything else. He’s refusing to meet her gaze. “Thalia Grace.”

He says her name soft and tender. She can imagine him, standing over a hearth, cradling the name between his palms and looking at it the same way he first looked when he was gifted Ivlivs. Big, round eyes.

“That’s really nice, Jace,” she says, because he rarely surprises her, and for once she doesn’t know what to say.

He looks up at her, smiling tightly. His eyes are sad. Is that how she looks when she thinks about Hylla?

“You can tell me about her, if you want,” Reyna says when the moment becomes two, and then three, because Jason doesn’t bring up things he doesn’t want to talk about. But Jason also has his own ideas about debt, about worthiness, and it is clear to her that he told her about his sister in exchange for Reyna talking about her own.

He smiles at her. A real smile, if small. She feels warm, and it’s not from his extra thick sweatshirt.

“I don’t remember a lot about her, but… She had black hair. So dark, like the night. And her eyes, they were amazing. Bright blue, like a perfect sky. Sometimes I can see them, in this half-memory half-dream, and they’re so strong they look like how an electric shock feels.”

“Like yours,” she whispers, and Jason hums in a way that makes it frustratingly unclear if he heard her or not. She hopes not.

“When I was little,” he continues, after another moment of staring wistfully over the Twelfth Legion, “I used to imagine she was looking for me. That one day she would find me, here, be proud of me for– I don’t know what. Love me, or something. All that stupid shit.” He trails off again, picking at his nails, but she can’t bring herself to chide him.

There are things that she knows about Jason, true as the sun rising in the east and the pull of the moon on the tides and the sound of imperial gold on whetstone. She knows that he works hard, works with the public, flushes under the compliments of people older than him because he has never had a concrete parental figure. Not even one to hate, to fear, to mourn. She knows that he never trusts praise from these people because he knows his parentage, knows they know, knows that he is connected to his father in the eyes of these people in a way he doesn’t feel himself, and never will.

Truths of Jason that are pillars in her understanding of him, that were pivotal in their relationship. But like so many supports, they were never acknowledged. Truth has no need to be stated, and she has no compellence to state that which is unnecessary. He talks of Thalia, telling Reyna that he wants his sister to want him, to find him, and to love him not because he is a son of Jupiter, but because he’s him.

She doesn’t say, I don’t care about you because you’re the son of Jupiter, I care about you because you are my best friend. And she doesn’t say, I care about you because you listen to people, because you care about them and what happens to them so instinctively that I cannot understand it. She doesn’t say, I’m proud of you, and you should be proud of yourself.

She doesn’t say those things because he knows them, because they are truths, and truths do not need to be said.

But still, something must be done.

She– She’s always been bad at the physical things. She can do a handshake, a fist bump, but she has never been a hugger, no matter that Jason is. She’s never managed a hip-check, or a shoulder pat, or ruffled his hair in any way that wasn’t rough and meant to hurt.

But that doesn’t mean she can’t try.

She goes slow, leaning over slightly, feels the cool breeze breaking on her knuckles. Gently, perhaps more gently than she has done anything in her life, she takes his hands, detangles them, presses her finger pads against the bleeding bits where he’s torn his skin away. She closes her hands around his own, cups them in her palms.

He looks up at her, tears welled on his water line but nothing has spilled, and she feels his hands move in her own, feels him latch on, like when they were young and late for assignments, running across the grounds and refusing to leave each other behind. She looks into his eyes, wide. Electrifying. Just like she knew they were.

She waits for the moment to stretch and break, like moments oft do. Her last move is to give his hands a squeeze, hopefully reassuring, and he gives her another small smile and moves to wipe his eyes with the sleeves of her sweatshirt, the one he’s still wearing.

“We should probably be going to bed,” she says, because she doesn’t have anything else to say. He laughs, wetly, but in that way everybody laughs when they’re told something they already know. It makes her smile; it’s special when he does it.

Everybody isn’t wrong, she thinks as she and Jason part ways outside their rooms, Jason Grace is special. But not because he is the son of Jupiter. He’s special because Reyna had never wanted friends, and here he is, her best. He’s special because he does things, normal things, and they make her smile. He’s special because he does everything in his power to ensure he deserves the love he receives. And gods, she thinks, does he deserve it.

She slips off her necklace and gets under her duvet cover, curling up and fiddling with the cuffs of his sweatshirt. Chunks of the polyester-wool fabric are hard and melted from undoubtedly unfortunate rendezvous with electricity. She finds one, right where his thumb would rest, and rubs it between her own thumb and index finger as she falls asleep.

When she wakes up, she’s on a school bus.

—————

Others in this series: Amicus Certus in re Incerta Cernitur

#there's more info and clarifications in the end notes of ao3 so check those out #but i'm always happy to answer any questions about any of my writing #especially this series #chart writes #fic: Omnes una manet nox #jason grace #reyna avila ramirez arellano #Reyna!Swap au #alea iacta est #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #heroes of olympus #pjo fic #hoo fanfic #hoo #pjo #pjo fanfic #tw death mention #reyna ramirez arellano #riordanverse

[ukaisprincesss]

a/n: happy birthday to the one and only 😌

word count: 2.8k

semi-edited

———————————————————————

warnings: *inhales* 18+ smut, reader obsessed with dabi, quirk use, degradation, betrayal, oral m!recieving, name calling, dumification if you squint, dabi with a dick piercing, cursing, very minor blood mention, deep throating, slight violence, implied fighting, humiliation, smoking, inaccurate timeline, mind control kinda, choking, slightly insane reader, fingering, breeding kink if you squint

“Bye y/n! See you later for training!” Izuku waved at you with a grin on his face. You waved back before turning around and taking the route home. Your third year at UA was almost over, sometimes it felt like you were still a first year marveling at the wonders UA held for you.

Humming your favorite song Hero Too, you skipped along the sidewalk taking in the sounds and smells around you. This invoked a new melody inside you, your quirk taking over. You let out peals of notes inspired by your surroundings.

Your quirk, Melody, enabled you to use your surroundings and inspirations to create songs and tunes. You could use these tunes to overload the enemy with your inspiration. If you were inspired by a certain smell and the enemy heard you singing, that smell would invade your enemies scent overwhelmingly so. The same applies to their other 4 senses.

You always made sure no one was in range when you used your quirk to sing, you learned that the hard way as a kid.

Hmm, maybe you should stop and get something to eat. You only had a light lunch and still had a few hours before dinner. Deciding to get some Yakitori from a nearby stand, you changed direction and walked into town. The noises and smells were more harsh now, making it a bit difficult to not activate your quirk. Years of practice has helped you keep a hold on it, particularly when you’re in cities or at get togethers.

“Thanks!” you said to the woman working the stand, you handed over the respectable cost and searched for a good place to eat. Seeing a lone bench against a graffiti covered wall, you made your way toward it nibbling on your food. Before you could take your seat you were pulled backward and your vision went dark. A large hand covered your eyes.

“Guess who?” A husky voice spoke in your ear, cold staples brushed against your face sending a shiver up your spine. Your heart pounded in your chest as you let out a shaky breath. You kicked your lips before speaking. “Dabi...what are you doing here?”

Removing his hand you turned towards him, placing your hands on his chest. You stared into his icy eyes, the spark of emotion only present for you sent your heart soaring. He leaned down to press his lips against yours. Licking along your lips, he thrusted his tongue to entangle with yours. You let him take control, gripping his hair as you sunk into a lust filled haze. There was just something about Dabi that made you want to carry the world for him. You would do anything for him.

Dabi pulled away, you whined and leaned forward for more. He gripped your jaw, holding you in place. “You didn’t forget did you y/n?” He muttered, a frown on his face. You shook your head, smiling at him with adoration.

“Happy birthday baby, I was going to surprise you later but...it seems like you couldn’t stay away from me for too long.” You giggled and missed the flash of annoyance in his eyes. You thoroughly believed the villain was just as infatuated with you as you were him.

“Hm, yeah thank you. Anything new happen? When’s your next trip out of UA?” He questioned. What you didn’t realize was he was getting intel for the League of Villains. You thought he just wanted to know about your day and schedule. You were aware of the villainous role he played in the League of Villains, but that didn’t stop you from loving him. “Well, nothing yet but Mr.Aizawa won’t be here for the next few days. Izuku and I have some extra training tonight around 8 by the old wareh-”

You were cut off when Dabi pushed you to your knees, clearly hearing enough. “You know what to do y/n, I think it’s time for my birthday gift.” He looked down at you with a regal stare, effectively turning you on. Your pussy tingled as you rubbed your thighs together, eager to please the man you worshipped. You unbutton his pants and slide them down to land around his feet. His cock slapped your face, you were prepared as he usually went commando. You practically drooled at the sight, to you it was perfect. A large vein on the underside of his cock reaching the silver barbell that lay underneath his large mushroom head.

“What are you waiting for? Do your job slut.” Dabi looked down at you, teeth bared in irritation. You let out a purr of amusement and stroked his dick, pressing kitten licks along the head. Dabi huffed in annoyance, fisting your hair. “Stop teasing,” he muttered. You looked up with wide eyes, slowly taking his large cock into your mouth. No matter how many times you’ve sucked him off, you could never take his whole length by yourself. Relaxing your jaws as best as you could, you pushed your head forward and started to gag. You didn’t even have half of his cock in your mouth, you whined in disappointment and squeezed his thigh.

“God you’re fucking useless, I’ll have to get myself off as I always do.” Dabi growled and grabbed your head with both his hands, shoving his dick down your throat. You choked and gurgled, drool spilling out the sides of your mouth. The humiliation of not being able to please him hurt more than your mouth being stuffed with his cock. Maybe he didn’t mean it, maybe he just wasn’t in the mood. You were brought out of your head as the lack of oxygen kicked in. You struggled to keep your mouth around his cock, your mind telling you to pull back for air. No, you had to please him.

“You better not pull back whore, you’ll regret it.” Dabi gritted out, inhaling sharply. He threw his head back and let out a loud moan, not caring who could hear.

You willed yourself to hold out for a bit longer, but soon it was too much. You wrenched your head back with a gasp, breathing in heavy gulps of air. Tears trailed down your cheeks, you sniffed and looked up, taking his cock back into your mouth. Twirling your tongue around the head, right hand stroking the base of his cock and the other fondling his balls.

“Fuck y/n, that’s it, just like that. You suck my cock so good, my little cock sucker.” Dabi grinned, laying down more lewd words that went straight to your cunt. You could feel your juices slick your panties, your throbbing clit begging for attention. Hollowing your cheeks, you bobbed up and down his cock , his moans of pleasure spurring you on. Dabi came with a grunt, shoving his cock deep in your mouth, sending his seed down your throat. You swallowed as quick as you could, his large load burning your throat. He slowly pulled out, excess drool and cum covering his dick.

You sat up on shaky legs, the grit from the ground beneath you had dug into your knees and left small dots of blood and dirt marks. “Is it my turn now Dabi?” You asked excitedly, cunt throbbing at the thought of his long talented tongue.

He pulled up his pants and lit a cigarette with the tip of his finger. Dabi inhaled and let the nicotine run through him. He sure needed it after that. Turning to you, he blew it on your face, smirking as you let out a series of coughs.

“You know I hate when you do that.” You whined.

“Yeah, I know.” Dabi retaliated, taking another drag. “It’s time for you to leave, I have things to do.” He quickly brushed a scarred hand across your cheek and walked down the empty alley before you even had a chance to whine. You huffed angrily and dusted off your knees before grabbing your bag that fell in a suspiciously green puddle. It was upsetting having Dabi leave so soon, especially on his birthday. But if everything went right, you would see him soon again.

When you arrived home you took a shower and lounged around, waiting for the clock to hit 8. That was when you and Deku were going to train in a place where you could let your quirks out. You had to be in top shape for an upcoming infiltration mission. Your quirk was extremely useful in these situations, having only three limits. Whenever one of your senses were blocked, you couldn’t use that sense on other people. If your vocal cords are restricted in some way, then you wouldn’t be able to sing. Range being the last. If someone couldn’t hear you, your quirk didnt affect them.

It wasn’t long before your phone went off, alerting you that you had an hour before it was time to meet with your friend. You sat up and stretched, crumbs falling off your shirt from your snacks. Your mind drifted to Dabi again as you cleaned up the living area and put your costume on. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he was acting a bit odd, did you really piss him off that much? Shaking that thought away, you made sure you had everything and took the short walk to your destination.

~

“Are you sure about this?” Shigaraki hissed, not trusting the young adult one bit. Dabi threw his head back in exasperation. “Come on now, you assigned me to her in the first place. She’s fucking dense and tells me everything. Are we going or not?” Dabi’s insult to you hid his true feelings well. For the most part he saw you as only a pawn in the grand scheme of things, something he would chuck aside when the time came. But he couldn’t deny that small twinge of attention you took from him that manifested into something bigger.

“Of course we’re going!” Shigaraki slammed his cracked fist on the bar counter. “I won’t get another opportunity like this any time soon. Gather everyone and let’s go.”

~

“Hey Izuku!” You jogged towards your friend who sat on a bench waiting for your arrival. His fluffy green hair reassuring you it was him. Hearing his name being called, he looked up from his book and greeted you. “Oh, hey y/n! You’re a bit early.” You nodded and laughed, standing in front of him. “I was just sitting around so I wanted to come quick and train. I want to try out that new strategy of yours.” Izuku nodded and stood up. The two of you stretched and began practicing some light moves.

You failed to notice the pair of turquoise eyes on you, beckoning you forward. Dabi turned to Shigaraki and said, “Have dark hole over there warp me behind y/n. She doesn’t see me.” Shigaraki stared at the boy before turning towards Kurogiri. Kurogiri stepped forward and warped a portal in front of Dabi.

“Step in,” he instructured.

Dabi stepped through, hands lit with blue flames.

y/n and Izuku had briefly stopped their training to catch their breath. If the villians had taken an extra moment to pay close attention, they would’ve caught y/n’s moving throat and the low pitched noise that met their ears. You were singing.

The moment Dabi warped behind you, before he could even reach out, heroes from all around struck upon the Shigaraki and the others. The unprepared villains bunkered in a nearby abandoned building desperately fell on the defense as the wave of heroes blocked their exits. Kurogiri was the first one secured.

“Well would you like at that?” Dabi hissed, the faintest sign of nerves present. “Time for us to leave sugar.” Sending a burst of flames to the green-haired boy who was racing around the two, Dabi secured his grip on you and raced away.

“Dabi over there!” You cried out, clutching his shoulders. You pointed to an old warehouse that was used for quirk experimentation back in the day. A large padlocked fence holed it in. He scaled the fence with ease and darted around the side. Vaulting through a broken window, he set you down and peered outside.

“Well y/n it seems like-” Dabi was hit with a wave of pure lust. He sniffed the air, what was that intoxicating smell? He turned around dazed, peering at you with hooded eyes.

“y/n no,” he garbled, stumbling towards you. He lifted up his hand, lighting a weak flame. Another wave of unbearable lust flashed over him. He groaned and fell to his knees.

You stalked forward and kneeled down next to Dabi. You didn’t need to sing anymore, your job was done. Sending the most intoxicating and sexual smells and sounds from yourself to Dabi’s sense, you had turned him into an insatiable sex machine.

“You’re probably feeling a bit betrayed right now.” You said in the most sensuous voice Dabi ever heard. “I only lied to you a bit though. I really am infatuated with you, just not in the way you think. Forgive me?” You pouted, hand under his chin to meet his eyes.

Dabi was too busy palming his cock to answer. A wicked grin spread across your face. “Ah, is my Dabi all hard? Do you want to fuck me one last time?” You questioned, fingers trailing down his torso.

“God y/n, please I cant help it. I need your tight cunt.” Dabi moaned, his cock pulsing in need to stuff your wet pussy. You chuckled and cooed at him. “Don’t worry baby, I’m all yours for the taking. Use me, fuck me with all the hate you have for me.”

Dabi growled and lashed out, pinning you beneath him. He rutted against you with breathless moans, hands on your throat. He squeezed tightly, cutting off your airway. You clawed at his hands, loosening them to laugh manically. Dabi burned several holes in your costume shredding it off you.

“Fuck,” he groaned out, staring at your soaking wet panties. “You’re still such a slut for me.” He pulled them aside not having the patience to take them off before stuffing two fingers into your cunt. You moaned and lifted your hips, his fingers scissoring deep inside you. Pressing his thumb against your clit, he rubbed in slow circles. You scrambled for a hold on the ground, back arching as you came. Your pussy quivered around his fingers, clutching onto them. He pulled them out with a drunk grin and sucked them into his mouth. “Your cunt is the tastiest thing I’ve ever had.” He moaned out, licking the sides of his fingers to collect every drop of your juices.

You sat up on your elbows with a dazed expression, watching him lick his fingers. It turned you on, leaving your cunt to drip on the concrete beneath you. Dabi grabbed your ankles and pulled you to him. Tearing his pants off in haste, he picked you up and sat you down on his cock with a heavy thrust.

“Oh fuck!” You both moaned out in sync, gripping onto each other. Dabi thrust into you unrelentingly, moaning out your name. “This tight cunt is mine y/n, all fucking mine. No one is going to take you from me.” He howled out, mind taken over by the smell and sight of you. He leaned forward taking your breast in his mouth. He sucked harshly, leaving your nipple swollen.

“D-dabi fuck!” You stuttered out. The stimulation of his fat cock in you and his lips on your nipple drove you to orgasm. Your cunt tightened around his dick, inciting a groan from him.

He grunted and wrapped a hand around your throat, holding you up with one arm and his cock. “That’s right slut, cum around my dick. Your pussy is so needy for me.” He thrusted deeply, hitting your cervix. Your eyes rolled back as you gurgled out a moan. He battered your cervix relentlessly, leaving you a pathetic drooling mess. Pressing you against the wall, he placed his hands by your head and fucked you at a new angle. The pleasure was unbearable, your mind swirled with nothing but Dabi’s continuous thrusts.

“I’m g-gonna cum y/n, fuck I’m gonna cum. Your pussy s’good.” Dabi was just as incoherent as you were, drunk on lust. Rooting himself deep in you, he groaned as his seed spurted against your womb. His eyes rolled back at the thought of breeding you, leaving you pregnant with his kids.

You were left quivering, his twitching cock triggering another orgasm. You gasped and clawed his back, biting your lip. Dabi pulled out his now soft cock, his piercing leaving a burning sensation against the walls of your battered pussy.

Dabi slumped to the floor, his vision spotting. You crawled towards him out of breath. “Happy Birthday Dabi,” you muttered, pressing a kiss against his lips. Dabi slipped into unconsciousness, not once waking up as he was taken away by the pro heroes to live an imprisoned life in solitude.

#mha #bnha #my hero academia #dabi x reader #dabi smut #dabi filth #dabi x y/n #dabi #fuck this killed me #happy birthday dabi #i need to get better at tags #mha smut

[xwing-baby]

Pull Over (Frankie Morales x gn!Reader)

Warnings: Fluff!! description of a dead bird, swearing, not edited

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: On a cross country road trip with your boyfriend Frankie, you wake to a beautiful sight...

A/n: I’ve pining for Frankie all week, add this gorgeous prompt photo and this is the result

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You woke up slowly to the sound of Frankie mumbling along to the radio, as he had been when you fell asleep. Blue sky was all you could see out the window as you slumped in your seat, it wasn’t until you sat up properly that you saw the majesty of your surroundings. You gasped at the sigh of the expansive red dirt, sun dancing on the endless road ahead in mirages. The last time your eyes were open you were driving through concrete suburbs, a far cry from the desolate and beautiful desert you drove in now.

“Holy shit, Frankie!” You exclaimed, choking up in emotion at the sight through the windshield. Frankie startled at your sudden proclamation, “Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?” Tears streamed down your cheeks, happy tears, shocked and amazed tears. You wiped them quickly from your eyes hoping your fiancé wouldn’t see.

“Are you crying?” Frankie laughed, turning his head for a moment to look at you properly. He didn’t miss the tightness in your voice.

“Shut up,” You sniffed, wiping your eyes, “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I didn’t know you’d react like that!” Frankie continued to laugh at you, “And besides you looked cute!”

“That is not an excuse!” You exclaimed, cheeks heating up at his compliment, “Oh Babe, it's so beautiful,” You sighed happily. You pulled your phone from your jeans and took pictures through the truck window. They’d come out blurry and scratched, Frankie knew that. Then he had an idea.

“Do you want to pull over to take a proper photo?” He asked. Your mom had recently given you her old polaroid camera, the one she used when you and your siblings were younger. Having been there as a stop on the road trip already, it was sat in your bag waiting to be used. Here would be the best location to start, he thought. 

“Really? What about your schedule?” Ever the military man, Frankie liked to have a plan and stuck to it religiously. You’d been on the road for two weeks, he had planned every moment down the minute. He’d refused to stop at rest stops, despite if he himself needed to pee, all in the name of the schedule. You were surprised he was allowing the break. 

“Baby I can allow five minutes for a photo I’m not a complete hard ass,” He chuckled, “there's a stop point up ahead, I’ll pull over there and you can take some,”

You cheered and began to root around the stuffed backpack in the footwell to find out the camera. Frankie pulled the truck up ahead a few meters, parked and you jumped out eagerly.

“Fuck me it’s hot,” Outside of the cool AC in the vehicle, the air was dry but scorching hot. You could practically feel the soles of your shoes melting to the tar as you stood on the road. 

“It is a desert,” Frankie said, looking around at the expansive nothingness.

“Really? Would never have guessed!” You stuck your tongue out at him, he copied and you quickly snapped a photo. Frankie pouted and reached for the paper as it printed but you were fast and slipped the photograph in your pocket before he could get it and ruin it. 

Frankie wandered around the truck, you walked a few paces in the opposite direction enjoying stretching your legs. You’d been driving for eight hours, even if you had been asleep for the last two hours, your legs were cramped up. You stretched them out as you walked through the red dirt, watching your sneakers slowly become red stained too. You snapped a photo of Frankie leant against the truck staring off into the distance, a photo cliffs in the distance and then...

“Ah gross there's a skeleton!” You exclaimed. A half rotted carcass lay on the side of the road, bones pale under the beating sun it had been there for a while. It used to be a bird, though its feathers were gone. You stepped closer to it to get a better look.

“Don’t go closer to it!” Frankie said, walking over to you to look at it too.

“What? It’s already dead, it’s cool!” You peered at it, gagging as the smell of rotting flesh hit you. You retreated back to him and wrapped your arms around his waist as you took in the expansive desert surrounding you. 

“I do worry about you sometimes,” He teased you. 

“As you should, baby,” You grinned and kissed him quickly. “Take a picture of me, I’ve got loads of you,”

“Watch for cars,” Frankie warned as you stepped into the middle of the road. 

“Somehow I think I might see them,” You joked, it was clear from miles around you. You stood in the road and posed for the photo, waiting for a moment before calling back, ”Did you take it?”

“If you stop moving!” 

“I’m posing!” You laughed, Frankie raised a brow. “Fine I’ll hold still for you, slow poke,”

“Got one,” He said after another couple seconds. You sighed and jogged back over and took the developing photo from his fingers. You smiled, it was a really nice photo actually. 

“That’s cute! You are a surprisingly good photographer,”

“What can I say, I’m a man of many talents,” He smiled proudly. 

“That you are,” You pressed up on your toes and kissed him on the lips again, “I’m going to take a couple more and then I will be back in the car and we can get to Vegas!” You sang, doing an excited dance at the thought of finally getting to your destination. Frankie cheered too and laughed heartily before giving you ass a little tap and letting you go. 

He watched you wander about in the wilderness ahead, ever the adventurer. Unlike him, you didn’t really know the harshness of the world. You knew the things he had done, the things he’d seen, but only through stories. You weren’t hardened to the world like he was, like he used to be. Pope always teased him that you’d turned him soft but Frankie couldn’t find fault in that if it meant he could have moments like this. Usually a small reminder in his head would tell him to watch the back mirror, to watch for people hidden on the side of the road. Now, he didn’t think about any of that and instead watched you stride fearlessly into the unknown, smiling at the wildness taking photos as if you belonged among the rocks that surrounded you. 

Your smile was his favourite thing in the world. He would rather die than never wake up to see it again. You brought so much joy into his life, even when things were tough to hope that you would stick around long enough to smile again helped him through. Through fights, through low moments for the both of you the smile always sat as the prize for getting through the dark. It was what he dreamt of stuck in the Andes, it was what drove him home when he wanted to run away from everything. You.

The question had been his head the entire trip. He wanted to ask at a good time, a romantic spot meant something to the two of you. One memorable and meaningful. His plan was to take you out to California, where you’d met, and propose on the same beach. But each day with you in the truck was making him impatient. He nearly slipped it out when you had sex in the horrible motel you’d stayed at the night before. He was desperate, couldn’t wait another day to ask you to be his for forever. Now, watching you and your reaction to seeing it waking up from your nap. Maybe he didn’t need California, and past memories. Maybe he could make new ones here in the middle of the desert.

He watched you walk back to the truck, slipping the last polaroid into your back pocket. You opened the door and smiled at him. That smile. The decision was made. He had to ask now.

“What?” You asked, with an awkward laugh. You could tell he wanted to say something. He didn’t so you began to pack up your camera, putting it and the polaroid photos you’d taken away safely.

“What would you say if I asked you to marry me?” He asked, you stopped fiddling with your backpack and looked back up at him. Your heart fluttered in your chest. 

“What?” You were surprised. You had spoken about marriage with him, from the beginning of your relationship you had joked about being grumpy grandparents on a porch swing together. You just didn’t think Frankie was the type to just ask like this. You sat up and looked at your boyfriend. He was staring directly at you, he cleared his throat and readjusted his shirt. 

“Marry me? Tonight. In Vegas,” He said with more confidence, “Our friends are already there, I don’t have ring but we can go get one when we get there and I-,” He stopped, catching himself rambling, getting excited at the idea, “I would like to marry you,” He admitted, with a hopeful smile.

“You’re serious?” You asked, shocked at his words in the best way. Francisco didn’t speak, looking back at you with hopeful eyes. He needed an answer, “Yes of course I’ll marry you! Yes!”

“Thank fuck,” He gasped as you leaned over the console and kissed him hard. You’d kissed him a million times, but this was special, a new spark. 

“I have one condition,” You said as you pulled away. 

“Anything,” He smiled, eyes starry looking at you, so full of love.

“I want an Elvis impersonator to officiate” You tried to remain serious but couldn’t fight the grin on your lips. Frankie laughed and shook his head, “And you need to call my dad,” You said seriously, “I know it takes away from the spontaneity but he’d be-,”

“Already asked him, two weeks ago,” He interrupted you. Your jaw dropped, shocked.

“We were at their- Oh my god that’s why Dad had that stupid grin on his face when we left, isn’t it?” You gasped, hitting his arm playfully.

“Maybe,” He smirked, proud of himself now his plan had fully worked out. You gaped at him, 

“So you really planned to propose next to a decaying bird?” You looked at the skeleton again, curling your lip at it.

“The bird wasn’t in the plan,” He chuckled, turning your attention back to him with his hands on your cheeks. You smiled and leant into his touch, affectionately. 

“I love you Frankie Morales,” you whispered. 

“I love you too sweetheart,” 

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tagging: @autumnleaves1991-blog​ the wonderful host of this awesome game

@hunters-heathen​ @peterssweetpea​ @beskarbabs​ @this-cat-is-dea​ @wille-zarr​ 

#writer wednesday #frankie morales x reader #catfish x reader #frankie x reader #triple frontier x reader #x reader #francisco morales x reader #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character x reader #triple frontier #frankie catfish morales #frankie catfish morales x reader #fluff #x reader fluff #frankie x reader fluff #molly writes