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#everyone knows the reputation of people obsessed with purple

theemporium · 8 months

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i would love a crumb of hockey!james who sees you in the stands wearing his jersey with a hickey from the night before and he gets so Distracted

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

James was usually very good at keeping his focus on the game.

His eyes would sometimes wander through the crowd in the bleachers on the off chance he would see someone he recognised. Sometimes it was his parents. Sometimes it would be his friends that weren’t on the team. Sometimes it would be fans he recognised over the countless games he played.

He never expected to see you.

Your relationship with the hockey captain was new, if you could even call it a relationship. You were wary, and James understood why. Hockey boys had a notorious reputation for their dating lives—or lack thereof—and you would rather not have your heart broken by the James Potter of all hockey players.

So, it was new and it was fun and it didn’t really have a label. Not that James minded all that much, he was downright obsessed with you and he would do whatever he could to make sure you knew that.

And as much as he wanted you at his games—as much as he wanted you to be there when he scored a goal or to see you when he walked out the locker room after the game—he didn’t want to push your boundaries. He wanted to respect the space you created between the two of you.

So, when he was skating up and down the ice with a puck on his stick, the last thing he expected to see when he lifted his head towards the crowd for a short moment was to see you standing in the bleachers, grinning from ear to ear once he caught your gaze.

You looked radiant. James could barely pay attention to anything else in the arena because his girl was standing in the crowd, and his heart was fucking soaring. And just when he thought he was able to wrap his head around everything, you were turning around and he saw his name and number plastered across your back.

You were wearing a jersey—his fucking jersey.

“Woah, dude, what the fuck?” Sirius laughed when James skated right into his back, but the boy was too dazed and lovesick to even properly apologise. “Prongs, you good?”

James turned to him, a giddy grin on his face. “I feel fucking great! Let’s fucking do this!”

Sirius raised his brows but didn’t question his captain.

Nobody had ever seen James so hyped up and eager to leave the locker room after the game ended. They won—completely thrashed the opposing team—and knowing his girl watched all three of his goals made James feel like he was buzzing.

He practically skipped out the locker room after Coach’s talk, his eager eyes glancing through the crowd of people waiting outside in the hallway until his eyes fell on you. He didn’t care about the other eyes on his as he made a beeline towards you, his arms hoisting you into the air and spinning you the second he was close enough.

“James, put me down!” You laughed as you wound your arms around his neck on instinct.

He listened but he didn’t unwrap himself from you. “You came.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” you murmured with a grin.

“Consider me fucking surprised,” James grinned, opening his mouth to make a comment about how pretty you looked in his jersey when all of a sudden he saw the purple bruise on the side of your neck. He raised his brows, his thumb brushing over the mark. “You usually cover them.”

You almost looked a bit nervous. “Maybe I wanted everyone to know who gets Captain James Potter in their bed.”

James bit back his grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, baby,” you murmured and smiled widely when he leaned down to press his lips against yours.

“I’m gonna show you off to everyone,” he muttered between frantic kisses. “Gonna show the whole world that I have the prettiest girl.”

“Maybe you can do that after we celebrate, Mr Hatrick,” you whispered, your fingers playfully tugging the hair at the nape of his neck. “Don’t you wanna see what’s under this jersey?”

James let out a small curse before grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the exit. “Let’s go home.”

“James, what about—”

“They can cope without me for the night, my plans are all booked out, princess!”

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elusive---ivory · 11 months

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Yandere!Superhero x Reader

I wanted to see what would happen if I made someone that's supposed to protect people, then make them yandere. Muahahaha. TW: yandere tendencies, manipulation, power

He's a bird! He's a plane! Nope, he's your neighborhood-friendly superhero. He's the strongest and most courageous man. Men and women swoon over such a generous and kind-hearted hero. His powers are limitless, and he can fly higher than the sky itself.

He'd never believed that he would be able to save the world. Of course, there's the Villain of the story, but he's just as harmless as the Hero. The Hero is a very social person and practically knows everyone in the city by name.

However, he had his eyes set on a very special person.

You were new in town, and excited to see the big city. People were nice and kind. You could see yourself blending in well with the community. Little did you know, you lived right next to the sun-powered superhero, Solar Man.

Sunny was thrilled to have a new neighbor. He had a good reputation with the folks he lived around.

To him, it was always fun to meet new people. When he knocked on your door, and he saw you, he was speechless. He had a pie that his old lady neighbor had baked, which he promptly dropped. You smiled, gently, helping him pick what's left of the pie off the floor.

"Ah, butterfingers." He smiled brightly. "I'm glad we were able to save this pie!"

You laugh. "Oh, absolutely, Cherry is my favorite."

He could melt in the memories that made him fonder of you. It was charming to have a superhero look over the city, but he carefully selected you. You were the only thing on his mind. He dropped down to where your apartment. He was now wearing his superhero outfit, a bright blue jumpsuit with painted-on sunbeams. He appeared at your balcony with a smug look.

You smirked, seeing through his superhero disguise. "Sunny? Is that you?"

He let out a heroic laugh. "Sunny? Oh no, citizen, I am Solar Man; protector of the innocent."

You chuckle to yourself. Unlike the people of this town, you immediately saw through his cheesy superhero disguise. You were the only person that cared for the safety of the Hero. He's spent his life serving others, but he feels like it's his destiny to serve you.

His obsession starts out so innocently. You were his best friend after all. But, as he got closer to you. Sunny started feeling a burdened feeling. If there was any other person, then he'd be fine. He'd be great even, but his feelings for you were so strong. You were seeing different guys and girls throughout the city. However, you didn't feel any connection with them, like you did with Sunny.

He knew it, too. He was broken up by his heartache until the Villain showed up. His nemesis used his weakness against him. You were captured by Victor.

Victor kept you in his very 'well-hidden' lair, where the Hero has been multiple times. You weren't alarmed, but you were cautious of your surroundings.

The Hero arrived, with much haste, but there was something different about him. His eyes were much darker, and his expression was that of rage.

"Ah, Solar-man, it's time you see what happens when things don't go according to your plan." Victor yelled out.

Sunny swooped up Victor and started throwing him in the air, then punching him into the ground. He started punching Victor over and over until he was completely purple with bruises.

Sunny stopped himself. He could look behind Victor and see his reflection. He turned to see your horrified expression. You could tell that he'd gone too far.

Sunny solemnly looked over at you, completely mortified by his actions. "...I'm so sorry... I should've been there to protect you."

You sigh, and hold him close. "I can protect myself, Sunny. I can see the stress is getting to you. Maybe you should take a break from Solar Man for a while."

His expression softens as he holds you close. He smiles gently. "Maybe you're right. But, just know that I would do anything for you. Anything.."

#yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere x reader #yandere boyfriend #yandere superhero #yandere superhero x reader #yandere x darling #yandere boyfriend x reader #yandere boy #male yandere #yandere male x reader #yancore

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tartarduck · 9 months

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NXX as otome isekai male leads

It's been a while since I read OIs, so please feel free to correct any inaccuracies to the plot. This is just for fun and has been stewing in my silly little brain for a while so please do send me asks/replies if you want to add on! (and do note: it's definitely incomplete :')) more in the last few dot points)

Spoilers ahead!

Luke as Joseph (I Am the Real One)

A knight who's known the Keira (the FL) for a long time (need I say more?)

Has a friendly rivalry with her as the vice-captain of the knights (lukerosa totally went head-to-head against each other in every exam as the top students in their grade)

One of the only people who stood by Keira even as she was executed for treason. He believed in her in every timeline, even after everyone else turned against her

Bonus: had to go shopping for fancy clothes because he only ever wore his knight uniform (i'm looking at you and your questionable wardrobe there, luke pearce)

Artem as Ruediger Winterwald (The Villainess Flips the Script)

(full disclosure, i have not caught up with this one for a while..!)

A stone-cold appearance with a heart of gold

Emotionally repressed because his childhood, and is bound to family duty (oh i want both him and artem to live for themselves a little more!!)

Bought a bunch of jewelry for Judith (the FL) but she just dismissed it as him being nice (early artemrosa much... oh hang in there pre-relationship artem, you'll get there one day)

Now the biggest difference between Artem and Ruediger is that Ruediger will bulldoze his way through any issues he encounters because he's a Winterwald. He's just being blunt. Artem, on the other hand, will overthink everything -- he's not the type to speak his feelings so directly.

The truth is, I think Artem is the ML that i would say has the most similarities to a lot of OI MLs, but off the top of my head, I really can't pinpoint one that's exactly like him.

Marius as Heinrey (The Remarried Empress)

(Starts off as) the second prince of a neighbouring kingdom

Pretends to be a womaniser and purposefully destroys his reputation but he's actually a schemer and also did it to make his older brother look better (this is precisely why i didn't put any other playful prince-type ml here for marius. it's HIM. it's both of them!!)

It's the younger ML thing I swear, but he's calculative, but also so innocent. Look at his pleading eyes!

Bonus: has purple eyes (yes that counts. just look at how they're shaped!! their eyes look similar i SWEAR)

Vyn as... ???

I WILL EDIT this as soon as I find one but oh my god I've scoured the depths of my OI library and I CANNOT for the life of me find one with an ML who's similar to Vyn.

They are either (1) too obsessive or (2) too playful WHERE IS THE BALANCE

Please!! Vyn simps.. if you know of one PLEASE let me know !!

#otome isekai is my guilty pleasure (take 2)#words #anyway vyn stans who read oi pls #i need your braincells!! i require them!!!

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lovefrombegonia · 4 months

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I'm gonna up the game what if xuan su was s sword he wasn't supposed to draw bc it came from the heavens or whatever so bonding with the sword sent him straight up to heaven but he still had to be locked in a spiritual cave to stabilize his core and meridians but- he's supposed to stay there ten years but he can't he has to save xiao-jiu so he forcibly exits cultivation after one year, which causes him the same hangs up with xuan su as in canon as heavenly punishment for his impatience, but since he ascended anyway now he also has the power of heaven every time he unsheathes xuan su

oh and he was late to rescue sj anyway

He also has a mark of sin around his throat that flashes out every time he gets emotional or draws his sword

Anyway thank now i won't be able to stop thinking about heavenly demon yqy scenarios

*HEAVY BREATHING*

@zykamiliah why....WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?? Why would you give me the idea of a heavenly warrior being Yue Qingyuan wearing a COLLAR OF SHAME AND PUNISHMENT (HELLO??? SEXY???), so powerful, so beautiful, and yet...still being late for his Xiao Jiu. You just gave me everything I love about YQY, his pathetic charm, his silent power, him trying his best but failing but trying again coz that's just who he is, and multiplied it with heavenly punishment collar!!!

How am I supposed to process this? I am sad. I am awestruck. I am intrigued. I am horny. I NEED HIM!!

Yue Qingyuan basically becomes a living legend. A disciple so destined greatness that he achieved divinity but punished due to him rushing for power. He probably gets a bad reputation of getting obsessed with power. They probably give bombastic side eyes to YQY but he does not care. He did all this for saving Shen Jiu, and in the end, all that was for naught to him coz he failed to did so. He is too lost grief. No one dares to say him to his face tho. Disciple YQY got demons challenging him to show their powers. They see the curse mark in his neck but YQY is still very young, won't even glare or appear to be threatening, always appearing quiet, mild-mannered. Opposite of arrogant, basically. So, they are like "oh yeah...it's gonna be difficult but I can beat this kid in the end hehehe~~". But then YQY fights back (despite his outer peaceful appearance, he does have a lot of repressed anger and rage which he always directs to demonic threats), and the demons are getting the beating of their lives.

He probably gets expelled from the sect too. Or at the very least, ostracised unofficially. He never speaks much after that. But the legend of the silent protector of the cang qiong mountain sect spreads like wildfire!

Is it really safe to trust the one with an obsessive nature? Is he even human anymore? Are the rumours true that he is half demon? Where is his family? No one knows his origin. People say he has very friendly and accepting appearance. He smiles gently. He talks politely. He is not even that ashamed of his collar. Not to mention, he is very handsome and distinguished looking. Surprisingly, his fellow martial siblings seem to still trust him. He is also rumoured to have the odd habit of just staring at falling leaves, getting lost in his own mind.

He is never quick to anger. But the rare times it happens, his eyes glow gold, purple and gold fire seems to surround him, bursting in a fight for dominance as if the heaven and hellish abyss fighting within him, his collar of shame burning red in his skin, creating a vibrant contrast compared to his black and white robes; his oppressive and dense qi affecting everyone around him. And if you're the target of his wrath...even heavens would pray for your safety.

NB: I don't think he will be a head disciple or the future sect leader anymore. More like a silent guardian of the sect and stays as an elder of qiong ding? All the points would still apply even if he becomes a rogue cultivator.

How would he meet shen jiu again tho? He can't really meet him through the canon event now.

Hmm....maybe he meets him while YQY was actually trying to hunt down the notorious wu yanzi. SJ will be no doubt still extremely angry at his qi-ge for "abandoning" him but he would be having (demanding) a ton of questions a daMN HEAVENLY CURSE SHACKLE ON HIS NECK?! WHAT THE FUCK, QI-GE?!!?!!

#saya answers.#yue qingyuan #svsss au #pidw au #bamf yue qingyuan #sad boi yue qingyuan #saya rambles.

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linabirb · 4 months

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What are your favourite ship tropes? 👀

tysm for asking this!! warning some tropes can be very. specific

pink and purple. red and blue. you get it.

"i know i tried to kill you like ten minutes earlier but for some reason we're besties now <3 yayyyyyy"

"i NEED to save you. i WILL save you. the things i'm going to do to save you and how healthy my obsession with saving you is depends on the media i'm from and what kind of person i am"

a character gets saved by the character you least expected that from and it turns out they actually have a lot in common and their relationship has a lot of potential. also both of them have trauma that they can heal from together <3

characters trying to heal each other in general is one of my most fav ship tropes. i like it in both cute and fluffy and toxic and unhealthy ways 😌

this image. again, can be in a cute way, but also can be in an insane and violent and toxic yandere way

characters slowly going insane together and making each other worse for some reason!

characters have something the other doesn't have and wishes someone could give them

"i know i've said i'm over you but i lied so let's repeat the toxic relationship cycle again babey!!"

on the other hand i also love ships that you THINK are toxic at first but then you learn more about them and you're like. what the hell. they're so cute actually. i am going to bite them. or maybe they're still toxic but they also have moments that make you think "omg.. there's still love they just don't know how to express it.." it makes me want to run away into the woods with tears in my eyes /pos

character a worshipping character b and there being an implication that character b POSSIBLY likes them back. maybe. who knows.

SUN X MOON...

character a who is so so pure and so so innocent from the outside but is actually a menace x character b who has a horrible reputation but is actually a sweetie

"for one reason or another, i literally can't leave you alone. maybe we have no choice but to be together because of some kind of contract, maybe i'm haunting you, maybe there's an arranged marriage, but anyway hiiiii <3 good luck getting rid of me"

whatever these two have going on

two chaotic and insane people are together now and they're about to become even more chaotic and insane everyone be careful

character a has trouble understanding even the most "basic" things for some reason, maybe they're just a little silly or they're implied to have some kind of disability and character b is genuinely very patient with them and explains them everything and answers all their questions and they're the only one who treats them so kindly. ships like this save my cold and tired soul

😆 x 😐. don't need to say anything else

#pretty much all of my fav ships in media and my ocs relationships fall into at least one of these categories #i'm telling you some linagram 2 dynamics are already gonna be like that HSJKSKSLS #i do love toxic ships that are. genuinely unhealthy and i would never want to go through smth like that irl #but i have a lot of cute ships too!#it's just that shipping something that would be toxic irl actually kinda helps me.. heal in some way?#like it helps me recognize that i would never want to be treated like this irl but at least i can “experience” that in fiction #and also. they're just fun!#meanwhile cute ships are like. warm soup. they're healing in that way #i most likely forgot some but these are the ones i can think of rn #[ 💌 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 ]#[ 💕 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐚'𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 ]#[ 💫𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝: 𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐚 ]

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mikkokomori · 1 year

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hi! i just realized i haven't shared sunny's role in the car accident au, and let me say, it's...wild.

basically, faraway cops are bastards. there weren't any security cameras or anything where the hit and run happened, they don't handle murder cases often, and they don't want to taint their "quaint small town" reputation, so they kind of just. cover up mari's death and aren't great at finding the culprit, even despite hero being in constant contact with them and being desperate for justice. sunny, along with hero, is extremely distraught and wants to find out who killed his sister, so he's like, "you know what? i may be 16 years old, but i'm doing the police's job for them."

he has severe anxiety with talking to people and it's really taxing on his voice, but he sets it aside the best he can to interview people around the neighborhood and gather evidence. it doesn't even cross his mind to interview his own friends, but the friend group learns about what he's doing and kel and aubrey are just... nervously sweating......

but yeah, it's not fun for sunny at all. it gets to a point where he's so obsessed with mari dying and so paranoid that he pretty much lives and breathes this murder case, isolates himself, and has trouble trusting anybody. he dyed his hair purple with mari's leftover dye, and started dressing up nicely because mari would always scold him for not looking presentable, saying that it "makes a good impression". considering that so much of sunny's grief hinges on not knowing who mari's killer is, it's the top motivator for aubrey and kel to tell everyone the truth. poor guy.

Such a little man, a little guy, a poor little meow meow, a--

#car accident au #omori #omori sunny #omori spoilers #mikos art #hartlow asks #miko panta #miko talks

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a4wsome4fu0ck · 5 months

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Since ive read the doc from top to bottom I want to ask something to the people who claim that this, "drama shouldn't be public".

If you look at one of the screenshots, yk after just a few seconds of scrolling, Quartelz and her friends were harassing Purple in her comment sections of almost every upload. So let's say, Purple didn't delete those comments. What would that look like for Quartelz and her friends with huge followings that you decide to harass your ex's partner online for everyone to see? Giving them permission to do it as well. A leading example of this would be in the "Honest" animation. They let all the backlash flow in their server and Oranges' community post. Laughing it up until they had their fun and decided to tell people to "not harass them". Just for them to do it themselves.

To some of the people who also go, "Well we're not all beyond getting revenge on an ex" which I agree. But at some point you have to turn around and let yourself go. When you don't love or care about someone, you let them go. This goes out to both Quartelz and Orange. When they stopped loving each other, they didn't know how to let each other go. So when Orange lets go for good, it feels estranged to Quartz that their usual back and forth wasn't ever going to pick up again. It seemed like more out of an obsession than just "revenge". And she tagged her friends along with her because she was hurting. Which only ruins their reputation as well for being apart of it.

So with all that out of the way, Orange privately apologized, AND publicly apologized. Addressing their wrongdoings, but Quartelz haven't. Then again this doc isn't just between Orange and Quartz so when she apologizes she has to apologize to the 4-5 other people she's affected. Which I don't know when since she's pumped out so many drawings and streaming and animating. But whenever she does, some of you have to understand that she isn't "forced to bend for her abuser". Two people made wrongs, and both have to apologize for them. None of this would've transpired in the first place, if Quartelz would have just let things go back in August/September of 2022.

Thank you for wording this through Anonymous. We have nothing else to add or subtract from your statement.

#quartelz #animation meme community #animation meme

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r-we-taire-yet · 1 year

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"Not sure if you could tell, but I'm not exactly a people person."

---

Sleepy Hollow was a small town. It was hard to avoid people, no matter how much one wanted to, and Matilda very much wanted to. High school was hard enough without the suspicious glances and hushed whispers of classmates. All her life kids had teased her for being a witch, everyone but Kat. Kat was the only friend she needed, she was the only person she needed. One person was enough when the rest of the world seemed to hate her for who she was.

But Brom Bones was making things difficult. Ever since he started dating Kat, he'd made an effort to get to know Matilda too, and it was really getting in her way of being a loner. Brom would bring his Babes everywhere he went, so every time he wanted to chat they descended upon her like a pack of extremely dense wolves. All Matilda wanted was to read her book and survive senior year so she would never have to step foot in that school again, but Brom as always had other plans.

"Hey, Matilda! What are you reading?" Brom asked as he sat across from her at table in the library.

Matilda sighed and kept the book in place to try to signal her lack of interest in the conversation. "You wouldn't like it."

"Maybe I will!" Brom said. "Why wouldn't I like it?"

Matilda turned the book around to show both pages were entirely full of words without paragraph breaks. "Because Oscar Wilde really liked to write long purple prose."

Brom winced at the look of it but his smile didn't waver. "Maybe you can tell me about it instead?"

"Where are the Babes?" Matilda asked, turning the book around and trying to read again. "Did they abandon you so you decided to bother me instead?"

"Nah, I sent them to find the comic books. You always seem so uncomfortable when we're all around, so I wanted to talk to you one-on-one instead," Brom said.

"And why is that?" Matilda sighed.

"Because you're Kat's friend and I want to be your friend too," Brom explained, almost sounding genuine.

Brom could be a bully. He had all the toxic masculinity of the average high school jock and had a reputation for picking on people who were outside the norm. Matilda didn't know what Kat saw in the guy most of the time, she never wanted to be around him. There were times though, when Brom showed a different side, a nicer, gentle side. Matilda suspected there might be a genuinely nice guy trapped under all the layers of high school bullshit Brom had. Sometimes he seemed just... kind. Dumb, but kind. All the teasing and bullying got in the way of her actually wanting to be associated with him though.

"Who says I want to be your friend?" Matilda asked.

Brom frowned. "Why don't you want to be my friend?"

"Well, you're a bully," Matilda said. "You make fun of people who don't fit in and make their already difficult lives worse. You throw around your strength to intimidate others. You act like women should be glad to be around you as if they don't have their own thoughts and feelings. Your view of masculinity makes your life worse because you won't let yourself be as close to the Babes as you guys could be. Basically, you have a lot of work to do on yourself before I would want to be your friend and I'm really not sure you're willing or capable of doing that."

Brom stared at her in utter shock with his jaw hanging open as he tried to process what she'd said. "... Wow... harsh."

"Well it's true," Matilda said.

"You don't just say that kinda thing to someone!" Brom said. "That's not the kind of thing you're supposed to tell someone who wants to be your friend!"

"Not sure if you could tell, but I'm not exactly a people person," Matilda said. "I'm not looking for friends, certainly not from toxic masculinity obsessed bullies who act like they own the planet. Fix your attitude and then we'll talk."

"... Fine! I will! I'll show you! I'll be the least toxicly masculinity anti-bully you've ever met and you'll see you were wrong!" Brom said, standing up and saying loudly to the rest of the library. "Hear that, World?! From today on I'm a feminist!"

Matilda groaned and covered her face with her book. Why did she feel like this was only the beginning of this insanity?

---

"Hey, Mattie," Brom whispered as he leaned towards her.

Sleepy Hollow was beautiful in the fall. Matilda always loved the colors and smells and the spirit of the season. It was different this year though, there was something warmer about it now. Kat was gone, and that grief was still one of the worst pains she'd ever felt in her life, but she had so much more now. She had Ichabod and Brom, and Verla and the Babes. The world seemed brighter than it ever had before and, frankly, Matilda was happy. She wasn't sure she'd ever felt this happy before.

"What?" she whispered back, still smiling slightly at the silliness happening in front of them. The Babes had convinced Ichabod to play some game with them, and Matilda and Brom had chosen to watch from the bench in the gazebo. She was honestly just waiting until Ichabod had an asthma attack so she could win her bet with Verla.

Brom wrapped his arm around her shoulders and smiled fondly at her. "I told you so," he whispered.

"You what?" she asked, pulling back with a playful smile.

"I told you I'd fix myself and you'd change your mind about me," Brom said.

Matilda laughed and leaned her head against him. "Yeah, I guess you did. I'm proud of you for proving me wrong. Don't do it again."

"You're usually right, but as your husband I think it's kinda my job to show you where you're wrong, just like you've always done for me. I wouldn't have changed if you hadn't roasted me so badly back then," Brom said.

"And we wouldn't be here right now if you and Ichabod hadn't gotten through to me," Matilda agreed. "You may just turn me into a people person yet."

"I would never change you, you're perfect the way you are," Brom said, kissing her head.

"We've already changed each other for the better, no stopping it now," Matilda said with a smile.

#headless #bromtilda #headless spoilers

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the-heaminator · 2 years

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Polyship week prompt day 3: Restraint.

@hetalia-polyship-week

Ship: Rusengfra.

Have some more weird thoughts, have some angst and a treat from me I'm sorry if this gives of 2012 energy shhfbsnndnn. Tw violence? And alcoholism

Restraint is difficult, reeling in the parts of yourself you once let roam free always is tiring, and the longer you contain it, the more pressured it is, and when it is finally released, it is all the more violent, surrounding the person, enveloping them in a shroud of .

A cheery looking and acting Russian, though sadistic down right to the very core was one of these people, he seemed outwardly as a sort of vacant person smiling non commitally at most things, seemed to be a little odd at most. Though the people, or nations that have had the misfortune to be under him know how much of that is false.

A violent drunkard some said, a psychotic killer said others.

To see him with two others that had similar...issues ran shivers down many spines.

England, once the violent and non feeling master of the seas and land, still feared by many even if he not so much as looks at them in the eye, all the more fearful as he showed no remorse, the ones who knew him for the longest always said this, he could do nearly anything and only feel a twisted form of glee from it.

Desensitization at its finest I would say.

France, often said to be just as bad as the other two, despite not having a quite as caustic reputation, manipulative to the point of being able to make even Liechtenstein feel bad about herself, someone who would very happily kill if he could get anything out of it. His words sharper than any blade, a master of deceit and lies.

During the old times people often called them demons, they aged slowly, and had many the attributes of one, odd colouring eyes of purple, green and a too dark blue; and later on they were accused of being cardinal sins, Gluttony, Greed, Pride.

But now they had put restraints on themselves, England tended to stay alone in his old empty house, speaking to mainly himself and the fae, the same went for Russia, who can be scared of you when they barely even see you anymore seemed to be what they thought. They could stay in blissful isolation, no one had to see them drunk and raving, no one had to see them talking to themselves at night, no one had to see how lonely they had become over the years of their self imposed isolation.

France on the other hand, he became more public, able to forgo the the reputation that was impossible to shake for the other two, now being seen as a vapid whore and a self obsessed twat, but even that, in his opinion, was better than being feared like the other two were.

It was understandable how England and Russia managed to forge an odd bond, through that on its own managed to raise people's eyebrows, imagining the two as anything other than the two entities of fear and hate, imagining them together even in a friendship way was odd.

Adding France into the mix seemed nearly as impossible, but the impossible did tend to happen around these three.

It was no big secret that England and France fooled around in bed a lot, and it was no secret, though a very odd and slightly frightful prospect that England and Russia did the same, but putting two and two together seemed to be nobodies best interest until they physically saw it. Ivan hovering proactively around the two, England smacking anyone who said anything against the both of them, using the excuse "Only I'm allowed to do that."

France teasing them both in the way that only he could.

Though simmering just underneath everyone could see what they wanted to do, red hot desire bubbling under their skin just out of reach.

But remember, when restraint snaps, it snaps hard, who knows when, who knows how. But it will happen.

#Rusengfra #Ruseng #Rusfra #Fruk #I don't know how to tag this oof #The heam writes #A little less crack than usual but it's still there #Hetalia polyship week 2022

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burnedbyshoto · 3 years

Text

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.

“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

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aeempress · 3 years

Text

Apritello Express Evidences, part 2

Khem-khem, ladies and gentlemen, we shall continue out praising Apritello's episodes. And yeah, this part will be dedicated, in entirety just one episode.

Purple jacket. April and Donnie's episode.

I really love this piece of masterpiece, because it show April and Dee relationship, better reveals them as characters, and demonstrates their connection. (My previous points at this whole situation)

The episode begins with Donnie sneaking into April's school under the pretext of helping her. Soon, April stated the reason why she called D - her science computer project. Actually, she could take a photo of the code and sent it to Donatello, and I'm sure, he would send her the correct one right away, he's coder, he's prodigy, no probbles.

But still, April just asked him to come over and help her without stating any reasons. And he, indeed, came at speed of the light.

I want you to understand what exactly does that mean.

First: April is aware how much Donnie is into human culture. He wants to study in normal human school, do some average teen stuff. Especially, he is loving school and science-related stuff, all these science school projects, visits to botanical gardens, experiments and laboratory work. Because it's his field. It's exactly his domain, where he's good at. His family does not share his interest in science, and April is only one who can understand him. Probably.

Also, April know, how badly Donnie wants to go to school, which gives him an excuse, even if not the most solid one, but an excuse, nevertheless, to visit her school again.

Why again?

Because he has no problem navigating there. Donnie went directly to April's computer class.

He loves this place. And he'd already helped April with her projects.

Even so, knowing that every time she asked guys, especially Don, for help, it turned into a cataclysm, April still called him to help.

It's just a weird, indirect way to say, " Let's hang out, I know how much you like this whole situation with science, school and etc. Here ya go, buddy"

It seems like April did that to make something pleasant to him, something small, but nice to make him feel better. Because, as I state before - he likes to help April (praise, doing something useful for April - still counts as a motivation) and he likes school.

Second: khem-khem, D came at her school, as it seems, right away she called/texted. He didn't even know the proper reason, but c'mon: April ask for help, plus, her school. Sounds legit, don't you think?

Anyway, April has always been being the reason and excuse for teetles, but especially for Donnie. Clear? Clear. Good.

Donnie also tends to not think things through when he is excited. Because he went at the daylight in place, full of people just to help April.

ROTTMNT shows us how turtles were really afraid of human reaction and possible consequences. They have plan "H" to pretend they are going to Galaxy Con, brothers have explanation why they look weird and it's definitely not because boys are mutants, uh-huh, no, plus, guys go on surface at evening or night hours, when there are not so many people, and it's dark, obviously, to cover them and keep unseen.

Yeah, of course, Donnie seems more capable then his brothers to handle the surface (he has cash, D's dressed up as old ladies more than once, according to Leo, he was in April's school before, so yeah, no big deal) and I suspect that his friendship with April is one of the reasons.

Third: do you remember how April worried about looking "normal" when she was finally invited to a school party? She even forbade Mayham to appear nearby, just not to look like the lizard boy. Because cool kids don't bring pets to school. April doesn't have many friends, or rather, there are none at school, and she's been trying to solve this problem by getting close to Taylor Martin, the coolest girl in school.

And April O'Neil just calls Donatello, an objectively strange guy (since when is it normal to be a fan of school? Pretty questionable) in place, where her reputation is hanging in a balance. Our girl does not try to hide Dee, as it usually shown in shows for kids, and April do not pretend that she sees him for the first time in her life because, you know, Donnie will catch everyone's attention being himself and may embarrass her in front of her classmates. But no - April says with all her actions: "Yes, I know him. Yes, that dork is with me. And I don't give a damn about your opinion. Your problems, not mine. And yeah, I'm fine with him being here."

I mean it, guys. The devil is always in the tiny details.

The way they behave around each other.

Donatello is way more, MORE relaxed and just being himself: dramatic dorky nerdy ninja with current obsessions. The way he sneaked in school and April's classroom, the way he behaves alone with her is contrasting the way of his attitude while his brothers are near.

Don has a specific way to shown up. Instead of texting her, Donnie used shurekens. Yes, he almost fell off the lamp, but still, that's... quite an entrance he makes there.

April worries about him, when he fell from ceiling.

Our girl feel relaxed enough around Donnie, so she winks at him.

A wink is a fairly casual gesture that shows some expression of sympathy, trust, and togetherness. It's both good for saying "We're in same boat, we're team" and show the playful attitude towards someone. Isn't that an indicator?

Ironically, that being the best friends April and Donnie do not have any secret handshake/brofist/special greeting, as it usually the besties have at kid's series. Like Kendra and Jeremy have.

I can do only one possible logical conclusion: their relationship is far beyond "friends," "best friends," and "family".

Btw, about this certain phrase about secret five.

- Nay, fair April. A secret five[...].

Once again, nice wording, Donatello. Fair April? Maybe I'm too critical, but often when someone wants to convince their interlocutor and at the same time show one's condescension to them, it's usually uses "my dear ..." or something like that. I understand that semantically the difference is not very big, but in the first case, you can feel Donnie's personal attitude, even though he uses a book word. The second is just formal politeness, which emphasizes the difference between the rightness of the disputants.

This phrase were interpreted on official Russian dub as (okay, it's really hard to choose the correct word, because there's a lot of synonyms in English that sits quite well, while on Russian it's just one word, damn) "Нет, милая (No, honey/sweetheart )". Actually, a strange choice of wording, 'cause this is not what usually friends use to say to each other. We prefer use words like " my darling", "my dear", to demonstrate leniency. And again, most often this prerogative belongs to the older generation. Russians rarely throw around such words as "honey", "dear", "sunshine", because this deprives these endearments of any meaning, and a person using them, as a rule, is familiar. Of course, there are people who use them on a regular basis, but I HIGHLY doubt that Donatello is one of them. It's not his style.

But still, maybe I just too critical at this point.

April, as it is shown, have some kind of power to cool and calm him down and bring Donnie back to life reality.

1. Don awakes from his daze while heard April's voice

2. He's literally coming back to life, when April said about his broken jetpack.

3. Dee obediently interrupts his touching farewell to the jacket when April yells at him.

Oh, and his face. I remind you, fellas, we're talking about Donatello, "I really do not like to express emotions"-guy and "I will die if someone broke my bAbEyS"-guy.

And what do we see? Donnie's emoting. And feels free to do that. He's even drooling. (What seems kinda interesting without context, if you're understand what I'm talking about ;))

Dee doesn't seem angry about broken jetpack. And his wide smile, while he's assuring April he can fix it? A few minutes ago, he was steamed when his stuff was stolen, but when the jetpack was broken, he doesn't even raise an eyebrow. Very eloquent.

April is his support

April also supports Donnie whatever he's up to. Yes, she hadn't been excited when Othello had expressed a desire to join the club. However, she also introduced him to Kendra and company. Yes, she showed by her whole appearance that she did not share his joy, but nevertheless, our loyal captain O'Neil was there for him, by his side all this time.

And her sweet facial expression. From "Srsly? Join this jerks?" to "If you dare to even think about to hurt him, I'll smash you".

And one more cute detail about Dee. Even if he does whatever he wanted so badly, Don constantly looks around at April, looking for her approval.

- Be honest, April, do I look fantastic, or SUPERBLY fantastic?

- You look like you drop a juice box in a laundry. (Play nice, April, don't be mean)

He cherishes her opinion.

April had even called him late at night just to, technically speaking, say that his tech were stolen. And what's the big deal with all his outfit? It's late night, they can just sneak out into Nakamura in their usual form. But noooo, April give a special ride on her bicycle. Just. You know. Our girl carried her own weight and his all the way without stopping. And then she went up 53 + floors running non-stop because Donnie's equipment was stolen. And then she had to chase the her classmates, dodge and jump out of the window. Because Purple dragons stole Dee's tech. Like shooting fish in a barrel, no big deal at all.

And it's definitely not because he will be totally crashed or he'll do stupid things during his anger, which will then come out sideways.

And April comes along with him to very end.

By the way, their phone conversations.

Donnie is the very case when "Call at any time of the day or night and I will pick up the phone".

When April called him when he needs D's help with Albearto, when something is definitely going on behind.

As it says in transcript of the episode:

[April takes out her phone, scrolls to Donnie’s listing and calls him. Donatello appears on screen. Behind him a flying microwave wearing boxing gloves shoots lasers at his brothers.]

Don: "You are conversing with Donatello."

April

[Crouched on floor in hiding.]

Dude, I need your help."

Don: "For you, anything. As long as it does not involve bees, or spiders, or beach balls.

[There’s an explosion behind him and his brothers cry out, which he ignores.]

And yeah, he took her incoming immediately, he ignores absolutely and totally everything around him, because... April? Expositions, bloody flying microwave bot turned to destroy mode, his brothers screaming and being in life-threatening situation? Naaah, it can wait.

Donatello was at Todd's, building "the puppiest place on Earth" and was very enthusiastic about to finish this thing. But he paused anyway to answer April.

We already know how obsessive with work Don can be: if something interesting gets into his field of view, he begins to do it all day long. Remember "The Purple Game" - a very revealing case. Yeah, we weren't shown how much Donnie is into engineering, but I can guess that point remains the same.

April called him at late night and Donnie picked up the phone.

April, unlike Donatello, is a teenager who is burdened with social relationship such as family, school, and work periodically, which implies a more or less strict schedule to follow and some conventions, such as " April, you can't go out late at night to catch robbers, you are underage and you have to go to school/work tomorrow). However, she was watching the news late at night, so she called Dee. ( I have a lot of questions, but I'll never get answers, as it seems)

D, in turn, doesn't have so many contacts with the outside world. I highly doubt that anyone else outside of the family and April has his number. And yet, when he hears the call late at night he takes it. Yes, he had awaken from the nightmare, but still.

And what's up with his usual "You're conversing with Donatello"? He didn't even understand what's going on, as it seems, he's too sleepy to play his usual image and playfully attitude as we could see in "Hypno Part Deux" and "War and Pizza".

Adorable couple-like D&A arguing

April very rarely uses "I told you so" against anybody, or rather, this is almost the only case. This phrase is more suitable for Leo or Donnie, and you know," I told you so! " we usually use on people we know well, and we want to tease 'em about them being wrong. Which, in fact, once again highlights and proves how close D&A are. And I don't even get started about the fact that this is more like a couple's quarrel, not a friend's.

And one more time - in the end, when April suggests using the jacket to stop Kendra.

Their teamwork

I stated that before, I'll tell it one more and more times. The chemistry of their team interaction is incredible. It's as if they can feel each other, and each knows what the other is capable of doing in the next moment. April easily adapts to Donnie's attack, realizing his plan.

Donnie also throws them both out of the window in order to continue the pursuiting Kendra on the jetpack. Don is one hundred percent sure of April, that she will understand what he wants to do, Dee trusts her with his life without hesitation, and she has never used his jetpack. He just puts her before the fact: April will be using the tech.

Up for Donnie!

I really like how this scene was made. Donatello struggles with his own tech, somewhat he made by himself, having invested almost whole himself and his soul, but what "betrayed" him in end. When Dee finally managed to shake one of his battleshell, which almost choked him, Donnie feel so scared and unsecured. We can see his anxiety - Dee's coaching position with covering his head with his hands and tucking his knees.

Defenseless, helpless, and mostly lost, and then, just in time - hero comes to save his life. She uses Donnie's name as battlecry, look how furious she is.

Funny fact: on Russian dub April yells "Don't touch Donnie! (how dare you, madafaka)

April fits in Donnie's type of girls. She's cute (obvious) and mean (not so obvious).

I can't say that meanness is the main feature of April's character, as we can say about Kendra. But this personality trait is still present in her and sometimes it does not manifest itself so widely. April's meanness is not so pronounced, it is much softer and smoother, and it is not exposed.

But April becomes really mean when someone messes up with Donnie.

She's his support and prop. Literally. Just look at first frame, okay-okay, jokes aside

She's genuinely enjoying of kicking bad guys ' asses, even letting go of witticisms and barbs.

Last scenes

Don survived a rough night: he was used, his tech was stolen, so he and April had to chase the satin robed punks. Donnie was hit in the head with a hammer, he fell from a bird's-eye view, passed out and then his battleshell tried to strangle him. And April is here to comfort him, to cheer him up.

Yes, we don't get any hugs (because it's kids show, bleh), the tactility is kept to a minimum, except for April's comforting hand on his shoulder, but they don't even look at each other. But the softness of her voice, the intonation with which she utters a phrase (that is usually sent to the friend zone, but "pal" is really neutral word, and the most important how she said that) turn the scene upside down. It is not what April did to comfort him matter, it's how she did this.

I said "yes" to you way too often

April mirrors Donnie with his "Anything for you". Yes, of course, she said this with a certain amount of grumbling, but her voice and her demeanor suggest otherwise - she is not at all averse to going to giving in him.

And the way they're look at each other.

This one

And one more detail

It's really tiny, it's hard to catch from the first watching the episode, but still, it's possible. I'm talking about graffiti on the walls of the alley where April and Don had landed.

This one

Yeah, if we speak about reality it's quite normal to see graffiti like this. But we talking about TV-series, where everything has its own place and meaning. And if there something, it must be there, it's not just whim of artist who put it in there. But this little graffiti changes the mood of scene.

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laurensprentiss · 3 years

Text

Jouska [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 14:

Gif credit: @dudeitiskarev

Warnings: None really, minor mentions of injuries, major trauma bonding, Emily and reader are true soulmates, Hotch drops a bombshell.

———

“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.” - Laurell K. Hamilton

———

Relief is a strange thing.

Hotch has been by your bedside for the two days you’ve been in the hospital recovering from your injuries. He switches periodically between your room and Emily’s, checking in, grabbing a stale cup of coffee and stuffing himself into a chair that’s much too small. He’d met Ambassador Prentiss on the night you’d been brought into the hospital, all hard lines and pointy corners packed into her petite, perfectly postured frame.

Emily looks unsettlingly like her, he thinks. Just warmer.

It was Elizabeth who’d finally managed to get a hold of your father in the early hours after you’d been brought in, after which he’d ordered the plane to be turned around immediately. He’d narrowly escaped his fate too. Unbeknownst to him, Jordan had arranged for somebody to have him taken care of as well.

He was debriefed on his way to the hospital, convoy in tow and had taken the time to handle his emotions en route. A few stray tears had rolled down his cheek when he’d seen you, the angry bruising on your face piercing his chest.

He’d spoken with Elizabeth then, hushed voices that agreed to finally take care of this.

“It’s the Fitzgerald boy?” He’d asked Hotch.

“Yes, Sir. He’s in our custody at HQ. Senator Fitzgerald is waiting to see him.”

“I think maybe we should pay them both a visit.” Your father had said evenly.

It’s the most stoic Hotch had ever seen him and it was entirely unsettling. Hotch had always known him as a powerful man, but he was kind, affable, humble. He could see now the side to him that he hadn’t before, the side that controlled DC, pulled strings and cashed in favours and had a powerful, reputational political standing.

He’d take care of it.

And he had.

Calls had been made to law firms - now any lawyer who valued their career refused to take on the case, despite Senator Fitzgerald’s own old-money influence. A public defender would try to get him out on bail the following day but a well-placed call to Chief Justice Archibald and the DA would ensure that wouldn’t happen.

A seething threat delivered in your father’s expert, neutral and unwavering tone had been made to the Senator himself when he’d tried to cash in his own favours. That had sealed the fate for the Senator, his son and his legacy.

“Try something like that again, Senator, and I won’t need my security to take care of you. After you let your dog off his leash, after what your boy did to my daughter - I’ll make sure you’re done here. Forever.”

———

In the meanwhile, Hotch studies the marbling bruises on your face, the stitches above your eyebrow, remnants of your harrowing ordeal. He watches you exhale in short shallow breaths, slipping in and out of sleep but frowns when a stray strand of hair obscures your face. He reaches out and moves it gently, his finger brushing the jagged skin of your cheek.

His breath hitches.

He’s now developed a sort of tic, runs his fingers over the cool gold of your pendant that he still has a hold of, finds it’s the only thing that’ll fight off thoughts of a very possible different ending. He keeps reminding himself he needs to return it to you as soon as he can - can’t promise he’ll want to part with it, though.

Relief is a strange thing.

You’re alive and recovering but would anything alleviate the guilt that’s settled in his chest? He doesn’t think so.

Guilt that he’d allowed for Jordan to get close enough, that he hadn’t worked it out sooner. Guilt that his increasing involvement with you was what drove Jordan’s obsession to such a point. He still has to fight the thoughts in his head, all what ifs and imagine ifs, the only thing that grounds him now is the fact that you’re here.

Safe and sound.

He succumbs to his sleep with the intention of telling you that.

You eventually wake up in the sterile hospital room, the sounds of the various machines you’re hooked up to annoyingly monotonous. As you blink your eyes open, you slowly become accustomed to the daylight outside, the reality of the past however many days settling in.

Your eyes fall to the 6’2 man curled into a chair next to your bed. His arm rests on his forehead, small breaths escaping his mouth. You stir just slightly, exceedingly careful not to wake him but he jolts awake at the sound of the sheets rustling anyway.

“You’re awake.” He whispers, blinking his eyes open. He immediately places a gentle, reassuring hand over yours.

You chuckle, wincing a little from the pain in your ribs. “Hi.” You whisper with a smile.

“Hi.” He replies with glassy eyes. “It’s good to have you back.” He says, fondly. “How do you feel?”

“Sore.” Your voice is hoarse. “How long’s it been?”

“Two days. They sedated you to make sure there was no swelling in your brain from the accident after you passed out. You’ve got some bruised ribs and your face needed some stitches, but you’re going to be okay.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Listen, I have some news.” He pauses, not sure how to phrase the rest.

You feel like you’re missing a limb, a sore pull at your chest when you remember Jordan’s words. He’d killed the two most important people in your life.

“Yeah. They’re dead.” You whisper.

His eyes widen in alarm and he takes a seat on the bed next to your legs, a reassuring hand on your shin. “What? Who?”

You fight the tears pricking your eyes and the heaviness in your chest. “My father. Emily.”

“What? No. No, no! They’re both alive.” He cups your face gently.

“-But he told me…”

“He tried to kill Emily after the accident. Your dad… he had the plane turned around before he got to Paris. Emily was in pretty bad shape after the accident, but she’s in recovery - they’re absolutely fine. The rest I’ll tell you another day.”

It’s like the feeling returns to your chest. Your tears spill over. “They’re really okay?” You reach for his hand that cups your cheek.

He nods. “And so are you.” He delicately wipes a stray tear off your cheek, a small chuckle escaping his lips. He soothes you quietly but his face lights up, an idea seemingly occurring to him.

He shoots up from his chair to head outside. He holds out a finger, “I’ll be right back.” He says from the door.

He returns around ten minutes later, with McCall in tow and the tension and turmoil of the last week all but melts away when he wheels in Emily, your dad following behind. Two security guards stand watch at the doors.

You immediately sit up in your bed, letting out a shaky laugh, in disbelief that you’re all really okay. The state of Emily’s face throws you off first, angry hues of blue, purple and red bleed into each other, stitches and scars adorn her face and she’s sporting a neck stabiliser. A nasty gash on her lip and cheek make it hard for her to smile fully but she still squeals when she sees you.

Your father almost crushes you in his embrace, quickly retreating when you wince but you laugh them both off, reaching for their hands. Your desire to hold them close is just as much affection as it is to make sure they wouldn’t dissipate as a figment of your imagination.

The sure enough contact is something that you would’ve ordinarily taken for granted, but this time, it almost reduces you to tears. You silently thank Hotch who gives you some privacy and waits outside. He does keep you in his eye line though, watching you fondly from the glass on the other side.

McCall pointedly clears his throat next to Hotch causing him to snap out of his stupor. “You know we can see you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re staring, Aaron.”

Hotch rolls his eyes in response and wanders over to the coffee machine at the end of the hall, McCall trailing behind him. He hands McCall a piping styrofoam cup, taking one for himself, immersing himself in trying to cool the hot liquid but McCall sees right through him.

“Aaron. You remember what I told you the day we went to the Fitzgerald house?”

“Ben-”

“If it wasn’t clear to you then, it must be now. You don’t spend two days squashed into a stiff chair for an assignment. I saw the look on your face when you saw the wreck, I see the way you hold her.”

Hotch says nothing, just stares into his reflection in the black coffee.

He places a sturdy hand on his shoulder. “Everyone can.”

It’s true.

Everybody can.

While Hotch had spent the best part of the last two days by your bedside, McCall had been by Emily’s side, striking up an unlikely friendship. Topics change, things are said, speculations are made, and within it all, the topic of you and Hotch has come up several times.

Emily had never been one to sugarcoat things, neither had McCall. Both of them had a degree of distance, and could see what neither of you could.

“It’s now or never, man.” McCall tells him with a pat on his shoulder.

———

You’d waved your dad out of the room after 45 minutes, his incessant yawning revealing his fatigue. He’d objected, of course, but after some persuasion from you and Emily, he’d said goodbye with a kiss atop both of your heads.

Your father isn’t even out of earshot before Emily wheels herself in closer to you, a wry grin spreading on her face in spite of her split lip.

“So,” she whispers, rubbing her hands together. “Tell me!”

You frown in confusion. “Tell you what?”

She rolls her eyes. “You! And Hotch. Did you guys talk?”

You use your hands to sign between the two of you. “Well, I don’t really know if you noticed, but I haven’t really had a lot of time to figure out crushes.”

“So you admit it? You have a crush on him?” She cackles.

“Emily, for God’s sake. Stop. You’re incorrigible. Shouldn’t you be focused on yourself, didn't you, like, break your neck?”

“No, it’s a soft tissue injury-”

“For now.” You warn her.

“You’re not funny. But seriously, have you given any more thought to what we talked about?”

“Emily, I will wheel you out of this room myself.”

“Answer the question!”

Yes.

You had.

It was one of the only things that had occupied your brain when you were stuck in that cabin. You still feel the effects of the grief you’d felt when you’d thought you’d lost him deep in your chest. Like a lingering ache. The regret was all-consuming, regret that you’d never been able to figure out what you felt for him while he was still around. Regret that you’d never been able to tell him.

You’ve been given a second chance, you’d be an idiot not to take it, right? The feeling had been so chilling, you’d sworn in that moment you’d never put yourself in a position like that again. But fear and vulnerability still play a part in your decision.

“Hey!” She snaps her fingers in your face with her good arm. Her eyes soften though, when she sees the faraway look on your face. “Oh, honey.” She takes your hand and takes a cursory glance around the room before turning back to you. “For what it’s worth - I think it’s a really good idea. You. Hotch.”

You shake your head dismissively but she grips your hand tighter in spite of her injuries.

“Really. I know you don’t see it, but he’d do anything for you, he killed that dirty cop y’know? You should’ve seen what a wreck he was after the crash, I made him promise he’d find you.” Her voice turns thick.

“You did?”

“Yeah. It wasn't fair to him at all, I never should’ve put him in that position. But he stayed with me when they brought me in, he thought I was asleep but I was watching him. He was distraught when he thought he’d lost you.”

That sparks something in you, a kind of warmth that spreads. It’s heady.

“I don’t know, Em. What do I even say?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just matters that you say it. And quick. You need to tell him before he leaves for good.”

That stings. You hadn’t even thought about that. You’d been so used to having him around and him being a part of your daily routine, you hadn’t really thought about him not being a part of your life anymore.

This was an assignment and it was over. You could just as easily part ways with the hope that you’ll forget him and the effect he had on you. That you’ll eventually stop thinking about him but there’s something in you that tells you he’ll linger deep in your soul long after you part ways.

“I’ll think about it.” You whisper.

———

“Red or green?” He holds up two Jell-O pots, one red and one green.

“Red.” You sigh.

“Damn.” He mutters under his breath with a laugh. He takes his assigned seat next to you, handing you a spoon and pulling your table out in the process. He winces when he sits, digging two fingers into his back, just under his ribs.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ah it’s nothing, I think I’m a little sore.”

Shit. You’d been so caught up in your own thoughts you hadn’t even realised he’d been sitting there in that tiny seat, squashed together for the past two days.

“I’m sorry. You have to squash yourself into that seat for me.”

“I’m not.” He says, almost instinctively. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

You both sit in silence for a moment, contemplating both of your earlier revelations.

He breaks the silence first. “Well, I guess I should probably debrief you on the details-” He turns to catch you staring at him, a faraway look on your face. He frowns, “Hey. You okay?”

“What? Oh yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, continue.”

And that’s when he takes you through the night you were taken. He recalls how he came home after visiting Jordan when McCall called him to give him the news. He tells you that two of the cops that were on duty were killed in the crash and that Lawrence was Jordan’s inside man. He takes you through every harrowing detail from finding Emily barely conscious to being shot at, to finally finding you.

Emily was right, the anxiety is etched on his face as though he’s reliving it.

But there’s still something you don’t understand.

“How did you know it was Jordan?” You ask him.

He sucks in a breath, eyes darkening for just a moment. “It’s complicated.”

“I think I deserve to know. Don’t you?”

He clenches his jaw, the anger still fresh. It’s the strangest thing though, he’s not as angry about being cheated on as he is about the fact that it put you in danger.

He inhales sharply. “Haley.”

“Ah.”

“You know?” He asks, alarmed.

“He told me when I was in that place. That he’d used her for information.”

He averts his gaze, running a hand over his beard. “Yeah. Remember a couple of months ago when I told you we were having problems - the day I took you to the firing range for the first time?” You nod. “Well, that was the day she decided that she’d had enough, and she left. For two weeks.”

The same two weeks he’d avoided you for.

You disguise your hurt when you recall that period and he goes on, “I guess in those two weeks, she found somebody else to help her through her issues. Not that I blame her, I think it was a long time coming, we hadn’t been happy for a while. I admit I checked out of that relationship king before she did.” He swallows thickly before he reveals too much. “She didn’t know who Jordan was, but he knew she was my girlfriend - he took advantage of that, I guess.” He shakes his head. I’m sorry.”

You frown. “Sorry? For what?”

“For putting you in danger. If I’d just kept my distance or given Haley more attention, maybe none of this would’ve happened.”

Your heart sinks when you see the wounded expression on his face and you place a hand over his. “You have nothing to be sorry about.” You whisper. He scoffs, but you press on with a squeeze of his hand, “He still would’ve found a way to get to me. Haley, you - it doesn’t matter - he wouldn’t have stopped until he got to me. So I need you to listen to me when I say it isn’t your fault, it isn’t Haley’s fault. Nobody is to blame. Okay?”

You need him to know that you don’t blame him, far from it, in fact. You revere him, you rely on him, you’re falling for him.

You’re falling for him.

He shakes his head, standing up. He refuses to allow you to make him feel better about the situation.

He stands at the window now, gazing out at the parking lot. You drag yourself out of your bed for the first time that day, IV in tow and place a reassuring hand on his built shoulder.

“Hey. Can you look at me?” He steels for a moment before finally turning after a minute. You close the distance between you. “Really. Hotch, you saved my life. The things you taught me, the self-defence, the weapons training? I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you. I don’t think I ever thanked you for that.”

Your proximity to one another drives you dangerously close to losing your willpower and spilling the secrets that lie on the tip of your tongue.

He hates to admit it, but your words lighten the load on his shoulders exponentially. He was ready to fight this guilt for a long time to come, a fitting punishment for taking his eye off the ball. But your words seem to wash the blood on his hands away.

He says nothing but smiles gently, watching you. He marvels at your heart, doesn’t understand how somebody could be so gracious even after everything that had happened. Your closeness, your warmth, it takes everything in him to not reach out and show you what you mean to him.

He knows as well as you do that after this, he may never see you again. There’s no reason for him to. He didn’t want to give you the impression that he was using his leverage as an FBI agent to pursue something more with you, especially after everything you’d been through.

It didn’t matter what his true intentions were.

It didn’t matter that he was falling for you.

———

You’re discharged three days and a deep shower later, and despite your dad pleading with you to return back to his estate, you’re adamant that you want to go home. Besides, you have a pit stop to make on the way.

“No way.” Hotch’s voice wavers when you make the request. “I won’t allow it. Your father would kill me.”

“You’re not in a position to allow anything.” You reply defiantly. “I’m not asking. You can either take me now, or you can take me home and I’ll go later. Either way - I’m going.”

“Why? Give me one good reason you want to see him and I’ll take you.”

“I don’t need to give you a reason!” But he doesn’t budge. You sigh. “I want to show him that I won. I want him to see that I’m going to be okay and he’s not. I just need to speak to him.”

He just grips the steering wheel tighter, the leather squeaking under his grip. He inhales sharply, taking some time to weigh your words. “Fine.” He says after a pause. “But I’m going in with you. He’s behind bars, but I’m still not letting you go in alone.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Damnit.” He mutters. “I know you can, but for God’s sake - I’m not letting him anywhere near you without someone else present.”

“Fine.”

———

The guard leads you and Hotch to an interview room, and the telltale hue of an orange jumpsuit catches your eyes through the tiny window of the door. He has a sling on one arm, the other kept secure by handcuffs to the table, yellowing bruises on his face.

You’re completely safe and secure, yet you shiver. You feel Hotch’s warm, large hand slink into yours, squeezing reassuringly.

“Are you sure you want to do this? You say the word, I’ll take you home.”

You take a steadying breath, your hand flexing in Hotch’s. “Thanks. But I’m okay. I’m ready.”

You nod to the guard to let you in, taking the last few seconds to brace yourself.

The door creaks open, Jordan’s eyes fall to you. The atmosphere is thick enough to choke on and the air is heavy, lingering with unfinished business. Your mind fills with cracked memories of a dark dingy cabin, the smell of his breath on your skin - you swear you can still feel his hands around your throat.

You steady yourself.

He shifts in his chair when you take a seat opposite him, nostrils flaring. “Well, well, well. Hey, Princess,” he scoffs. You shudder at his pet name, his jarring words abrasive against your skin. The reaction doesn’t go amiss by him, so he takes the moment of weakness to reel you in, snare you back into his trap. “Miss me already?” He look wounded when he sees Hotch follow behind you. “You brought him with you? This-” he lifts his cuffed hand as far as it’ll go without pulling on his arm, “Wasn’t bad enough? You had to bring the fed?”

You don’t dignify his words with a reply. You opt instead to just watch him with narrow eyes, a play straight out of your father’s handbook. He squirms under your gaze, visibly uncomfortable when he sees the look on your face, unwavering, focused.

“How’s jail?” You ask.

“Peachy. ’Course I’d much rather be with you.”

“Watch your mouth.” Hotch replies, anger simmering under his skin.

“Bail?” You ask him.

“No dice.”

“Wonder why.” You hum with a wry smile.

“No doubt you had your daddy pay off the tri-state area to keep me rotting in here. Always have been a pampered little bitch.” Hotch’s hands flex into fists but he continues. “What do you want? You’re not here to make small talk, I know that much.”

You observe him slowly, before answering. “How does it feel?”

“What?”

“How does it feel to be a failure, Jordan?” That stings, you can tell, because as soon as the words leave your mouth, he shifts positions, hunching his shoulders like a dog about to attack.

Except he’s handcuffed.

You continue, “You tried to kill me, you missed. You tried to kill Emily, you missed. You tried to have my father killed, you missed, you even tried to have Aaron killed. Still, nothing.”

“Aaron?” He hisses. “What, you guys are on a first name basis now?”

He’s deflecting.

“Answer me. You’ve done nothing but disappoint your father, he tolerates you. You had everything you could possibly need, you could’ve done so much with your life, Jordan - I actually pity you.”

He blinks rapidly, desperately thinking of a way to attack you.

“You think this is going to go away for you?” He snarls. “You don’t think I’m going to haunt your dreams? Everywhere you look, you’re going to think it’s me. Every time you get a letter, a package, your first reaction is going to be fear.” He chuckles. “I’m gonna stay with you, it doesn't matter if I’m doing life in here.”

“I can handle that. I will handle that. But you - you’re gonna spend the rest of your life in a 6x8, with nothing to do except to think about all the ways in which you’re a fucking disappointment. A coward.” You force your voice to remain steady despite your entire body shaking.

The chair scrapes against the floor when you go to get up, your hands clenched in fists, willing them not to shake. Hotch follows behind you and you’re already out of the door when Hotch is called back into the interview room by Jordan.

A cold smile makes his way onto his face, an attempt to deliver one last blow. “You know I fucked your girl, Aaron?” He delivers his line calmly, his tongue in his cheek.

What Hotch says will stay with him, long after he walks out of the doors. “Did you get what you wanted?” He nods over to the doors you’d just walked out of, a fond smile on his face. “Because I did.”

———

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Tags: @oreogutz @andromedasstarship @galacticnerd-78 @izzyl13 @bananabucky @crying-river @purpledragonturtles @gabbysblogthingy @archiveofadragon @yoshigguk @acidicbloody @jeor @ivebeenthinkingboutu @bauslut @averyhotchner @vashanatasha @hotchwhore15 @pjmjams @slxtherinchxser @qtip-blog @avenging-criminal-bones

#aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch smut #hotch fluff #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #cm fanfic #cm fic #cm fic rec #criminal minds

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dream-a-little-bigger-x · 4 years

Text

Drawings on Ice (Part One) | Charlie Gillespie

Requested by anonymous: I’d love for you to write a Charlie hockey fic. I’ve been hearing that heard a great hockey player so I need that in my life

A/N: this is going to be a two-parter! Hope this is what you imagined!

Summary: You moved from the US to Canada, starting over at a new college. Your newest (and only) friend begs you to join her at her boyfriend’s hockey practice where you see Charlie for the first time. With his beautiful eyes and perfect smile and perfect facial structure, you become obsessed with drawing him. It’s been a habit of yours to draw anyone you saw with interesting bone structure. Though your friend warns you about the jock bad boy, you can’t help but be intrigued by him...

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x Gender Neutral!Reader

A/N: I hope I made this as gender neutral as possible! Let me know if there’s anything I need to change to make it even more inclusive for non-binary/gender fluid people.

Words: 3,648

Warnings: Some curse words (bitch, fuckboy)

You’ve never been a fan of any type of sports. Your siblings used to play basketball and you had to go to their games, though you were always busy sketching in your sketchbook to really notice or learn anything about it. Then, you suddenly had to move for your mother’s job. To Canada, of all places. Canada, the land of maple syrup, brutally cold winters… and hockey. The only good thing about moving thus far, was meeting Andrea. Andrea is a preppy, happy-go-lucky kind of girl, and was the first one to talk to you on your first day at your new college. Always dressed in pink or purple, make-up done flawlessly and always so kind, you think she’s being fake. Normally, people like that scared you. Kids like that in your American High School were always the popular ones that bullied the antisocial nerds, which included you at that point. That’s why you’d avoided talking to anyone on your first day. Only Andrea was persistent. You could not for the life of you shake her off.

So, instead of trying any longer, you embraced it and became friends with her fast. Thanks to her, you found your way through the buildings and all the classes. She even gave you tips on some of the professors you had.

To be fair, Andrea did help you out a lot, so when she asked you to come along to her new boyfriend’s hockey practice, you had no other choice but go. You’d packed your sketchbook though, just in case you got bored. “So, which one is yours?” you ask Andrea when you sit down in the bleachers with her. “Number eight!” she says, pointing to one of the players skating in circles. He catches his girlfriend pointing at him and gives her a wave, which makes Andrea giggle. The boy with the number 10 plastered on his back, turns upon seeing his buddy wave to the bleachers. You catch his eyes and feel a shiver run down your spine. Even from afar, you can tell those are the most beautiful and enchanting eyes you ever did see. “Who’s number 10?” you ask Andrea without taking your eyes off the boy. Without even noticing, you start to trace his features on your leg with your finger, a habit you developed over the years. His chiseled cheekbones, his fine nose, the wrinkles by his mouth as he smiles up at her. “Charlie. Sam’s best friend,” Andrea explains while you try your hardest not to stare at the cute hockey player while you’re tracing him. “Wouldn’t get too close though, I heard he has a reputation of being a heartbreaker.” Of course. All cute boys have to be absolute disappointments. Despite Andrea’s warning, you couldn’t help but think about Charlie every minute of the day. It was the smile and the eyes that haunted you through every lecture and every study-session with Andrea in the library. You traced his features on your empty papers on automatic pilot, not even realizing you were doing it until you were actually drawing him with a ballpoint pen. “Honey, no!” Andrea says sternly. The two of you are at the library, studying for midterms when the drawing on your notes starts to take shape. The shape of a certain hockey player. “I can’t help it, Andi! He’s in my mind and I just -- my brain just tells me to draw things and he’s been the only thing on my mind lately, I… I don’t know why or what it is, but I’m kind of drawn to him?” The girl in front of you shakes her head disappointedly. “Look at him!” she whisper-shouts, nodding her head to somewhere behind you. You slowly turn your head to find Charlie with one leg up on a chair, leaning his elbow on it as he’s flirting with a girl. “That’s number five this week… And it’s Tuesday.” You can’t help but stare at him though. His profile is impeccable. Before you know it, you’re back to tracing his features on your leg. “Y/N!” Andrea shouts in a hushed tone, capturing your attention again, ruining your entire mental picture of Charlie. “You ought to stop that, sweetie. I don’t want you getting hurt.” “Oh, I don’t get hurt, Andi,” you reply with a smirk, turning to face her again, “Being the antisocial kid in high school has its perks.” Andrea’s eyes widen at something behind you. “Time to prove it then,” she mutters. You quickly hide your drawing underneath your textbook and pretend to continue studying as Charlie approaches your table. “Hello, ladies,” he greets with a charming smile. Though on the inside you’re just about melting, your tough exterior doesn’t give it away. “I don’t think we’ve met.” He reaches a hand out to you. “I’m Charlie.” You glance up from your textbook, let your eyes dart from his hand to his face and turn back to your textbook. “Okay…” he mutters, feeling a little defeated by his first rejection. “We’re studying, Charlie. Can we help you with anything?” He glances over at you for a split second as he thinks about it.

“Uhm, yeah. Are you guys coming to the game this weekend?” His flirty demeanor changes all of a sudden to someone less confident. You look up at him, wanting to break your antisocial facade because it never brought you anywhere in High School and won’t bring you anywhere now. “I might. If I don’t have anything better to do, that is.” You decide to run with the sassy-bitch inside you. Charlie actually looks disappointed with this answer. “Okay…” he turns back to Andrea, “You’ll come, right?” She nods her head. “Can you convince her?” You chuckle at his desperate attempt, which earns you a glare from him. “She can make up her own mind, Charlie,” Andrea replies, raising her hands in defense. Gruntled and disappointed, Charlie turns around and leaves the two of you alone. “Girl!” Andrea squeals once he’s out of earshot, and holds up her hand for a high five, which you giddily give. “Told you I could do it,” you shrug with an amused smile on your face. “That was very impressive. Did you see his face when you didn’t even introduce yourself? He was so disappointed his charms didn’t work on you!” she giggles loudly. The librarian shushes her, and she holds up her hands in defense before lapsing into quieter giggles with you. You can’t help but feel bad though. Charlie actually seemed incredibly upset by your lack of interest. It makes you wonder if he actually says who people say he is. On Saturday, you go to the hockey game anyway. There’s nothing else you can do, and besides, it gives you a chance to draw a little more of Charlie in action on the ice. The surprised smile on Charlie’s face is to die for. It makes you feel like you’re the only girl he sees, like he’s not the guy people say he is. You say hello to Andrea and some of her friends you’ve met before, and sit down on the bench, immediately getting your sketchpad and pencil out. You start on Charlie, but halfway through, Andrea asks you to draw Sam too. Deciding it would probably be less suspicious if you drew the entire team, you start on Sam. By halftime, you have about every team member on your page sketched out. None of them quite as detailed as Charlie, but you’ll get to that at some point. “We’re going to say hello to the boys, you coming?” Andrea asks you when you’re shading your drawings. You glance up at Andrea, then glance down at the rink where you find Charlie already looking at you. He cocks his head, beckoning you to come over. For a second then, you’re forgetting all about your antisocial facade and feel yourself heat up. You cough the feeling away and get up after stuffing your sketchpad back into your bag, following Andrea down the steps. “You came,” he states when you reach him on the side of the rink. “Are you always this attentive?” you ask with a hint of sarcasm flavoring your voice. His chuckle fills your ears like a beautiful melody. Why does he do this to you? There honestly are so many boys that could be so much better for you, but instead, you’re crushing on the campus bad boy. “Are you always this hostile?” You’re dumbfounded at his comeback. No one ever called you hostile. Antisocial, sure. A bitch, multiple times. But never hostile. “You weren’t paying a lot of attention to the game though?” he says, changing the subject upon noticing your reaction. “Well, neither have you if you noticed me not paying attention,” you shoot back, an amused smile tugging at your lips. “Touché,” he chuckles. “But seriously, what were you doing?” You open your mouth to say something, but are stuck on what to tell him. Do you lie to him? Or say the truth? “I--I’m an arts student, and I draw pretty much everything I see, so…” His eyes widen at your response, as does his smile. You’re not entirely sure if telling the truth was a good idea. He might just run off, like everyone in High School used to do when you told them you drew them, no matter how good it was. Everyone always thought it was creepy, so you tended to keep all your art to yourself. “Can I see?” he asks just as the ref blows his whistle, signalling the start of the next half. He gives me an apologetic look, thinking of a good compensation. “Stay after the game?” You know you shouldn’t. You know Andrea is probably right and he’s the biggest womanizer walking this earth, but looking into his gorgeous hazel eyes and witnessing his lips curl up into the most beautiful smile, you can’t help but nod your head. His teeth bite down his lip as he skates away, keeping his eyes on you.

“What was that about?” Andrea asks you when you take your seats again. You let out a deep, confused, yet content sigh. “I have no clue…” For a while, you watch the game -- mostly Charlie -- and witness him making a goal. You, along with all the other supporters of the team, get up from your seats, cheering loudly. Charlie looks up at you, a wide smile plastered on his face as he points to you. Your heart skips a beat, not expecting him to do something like that at all. “Someone has a crush on you…” Andrea whispers in your ear, a teasing smile on her face. “No, he doesn’t! That wasn’t for me…” you try to reassure yourself, but fail miserably. That was for you, and you know it all too well. Another thing you know, is that this probably shouldn’t be quite as heart-melting as it is. “If that’s what you have to tell yourself…” Andrea mutters before turning back to the game. This is not what you thought would happen in your first month of moving to Canada and starting anew at another college. Not at all.

The game is coming to an end now, and you’re still watching. Yes, you read that correctly. You’re still watching the game. A sports game. You! You never thought you would even last ten minutes watching, but somehow, Charlie made it all the more interesting. After every goal he’s scored, he pointed up at you, making you blush like crazy. You have absolutely no idea what’s happening or why he’s doing what he’s doing. All you know is that you like it. You like the way he makes you feel like a normal person for once in your life. Like you’re important. Like you matter. For once, it doesn’t feel like you’re the weirdo art kid that sits on the sidelines, drawing everything and everyone they see. “We’re going to go for some drinks with the team, want to come?” Andrea asks when the game is over and the players all head to the dressing rooms and the crowd files out of the bleachers. “Oh, uhm… I think I might stay a little while longer, you know? Work on my sketches,” you try your hardest not to smile like an absolute crazy person. Andrea raises her eyebrows at you, giving you a knowing look. She can just about see right through you. “Just be careful, okay?” she takes you in for a quick hug goodbye and then leaves with her friends. You sit down again and take your sketchpad out of your bag to kill some time while waiting for Charlie. He probably has to shower and change out of his gear and talk to his buddies before coming out to find you. For a while, you just sit and stare at the drawing of all these boys. They’re scattered all over the paper, but only one really captures you, and that’s Charlie. He’s the boy in the center of the page. Somehow, you really managed to bring out his very best features. His sparkling eyes, his chiseled jawline, his sharp cheekbones. On that page in front of you is Charlie. Though the others somewhat look about right, Charlie really takes the crown in this picture. It’s almost like you’ve studied him so well, that you drew him this perfectly. Which is only half true. All it took was one look and you had him down. All of his features, all of his details. You had it all down from one single look at him. You’ve started adding some more shadows to his face, the world around you vanishing as those eyes stare right back at you. You’re so enthralled, you don’t even notice the real life Charlie walking up to you until his voice reaches your ears. “Hey, sorry if I made you wait long.” Your head snaps up and your eyes widen, almost looking like a deer caught in headlights. He places his bag on the bench in front of you before sitting down next to you. A scent of minty freshness and invigorating citrus meets your nostrils. “Oh, no. Don’t worry about it,” you tell him with a smile, carefully closing your sketchpad and sticking your pencil between the rings at the top. “That was a very good game,” you compliment him, nodding towards the rink to emphasize. “I think… Not really a sports person.” He chuckles at this, glancing down at the floor bashfully. “I guess I found my lucky charm.” The second he looks up at you again and those words tumble out of his mouth, you can feel your stomach do flips. To cover the way it actually makes you feel, you roll your eyes, smiling amusedly. “How many people have you said that too, hm?” you ask with raised eyebrows. His smile falters at this, making you realize that it might not be something he likes to hear. The same way you don’t like hearing you’re a creep or a stalker for drawing pictures of people. “I don’t know what people have said about me to you, but I really am not what they peg me for.” His voice is soft, and for the first time since meeting him, he sounds fragile. “You sleep with two different people in one week, and they have you pinned down as the campus’ man-whore.” You give him a sympathetic smile, even though he’s not even looking at you. “I’m not actually this guy that sleeps around, you know? Sure, I flirt with a lot of people, but if your reputation precedes you, well…” he trails off at the end, and then finally looks up at you. “I know how you feel…” you start carefully, which captures his undivided attention. “There was this girl in high school and she had the most beautiful features, you know? Sharp jawline, the deepest dimples in her cheeks when she smiled… I couldn’t help but keep drawing her. She just took so well on paper, and when I showed her, she called me a stalker and a creep. From then on out, I became the stalker creep from Valley High.” You roll your eyes at the memory of Kiara and everyone else at that school. “So, I have a reputation that precedes me too…” “It’s nice to know I’m not alone,” Charlie says with a light-hearted chuckle. “Could I… Could I look at your work?” he carefully asks, pointing at the pad in your lap. You wrapped your fingers around the leatherbound sketchbook, debating it. “Promise you won’t run when you see what’s in here?” You offer it to him, and he grabs it, but you’re holding it so tightly, he can’t take it. He raises an eyebrow at you. “What? It’s not like you drew me or anything, did you?” he jokes, to which you just press your lips together in a thin line. His expression softens in realization. “Oh…” You stare at him for a moment, both of you holding onto the pad. “I promise I won’t run, okay?” You slowly let go of the pad. He places it on his lap and starts flipping through pages. The first few drawings are random kids from campus, either studying in the library or reading a book underneath the big maple tree. Then follow Andrea’s drawings. She suggested being your model, she said you could ask her any time you wanted. After that, Charlie’s sketches follow. The first few are of him during practice with his helmet on. On the next page, are the ones you drew in the library. Some profile, some portrait. He then flicks to the one of all the players, and shuts it after finding empty pages after that. It’s silent for a moment, like he’s taking it all in. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shown you that,” you quickly say and reach for your book, but Charlie has a steady grip on it. He finally looks up at you, a shocked expression on his face. “No. No, it’s just… I wish I knew the name of the artist that captured me so realistically on paper.” You swallow a lump in your throat as his hazel eyes bore deep down into your soul. “Uhm… Y/N,” you introduce yourself shyly. “I just have a habit of drawing people with really nice facial structure, I guess…” you add with a nervous chuckle, staring down at your fingers as they play around with the bracelets around your wrists. “Huh…” You look up at that, wondering if it’s a weirded-out ‘huh’ or something else. “What?” It comes out in an unwanted whisper. “No one’s ever given me a compliment about my facial structure,” he smiles down at you. It’s the most overwhelming feeling of warmth radiating through your body from that one smile. “It’s true though! If you check that last page of the whole team, the others don’t really have that sharp a jaw or chiseled cheekbones like you,” you state, pointing at the sketchpad. He opens it on that page and watches it for a couple seconds. “This makes me feel like the prettiest boy on the team.” He closes it again and hands it over to you, looking straight into your eyes again. You swear you’re going to faint one time if he keeps on doing that. “You are the prettiest boy on the team, Charlie,” you joke, grinning teasingly whilst clutching the sketchpad against your chest. Charlie chuckles at this, and you swear you can detect a slight blush on his cheeks as he looks down at his feet again. “You want to get out of here?” he then asks, “We could go to the coffee shop across the street to warm up? Get that little nose of yours back to its normal color.” He softly boops your nose, which is no doubtedly red from the cold from the ice rink. You giggle nervously, and then nod your head in agreement. The two of you get up from your seats and grab your bags. Before you even realize it, Charlie has grabbed your freezing hand in his warmer one, and guides you down the bleachers all the way to the café across the street. The warmth engulfs you like a welcome hug as the two of you take a seat in a booth by the window. “What’s your go-to coffee order?” he asks, perusing the menu even though he knows what he wants. You scan the booklet, looking for the one thing you always get. “A cappuccino with whipped cream,” you reply, pointing at the order on the menu. “Ooh, good choice!” he agrees excitedly, “Would choosing a hot chocolate make me less cool?” You chuckle, “Well, it’s a hot chocolate, it’s bound to make you less cool.” He laughs at your joke, throwing his head back. You can’t help but laugh along, mostly at how adorable he is in a fit of laughter. “Good one, Y/N,” he says. You give your orders to the waitress, and lapse into a conversation about everything and anything. He asks you about your college major, and you ask him all about hockey. The way his eyes light up when he’s talking about the sport he loves, or anything he loves, is endearing. You can’t believe Andrea made you stay away from him for so long. Charlie really isn’t the bad boy jock she had him pegged for. If anything, he’s the opposite. He’s kind and considerate, and incredibly ambitious and passionate about everything he loves. You just want to know everything about him and spend as much time with him as possible. Without even realizing it, you’re tracing his features again on your leg, preparing for yet another drawing of him. Preparing for more adventures with him.

Taglist: @parkeret @lukeys-giggle @gingerxarmy @lovesanimals @lolychu @hannahhistorian92 @marinettepotterandplagg @thequirkybookaholic @bookdealer5 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hemmingsness @siennanoelle01

Let me know if you wanna be on my taglist! :)

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nattikay · 3 years

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So I saw this post while browsing toa tags the other day. While I don’t think being obsessed with the school mascot automatically makes Toby a furry (though it is funny to joke about lol) since “being a furry” actually just means “being a fan of anthropomorphic animals” and doesn’t necessarily require any form of costuming or interest in such, it did get me thinking, hmmm...if he was a furry, what would his fursona be? 🤔 And from there I started wondering what Jim’s and Claire’s would be as well because y not ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

BUT WAIT, I hear you say--haven’t you already drawn the trio as werewolves and wolfwalkers etc.? Wouldn’t those be their fursonas??

Well yes....but actually no.

I guess it’s a little hard to explain, but there’s a nuance between “[person] but as an animal” and a proper “fursona”. While a fursona is an animal character used to represent its person, it doesn’t have to physically resemble them at all as you would expect [person]-but-as-[animal] to. For example, if you were to design me but as a cat, you’d probably give it light brown fur and green eyes like I have irl. But my fursona, unlike my human self, actually has blue fur and purple eyes. You can give your fursona matching physical traits to your own if you want to, and some people do, but most use only a pinch of their irl appearance, if any at all.

The choices people make when designing their fursonas vary wildly from “it looks like me irl” to “it looks like who I want to be” to “I just really like this color scheme” to “this particular color/marking holds deep personal meaning to me” to “this particular pattern represents a particular defining moment in my life” to “idk it looks cool and i vibe with it” etc. etc. etc. Everyone has different reasons of varying depth for the decisions they make in designing their fursona.

Therefore, to design a fursona for Toby etc., it’s less a question of “what would this character look like as [insert species here]?” and more of “how would this character choose to present himself with his own [animal] character?”

And that’s a much trickier game than just transferring a character aesthetic to a new species. ^^; We have to kinda dive into the characters and makes some guesses about how they, if given infinite creative freedom to design an animal avatar with no rules or limits, would choose to present themselves.

So all that said, here’s what I came up with:

Starting with Toby because he’s the one who inspired the post. I think Toby might choose a wolfdog fursona. A lot of people who choose wolves as fursonas consider themselves to be overwhelmingly loyal to their friends, a trait that fits Toby very well. However, while Toby likes to be “cool”, I don’t think he really thinks of himself as much of an “alpha” type--he’s more of a sidekick, and he knows that, and he’s ok with that. He’s the wingman. So what better way to incorporate that than to add dog into the mix? Man’s best friend=Jim’s best friend. Sociable, humorous, and unwaveringly loyal. Wolfdog it is!

With the species decided, we can move on to the design itself.

I can’t imagine any form of Toby in anything other than warm colors. This is extra emphasized by the flamelike patterns on his legs and tail, which both speaks to his desire to be totally awesome-sauce as well as acts as an allusion to his flaming warhammer. It’s fairly common (not universal, but common) for people to give their fursonas a more “ideal” physique than the person actually has as a sort of way to live by proxy physical goals or fantasies they’ve been unable to attain irl for whatever reason. Given that we’ve seen Toby struggle with fitness from time to time, it wouldn’t shock me to see him take this route. His wolfdog self is still relatively short and stocky, but it’s all muscle, babey.

This fursona is strong, fun, boisterous, and generally just kicks butt. Concentrated awesomesauce flows through his veins. Just don't mess with his friends, or you’ll feel the flames!

Moving on to Jim. Jim was the hardest to nail down, and most definitely the hardest to keep my personal biases out of oof. Which I may have failed to do anways because yes, ok, I made my favorite character a blue feline, sue me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ But hear me out first!

For Jim I ultimately settling on a cheetah/lion hybrid.

Cheetahs, in a way, are sort of the underdogs (er...cats?) of the feline world--at least, in their local ecosystems. They are built wholly for speed, not strength--and as such, just about every other large predator in their environment has them beat when it comes to raw strength. Remind you of a certain Trollhunter? plus the long lanky legs. don’t forget those lol

However, because of this disadvantage, cheetahs...usually surrender. They know it’s not worth it to defend their kill from larger, stronger opponents, so they’ll give it up and just catch something else. This aspect doesn’t quite fit our protective, selfless protagonist all too eager to risk everything to save his loved ones--so a pure cheetah may not be the right choice.

So what animal is brave and protective? That’s where the lion part comes in, of course!

Why not just make him a pure lion? Well, a little similar to making Toby a wolfdog instead of a pure wolf. A straight-up lion feels a little too “chad” for our sweet Jimbo. Too much of a jock.

Jim has the humble underdog nature of a cheetah as well as the bravery and fierce protective drive of a lion. Cheelion? Leetah? idk, but let’s design it!

Like Toby and warm colors, I don’t think I can possibly associate Jim with any color but blue. While it’s never directly stated, given that we’ve never really seen him wear any other color (with the exception of the Eclipse armor), I think it’s pretty safe to assume that that’s his favorite. Blue sweater, blue jeans, blue shoes, even his backpack and bedsheets are blue. So naturally, his fursona would be predominantly blue as well! Plus some yellowish accents to (somewhat) match the natural colors of his chosen species(s).

I imagine he originally designed the character without horns, but then added them after becoming the Trollhunter, since it became such a major and impactful aspect of his life.

His lion’s mane also continues down his back in imitation of the “mantle” found on baby cheetahs. This youthful feature could subtly represent the fact that he’s been forced to grow up too fast and take on so much responsibility so young--so his fursona can still be young and carefree as long as he likes even while his real self struggles with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

This fursona is relaxed, calm, and confident. He’s not just cool--he’s crispy!

Lastly but not leastly, we have Claire. Out of the three, I think Claire was actually the easiest to choose--or at least, I had the clearest idea of what I thought she might go for.

Claire is a bit of an interesting duck, because while she’s shown to be fairly popular at school, she’s definitely far from the stereotype of The Popular Girl™. Yes she’s smart and pretty, but she’s also a little spunky or even a bit quirky--she’s a theatre kid, she’s a huge fan of hard rock band Papa Skull, and while I wouldn’t quite call her “rebellious” per se, she’s certainly willing to bend some rules if she feels the situation calls for it (not telling her parents that she was going to the concert with Steve, literally sneaking into Jim’s basement to try to find out what was up with him, etc).

That said, I think Claire might go for a hyena fursona--something a little out of the box, but not totally out of left field. (she also shows a slight Gurl Power™ streak here and there “the staff was not meant to be wielded by man--” “I am not a man!!!”) and if you know anything about hyenas...well, yeah lol)

I think Claire would lean into her punk-rock “rebellious” side with her fursona design. This character is completely free of the pressure of being the councilwoman’s daughter and having to maintain her mother’s public reputation, and thus allows Claire to express a less restrained side of herself. She has a bold semi-edgy color scheme with bright accents (and some earrings to match her person’s hair clips) while still remaining feminine and (her own brand of) fashionable.

This fursona is spunky and sassy; she’s spicy and sweet all rolled up into one. She knows what she wants and she’s not afraid to chase it down. She lives her own life and she’s dang proud of it.

....sooooo yeah there’s my take on what Toby’s, Jim’s, and Claire’s fursonas could hypothetically be. And I guess since this post was inspired by a joke about Toby’s infatuation with the school mascot, here’s just some quick thoughts on how they might approach fursuiting to end us off:

Jim I don’t see as much of a suiter. He might try it once or twice if given the opportunity, but at the end of the day it’s not really his cup of tea--he’d rather act as the “handler” for his friends, if anything.

Toby and Claire, on the other hand, I could definitely see as suiters. In fact, with her interest in acting, Claire would probably particularly enjoy it--she’d be one of those suiters who really gets into character, absolutely refuses to break the magic publicly (outside of any actual medical emergency), and popular at cons because she just performs so well.

Toby, meanwhile, would be the more chill type--uses his normal voice in-suit, isn’t really too stressed about “breaking the magic”, just kinda hanging around like he would normally except “look I’m a talking dog, cool right?”.

also while I was typing this it occurred to be that since Eli is canonically a cosplayer then he could be a fursuiter as well; in his case i imagine he actually made his own suit it’s a protogen and it’s full of little LEDs and other electric gadgets, it’s not the prettiest thing ever as sewing is not his forte but boy did he try!! good for him. good for him

#so anyways I put way too much thought into this...enjoy I guess?#trollhunters #tales of arcadia #toby domzalski #jim lake jr #claire nuñez #furry #my art

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kat-katsuki · 3 years

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Sunflower and White Rose | Bakugou Katsuki x Reader Part 1

Fantasy AU

Genre: Drama

Masterlist

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

WC: 2.4k

The northern tribe of the dragon riders had a tradition. Every year, the tribe holds a fire festival, also known as the coming-of-age festival, to celebrate those step foot into adulthood. All the 16 year olds will gather around the bon fire to dance with their partners. It is said that lovers who dance together will be blessed by the fire god, and their love will last for all their lifetimes to come.

Bakugou Katsuki was prince of the tribe, and the bravest, most skilled dragon rider of their generation. He is the dream man of almost all the young ladies in the tribe. This year, he was to come of age. The young fifteen and fourteen year olds cried to their parents, asking why they weren’t born a year or two earlier.

Little did they know the young prince already had his eyes on someone. You.

You were quite the black sheep of the tribe. The tribe was full of dragon shapeshifters and riders. Your people were known for bravery and freedom. Children were taught at a young age how to soar through the sky, whether it be on their own wings, or riding a winged one. You, on the other hand, were terrified of heights.

You were often made fun of by your peers. Even Bakugou himself had once made fun of you for being a coward when the two of you were just children.

However, you had the kindest soul the world has to offer. Even though you were the laughingstock of your generation, you never got mad or embarrassed. You simply smiled and treated everyone with respect. You weren’t jealous of those who soared the sky. Instead you focused on the wonders the earth had to offer.

Because you were neither a rider nor a shapeshifter, you made good friends with Midoriya Izuku, the young outsider who lived a few miles outside the tribe. He and his mother had moved here when he was very little. Although the tribe had a reputation for being savages and fearful of outsiders, the dragon tribe was actually very welcoming. Bakugou’s mother made friends with Midoriya’s mother almost immediately, and Midoriya was raised alongside of the youngsters of the tribe. However, because Bakugou often made fun of Midoriya for being scrawny and weak, Midoriya had few friends in the village. Midoriya’s mother was a healer, so Midoriya too, studied medicine.

You were always fascinated by herbs and flowers, so you often went to Midoriya’s house to learn from them. When you weren’t at their house, you often laid in the flowerbed, enjoying the scent of nature.

How Bakugou fell for you was an accident, literally. He and Kirishima, his dragon, were soaring through the skies, practicing the new tricks they’ve learned, and that was when the accident happened. Bakugou lost balance, and accidentally steered Kirishima into a large boulder on the top of the mountain, and the two fell right onto the flowerbed you were laying on. Thousands of flowers were crushed under the large red dragon, petals and pollen scattered into the sky and then falling down like rain.

You stood in the sea of flowers, wide eyed. The prince had fallen. The best rider of the tribe had fallen. You quickly rushed over to the fallen prince and his dragon. Kirishima was protected by his strong and sturdy scales, so he only ended up with scratch wounds and maybe a concussion. Bakugou, on the other hand, broke his left arm.

When Bakugou saw you his eyes widened with horror as his face turned into a deep shade of crimson. Someone had saw him fall out of the sky. Of all people to see him embarrass himself, it was you, the loser of the tribe. “Don’t you fucking dare tell anyone about this! Or else I’ll kill you!” he threatened you.

“O-Okay!” You nodded timidly. “B-But your arm is broken. It needs to get treated immediately or-”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP! I DON’T NEED HELP FROM A FUCKING FAILURE!” He slapped your hand away.

“Katsuki that’s not very nice. She’s just trying to help!” Kirishima said when he transformed back into his human form. Despite his insults, you didn’t hesitate to help him and Kirishima to a small cave far away from the village, where they can rest and heal in peace. Normally, when dragons or riders get injured, they’d call a shaman to do a few chants, and let the gods heal their wound. Herbs and medicine are foreign practices that were not used in the tribe, so when you brought the medicine you had made for the prince and his dragon, he refused to let you put it on him.

Kirishima, on the other hand, was very open to these foreign stuff. He let you put your homemade creams on his scrape wounds to stop the bleeding. “Oh man this feels so good! Katsuki you gotta try it!”

After a lot of persuading, Bakugou finally let you put some medicine on his scrape wounds. The cream stung at first, but after the stinging sensation was over, it left a cool feeling on his skin that soothed the pain. Bakugou couldn’t help but notice how the wounds healed much faster with the strange green plant juice you put on him than the chants of the shaman. Eventually, he let you wrap his arm to a stick, which you said will help his arm heal.

You tore the cloth to your dress, shortening it to barely over your butt. You gently raised his broken left arm, placed two straight logs to either side of his arm, and wrapped the cloth around them. Only then did Bakugou finally take a closer look at you for the first time in his entire life. For a failure, you were breathtakingly beautiful. Your (e/c) orbs seemed to sparkle under the moonlight, and from your (h/c) hair, he could smell a faint scent of flowers.

Every day you’d come back with food, water, and medicine. While Kirishima’s wounds were healed a long time ago, he waited with Bakugou for his arm to recover. Before Bakugou knew it, he began looking forward to seeing you everyday.

You almost always had cuts and bruises on you somewhere. Bakugou knew exactly how you got those. Ever since you were a kid you were always bullied by the other children in the village. You and Midoriya were always the targets of their rock throwing and sharp shooting practices. Although Bakugou never bothered to join in, he used to always scoff at your miserable state. Now, seeing those dark purple patches over your skin, he could only feel his blood boil. “Who did it?” he’d ask, but you would only show him that annoyingly goofy smile of yours, telling him that you fell, when you clearly didn’t.

He didn’t know why he felt a strange disappointment inside him when you told him he was fully healed. “You can go back now,” you said.

“Alright! Now we can go flying again!” Kirishima cheered.

Bakugou stared at his left arm, now good as new. Your medicine worked miracles. He couldn’t even find a single scar on his body. You left before he could tell you ‘thank you.’ Just like that, he and Kirishima went back to the village. The moment they arrived, they were surrounded by their friends and family, asking them where they’ve been the past few weeks. It was then that he realized he never once thanked you for saving him and keeping his secret.

Since then he’s had his eyes on you. Every time he spotted you in the crowd his eyes would follow wherever you went. Whenever he went flying with Kirishima, they’d always fly over the same flowerbed to see if you were there.

Kirishima quickly caught onto the feelings of the young prince. Whenever they saw you at the flowerbed, Kirishima would lie that he’s tired and needs a rest. He’d land at the flowerbed just so Bakugou could be with you. However, despite Kirishima’s efforts, Bakugou never seem to know what to say to you. He’d try to ask what you were up to, but the words that came out of his mouth were, “Hey coward, here sniffing flowers again?”

You’d always give him the same goofy, and slightly timid smile with your signature, “Ehehe” chuckle. Kirishima would nudge Bakugou and tell him to go talk to you, but Bakugou just sat there watching you pick herbs, refusing to utter another word to you because he knew nothing good will ever come out of his mouth.

He always sees you bringing home injured little animals: birds, squirrels, rabbits, fawns. Instead of eating them like what the other people in your tribe would do, you treated their wounds and released them back into the wild. You were just so weird, weirder than that outsider Midoriya. But for some reason Bakugou can’t get his mind off of you.

Finally, it was the awaited day before the fire festival. On this day, all the sixteen year olds of the tribe will be participating in the flower exchange event. Flower exchange is the special event held the day before the fire festival for the new adults to find partners. It is also the traditional day where the young adults declare their love for one another. Of course, it is common for some people who don’t have a love interest in mind to partner up as friends, and for some people to wait for their younger significant other to turn sixteen before choosing a partner. However, for most sixteen year olds, this is the most important day of their life.

Bakugou had already planned everything out in his head. He’s going to ask you to be his partner. He practiced day and night so that he won’t accidentally call you harsh names. He swore that this would be the one day where he won’t say anything mean to you. He’ll tell you how he feels, and ask you to be his partner, his lover, the one who would forever be with him for their many lifetimes to come.

He had your favorite flower in his hand, a ghost of a smile on his face. He had watched you pick flowers for months. He had noticed how your eyes would always soften, and your lips would always curve upward when you saw this particular flower. The white rose.

Everyone else were holding such vibrant colors in their hand, red being the most common. Red roses, red salvia, tulips, violets, peonies, buttercups, you name it. He had always wondered why you were so obsessed with this plain looking flower. Your taste in flower was just as unique as your fear of heights.

Flower exchange was held at the center of the village. Every year the entire village would come to watch the youngsters exchange flowers. It can easily be deemed the most important event of the year. A swarm of girls and boys ran up to Bakugou, asking to exchange flowers with him. “FUCK OFF EXTRAS!” Bakugou growled at them as he violently searched for your silhouette in the crowd. Weird… He knew for a fact you turned sixteen this year. Heck he even saw the shitty Deku, who was invited by Mitsuki to join the tradition. He held a sunflower in his hand, and stood at the corner looking almost uncomfortable to be there. His face was a dark shade of crimson, and his legs trembled.

“Pfft! Sunflower? Who brings a sunflower to flower exchange?” Bakugou could hear a few people laugh at the young green haired teenager, and he just scoffed in agreement.

Kirishima had exchanged flowers with his childhood friend, Ashido Mina. You were still nowhere to be found.

Soon, most of the new adults were already partnered up, clearing the area. “Prince, will you be my partner?” girls kept swarming around him, and he had to push past them to find the familiar (h/c) silhouette.

That was when he saw you.

He expected you to stand there awkwardly. He expected you to be without a partner.

He didn’t expect you to show up without a flower.

You stood there kicking the pebble by your feet, a hint of sadness in the depth of your eyes. “(Y/N)-chan where’s your flower?” Mitsuki asked.

“Ehehe~” you smiled at the wife of the chief and scratched the back of your head almost guiltily. “I forgot about that.”

“Bet she knows that no one’s going to partner with her, so she just didn’t bring one,” someone laughed.

The smile never left your face, but Bakugou had a strong urge to punch them in the face. What was he going to do now? Exchange of flower symbolizes exchange of love. Did you not bring any flower because you had no love to give? Or was it true that you just forgot?

Whatever. None of that matters. He was going to give his flower to you no matter what. “(Y-”

“(Y/N)-chan. If you don’t have a flower, I’ll give you mine!” Midoriya stepped in front of you and held out his sunflower to you, pink dusting over his freckled cheeks. Bakugou froze, wide eyed.

“Izuku what about you? Aren’t you going to exchange flowers with someone?” you asked your friend.

“Well, it’s not like someone is going to partner with an outsider like me for something as important as the fire festival. This is such an important tradition to your culture, you should take it,” Midoriya placed the sunflower in your hand. “In fact I was….actually going to give it to you in the first place….”

“Psh! Outsider and loser, how fitting.”

Mitsuki shot a glare at whoever uttered those words.

You just smiled at Midoriya, and asked, “Then you wanna be partners for the fire festival?”

The white rose fell from Bakugou’s hand. At that moment it was as if the sky came crashing down on him, weighing over his shoulders, pinning him to the ground. He was the prince, the next king of the dragon tribe, yet the only person he has ever loved, asked someone else to be her partner. The people around them dove to the ground fighting for the rose that fell. Almost in an instant, the poor flower was torn to shreds, just like his heart.

He ran.

He could only run. He had to get away before he puked on site. Why…? Why? Why?! WHY?!! Why the shitty Deku?!

The necklaces clattered, and the cape on his back fluttered with the wind. His teeth were clenched and his sharp nails dug into his palm. He was furious at you, furious at Deku, but most of all he was furious at himself. Why didn’t he go up to you before Deku? Why did he run away without even attempting to ask you. He always called you a coward, but he was the true coward.

PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Also on AO3! A kudos would be greatly appreciated!

#bnha fanfic #bnha #mha #mha fanfic #bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bnha fantasy au #boku no hero academia #boku no hero x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #drama #romance #white rose #sunflower #my hero academia

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