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que-serra-serra · 10 months

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[Serennedy] Quality Time

Leon gets back from a mission and finds the night to be full of surprises. Rated Explicit | 5k words | ao3 link

Leon stared at the sight before him and considered whether he was more sleep-deprived than he'd initially thought.

After a week-long mission, coming home to his apartment in the middle of the night and quietly opening his bedroom door, he’d expected to see nothing but darkness or at most a reading lamp that was left on by mistake.

Not a naked Spaniard handcuffed to the headboard and sprawled out on Leon’s bed.

“Buenas noches, querido,” Luis said, a way too smug smile on his face considering the situation. “Would you like to join me?”

Leon kept staring. The clock radio did indeed blink 2:30 AM, and there was no explanation for how Luis had managed to either handcuff himself or even know Leon was coming home at this hour.

Luis’ smile faltered as he sat up straighter on the bed. “Mi vida?” he asked, voice lowering into something more gentle. “We don’t have to; I only wanted to surprise you.”

“You surprised me, all right.” Leon felt the corner of his mouth pulling up in a smile. “Please tell me those aren’t my STRATCOM-issued handcuffs.”

Luis laughed and immediately relaxed back against the bed. “What can I say?” He winked. “I do so enjoy defiling government property.”

Leon huffed a laugh even as he started shucking off his weapons and armor.

“Mm,” Luis commented, licking his lips. “Such a dangerous man here in my bedroom. What will you do to me, agent?”

"Depends," Leon said. "Are you gonna be good for me?"

Luis' eyes darkened with lust—Leon had set the tone for the evening, and Luis looked to be on board.

"There's little I wouldn't do for you, cariño,” Luis murmured.

Leon knew all too well how much he meant it.

As far as the rest of the world was concerned, Luis Serra Navarro had died three years ago, in a village in northern Spain amidst the chaos that had been caused by the parasite he'd helped to develop.

For much of the first year, Leon had thought the very same thing. He could barely even remember getting back to the States and being awarded medal upon medal for returning Ashley safe and sound. He and Ashley were only alive because of Luis’ kindness, and a part of Leon had died right alongside Luis in that mineshaft. He’d grieved for months, drowning himself in work and alcohol to dull the pain.

Until a mysterious figure had appeared in front of his apartment complex. And as Leon caught a glimpse of that infuriating smirk he never thought he’d get to see again as Luis told him “A little red-dressed birdie said to tell you 'You're welcome' and 'You owe me big time'," it was only years of training that allowed him to calmly invite the man up for coffee instead of breaking down cursing and yelling right there in the street.

Leon scarcely even cared what strings Ada had pulled to get Luis out alive and without any paper trail to boot. For the past two years, Ada would contact them whenever she wanted them for something—usually Luis' knowledge, but sometimes Leon's STRATCOM intel—and both of them knew not to ask for further details. Leon was still shackled to the US government but after Raccoon City and Project Javier, he didn't have any illusions that he was working for the good guys. Ada wasn't much better but at least she'd given Luis a chance at redemption and given the world a brilliant scientist in the fight against B.O.W.s.

But most importantly, she'd given Leon back one of the few people he'd ever called a friend.

“Dios mío, you are such a tease,” Luis complained. He was straining against his handcuffs while Leon stripped slowly, lost in his thoughts. “I'm starting to regret chaining myself to the bed.”

Well. A lot more than a friend, these days.

“Oh, really?” Leon said, finally stepping out of his underwear. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice about touching my stuff.”

"Come here and touch my stuff and I may consider it," Luis shot back.

Leon rolled his eyes but crawled into bed to straddle Luis nonetheless, hips hovering over Luis' abdomen.

"Mm, now that is a lovely view," Luis teased, staring up at Leon with a cocky smile.

But after all this time, Luis no longer bothered to hide the pure adoration in his eyes and Leon no longer pretended that it didn’t make him want to kiss Luis every time he saw it.

And that was what he did even now, leaning down to claim warm lips in a steady kiss, not missing the way Luis eagerly tilted his head up to meet him halfway.

Leon’s fingers brushed through the silky soft strands of Luis’ hair. His hair had grown long in his self-inflicted exile in Leon’s apartment, and after one time when Leon had heard him grumbling that he’d chop it off with kitchen scissors, Leon had yanked Luis' head back by his hair and kissed him and kissed him until Luis got the memo and laughed, “Alright, alright, mi amor, the hair can stay.”

These days, Luis mostly kept his hair in a low ponytail or haphazard bun, especially when he worked: usually compiling his knowledge about parasites and dirt on Umbrella and leaking the documents anonymously online. Most evenings, Luis would sit by his desk and chew on the butt of a pen, loose strands of hair escaping the hairband and falling into his face while he ruminated on problems way beyond Leon's understanding.

Leon may or may not have interrupted numerous important research sessions by grabbing Luis’ pretty hair and guiding his head down to wrap that smart mouth around something much bigger than a pen. Coincidentally, those were some of the few times Luis agreed to take a break, so Leon saw it as a win-win.

This time, however, Luis’ hair was loose, and during the kiss Leon's fingers mapped out how the dark brown waves cascaded over Luis' naked shoulders.

Leon was already half-hard by the time he pulled away from the kiss. Luis leaned forward to chase after his lips, only to be stopped by his restraints.

"Not fair," Luis huffed, glaring at the handcuffs fastened over his head.

“You really didn’t think this through, did you?” Leon asked.

“I didn’t know it would be a three-hour event!” Luis said.

“Hmm,” Leon said, then thrust his hips forward so his hardening dick slid against Luis’ chest to get some friction. “I was thinking four hours.”

“Mierda,” Luis cursed, tugging on the handcuffs as he watched Leon’s erection slide between his pecs. “I forget what a demon you can be.”

Leon hummed and kept leisurely grinding against Luis’ chest, easily working himself to full hardness. His tip was already starting to leak and smeared pre-cum into Luis’ chest hair in filthy trails.

Luis groaned and arched into him, making Leon’s cock accidentally slide over his nipple. When that only made Luis moan louder, Leon did it again, this time deliberately.

“Oh, querido,” Luis murmured as Leon's wet cock toyed with his nipple. “Fuck me.”

“No,” Leon said.

Luis whined yet his hips shamelessly kicked up off the bed, betraying just how much he enjoyed the denial.

Leon loved when Luis got like this. The first few times a then-vanilla Leon had been asked to push Luis around in bed, the nights had mostly ended in both of them snickering at his terrible attempts at dirty talk or the spanking that wouldn't even hurt a fly. But after some time—and more than a few demonstrations from Luis—Leon realized that praise worked just as well as degradation and the promise of pleasure was often much more effective than the threat of pain.

Now they were at a stage where a tumble in the sheets could range from either of them getting roughly fucked against the nearest surface to simply laying back and getting pampered with sweet words and gentle touches. But after two weeks away from Luis on a shitty mission, Leon couldn't deny that this was exactly what he'd needed; he couldn't control where he was sent, how long he was gone, or even working for the damn government in the first place.

But here and now, he had full control of Luis' pleasure, and it was an intoxicating feeling.

“I wanna ride you,” Leon decided.

Luis cursed under his breath and his head fell back, thudding against the headboard. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“Not interested in getting you killed again,” Leon said before he thought better of it.

Luis’ face softened. “Mi corazon, we have been over this. It wasn’t your fault.”

Leon bit back an argument. They’d never agree on where the blame should be placed for that fateful day of Luis’ near-death. Leon didn’t think his guilt would ever truly disappear for having left an unconscious but not dead Luis in that horrible place, but at least he could make sure Luis never had to go through anything like that again.

“I'm just glad you're here,” Leon settled on. He leaned in for a kiss and cradled Luis’ head, fingers brushing gently through his long hair.

Luis moaned into it and sweetly kissed back, caressing Leon’s lips with his own and coaxing Leon’s tongue out to play. Arousal pooled heavy in Leon’s gut and he slipped his tongue between pliant lips, Luis making a deep sound of pleasure that shot straight to Leon's cock.

Luis wasn't the only one getting impatient.

Eager to move things along, Leon pulled away from the kiss and reached for the bedside table, only to notice that their favorite lube had already been conveniently placed on top of it. He cast Luis a pointed look and was met with a leer and Luis wagging his eyebrows.

Leon snorted. “Whore.”

“Ha!” Luis barked out a laugh. “Guilty as charged.”

Leon got back into position straddling Luis, lube now in hand. He squirted some on his fingers and unceremoniously reached behind himself, shoving a finger into his ass and grimacing at the feeling of wet and cold that came with room-temperature lube.

“Mmh, let me see,” Luis said, craning his neck to try to look around Leon.

Leon smiled faux-sweetly as he pushed in another finger. “No.”

Luis groaned, likely in frustration as much as arousal. He whimpered when Leon started moving his fingers, the wet squelch audible in their small bedroom.

“Please,” Luis said. “At least let me help.”

Leon shot an unimpressed stare at Luis’ restrained wrists.

“Yes, but…” Luis’ brow furrowed, before he perked up. “I still have a perfectly good tongue.” Luis winked and licked his lips and Leon’s fingers stuttered inside his own body.

He could vividly remember the times he'd gotten intimately acquaintanced with Luis’ tongue: either Luis quietly murmuring that he’d take care of him while kissing and licking at Leon's most intimate spots, or those other times, with Luis beautifully pliant under him as Leon held him down until Luis was practically sobbing, begging Leon to sit on his face—

Leon cleared his throat. “Another time.”

“Joder, at least give me a taste,” Luis pleaded. “Leonito is looking awfully neglected. You can multitask, can’t you, mi príncipe?”

Leon’s slightly flagging dick twitched in interest. “Fine.”

He shuffled closer until he was kneeling in front of Luis' face, cock jutting out towards his mouth. Luis craned his neck and pushed forward as much as his restraints allowed, moaning shamelessly once Leon fed him the tip of his cock.

Luis immediately started bobbing up and down the shaft, but Leon's hand tightened in his hair and pulled him off.

"Stop," Leon said as Luis whined in protest. "Stay still."

Luis visibly swallowed before nodding. He opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, hungry eyes never leaving Leon’s cock.

Leon didn’t even try to resist the temptation. He held Luis’ head steady by the roots of his hair and thrust his hips forward, deliberately missing his mark and sliding the head of his cock over Luis’ cheek to smear pre-cum on the skin.

Luis moaned but didn't move, just like Leon had ordered. That kind of obedience deserved a reward.

Leon’s thrust into the welcoming mouth was accompanied by a deep groan from Luis. He tightened his lips around Leon’s shaft and teased the underside with his tongue, making Leon forget himself and make a couple aborted thrusts into that incredible feeling of wet, tight and warm.

"Fuck, your mouth," Leon cursed.

Luis whimpered, his eyes having slipped shut as he eagerly sucked down Leon's cock in time with his thrusts, and Leon only then remembered what he was supposed to be doing. He shoved two still-slick fingers back inside his hole, a surprised moan falling from his lips at how much better it felt with Luis’ mouth pleasuring him at the same time.

Leon kept going at his leisure, shallowly fucking Luis' mouth with one hand gripping his hair and the other steadily pumping two fingers into himself. Every few thrusts, the head of his dick would slip out and smear more pre-cum over those pretty lips, making Luis' flushed face even more of a mess.

"Good job," Leon encouraged, angling his dick back inside Luis' mouth and finally pushing deep. "Now take it all."

Luis whined brokenly, throat working as he fought his gag reflex, then moaned and swallowed around Leon's cock as he got used to the feeling.

Once he was satisfied with Luis' efforts, Leon pulled out of his mouth and reached behind himself to grab Luis' cock, thrilled to notice it hard and leaking without even having been touched. Luis whimpered as Leon roughly stroked up and down to spread lube and pre-cum down the shaft, and then Leon was moving down Luis' body to hover over his cock.

Luis was already panting, his skin flushed from his ears all the way down to his chest and only highlighting the slick mess Leon's cock had made on him. When Leon didn't immediately move, Luis bit his lip and looked up at him with pleading eyes, hips canting up towards Leon's ass.

“Oh? Did you want this?” Leon asked. He sank down just the tiniest amount, making Luis' cock slide along his crack and catch on the rim of his loosened hole.

"Yes," Luis moaned. "Yes, Leon…!"

Leon lifted off again. "Then beg for it."

"Mi amor, mi vida, por favor," Luis babbled desperately. "I need to feel you, I missed you so much—please, please sit on my cock!"

Leon's dick twitched at seeing Luis so desperate, arousal curling dark and heavy between his legs.

"Well, since you asked so nicely…" Leon said, then slid down on Luis’ cock in one smooth motion.

Leon grunted at the stretch and Luis moaned, unrestrained and open-mouthed. Luis' entire body trembled and his hands clenched into fists in the cuffs yet he stayed so very still, not fucking into Leon without permission.

"That's it," Leon murmured, quickly adjusting to the familiar feeling of Luis inside him. "Stay right there, and I'll make it good for you."

Luis' eyes slipped shut and something in his body gave, relaxing under Leon and in his restraints.

Leon rewarded him by starting to move, setting a slow pace that dragged Luis' cock deep, small surges of pleasure licking up his spine at every delicious slide in.

Luis was warm and solid underneath him, completely silent save for his heavy breaths. There weren't a lot of things that could make Luis' perpetually yapping mouth shut up, but the endorphin rush of being completely at Leon's mercy often seemed to do the trick.

When Leon dropped down hard on his cock, Luis' eyes shot back open, looking up at Leon desperately.

"M-mi amor," Luis said brokenly.

"You're doing great," Leon reassured, stroking Luis' cheek. "You feel so good. Stay just like that."

Luis exhaled shakily and his eyes fluttered back close.

His body properly adjusted to Luis' size, Leon decided to start riding him in earnest. He leaned back and braced his hands on Luis's thighs, settling into a quick and shallow rhythm of fucking himself down on Luis' cock.

"God—fuck, you're so good," Leon panted.

Luis let out a quiet sob, wetness pricking in the corner of his eye as Leon went completely at his own pace, using Luis to pleasure himself.

"You feel perfect, you're…shit," Leon gasped, throwing his head back and he grinded Luis' cockead against his prostate. "Such a good boy."

“Yes, yes, yours,” Luis sobbed, his head lolling back against the headboard. “Your good boy.”

“Damn right you are,” Leon said, a half-smile twitching on his face before he sank fully down on Luis’ cock and his face went slack with pleasure, feeling Luis so deep inside. His nails dug into Luis' thighs as he practically growled, "Mine."

Luis made a broken sound pulled right from his very soul, shooting straight to Leon’s dick.

“Please,” Luis begged, hands balling into fists in the handcuffs when Leon wasn’t moving. “I’m so close.”

“No,” Leon said, making Luis moan as his cock twitched and swelled even more inside of Leon. “You’re not allowed to come until I say so. I'm gonna ride you and make myself come on your cock, and you're gonna lie there and take it like a good boy. Got it?”

"Yes, yes!" Luis said, body thrashing in his restraints. “Ah, mi amor—ride me, please, use me!”

Leon shuddered in arousal from the unashamed desperation in Luis’ words and body. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to keep denying them both; he already felt like he was teetering on the edge and only seconds away from coming, even though they’d barely gotten started.

“I will, don’t worry. I know you'll feel amazing,” Leon promised.

He lifted himself up and picked up a quick and rough pace of bouncing on Luis’ cock, Luis moaning loudly under him.

“Shit, Luis, you’re so good for me,” Leon said, working his body up and down. “A good boy with a perfect cock.”

Luis sobbed and feebly tried to meet Leon’s thrusts. “Harder, Leon, por favor!”

“Okay,” Leon said, and he could almost see the surprise on Luis’ face before it was replaced by slack-jawed pleasure, Leon fucking himself harder and faster onto Luis’ cock.

“Yes!” Luis practically screamed. “Oh, Leon…cariño, you’re so—so wonderful, so beautiful, so…” Luis trailed off in a groan, biting his lip as his eyes squeezed shut.

Leon knew that telltale sign of Luis’ impending orgasm and came to a full stop right away.

“No, no, no…!” Luis wailed. “Why!?”

“Told you,” Leon said smugly. “You’re not allowed to come yet.”

Luis groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, flopping his head back dramatically. “You are evil.”

“That’s not very nice,” Leon said, starting a languid pace of grinding down on Luis’ cock. “Is that any way to treat a guy you’re balls-deep inside?”

“That depends,” Luis said, half-glaring at Leon. "Are you actually going to ride me now, or just keep going like an abuela in her rocking chair?"

Leon huffed. "Last time I checked, you had no say in that matter."

And that was when Leon heard the clank before firm hands grabbed him by the hips.

“What the—” Leon had time to say before he was lifted and fucked up into hard, a groan punching out of him.

“You were saying?” Luis smiled up at him and then thrust again, making Leon’s nerves sing from pleasure.

Leon looked down and indeed saw Luis’ hands gripping his hips, with dark red marks around one wrist and the handcuffs dangling from the other.

“You—” Leon gasped at the rough pace Luis set with his newly acquired leverage. “You asshole, I thought you were supposed to be helpless!”

Luis smirked devilishly and paused enough to grind his cock against Leon's prostate, making him choke on a moan.

"You didn't even check the locks before letting your guard down,” Luis said. “Getting sloppy, agent."

“Fuck,” Leon moaned at another thrust, “you.”

“I offered, but you said no.” Luis grinned. “Come on, cowboy. Ride me like you mean it.”

Leon glared and had half a mind to protest just because Luis was being a brat: he could easily overpower Luis and cuff him back to the bed. But Leon's dick was aching and his body was alight with pleasure from Luis fucking up into him, and he really just wanted to come already.

“Then buckle up, fucker,” Leon spat. He raised himself up and let gravity do the rest, sinking down on Luis’ cock just as Luis thrust into him, making both of them moan.

They quickly found a rhythm; Leon riding Luis for all he was worth and Luis bucking up to meet him, driving his cock deep inside Leon and pushing them both closer and closer to the finish line.

Leon was too far gone to care about the noises he was making, moaning loud every time their hips met. His thighs burned with the effort and a thin layer of sweat coated both of their bodies, the obscene slap of skin against skin echoing in their bedroom.

“Oh, fuck,” Leon grit out as the pleasure inside him coiled tight. “I’m close.”

“Yes,” Luis groaned, his grip tightening on Leon’s hips. “I want to see, want to make you come—mmh, mi amor, let me see you come!"

Leon groaned and dropped his hand to tug on his cock, barely getting in two pumps of his fist before his body exploded with pleasure. His cock pulsed and shot ropes of white over Luis’ stomach and chest, his ass rippling around Luis’ cock still pistoning in and out. For a few precious seconds, Leon's mind whited out in pure bliss.

When Leon came down from his orgasm and back to reality, he was seated balls-deep on Luis' still-hard cock. Luis was cursing and begging in a mix and Spanish and English, not able to fuck into Leon with him being dead weight on top of him.

“Mi vida, mi sol, Leon, por favor! Please, I’m right there!” Luis pleaded.

He always did beg so beautifully.

"C'mon," Leon urged, lifting his hips to allow Luis to keep fucking into his spent hole. He grabbed a handful of Luis' now-sticky chest hair to steady himself. "Give it to me."

"Fuck," Luis sobbed, his thrusts into Leon's body erratic as he chased his orgasm. "Leon…!"

Luis made such a pretty sight: sweaty and trembling from how close he was to coming, his long hair a halo around his flushed face from where he'd slid down onto his back after the handcuffs were removed.

"You've been so good," Leon murmured, his voice low and sated from his own orgasm. "So, so good. I want you to come for me. Can you do that, Luis?"

Luis exhaled hard and nodded fervently, cock pounding into Leon at a fast and rough pace.

“Yeah, I know you can." Leon smiled. “Now be a good boy and come inside me.”

That seemed to do the trick. Luis's hips stuttered and threw his head back with a broken wail, cock pulsing and emptying inside Leon as he finally found his release.

It was one of the hottest things Leon had ever seen. Despite just having come and his body tingling with oversensitivity, Leon's spent dick twitched happily at the sight of Luis' orgasm.

"Dios mío," Luis panted once his dick was done pumping its release inside Leon. "One of these days, you will actually give me a heart attack from sex."

Leon huffed. "Then maybe don't handcuff yourself to the bed next time."

Luis sighed and laid his head back against the sheets, a satisfied smile on his face. "I regret nothing."

Leon smiled and rolled his eyes, settling in for the afterglow. He could feel Luis’ cock softening inside him but he wasn’t about to move—he always liked when they were joined as long as possible.

Leon's hands ran down Luis' come-streaked torso possessively. Luis wasn't as firm as he used to be—not being able to leave the small apartment without a heavy disguise and triple-checking that nobody was watching would do that to a man—though Leon suspected Luis used some of his weights for vanity reasons. At least to the extent that his old injuries allowed; you don't take a dagger to the lung and keep your full athletic prowess.

Leon didn't care if Luis was muscular or not. The fact that Luis no longer had to run for his life on the daily was a definite plus, and the softening lines around his waist spoke of the new cooking hobby he'd picked up: mostly because he didn't approve of Leon's diet that consisted solely of ready-meals and protein powder, because "Mierda, Leon, my abuelo will come to haunt me if I don't feed you real food."

Home-cooked meals had helped Leon put on more muscle, while it had maybe made Luis a little softer around the edges. Leon might be a little obsessed with coming home to find Luis puttering by the stove, making some dish that Leon always fucked up the pronunciation of, cursing at the lackluster American ingredients and sometimes even wearing an apron and looking like…like a kept man—

"Marry me," Leon said and promptly nearly threw himself off the bed in mortification. He had not meant to say that out loud!

Luis just chuckled. "Ah yes, let me simply rise from the dead, make same-sex marriage legal in this state, and then call your boss, the president, to ask for his blessing." He smirked up at Leon. "My dick scrambled your brain good, hm, querido?" Luis asked, like they were simply sharing a joke and not deciding the future of their entire relationship.

Leon's ears were flaming red. He'd thought about this for quite some time, but this definitely wasn't the best time to be having that conversation, with Luis' deflating prick still lodged in Leon's ass and his come drying in Luis' chest hair. But Luis seemed to think this was only the post-nut euphoria speaking, and that was just flat-out wrong.

“I mean it,” Leon said, making Luis tilt his head quizzically. “It's just…I don't know how to explain it.” He sighed in annoyance at his shitty communication skills; he really should have prepared some kind of speech for this. “I hate being away on missions and not knowing when I'll be coming home.”

Luis smiled. “Oh, mi corazon. You may be a prince, but I am not a helpless princess—no matter how much you insist on me growing hair like Rapunzel," Luis said, making Leon huff a surprised laugh. "As much as I enjoy our time together, if you were here all the time, I doubt I would get anything done.“

Leon sighed. “That's not what I meant."

No matter how much he loved Luis, sharing an apartment this small 24/7 would probably make them both go stir-crazy. At their core they were both independent people and though neither of their lives were currently ideal—with the whole "Luis being legally dead" and "Leon being blackmailed into his job" thing—they still made it work.

Hopefully they could make this work too.

“I want a promise," Leon tried again. "Something to remind us that no matter what happens, I'll always come home to you. And I can just…touch the ring and know I have something to look forward to, and—and you can see yours throughout the day and always remember that I…" Leon swallowed and forced himself to go on. “That I'm yours. And you’re mine. I, uh, I mean if you want to.”

Leon cringed at his clumsy speech. But before he could apologize, Luis' expression softened and his warm hand came up to cup Leon's cheek. Leon had trashy mission stubble and probably looked like death, but Luis still looked at him like he was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

“You are mi vida—my life,'' Luis murmured. “I have been yours from the day we met. Though our friend was the one who brought me back from the brink of death, you are the one who saved me from myself.”

Leon swallowed the mess of emotions bubbling up in his throat. If he was less emotionally constipated from all the shit in his past, he'd probably be crying.

Luis, however, had no such issues even despite his traumatic past, and was laughing a wet laugh as the hint of tears shimmered in his eyes.

“Look at me, blubbering like a fool,” Luis chuckled. “I must be getting emotional in my old age.”

Leon smiled and leaned in for a kiss, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Luis' ear. “Not old,” he murmured. “And that's my fool you're talking about.”

“Ah, cariño.” Luis' smile was wobbly and his voice thick with emotion. “I don't know how you always manage to make me swoon with such simple words.”

“It's because I love you,” Leon said, kissing Luis' cheek, then the corner of his wet eye. “And I'll always love you. You're it for me, Luis.”

The sob finally broke free from Luis' throat and then Leon was being shoved backwards, crashing against the soft mattress and a very clingy, silently crying Spaniard pressing close and kissing him all over, murmuring disbelieving ”estupido, idiota” in between the fond ”mi sol, mi vida, mi precioso.”

Leon smiled and relaxed into the embrace, brushing his fingers through the now-messy and slightly sweaty hair of the man he loved.

He knew that they wouldn't be able to make it official and that a ring would be too inconspicuous in his line of work. But the only two people who needed to know the extent of their promise were in this room, and Leon had never been one for bureaucracy anyway. They could get tattoos or even pick simple keychains for each other—the specifics hardly mattered.

All that mattered was that they were both just as eager to spend the rest of their lives together.

#serennedy #luis serra #leon kennedy #re4make #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil #que fic

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winderlylandchime · 7 months

Note

I swear i thought i replied to some of your questions a few days ago but i’m starting to think that I might’ve forgotten to and now i feel bad. But to summarize it: When we first started watching, he thought that Gale looked a little bit like Ashton Kutcher (but older version) and it was the funniest thing ever to me. He did only talk about it in the pilot though. Btw I am more and more tempted to later on give him Gale’s out of the box interview to watch. Or Randy’s podcast. He has been asking me about the actors a lot lately and if they still act and where are they and if theyre all still friends and I’m avoiding answering because well, one of them abandoned his podcast and the other one we dont even know if he’s still alive until we get a new photo. But I do wonder how he will react when he finds out Gale is straight ngl because right now he fully thinks Gale is gay irl.

Also yes, he has been going on and on about Brian’s growth and how he’s changed since he clocked it around 4th episode. He is so happy that he’s growing and allowing himself to be happy and in love even if he doesn’t want to admit it, that i just know the second 5x01 will start, he will have a mental breakdown and it will be very valid of him.

Your celebrities/therapist story actually made me curious now because how can a celeb that is well known, even get a therapist then without weirdness. I had no clue this was kind of a thing. And yes! My brother would absolutely launch into a discussion about Gale without shame, he’d have pictures and everything ready for it. I mean his confidence when it comes to talking to literally anyone about anything in his life (usually interests and shit he’s done thats funny to him or in this case the show) is impressive as fuck but also for an innocent bystander like me? actually a nightmare to be around that. He truly doesn’t give a single fuck and has zero shame and all the confidence in the world and idk how he does it. He just tells anyone who will listen (not in a trauma dumping type of way but like his interests and such? No shame) to give an example: when he was in high school he made an entire poster presentation for his class to talk about his love for the movie School of Rock and HE DID IT BY SINGING A FAKE ROCK N ROLL SONG (id give anything to remember the lyrics). Mind you, the presentation was supposed to be about current events in politics/world and School of Rock came out like a year or two prior. So you best believe he would do the exact same for Gale or more importantly QAF/Brian/Britin. And as someone who does shy away from talking about qaf just because it is a lot, he on the other hand truly gives zero fucks. Because when we started watching the show, he was fully explaining to the nurses/doctors/anyone that listened(our parents!!!) about how the show is AND HOW BRITIN MET! He TALKED ABOUT THE RIM JOB! I NEVER EVEN FUCKING TOLD YALL THAT! HE TALKED TO OTHER HUMANS ABOUT THE RIM JOB! AND HE WAS FULLY EXPLAINING IT bc he was shocked and surprised at how they filmed it and couldn’t figure out if that meant gale really did do it or not. So if you ever feel like maybe you’ve overshared about something you like and it keeps you up at night. Fear no more because my brother has for sure shared even more and has zero regrets about it.

It is hard to believe Gale is straight because he is that good of an actor and just went fully into the role and really thought deeply about who Brian is. Ugh it hurts my heart to think about just because it’s so full of appreciation for Gale and Randy.

I think you could show him any media that was released while the show was airing. But maybe avoid anything more current? Until he’s done and his heart is broken. He is going to be so upset by all the back pedaling in s5. Which is the correct reaction.

(I kinda love how as a fandom we’re like this is on the writers because Brian would never. Justin would never.)

I have a specific approach I take when I have celebrity clients and I think I could be a therapist to someone I’m a casual fan of. I could never be a therapist to someone I’m actively in a fandom for. I would have to leave the fandom, for starters.

HE TOLD PEOPLE ABOUT THE RIMMING SCENE!?! Oh my god. Anon you have to at least have him listen to Randy’s podcast episode about bottoming where he essentially said that Justin was too naive to do any prep and therefore someone experienced would have never rimmed him without making him at least shower first.

However I will feel so much better about over sharing now. Because holy shit I’ve never overshared like that.

#ask winderlylandchime #dear sweet anon #queer as folk #a straight man watches qaf us 2000 in the year of our lord 2023

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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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blissfulparker · 3 years

Note

if you could, please write something where mob! tom has the baby monitor on during a meeting and baby is babbling and she peeps out a “dada” in an upset voice to the nanny and he drops everything for her? sorry if it’s too detailed i can resend it

“Alright,” his hands clasps as he stands up. “Let’s get started.”

Except there was something different about this meeting. Tom kept a low baby monitor on as you recently got a new nanny. Tom being the overprotective father of the year he is, he felt the need to keep a monitor on him as if the nanny cam, maids around the house were not enough.

Tom made it a point for no one to point it out. Anyone spoke of his daughter or even his wife, a simple bullet to their head. He wasn’t giving chances when it came to his family.

“With our new shipment coming for our allies in New York we need—“ he starts talking when the faint sound of a cry cuts him off. He can basically hear your voice telling him to let her handle it, she knows what she’s doing. “With our new shipment coming—“ he starts over but cuts himself off again. The only man who blinks is Harrison, eyes flickering to the monitor and back at his best mate.

“Allies in New York want to expand, considering our recent connections with Italy I think it’s reasonable—“ he carries on but quickly falls lost for words when he hears a soft whimper of ‘dada’ through the monitor. The nanny makes sounds to try and soothe the girl but Tom hears his little girls words clear as day.

“Go.” Harrison rose from his seat, the mob was important but right now being a dad was more important. “I’ve got it.” He nodded, the coners of Toms mouth twitched but didn’t allow a smile to be seen by these men.

The moment those office doors shut tom let out a sigh as he quickly walked down the hall, up the stairs to the nursery where he looked for the nanny but found her situated in the living room instead. He didn’t mind anymore, use to not liking the exposer but you calmed him.

“Mr. Holland I—“ she started and he only shook his head. She was a distressed uni student that needed extra cash, her homework laid out as she watched his baby girl. You trusted her as she was a family friend of yours.

“It’s okay, I just wanted to check on her.” He gave her a smile and she relaxed. Picking up the little girl who resembled so much of you. You who should be home soon and would take her off the girls hands. “Hi Angel.” He kissed the top of her head. She had tears in her eyes but they faded as her little hand clutched Toms suit.

“Can you say dada again? Can you say dada?” He encouraged as he bounced her and she only cooed. You argued from the moment she came out she was a daddy’s girl. Her eyes flickering at tom and not leaving him as soon as she was in your arms, the only thing you had he didn’t was boobs filled with food for her.

“You’re free to go, I know you must be tired with pleanty of work to still do. We’ll still pay you in full Don’t worry.” He smiled at the young girl and she reassured before gathering her stuff and going.

He didn’t watch the girl leave, he only kept his eyes on his little girl who he bounced in his arms. All she wanted was him, predicable.

“Say dada, c’mon.” He tried again but she only closed her eyes as she was sleepy. He stroked her soft cubby cheek until she fell right asleep in his arms, she even slept like you. So relaxed as if there wasn’t a struggle in the world.

“You’ve gotta stop sending the nanny home early.” Your voice suddenly snaps tom out of his staring. Even if you were tired from work, feeling not so sexy as you gave birth six months ago and was still healing, he thought you were an Angel.

“Got done early.” He lied and you saw right through it but was in no mood to push him. “She said dada.” He smiled and you placed a hand on his back.

“Of course she did.” Your cheek rests against his shoulder. “You know, I bet if you had tits leaking with milk she would not even think I existed.” You joked and Tom huffed a laugh but shakes his head.

“Oh stop it, she loves you for more than just your tits.” He says and then looks at you. “I do too by the way.” He reassures and kisses your forehead.

“We created that.” You say in awe as you both stare at her.

“Yeah,” he smiles thinking about it. The women he loves and half of him with half of who he loves is right next to him. “We created that.” He kisses the little girls forehead one more time before taking a trip to her nursery and setting her in the crib.

“Alright,” you pat his chest. “Let’s clock you out of ‘mafia owner tom’ and clock you into to ‘my sexy husband who is the father to my kid’.” You turn to leave the nursery and drag him with as you want him out of the suit and yours for the night.

“Mmh,” he Hums as his eyes can’t help but to look you up and down. “Do I get to clock you out of ‘daytime worker’ to ‘my sexy wife who gave birth to my kid and now their badass mother?’” He lets his hands go to grip your ass and you let out a Yelp before pulling him into the room.

With comfy clothes, you two curl up in the bed. The monitor on and close the whole time as you two take advantage of her sleeping time. You loved her but when she was awake she never wanted any alone time, always needing one of your eyes on her as she liked the attention.

He would drop every meeting for the two of you. Hell he could be in another country and catch the first flight back if he felt he needed it. His whole life was once his mob, but now it was his girls. His girls were his family and he would do anything for them. In the future he knew there would be more, he wanted four but you promised three at most as one Holland baby was a lot to work with already. No matter how many babies you gave, he would love all of them. Most importantly he would love you.

#kats blurbs #mob!tom #dad!tom #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #imagine tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland au #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you

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s-brant · 3 years

Text

Pirates and Princesses (8/8)

(gif: @beccs) (PART SEVEN) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: JJ must confront his childhood trauma when returning home for the first time since his dad went to jail and prevent it from sabotaging his new relationship. Meanwhile, something sinister happens at the Chateau that brings Y/N face to face with her grief over John B’s death.

Word Count: 13.4k

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content, strong language, parent/child abuse, mental illness, post-traumatic stress disorder, grief, and fluff.

A/N: Welcome to the final chapter of Tokens! This one has a little bit of everything in it, but it also has detailed scenes about JJ and his dad, so proceed with caution if you’re easily triggered by that topic. The love you guys show this fic warms my heart so much, so thanks to anyone who stuck with this story until this chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

Now that she has been sentenced to both punishments, one as a consequence of the fight with Kacey and the other as a consequence of the stunt she pulled with JJ to break out of ISS, Y/N can confidently say that out of school suspension is superior to in-school suspension by a long shot. Instead of sitting in a humid room with Alec for the duration of multiple school days, she's allowed to stay home, go out surfing, and do whatever she wants in lieu of doing classwork.

She promised herself not to make it a habit, promising the invisible presence of John B that she likes to pretend follows her around that she will never get herself into trouble again, but she sees no problem in enjoying her suspension while it lasts.

For the first few days of her suspension, JJ skipped school to spend it with her. Their memories of the conversation they had at three in the morning on Sunday were fuzzy, but not missing entirely. She noticed a difference in his behavior for the first few hours after they woke up under the tree together for the second time in one week. It wasn't a difference in their relationship or how he treated her, it was a difference in him.

He was quieter than usual as they cleaned up cans of beer and tossed them into the recycling, sending pictures to Kie while she was in class after she made them promise not to throw them in the trash. Rather than cracking jokes or making casual conversation with her, JJ made his way around the yard with the recycling bin in his hands and his head in the clouds. It disappeared as the day progressed, but for a little while, he wasn't completely there.

Today, he went into school instead of ditching to spend extra time with her in between shifts at work and time spent with their friends. Since they can't exceed three consecutive absences without a doctor’s note and he doesn't own a printer or laptop to forage the header from a doctor's office, he had no choice but to part from her this morning.

He bites his lip to contain his smug facial expression at the recollection of her wake up call for him. The hand holding his locker door open for him to lean on in the midst of his not-so-wholesome thoughts of her squeezes the metal hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

The curtains weren't shut all the way when they fell asleep before midnight last night, allowing a shaft of sunlight to shine in and land on his face. But that wasn't what woke him up from the dream he was having. In fact, the reality he opened his eyes to was a hell of a lot better than any dream he remembered.

Most of his memory of those moments spent suspended between consciousness and unconsciousness consisted of feeling her pressing a kiss to his shoulder, then her hands rubbing up and down his waist to slip lower and lower until they settled on the waistband of his underwear. It was then that he woke to find her looking up at him for permission from where she peppered kisses along his chest.

Their eyes met right as she kissed the edge of his nipple with this pleading, needy look that he took pride in causing without actively attempting to. She woke up on the brink of coming undone from a pleasant—to put it tamely—dream about him. With a glimpse at the time displayed on the alarm clock, it didn't take much for her to roll over to wake him up.

It ended with her beneath the sheet, finishing what she started Friday afternoon until he was clutching the pillow beneath his head in the midst of his orgasm. It happened so fast, a fault of how hot he found it to wake up to her wanting him so badly, but it felt slower than it truly was in the early morning haze of exhaustion they felt.

The memory as he relives it is as heady as it felt the first time around. He sees it in fractions; her eyes looking up at his, warm palms finding the familiar planes of his muscular body with the exploratory touch of someone who's never traveled it before, and the intense sensations he felt at the end...It's easy for him to stand here and lose himself in it. Despite the class he has to go to, he bargains with himself for one more second spent in the paradise of his memories before he has to come back to reality.

Reality, as his shitty luck would have it, comes in the form of a familiar feminine voice chirping from behind his back as he replays his morning bliss.

"It's good to see you're alive and well, Maybank."

He decides, based on who he knows he'll see when he turns around, that he might invest in a sharpie to write "Bang head here" on the inside of his locker door for instances like these where he'd rather suffer brain damage than speak to someone he can't stomach the presence of.

When he turns to see Kacey with one arm still stretched to hold his locker open, he doesn't bother concealing the genuine reaction from his face for the sake of her feelings. Any care he had for her and her feelings was thrown to the wind as soon as she decided she could steal from and put her hands on his girl last week. However, after a second of thought, a condescending smirk finds its way to his face.

He says, jerking his chin to vaguely gesture at her bruised up face, "Purple really suits your complexion. It makes your eyes pop, don't you think?"

Though the swelling of her black eye has deflated in the days since the fight that’ll soon tally up to a week, the verbal jab hits right where it intended to if the light leaving her eyes tells him anything. She bounces back after a second, though, ever the relentless pest they've come to see her as.

She offers a sickeningly sweet, yet fake smile to mirror the one gracing his striking features and spins so her back meets the locker beside his, allowing herself to invade his space further.

A collection of Y/N's stickers decorates the inside of his locker door that he briefly entertained the idea of designating as a place to bang his head against. They range from girly, glittery ones to those he willingly picked when she gave him the choice. Whenever they're at his locker together, she sticks one on the inside, and the evidence of the habit catches Kacey's wandering eyes.

Her fingertips brush against the surface of the sticker-covered metal while she ignores his protest of, "Can you not touch my stuff?" to inspect them. Since one of the Pogues in particular is famous for her endless supply of stickers, her expression sours at the thought of the girl responsible for them.

She spares him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye as she continues to analyze the sticker collection against his instructions not to, asking, "Why weren't you at the bonfire?" A failed attempt at a seductive look in his direction makes him fight not to roll his eyes. "After how last year's ended, I thought you wouldn't miss it for the world."

JJ doesn't bother to take a second to think things through before he reaches to slam the door closed with her hand still outstretched inside of it. Watching her pull it away just in time to avoid jamming it in the locker probably pleases him more than it should, but he can't help it. His hand catches on the edge of the door, halting it in place right before it closes where her hand previously rested.

She doesn't look too happy with him when he opens the door with no harm done except for the drop of her stomach when he initially pretended to swing it shut on her bruised knuckles. She didn't get many shots in on Y/N when they fought, but apparently it was enough.

He doesn't bother with the fake niceties she's giving him after the disrespect she showed him, his friends, and, most importantly, his girlfriend. The fact that she thinks she has any right to breathe in his direction, let alone flirt with him, after she stole JB's bandana is criminal. 'Cause not only did she mess with Y/N, she messed with John B on multiple levels, and his loyalty to his best friend hasn't disappeared with death. Kie and Y/N told him everything she said about their departed friend in the locker room last Thursday.

But he's smart enough to know what'll hurt her more, so he doesn't go for the general scolding he imagined giving her in his head. Since he was told everything about the encounter in the locker room, he knows she's still holding their history together near and dear to her heart.

"We stayed home," he says, casual and cool as always, with added emphasis on the first word, "You know how it is, my girl doesn't like parties. Especially not ones with kooks."

Hook, line, and sinker.

She scoffs, "Your girl?"

Looking at her now, he wonders if she was always this stupid, or if this is a new development she's had in the year since he last spent more than a minute or two at a time with her. It’s easier to trick her than it was with Kie and Y/N a few days ago, and those poor girls flew into that trap like moths to a flame.

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

The ire is visible in the way her face tenses up in places, her lips pressing together a little more firmly and her forehead creasing between the brows.

"Doesn't your, um, history bother her?" she asks, and he's gotta give her credit for being a sneaky little shit when given the chance. The girl takes every possible opening she can to strike for a potential weakness. "No offense, but you kinda get around."

He shrugs this time, deciding to drop his casual act and aim straight for the jugular.

"She likes having someone who knows how to fuck her right, actually, but I really appreciate the concern."

Much like Kie's reaction to their matching tattoos in the hot tub the other night, her jaw is unhinged to meet the unswept hallway floor they stand on. It makes him wish Y/N weren't suspended in order for her to see the gobsmacked reaction Kacey has to the harsh dismissal. Though he wouldn't want to incite an extra round of the Kacey vs Y/N WWE showdown by having her watch another girl flirt with him and essentially call him a slut upon rejection, he knows she'd get a kick out of it.

This one's for you, baby, he thinks with a quiet laugh to himself and turns his focus to the sticker collection she so lovingly crafted.

There are plenty of summer themed ones left over from the same pack he gifted her for her birthday with the surfboard sticker she used to tease him, as well as a newer genre of Valentine's Day stickers she started using the closer they grew since first getting together. They're mostly different colored candy hearts with corny phrases ranging from "U SXY THING" to the classic "BE MINE" and one printed with "ANGEL" on it—his favorite by far.

However, others are random ones from her endless stash built up over the years from birthdays and holidays deemed worthy enough by her dad to stop by Dollar Tree for a new pack, so the one he sets his attention on is likely meant for teachers or coaches to give to their students. The opportunity appears too good to be true to him when it clicks, but it isn't.

He peels the sticker off of the locker door, careful not to disturb the ones around it, and leans in closer to her to place it on the front of her tank top.

"Leave us alone or I won't stop her next time," JJ says lowly, past the point of civility, then backs away to slam his locker shut for real this time as his voice raises back to a normal volume, "And keep John B's name out of your mouth, got it?"

All she can do is look down at the sticker placed on her shirt with squinted eyes to try and read it while he walks off in the direction of his next class. It tears away from the fabric with a soft noise, and when she finally reads it, she rolls her eyes.

“Good Try!”

Walking out of school to see the Twinkie parked in the usual spot Y/N takes when she isn't suspended is a delightful treat he didn't know to expect after a rough day in class and his run in with Kacey. His head was hung low on his way to Kie's car to hitch a ride to his house before going home to the Chateau, since he had some things to pick up with his dad out of the picture for the near future, but then he heard her greet them.

JJ's body melts into hers upon contact, and he nearly pushes her up against the closed passenger side door of the van with how hard he hugs her. Though he doesn't want to acknowledge it, his dad has been living in his thoughts more than usual today. Ever since he texted him goodbye, he's been withdrawn inside of his head more and more, and after today's inconveniences, the rising anxiety of his plan to visit home has him two seconds from losing his mind.

Her eyes widen at his zeal, meeting Kie's concerned gaze from over the shoulder she rests her chin on. She stands with her keys swinging around her finger as she watches the couple embrace one another. In an answer to the silent question Y/N asks her in their stare, her lips mouth the words, "His dad," to her.

Deep down, Y/N had a feeling.

It began with his impromptu request to run away with her a few days ago and extended into his uncharacteristically reserved attitude the next morning that receded somewhat, but has yet to fully disappear. There is a part of her that's upset that he hasn't come to her to talk about it, to communicate the way they swore they would, yet she also knows it isn't that simple.

She has to remind herself that she knew what she was getting herself into with him. That's not to say that dating her must be a walk in the park for him, it isn't.

She knows based on the amount of times he had to hold her as she cried, or the time he curtailed her panic attack in this very parking lot, that she hasn't made it easy for him in the aftermath of John B's death. But it's because she knows how it feels that she has such patience with his communication issues.

It's not a conscious choice most times, it's an involuntary blockage preventing the words from being spoken no matter how desperately they long to be. They may have made a promise, but she won't chastise him for succumbing to the same pitfalls as her. It’d be hypocritical.

"Bad day?" she asks.

Her voice is tender with him, prodding gently for a clue as to why he pounced on her on sight. He sinks further into her arms at the sound and lets the sanctity of her touch sway him into submission. Everything about her sets him at ease, if only for a second. Her hand lifts the beat-up red hat from his head to allow the other to brush through his hair.

There's a hum of agreement that she feels vibrating through the center of his chest into hers, and her arms pull tighter around his shoulders in response. This time, when she looks up to see Kie there, she's waving a quick goodbye and setting off toward her car, clearly giving JJ the space he needs.

"We can go to the beach," she says softly, "I have a towel in the back of the van, we can just lay there and talk about it if you want."

The idea of her kind offer to him should add to the comfort he finds in her embrace. It should make him nod and whisper his gratitude to her for being the one person that knows him better than anyone, but it brings him back to the gloomy headspace he was in before seeing her.

It started as a minor distraction when he first arrived at school after carpooling with Kie. It followed him in the quieter moments, only making appearances when he wasn't distracted with more pressing matters. It began as that and built the closer the day came to ending. The sooner his inevitable visit back to his childhood home came, the more he lost himself in his fear, reverting back to a state of helplessness he now occupies with no small amount of shame.

His bottom lip trembles with the urge to cry.

"Can we stop somewhere on the way home first?"

The last place she expected him to drive the Twinkie is here.

As they made their way down each street, taking each turn necessary to bring them closer to the house he seldom let her go to over the course of their lifelong friendship, she felt her heart begin to race. And now, as the van rolls to a stop in the yard in front of his house, she has swallow back the lump in her throat at the sight of it.

She has only been here a few times.

The first time, she was seven years old.

It was a sweltering summer morning in the Outer Banks for her and John B as they set off to retrieve their friend after he missed their plans to meet up at the Chateau for a day of having fun, riding bikes, and playing on the boat. Pirates and Princesses was her favorite game to play with them because JJ would switch roles with her halfway through when she grew tired of being the damsel John B had to rescue from the most cruel and vicious Captain Jesse James Maybank.

The HMS Pogue would rock beneath his feet as he marched across the deck of the boat and took her place as the kidnapped Princess Routledge. He handed off his "sword" to her, a stick he found in the yard, and stood at the edge of the boat with his hands behind his back as though he were a tied up damsel in distress for her to hold captive. The sun setting behind them laid a picturesque backdrop that made the scene all the more vivid to their imaginative young minds.

The boat floated in the afternoon current as John B approached the pair with his best pretend face of worry for the fair Princess Maybank, who had the sharp sword of the pirate queen pressing into his throat with the threat of death should he have tried to escape.

Sometimes, she'd let John B advance on them and tie make believe rope around her wrists and ankles while he and Princess Maybank claimed their victory. Other times, they'd get backed up until the heels of her sneakers hung off the edge of the slippery deck. One move from her brother would have her yell something along the lines of not taking either of them alive, then she'd let her and JJ fall back into the marsh together with gleeful laughs infiltrating the humid air upon their return to the surface.

On the day he didn't show up, none of that happened. She and John B rode their bikes together along sidewalks until they pulled into a driveway marked with the address number he remembered from the other time he sought him out to play before.

Y/N didn't understand what they were hearing when they pushed their kickstands down and called out for their friend, but John B's little face blanched at the sound flooding out of the opened windows of the dilapidated yellow house. It was a combination of banging against the walls, glass shattering, and childlike shouts of frustration and pain. Her big brother placed himself in front of her protectively when the front door opened and smacked against the side of the house, but it wasn't his dad storming out of the house, it was JJ.

His eyes widened at the sight of the siblings standing there, and his heart dropped to his stomach at the realization that they heard it. Maybe not all of it, but based on how the girl peeking out around John B's shoulder looked at him, they heard some.

The van is parked in the exact same place their bikes once were, the exact place she and John B stood years ago when they were first confronted with the harsh reality about their best friend's home life, and he looks like he has fully backpedaled into the state of mind his childhood self inhabited. Even when he turns the key in the ignition and lets the rumbling engine sputter down in silence, he sits in the driver's seat with his lip drawn between his teeth in thought.

Yet as soon as she summons the courage to say something, he takes a deep breath and opens the door without a warning or the typical instruction for her to stay in the car. He doesn't tell her to follow him in, nor does he order her to stay out as he used to when his dad still lived inside. He gives her the choice to make on her own, and, when faced with the opportunity to support him or stay outside like the confused little girl she once was, she chooses the first option.

Her swift steps kick dirt up from the earth onto her ankles as she follows him out of the van to the front steps of the house. She tries not to make her concern for him as evident as it'd be without her intervention on her way up the porch, but it's impossible to erase every sign of it from her face.

It isn't a particularly special or scary house. It's a normal home that'd likely look more inviting if JJ were still living here to mow the lawn and tend to the household upkeep his father saddled him with since he was old enough to be put to work. But she knows better than to trust the street appeal. As he takes her hand to lead them through the threshold of the haunted structure, she is overcome with a sense of creeping trepidation that she can't shake.

"You're sure he isn't here?" she asks.

The entryway is crowded with stacks of mail his father wasn’t bothered to open, as well as empty cardboard boxes that once held cans of beer that are scattered, empty, in various places around the house. Her question is answered by the state of the rooms they breeze past in the direction of his bedroom, but she needed something to say to fill the silence. With them, they usually don’t feel uncomfortable not speaking to each other, but this feels different.

The way he stares out in front of him with his hand squeezing hers hard enough to cut off circulation unnerves her more than the tainted energy of the house itself. He isn't himself. He's a shell of the JJ they know and love, the JJ who is most comfortable tucked away in the safe walls of the Chateau with their friends, not here. If anything, how he is while he's here is the antithesis of his behavior while living with her.

Ever since John B died, he's practically moved in with her. When they're hidden away in her house without the reminders of his home life in sight, he's usually the caretaker of the relationship. It comes naturally to their dynamic, both with him being slightly older and his promise to take care of her, but everything is flipped here. It's an alternate reality for him, or, perhaps, actual reality smacking him in the face after a carefully constructed two months in utopia with her.

They come to a stop in front of his closed bedroom door.

"He's gone," he says, not even sparing a glance at her for reasons she can't decipher, "He texted me a few days ago to say goodbye."

With that, he turns the doorknob and lets the door swing open to reveal the bedroom she only saw one other time.

The second time, she was thirteen years old.

It was a Friday.

Since his dad was supposed to be at work, they stopped at his house on their way home from school exactly like they did today so he could share with their friends what he got from his cousin the night before. Being the good girl she was, she didn't even know what he was showing her when he dug it out of the backpack in the bottom of his closet.

Her brows furrowed at the ziploc bag, more specifically the contents inside of it. She was knelt down on the floor in front of the opened closet door with her shoulder pressed up against his to inspect it. The dried green cluster of a plant didn't look like anything she'd seen before, and she couldn't help but ask him what the hell it was rather than react the way he knew the others would.

"What is it? It looks like dried up moss."

JJ laughed and pulled another bag with rolling papers and a grinder stowed inside.

"It's weed. My cousin Ricky gave me a discount since—"

He halted mid-sentence abruptly enough to startle her, his head turning in the direction of where he heard a trunk pulling up to the front of the house. Her stare was still set on where he was holding the plastic bags in his hands, and she noticed, after he stopped speaking in reaction to his dad coming home, that his hands began trembling. It was so minimal, she almost didn't catch it until she saw the bag wavering under the light coming in from his window.

Before she could open her mouth to say anything more, she felt his hands on her shoulders shoving her into the closet. He followed in closely behind her and crawled in until they were both crammed into the confined space together. With the closet doors shut in front of them, he clamped a hand over her mouth, whispering in her ear for her to be quiet.

She stands with her arms crossed over herself in the center of his room, and though nothing has yet to be said or done to convince her anything is wrong, that's the exact reason why she feels so unnerved by the entire experience of coming here.

He's silent.

The closet doors are wide open as he stuffs the rest of the clothes he had yet to bring to the Chateau into the biggest bag he could find. He rips through his belongings in a fit of melancholy driven anger. His thoughts are swirling with similar memories to the ones she conjures from being here again, but his are tinged with a darkness hers don't have, even with hearing him crying in pain as a child and hiding in the closet with his hand smothering her mouth to evade his dad.

JJ visibly grimaces at the memories he's forced to relive in flashes with every glimpse he gets of the room he spent so much time hiding in. It used to be more tolerable to be here, or at least easier to suffer through. At least he was used to it before, but he got so accustomed to life somewhere else that the second he was confronted with coming back, he started to fall apart.

Whatever he can't live without, he finds space for it in the bag and prepares to leave the rest behind. But every object he touches and step he takes around the room brings him back to the person who he spent his adolescence simultaneously fleeing and wanting more from. More notably, it brings him back to the train of thought that has been nagging him ever since he texted him over the weekend.

The third and final time she came here was over the summer.

It happened right before Hurricane Agatha waged war on the island, when none of the Pogues heard from JJ for two days after he said he had to go home to help his dad with something. She didn't want to track him down to his house after they went over twenty-four hours without a single message. She didn't want to have to go back to the house that gave her chills to think about, let alone go to again after they hid in his closet when they were younger, but he gave her no other choice.

What was she supposed to do except go check on him where he last said he'd be? After all, if she lived in the hazardous environment he did, he'd do the exact same for her. If their friends were involved in her thoughts at the time, they would've gone out on a limb to say he would've gone beyond what she did to protect her if the situation were flipped. If he knew someone was hurting her, he would've come in swinging first and asked questions later, but, in her defense, he strictly told her to never come back to his house. By walking over in the first place, she was breaking one of the fundamental rules of their friendship.

Nevertheless, she found herself crouching around the side of his house to find his bedroom window and check if he was in there. Kie and Pope weren't aware of what was happening with his dad yet, but she and John B accidentally found out years ago, so she wasn't wondering why he wasn't answering them, she was wondering if he was alive.

Part of her truly thought underneath it all that Luke might've killed him. He might've been too drunk or high and went too far when beating him, too far to the point where he didn't want to risk going to jail to take him to the hospital for help. She couldn't live with herself if she didn't check, and if he got pissed at her for showing up against his wishes and didn't want to speak to her ever again, she could live with that.

She knocked on his window in a cadenced beat loud enough for it to heard through the room but not any further. After the first series of knocks, no one came to the window. It ripped her heart to pieces to wonder if she'd see him again as she continued to knock and allowed the sound to increase in volume in hopes that maybe he was asleep, but it didn't bring anyone to the window.

It wasn't until she turned back around to go to the front of the house again that she bumped right into the solid wall of his chest and was pushed back up against the house. The question of what she was doing there was on the tip of his tongue, but she said something that stopped him from asking it.

Her arms were thrown around his shoulders in a desperate bear hug.

"Oh God, JJ, you scared me half to death!" she cried into the front of his shirt, "I thought he killed you!"

He can't help but think of it as he packs his belongings away for a final time to bid his hellish childhood home goodbye: What kind of life are they going to have together if they can't get off this island? Running away may have been an idealistic drunken fantasy for him to entertain after his conversation with Pope got him to admit his true feelings for her, but they both know his consistency can't be trusted.

One moment, he's planning to tell her. The next, a day like today comes along, sweeps his legs out from beneath his body, and he's questioning whether it's worth it to force her to put up with his fickle commitment to her. It isn't fair to her, is it?

Right now is just about when he'd normally start to hyperventilate with an oncoming wave of panic, and he does, but he can't let it fully sweep into him with her here. He fights the urge to smack his head with the heel of his palm, as if that'd forcibly remove the poisonous thoughts infiltrating his mind and ruining the careful work they've done together to remedy their issues with communicating their feelings.

Just like you ruin everything, a thought whispers in the corner of his mind. What made you think this would be any different?

His actions around the room have turned somewhat aimless and distracted, which she notices as soon as he starts to disintegrate into a mess of heavy breaths and self-sabotaging thoughts. She picks up on the shift in his energy as soon as the anxiety starts to wash over him, and she'll be damned if she continues to stand here quietly to let it happen.

It's one thing if he's being silent because being here upsets him, or if he simply doesn't know what to say, but she refuses to let him tailspin into a mental breakdown without doing something to stop it. Whether he knows it or not, after what they went through with him trying to push her away last week, she knows what's occurring within his mind right now.

He flinches at the feeling of her hand grabbing his shoulder to turn him to face her at first, and when she reaches again with her other hand to try to hold his hand as he cries, he shrugs off her touch.

"JJ..." she lets the solemn sound of her own voice murmuring his name trail off, "it's just me."

His head shakes at her consoling words. Everything else inside of his mind is so earth-shatteringly loud, he can't drown it out with logic or reason to bring himself away from the memories of his dad. Those intrusive thoughts keep attacking him with doubled, then tripled force the harder he tries to resist them, and he's so exhausted from it. All of it—the memories, his dad going to jail, and his inability to accept her love to its fullest extent without convincing himself she'll abandon him—is exhausting.

This time, when she rests her hand on his shoulder, he swats it away as the frustration of today crushing him with the force of an avalanche. Not to hurt or scare her, but to get her hands off of him before he bursts out of his skin with the sickness it stirs in his stomach. So detached from himself, he anticipates pain from every touch she gives him, and he knows it hurts her.

JJ hardly recognizes his own voice as he backs away from her a step and says, "Don't."

He can tell it hurts her based on how she looks at him immediately after, but he can't handle being touched right now. How did this happen so quickly? It was overwhelming when they first parked outside, but as soon as he stepped foot inside, it was as if a switch was flipped inside of him and all of the buried feelings he kept hidden over the past two weeks exploded into this.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"You need to leave. I just-I can't breathe and"—He still refuses to look up from the ground or see her face as he paces around the room with no real intent in mind—"You can't see me like this."

That is what breaks her out of her soft spoken, timid attitude to handle the situation the way it needs to be handled. Their natural dynamic worked best for him to take charge when she had her panic attack because JJ acts first and thinks later. He saw that she was in distress and jumped in to help her before things got worse rather than allowing her to keep him at an arms length where he couldn't do anything about it.

Taking a page from his rule book, she takes action.

The room surrounding them is in a state of disarray from him searching through it for the items of clothing and objects now stashed in his duffel bag. There are multiple obstacles in her way as she steps between them like navigating a minefield to reach him after he backed away in instinctual fear, but they don't stop her from reaching him. Nothing could.

Y/N walks right up to him and reaches to grasp his face between her hands, forcing him to stop pacing around and actually look at her for the first time since they arrived her so he hears what she says. To say the least, the way he looks right now is enough to make her cry. There are tears welled up to the brims of his blue eyes, his lips are downturned with his sobs, and he's staring at her like she's about to strike him.

She says it as slowly and clearly as she needs to get it through his head, "He's not here," and before he manages to squeeze out another word of doubt between his rapid inhalations, she cuts in, "Take deep breaths."

He isn't listening to her.

The movement of his chest that hits hers from how close they stand to each other has yet to settle into the familiar pace she remembers from nights of falling asleep with the rhythm of his breaths beneath her head.

Her eyes search his face frantically, from left to right and top to bottom, for any sign of the person she's known for years, but she doesn't see him. Instead, she sees the same panicked child her and John B saw the first time they visited this house. It's uncanny how similar the expression in his face is. It feels to her as if she's been hurled back in time to the moment itself, and when she tries to think about what would've worked with him back then, she doesn't know what else to do except help him escape.

So, with the helplessness of having to watch him turn into a sobbing, incoherent mess, she decides to step into the darkness with him and do what seven year old Y/N would've done. Just like their games of make believe, of pirates and princesses, she assumes the role John B would have and rescues him from what holds him captive. It’s his own mind in this case, but, in the physical sense, it's the house.

She drops her hands from his face and takes his hand in hers to drag him out of the room. The packed bag sits on the floor in their wake as she pulls him back through the bedroom door and into the living room, not caring about what they came here to do.

It doesn't matter anymore.

The various rooms of his dad's house pass by them in a blur as she leads him down the hallway to the front door with one sole objective in mind: get him out of here. If he wants his stuff to bring back to the Chateau, she'll go back inside and get whatever he needs her to, but she isn't letting him inside of this house again. Not under her watch.

Thankfully, since he is undeniably stronger than her and she wouldn't have stood a chance, he doesn't fight it. He stumbles after her guiding hand the same way he always has, just like how he followed her back to the Chateau after she and John B saw him that day when they were kids. She led the way as he sat on the handlebars of her brother's bike, and he watched her hair flutter in the wind with the momentum of their bicycle spokes until the tears dried up.

He watches her drag him out of the home until they've reached the safety of the yard at the bottom of the porch steps, and as soon as the soles of her shoes meet the dirt, she feels his hand slipping out of hers.

"JJ?"

She turns around to see him clutching his chest, rubbing his hand along the front of his shirt over his heart as though it'll loosen up the tightened muscles preventing him from catching his breath. His body weight is leaned onto the railing of the porch steps for support. He's partially slumped on it, looking at her desperately, like she somehow knows the answer to every question screamed inside of his head, and she has never felt as useless.

"You're gonna leave," JJ says through the gasps and cries that leave his cheeks stained with tears.

When she reaches out again to help him remain upright without leaning over the railing, he doesn't shove her hands away as he did inside of his bedroom. It's a small battle won, but she takes it as a win nonetheless.

"What are you saying? I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere—"

"You're gonna leave! Everybody does! My mom, John B, my dad, and you"—his head falls to look at the ground instead of her, and she watches him work through it in his head—"I mean, look at me. You don't want this."

"Don't tell me what I want," she says.

Her voice remains as steady and calm as she can force it to be amidst the turbulent situation, but the way he said it...It takes her right back to sitting in the back of the Twinkie with him at the Cherry Bowl, except it's ten times worse. That felt like a break up, but based on what he's saying, this is one. She hasn't prepared herself for the heartache she feels in response to it.

"You don't want me, you just think you do 'cause I was there after John B died, but you don't. You're gonna go off, find some perfect guy that isn't as fucked up as me, and have a great life somewhere else, but it ain't here," JJ says, his breathing evening out with the distraction of the argument to keep him tethered tor reality, "And it won't be with me."

He can see it every time he's looked at her and debated saying those three titular words that have been floating around in his head since he first met her.

How could she want someone who can't walk into his childhood bedroom without breaking down, or someone who still has years-old scars from cigarette burns on his skin when she touches him? Her bright future contrasted with his pre-designated fate on the Cut, her personality better matched with someone more similar to her, her life continuing on whether he's there or not—it's his worst nightmare, but he's prepared to see it through.

What he doesn't expect is for her to hold her ground.

"You honestly think I'm buying into that bullshit?" she asks.

"What?"

She doesn't put it softly, she states facts with as much harshness as his cruel fantasy had, "You're trying to push me away and I won't let you."

Her typically sweet, soft features have hardened into a bitter expression he's sure he mirrors. The arms holding his waist to keep him upright move to climb up his chest and cup his face between her hands with all of the gentleness her face and voice don't have right now.

She sees right through him.

When he tries to look away again, to avert his eyes to make what he's trying to do easier on himself by not having to look at her when he does it, her grasp on his face holds firm. Her hands guide his chin back up so they're face to face, and he realizes what a mistake everyone makes in assuming her this dainty, broken girl whose only source of strength came from the brother she lost. She's a forest fire.

"You're not hearing what I'm saying—"

Y/N interjects, "I am hearing what you're saying, I'm just saying it's bullshit."

She refuses to let him off the hook, and though it frustrates him on the surface, deep down, it makes him fall in love with her all over again. Her insistence against his speech about her leaving him proves him wrong more than anything else could, 'cause he gave her the perfect chance to dip and she shot it down instantly.

The house looms behind them as a menacing presence that threatens to take control of him again, but she doesn't let it. She keeps his eyes on her no matter how many times he tries to look away and doesn't let anything get in the way of what she says next.

"You think that if you push me away and get me to leave you right now, it'll hurt less than it would if I did it later, and I don't accept that. I won't take the bait and let you torture yourself anymore, okay? I can't speak for anyone else, but I know I'll never leave you. Not willingly, anyway."

She looks into his eyes, and this time its softer, more loving, and he's never felt as understood as he does when she continues to speak.

"I'm in love with you. Whether it scares you or not, it's the truth, and I'll never stop saying it. If you think that your issues with your dad are gonna change that for me, you've officially lost your mind." Their noses brush as she leans in to ghost a kiss over his mouth and pulls away a second later to whisper, her forehead pressed to his, "I love you, JJ. Stop being so stubborn and just let me."

His next breath in trembles as he lets her words sink in, and he's stuck at a crossroads inside of himself without a clue of what to do.

The breeze blows her hair away from her face, the afternoon sunshine painting her golden, and when he sees her hair flutter in the air like it did so many years ago, he can't help but feel as calm as he did during their bike ride home. The further away he got from his dad and the house where it all happened, the calmer he grew, and it hits him at this moment that he's so taken aback by her confession to him, he forgot why he was so upset.

It's sobering. The intoxication of his panic hurtled him back in time to the frightened, childlike state of mind his dad's violent abuse often sent him to, but it was hearing her say those words he's feared for weeks that brought him back. Like the jolt of a defibrillator, he's roused back to life with more clarity than before.

She loves him, but, perhaps more importantly, she said she'd never leave him, and that is what he needed to hear more than anything. That is the statement worth more to him than the four letter word he has agonized over endlessly. No one else every attached the promise of "I love you" with the stipulation of it lasting forever. They said the empty words and contradicted it with their actions, but she hasn't done that. Her actions spoke the words long before her mouth did.

He sighs.

It's a deep, yearning sigh that sends him melting into her with the acceptance of what he's denied for too long. He savors the hands cradling his head, as well as the body pressed up against his that he has memorized down to every beauty mark and imperfection, and makes the right choice.

It isn't like it was the night at the Cherry Bowl, or the night he spoke to Pope about it. It still takes more bravery than he possesses to form the words, but there isn't a physical incapability stopping him anymore. It's just him against the trauma beckoning him into its trap again, and he won't let it lure him back into that house.

"Alright," JJ says to her through a sniffle in acceptance to her command, as if he were agreeing on afternoon surfing plans rather than something as monumental as allowing someone to love him, then continues onto with a timid tone, "I love you too."

Before he can watch for her reaction, she's surging forward through the few inches of space left between them to connect their lips in a kiss.

It's vastly different to the kiss they shared in the hallway at school last Friday. In contrast to that one, the reigning emotion within him that drives the kiss after the hesitant beginning doesn't lead them into increased intensity, it gets gentler. It doesn't explode into chaos and passion, it's a tired kiss that he never wants to retreat from. It's the physical manifestation of his feelings for her underneath the guarded exterior he uses to protect himself: gentle and yielding, yet undeniably powerful.

He feels her smiling through her tears against his mouth. In the face of everything that happened this afternoon, he doesn't feel like he should be smiling back at her, but he does. He smiles while kissing her with tears streaming down his face, still reeling from his traumatic response to coming home for the final time, and wonders how a person can feel such contradicting emotions all at once.

Y/N is the one who starts to pull away first, though it's only to check in on him. If she had it her way, she could stay here with him until the sun sets, but he did just come back from the brink of a full-blown panic attack, so she can't in good conscience ignore his well-being for the momentary bliss of their love confessions.

Her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, her smile drooping with worry as she asks, "Wanna spend the rest of the day on the boat? You always say being on the water makes you feel better. Maybe it'll make it easier to talk about it."

His Adam's apple bobs with how he swallows the lump in his throat.

"Can we maybe take baby steps for now? I don't think I can handle telling you all that shit yet."

It was already enough to allow her to follow him into the house, watch him break down into a fit of panic no one else has seen him in, and tell her he loved her, but it'd cross the line into uncharted territory to talk about everything between him and his dad so openly. Between the minor annoyance of dealing with Kacey to this hellish visit home, he thinks he's reached his quota on feeling uncomfortable today.

She nods in agreement.

"Baby steps."

Drawn back to each other by a force stronger than gravity, they collide again, but it isn't a kiss this time. It's a hug charged with all of the previously unspoken emotions they've buried inside of themselves for years, the same hug she gave him the last time she came to this house with the fear of his potential death lingering in her thoughts.

She throws herself at him with the same desperation she did that day and relishes the feeling of his muscular arms returning the embrace until their bodies are tangled together. She'd usually never refer to something as inherently affectionate as an embrace as violent, but it's the closest she can come to capturing how it feels as their bodies meet. It makes her lose her footing on the bottom step they stand on together, teetering on the edge she'd surely slip off of with the force if not for him keeping her steady.

He's about to say something, a thank you to her for calling him out on his bullshit and not letting him go that easily, when the grating sound of her ringtone blares from the back pocket of her denim shorts.

The contact popping up on the screen along with a series of frantic messages when she pulls away from him to answer shows Pope's name.

Pope You and JJ need to get back to the Chateau ASAP!!

The van doors slam shut behind Y/N and JJ as soon as it rolls to a stop in front of the Chateau.

Under the assumption that something dire happened, as in injury or death or catastrophic damage to the house itself, they bolted off of that porch faster than they knew they could move. She only turned back when she remembered the packed back of JJ's things they abandoned on his bedroom floor and, not wanting him to reenter the house, she brought it back to the Twinkie in record time.

They're preparing to trample up the porch into the house like a stampede of animals when they hear Kie calling them over to the backyard and change direction.

"No one's hurt!" she shouts, knowing that was likely where their minds went after everything they went through during the summer, "You have to see this though, I don't know who did it!"

Sticks and fallen leaves crunch beneath her feet on her way around the side of the house. Her mind races with the possibility of what could've happened that didn't hurt their friends but necessitated a series of texts and calls as frantic as the ones she received at JJ's house. She drove over here in defiance of the speed limit, something she rarely does, and prayed nothing terrible was happening.

It gave her flashbacks to when she found out John B and Sarah died in the storm. The pedal beneath her foot brought the van to an uncomfortably swift speed, then she remembered the sound of Shoupe's voice when he gave them the news. JJ warned her to slow down, then she remembered how it took multiple people to help her restrain him from attacking the new sheriff for letting his men drive their friends into their deaths.

At first, she doesn't realize what's wrong.

Kiara and Pope are standing and waiting for them across the grass near the large tree that sits as a centerpiece to their yard. Based on the body language screaming their frustration and the tears in their eyes, she can tell something bad did happen, but it's not clear what it is until she looks past them to the tree. More specifically, until she looks at what's on the tree.

"Oh my god," she whispers to herself.

Her hand is already up to cover her mouth and conceal the instantaneous frown besmirching her previously relaxed face. They both are stopped in their tracks halfway to where their friends are standing, and she can’t hear JJ's reaction over the rising volume of her hysterical thoughts.

Spray painted in red on top of their memorial for John B are the words "COP KILLER" in bold letters that conceal what they burned into the tree trunk for his gravestone. It sticks out from the beauty of the greens, browns, blues, and swathes of other earthy tones composing the scenery around the Chateau like a thorn amongst flowers, so much so that she wonders how she didn't instantly see it when they rounded the corner to come back here.

Yet that isn't the only thing amiss in the peaceful sanctuary they call home, there are random things strewn around the ground around the tree. An old t-shirt spray painted with the word "murderer" on the front, four ripped up envelopes, and a gorgeous mahogany jewelry box...broken on the grass.

The freshly turned dirt they had the contents of the box buried beneath is scattered around the trashed area as well. It clicks with her a few seconds late that whoever came here to do this must have seen the pinwheel she put in the ground to mark the "grave" and dug it up to add insult to injury.

She moves forward without consciously realizing it and stumbles until she reaches the first object of the debris field. Before this, she was doing a masterful job of holding in her cries, but as soon as she crouches down to pick up the pieces of the jewelry box, the lid snapped clean off the hinges to separate it from the bottom section, it comes rushing out of her against her will. The first unrestrained keen is the first thing to snap JJ out of his shell shocked trance.

He walks after her as fast as his legs will take him without breaking into a run, but she isn't letting him get close before she puts the box back down and shuffles forward to collect the torn letter remains. She doesn't want them to get blown away by the wind anymore than they already might have been, so she scrambles to gather the pieces until they're cupped in her hands to protect them.

"Why?" she asks and looks up at Kie and Pope with tears dripping down her face, "Why would anyone do this? Who would do this?"

Pope says, "My guess is as good as yours. We didn't see anyone leaving when we got here, so it must've happened before school ended. This is all we saw before we called you guys."

For a second or two, JJ is grasping at straws for why this happened and who did it like the rest of them are, but then something Pope said makes it click into place. It sets off a domino effect in his mind as he brings back the memory of a certain offspring of satan being absent from gym this afternoon despite being at school earlier, since his encounter with her before Physics made him, unfortunately, aware of her existence again.

His face is set in anger, jaw clenching with the tension of him grinding his teeth together, and he takes his hat off to fidget with it between his hands for a second. Their friends are too focused on her crying to see him contemplating it, but as soon as he speaks, they look up to see him setting his hat back onto his head in preparation to leave and track Kacey down.

Y/N's head snaps up from the torn letters in her hands to the sight of him storming off across the yard with his only goodbye being the words, "I'm gonna kill that bitch."

Her and Pope stare after him in shock, unable to put the pieces together about who that "bitch" is, but Kie doesn't miss a single beat. While Y/N is crumpled over on the ground in tears, she's rushing after JJ before he can approach the bike parked in front of the house. He doesn't even make it five steps before he feels her hands latching onto his wrist to stop him.

She asks, "Who the hell are you talking about? And why would they do this?"

His eyes narrow at her. His unreleased frustration for the situation in general and having to watch Y/N cry after an emotional afternoon together comes rushing out when he snaps at her.

"Kacey. She talked shit at school and I put her in her place. Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna pay her a little visit."

He yanks his arm sharply towards himself to free it from her grip, but she's a step ahead of him. Quicker than he can think to stop her, Kie swipes the keys hanging out of his back pocket away and throws them to Pope, who, bless his heart, can't catch to save his life. The key ring jingles with its contact at the dead center of his chest, and she mouths an apology to him before turning back to face JJ.

"What the fuck, Kie?"

He makes to stomp past her and retrieve the keys from Pope only to be stopped by her hands reaching out to grab his shoulders.

"Listen to me, you can't go anywhere. Look at her," she whispers lowly enough to keep Y/N from hearing, pointing behind her to where she sits on the ground with Pope knelt beside her, "I wouldn't put it past Kacey to pull a stunt like this. I'm just as mad as you, but revenge can wait and you know it. She needs you."

The fury visible in his expression is subdued by looking past Kie's shoulder to see Y/N crying softly to Pope about the vandalized memorial.

The last time he saw her so distraught over something, it was the day they made the memorial and buried the box in the first place. She sits on her knees with her mom's broken jewelry box between them, shuddering with the sobs she has no control over, and pours the torn paper into the empty bottom half of the box. Exhausted to the core, she looks more like a sullen, kicked puppy than she does herself.

It makes his anger-fueled instincts that urge him to hunt Kacey down and do something, anything he can to make her feel the pain they do right now bubble down into sorrow. It's visible in his eyes when he looks at her.

Kie knows she's gotten under his skin when he sighs, sparing a parting glance to the bike in the driveway, and nods once at her before setting off back to where they're sitting in the grass.

Meanwhile, Y/N is stuck staring down at the disarray of her backyard with nothing but pain aching through her to the bone.

Her brother did wrong things sometimes as a consequence of being human, but never this, never something worthy of having his name dragged through the mud and being branded a murderer after his death. He stole scuba gear from Ward and broke dozens of laws in their hunt for the gold, but he never crossed that line into moral bankruptcy. Rafe did, and it kills JJ to see someone like Kacey do this to his best friend while hanging off of Rafe and his friends like a leech.

The fabric of his worn t-shirt is tarnished by the dried paint clinging to the front of it to the spell the lie written there, and her vision blurs with tears for what feels like the millionth time in the span of an hour. First, it was JJ. Now, it's John B, and she can't help but wonder if the heartache will ever end. It began to feel better over the course of the week, her grief for him slowly beginning to slip from her mind until now. Until the storm clouds converged again to batter her with another wave of it.

Through the deafening volume of her mind racing with thoughts and feelings to process what's happened, she hears Pope shuffling around to stand on his feet. Then, another person sits down in his place and scoots closer until their bodies are touching, and she knows it's him. She doesn't have to wait to hear his voice or look to see his face, she can tell based on the feeling of his touch and the smell of him she's so intimately familiar with, yet couldn't describe it aloud if she tried.

He doesn't smother her. He sits close enough to touch her and doesn't push it any further.

The background of the pale, cloudless sky frames him in the foreground like the subject of a painting—a living, breathing painting that she could study endlessly. The other trees planted in the yard's leaves flutter distantly behind him and try to draw her gaze away, but she keeps her eyes on him.

Maybe that's how it is, she thinks.

Maybe it'll get better and worse in a dance that'll only stop when they're no longer here to agonize over it. Maybe this is what moving on from John B will always be like. It'll feel like they've made strides in the right direction, then something will come along to shatter it to sharp pieces that'll reopen their stitched up wounds. If that's the case, at least the four of them have each other to lean on when it gets worse again.

JJ sits with her and lets her crawl onto his lap, resting her head on his shoulder, until the sun sinks below the horizon.

The gentle bobbing of the HMS Pogue at the surface of the water steadies her amidst her eddying thoughts. It keeps her present to the moment the way the ropes tying the boat to the dock keeps it from floating adrift into the marsh. It's a motion engrained in her from the start of her life until now from countless days spent on the water. Whether it be for fishing, swimming, or playing make believe with her boys all those years ago, it's as much a part of her as her personality or body itself.

JJ was right about one thing: being out on the water makes it easier to think.

He hasn't followed her out since she woke up before sunrise and snuck out of bed to come here. Despite her efforts not to wake him, he woke up when she disentangled her body from his, silently cursing the fact that they always cuddle so closely, and he tried to pull her back to him with a whine of displeasure in his groggy, half-asleep state. Sleep finally found them after hours of staying up together to talk about what Kacey did, unable to relax from the chaos of yesterday, so he wasn't prepared to wake up that soon.

"Go back to sleep, angel," she whispered as she hovered over him, brushing a chaste kiss to his lips that he was too tired to return.

That was the last time she saw him since this morning, and now that the sun has risen to its peak in the sky without her moving an inch from her perch atop the bow of the boat, she's begun to wonder if he's awake yet. It isn't uncommon for them to sleep in for half of the day when there isn't school or work, so it isn't surprising to her that he's just now waking up when she hears the back door to the Chateau opening and closing.

Unbeknownst to her, JJ has been awake the entire morning since she left bed.

They were so attached to each other yesterday night, he didn't have the time to put it together without her seeing and ruining the surprise, but once he heard the door to the porch close to signify her leaving, he kicked the blankets off of himself and got to work. He wasn't originally planning on starting so early, since they stayed up late into the night together, but once he woke up to the feeling of her sneaking out of his arms, he was too awake to fall back asleep.

The sound of his footsteps on the dock warns her of his approach, but she doesn't raise her head from where she rests it in her palms to stare out at the water.

"I was wondering when you'd finally wake up," she says.

There's another few steps, then the boat jostles with his weight stepping onto it.

He doesn't say anything to her in response. The only clue she gets as to what he's doing are the footsteps on the deck that lead closer to her until she feels him sitting down on the bow next to where she is. And she's about to open her mouth to ask if he's okay when he sets something down in front of her.

It's a shoe box.

Y/N turns to see him, eyes flickering over his tired face, and looks back at the box with furrowed brows.

"What is this?"

His hair is messy, exactly how it was when she left him in bed this morning, and if she weren't more focused on the mysterious box he plopped down in front of her, she'd be combing through it with her fingers. He's gotten used to those casual displays of affection from her; how she runs her hands through his hair on mornings before school when he forgets to brush it, or when she fixes a button on his flannel that he missed.

JJ's lips are tipped in a smile, and she can't help but blush with how he looks at her. She never used to see it, but he has always looked at her like this. Like he's hopelessly, utterly in love with her. Even before they lost John B, back when he'd expend all of his romantic and sexual attention on girls he hardly knew, he still looked at her this way.

He gestures at it and says, "Open it."

The lid of the box is coated in a freshly dried layer of blue paint to match the shade of the sky overhead. She knows instantly that he must have dug through the arts and crafts box she specifically labeled with a warning for him and John B to stay out. It's painted with aimlessly sloppy brushstrokes and stickers placed at every corner of the cardboard box, all of which she recognizes from the stash she kept under her bed alongside the India ink he borrowed last Friday.

As she gives him a skeptical look and reaches to lift the lid off of the shoe box, she makes a mental note to rewrite the label on the arts and crafts box without the warning for him to keep out. Since John B isn't here to steal anything from it and JJ never follows that rule anyway, it's redundant at this point.

Any skepticism is washed away from her face as soon as she flips the lid open to reveal what's inside. It leaves her speechless as she looks down at it all.

"JJ..." she murmurs in awe.

Sitting at the bottom of it is a folded up t-shirt she saw JJ wear multiple times, but never again since John B died. He refused to glance at the shirt his best friend gave him the year before they never saw him again, let alone dig it out of the corner of her closet where he keeps his things...until now.

But that's a scratch on the surface of all of the things about his gift that stuns her to silence. The next thing to catch her immediate attention is a picture she hasn't seen in years.

It's one that Big John took of the three of them together right where she and JJ are sitting. She was much younger in it, flashing a toothy grin with her arms thrown over both boys' shoulders. To her left, John B was leaning his head on her shoulder. To her right, JJ was wearing an eyepatch they crafted out of an old black shirt he stole from his dad. It was cut with the kitchen scissors and tied around the back of his head in a knot.

She brushes her thumb over John B's face, then sets the crinkled photograph back down atop the folded shirt and moves her attention to the last surprise.

Letters.

Torn up pieces of paper painstakingly taped back together sit one on top of the other, some missing pieces here or there, and it makes her mouth part in shock. Her hands shuffle the letters apart to see each one and recognize the handwriting: Kie's bubbly, swirling letters, Pope's neat cursive, hers, and JJ's chicken scratch writing that she's able to decipher from years of proofreading his essays.

She pictures him at her desk all morning while she was sitting out here, ripping tape off of the roll and arranging the puzzle pieces of the ripped letters until he was sure he got it right. It made him want to rip the hair from his scalp, but he sat there and pushed through the frustration to make it as perfect as he could for her. The missing pieces were primarily from Kie's letter, which fluttered away on a balmy breeze when Kacey tore it up and threw it to the ground, but the one he wanted her to have the most wasn't missing more than a single piece.

Y/N looks up from the letters held like a precious treasure in her hands to see him watching her with that same classic JJ smile on his face, but he doesn't let her get a word in yet.

"Go on," he says, leaning closer to pull his letter to John B out and place it on top of the pile for her to read, "I want you to read it."

"You didn't let me read it when I asked before though, are you sure you—"

He interrupts her before she can worry herself over it, "Dude, just read it. I promise I'm fine with it. I want you to."

The letters crinkle under her touch as she looks back down and smooths them out on the deck enough to read through the clear tape. With one last confirming glance to him for permission, she takes a deep breath and reads the first line.

Dear John B,

You really know how to keep a guy on his toes, don't you? You really outdid yourself on this one. I was so sure we were gonna make it, but I guess you had to go all Romeo and Juliet on us, huh? As long as you and Sarah are happy macking on each other in heaven, it's okay.

In all seriousness, I fucking miss you, bro. I miss you more than I realized a person could miss another person. Whenever I need to talk to you again, I don't know what to do. I guess that's why it's good that Y/N made me write this.

Also, I'm really sorry for—

"What does it say there? There's a whole chunk missing," she murmurs.

He scoots close enough to her that she can feel his body warmth radiating onto her through the shoulder of his flannel. Sunlight reflects on the silver rings decorating his fingers as he holds one side of the paper to tilt it enough for him to squint at.

"Macking, I think. It's supposed to say "I'm sorry for macking on your sister."

—macking on your sister. You can totally kick my ass for it, but before you come back from the grave to murder me, let me defend myself, okay? She isn't just another girl for me, John B.

I think you knew it before I did.

Last summer, you asked me straight up if we were hooking up behind your back after I kissed her in front of you on the porch. I laughed in your face, but you were right.

You saw everything before me, man. You knew I loved her since we were kids and waited for us to come to you about it, so that's gotta mean something, right? I hope it means you wouldn't be mad at me for this.

I swear I won't fuck it up with her, but you already know that. That's why you asked me to take care of her,. I didn't know why at the time but I do now. I won't let you down.

I'm keeping my promise.

- JJ

P.S. Don't miss me too much. We'll be shotgunning beers together up there before you know it.

There are tears blooming in her eyes when she lifts her gaze from the tattered paper to look at him again, but they aren't sad. For once, the tears slipping down her cheeks are happy tears, not born from grief, sadness, and pain, but bittersweet happiness.

They're caught staring at each other for a second before he asks her shyly, "It isn't too sappy or anything, is it? 'Cause I thought it—"

"C'mere," is the only thing she can get out before she's tugging him forward by the front of his shirt to kiss him.

JJ stumbles a little with the unexpected force of her pulling him to her, but he takes it in stride. He steadies himself and lets his hands shoot out to grapple for purchase on her waist, keeping her pressed up against him tightly as he kisses her back.

And it doesn't get much better than this, does it? This is it for him. He meant what he wrote to John B, he won't fuck it up with her, especially not because of his trauma with his dad getting inside his head and sabotaging his relationship with her. This is what makes everything worth it.

It brings happy tears to his eyes too.

She can taste the salt of them where their lips meet in the middle. It makes her smile, wrapping her arms around his neck and clenching the letters he mended for her in her fist to keep them from blowing away in the wind, and they both start to laugh into each other's mouths at the poignant feeling they both share but can't quite place.

They pull away from each other to catch their breath after another moment of it, and she can't help but stare. How could she not when she feels like this? It’s less like he’s her boyfriend and more like a piece of her soul has attached itself to his with no hope of letting go in the near future.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," she whispers to him.

Plain and simple. No room for disagreement or a bashful rejection of the compliment. She's pulled back from him enough to hold his gaze and make sure he sees her seriousness, and there isn't anything he can do to refute her statement.

He brushes his nose against hers affectionately, dipping down to kiss her again, but when he leans back to see her face, he can't help himself.

"Ditto."

The rest of the day after their moment on the boat, locked away in their own little world where none of the monsters chasing them could sneak through and ruin it, melts away peacefully. After another half hour spent looking through the box together, of her thanking him over and over again, he hops off of the HMS Pogue onto the dock and extends his hand to her in the most gentlemanly manner possible.

His lips are curved into a smirk as he kneels down on one knee as though she's a revered royal and bows his head in subservience, "Princess Routledge."

Her hand fits in his warm, calloused palm as a perfect match, and she steps off of the boat onto the dock beside him with an expression to match his.

"Captain Maybank," she says in her most regal royalty voice.

Her stellar performance breaks into a laugh they share as he stands and throws his arm around over her shoulder to walk back to the yard. The cardboard box is tucked beneath one of her arms while the other slips around his side to hold him back, and her heart feels full with both the presence of JJ and John B alongside her.

They bury it together.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, and @krisphann

Also, now that it’s over, let me know what your favorite part was in the comments or tags if you’d like to :) I’m curious.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #outer banks #obx #fanfiction #i'm gonna miss these dorks #🥺#I love how he tries to break up with her and she’s like ‘no❤️’#also totally do not put on ‘seven’ by Taylor Swift during the childhood flashbacks unless u wanna cry #cause I did and my sensitive ass was crying #that song is about John B and JJ okay #it just is

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bakugohoex · 3 years

Note

Can you do Jean x reader where they are both undercover at Marley 💕💕💕

part one: “this isn’t a date jean, we’re undercover”

paring: jean kirschtein x female reader

cw: season 4 spoiler but there is no manga spoiler at all, fluff, language

word count: 2600+

a/n: i had to read so much for this fic, but i got the jist of it, again making sure you guys know there is no spoilers for the manga in here and onlt a season four spoiler do if you guys havent watched the latest episodes be warned

summary: in which you and jean are undercover doing reconnaissance in marley, want turns to investigating a local bar leads to feelings finally being brought out from the two of you

part two | part three

↞ back to attack on titan masterlist

The dress you wore covered your thighs and knees, it hugged you, the soft material being a drastic change from your normal attire. It was a warm mid-day, birds chirped and the sound of Marleyans engulphed your ears. In the 6 years in which you had known Jean you hadn’t ever expect an undercover mission taking place in Marley of all places.

He walked with your hand in his own, you smiling softly as you spoke nonchalantly to one another. It was unamusing and more a distraction than anything else. He picked the newspaper up on the stall, paying quickly as he walked back, you followed which felt more like being dragged along by his strong grip.

The way the top of his fedora sat on his now long hair, he heard about the victory of the Marleyans from a passer-by and with his hand in your own he opened the newspaper up. It was reconnaissance, you and him both knew you were supposed to act like one of these people even if they did think of you both as devils.

“I think we should visit that bar that woman told us about, a lot of the men there get drunk and reveal a lot.”

He looked down at you, your hands still connected. He had grown so much in all these years now reaching over 6ft, his long hair and scattered hairs along his chin making gorgeous. He had become the leader both you and Marco knew he would become.

“They’ll all stare at you, why would I want that?” he mutters.

You laugh at his antics, “you’re such an idiot.”

“You’re the one holding my hand.”

“Jean it’s a mission we have to pretend to be together for the performance.”

He raised an eyebrow you had full view of his face; his eyes were tired from the late nights working on the next plan of action. But most importantly, the fact that the two of you had to share a bed. He couldn’t even touch you as your small frame would sometimes push against his chest.

You smiled at the boy getting him out of his trance before skimming through the newspaper again. “We’ll go tonight after the meeting.”

You nod as the two of you walk towards the docks of Liberio. Both you and Jean were in the internment zone, a nice old woman allowing you to stay on top of her shop. Even with her being nice her opinions on titans and those within the walls were a lot cruller than u had expected.

It had been awkward the first time sleeping beside each other, you both looked up. Not facing each other but instead watching as the clock ticked away until one of you fell asleep. You both woke up wrapped in each other’s arms, and an awkwardness had set between you two from that night. You both would try to face away from each other but one way in another you ended up touching each other in some way.

He helped you up the stairs to where the little shop was kept, you both had gained some currency mostly from stealing it, but you never expected to stay here long. Only to find information until the true invasion would begin. Of course, the others were already here in their own recon missions, but you and Jean had been the first ones and had found out the most about this stupid town.

The biggest thing being that they hated Eldians of any type. You both walked through the double doors the woman smiling at how pretty you both looked together.

You had a meeting with the rest of the survey corps, Hange leading it, you got changed into what you’d wear to the bar knowing it was going to be a long night.

Jean stood at the door watching at how you easily took the dress off. You both didn’t care about changing clothes in front of each other, you’d seen worse from each other and it meant nothing after the tortures of titans.

The short dress fitted you perfectly and as Jean eyed you up and down, he craved any touch by you. He had taken the blue tie off and the suit jacket and waistcoat off leaving him in the white button up and trousers.

You smiled at how his hair stuck to the back of his neck, when he had first started growing his hair out you had loved it seeing the boy turn into a man. You both had changed since your cadet days and as much as you missed it you couldn’t say that being an adult didn’t have its perks.

“You know Y/n, I’d definitely accept any date proposals from you.”

You rolled your eyes at him, he always tormented you with the flirting. “Jean you really are a pain in my ass.”

“Such vulgar words from a pretty woman.”

You wanted to stab him with your ODM gear but instead stuck with jabbing him with your knee into his stomach. Normally when he was a lot younger it hurt him easily, but he seemed unfazed by the action almost finding it cute.

“Why did u have to grow so much? Short Jean was better.”

“Are you saying 15-year-old me is better than now me?”

You think back at the boy, bringing your finger to your chin. “Both you and 15-year-old you are pains to be around.”

He moves his face to your ear you could feel the hairs brush against your cheek from his chin as he spoke, “it’s okay Y/n we both know how you really feel.”

Rolling your eyes, he grabbed your hand almost out of instinct, you both leaving the shop as quickly as you came. Turning the many corners that Hange had told you to take after each different meeting.

The amount of walks you both went on should be unnecessary but the people of Liberio barely batted an eyelash at the two on you.

The dress was low cut and having all these new clothes made your heart warm up. You hadn’t worn different clothes in years, always the same uniform which you grew to dislike.

“Hange really sent us on a fucking expedition.” You mutter as you lean against Jean’s side.

He leads the way walking towards an unknown battered up building. It looked like it was being constructed and you were met with the scouts.

They eyed you both up your outfits standing out. “running late per usual.” Levi mutters.

As much as you had grown on Captain Levi, he still had a discomfort towards most of you. Both Jean and you let go of hands with ease standing beside each other. Before the meeting begun mostly talking about what had occurred and most significantly the defeat of Marleyans against the Mid-East.

“You know what that means, sometime soon is our time to act.” You professed, the new knowledge coming as a relief as it would soon be time for your plan to truly occur.

Armin and Mikasa spoke, the whereabouts of Eren being unknown due to his consistent disappearances. Watching these people grow you truly understood the mutual torment you all felt. As you were all dismissed all you could think about was the consistent opposition you all faced.

“I think the bars down here.” Jean retakes your hand as you smiled at him.

“Once this is over what do you think will happen.” You ask him softly.

“I don’t know.”

“Remember when we first met, and you were adamant on becoming an MP.” He listened raising an eyebrow. “Look at you now Mr Commanding Officer.”

You were proud of your friend he had worked hard to achieve this status. “You really are proud of me aren’t yah.”

You rolled your eyes gently hitting his side. “I’m telling the truth I’m proud of you.”

You had been timid in your choice of words you were proud, and he knew you were proud of him. Walking into the bar, the significant smell of alcohol mixed with sweat made you grossed out.

It was a rule to not drink under the survey corps and you hadn’t really cared for drinking. So, the sight of so many drunk people drove you mad, how easily a night of drinking could lead to a failed future.

Jean pulled out a chair for you before going to the bar, “I’ll get your favourite.”

You nodded playing with your fingers trying to listen in on the conversations that were occurring. Many Marleyans chatting shit about the Eldians and most specifically those of paradise island.

Your fist clenched as Jean brought two drinks out. “What is it?” You question looking at the red drink in front of you.

“You told me you liken cranberry juice once, i got you some”.

Your eyes widened at the boy, “Jean i said that like years ago.”

“Shows you how much i do care about you.” You rolled your eyes sipping on the drink. You both conversed but remained consistent with your spying on individuals.

“Those guys are talking about you.” Jean coughed out sipping his drink.

“I should go up to them i might get some information.”

“Don’t.” You raise an eyebrow going up to his ear. “They might steal you away.”

“This isn’t a date Jean, we’re undercover.” The way you spoke his name made him melt, he wanted to hear more of your voice specifically moaning his name out.

You stood up ready to go speak to them before you heard something come from their mouths. “If i ever saw one of those island folks I’d slit their throats and make their kids watch.”

You felt sick to the stomach by the comment and wanted to leave. Jean hadn’t heard it and as you stood frozen, he called out your name.

“Let’s get u outside.” He whispers taking your hand as you silently followed. “Are you okay?”

You nod, “I guess it just hit me we’re hated here the way the act towards us is the way we used to act against titans.”

You felt his arms wrap around you. He knew you hadn’t spoken much about the comments and that now you hit the realisation you’d confide in him more.

“I want to go back to the shop.” He nods as a comfortable silence settled in.

You cling to his arm wrapping your hands around his own. He loved the way you cling onto him like he was your protector, and you were his queen.

Walking down a long alleyway, you see some Marley men smoking and drinking. They’d be easy targets if you wanted to kill them, hearing them speak and whistle as you both walked past. Before one of them grabbing your wrist made Jean’s instincts kick in.

He punched the guy who had touched you, his filthy hands still lingering close to your body. The way Jean with ease was able to put down the two men who looked bruised and battered.

He put his hand out for you to take, he didn’t speak. Just bringing you the comfort you needed from this whole new world experience. Everything was so much bigger outside the walls and you couldn’t ever imagine putting innocent people in walls to keep them trapped.

The events of the night led to an uncomfortable silence once you arrived back to little room on top of the shop. He stripped his shirt off due to the excessive dirt it had got on it. You admired his body, the way each muscle sat perfectly on his abdomen.

You sat on the bed fidgeting with your clothes, you played with the hem of the dress which Jean could see your upper thigh from you doing.“Do you want to talk more about it?”

“I just… i guess it’s the reality.” You muttered as Jean sat beside you his shirt off. Titans seemed less scary than any of these indoctrinated Marleyans any day.

In the years Jean had known you seeing you vulnerable and passive made his heart ache. He took you by the hand letting you attach yourself to his side.

You were scared about the upcoming invasion and even worse you didn’t even know who you’d be fighting. The uncertain of it all being too much.

He walked up to you, moving closer to your smaller frame. “You didn’t have to punch those guys, I...I would’ve said something.”

“Y/n, you’ve been silent all night, you expect me to believe that you would’ve done something.” He bends down his knees touching the ground as he kneeled in front of you. His hands moving to your own stopping you from playing with your dress anymore.

Bringing your hands up to his mouth he kissed it as you could see some bruises, you stroked your thumb against the bruises hopefully it would settle down with some ice later. “What you said back in the bar?” You start to speak but you really had nothing to say, “about not going to those men.”

“I didn’t want you to get hurt if you talked to them and…” He trailed off.

“And?” You question.

He looked up at your bright face filled with love and happiness something he hadn’t seen in a very long time. “And you bring joy, in a shitty world like this I guess you’re the only one who truly brings a smile on my face.”

“Jean when did you get so sappy.” You giggle at his flustered look.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Make me.” The tone in your voice was begging him to take you.

He rolls his eyes, his tongue flicking against the inside of his mouth as he stood up looking at you. He was even taller than before. You were a mouse compared to his frame; he bent his back bringing his face closer towards yours before a hand was placed on your cheek.

He closed the gap between the two of you, making your back hit the bed. His other hand moved to your side as he was on kissing you whilst he was on top. Your back arched at the movements wanting to feel his body on your own, as you deepened the kiss. Your hands in his long hair pulling his body closer to your own, as you felt the hardness come from his trousers.

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t its baby.” He spoke stoically a cocky grin plastered to his face.

You smirked as he let go of your lips, moving his mouth to your neck as he moved your dress down your body, with your collarbone and neck revealed for him. He left marks and sucked on spots making you moan his name loudly.

“I’d…I… would n…never.” The moans engulphed you, you craved him even more.

He had never expected to hear you moan his name, and the sound of it, with you underneath fuelled him even more to continue the act. You closed your eyes as he bit and sucked on your collar before licking the side of your neck. The saltiness it brought making him lick his lips before he went back to kissing you.

The kiss was deeper, quicker than it previously had been, you placed your hands on his exposed chest. The way a single touch from you sent shivers down his spine, “I’ve always like you, y’know.”

“I assumed so.” You giggled, his body was on top of you trapping you between his broad arms and shoulders. It was a sight and you loved it.

You brought yourself up leaning up with your elbows, your dress was half off you and the way he looked at you knew that what would happen tonight had been long awaited from many many years ago.

proceed to part two here

i’d really appreciate if you guys could leave a like, reblog or comment, thanks x

if you guys want to be a part of a tag list, just reply to any post and i’ll add you xx

@samusimp @alaina-rose13 @crispychannie @underratedmage @jennammaee @cathy8taffy @sugacious @moonlightaangel

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navalcriminalimagines · 3 years

Note

"Can you shut up for once in your life?" and "Did you just rip my pants?" With Gibbs please

That wasn't an easy one, but it turned out okay, I think? Let me know! ❤️

Also, am I the only one that never understood the character of Allison Hart? She was--useless, wasn't she?

Tags: @hotch-meeeeeuppppp

Shut up

Saying you're pissed is an understatement. You're annoyed, sad and hurt. For the past few weeks, everything is going downhill and you can't see the light at the end of the tunnel.

It's started with this lawyer showing up on purpose to be in your boss's way. According to Rule 13: Never involve lawyers, Gibbs should have turned her down - especially since she's working for Colonel Bell, but somehow, your stupid boss seems interested in her. Now, there are chatters in the team, saying that they actually hooked up at some point.

Were you jealous? Yeah, maybe. Well, okay, you definitely are. But it's your fault, you've had this crush on Gibbs from the moment you met him, but you never acted on it. You respect his rules, no matter how much you hate some of them, mostly the number 12.

Then, you had an unexpected visit from your mother, over the weekend. You and her never had the best relationship, but it's gotten worst since you're an adult. She doesn't understand your life choices and doesn't chew her words with you. She spent the entire weekend telling you that you should quit your job to do something less dangerous, and more 'intellectual', and that you should go out and meet somebody cause "you're not getting any younger, sweetie. Women have a biological clock, remember."

Her flight back home never came soon enough.

Lastly, this shitty case came in. Not only, it's a fucking mess, but it involves FBI and most importantly, your stupid ex. Worst part is, he's being all nice and charming with you, as if he never cheated on you and broke your heart years ago.

"I can't believe you hired him, Fornell," you mutter to the Senior FBI Agent, as the two of you are in the elevator.

"I didn't. He was assigned to this case, and I think he asked for it," Tobias looks intensely at you to make sure you understand what he means.

"Great, exactly what I needed," you growl.

"You seem pretty off, Y/N. Is everything okay?"

"I don't know what I'm doing with my life, but other than that, yeah, everything is amazing," you sarcastically say to him. Thankfully, the doors open at the same moment and you rush to the bullpen.

As if the world is testing you and your patience, Kyle is here, along with that lawyer Allison Hart. You sit at your desk, avoiding everyone, until Gibbs orders you to follow him to Abby's lab.

"Can I come, too?" Kyle asks.

You look at Gibbs for support, hoping he'd turn him down, but that bastard just motions him to follow. He knows who Kyle is, he knows what he did to you, why in the world is he forcing you to spend time with him? Does he hate you that much?

In the elevator, you stand in the back, arms crossed over your chest. Kyle and Gibbs are standing in front of you. When the doors close, Gibbs takes a quick peak at you over his shoulder. You shot him a death glare and he smirks.

* * * * *

Finally, thanks to Abby and her magic, a breakthrough comes in. Quickly, you and Gibbs are gearing up to go to a suspect house, while Ziva and Tim are waited at the Pentagon. "What are you doing?" Gibbs says to Kyle who's getting ready too.

"Coming with you? It's a joined case,"

"Fornell, explain things to your Probie,"

You can't help but smile at that. That's your Gibbs.

At the house - which is withdraw from civilization, Gibbs takes you with him to one side, while Tim and Ziva goes to the other. As you're circling the house, you can hear gunshots in your direction. In a second, Gibbs grabs your arm and hides the both of you behind a reversed table.

"Oh, great! I can't catch a break, can I?" you exclaim. "First my mum messes up with my head, then my bastard ex shows up, and now I'm being shot at! Not to mention, you. You're being a pain in the ass, Gibbs. What the hell are you doing with that lawyer, anyway? Have you forgotten about your own damn rules? You spend so much time making sure we know and respect them, and you just-- you--"

“Can you shut up for once in your life?” he barks. That's all he has to say? "You're rambling,"

"Yeah, well, at least, one of us is talking," you shot back.

"Now is not the time, L/N,"

You take a deep breath. Maybe he's right, but talking is your response to being shot at. You can't help it, it prevents you from freaking out. "Maybe we can go now," you say, taking a look at the house. "Seems clear,"

"I can see him, second window on the left. Cover me,"

You do as told. You directly shoot at the window Gibbs mentioned, while your boss rushes inside the house. Quickly, you're no longer being shot back at, but you can hear someone running away from the house. You rush behind him, unfortunately you don't have any bullets left. The man manages to get in his car and drives away.

After cursing at loud, you get back inside the house, looking for Gibbs, that you find in the kitchen, sitting on the floor.

"What the hell happened?" you yell at him.

"Did no one tell you he's a trained SEAL? Is your head that much caught up in your ass?"

"Fuck you, Gibbs," you bark back at him. "I'm gonna look around," you start to walk out of the room.

"No! Wait," he calls out. You turn around, hoping he's going to say something nice - cause you know you can't hope for an apology. But all he does is cutting a piece of your pants with his knife.

“Did you just rip my pants?” you yell again, looking at the hole in your pants.

"That's all we need,"

On the ride back to the office, Gibbs explains you that while you were hiding behind the table, you must have sat on some weird flower thingy. Same thing that was find on your victim. If Abby can match what's on the piece of your pants to what she found on the victim, it's case closed.

At least, that's one thing settled. Or, actually two; since the case is closed, you won't have to see Kyle anymore. He obviously throws an offer to dinner at you, but you don't have time to say anything, "She has plans already," Gibbs answers for you. "Let's go, L/N?"

You nod at your boss and follow him to the elevator. "For what's worth, I'm not dating Allison," he confesses. "We just kissed once,"

"Oh, spare me the details, Gibbs, would you?" you roll your eyes so hard, you sure he heard it.

The doors open again, you start to walk out but Gibbs's strong hand grabs your wrist. You turn around and finds yourself face to face with the man you can't dreaming about. "Next time to talk to me like you did at the house, there will be consequences,"

"Right. You'll have to punish me," you smirk and leave.

#jethro gibbs imagine #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #jethro gibbs x reader #agent gibbs #jethro gibbs #leroy jethro gibbs #gibbs x reader #gibbs

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parkerslatte · 3 years

Text

Years Passed [Chapter One]

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Part Summary: After a decade of living in England, Y/N finally moves back to America to be closer to her family.

prologue / next chapter

Years Passed Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Taglist

***

CHAPTER ONE: FAMILIAR FACES

Y/N was always one to follow her dreams. Originally her dream was to become an astronaut but she soon found that she wasn’t smart enough for that. That’s when she found herself falling down the route of art. Y/N had always been a gifted artist since she was a child. While everyone in her class was drawing stick figures and calling it a day, Y/N would take time to get the proportions of the body right. People would always say she was trying too hard or just trying to get attention. Y/N didn’t care - she was doing what she loved.

It wasn’t until high school where she began to take art more seriously, people would come to her to do art commissions. At first Y/N refused, she didn’t want to charge people for her art but once she realised how much she could make from it, doing art commissions became her job. Throughout high school it was her main source of income. However, it wasn’t until the end of high school where Y/N decided that art was the thing she definitely wanted to go down.

Opening up her own gallery became her dream. A couple of years after breaking up with Spencer Reid, Y/N moved to England. She didn’t exactly know why, all she knew was that she wanted a fresh start. Y/N moved into a small flat in Cornwall. It was perfect for what Y/N needed. She spent just over ten years of her life living in Cornwall and Y/N couldn’t be happier, however there were many instances where she missed her family. Y/N could never afford to constantly go between England and America and neither could her family. A lot of her time was spent on phone calls and video calls with her family.

It was only recently that Y/N moved back to America. Six months to be exact. After nearly eleven years of being away from her family constantly, Y/N decided to move back to America. She didn’t make the decision lightly, it took her many months to come to the conclusion. Y/N had many friends in England. She had her small art gallery. Most importantly, her daughter had her friends in England and her school - everything she had ever known.

Y/N’s daughter, Harper, was seven and she was the light of Y/N’s life. Everything she did was for Harper. Y/N didn’t want to pry Harper away from her home, but she wanted her to get to know her family. When Y/N told Harper the news, Harper was excited, she had always been a curious girl and moving to a new country was exciting for her.

“Mummy!” Harper yelled, running out of her room to Y/N who was sitting on the couch. Her daughter’s accent was a little messed up. Some words would come out in an American accent and some in a British accent - more specifically the Cornish dialect.

Y/N smiled upon seeing her daughter. As she ran, the wild curls on top of her head bounced up and down. Harper approached Y/N and climbed onto the couch next to her. Y/N wrapped her arm around her daughter and pulled her in close to her side.

“What’s got you so energetic?” Y/N questioned.

“Can we go to the park?” Harper asked, “You said that we could go today.”

Y/N checked the time on the clock on the wall, “You really want to go at ten in the morning? You don’t want to wait until midday then we can go out for lunch?”

“Can we go now? I’m bored.” Harper draped herself over Y/N’s lap dramatically.

Y/N shook her head, a smile on her face. Harper was definitely one for dramatics, something she inherited from her father.

“Okay, how about this?” Y/N started, “We wait until eleven and we can invite Melanie and Toby and we can go and get lunch with them?”

Harper nodded her head vigorously causing Y/N to chuckle slightly. The only reason as to why Y/N wanted to wait longer to go out was because she was waiting for Harper’s birthday present to turn up. It wasn’t her birthday for another three weeks but Y/N always wanted to leave time in case the package never turned up in case she needed to buy something else.

“Why don’t you go and play in your room and I’ll come and get you when it’s time to go?”

Harper nodded before running off to her bedroom down the hall. Checking the clock again, Y/N realised the package wouldn’t be here for another half hour. Deciding she had time to kill, Y/N made her way to her bedroom to get changed. If she was going to be out for most of the day, she decided that being in sweatpants and an old shirt wasn’t going to look so good.

Picking out a simple sundress, Y/N got changed in a flash before she found herself seated on the couch again. Over the last few days, Y/N had found herself being more tired than usual. Everything she did drained the life out of her, obviously she wanted to run around and play with Harper but she would tire out quickly. Harper would try not to get sad about it as she understood why Y/N got like this once a year. Y/N wasn’t going to explain it until Harper got a little older but she understood perfectly.

Grabbing her phone off of the coffee table, Y/N pressed on Melanie’s contact. Melanie had been Y/N’s friend for a while. They met a year before Y/N had moved to England, due to their long distance friendship, Y/N had expected that they would fall out of contact but they never did. Melanie was godmother to Harper and Y/N was godmother to Melanie’s son Toby.

The phone rang a few times before Melanie picked up.

“Hello?” Melanie’s voice came through the phone.

“Hey Mel!” Y/N greeted.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Well Harper and I are going to the park in an hour and I was wondering if you and Toby would like to join us?”

“We’d love to,” Melanie answered, “Toby’s been pulling my leg asking when he would see Harper next.”

Y/N chuckled, “We’ll meet you at the park if that’s alright.”

“That’s more than fine, we’ll see you then.” Melanie responded before hanging up the phone.

Y/N tossed her phone back on the couch and slumped back down. She could easily turn on the television and watch something but she didn’t feel up to it. Getting back up from the couch, Y/N headed over to Harper’s room and pushed it open. Her daughter was hunched over her small desk, scribbling away on a piece of paper. Y/N smiled at the sight. Her daughter had taken after her in artistic skill, always having the dream that one day she would be as good as her mother.

“Hey Harp.” Y/N said, entering her room.

“Mummy, look I’ve done a drawing!” Harper said excitedly holding up the picture, “It’s the same one you painted.”

Y/N took the drawing out of Harper’s hands and held it up. Y/N had painted a landscape of a forest a few weeks ago and Harper had copied it almost exactly. Every time Y/N would do a commission or a painting for fun, there would always be smaller versions of the same painting but made with colour pencil. Sometimes Harper would sit next to Y/N while she was painting and they would do it together.

Y/N always enjoyed doing art with Harper by her side. She would constantly ask questions about it and Y/N was always more than happy to answer. From sitting next to her and watching her paint, Harper had been teaching herself how to paint. Y/N would always offer to help her but Harper always refused the help, letting Y/N only watch from a distance. Their whole house was filled with paintings from both Y/N and Harper.

“It’s incredible, Harp.” Y/N said crouching down, “Even better than mine.”

“No it isn't, your one is better.” Harper said, “Yours are always better. I want to be like you when I grow up.”

Y/N pressed a kiss to the side of Harper’s head, “I don’t want you to be like me, I want you to be like you. You are going to grow up and be an extraordinary person, like you already are.”

Harper hugged Y/N tightly, “I love you mummy.”

“I love you too, sweet girl.” Y/N pressed a kiss to the side of her head once more before she heard the doorbell ring.

“Is that Melanie and Toby?” Harper questioned.

“No, it’s someone else, Mel and Toby are meeting us at the park,” Y/N explained, “Now why don’t you clean up in here before we head out.”

Harper nodded before she began clearing everything away. Y/N headed out of her room and opened the front door. Y/N expected it to be Harper’s present however she was greeted by two people - more specifically FBI agents. Y/N looked between the two, very obviously confused.

When Y/N looked up at the male agent, her eyes widened the slightest amount. His hair was curlier and he had a slight stubble. He looked as if he filled out his clothes more as well. Even if it had been more than a decade, she could recognise him anywhere.

Spencer Reid.

PERMANENT SPENCER REID TAGLIST

@spenxerslut @averyhotchner @drayshadow @moviequeen51 @spencer-reid-am-i-right @ssavanessa22 @amurderofcrowsinatrenchcoat @mbjackie @jklemps @reformedmoneyshovel @nomajdetective @jesuisbenny @jooniehomie @spencerreid-187 @onyourfingertips @uhuhuh @rubyhi208-42 @archer561 @c0rpsecore @sweetandsunny @zoeygraygubler @algonsa @jswessie187 @shemarmooresfedora @kaz-2y567 @alfonsais @aikrus @nani-2305 @death-becomes-her @sarejane @isabelle-558 @measure-in-pain @the-nerd-gang @manuosorioh @luredwithpretzels @ceeellewrites @totallyclearwitch @jekkles @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @sarahpaulsonlov3r @periwinklemax @kuolonsyoja @heartmira @hoodpankow @parahmur

SERIES TAGLIST

@its-9pm @nani-2305 @reidsfish @mochionly @spencerswildestdreams1 @magnetas @matthewscumslut @madsgraygubler @bakugouswh0r3 @rexit-mo @shinshankai

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid series

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seiijohhh · 3 years

Text

the slow demise [2/?]

summary: He’d found you coated in blood, surrounded by death, and decided then and there, you were perfect. pairing: megumi fushiguro x f!gojo!reader a/n: this has been reposted from my original account @justauthoring - so, if you recognize it, that’s why. im also tagging those who originally requested to be tagged in it, so they know where to find future parts. tags: @thatprofessionalfangirl - @sugarandsoft - @honeyy-honeyy-sweets - @strawberryflavoredjeans - @flowersbloominthedark - @juliajempire - @princess-bumblebee - @sageandberries-png - @yue-caelum - @a–nonymousse - @aryksworld - @godsentkita - @kat-su-ki

part one - part two - part three - part four

“How is there only four first years? Isn’t that too few?”

“Well, have you ever met anyone who can see curses before?”

Pausing in thought, the tip of Itadori’s popsicle remains in his mouth, before he tips it towards Fushiguro; “nope.”

“That just proves how small a minority jujutsu sorcerers are.”

Leaning against the railing beside Itadori, you glance away from him and Megumi, taking a moment to gather your surroundings. Gojo has left waiting here for quite a while, and honestly, you were getting bored.

“Also,” Itadori speaks up, pulling your attention back on him. “Didn’t you say I was the fourth?”

“Their entry was decided a while ago.” Fushiguro explains, nonchalant as ever, “you know what our school is like. Everyone has unique circumstances.”

Leaning towards Itadori with a mischievous grin, you hold your hand up to give the impression of telling a secret but don’t bother to lower your voice. “They were trying to find a replacement for me,” you grin, bright eyed at the dull look Fushiguro sends you.

“You were the one who said you’d never been apart of our school in the first place,” he quirks a brow, “how could we replace you, then?”

Blinking at his quip, you’re mainly surprised he’s able to come up with one.

“Moo,” you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. “No fun.”

“Sorry for the wait.”

Blinking at the new voice, your straighten out at the sight of Gojo waving at the three of you. He makes his way steadily over, before pausing, head tilting in curiosity, lips parting; “oh? Your uniforms made it in time, I see.” Then, his eyes drift to you, meeting your gaze. “Though, I’ve had yours waiting in my closet for a while.”

Glancing down at your uniform, you pull at the jacket, eyeing it curiously. The outfit was the same colour as Gojo’s and Fushiguro’s, as expected, a deep, dark purple. Yours was slightly different then your male counterparts however, and you’d found a pair of tight fitting dress pants, a white button up, and a cropped jacket with a high collar at your door this morning.

“Yeah,” Itadori grins, sending him a thumbs up. “It’s a perfect fit. Though it’s slightly different from Fushiguro’s,” he pulls at the material, “it has a hood, for one.”

“That’s because the uniforms can be customized upon request.”

“Huh? But I never put in any requests.”

With a sigh, you cross your arms over your chest, nudging Itadori lightly; “that’s because he did.” And when he turns to look at you, you shrug. “I didn’t put in a request for mine either. Though, I’m pleasantly surprised that mine came with pants.”

Utterly and entirely too proud of himself, Gojo grins at you brightly, sending you a thumbs up; “I thought you’d appreciate not having a skirt.”

And honestly, you can’t argue with that.

“Whatever, I guess,” Itadori shrugs.

“Be careful,” Fushiguro calls out, “Gojo-sensei has a tendency to do things like that.”

“More importantly,” you speak up, raising your head as you poke your head out. “Why are we meeting up in Harajuku?” Just as you finish speaking, Itadori moves to a stand beside you, pulling your eyes on him briefly before blinking back over at Gojo.

“Because it’s what she asked for.”

“Hey!” Jumping at the sudden pike of excitement in Itadori’s voice, you turn to him as he grins excitedly at you. “Popcorn! I want some!” Without any real warning, he grabs you by the wrist, grip gentle but firm, and pulls you along, whilst you stutter in surprise.

“H-Hey! I never said I wanted some–!”

–

“Um… P-Pardon me?”

It takes you half a second to realize that the older man stood in front of you, is talking to you. His lips are curved into a hopeful, somewhat hesitant smile, eyes crinkling at the corners as he regards you. “Are you on the clock right now?”

Your lips part, surprised flooding your features. You take a glance back at Itadori, Fushiguro and embarrassingly enough, Gojo, stood a little ways back from you as they watch on with varying expressions of interests. Itadori just looks curious, maybe even a little lost (and honestly, it’s a little endearing), Fushiguro seems rather annoyed and Gojo? Well, you have no idea.

Despite knowing the man for so many years now, you still can’t really gauge what half of his mischievous looks are about.

“Uh, no, I’m not,” you answer, turning back to the man, before raising your hand with a soft shake of your head. “But I’m not–”

“You see,” he cuts in, plainly ignoring what you’d had to say. So much for being hesitant. “I’m looking for potential models.” You take a quick glance at yourself – what about you currently screams model right now? “This is who I am,” he continues, thrusting a card in your face. “Would you be interested?”

You miss the pair of keen and careful eyes that watch you.

“Sorry,” you bow gently, feeling suddenly incredibly uncomfortable. “I’m not really interested–”

“Oh! Just hear me out–!”

“Hey, you.”

A new voice calls, and your eyes land on a hand that’s latched itself to the man’s shoulders before glancing upwards. You’re surprised to see a girl, your age, in a similar school uniform to your own, instead hers consists of a pencil skirt.

The man turns to her with a startle.

“What about me?”

You blink at her boldness, unable to stop the grin that grows on your face.

“For the modeling gig, dug,” she continues, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m asking what you think about me.”

“Oh, um! I’m in a hurry at the moment!” He offers a small smile, a nod your way, before moving to walk off.

She doesn’t let him off that easily.

Tugging him back by the collar of his jacket, she growls; “don’t run from me! Come out and say it!”

“Please, I’m sorry!”

“Um,” stepping forward, you try to placate the girl in letting the man go, offering a nervous smile. “Maybe you should–”

“Hey!”

Sighing in relief at Gojo’s voice, you move to rush over to him and the boys, falling next to Itadori, and spinning to face the girl with a grin.

“Okay, once again.”

Gojo gestures to the new student, and with ease, she moves to introduce herself. “Kugisaki Nobara,” she introduces herself, hand on her hip. “Be happy, boys. There’s now two girls in your group.”

Head tilting, you let out a laugh at the expressions on Itadori’s and Fushiguro’s faces.

A moment of silence passes, Nobara simply just stares at the three of you, though you notice her eyes are solely on Itadori and Fushiguro.

“I’m Itadori Yuji,” Itadori grins, leaning forward as he gestures to himself. “I’m from Sendai.”

“Fushiguro Megumi.”

She stares. Then, huffing: “I always get stuck with unfortunate circumstances.”

“She took one look and sighed,” Itadori deadpans.

“Well,” moving so you’re slightly in front of Itadori, you grin brightly at Nobara. You don’t have many friends, and even less of them are female, so you’re hoping that she won’t have the same reaction towards you. Especially with what happened earlier. “I’m Y/N Gojo, yes, as in Gojo-sensei,” you thumb at Gojo, “but we’re not related by blood, I only took his name–”

“–Hey, how come you didn’t tell me that right away!”

Sticking your hand out, you meet her eyes; “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She stares, and you feel your chest tighten in worry. But then, her eyes are brightening and the brightest (and maybe only) smile you’ve seen on the girl since meeting her curls onto her lips as she eagerly takes your hand. “I’m relieved to not be the only girl!”

And it’s like a weight of your shoulder.

“Hey!” Itadori calls, pouting, “how come you don’t like me!”

“Are we going somewhere?” Fushiguro cuts in, clearly tired of the conversation.

Gojo lets out a mischievous laugh; “we do have all four of you together.” He nods to himself. “Not to mention, two of you are from the countryside. So, of course we’re going on a tour of Tokyo!”

Almost immediately, as if on cue, Nobara, Itadori and Gojo all jump together, bright grins and sparkling eyes as they chant; “Tokyo! Tokyo! Tokyo!” Before, Nobara and Itadori move to stand beside each other, hands clasped with sparkling delight. “We love Tokyo.”

Shoving your hands into your pockets, you watch on with a tilt of your head.

“TDL!” Nobara cries, Itadori latching onto Gojo; “I want to go to TDL!”

“Idiot!” Itadori turns to her, “TDL’s in Chiba! Let’s go to Chinatown, Sensei!”

“Chinatown’s in Yokohama!”

“Yokohama’s part of Tokyo! Don’t you know that? Look at a map!”

Nudging Fushiguro lightly, you turn to whisper to him; “he’s not taking them on a tour, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Fushiguro nods, watching the two with disdain on his face. “Without a doubt.”

“I will now announce our destination,” Gojo calls, silencing Itadori and Nobara almost instantly.

“Roppongi!”

Turning to each other, you swear you actually see stars in their eyes; “Roppongi?!”

“I almost feel bad,” you mumble, unable to tear your eyes away.

“Don’t,” Fushiguro mumbles, “they’re idiots.”

Staring you at the building that looks quite frankly haunted, you bite your lips.

“There’s a curse here.”

“You liar!”

“You were toying with us country folk!”

With an everlasting grin on his face, Gojo adds; “there’s a bit cemetery nearby. The double whammy of that and an abandoned building brought out a curse.”

With a pat on the back of sympathy for Nobara, who continues to grovel in disappointment, clearly pissed off, you listen in as Itadori speaks up – surprisingly, he doesn’t seem all that upset about the whole lying thing anymore.

“So they really do pop up more often around graves?”

“The issues isn’t the cemetery itself,” Fushiguro explains, “it’s the fact that people associate cemeteries with fear.”

“Oh,” his eyes brighten in understanding. “It was the same for schools, too, wasn’t it?”

“Hold up!” Nobara calls, finally straightening out, “he didn’t even know that yet?”

Scratching at your chin, you let out a nervous laugh; “well…”

“He swallowed a special-grade cursed object?!” She all but screeches as you explain, instantly creating a distance between her and Itadori, disgust clear on her facial expression. “Gross! Unbelievable! That’s so unsanitary and disgusting! No way, no way, no way!”

“What?”

“I agree with her.” Fushiguro cuts in.

“Y/L/N!”

You bite your lips as his eyes fall on you, clasping your hands behind your back while you rock on the heels of your feet nervously. “Um…” You start, voice drifting, “it was kinda disgusting.”

“What?!”

“I want to know what all of you are capable of,” Gojo cuts in, hands in his pockets as he regards the abandoned building. “Just think of this as a field test. Nobara, Yuji, you two go exorcise the curse inside that building.”

Brows furrowing, you turn to Gojo. Why was he..?

“Huh?” Itadori mumbles, “but I thought only curses could exorcise curses, right? I can’t use any jujutsu yet.”

Gojo turns to Itadori; “you’re basically half a curse already,” he reminds. “There’s cursed energy flowing throughout your body. Though controlling that energy isn’t something you can learn overnight, so use this.” Your eyes widen at the familiar looking weapon, if you remembered correctly that belonged to a second year. “It’s the cursed tool, Slaughter Demon. It’s a weapon imbued with cursed energy. It’ll work on curses, too.”

Pulling the cover off the weapon, Itadori eyes it gleaning eyes.

“Lame,” Nobara scoffs, pulling your attention on her as she moves towards the building, pulling a pouncing around the belt hoops of her skirt.

Itadori moves to follow her.

“Oh, one more thing,” Gojo calls, “don’t let Sukuna out. If you use him, you’ll get rid of all the curses nearby in a flash, but you’ll also drag everyone around into it.”

“Got it!” Itadori grins, sending Gojo a thumbs up, “I won’t let Sukuna out.”

“Hurry up now!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Go on, now!”

“Man, I finally join the school like you’ve always wanted me to, and you kick me out of my first official mission.”

Letting out a laugh, Gojo sits down beside Fushiguro as you frown down at him. Leaning back, he glances up at you; “sorry,” he grins.

“I still think I should go, though,” you mumble, glancing back in the direction of the building, eyeing it with worry. Biting your lip, you frown; “I mean, Itadori’s still new and everything. And Nobara’s never been in the city…”

There’s an echo of silence, before Fushiguro adds; “I think I’ll go too.”

“Don’t push yourself,” Gojo calls, “either of you. You’re still recovering.”

Huffing, you nudge Fushiguro’s foot lightly, signaling him to scoot over which he does without complain. Falling into seat beside him, your shoulder lightly touches his own, an action that completely misses you, but Fushiguro however does not. And fighting back the faint blush that threatens to grow on his cheeks, Fushiguro distracts himself by turning back to Gojo.

“Y/N’s right,” he mumbles, “someone should keep an eye on them, especially Itadori.”

“True,” Gojo nods, “but the one we’re testing this time is Nobara.”

Complying, you let out a sigh, leaning back on the palms of your hands, tilting your head up to glance at the curse practically oozing from the building.

As you do, you miss the way Fushiguro keeps eyeing you.

“That Yuji…he’s missing a few up here,” he taps his head for emphasis. “He has no hesitation when it comes to killing these things that take the form of living creatures, albeit bizarre-looking ones, to try to kill him. And it’s not like he’s been familiar with curses for a long time, like the both of you.”

You glance at Gojo, meeting his already awaiting gaze.

“They won’t leave me alone!”

“Yes, darling, but… but you’re scaring me… you’re scaring us!”

Shaking your head, a wave of heat rolls off of you, almost pulsating, and it causes those around you to flinch in fear, pushing away from you. You don’t understand, no one will listen to you – they don’t understand. They won’t understand…

You’re not trying to scare them.

“Mama, please, just–”

She holds a hand to you, stopping you from approaching – it feels like your heart might just break.

“Papa,” you turn, swiftly, desperately, but he looks at you with those same eyes. Those same fearful, disgusted eyes and you can feel the tears welling, your sight blurring. “P-Please…” You cry.

“You have to stay away, Y/N. It’s not safe for us.”

“I’m not safe!”

The words leave your voice in a screech, and you hate the way everyone backs away. This is your family, your mother and father, and your older brother and they’re all avoiding you because they’re afraid of you. They won’t listen to reason. It’s not your fault, you’re not trying to scare them – you’re scared…

You’re terrified.

But they don’t care.

“They won’t leave me! They just follow me! I’m not… please, listen to me! Mama, papa, onii-chan!”

It’s useless. They won’t listen.

They’re too scared.

You feel your heart swelling, anger flooding your senses, and the only thing in your head is; they need to understand.

In a second there’s screams. Your eyes snap open to find red, just… red. There’s so much of it, the smell of it floods your senses and makes you feel sick. The monsters that haunt your dreams, that never leave you no matter how hard you try to make them, fly past you in blurs; the red coats them.

The screams never leave your mind.

They never will.

And in the sea of red, amidst your own sobbing, you see a glow of white, and it shines so brightly you think;

that must be my saviour.

The one you’ve been waiting for.

“Yo!”

He pulls his blindfold back, and the sea of blue you see is just so beautiful, your young heart soars.

“So little to be covered in so much blood.”

“–This is a boy who used to live a normal high school life.”

Blinking at the sound of Gojo’s voice, you’re pulled from your thoughts with a startle. Ignoring the pang in your chest and the way it sits uncomfortably heavy, you ignore the sidewise glance Fushiguro sends you, placing your focus back on what Gojo has to say.

“You’ve both seen plenty of jujutsu sorcerers, even those with talent, give up in frustration because they couldn’t conquer their fear or disgust, haven’t you?”

You glance at Fushiguro, and the answer is obvious.

“So today I want to confirm how crazy she is.”

“But Kugisaki has experience, right? Little late for that now, isn’t it?”

“Curses are born from human minds,” Gojo reminds, “so their strength and numbers grow in proportion to the population. Meaning…”

“Is Nobara aware that curses in Tokyo are on a different level than those in the countryside,” you finish with a nod, leaning forward to eye Gojo. Honestly, despite being an annoyance most of the time, Gojo was good at bringing the best out of his students – so you shouldn’t be all that surprised by his tendency to search for the best either.

Still, it shocks you.

“And when I say ‘level’, I don’t just mean the amount of cursed energy they have,” Gojo continues, “it’s their cunning. Monsters that have gained wisdom often force cruel choices upon you…–”

“It’s just a kid… right?”

“–with the weight of human lives in the balance.”

Gojo’s words hang in the air, and, with a frown, you glance over at Fushiguro, only for his eyes to already be on your own.

Without having to ask, you already know why.

“Megumi–”

You’re cut off by the sound of glass breaking, your eyes snapping up towards the building, only for your eyes to widen at the sight of a curse.

Fushiguro shifts beside you; “I’ll exorcise it.”

“Hold on.” Gojo halts,

And Fushiguro almost looks appalled, stood, waiting, a second later you feel the same – only for spikes to appear through the curses body, it’s eyes bulging, and in the next second for it to simply dissolve.

“Nice,” Gojo grins, and honestly, you have to agree. That was impressive.

“She’s crazy, all right.”

“I live over there! Thanks again!”

You watch the kid Itadori and Nobara had rescued for a moment longer, even as Fushiguro and Gojo move to walk off. Peeking your head around the corner, a fond, soft smile curls onto your lips at the mother who opens the door. Obviously relieved that he sons okay, she doesn’t waste another second quickly wrapping the small boy up in her arms and practically pulling him off his feet.

You can’t remember the last time you’d felt a mother’s love.

“Y/N?”

Blinking at the sound of Fushiguro’s voice, you turn around, eyes wide at having gotten lost in your own thoughts.

“You coming?” Shoving a hand in his pocket, he tilts his head curiously at you.

“Yup!” You call, popping the ‘p’ as you push back your thoughts. Running to catch up to him, you fall in step with him, bumping his shoulder lightly with a grin to which he turns away, a light dust coating his cheeks, causing you to giggle. He was too easy to tease.

“Good Joseph!” Gojo calls to Itadori and Nobara, who decided to wait on some steps. “We made sure the kid got home.”

Almost instantly, the two stand.

“Now, shall we go grab some food?”

“Steak!” Itadori cries.

“Sushi!” Noabara follows.

With two thumbs up, Gojo grins; “leave it all to me! And, you two?”

You glance over at Fushiguro, rolling your eyes when you notice he’s on his phone, not paying attention. Shrugging, you decide to join in on the fun, pumping your first in the air; “you can’t forget about desert!”

“Of course not!”

“Y/N!” Itadori leans towards you, and you blink at the tears in his eyes.

“You finally understand!” Your eyes widen when Nobara follows him, leaning towards you with an almost proud look.

Tilting your head, your lips part; “huh?”

“Last call, Megumi!”

He continues to ignore Gojo.

“He’s just cranky he didn’t get to do anything today,” you whisper to Itadori and Nobara, giggling when he sends you a glare.

“Well,” Gojo says, voice sickly sweet, “let’s go.” And he simply tugs the three of you along, ignoring Fushiguro, who almost immediately perks up when he notices he’s being left behind.

You let out a laugh as he rushes to join.

“Oh,” Nobara calls, “I forgot about my biggest haul today. You,” she sharply points at Itadori, “go fetch my things.”

“Huh? Why should I do it? I thought we were even.”

“We won thanks to my cursed energy. Got a problem with that?”

“What about my raw strength?”

“Your monstrous power from eating weird shit?”

“It’s not just that,” Itadori cries, “right, Fushiguro, Y/N?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” you snort.

He just pouts. “Fushiguro?”

There’s no response.

“Huh? What’s the matter, Fushiguro?”

“Nothing–”

“Y/N said it right,” Gojo laughs, “he’s pouting because he didn’t get to join in.”

Letting out a laugh, you nod; “totally is!”

“Puh, puh,” Nobara giggles, a hand to her mouth, “what a child.”

Megumi lets out a grunt, hiding his face behind his collar as the rest of you collectively let out a laugh. And as you share in the moment, glancing around, you’re starting to forget why you were so adamant on spending life alone.

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winderlylandchime · 7 months

Note

The fact that he kind of dreamt your future fic is making me laugh so hard. He really is an idiot by day and a psychic by night. This also now made me excited for your future fic, can’t wait for when that comes around. I might fuck around and actually do give him fics to read ngl.

Also yes! When we first started watching the show, he did think that Gale looked a little bit like Ashton and it was the funniest thing ever to me. He did only talk about it in the pilot though. Btw I am so tempted to later on give him Gale’s out of the box interview to watch. He was asking me yesterday about the actors and if they still act and where are they and I didn’t answer because well, one of them abandoned his podcast so i don’t know what he’s up to and the other one we dont even know if he’s still alive since theres been no new photos. I do wonder how he will react when he finds out Gale is straight though because he mentioned to my neighbor and i did get the feeling that he thinks everyone is gay. So i am tempted to ask him questions about what all he thinks of the cast since his only introduction to them is the show.

And yes! He has been going on and on about Brian’s growth and how he’s changed since he clocked it around 4th episode. He is so happy that he’s growing and allowing himself to be happy and in love even if he doesn’t want to admit it, that i just know the second 5x01 will start, he will have a mental breakdown and it will be very valid of him.

Your celebrities/therapist story actually made me curious now because how can a famous celeb that is known everywhere, even get a therapist then omg. I had no clue this was kind of a thing. And yes! My brother would absolutely launch into it, he’d have pictures and everything ready for it. I mean his confidence when it comes to talking to everyone and anyone about anything in his life (usually interests and shit he’s done thats funny to him or in this case the show) is impressive as fuck but also for an innocent bystander like me? actually a nightmare to be around that. He truly doesn’t give a single fuck! He just tells anyone who will listen (not in a trauma dumping type of way but his interests and such? No shame) When he was in high school he made an entire poster presentation for his class to talk about his love for the movie School of Rock and HE DID IT BY SINGING A FAKE ROCK N ROLL SONG (id give anything to remember the lyrics). Mind you, the presentations was supposed to be about current events in the world and School of Rock came out like a year or two prior so it had no relation to the exercise and yet that didn’t stop him. So you best believe he would do the exact same for Gale or more importantly QAF/Brian. And as someone who does shy away from talking about qaf just because it is a lot, it is insane watching him talk about the show because he truly gives zero fucks. When we started watching the show, he was fully explaining to the nurses/doctors/anyone that would listen about how the show is AND HOW BRITIN MET! He TALKED ABOUT THE RIM JOB! I NEVER EVEN FUCKING TOLD YALL THAT! IMAGINE MY SHOCK WHEN HE RANDOMLY BROUGHT UP THE SHOW FOR THE FIRST TIME TO SOMEONE RANDOM! AND HE DECIDED TO DO IT BY BRINGING UP THE SEX SCENE! HE TALKED TO OTHER HUMANS ABOUT THE RIM JOB! So if you ever feel like maybe you’ve said a bit too much about something you like? Fear no more because my brother has for sure shared even more.

Dear sweet anon. I just signed onto tumblr on desktop and it looks like I never responded to this message?!?! It says it’s from 4 days ago.

I thought I did. I’m sorry <3 <3

I am still dying over all of this. Your brother has no embarrassment. Maybe we can all take a page from him (although don’t corner people at their place of work to discussing rimming, even fictional rimming).

#ask winderlylandchime #dear sweet anon #queer as folk #a straight man watches qaf us 2000 in the year of our lord 2023

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spicyspencerreid · 4 years

Text

The Wonderful Benefits Of Physical Touch

A Spencer Reid Imagine

Female!Reader, BAU!Reader// A whole 4939 words

Warnings// Mentions of domestic abuse (not inflicted on reader or involving Spencer), kissing, A SHIT TON OF FLUFF, language, lack of spellcheck, this is just so so so so so soft like- I know it’s long, but it’ll make your heart warm

Summary// Reader’s had trouble sleeping for the past couple of nights and Spencer notices something’s off with her, it comes out when they have to share a hotel room and he helps her fall asleep.

Key// Y/f/n- Your first name, Y/m/n- Your middle name, Y/l/n- Your last name

Not my gif: I hope you guys enjoy, I love this one and spent wayyyyy too much time on it!!

You woke up in a cold sweat, your least favorite way to wake up. You were shivering, but you could feel sweat slowly dripping down your face. You took a second to catch your breath before trying to remember where you were. You noticed the sun, then your light blue curtains, then your alarm clock. 5:00AM. You sighed, having finally fell asleep at 4:30, you hoped you’d get more than a half hour of sleep before you needed to be up at 6:00, but it looks like that wasn’t in the cards for you.

You were exhausted, and there was nothing worse than being exhausted and not being able to sleep. Luckily, coffee had been enough to keep you going for the past couple of weeks. You weren’t exactly sure why you couldn’t sleep. At first you were having nightmares, but they’d gone away.

A month ago, your older sister, Hailee, went missing. A week after she showed up at your doorstep, told you she was running from her abusive husband.

You heard a knock on your door, causing all the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. You reached in the drawer of your entry table, pulling out your gun. To be completely honest, you hated guns, probably because you’d blamed them for a good amount of the problems in the world, but as the communications liaison, you were required to have one for your job.

You peered through the peephole of your apartment, dropping the gun on the ground when you saw who it was. You pulled open the door as fast as possible, pulling her into a hug as tears poured out of your eyes.

“Never, ever scare me like that again Hails,” your sister was in charge of public relations for Givenchy in Paris, and every time she visited you she brought you an exclusive portfolio of their latest designs. So when you felt a book up against your chest, you weren’t surprised, and didn’t give it a second thought, “What’s this?” You opened the book to scroll through the pages, only to gasp at what you saw. Broken ribs, broken legs, broken everything.

“My medical records...” you looked up at her to see you hadn’t made eye contact this entire time, meaning you hadn’t noticed the dark purple under her eye. You knew instantly, having seen it too much in your line of work, “I wanna put him in jail, but I had to get out of there first. I checked the calendar you sent me looking for your next day off and booked the quickest flight I could get. I wanted to tell you, I’m so sorry-” You and your sister were closer than ever, and you cursed yourself for not picking up on it when she wasn’t coming to many more family events. She probably knew if you saw her with him in person you’d pick up on it instantly.

“Stop apologizing, we’re gonna put that asshole in jail, okay?” She nodded and you pulled her back into another hug.

“I-I have recordings. Of him yelling at me, do we need them?” She choked out through tears. All your life she’d been your protector since you were kids, but more importantly, she was your best friend, only two years apart from you in age, which is why you knew something was off when she hadn’t called to check up on you in a week like she normally did. Your parents refused to report her missing, not that you tried to get them to or anything, they just assumed she was in between countries and not able to answer her phone. Spencer and JJ could both tell something was up with you at work, but didn’t want to push you. You ended up telling them you could feel something was off with your sister, and you hadn’t slept, but if anyone could work on no sleep, it was you.

“That would be good, go sit down. Does he know you’re gone? I’m gonna get you water.” You went straight into your kitchen, filling up a glass.

“I don’t think so. I told him I had to go on a business trip, even bought a plane ticket to London and everything. I was gonna call mom and dad, but I didn’t know if he could tap into my phone or something.” You handed her the glass.

“I’m gonna make a couple phone calls, you need sleep,” you reached for the blanket on your couch to lay over her.

“Y/n/n,” she grabbed your wrist, “you look like you need sleep,” she wasn’t wrong, you hadn’t slept for more than four hours after the first missed call of hers. You thought you’d covered it up fairly well, but if anyone could tell, it was her.

“I’m fine, you can sleep in my bed if the couch is uncomfortable, but really, get some rest.” You called Hotch, who was in the office, and faxed him copies of Hailee’s medical records, telling him it was an emergency and you needed him to contact the police in Hailee’s county and arrest her husband. He was arrested that day, and pleaded guilty after more and more women started to stand up.

You were thankful Hailee came to you, but since then, you still hadn’t gotten a full night of sleep. Even after he was put in prison, even after everything was settled with your parents, even though you knew Hailee was in bed safe, you still felt off. The nightmares faded, but the bad sleeping habits stayed. And you had no idea why. You’d tried everything, herbal remedies, meditation, ice baths, etc, but none of it worked.

You got in the shower, got dressed, and made yourself breakfast, jamming out to music to try to improve your mood before getting on your way. You arrived at work at 7:00, usually arriving at 7:15, you were hyper-organized, so you always liked to have the case out and ready at 7:20, giving you ten minutes to prep in your head. Since you were early, you turned on your favorite audiobook and closed your eyes for a couple seconds, taking in the calm before going to look at dead bodies. You opened your eyes after a couple minutes, your body realizing you fell asleep. You checked the clock in your car. Shit. It was 7:25. You grabbed your bag and walked into the building, grabbing the file off of your desk and walking as fast as you could into the conference room. Derek and JJ were already sitting in the conference room chatting amongst themselves. You walked in and rapidly started pinning pictures up to the board, you already knew the case, but needed to have everything ready to present.

“Derek I can’t reach that thumbtack can you grab it.” It was barely out of your reach,

“Wow Y/n, no ‘good morning my sweet Derek, how are you on this fine day”?” He was right, you weren’t exactly your chipper self this morning.

“You don’t wanna fuck with me right now Morgan,” you turned to glare at him, earning a laugh from JJ.

“Damn, okay, put those daggers away, I’ll grab the thumbtack...,” Derek handed you the thumbtack and you pinned up your final picture. You closed your eyes and started to go over what you were going to say in your head. You could feel JJ and Derek judging you, now joined by Emily who walked in while your eyes were closed, “A single word and I will hurt all of you, slowly but effectively.” Spencer walked in the room tapping your shoulder and slightly startling you, causing you to jump. He put one hand on your shoulder causing heat to rise to your cheeks. Spencer was your best friend, your adorable, undateable, best friend. You could practically feel JJ giving you a look, you were so undeniably lucky Spencer wasn’t exactly the best at social cues and wasn’t always trying to profile you, because you were the absolute worst at hiding your innocent little crush.

“Woah...I just brought you coffee, I saw your mug was still in the cabinet and assumed you didn’t arrive here at your usual 7:15,” he handed you a cup of coffee, and you took a deep breath.

“Spencer Reid, you are my knight in shining amour,” Spencer smiled and you sipped your coffee, thankful he knew just how you liked it.

“What do we have?” Hotch walked in and you went into formation.

“Three dead in Seattle,” you pointed to the board, reading through their names and ages.

“They’re all the same age, but there’s no specific type here?” JJ asked.

“Yes, about that, their...um...” you swallowed, tripping over your words just a little, “ring fingers are all cut off.”

“Do we know what with?” Emily motioned for the picture and you handed her one of the extra copies.

“M.E. said they’d contact us when we arrive.”

“Alright, wheels up in 30,” everyone head out of the conference room while you took a second to clean up your files. You sat down in one of the empty seats, drinking your coffee and taking a deep breath before heading back out into the bullpen. You sat at your desk and pulled out Pride and Prejudice, deciding to reread it for the fourth time this month. You starting sucking on your lower lip, feeling tears start to well up in your eyes, you body was on override from lack of sleep, and being off schedule was putting you over the edge. It had never been an issue before, but at the moment, you just wanted time to not look at dead bodies, but you didn’t feel like that plane ride to Washington was gonna be long enough. You took a deep breath, knowing you could stop yourself from crying if you tried hard enough. You felt that familiar hand on your shoulder.

“Come with me I wanna show you something,” Spencer lightly pulled your shoulder.

“Spence,” you looked up at him, something was off, “I’m reading,” you smiled at him with furrowed eyebrows, motion to your book. Spencer grabbed the book out of your hand and scrolled through the pages.

“I will literally recite the first ten pages for you later,” he raised his eyebrows at you and you caved, he was lucky he was your one weakness.

“Okay, okay fine, will you at least tell me where we’re going?” You walked with him only to end up in an empty office. An agent had transferred last week leaving an empty office in the back hallway. Spencer pulled you in and closed the blinds, “Am I being held hostage?” you joked, not getting a laugh in response.

“What’s going on with you?” Shit.

“Nothing’s going on with me?” You were good, really good, at masking emotion, even for a team of profilers, but apparently you weren’t good enough today.

“Y/n...” you stared at him, standing your guard, “Okay fine, you’ve started doing that foot-tapping thing again, you forgot your coffee this morning, and you’re blinking more rapidly than average, which means you’re either dehydrated or trying to stop yourself from crying,” you felt your eyes start to water again, “and you're probably the most well-hydrated person I’ve ever met, so what’s going on?” When you didn’t respond with words, but a sniffle and a tear, Spencer wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you up against him. You knew he did this because studies showed skin to skin contact was the easiest way to calm any negative emotion, but your heart still stopped beating for a second as your wrapped your hands around his neck, “I-I didn’t mean to make you cry, I just wanted to know if I could help,” he whispered, as if talking too loud would only make you more upset. Once you calmed down a little, you pulled away, “Do you want to talk about it?” You shook your head, you didn’t really have anything to talk about, you were just so tired.

“Sorry,” you wiped the leftover tears from your face, “I’m just having a bad day, didn’t sleep much last night,” you hadn’t slept much in more than just last night, but you didn’t feel like worrying anyone right now.

“It’s okay,” his voice was still gentle.

“Do I have streaks on my face?” He shook his head, “We should probably go to the jet.” You motioned to the door.

“We have 17 minutes if you need another second...”

“Nope, I am all good, but thank you, seriously Spence,” you reached for his hand and squeezed it, “thank you,” you speed walked back into the bullpen, putting on your best smile. When you got on the jet, Spencer sat across from you. You played chess most of the flight while debating over movies with Emily.

The case went by extremely quick, considering the fact that the Unsub’s maid found a box of fingers with wedding rings on them in the Unsub’s closet. You only had to hold one press conference to get someone to come forward, which was lovely because all you wanted to do was get home.

“Bad news,” Hotch walked into the room you and Emily were sitting in the Police Office, “Jet can’t come in until sunrise, they’re expecting a big storm,” you threw your head back, damnit, “I was able to get four rooms at the hotel, so double up. Oh and Y/n, good work on the press conference, if it wasn’t for you, we’d probably be stuck here a couple more days,” you smiled. A couple seconds later Spencer popped his head into the room.

“Penelope called Morgan, and JJ’s got Emily, so that leaves you and me,” of course it did.

“Sounds good,” you smiled, feeling Emily’s eyes on you as he turned around and left.

“Wow, complimented by Hotch and getting a night alone with Spencer, it’s like all your dreams are coming true at once,” you playfully slapped her arm.

When you got back to your hotel you all split off into your rooms. You argued with Spencer over who got to use the bathroom first, but you eventually won. Won meaning you got to the bathroom before him. You put on a sports bra and shorts, following it up with a loose tee-shirt when you remembered you were sharing a room with Spencer and not Emily and JJ per usual. Usually Penelope didn’t come on trips unless necessary, which in this case she was, so instead of the usual three rooms, Hotch got four. You washed your face with cold water hoping the internet was right and it would help you fall asleep.

“Don’t use up all the hot water,” Spencer yelled in from the bedroom.

“I take morning showers,” you opened the bathroom door and reentered the bedroom.

“Good, Derek takes forty-five minute showers.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Spencer took a pretty quick shower, and you rested yourself in the queen-sized bed, grabbing your copy of Pride and Prejudice and returning to your page. You were pretty into the story when Spencer came back in.

“So...I can take the floor,” you’d totally forgotten once again that these was not your usual sleeping conditions, but you still trusted Spencer enough to share a bed with him, you’d fallen asleep next to him on the couch in his apartment on multiple movie nights, how is that any different?

“Spence, how long have we known each other?”

“209 days,” you giggled, expecting a much less specific answer.

“Okay then I’d assume our 209 day friendship is enough to allow us to share a bed together without it being weird?” You marked your page and closed your book.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable with that?”

“You are quite the gentleman, but yes, I swear. Unless you snore like Emily, then I might kick you out of the room completely,” you pointed finger guns at him. He laughed and laid on the opposite side of the bed, grabbing a book of his own. He finished his book in a couple minutes, closing it and grabbing a manual from the desk.

“I know you are not about to read that microwave manual.”

“What? It’s interesting,” he looked so cute perusing through all of the different manuals spread out on the hotel desk.

“That is a bad, bad idea,” you closed your book shut, “actually, we should both probably try to get some sleep,” you were exhausted, and while you knew you weren’t going to get much sleep, you still wanted darkness and quiet to revel in. He shut off the lights and pulled the covers over his head, whispering a goodnight to you before drifting off into sleep. You were about two hours into your nightly routine of staring at the ceiling when Spencer’s voice brought you back into reality.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” He muttered, you glanced over at him to see his eyes were still closed and decided to pretend you were asleep, “Y/n, I know the length of space between breaths when a human is sleeping, therefore, I know you’re awake.” You turned your head to face him.

“You got me,” you yawned. He sat up against the headboard of the bed, and you did the same.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on now?” You continued to stare at the wall in front of the bed, but you could feel his eyes on you.

“I haven’t been sleeping for a while,” you leaned your head back against the wood.

“I thought that got better?”

“I’ve been trying, but I can’t sleep for more than thirty minutes at a time, I haven’t been able to since Hailee went missing. I thought it would fix itself when I found out she was fine, but nope.”

“You...” he reached out to poke your leg, making you giggle, “should’ve told me sooner, I am very well versed on ways to help sleep.”

“Spence, I’ve literally done everything, it’s hopeless,” you laughed, “but I might take you up on your offer to recite those Pride and Prejudice pages for me.”

“That’ll be our last resort. Have you tried eating bananas, they contain-”

“Tryptophan. Yeah I only drank warm milk and ate bananas and cherries for three days straight, nothing, but is it possible to become lactose intolerant from drinking too much milk?”

“There are many studies on why raw milk doesn’t cause lactose intolerance, but for legal reasons, not much has been studied about processed milk and how the differences relate to lactose intolerance, but really to answer your question, lactose intolerance is caused because of the enzyme lactase which splits the-,” he stopped once he heard your giggling, “...and you were kidding. Y/n, I am trying to help here, what about herbal teas?”

“Tried, didn’t work.”

“Um...meditation?” You nodded, “What about lowering your apartment temperature?”

“I literally can only sleep in the cold,” he was about to interrupt but you already knew what was coming, “...and I already tried the opposite, raising the temperature, which sucked by the way.”

“This might sound a little strange, but what are the colors of your bedroom wall?”

“I already looked into the impact of cool versus warm colors on sleep, my walls are white and I have blue curtains, my lights are led, so they aren’t yellow, and I don’t use any electronics for an hour before I get in bed,”

“Then it’s not physical, it’s mental, you know talking about what’s bothering you helps. Compartmentalizing really doesn’t.”

“I haven’t been compartmentalizing though, I’ve even been journaling and stuff, even though I absolutely hate it.”

“Hmm,” he went quiet for a second, you opened your mouth to ask and he stopped you, “I’m thinking...,” it was like a lightbulb turned on over his head, “I got it what about-” He stopped.

“What?”

“It’s just...”

“What? Spencer? I’d literally try anything at this point.”

“Serotonin.”

“We’re not all super geniuses, please don’t make me ask,” you pleaded.

“Serotonin’s a monoamine neurotransmitter...um it’s a large contributer to feelings of well-being and happiness, but a study I read last week actually talked about how involved it is in the regulation of sleep...um it has sort of a calming effect when activated,” sounded like pure bliss to you.

“And how do I activate it?”

“Yes that’s the um...” he looked over at you before continuing his explanation, “...so the most effective way is through deep touch pressure, which is a form of tactile sensory input. It’s mostly provided by firm holding, firm stroking, hugging, and cuddling.”

“Oh,” it clicked in your head.

“It’s actually really interesting, if you think back to the times you’re most relaxed, or just times that are coined as relaxing in general. Spas have done really well with this in general, with the hot stone massages especially, the heat combined with the cool temperature of the spa, mixed with the weight of the stones, it mimics a beach so well, which also is coined for relaxation considering how the heat acts as a blanket in some pretenses. Being in your mother’s arms, cuddling with a significant other, all good examples of serotonin, which is why weighted blankets are so popular now, they mimic the feeling of being held, they mimic that deep touch pressure...,” you let him ramble on about weighted blankets while you thought about what he was actually talking about. You’d been thinking about the events that would occur if you and Spencer shared a bed for a night, and while you might’ve thought of more explicit things than cuddling, the thought of anything more than a hug with him made your heart race, “Are you still listening?”

“Sorry, I got,” you cleared your throat, “distracted.”

“Sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“No it’s okay, it’s a good idea,” you stammered, wanting to slap yourself. You sounded way too excited, which you were, but that excitement was coated with nerves. It was silent for a minute before Spencer spoke up again.

“When Hailee first went missing, it had only been three days, so I asked you how you knew something was wrong, and you said you just knew. It’s like with baby cheetahs, baby cheetahs always know when there’s something wrong with their older siblings because they are their protectors, it’s their instinct, just like yours,” He turned to look into your eyes, and brought his voice down into a whisper, “You told me a story about how when you were younger and you’d get nightmares, instead of running into your mother’s room, which is the natural instinct, you’d run into Hailee’s room and she’d hold you instead. When I asked why, you said it was because she was a room closer, but I think it really was because of your independence. No matter how independent you were, you still needed someone, and no matter how independent you are now, you still crave that serotonin, you crave that physical touch. You’re human. It’s just like earlier today, I didn’t want to bring it up because I’m sure you feel embarrassed about crying during work, but it’s completely normal. We aren’t sociopaths like these people we go after, we have empathy, and it’s part of the reason we’re so good at our jobs. No matter how many gruesome cases we see, we aren’t robots, so we all sometimes just need a moment to break down and compose ourselves in an emotional release, it’s just another human necessity. It’s science. And you can replicate it with a weighted blanket when you’re alone, but when you get the opportunity, you really just need more physical touch, that’s all,” he reached over to rub your shoulder, and a tear fell onto your check.

“You’re right,” you sniffled.

“Oh no,” he chuckled, wiping your cheek with his thumb, “I made you cry again.”

“No,” you placed your hand on top of his on your face, “you’re just the sweetest person I’ve ever met.” He didn’t respond, just opened his arms, nodding with his head for you to come closer. You scooted over and nestled your head into his chest. He pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tight. His hand slowly made its way to your lower back, peeking under your tee-shirt to draw light circles on your bare skin. You were close to falling asleep when you felt warm lips touch your forehead, causing you to immediately snap back.

“Sorry,” he whispered. He must’ve felt you stiffen in his arms. You tilted your head back and looked up at him, placing your hand on his jawline as you connected your lips with his, softly and slowly. You were hesitant, knowing part of your action was based off of exhaustion, but you were just sick of having to look at his lips everyday and long for them to be on yours without doing anything about it.

“Goodnight Spencer,” you pulled away quickly, returning you head to its spot on your chest.

“Goodnight Y/n,” he whispered back a minute later, and his hand resumed his circular motion, lulling you to a full night of sleep for the first night in many, many days.

You woke up a little lower on the bed then you were when you fell asleep, and your position changed. Spencer was laying on his back, and you were on your side, one of his arms under your waist and resting on your stomach. You were facing the alarm clock and gasped when you saw the time. You sat up out of Spencer’s arm, completely dumbfounded. It was 6:00AM, and the last time you checked the clock it was 11:00, you hadn’t woken up once. You started to get up when you were pulled back onto the bed.

“Spencer it’s 6:00,” you whisper yelled, “I just slept for seven full hours.”

“Mmm, think you can sleep for one more,”he turned onto his side so your back was now pressed into his chest.

“Seven hours, wow, and it’s all thanks to this incredible guy I know. He’s like a super-genius who taught me the wonderful benefits of the magical enzyme called ‘serotonin’, have you heard of it?”

“He sounds like a great guy,” he grumbled into your neck, “I’m so very happy for you,” he pressed his lips to your neck, giving you goosebumps and reminding you of your impulsive decision from the night before, “but shhh.” It had been decided, groggy Spencer was your new favorite Spencer.

“Spence...” you had to talk about this. If you didn’t, the whole team would be able to read you the second you got on the jet.

“No. Sleep.”

“Spencer...”

“Okay, I’ve officially been awoken from my peaceful slumber,” you wiggled so you were now facing him.

“Hi,” you whispered. His eyes opened slowly and he smiled at you, “you have very pretty eyes, they’re like honey.”

“You’re nice when you’re sleepy,” his hands shifted again to your lower back, drifting under your shirt to stroke your skin once again.

“I’m nice all the time,” you pouted.

“You were extra nice last night,” turns out groggy Spencer and confident Spencer were the same person, you rotated your body so you weren’t facing him, “How long?”

“How long what?”

“How long have you felt this way about me?” This was not a good question for you.

“How many days did you say we’ve known each other?”

“210 counting today.”

“Then 210 days,” you sighed out, you’d liked him since the first day you’d met, it wasn’t love at first sight or anything, but from your first conversation, he’d been giving you butterflies, “I’m really sorry if I ruined things between us.”

“You’re kidding right?” You leaned up, and furrowed your eyebrows at him, “I just thought you didn’t feel that way. If I knew, I would’ve done something about it, or I would’ve gotten weirdly distant until you forced me to tell you what was wrong,” he smiled and your heart melted.

“What’re we gonna do about the team?”

“Derek’s gonna be relentless,” he sighed out and you giggled, “but we’ll figure it out, just not right now, because I’m cold, and I want your body heat.” He pulled you back into him.

“I have to shower,” you mumbled.

“You smell fine,” you gave him a look, “okay, okay, go.” He released you from his tight hold, not before you gave him a quick kiss, and you ran to the bathroom. You took a quick shower, then put on your makeup and got dressed. You both decided to eat on the plane instead of charging the bureau for room service. When you arrived on the plane you said quick hellos to the team and took a seat right across from Derek. You didn’t say anything when you sat down, you just opened your book. You looked up to see Derek’s eyes shifting back and forth between you and Spencer, who was playing chess with Rossi a couple seats away.

“Y/f/n Y/m/n Y/l/n,” you looked up from your book, “Did you get laid last night?”

“Oh my god Derek! I spent the night with Spencer,” you shut your book closed fast.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you look genuinely relaxed in over a month,” he whispered at you, “did you spend the night with pretty boy over there or did you spend the night with him? Because you didn’t hear this from me, but pretty boy’s got it bad for you.”

“Oh really?” He was right, pretty boy did in fact have it bad for you.

—

I was just really in the mood for some more Spencer fluff, if you liked this please check out Making A Move, it’s a lot shorter, but still cute.

Here’s my masterlist

Love you all!!!!!

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer imagine #spencer fic #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds spencer #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

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harrywritingsbyme · 4 years

Text

Wanna Make A Baby?

Based Off Of This Ask

And This One

This One Too

A/N: Older!Harry, dad!Harry, small!Y/n, and breeding kink all rolled into one The fluff is adorable and the filth is filthyyy! Enjoy🙃

It wasn’t uncommon for Harry to dream. He dreamt just about every time he closed his eyes and fell asleep. Dreaming was actually one of the highlights of his night. The first was being able to sleep next to you, and the second would be dreaming. When it came to the subject matter of his dreams, it varied every time. The only constant in his dreams would be you; that’s why he loved it so much. You’d be there right by his side doing whatever you were ‘supposed’ to be doing in his dream. At times, dreaming was a way for his mind to reveal his deepest thoughts and desires. And that’s what was happening this go round with Harry.

In his dream you were there(of course), along with himself and two other people. As he walks out of the backdoor to you guys’ home and into the spacious backyard, his eyes go straight to a play structure that was in his line of sight. As he emerges from the house even more, he hears a small voice calling out to him. When Harry looks in the direction of the voice, he sees a small child coming down the slide of the large play structure with a big smile plastered across his face. Once the little boy is back on the ground, he immediately sprints over to Harry. While the boy is running over to his father, Harry crouches down so that he’d be on the little boys level and he waits for him. As the boy approaches, Harry’s able to get a better view of his features and he couldn’t believe his eyes. This boy, which Harry confidently presumed to he his son had just about every feature he had when he was that small. The only things that were missing were the straight blonde hair, and the green eyes. Those features were replaced by yours and he couldn’t be happier about that. After talking to the little boy, he agrees to play with him before pressing a kiss to his chubby cheek and sending him on his way so that he could talk to you for a moment.

As the little boy runs back to the play structure, Harry stands back up and looks to his right, he sees you sitting contently in the shaded lounge area of you guys’ backyard. You had a book in one hand, while the other was delicately placed upon your very swollen and pregnant belly. There were no words that could be used by Harry to effectively and accurately describe the beauty that was radiating off of you. He would talk about how pretty you’d look if you were pregnant but now he was seeing it. The sight of you captivated Harry and drew him in. As he got closer and closer, Harry was able to fully take all of you in. He got to see every little detail. When he was right in front of you, he got to see the small floral print that was littered across your flowy dress. He was able to see your more rounded facial features better. And most importantly, Harry got to see your left hand that was adorned with the glistening diamond ring and wedding band he’d put on your finger almost three years ago resting right on top of the swell of your belly that was temporarily housing his child. He had the perfect view of the two things that symbolized your love for one another. Harry then sits down next to you and he sponges a light kiss to your exposed shoulder. Him doing this results in you sending a soft smile in his direction, which fills his body with a warm feeling. Harry then does the thing that he’d been wanting to do since he first laid eyes on you. He lifts his hand and brings it up to lower it down onto the upper curve your belly.

Unfortunately, the moment he places his hand on your belly, is the exact moment he wakes up. His eyes shoot open and he’s instantly transported back to reality. He’s in the bed that he was lucky enough to share with you. Once his breathing stabilizes a bit and he takes in his surroundings, Harry’s hand begin to wander. He slowly but surely pulls his arm that was draped across your frame up and he begins to push his hand around your midsection. As he does this, he’s actively searching for some type of a bump. Even if it was a small one. To make sure his mind or hand wasn’t playing tricks on him, Harry brings it all the way up to your side and glides it down to where the lower hem of the shirt you were wearing began. He pushes his hand beneath the fabric and brings it back down to your stomach. It didn’t take long for Harry to realize that you weren’t in fact pregnant and that it was all just a dream.

That’s the one thing Harry hated about dreams; you always wake up at the best part. When he came to the realization that you weren’t pregnant, his heart sank a little. He didn’t realize how much he wanted his own little family until now. He wanted to watch your body swell as you carried his child. He wanted to watch you be the best mother in the entire world. He wanted to have a child of his own that he could shower with love and affection. Harry wanted to be a dad and wanted to have every last thing he had in his dream. But he didn’t want to have to sleep in order to get it. In that moment, Harry felt like everything was taken from him. The only thing that he had left from that dream is you. This feeling inadvertently caused Harry to tighten his grip on you. Even though he didn’t want to wake you, Harry needed you more than ever right now. He buries his face into your neck and he begins to pepper soft kisses into your skin. He also coos softly into your ear for you to wake up. And it did do the trick.

“What’s going on?” You grumble through your sleep. You could barely keep your eyes open but you could feel Harry’s mouth moving against your neck and his arm around your waist.

“Just wanted t’say hello to my beautiful wife.” Harry hums, continuing to keep his face burrowed in your neck. Even though you were one of the sweetest human beings Harry’d ever met, you were still a bit cranky in the morning. And since he intentionally woke you up, he had a little bit of schmoozing to do.

“Well it better not be before 8 am, because if it is I’ll kill you.” You grumble back to him, moving around a little bit so you could turn yourself towards him.

“If I tell you that it’s 8:01 will you still kill me?” Harry asks jokingly (kind of).

“I guess you’re safe.” You concede through a yawn, pushing yourself further into his body.

“Good, and it’s actually quarter past 10.” Harry continues, looking over at the clock sitting on your bedside table for the actual time.

“You’re in the safe zone now.” You hum happily. “How’d you sleep?” You continue, beginning to feel awake enough to have a conversation with Harry.

“Slept fine, but I had a pretty interesting dream though.” Harry simply replies.

“Tell me about it.” You say back, lifting one of your legs and swinging it over his waist. You then push yourself up and over so that you’re sitting on his lap on top of him.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” Harry admires, sliding his hands up underneath your shirt to latch onto your hips.

“I think so, but I’m always open for compliments.” You smirk, bringing your face down to his.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.” Harry hums back, slightly lifting his head to peck your lips.

“Thank you baby.” You coo softly. “Now tell me about your dream.” You say excitedly, lifting yourself back up to sit in his lap. Even though you were still a bit tired, you didn’t want to stop talking to Harry.

“Alright.” Harry sighs, removing one of his hands that were on your hips to help lift himself up a bit. “So to make a long story short, we had a family. We had an adorable son who looked like the both of us, more like me, but still like the both of us, and you were pregnant. Which by the way, you looked even more stunning than I could’ve possibly imagined.” Harry explains, deciding to just give you a quick rundown of his dream rather than go through every last detail.

“That sounds nice babe.” You sigh softly, taking in everything he just said to you. Hearing him talk (and dream) about starting a family with you really warmed your heart. From the onset of you guys’ relationship you knew that you wanted to have a family with Harry. But now after being together for a total of almost 4 years and being married for about a year and a half of them, you were starting to realize that you and Harry were ready to take that next step in your lives and relationship.

“Yeah, but it made me think a bit more and I’m starting to feel like m’running out of time.” Harry says on a more sorrowful, but truthful note.

“I thought the little guys never expire.” You reply, trying to get a better idea of where Harry was coming from. You weren’t expecting such a good and happy dream to make him sad like this.

“I mean late in life Y/n. M’getting older.” Harry explains further with a slightly frustrated huff.

“You’re in your 30’s Harry.” You say in an attempt to reassure him.

“Yeah, but 40 is right around the corner.” He reminds you.

“Then you’ll be a dilf.” You reply, trying to show him the bright side of getting a little older.

“You’re right, I would be a hot dad.” Harry agrees.

“Exactly! So being a dad a little bit later in life isn’t so bad babe.” You reason, trying to cheer him up a bit more. You wanted him to really know that there was nothing wrong with being a dad at his age. You weren’t going to tell him this because if you did his head would swell to be the size of an actual planet (even though it wouldn’t take that much considering that he already had a pretty sizable head; upstairs and downstairs), but you thought that him being a bit older than you and being a first time dad was pretty hot. You couldn’t put your finger on why exactly you thought it was hot but you just did. Add onto that the fact that you’re married to him and you have successfully opened the floodgates.

“You’d be an even hotter mom though. Like milf to the highest power.” Harry says bluntly.

“Well thank you for your honesty.” You chuckle (and not so secretly roll your eyes) at his statement. After being with Harry for as long as you have, you weren’t shocked in the slightest at his comment. Him not making a comment like that would be more shocking.

“M’serious babe! You’d even be a milf before the baby even arrived. Like your body is already perfect now, but just imagine how much more perfect you’d look with our baby in here.” Harry rations as he ever so slightly presses his thumbs into the sides of your lower stomach . “You’d be nice and round and delicious. Y’know how much I like having something to grab onto.” He continues. As he talks, his hands move up your sides and right to your chest where he wraps his large hands around your breasts.

“Well those won’t be yours anymore.” You say sternly to him before smacking his hands away through your shirt.

“What about this?” He asks, gliding his hands back down and around to your ass.

“You can keep that for yourself I guess.” You sigh in compliance. “I swear, it’s so hard sometimes to figure out who’s the oldest in this relationship. For a man thats knocking on 40’s door, I’d expect you to be a little more tame.”

“What can I say.” Harry begins, tightening his grip on the flesh of your ass before pulling you higher up onto his lap. “I just have a hot wife. Like your personality is amazing and I love you so much for being the sweetest human being alive but you’re gorgeous. I can honestly say that m’gonna want you ten times as much as I already do once you’re actually pregnant.” Harry’s says truthfully. The both of you couldn’t deny that he was in fact telling truth. There were a couple times where he accidentally blurted out how bad he wanted to get you pregnant.

“Are you just saying all this because you wanna knock me up?” You ask him playfully.

“Is it working?” Harry asks in response to your question. He meant every last word that came out of his mouth, but he was hoping that it’d soften you up a bit so that you’d give him the green light when it came to commencing the baby making process.

“Maybe, but you still have a little ways to go.” Now you were just fishing for some praise; and rightfully so. Harry always wanted to hear you praise him. Whether it be in the form of moans, screams, and/or whimpers, or in the form of words; Harry just loved to be praised. Now it was your turn.

“You’d look so beautiful baby. You’re absolutely glowing and gorgeous now, but you’d have an unmatched glow once you’re pregnant.” Harry explains in awe, continuing his “campaign” to butter you up. He honestly couldn’t believe that your already elevated level of beauty could be raised. “But if I’m being honest, m’gonna miss y’tummy like this.” Harry explains the ‘downside’ to your more rounded figure during pregnancy.

“Why’s that?” You ask confusedly. One minuet he was saying how much more beautiful you’d be if you were pregnant, and now he’s saying that he’s gonna miss your figure now. Which one was it?!

“M’just gonna miss seeing and feeling my cock in y’little tummy. Y’still gonna be irresistible, m’just gonna miss that.” He explains.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll feel it in there. I always do.” You reply to him. When you say that, Harry can feel his cock twitch in his pants.

“Are you gonna let me put a baby in there?” Harry asks with a little pout.

“I’d love to have a baby with you baby.” You coo in response, bringing your hands up to his cheeks to squish them together a little. You then bring your face down to his before puckering your own lips and pressing them against his. His lips then begin to move languidly against yours. As the kiss continues, your need for each other grows. You were keeping your bodies as close to each other as possible too. Your arms were now around his neck and his arms were tightly wrapped around your back underneath your shirt to keep you as high up on his lap as possible. As Harry kissed you, you could feel his cock hardening beneath you. He was already a bit swollen from the images of your body that were ingrained in his mind. Now he was getting even harder at the prospect of being able fill you up and get you pregnant. All he wanted to do now as fill you up with his cock, and ultimately fill you up with his baby.

Keeping one arm wrapped securely around your smaller frame, Harry maneuvers you both so that he’s kneeling on the bed. He then lifts himself up with you still being in his lap and pushes forward so that you’re lying back against the bed with him on top of you. When he does this, you can tell that things are getting heated so you quickly push at his chest to momentarily stop the kiss.

“Just because were having baby making sex doesn’t mean that I don’t expect you to completely ravish me.” You say pointedly, making sure he knows the exactly what you want.

“I would never give you anything less.” Harry replies with a smirk before smearing his lips back onto yours. As he kisses you this time, he shifts his weight over onto one arm and he uses the other to push your shirt up your body. Once it was all the way up to your chest, he swiftly pulls away from your face and tugs the shirt off of your body. This leaves you completely bare other than your panties which is the next clothing item he has his sights on. He wastes no time hooking his fingers around the sides and he yanks them down off of you. He instructs you to lift your legs up and once you do this he rips the flimsy material the rest of the way off your body. He tosses them off to the side and he focuses back in on your now exposed body. As he admires all of your features, he imagines what they’d look like once he gets you pregnant. When he looks at your breasts, he thinks about how much larger and sensitive they’d be. He also thought about how the soft and supple flesh would fill his hands perfectly. When his eyes drifted a bit lower to your stomach, he had a very clear picture of how you’d grow as your pregnancy progressed. He was looking forward to seeing your belly grow. When he reaches your thighs and hips, he immediately thought of how much more of a rounded figure you’d have. All of these things made Harry’s mouth water and his cock twitch. “So beautiful.” Harry breathes before bending down to lick into you.

“Oh my god baby!” You moan, feeling his skilled tongue lick into you. You could feel the tip of his tongue circling your entrance and prodding at it. This only made you want and need him even more. “Need you inside me so bad.” You cry out to him, tangling your fingers in his hair to pull him up. When you say this, Harry sucks harshly on your clit before coming back up. He then shoves his boxers down to reveal his extremely hard cock. You could see his thick shaft standing proudly between his legs and you could see a small bead of precum beginning to emerge from his slit. Before coming in closer between your legs, Harry pushes back against your thighs so that your legs were spread as wide as possible for him. He places a tight grip on one side of your waist and he wraps his free hand around his cock.

“Ready baby?” He asks, pushing his cock down your folds and stopping right at your entrance.

“So ready.” You pant, lifting your hips up a little against his cock.

“Good girl.” Harry hums before slowly beginning to push into you. As soon as he begins, your moans get louder.

“Oh my god! You’re so big!” You cry out to him, feeling the very familiar sting that came along with his cock stretching to fit inside your walls. Once he was a little bit inside of you, Harry’s hand leaves his cock and goes to the other side of your waist. Hearing you moan out to him like this from only having about an inch of his cock inside of you unlocked the raw and primal desire Harry had deep down inside of him. Add his desire to get you pregnant to this and he was a beast. Without warning Harry tightly grips onto your waist and he slams the rest of his cock into you. You then let out one of the loudest screams you’d ever made. The slight pain of him slamming all of his cock into you at once felt really good. You felt stretched, and you felt completely full. You could feel this fullness all the way in your stomach.

“Feel me in that pretty little tummy baby?” Harry pants smugly, already knowing the answer to his own question. All you could do was feverishly nod your head against the bed. You were too caught up in how full you were to even form a word in response.

“Good.” He simply states. And with this, he goes straight into pounding into you. The both of you could feel the raw passion radiating off of each other with every thrust. Even though Harry was shoving his cock deep into you over and over again, the both of you had one goal in mind. A baby. That’s what you both wanted, and this was how you two chose to get it. As he continues to thrust into you, Harry lowers himself down onto you. He wants you to really feel how deep he was inside of you. And he wanted to feel it for himself. Even though this is a slight change in position, it doesn’t stop Harry’s hard thrusts. He continues to slam his cock into you over again, pushing you both closer and closer to the edge with each one. You could feel his cock deep inside you, and Harry could feel his cock moving deep inside you. The two of you could also hear each others cries and moans, along with your praises better. You could hear his whimpers and moans at how good you felt around him accompanied with his growls of how he was gonna cum deep inside you.

All of this made you want to sit on top of him and ride his cock for some reason. Even though your legs were mush, you still wanted to ride him. You wanted him to release every last drop of his cum inside of you and you knew just how to get him there.

“Wanna ride you.” You pant in his ear, continuing to claw at his back as his thrusts continued. Instead of verbally replying to you, Harry immediately lifts himself from you and flips you both over so that your straddling him with is cock still lodged between your walls. You were feeling an extreme warmth and tightness forming in the pit of your stomach and you were going to explode at just about any moment. It doesn’t take more than a second for you to start feverishly moving yourself up and down on his cock. Watching you become so desperate for a release pushed Harry even closer to unloading all of his cum into you.

“M’gonna cum soon baby.” He pants, lifting his hands from your hips to grasp your breasts in them.

“Don’t cum inside me baby. Forgot t’take my pill last night.” You whimper, continuing to push yourself back and forth against him. Even though you were just about completely out of it, you still had a little bit left to mess with Harry. When he heard this, all Harry could think about was the possibility of getting you pregnant right then and there. It was taking so much for Harry to not cum in that moment. While Harry’s trapped in his thoughts, you tug at one of his hands that were clasped around your breasts and you lower it down to your stomach which brings his attention back to you. Your next sentence lights a fire under Harry that pushes him right over the edge. “When you cum in me, our baby’s gonna be right in my tummy and I’m gonna grow and grow with our baby from all your love.” You pant down to him.

At this, Harry removes his hands from your breasts and then flips you both so that you’re on your back and he’s on top of you. He wastes not time in getting back to slamming his cock into you. As he thrusts, you can feel his cock continuously slamming into the deepest part of you. He watches as your body quivers below him and he could feel your walls contracting around his cock.

“Cum with me baby.” This was all Harry had to say in order for you to fall apart on his cock. Which in turn caused him to release as well.

“Fuck!” You scream, feeling not only your extremely powerful release, but also feeling the thick and warm ropes Harry’s cum splashing against your walls.

“That’s it baby, take all m’cum.” Harry pants. He could his body become weaker and weaker with every rope of his cum that flooded your body. “Tighten up f’me baby.” Harry instructs, bring his hand up to your face to give you a couple light taps. Once he feels your walls clenching around him, he brings his arms around you back and he lays himself down so that you’re lying on top of him.

Once he does this, the both of you lay there for a good five minutes. You two were not only trying to gain feeling in your bodies, but you both were wrapping your heads around it all. There was a possibility that you two were going to have a baby.

“I just know you’re gonna spoil the shit out of this kid.” You sigh, finally coming back to for you guys’ post sex chat.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you spoil the shit outta me!” You reply with a laugh. “And I expect nothing less with our baby.” You continue

“Well you’re my baby and you’re going to be carrying our future baby. So you both will be my babies that I love more than life itself which means that I’ll spoil you both rotten. Which speaking of babies, how many are we looking at? I was thinking 2.” Harry ponders.

“Same.” You agree. “What if we have twins though?” You continue, thinking about all of the possibilities.

“Then 4 kids.” Harry replies

“When you said that, my uterus trembled.” You tell him truthfully.

“M’pretty sure that was just an aftershock from my dick.” Harry says proudly.

“I doubt it.” You say smugly.

“Do I need to come over there and fuck yeh again? Because I will.” Harry says matter of factly.

“You’re getting older babe, don’t want you to kill yourself.” You laugh, bringing your hand up to his cheek.

“You’re gonna get it later.” Harry says, reaching up to pluck your hand off of him. “Just because you’re younger than me, doesn’t mean that I can’t go all day long.”

“I’ll be waiting patiently.” You hum. “Don’t want you to break a hip or anything.”

“Now y’really gonna get it.” Harry grumbles before sending a quick swat to your ass.

The both of you had a feeling that this wouldn’t do the trick. But judging by how well this step of the baby making process went, you and Harry were more than willing to do it again.

Masterlist

#Harry Styles #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry x reader #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles writing #my harry writing #concepts of h #harrywritingsbyme

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enthusiasticharry · 3 years

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𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 | 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 13.3k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : ahh, it is finally here! i honestly can’t explain how excited i am for you all to read the first part of checkmate, it truly is one of my lil’ baby. a few things before i shut up and let you read, the chess maybe confusing to some of you (me too at some points) but you only need to take not on whether she wins or not really. this is enemies to lovers, so harry is a bit of a *ahem* dick but what do we expect? this is just the first part and a brief introduction (brief? 13k words? okay hannah, ahah) but i truly do hope you enjoy :)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : explicit language, main characters being horrid to each other and the ol’ banger of sexism in chess (the background on this is insane)

𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈 here

Upon entering the village hall, YN realised a few things. The first thing she realised was that after casting her eyes around the large room she was in, she certainly didn’t feel as though she fit in. The second thing she realised was that the clock was ticking and if she didn’t speed up, she was probably going to miss the slot to put her name down for the tournament. Taking a few steps forward, thoughts fluttered around her head about whether or not this was the best idea. She hadn’t played the game in a few years with other people, and here she was, about to put her name down to play the biggest tournament closest to her, in one of the neighbouring towns.

After a few seconds, she knew that she would be not only letting herself down, but also her grandmother and if she wasn’t doing this for herself, then she was certainly doing this for her grandmother.

A desk had been set up at the front of the hall, and two men wearing crisp beige shirts sat behind it. Why they were wearing beige of all colours? YN would never know. They certainly didn’t look like the most inviting people to greet her. She peered behind them for a few seconds, her eyes widening ever so slightly at the sight of the rows upon rows of square tables with green and white chessboards sat on top of them. She hadn’t seen this many chessboards in one room for a long time, and a part of it made her feel quite comfortable. The people that were already there were all stood in a group around what she presumed was a chessboard — she was just making a wild guess that it was that, but she had a slight suspicion that was the case. It was at this point she noticed the ‘SIGN UP HERE’ sign that was placed in front of one of the men, and that was who she walked up to.

He obviously noticed that she was there, but he never lifted his eyes up from table in front of him, “Name?”

YN was taken aback by how gruff his voice sounded, and more so by the way he spoke to her without even lifting his eyes, “YN YLN.”

It was at this point that he did look up, and so did the person sat next to him. It was at this point she, also, started to feel a little more out of place than before, as though the eyes upon her were ridiculing her for just being stood there. If her name hadn’t tumbled from her lips, being the way that it is, would they have even looked up at her? She would never know.

“The dance class has been rearranged for another night.” The man is quick to say, dropping his eyes back to the desk in front of him.

“I’m not here for the dance class.” She says, lifting her hand to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, “This is the chess tournament, is it not?”

YN watched as the men turned to look at each other briefly, the one who hadn’t spoken to her shrugging his shoulders before they turn back to look at her again, “Do you own a clock?”

She shakes her head, “I don’t.”

The men, yet again, turn to look at each other. She wasn’t quite sure why she needed to own a clock, but if it was the first question they asked after her name, she was sure that it must have some significance in the games she was about to play. Would she have to invest in a clock of all things with her non-existent money?

“There’s a clock-sharing system here.” He says, “If you don’t have one, you’ll have to share with your opponent and if they don’t have one, come back to us and we’ll borrow you one.”

“Thank you.” She nodded her head.

When YN was younger, and she learnt how to play chess, she was never taught about clocks. Her grandfather had taught her by giving her endless amounts of books that he had stored away in the back of the bookshop that he owned that had nobody wanted, or ones that he already had. At first, YN didn’t want them either. At the time she was gifted them, she didn’t do much with her days apart from stare out of the window of her small attic bedroom, watching the clouds as they floated past in all their different shapes. She’d often try and see if she could spot any shapes within the white, but she could hardly bring herself to do so most days. It had taken her three days to finally pick up the books that her grandfather had left for her, and even then she only stared at them. She suspects that a part of her just wasn’t ready to read the books yet, and she was okay with that.

When she did open the books, YN fell in love with them, and more importantly she fell in love with the game of chess. Learning about different experts and grandmasters and analysing their games so much that she could remember every move they made, and even critique them if they made a mistake that she had spotted. She remembers the first ever passage she read about chess even to this day, in the book that rested upon the top of the pile her grandfather gave her: ‘Chess for beginners: a guide to the game.’

What is Chess?

Chess is a two player game, that requires skill and patience. Each player starts with sixteen pieces played on a square board, made of 64 smaller squares. The sixteen pieces include: eight pawns, two knights, two bishops, two rooks, one queen and one king. The goal is for each player to try and checkmate their opponents king. Checkmate is a threat to the opposing king which no move can stop, therefore ending the game.

The game is taken in turns, each player moving their pieces to different squares on the board. One player (playing “white”) and the other (playing “black”), must move the pieces sticking to the rule of how they move, they can’t just go rogue! White will always start the game, and the player playing white will be lucky to be doing so, because they always have an advantage!

That was the passage that first introduced her to chess, and if it wasn’t for that passage, she doesn’t believe she’d love the game as much as she does. It was a passage that gave her the basics, and also intrigued her to know all about the rest of it.

“I forgot to ask.” The man starts speaking again, “What is your rating?”

“I don’t. . .” She starts, shaking her head, “I don’t have a rating.”

“Listen, sweetheart.” The man says, and she has to stop herself from physically shuddering at the name he gives her, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I am.”

He shakes his head, letting out a long sigh as he does so, “We don’t have a women’s section.”

She tries her hardest to not let it show that the words that he says don’t sit with her in the right way, “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I’ll put you in the beginners section, then.” He says, jotting something down again, “You’ll be comfortable there.”

“I’m no beginner.” She says, “And I don’t want to be comfortable.”

The thing that annoyed YN the most wasn’t the words that he said to her, even though those did annoy her more than she could explain, it was the way that they looked at her. They looked at her as though she wasn’t good enough to play, as though she shouldn’t be putting her name down for chess competition and she should have been looking for the dance class instead. If they actually knew her (she didn’t want them too) they would know that dancing certainly wasn’t for her, she had two left feet at most.

A few years ago, back when she played chess regularly, she wouldn’t have even cast an eye in their direction, never mind allow it to effect her in the way that it is. The first time she played someone that wasn’t her grandfather, it had been the top player from the local chess team he played for. If she remembers correctly, the game was over in all of thirty-two moves, and she didn’t even break a sweat. Her opponent, however, definitely had broken a sweat and she could tell that by the way he kept rubbing his forehead and by the way his leg bounced up and down. It was quite annoying, and it was probably why it took YN thirty-two moves and not her average of twenty-six, but it was still very impressive of the young girl. The thing that she had when she was younger, though, was no care for what other people thought of her as young girl playing chess, because it was a game that tested your skill and not your gender.

“You’re an unrated player.” He shrugged, “I’ll have to put you in beginners, with players that have ratings under 600.”

YN hadn’t taken much notice of ratings in Chess Weekly, the magazine that she got the majority of her chess knowledge, and the thing that had lead her to find out about the tournament in the first place, but she had picked up that ratings only start to become important when you become an expert, and that’s when the rating is over 2000.

“Do beginners still get a prize?” She asks.

“Yeah.” He says, “But it’s only fifty.”

She was doing this for the money, and she knew that fifty wouldn’t be enough for her to continue on the way that she was. She needed more, and the prize that Chess Weekly had listed was more than fifty pounds, and that was what she was going for.

“And the other section? What is the prize for that?”

He took a second to answer.

“Two-fifty.”

That was the prize that she had seen in the magazine, and that was the one that she had set her hopes on winning, the one that she had every belief that she would win if she entered. She needed the money. Her grandmother needed the money. It was hard after her grandfather died, hard for them to conjure up the money to not only pay the bills for the house, but also pay for new stock in the bookshop. No matter how many times YN had tried to convince her grandmother that the best thing to do was to sell the bookshop, and give them some money to make them feel a little more comfortable, her grandmother always refused. The bookshop was her husbands livelihood, and YN grew to understand that and grew to know that was why she wouldn’t give up the shop, no matter how much they needed the money. It was the reason why YN was here, trying to win the grand prize that would help them a little more with their struggles.

“Can I go into that section?” She asks, and the man’s lips part slightly.

“Well—“ He clears his throat, casting his eyes to the man next to him, “There isn’t a rule to say that you can’t.”

“Then put me in that section.” She says, ignoring the looks she receives from both of the men, “Please.”

He nods his head, “That’ll be five pounds please.” She drops the note upon the table, which he immediately takes and places in the small tin he has with him, “Thank you. Play starts in Twenty minutes.”

“Thank you.”

The man passed her a card to fill out and a pencil, “All the luck to you, sweetheart. There’s two players in there with ratings over 1600, and there’s also an expert!”

“Is the expert playing?” She asks.

He shakes his head, “He isn’t.”

“Then I don’t have anything to worry about.” She offers him a small smile, “Thank you, again.”

She walked away from the table, taking a few steps until she wasn’t in earshot of the two men. The entire conversation rested heavily on YN’s mind, but at least she made it out of the other side relatively unharmed. She looked down at the card she had been given, with her last name scribbled on the top line and a space for her to put her rating. She uses the small pencil she had also been given to draw a large zero in the box, sighing with happiness after she’d done so. There was still a large group of people stood around a board, and it was at this time that she decided to make her way over to the large group.

What she was about to walk into, she wasn’t quite sure, but she couldn’t help but be curious about what it was. She found a nice position by an opening, where she could see two men sat at a table, with a round of chess already on the go.

“Who are they?” She whispers to the man next to her, without even an ounce of hesitation in her voice.

“That’s Harry Styles. He’s an expert.” He immediately whispers back, “And that’s Mitch Rowland, he’s a tournament win away from becoming an expert too.”

She thinks that Harry Styles is the one to the left of her. The way he sits with his elbows either side of the board, his face stern as he moves the pieces in front of him. They were moving them very quickly and she presumed that they were playing skittles, or on simpler terms: speed chess. YN wasn’t the biggest fan of speed chess, but from the way the man kept picking up piece upon piece without so much of hesitation, she guessed that not only was he the expert, but he must also a skilled speed chess player. She had a talent for spotting the best players out of a bunch, even if there weren’t the best to start with.

“And over.”

Her lips part slightly as she hears the northern drawl slip out of his lips, in a deep voice that she certainly hadn’t expected. He looked a tad older than she was, but that was a given, seeing as though everyone in this room looked older than she was. He looked to possible be in his late twenties, and apart from his curly brown hair that peaks her attention at first glance, the chunky rings that sit on quite a few of his fingers or the brown knitted jumper he has upon his torso also do so. It certainly wasn’t a conventional look upon the majority of chess players that she had met before, even though the number was limited. She wondered whether it was the slight roll at the neck, or the green detailing on the arms that drew her attention in more than his fluffy brown curls.

“You’ve done it again, H.”

The man who you were guessing to be Mitch replies, extending his hand out to shake his opponents hand. From the shortened use of his name, she wondered whether or not they knew each other. If they didn’t, then it certainly wasn’t the most conventional way to greet a stranger having just lost to him. The two of them stood up, and that was when she noticed the high-waisted lime-green trousers that he also wore, pairing them with a pair of vans of all things. He looked more put together than the rest of the men in the room, which wasn’t too hard to do given the rest of the outfits within the room. The group disperses soon after, and its at this point she noticed the bulletin board being put up.

YN tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, and makes her way over to the board. Once she sees a man stood there, finishing pinning the last through names up, she can’t help the words that slip out of her lips, “How do they arrange the pairings?”

“Usually by rating first round.” He says, closing the plastic covering that maintains the board to be in the way he had put it, “Then winners play winners, losers play losers.”

He walks off after that, and that’s when she finally spots her name:

‘YLN - Unr - White’ and it was next to, ‘Jones - Unr - Black’

She was at first shocked to be playing white, and second shocked that she was playing someone else who was unrated. The men at the table must have really been giving her a hard time if someone else who was unrated was playing in the main section. It just proves that the two of them were really out to make it so she wasn’t supposed to play in the game because she was unrated, but she knew it was really because she was a woman and she knew that.

It said that she was playing on board twenty and after flicking her eyes around the rest of the boards, she realised that it was the last board. It was just another thing that she knew was because she was an unrated woman. She just hoped that whoever her opponent was wouldn’t mind that she was a woman. Chess, as much as it was a sport played by both women and men, it was a sport that still held the misogyny that women shouldn’t play in tournaments against men, because they didn’t have the skill that men did, even though the majority of women had the same skill, or were more skilled, they just never had the opportunity to show it. YN swore that if she did manage to play chess, she wouldn’t allow the watchful eyes of judging men to put her off.

So far, she wasn’t doing a good job of doing that.

When she walked over to board twenty, she was shocked to find a women sat at the opposite side of the table from where she was about to about to sit.

“Hello.” The girl says, standing up and holding her hand out for YN to shake, which she does, “I’m Sarah Jones.”

“YN YLN.” She replies, sitting down across from her, “Um, do you have a clock? I don’t have one and I was told to ask.”

“Oh!” The girl immediately picks up her bag that was rested upon the floor and lifted a large wooden rectangular block out of it, one with two clock faces on it and two small buttons on the top, “I do.”

As awkward as YN felt, she knew that if she was to understand the concept of clocks, then she would have to open her mouth and ask, “Can you explain to me how they work?”

“Sure!” Sarah smiles as though she can’t contain her excitement to explain what YN didn’t understand, “The clock nearest to you is yours. We both have ninety minutes each to play the game, if you’re still playing by the time the little red flag comes down then you’ve lost. Once you move, you click the little button on the top of your clock and that starts your opponents time.”

“Thank you.” She smiles, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Don’t worry about it.” Sarah smiles back, and suddenly YN feels at ease in the girls presence, “I wish I had somebody to tell me these things when I first started. I did learn, slowly, but it would’ve been nice to have a little more help when I first started.”

“I’ve been playing for years.” YN’s quick to say, just to make sure that the girl knows that she isn’t a complete imbecile when it comes to the game, “This is just my first tournament.”

“How exciting!” She gushes, “This is my third. I’m waiting for my rating to come through. They aren’t as quick with women’s ratings as they are with mens.”

“Why am I not surprised?” YN says, a hint of humour within her voice. Sarah chuckles and YN can’t help the little smile that falls over her cheeks, “I’ve been here less than an hour and they’ve already tried to make me feel smaller than I am because I’m a woman.”

“Get used to that.” Sarah offers her a small smile, “Your turn first.” YN’s about to pick up a piece when Sarah moves to say something else, “Another thing I’ve forgotten to mention! Games in tournaments are touch move.”

“What does that mean?”

“If you touch a piece, you have to move it.” YN nods her head and looks back down at the board, taking in the board briefly before she made her decision.

“Do you press your button to start my time?” YN asks.

“Yes.” Sarah smiles sheepishly, reaching forward to press the small button, “Sorry about that.”

Without hesitation, YN reached out and firmly moved her queen bishop’s pawn to its fourth square. The Sicilian Defence was the first chess opening she had ever read about, in one of the more advanced chess books her grandfather had given her, and it consequently became her favourite. It was the one that she found worked more effectively than any of the other openings she had learnt about, and was certainly the one that she used more often than others.

Without really thinking, once she’d placed her piece down, she pressed the small button that stopped her time and started Sarah’s and placed her elbows upon the table, resting her hands upon her hands just as she had seen lime-green trousers do earlier. She was unsure whether people would notice, but it added a sense of confidence to the girl once she’d done it. When she played with her grandfather, she only ever let her hands rest upon her lap once she’d made her move, and after a few seconds of resting the way that she did, she starting to like this way of resting in between her moves.

She allowed Sarah to make her moves, which she reciprocated with hers and it wasn’t until she was around her seventh move that she began to attack with them. Sometimes she waits longer to make her attacking moves, and other times she makes them earlier. It all depended on how she was feeling and how she suspected the game to go with each of the different moves. On the eleventh move of the game, she captured one of Sarah’s bishops, and then a few moves after on her nineteenth — her queen.

She looked up slightly at Sarah, and saw the way she furrowed her eyebrows slightly at the board before dropping all of the worry that glazed over her features. What surprised YN even more was when she reached forward and knocked her king over, even though it shouldn’t have. There wasn’t anywhere else she could have.

“Wow.” Sarah says, almost sounding flabbergasted about what she had just witnessed, “That was, well, quick.”

“I’m sorry.” YN’s quick to say but Sarah shakes her head.

“Don’t be.” She smiles, “I think you’re one of the best players I’ve ever played. Make sure to take your card back, and circle that you’ve won!”

With that, Sarah was up and walking away from the table. YN picked up the small pencil that she had been given earlier and wrote the game down with Sarah and herself, recording that she had won. She made her way back towards the desk where she had signed up, ignoring the shocked faces of the two men that sat behind the desk once she’d placed her card in the winner’s basket. It was the first card back she noticed, in both the winners and the losers side. It was at this point she noticed the man in the lime-green trousers stood against the side wall looking directly at her. She wasn’t too sure, but it didn’t look as if he was watching her every move. She tried her hardest to not make it too obvious that he had seen her staring and made her way around the room, looking at all of the different games that had started to be played.

She made her way past board number five, the one lime-green trousers had been stood near, only to see it being the man that he had played a game of speed chess with earlier. It was absolutely certain to YN now that they did know each other, it would be a little odd if they didn’t, maybe even a little bit stalker-ish. What else she was quite surprised at was seeing Sarah stood watching over the same board. YN offered her a smile and went to stand next to her.

Looking over the board slightly, YN noticed straight away that the man who was playing Black, not the man who was playing speed chess but his opponent, had a chance to win a rook after moving his bishop, but he instead exchanged his pawns. In her mind, she knew that he had just placed himself in a position that a good player would know how to immediately win him over.

“One of them has a rating of 1450, and the other has a rating of 1689.” Sarah whispers to her, “They’re two of the headliners to win.”

“Well one of them just made a mistake.” YN immediately whispers back.

“Who?” Sarah’s eyebrows furrow as she says the words, a little two loudly because all of the eyes around them flutter in their direction.

“Black.” YN whispers discretely back, “He should’ve moved his bishop, winning white’s rook but instead he exchanged pawns, leaving him wide open.”

“My god.” She says, dropping her mouth open in shock as she looked at the girl, “You’re insane. How did you notice that.”

She shrugs, “I just observe games well, I suppose.”

“You’re telling me.”

The two of them look back at the game in front of them, and just as she had suspected, the man playing white managed to take black’s rook, and then the queen that was conveniently left wide open, leaving his opponent no other option but to topple his king over. The shake hands and the winner immediately turns around, smiling as lime-green trousers claps him on the back and wraps his arms around his shoulders. They make their way over to the desk, presumably dropping their cards into the baskets.

“What is their deal?” YN asks Sarah, feeling comfortable enough with the girl to do so.

“Harry and Mitch?” She nods at Sarah’s words, “They’re best friends, met a few years ago when they drew at a tournament. Harry’s already an expert after winning a game a couple of towns over but Mitch is yet to do so. Harry’s just here to offer moral support to his friend.”

“I’m sure making him loose at speed chess beforehand is great moral support.” YN’s mutters.

She laughs, “You’d be surprised. They’re forever psyching each other out with games of skittles. They drive me absolutely insane with it.”

“You know them?” YN is quite baffled at his revelation.

Sarah nods, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth, “Mitch is my boyfriend. The person who taught me chess, actually.”

YN’s lips part slightly but she immediately shuts them, “Wow.”

“I know.” She laughs, scratching her forehead sightly, “They’re pretentious twats when it comes to their chess but when you get to know them, they’re alright.”

YN casts her eyes to them for a second, watching as they look at the board, obviously trying to pinpoint their competition, “I’ll take your word for it.”

YN next game started twenty minutes later, once everyone else had finished their games, returned their complete cards and paired everyone up for their next games, she made her back over to the board to see who her next opponent was. She was at board ten, which she was pleasantly shocked about, seeing as though the last board she played at was board twenty

‘Scott - 332 - White’ which sat next to, ‘YLN - Unr - Black’

She was playing black, which meant that she had to work a little bit harder to make sure that she would start just as strong as she would if she were playing white. She weaved her way through the abundance of people either lingering or making their way to their boards ever so slowly because they don’t want to be seen going to their looser game. She smiles at that thought, they should embrace it, their opponent may just have been better, and they’d have to work from that. Once she made it to table ten, she was surprised to see a man who looked around his mid-thirties, maybe earlier-forties sat waiting for her with a grimace upon his face. Chess players aren’t the nicest of people ever, so YN really isn’t surprised when he doesn’t even respond to her hello, instead just looks down at the board. She doesn’t even hesitate when she leans forward and presses the little button above the clock by the side of them, starting his time.

He made his opening move, which she followed by moving pawn to queen’s four and pressed his time again. He moved again straight after her movement, instantly with pawn to his queen’s four as well. She quickly noticed that he never looked at her, and instead kept his eyes darting around the room whenever he wasn’t studying the board. She just sat with her elbows placed neatly each side of the board and rested her chin on her hands, staring at both him and the board in intervals.

He played fast, but she could play even faster and she was beginning to see a little impatience in the man, as though he wanting to play even faster and have the game to be over faster. It had taken them roughly five or six minutes to both develop their pieces, ready to start attacking the other. He started attacking her queen first, which she wasn’t too surprised about because if the shoe was on the other foot she probably would have done the same thing — in a more skilful way, if she may add.

Ignoring his attack, she starts to advance her knight. He responded by pushing a pawn up, and she was surprised that him doing so meant that she couldn’t take it without being on the responding end of a nasty double attack. She raised her eyebrow, knowing that she could so without him noticing that she was doing so, because his eyes were still fluttering around the room.

He was obviously a very skilled player, and he had to be with the impressive rating of 332. He was better than her grandfather, which pained her to say, but her grandfather always used to say that he was only ever playing the game for fun, and never professionally. As a small child, hearing the word ‘professional’ tricked her mind into thinking that she may actually be able to get a career out of this, but from this experience right now she wondered whether that would be the case or not.

He surprised her with his next move, picking up his queen bishop and taking one of the pawns next to her king with it, checking her as he did so and sacrificing the piece. To say it threw her off guard for a second would be an understatement, and she did have to go through every option she could before she made her decision.

She moved her king over in that direction, but didn’t take the bishop.

He brought his knight down, and she traded the pawns on the other side, meaning she opened the file for her rook. He kept chipping away at her king with complicated moves, but none that she could see had any real danger to her. She brought her rook out, and doubled it with her queen. It was an arrangement that she didn’t quite mind, and she felt ready to fire at any second with whatever she had left in her.

It only took her three moves to fire and he seemed too entranced by his complicated moves to truly pick up on what she was doing. He was only focusing on chipping away at her king, not paying any attention to the full board, meaning he was missing out on the moves she was making. If he hadn’t been so focused on trying to checkmate her, he would have had her by the fourth move he made, after the first check with the bishop. She had him with her third move, and she saw an opportunity to fire her rook. She moved her queen to the last rank, and captured the white rook, one that still start there unmoved. He was a very messy player, even if a skilled one.

She looked up at him, and for the first time this entire game he looked up at her. It was almost as though he knew he was over, but he was determined as he reached out and took her queen with his rook.

Looking down, she almost didn’t want to look at him as she tried to hide her smile. She leaned her hand forward, picked her bishop up and moved it one square and muttered the single word of, “Check.”

YN was surprised when he leant forward, picking up his king before he hesitated. He had finally noticed what what she had done. If he made the move that he had wanted, he was going to loose his queen and the rook that he had just captured. He looked at her and without hesitating said, “Draw?”

“No.” She hook her head.

“Okay.” He held out his hand, “I resign.”

She has to bite her lip to hold in her smile, one that was only there because she had taken her time and actually thought about what she was doing.

“You play a good game, kid.” He says, and with that he leaves the table. She can’t even contain her excitement when she writes the game down on her card, circling her name to say that she had won. Placing it in the basket, and seeing the two men looking at her again with shocked expressions on their faces, she couldn’t contain her smile.

To say she had just beaten the first person she had played who actually had a rating that she had to watch out for, she was happy to say the least. The idea of her possibly winning this whole tournament starting itching closer and closer, and to say that she was happy was an understatement. She goes to stand by the back wall, watching over as people around her still played their games, using their own tactics to hopefully win. She didn’t really have a lot of tactics, she just had moves that worked for her and a strategy of whizzing through all of the best options in her head before she played them, making sure that she wasn’t leaving herself open like Sarah had done and then Scott afterwards.

The clearing of a throat and the feeling of a presence near her was the thing that snapped her out of her winner’s gloat and back into the real world of being in a room with snobby chess players. Lime-green trousers was now stood directly next to her, seeming to be the snobbiest of them all from first impressions, but she certainly isn’t one to pre-judge.

“It seems to me that you’re getting a little too big for your boots, aren’t you?”

She definitely should pre-judge, certainly more so when it comes to snobby chess players and especially ones that wear vans she has noticed.

“Big for my boots?” She raises her eyebrow at him slightly, “You mean winning?”

“For an unrated player, yes.” He responds, “You’re just on a streak of luck. I’ll be happy once I see you loose next game.”

This man. YN couldn’t believe that he had the audacity to say those things to her, more so that once she’d looked at him she was absolutely disgusted. He stood there, next to her with one hand tucked within the pocket of his trousers, smirking at her as though she should laugh with him at the words he had just said.

She cannot at all say that she cared very much about this man, in fact, the questions she had about him were only because she wanted to know why he felt like he ran the place. To have him, someone who she had never met before, say so openly that he was waiting for her to fail sparked something within her, anger to be honest. To anybody else they might have allowed it to get into their head, but YN didn’t have the opportunity to do that — she needed to do well in this tournament and she wasn’t going to allow some snobbish expert to say something of that sort to her ruin it.

She cleared her throat, dropping her eyes down to floor, “If I recall correctly, you aren’t even playing in this tournament Mr. Styles.”

“Mr. Styles?” He chuckles, raising his eyebrows at her once she’d said it, “You’ve heard of me?”

“Not before today, no.” She shakes her head, allowing a little smile to grace over her lips as his falters slightly, “In fact, I had no idea who you were. I had to ask somebody.”

“And yet you know that I’m not playing.” He takes his bottom lip between his teeth and shrugs his shoulders.

“And yet again, I asked someone.” She tilts her head, “I only asked your name, they felt the need to give me all the information they knew about you.”

“Which was?”

“You think you’re semi-decent at chess and feel the need to make sure everyone knows.”

It was a low blow, and she certainly knew that but she can’t lie and say that it didn’t feel good to see his face falter at her words. Whether it be snobbish boys at school, or snobbish chess players like this Harry Styles himself, she knew it was always the most fun to hit them right where it hurts. For normal members of the male species specifically, they hated when people attacked their masculinity, as though it was fragile and if someone flicked it too harsh it may explode and they might be nice to others for one (Shock! Horror!). For chess players, they already had people keeping their masculinity in check by them playing a predominately male-played game, so, if she just hit that stabbed and twisted that specifically, reminding them that she was also a female at the same time, well it killed two birds with one stone.

So what if she was an unrated player? It just meant that she didn’t have the experience of other. She presumes that people like him forget that at one point he too didn’t have a rating, and had to start off from the beginning. She wondered if someone had plagued him then, meaning that he felt the need to also do it to her. She knew that wouldn’t have been the case, and she was sure if she searched his name up, she’d find thousands of articles that labelled him as a ‘child-prodigy’, which she had also been called in her youth but not by anybody of real power.

That title was tossed around in chess a little too much for her liking.

“Semi-decent?” His voice is laced with venom and she can tell straight away, “I’m an expert, love, not some wannabe that doesn’t know the difference between skill and sheer luck.”

For a few seconds, she thought about whether or not she had done something horrid in her past life that meant she had to meet this man. Sheer luck was something that you’d get if you knew how to play chess, but thought you were better than you actually were. YN knew that she was good, the hours she spent studying over different senior master’s games to make sure she knew every trick in the book meant that she was good. Skill came in many different forms, but the main thing that all skilled people of this sport knew was that it took time. She’s sure Harry’s familiar with that himself, but he has too much of a precious ego to ever let anyone know such a thing.

Even if he did have a precious ego that he felt he needed to protect, there were other ways to do it then degrading herself.

YN turned to look at him, making sure that the message her eyes sent let him know that he wasn’t to make a peep, “I may be unrated, but if you forget, sunshine, at some point you were too.” She sighs, “To me, sheer luck between us is the idea that you’ve managed to finesse your way so far up this games arse that nobody has realised what an absolute monstrosity of a person you actually are.”

Lime-green trousers, as she was now going to call him forever, threw her a look that she knew would kill her if they were able too, “Monstrosity? Have you heard yourself, love?”

“At least I’m not trying to hide the fact that I’m actually horrid, which I’m certainly not, by using the excuse of being a fantastic chess player, as you like to boast that you are.”

“Have you seen any of my games?” He raises his eyebrows, “Seen how good I actually am?”

She laughs and shakes her head, seeing that he’s fallen directly into her trap, “I’ve never once said that you weren’t a good player, in fact, I would never say something like that.”

“But you’ve —”

“If you recall, Mr. Styles, I never said anything about your chess other than you think you’re semi-decent, which isn’t an insult at all.” She says, leaning back on your heel slightly, “I never insulted your chess, only your personality. You decide which one you cherish the most.”

“What if I take semi-decent as an insult?”

She shrugs, “Then you’re even shallower than I thought. Think back to what you said about my chess, which I quote was that I played with ‘sheer luck’ and that ‘you’ll be happy to see me loose my next game’.”

YN feels proud of herself that she’d managed to stick up for herself in front of the shell of a man, not allowing his shitty behaviour and rudeness to bring her down from her high. She had won her first two games in the tournament for christ’s sake, and it meant she was a hell of a lot closer to maybe winning this thing.

“Now if you’ll excuse me I have to get home.” She says, “Need to get some rest, have a full day tomorrow of winning on sheer luck. I have some praying to do, I suppose.”

With that, YN turns and walks away from him, leaving him in a stunned silence in the corner of the room at the words that she had said to him. She wasn’t going to let that man do what she supposes he has done to many other people to her. She didn’t deserve that.

As she left the village hall after the first day of the tournament she realised that if she was going to make it amongst these chess players, she was going to have to learn that she wasn’t some push over, and she deserved the respect that other players received.

She was going to prove to lime-green trousers that she was a good player, one with skill and show him that the ‘sheer luck’ nonsense he was going on about was something that he had just made up in her case.

To do this, the first thing YN had to do was search up this man, and learn the tricks of his trade. She was going to beat him at his own game, whether or not he was playing.

The next day YN walked into the village hall with a spring in her step. When she had returned home, she had immediately bolted upstairs and locked herself within her room, sat on her bed with her chessboard in front of her, running through all of her games to see if there were any weaknesses in her play. There weren’t, and that made her smile. Her grandfather had always said that she was a wonder, someone who was so young but knew more then him about the game that he had taught her how to play. YN truly couldn’t understand how she was better than her grandfather at chess, but she thinks it has something to do with the hours upon hours she spent as a child when she should’ve been doing schoolwork going over games and moves until she had them memorised.

The next thing she did was open her laptop up and search up, ‘Harry Styles’. She couldn’t stop herself from doing so, and just as she had thought, the man was some sort of child prodigy. Reading one of the articles on the Chess Weekly website, he had won his first tournament at aged eight, and ever since, he had just excelled. It said if he wins the next regional championships he will be on his way to being national master, and if he wins the next national championships he will be senior master. YN had no idea that there were so many different championships and tournaments to play in chess.

She had read through all of his games that were publish on the Chess Weekly website and she wasn’t surprised that she couldn’t find any fault in his game. She played them out on her board as she read them, and tried her very hardest to find errors where she would’ve done differently but she couldn’t. He had the title of expert for something, and the skill he had certainly was the thing that gave him that.

YN also found out that he had won another tournament close by to the one that she was playing, and he already had an invitation to the regional championships that were taking place in Manchester in three months so he didn’t have to play. It was at this point she learnt that if she was to win this tournament, she wouldn’t just win the prize money but also an invitation to play at regional’s with all of the other winners. It certainly gave her something to look forward to which she hadn’t had before.

That morning, she had dressed in an outfit that was smart, yet also casual. She had paired some high-waisted black trousers with a black turtle-neck and added a chunky-knit tan cardigan with large black pin-stripes on it. The belt she added hugged in her waist and made her feel as though she could do anything. She couldn’t lie and say that she wasn’t doing this as an ode to lime-green trousers, wearing something similar to what he was wearing just to spite him that even though they were of different genders, they were both playing the same sport as people.

The village hall looked exactly the same as it did yesterday, and the people that were there were also the same as yesterday, YN noticed. She offered a closed-lipped smile to the men that were sat at the table, the same two as yesterday. They looked at her with a shocked look upon their features, as though they couldn’t believe that she was actually still playing. She made her way over to the notice board, skimming her eyes over to find that she was on board eight, and that she was actually the only unrated player still left in the tournament. A grin threatened to cross her features but she didn’t allow it. She had to look tough.

“YN YLN.” She said, holding her hand out to shake his hand.

“James Wortley.”

The board had told her that his rating was 1065, meaning that he would be the best player she had played all weekend, but that certainly didn’t mean that he would beat her. He wasn’t going to beat her, she wouldn’t allow it. YN was playing white, giving her the advantage that she was going to start the game. She played pawn to king four, hoping that he’d play the Sicilian, the one move she knew better than any other.

He didn’t.

Wortley copied and played pawn to king four, and then moved his king’s bishop so it was in the corner, above his castled king. She hadn’t seen anything like this before, and she wondered whether he had made it up. It seemed to be one of those moves that people make up to try and hurt their opponents brain.

It hadn’t worked then, but during the middle of the game it started to get a little more complex, and YN started to make decisions without actually thinking them through. Without thinking everything through, she made the decision to retreat her bishop, lifting it up slightly off the board. It was at this point she noticed that she had a better move of pawn to queen four. She dropped it back down to the board.

“Touch move.” Wortley interrupted. She looked up at him and wanted nothing more than to smack the smile that had crossed his lips off him “You have to move your bishop.”

She tried to not make her mistake obvious and moved her bishop to bishop four. It was the first time in any of her chess games that she had played previously. Even when she played with only her grandfather, her moves were all clean and precise and she hardly made any mistakes. When she was learning, she made mistakes, but one needs that to become good at whatever they are doing. After the first period or so of learning, when she could say that she wasn’t a beginner, the mistakes started to become less and less until she could proudly say that she made none.

Wortley had a grin on his face that she knew was because he had noticed her little tumble. He moved his queen’s pawn to the fifth square, tapping his clock button smugly and leaning back in his chair as if to psych her out. She wasn’t going to let him know that it was working.

If she didn’t think about this, he was going to capture one of her bishops, and she wasn’t about to let him do that and leave her in a vulnerable position. It took her ten minutes of studying the board over and over again until she found a move that meant that he wasn’t going to do that. He took her bishop, thinking he had actually done something, but then she advanced the queen rook pawn over on the opposite side of the board. She saw his face drop for a moment, but his next move was quick as he pushed the queen pawn forward again.

He wasn’t as good a player as she thought, because he fell delicately into her trap that she had laid out for him. She moved her knight, attacking his rook. Doing so, she knew that he would move the rook to the square that she had thought he would, and that allowed her to bring her queen out to bishop five, right above where he had left his castled king. She could feel the anger bubbling within his body as she lifted her queen, and took the pawn directly under the king, sacrificing her queen.

He took the queen, there was nothing else he could do.

She brought her bishop out for another check, and he halted her pawn, just as she reckoned he would, “You’ll be checkmate in two.”

Wortley had a sour look upon his face, lifting his eye to look at her calm ones, “What?”

“The rook will come over, mate.” She tilts her head as she watches him play out her words as he stares at the board, “Then the knight mates afterwards.”

“But my queen—”

“Will be pinned after I move my king.”

YN quite liked watching him crumble before her, spitting out a, “Fuck!” as he knew she was right. Just as the snobby chess player he was, he stood up without turning his king or shaking her hand and stormed away from the table, leaving her with a small smile upon her lips. She enjoyed writing her game down on the card and circling her name. As she stood up, she tucked her chair underneath the table, she was shocked to see lime-green trousers stood directly behind her, this time wearing blue flared jeans and an orange jumper. She was still going to call him lime-green trousers in her head.

He had his arms crossed and a stern look upon his face, one that she supposed came from just watching her game. She hoped he had enjoyed himself.

“Still sheer luck?” She asked, with a playful smile and the tilt of her head.

“You made a mistake.”

“But I got myself out of it.”

“You still made it.”

YN shook her head, knowing that nothing would be good enough for this man. He thrived on making players like her feel like shit because they made one mistake. Some people would crumble from the move that she made — but she didn’t, and she won.

“Are you genuinely telling me that you’ve never made a mistake playing before?”

If he said no, she certainly wouldn’t believe him. She hadn’t before today, but she hadn’t played in professional tournaments before today also.

“I’ve never made a mistake playing in an important game, no.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well you better believe it, rookie.”

“I think I’ve proven that I’m no rookie.” She purses her features for emphasis.

He chuckles, “You’ll prove that you’re no rookie if you win this whole thing. But I can’t say that I have belief that you will.”

With that he’s walking past her, brushing her shoulder with his so hard that it almost sends her off balance. He was one of the people that YN found hard to not get angry with all of the time. It was his taunting and his teasing and the fact that he has virtually no belief that she’s good enough to win this thing. If he had watched her game, which she was guessing he had, then he would certainly know that she was a skilled player. She would’ve liked to see him play that game as well as she did, making the mistake and all.

Her next game was an hour or so later, and when she checked the notice board she was on board four. She was playing someone called Reid, and they had a rating of 1602. She was shocked to know that this person was one of the two people with ratings over 1600 that she had been told about when she joined yesterday. She wasn’t going to let intimidate her.

She shook his hand and sat down across from him. She wasn’t going to lie, he looked like he had just walked out of a movie set, with blonde waves and a nice smile. She was surprised that once he sat down, he didn’t stop smiling at her. She returned it, only for it to drop once she saw who was sat behind him. Lime-green trousers, with a smirk on his face as his eyes never left her. This was the last game she had to play, she noticed. There was only one other board in use at board one. She hadn’t even realised that had been the case. He was trying to psych her out, and she noticed this because his friend was the other player sat on the other board.

It was a low blow, even for him. If lime-green trousers believed that she was a threat to his friend, then he should have more faith in his friend. It was one thing to stalk out your opponents and try to get into their heads, but Harry wasn’t even playing her. His friend, who is called Mitch if she remembers correctly, hadn’t even batted an eyelid in her direction, and if he didn’t care about her then she was unsure why his friend cared so much. It wasn’t even as though he was doing a good job of it either. Did he think that standing there with his arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed was going to distract her? It certainly wasn’t.

“Are you ready?” Stopping the rant in her head, she flutters her eyes down to movie-star and offers him a smile.

She wasn’t going to let him distract her after this point, “Ready.”

YN was playing black, meaning he had the advantage but it wasn’t going to be something that she worried herself over. Reid played pawn to king four and then pressed his clock. She could feel not only his eyes staring at her, but lime-green trousers as well. This was going to be a long game, and she could already feel that.

She played pawn to queen bishop four. By the time the middle of the game came around, after every move she made she was looking up at lime-green trousers, who still had his eyes on her. She wondered whether she did so to spite him that he was trying to get under her skin or she did so because she found herself being drawn to him. He was one of the only people that had ever been to do so to her whilst she was playing the game.

There were no weaknesses on either side of their play, and it was just a case of waiting and finding the best squares for her knights and bishops. It started to become like a routine, and she really was starting to get bored. Harry’s stern face had grown now into a smirk that she knew would be etched into her brain for hours to come, reminding her that he thinks she’s not going to win at all.

Reid brought a knight to queen five, and it caused a frown to cross YN’s face because she knew she wouldn’t be able to dis-lodge it. She didn’t look up at lime-green trousers after her next movement because she knew that his smirk would have grown to cover the entirety of his face. Reid had finally started to creep up on her, but the only thing that YN could actually think was that it was about time.

YN had her elbows on the table, her head rested upon her fists as she looked over the board with a keen eye. She decided it was time to fight back, pushing her pawn up so that it opened up her bishop, meaning that the bishop’s power had tripled. She hoped that lime-green trousers would have noticed that she had done this, and that the smirk he had upon his face had left.

Reid kept bringing his pieces up and he knew that there were limits to what he could do to her. YN focused on the left-hand corner of the board where his queen was. Strategically, she moved her bishop down in the middle of his clustered pieces and set it on his knight two square. If he decided to capture it, he would be in trouble. She looked up at him and she could tell that he was starting to get nervous, and his clock was certainly ticking.

Fifteen minutes later he made his move, taking the bishop with his rook. It was as though he couldn’t see that moving the rook of the back rank was a foolish move. He was supposed to be one of the top players of this competition and he hadn’t spotted this. She was shocked. Checking that it was right, she brought out her queen.

He didn’t notice it until after his next move, and that was when his game fell apart. Six moves later when she got her queen’s pawn passed to the sixth rank, he brought his rook under the pawn. She attacked it with her bishop. He studied the board for a few seconds and she tried her hardest to not allow a winning smile to cross her lips.

He lifted his hand up and set his king on the side, “I resign. You win.”

He held his hand out which she shook, and the applause was defining. She stands up and sees that lime-green trousers had already disappeared, walking towards his friend that had also finished his game. She did smile at that. She was one step closer to winning the tournament and proving that she was actually a good player, and she hoped that she would be able to rub it in his face.

“YN!” It’s Sarah who calls her name after she had moved away from the board. The girl walks over and wraps her arms around YN, who does stiffen for a few a seconds before relaxing in her touch, “That was amazing!”

YN tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear, “Thank you.”

They moved away from the board and out into the open, “The way you tricked him was insane! I’ve never seen anything like that before. ”

YN wasn’t used to receiving compliments, and especially not about her chess. She hadn’t received compliments about her chess in a long time, and certainly not in situations like this one. Her grandfather always complimented the way she played, but he sort of had to because of their relations and all. Maybe this tournament would start more people complimenting her chess.

As they walked, Sarah slipped her arm through YN’s, “Are you sure you’re not rated?”

“I haven’t played in years.” YN shook her head, “There’s no way that I am.”

She had played with herself over the past years but nobody else, and that’s how she knew for certain that there would be no way that she had a rating.

“Years?” Sarah’s tone is shocked, “You haven’t played in years and you’re that good? I don’t play for a few days and I’ve completely forgotten everything.”

YN chuckles at her words lightly, “I played with myself.”

“Yourself?” She smiled, “You must have had some rivalries with yourself.”

“I played other people’s games.” She clarified, “I played through games that were in Chess Weekly and tried to find any faults in it.”

“Did you find any?” She asks.

“A few.” YN shrugs, “Mainly people missing things that are directly in front of them.”

“Like Reid?” Sarah questioned and YN nodded.

“They focus on something too much and miss what their opponents are doing.”

Sarah turned to the side slightly to look at her, “You’re right. I’ll have to check to see if I do that.”

“You did in our game.” YN teases.

“I know I did.” Sarah bumps her shoulder slightly, “And now I have the Queen of chess as a friend who can teach me the tricks of the trade.”

YN didn’t have many friends, so it was nice to hear that she had a friend coming from somebodies lips.

YN nodded her head at Sarah, “I can do that.”

“I’m counting on it.”

When YN returned the next day, it was to play the final game, the one that if she wins she would win the prize money of two hundred and fifty pounds — something that would help her and her grandmother out dearly. Yesterday, she had wiped out her opponent Harris in under forty moves, thirty-six to be exact. She arrived and saw a group of people already stood around board one, where she knew she would be playing the game. Boards two and three were ready to start again, playing to find who would be in the places third, fourth, fifth and sixth.

Mitch Rowland was the man she was playing, with a rating of 1689, and she knew that rating could be exactly how good he was or be hiding the truth, just like it had been with movie-star. When he sat down and she looked around the room, she could see Sarah sat there, cheering on her boyfriend obviously whilst he played his final game.

“YN YLN.” The words slip out of his lips easily, “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Mitch Rowland.”

She smiles and shakes the hand he holds out, “I can say the same about you.”

YN was playing white, and the second he had punched her clock, she moved pawn to king four and punched his clock. He immediately responded by moving his king pawn to the third square, punching her clock smugly. The French Defence. She had read about it in one of her books before, but she had never played it. She hesitated for a second on what was the best move to make, and after steady contemplation of all of the different outcomes, she played her pawn to queen four. She couldn’t help but wonder whether she had made a mistake or not.

Rowland hastily picked up his queen pawn and put it on queen four, and pressed the button of his clock. The opening had thrown her off, and she wondered whether Mitch had noticed that. He had to have. Deciding to bring out one of her knights, she decided to struggle in the centre squares. He was moving fast, and captured one of her pawns and she saw that she couldn’t do the same with it.

He had an advantage and she tried her very best to shrug it off. He was certainly the first player that she’d played that matched his rating, that was the truth.

Taking the pieces of the back rank, she castles and looks up at Mitch. He looked completely calm, as though he knew exactly what he was doing and wasn’t worried about the consequences of it. For the first time, she started to feel uncomfortable in her seat, and moves slightly within it. She found herself pushing her fingers into her chin as they rested in the new position she had found herself liking. She wondered if lime-green trousers was here, and if he knew that she had seen the way he rested within his game and tried to copy that, if he had, it would be another thing to be teased on.

Looking down at the board, there was a cluster of pieces and pawns on the board that seemed to have no real sense of why they were there. She knew her clock was ticking, and looking at it, she saw that she had used twenty-three minutes of it. Mitch had only used twenty minutes of his. He was leant back in his chair, clearing enjoying that she had no idea what she was she was going to do.

After a few more minutes of staring at the board, she found what she thought would be a good square for her knight, and she reached out her hand but then stopped. If she had done that, it wouldn’t have been good for her at all. She needed to do something about his queen before he had it on the rook file and ready to threaten. She needed to find someway to protect it, but no matter how much she stared at them, she couldn’t see a possible move.

Eventually she did find a sensible move and quickly made it, bringing a knight back near the king which protected it from Rowland’s queen. She could see that it had shocked him, because his features dropped for a second before he took a pawn on the other side of the board. That opened up his bishop, which was aimed at the knight that she had brought back, and now she was down by another pawn. He now had a small smile by his face, and she knew that if she didn’t do something quickly, it would be all over for her. The king would have been taken in four or five moves.

It took her a few minutes but she found her move and made it, punching her clock. Rowland studied the board for a minute before taking her knight with his bishop, like she had hoped that he would. She didn’t retake the move, and instead brought a bishop over to attack one of his rooks. He moved the rook out of the line of fire, like he had too. She brought her queen from the back to the centre and that now threatened to take the rook, pinning the king’s knight pawn so she could take the bishop with a check. It was now Mitch’s turn to study the board, and now his clock was ticking.

Fifteen minutes later he found the rook move that she had thought of earlier. It allowed her rook to come over her queen and from the deep breath he took, she knew she had got him. Ten more minutes later he moved his queen into a defensive position, but it certainly wouldn’t work. She reached out and advanced her pawn, attacking his queen. He stared at the pawn for a moment as though it was something that would hurt him if he touched it. If he moved his queen, YN would be able to attack him in an abundance of ways.

“Fucking hell.” He shock his head, trying to figure out what to do until he had ten minutes left on his clock. She had forty five, but she wasn’t one to brag.

There was only one move he could make, even though it would be the end of the game for him. She brought up a bishop behind her queen, threatening checkmate that he had to parry with his queen. She ignored it and pushed her rook to the third rank, where it could move either left or right. She would get either his queen or a checkmate, whatever he did.

“Fucking hell.” He repeated again, shaking his head and placing his hand upon his forehead.

“You can’t get out of it.” She said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I can.” He says, “I will.”

She shrugged, “If you say so.”

With four minutes on the clock, he stared and stared at the board as though it was going to jump out and tell him what to do. Thirty seconds to go he picked up his queen and slammed it in front of the rook, offering to sacrifice it for the rook. He pressed the button, letting out a deep breath.

“I told you it doesn’t work.” She said, “There’s other options but the queen.”

“Make your move.” He said sourly.

“I can check you—”

“Just move.” He sounded as though she was giving up.

Nodding, she checked with the bishop and he retorted by moving his king away and pressing the button. Without a hesitation, she brought her queen down next to the king which sacrificed it. He could hardly believe that he had done it and snatched up her queen and stopped the clock. She pushed her bishop from the back rank to the middle and said, “Check. Mate next move.”

He looked at it, and shook his head, “Fucking hell.”

She wondered whether or not that was his favourite phrase.

“The rook will mate.” She responds to him, “I was trying to tell you that.”

“Fucking hell.” He shakes his head and holds his hand out for YN to shake, which she does, “They told me you were good.”

She couldn’t believe it.

People cheered around the room, clapping for her of all people. She was shocked to say the least. People who she didn’t even know congratulated her for her win, and it was something that she knew that she could get used to. She was given a cheque for two hundred and fifty pounds, and although it wasn’t a lot, it would certainly help her and her grandmother slightly.

YN couldn’t wait to get home and tell her grandmother the good news. The bus had been ten minutes late, and she spent the entire time with the cheque laying heavy in her pocket. She allowed her mind to wonder, but not too much. The thing that she thought of the most was how she hadn’t seen lime-green trousers there for the final. She would’ve thought that if anybody was there for the final, it would’ve been him, but he was no where to be seen. YN knew that it was probably really petty to want to rub it in his face that she had won, but she felt as though she deserved to do so with the shit he had said to her.

YN couldn’t contain her excitement as she finally burst her way into the house, immediately kicking her shoes off and placing her jacket over the banister.

“Grandma?” She called out, “Where are you?”

“In the kitchen!” She called back, which YN certainly wasn’t surprised at.

YN had realised from a young age that when her grandmother was nervous, she found herself always cooking or baking. They don’t have a lot of money but they always had things to make sweet treats with. Her grandmother was an excellent baker and she would choose her grandmothers sweets any day but her grandmother never had the confidence to believe that was the case.

When YN walks in the kitchen, she’s immediately met by all of the different aromas of what her grandmother had been cooking and baking throughout the day whilst she had been playing the tournament.

“It smells nice in here.” YN says, walking over to the counter and leaning down upon it, beaming up at her grandmother.

“It should do.” She responds, stirring the stew that was in the crock pot, probably having been in the majority of the day, “I’ve been slaving around all day in this kitchen.”

“For me?” YN smiles, placing a hand upon her chest, “You shouldn’t have.”

“I should.” She nods, taking two plates out of the cupboard so she could serve up, “We had to have something that was as celebratory as it was a pick me up.”

YN smiled, unable to hide her love for her grandmother. Her grandmother had always been a loving person and a person that always thought about other people rather than herself. YN had always aspired to be like her grandmother, and she hoped that she would be, even though it could be hard at times to do so.

“Anyways.” She wipes her hand upon a teacloth that she did have over her shoulder, “How did it go?”

“How did what go?” YN teases, walking over to sit down at the dining table that she had set out.

The next thing YN feels is the teacloth that her grandmother did have over her shoulder, hitting her on the head.

“What was that for?” She exclaimed.

“You know exactly what that was for!” YN chuckles at her grandmothers response, “Now tell me. What happened?”

“Oh, you know. I played some chess.”

Her grandmother rolls her eyes, “I gathered that.”

“And. . .” YN takes the cheque out of her pocket and holds it up for her grandmother, “I won this.”

“YN!” She exclaims, clapping her hand to her mouth, immediately walking over to where her granddaughter was stood to lift the cheque out of her hand, “You won! I can’t believe it!”

“Well then.” YN chuckles, “It’s nice to know you had faith in me grandma.”

“Oh shut it with you.” She places the cheque back down, “I’m the first person to admit that you’re crazy good at chess, but, you haven’t played another person in how many years?”

“Uh.” YN thinks for a second, “Four, maybe five.”

“That’s a long time, YN.”

It was a long time, she was right. Apart from playing her grandfather, YN had only ever played people who were on her grandfather’s chess team. They were all older than her, and more experienced, but she always managed to win. Her grandfather always said that she was a wonder. Chess wasn’t popular within her age group, and she wasn’t one to really put herself out there so she spent her days locked up within her room playing through other peoples games rather than her own. It probably wasn’t the best way to learn chess but it certainly had some benefits.

“I know.” She nods, “It was odd. They all had ratings to be impressed of but made silly mistakes. They concentrated on other things rather than what I was doing.”

“Maybe you were just too good of a player for them to handle.”

YN chuckled, “I highly doubt that.”

“No. That’s what I believe.”

YN, for one, had a good memory. To be able to learn to play chess the way that she did, playing through games over and over again until she had them memorised hinted at that. YN wasn’t really a fan of school, and even though she passed with okay grades she knew that after that she was finished with learning. Instead, she started to work in her grandfather’s bookshop, and it meant that she could read all the chess books she wanted whilst she was on the job, even though she probably wasn’t supposed to.

“They just made silly mistakes.”

“I’m sure.”

“I even made some.”

“We’re all human.” Her grandma says, “That still doesn’t take away from the fact that you have real skill, YN. Skill that could take you places.”

Not knowing how to handle the compliment she had just been given, YN looks down at the table, running her finger along the edge of it.

“I could do.” She says, shrugging her shoulders slightly, “Take it somewhere.”

“How do you mean?”

“All the winners of the tournaments get invited to play in the Regional Championships.”

“That’s amazing!”

YN tucks her bottom lip between her teeth and nods, “It’s in three months. In Manchester. The prize money is double, maybe triple what the tournaments was. I don’t know yet.”

“Wow.” Her grandmother shakes her head, “He always knew that you’d go somewhere with chess. Always told me that you would.”

He hadn’t even told YN that he thought she would be able to play chess professionally, only ever briefly mentioning that people can play it professionally if they want, but knowing that he had told her grandmother about it was something that caused butterflies to flutter within her stomach as well as a heart-wrenching twist.

A part of her wished he was still around to tell her that to her face.

“I’d have to really practice to win.”

“I’m sure you’ll do it.”

YN had already orchestrated a plan of what she was going to do to prepare for the championships. She was sure that she could find a list of all of the winners of the different tournaments, probably on Chess Weekly the more she thought of it, and she would learn each and everyone of their more important games. It mean that whoever she played, she would’ve been able to familiarise herself with their strategies and make sure she knew what they preferred to play out of everything. It would be tough, but it wasn’t like she had anything else to do.

“You know, YN.” She says, reaching out and placing her hand on YN’s, “He’d be so very proud of everything you’ve achieved. Even if it had been a little delayed.”

YN chuckles at her grandmothers words. It had actually taken her a while to psych herself up to play the tournament because she knew that it would be hard to do so without her grandfather, but at the same time she knew that she had to do it for him because he wasn’t here.

“I know.” She grips her grandmother’s hand just as tightly back, “I’m doing it all for him.”

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @havethetimeofyourstyles @stylesfics-xx @ill-be-your-honey-bri @millennial-teenybopper @burberryharold @heartbreakweatherharry @ucancallmechlo @hipslikejagger @kylos-empress @itsbuckysworld @afire-hes @lolapuffs @cutemint @the-tumbl-r-of-my-youth @njpic @caprisunstyles

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