#oh my god which was the one that had just a bunch of fucking clocks everywhere I cannot recall

[squuote]

still on the topic of the other employees but it’s fun looking into the different office rooms too. kinda gives a glimpse at what that employee might have been like which is fun because a majority of them are like either super messy or it seems as if they were just fucking around. which both are fun and good. idk I just rlly enjoy the small characterizations of it all

#the stanley parable #the stanley parable ultra deluxe #tspud #tsp #AND 006 IN THE CONFUSION ENDING I’m curious about what their jobs were #or if most of them also had the same job as stanley #idk man their offscreen interactions are just funny hehe #oh my god which was the one that had just a bunch of fucking clocks everywhere I cannot recall #I think that one was in one of the trailers tho

[toastsnaffler]

actually ive been thinking abt this a lot lately like basically for years i assumed i was very (cis)het passing and only recently ive become aware that i am in fact. very obviously perhaps almost comically gay to other queer ppl. like lmaoooo ok then

#i think its bc a) when i came out at like 15 everyone was super surprised so i assumed ppl still found it unexpected even now #+ b) im not super aware of social cues generally (autism) so dont tend to pick up on stuff like that unless its explicitly said #+ also c) ive never felt like i physically appear very conspicuous bc i dont have any piercings/tattoos/never dyed my hair etc #i only cut my hair short relatively recently too..... so idk i just assumed i blended into the background for everyone #but now im interacting with ppl outside of my tighter social circle more often ive become more aware- #of how ppl might perceive me. or rather ive become aware of just how UNaware i am of how ppl might perceive me #and its really funny how many odd interactions ive had in the past suddenly make sense if u assume the other person clocked me as gay #like strangers that have gotten flustered around me that might be bc i was giving off strong dyke vibes etc #the other day i was in a bookstore and the guy behind the counter was very stiff + quiet until i replied to smth he said and suddenly he- #became way more animated + started talking to me more casually + that was the first time i realised i probably sound gay as fuck #like i think i kinda have a stereotypical gay mannerism/lilt to the way i talk... no wonder i used to get called a fag so often lmfao #or like i remember trying to find a lab partner in 3rd yr of my degree + i had to do it on call only bc of covid + there were a bunch- #of us with similar lab interests but it got sorted SO fast bc this one other student seemed to gravitate immediately towards me #and i remember thinking afterward that it was odd how quickly we resolved that. esp bc we didnt even meet it was just voice call #anyway yeah i found out she was a dyke much later but i think maybe she clocked me straight away bc of how i sound....? #and that was why she warmed to me so quickly... but god i remember debating for ages with my ex abt whether she was gay or not #like my gaydar is truly terrible i suck balls at picking up on cues so its funny that to some people im reeking signals #also i met up with an ollldddd old friend last week + 30 secs in she was like oh fuck you must use different pronouns now #gesturing to Me. like oh..... im visibly gnc......? or maybe behaviourally???? idk. also shes v femme which made me realise that- #i rly do come across kinda masc/butch nowadays. even tho ive never really thought abt it that deeply before or made an effort to #i mean yeah i do identify along those lines but ive never directly considered how to flag that to other people etc im just doing me baby #ANYWAY this has been a rly long ramble idr what point i was getting at but just find it fascinating to think abt how im read in public #bc im just genuinely so unaware of it. its weirdly rly validating to find out that im automatically recognised as dykey + a little masc #boosted my confidence a lot as well tbh ive felt rly comfortable in myself lately. partly also cuz im getting a little muscular ;^) #ANYWAYYYYYY enough of all that i need to go sleep if youre reading this ily goodnighttt xoxo #.diaries

[foone]

Have you heard about the Polish Train company, Newag, and the bullshit it turns out they got up to?

So, the regional rail operator Koleje Dolnośląskie bought some Newag Impuls back in 2016 . In late 2021, some of them need to have major maintenance done, as they've been in service a while. So the company SPS (Serwis Pojazdów Szynowych) gets the contract to fix them. They basically take the train apart, replace a bunch of it, following all the rules in the documentation Newag gave them, and... it won't move. The train says everything is fine, the brakes are off, there's plenty of power, but you push the throttle up and it won't move.

SPS spends a while trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong, with no luck. So they hire some hackers from the Polish security group Dragon Sector. Dragon Sector figures out how to get into the code of the computer system that runs the train, and OH MY GOD.

So it turns out there's a secret train-lock system. If it's on, the train won't move. This will be triggered in some situations you might think are normal: the clocks are wrong, the serial numbers of the various parts have changed, and a firmware mismatch between the main computer and the power system. Now, the fact that it makes sense to not run the train in these situations until someone can check it? that doesn't extend to the fact the train uses a SECRET lock system, rather than just popping up an error message telling you what's wrong. There's also the problem that while these are all potential error problems, they can't be cleared by anyone with the technical manuals, which are supposed to cover everything about how to run these trains. Only Newag themselves can reset this system.

Which, you know, keeps SPS from properly fixing them. Only Newag can fix them now, but not because SPS lacks any technical ability, but because Newag sabotaged their own trains. But don't worry: it gets worse.

So now that Dragon Sector knows what's happening, they get to look at other trains. It turns out the trains aren't all running the same software, and there are other tricks in there.

One of them is a "how long has the train been stopped?" check. If the train hasn't hit 60 km/h in 10 days, the train locks itself and won't move until Newag can clear it. So, like, if a train is ever out of service, like it's going to a repair place... it'll break itself. Unless the repair place is owned by Newag.

But two of the trains go further: See, these trains have GPS built in, right? You may be able to guess where this is going...

THEY JUST MAKE THE TRAIN CHECK IF IT IS PARKED AT THEIR COMPETITORS' REPAIR YARD AND BREAK ITSELF IF IT WAS.

The sheer audacity of this move. This is frighteningly bullshit anti-competition self-sabotage.

This has, obviously, made some parts of the Polish government to start investigating this. Newag may be (and hopefully will be) in a lot of trouble.

For more info, there's a great video of a presentation by the three people from Dragon Sector who did the hacking, which was presented at the 37th Chaos Communication Congress in Germany.

Ars Technica also has an article on it, but it predates the presentation so it doesn't have some of the later details.

Anyway, the good news is that in the end the hackers at Dragon Sector were able to unlock most of the trains: A few had additional trickery that they didn't want to hack around, because it might break the train's certification. For the others, they discovered undocumented "cheat codes" in the software that they could use to bypass the secret lockouts... presumably the same ones that Newag would have used when they "repaired" trains.

#trains are blameless holy creatures #computer security #reverse engineering

[dark-fics-4-you]

step bro rafe who plays football or hockey. idk it just seems hot🙏

Number One Fan

I’m gonna combine this with this request: Something with step bro rafe where the reader calls him rafey and it turns him on but she doesn’t know…

(This can be read as a continuation of my previous step bro!Rafe fic, but i’m not sure if I want to make a bunch of drabbles or one connected narrative so we’ll see what happpens ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

Warnings: drinking, relationship between step siblings, rafe is having unpure thoughts👀

The stadium was packed with college students and fans, roaring as the whistle blew.

You were close to the field, eager to get a good view of Rafe. He was the star quarterback of East Carolina University, and for good reason.

He had led the team to victory in all 10 of their last games.

The score was evened out, with only a few seconds left on the clock, everyone was eager to see what would happen next.

When the whistle blew again and the ball was passed to Rafe, you cheered loudly.

He dodged two players, dancing around them before running all the way to the endzone.

Everyone on the crowded bleachers jumped to their feet, cheering and screaming at the touchdown, but no one was louder than you.

“Go Rafe! Go!! Woo!!!”

You beamed proudly as you watched him pump his fist in the air, fist bumping his teammates as they congratulated him.

You were one of the first people to rush to the field, running up to your older brother and practically jumping on him in your excitement to hug him.

“Oh my god, Rafey! That was such a good game!” You squealed. “You were awesome! That last touchdown was amazing!”

Rafe flashed you a grin, perfect teeth winking in under the bright lights of the stadium. “Thanks, Y/N/N. You know I win every game just for you,” he joked and you giggled along.

“Hey, some of my teammates and I are gonna go out for drinks after we get cleaned up, wanna tag along?”

“Sure!” You smiled up at him. You were always happy when he included you in things he was doing, which admittedly was a lot of the time.

“Perfect, sugar. Here are my keys,” he tossed you them. “Why don’t you bring the truck around to where the locker room exit is, you can wait in there till I’m done. Okay?”

“Yeah! Sounds good!” You parted ways, heading to the truck but you didn’t notice how his gaze stayed on your back as you walked away.

~~~~~~

“That’s a pretty hot piece of ass you had hanging around you, Cameron,” one of Rafe’s friends joked, suggestively nudging the blond with his elbow.

“Shut up, Wilson,” Rafe snapped. His stomach lurched at the comment. He didn’t like the idea of any of his friends trying to sleep with you.

In fact, he didn’t like the idea of anyone trying to sleep with you. The very thought made him sick.

“Hey, I’m just saying, I wouldn’t mind if she came around more, amiright?” Wilson asked the other guys around him that had seen you and they all laughed and nodded.

“Knock it off, seriously,” Rafe warned. “She’s not interested.” He could feel his irritation rising, his face heating up.

“Damn okay Cameron, chill. We were just joking,” someone else interjected.

“Well I’m not fucking laughing.” He pulled on his shirt before slamming the locker door. “I don’t think I’m gonna go out tonight anymore. See ya at practice.”

A few guys complained, “come on Rafe, we didn’t mean anything by it.”

But he was already halfway out the door.

~~~~~~

“Change of plans,” Rafe said as he climbed into the driver’s seat and you clicked your buckle.

You looked at him inquisitively. “Oh?”

“We’re gonna go out, just the two of us. None of the guys.” He started the truck, pulling out of the parking lot and towards the road.

“Oh, okay.” You said in a confused tone. “Why are they not coming?”

He was silent for a moment and you glanced at him again.

“Rafey?”

“I just decided that I’d rather go out with my favorite girl instead,” he said with a smile, ruffling your hair and you grinned.

“Oh, okay!” You said happily. “Ooh could we go to this bar that I know, it’s on Seventh street.” You babbled away about the bar you wanted to go to.

Rafe shifted in his seat, trying as hard as possible to hide his growing erection, nodding along but he was finding it hard to pay attention to anything you were saying, attention shifting between watching the road, and turning to examine your features.

He pulled up to the bar and you hopped out of the car. You both showed your ID’s at the door and found a booth to sit at, Rafe pulling you in to the same side he was on so you could be closer.

A waiter came to get your drink orders, you got a fruity cocktail and Rafe got a beer, and Rafe ordered a plate of loaded nachos for you to share.

Your drinks came quickly and you offered Rafe a sip of your cocktail, which he took before offering you a sip of his beer.

You took a quick swig, face scrunching up at the flavor. “Bleh, I still have no idea how you like beer so much, Rafey!” You giggled, leaning against him in the small booth, his arm wrapped around your waist.

“You get used to it if you drink enough, Y/N/N.” The blond laughed, grabbing a nacho off of the plate in between the two of you.

“I just think it’s so gross,” you shook your head, smiling.

“Please, you’re one to talk. I still remember that time you tried to make mixed drinks for us at that party and they sucked so bad I nearly threw up.” He chuckled.

“Shut up! I got better afterwards!” You laughed hard at the memory. “So mean, Rafey,” you said with a fake pout.

“Not true, I’m always nice to you, Y/N/N,” Rafe sounded surprisingly earnest. “You know I would do anything for you.”

“I know, I know,” you finished your cocktail, catching the waiter’s eye before ordering a second.

You leaned back, melting into your step brother’s arms.

“You’re my favorite person in the whole world,” Rafe whispered quietly. “You know that, right?”

There was a strange moment when you met his eyes, odd feelings washed over you. The intensity in his look stirred something in you that you couldn’t identify.

“Yeah I know, Rafey. You’re my favorite person too.”

He smiled at that, pulling you closer to his warm body. You cuddled against his chest, enjoying the circles he was tracing lazily into your back with his fingers.

Your second drink arrived and you downed it quickly, feeling a little beyond tipsy by the time the two of you stepped out of the bar.

He drove you home, comfortable silence most of the way. You felt warm and the alcohol in your system made you feel much more affectionate.

Rafe opened the front door of the house for you, allowing you to lean on him drunkenly as he guided you inside.

When you reached the top of the stairs, you paused, not wanting to go to bed alone.

“Would it be okay if I slept in your bed tonight, Rafey?” You asked, looking up at your step brother with hopeful eyes. “I just feel more comfortable when you’re by me.”

“Sure, Y/N/N.” Rafe smiled at you, leading you to his room.

You kicked off your shoes, taking your shorts off before dropping them on the floor. “Do you have a shirt I could wear, Rafey?”

His eyes fell on you, noting your bare legs and the pink panties you had under your shorts. His mouth felt dry, and it took him a second to remember you had just asked him a question.

“Um, yeah I should have one…” he searched in a drawer, before tossing you the oversized shirt.

You pulled it on, unclipping your bra underneath the shirt before putting it with your shorts and top.

Rafe kicked off his shorts, stripping to his boxers before pulling his shirt off over his head. He stepped towards his door, flicking the lights off.

You crawled into his bed, breathing in his smell in the sheets, scooting over when he followed.

Usually when you slept in Rafe’s bed, you were the one who pressed to him, hugging his back as he faced away from you, but this time, you were surprised when you felt the warmth of his chest press to your back, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you closer to him.

As you dozed off to sleep, you were none the wiser that your step brother was beside you, hard as a rock, and imagining things that were far from brotherly.

#rafe cameron #outer banks #dark!rafe cameron #dark rafe cameron #obx #drew starkey #rafe cameron fanfic #stepbro!rafe #stepbro!rafe cameron #number one fan

[idontplaytrack]

hi!! could i request a fluffy rosa diaz x reader fic where reader works as a detective at the precinct and rosa kind of has a soft spot for her (more like a crush on her), so when rosa gets sick like in that one episode reader finally convinces rosa to admit she doesn’t feel good and takes her home and takes care of her? tysm!!

Hermosa

- Rosa Diaz x detective fem! reader -

Warnings: coarse language, fluff, implied smut at the end

Thank you for your request! :)

You clocked in at exactly nine o’clock that morning. Right on time, you looked at the desk opposite of yours and it was empty. “Amy, has Rosa come in yet?”

“Oh. No.” Amy’s eyes widen briefly, shocked.

“Oh, wow. Rosa’s not here yet? Doesn’t she stay like really near here?” Jake remarked.

“Yes she does.” Gina chimed in, “Her apartment is the closest to the precinct.”

“Is she not coming to work today?” Amy asks you.

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t have asked you.”

“Right.” Amy smiled sheepishly, focusing back on her work.

“She hasn’t texted you or anything?” Jake carries on the conversation with you while you got settled.

“No, I just thought she was already here-” Before you could say anything else, hurried footsteps interrupted your train of thought. Your eyes followed the sound, which turned out to be Rosa who’d just arrived.

“Holy shit, girl.” Gina broke the silence as the rest of the squad watched her, bewildered, “You look like hell.” Rosa scowled, sitting down in her chair.

You’d been glaring at her since the moment she sat down across from you. Rosa shot you a look meaning for you to drop it and leave her alone. That was the end of that conversation for a bit. Meanwhile, she was sniffly and sneezed a handful of times. Not to mention she looks pale as a sheet. She somehow made it to lunch before you got so annoyed that you pulled her aside, “Will you just admit you’re sick and let me take you home?”

“y/n, I’m fine. Diaz’s don’t get sick.”

“Oh, yeah? What are you then? Just trying a new makeup look for Halloween?” You huffed.

Rosa chuckles. “What’s so funny?” You ask, almost offended.

“Ha ha.” She responded, “You’re not scary.”

“Rosa!” You nearly rolled your eyes, “You’re sick, please just let me take you home so you can rest? The last thing I want is you passing out on the gross precinct floors.”

“Wait a minute-” Rosa got all serious for a second, “You said ‘please’?”

“What?” You asked, puzzled.

“You asked if you could please take me home.” She pointed out.

“So?”

“So, okay.” She shrugged, “Whatever.”

“Okay?” You repeated, not expecting her to agree.

“Rosa’s going home?” Jake gasps, “Oh, she so likes you.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Rosa complains, tossing an eraser at him.

“I’ve been watching you two, Diaz.” Gina added on, “Very flirty~”

You tried to hide a blush that very clearly still showed. “You two would be great together.” Charles chimed in, “So great.”

“Also, that height difference is mwah- perfect.” Gina wasn’t done.

“I agree.” Amy shrugged, “Rosa’s always had like a soft spot for you. From the day you started, even.”

“Wow, you guys are suddenly experts, huh?” Rosa scoffed, “Let’s go, y/n. Ignore them- they’re a bunch of kids.”

————

As Rosa laid on her couch, you were at the stove cooking her some soup. “Hey.”

“Yeah?” You glanced at her over your shoulder.

“Do you buy what they say?”

“What do you mean?” You asked nervously.

“Do you think they’re right? That I’ve had a crush on you since you joined our squad?”

You stayed quiet for a minute, stirring the soup. “Um…you’re not gonna beat me up depending on my answer, are you?”

“What?” Rosa guffaws, and ended up coughing. “No, that’s crazy.”

“Well, if I’m being honest. I hope they are, because literally- god, this is going to sound so stupid.”

“Oh, just say it.” Rosa insisted, grabbing a tissue to blow her nose.

“Over time, I’ve found myself liking you as more than a friend. But- despite all the time we spend together while on the job, I realise I still don’t really know you. But I mean, the squad thinks we’re best friends. And I’d like to think that we’re close because you haven’t threatened to chop me up yet and compared to how you are with the rest of them, don’t you see a difference? I mean, do you?” You panicked at the end.

Now Rosa was stunned into silence. That was a first. “Honestly…I didn’t even realise what I was doing. It just naturally happened over time- Holt kept partnering us up and little by little, we got closer.” She began, “I guess…I didn’t dare to take a bigger step to actually flirt with you because I get so nervous, I suck at it. And- I didn’t know if you were attached or not so I didn’t want to weird you out either.”

She’s never one to talk about her feelings- she says it makes her want to throw up. But she actually opened up and talked to you. You were shocked, then you were somewhat…honoured. Maybe also a little smug that you managed to get that out of her.

You turned the stove off, grabbing a bowl and a spoon. “I’m not seeing anyone and I’ve never had a boyfriend or a girlfriend before.” You admit, she walks over to the kitchen- to you, and wrapped her arms around you from behind. “You’re the first person that I’ve fallen for so quickly and so hard, it feels terrifying, but also equally exciting. But I just- I really didn’t know and didn’t want to say anything because I was afraid of the outcome.” You managed to say before her grip around you tightened fully, and she’d rested her chin on your shoulder.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” She asked softly as she watched you ladle a scoop of the chicken noodle soup into the bowl. You would’ve dropped the damn ladle if you weren’t so aware that she had her arms around you.

“Will I be your girlfriend?” You repeated her question in disbelief, “Oh, my God. Yes, Rosa.”

She chuckles into your ear, sending a chill down your spine and made you squirm, “I won’t kiss you because I don’t want you to get sick, but once I’m better, you’re about to get pampered, hermosa.” You asked her to let go of you so you could take the bowl over to the table, and she does.

“Eat with me.”

“Yeah, I will. Just gonna set this down for you first.” You told her.

Rosa tells you to return to the precinct after lunch, but you said no. “Holt let me. Besides, he says if they needed me, I’ll get a call. I don’t think he was expecting me to go back today, anyway.”

Rosa smirked, “What do you mean, y/n?”

“What I mean, is that he seems to know about your little crush on me.”

“No he doesn’t.”

You snorted, “Please- he so does. Yesterday, I was out with him for a case. He asked me directly if I liked you and if I’d noticed that you’ve been extra nice to me. Also, it was very funny to see that look on his face when I dragged you into his office so he could see how pale you were.”

“Hilarious.” Rosa agreed, “Thanks- for making me the soup and making me come home.”

“No problem.” You smiled, eating a spoonful of the food.

“Look, this soup is great, but why couldn’t we get pizza?”

“That dairy’s just gonna make you more congested.” You pointed out. “Like I would care.”

“You might not, but I do. I’m the one that’s taking care of you and having to deal with your whining.”

“My whining?” She gasps dramatically, “God, y/n. I think that’d be you. We made out at the New Year’s party and you were whiny freaking mess.”

You blushed thinking about the memories of that night. “Speechless?” She teased, “What do you say you get us dinner tonight and I’ll give you a little thank-you? I might be sick and can’t kiss you, but there’s a lot I can do with just my hands.”

“I’ll think about it.” You shrug, a smirk creeping onto your face.

#i don't play track answers #rosa diaz #brooklyn nine nine #b99 #wlw #wlw fanfic #lgbtqia #queer #fanfiction #alternative universe #reader insert #female reader #x reader

[dr4kenlvr]

𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍—𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐄!

feat. toman boys [mikey, draken, baji, kazutora, chifuyu, pah-chin & takemitchi] + gn!reader - crack (0.9k+)

request: thanks 😭 so its probably not very unique but i've never seen tokyo revengers escape room fics and im sure it would be really chaotic to get in one especially with the toman first gen boys hehe

nana's note: LMFAOOO i would pay money to see baji in an escape room, i don't think anything could beat that on a comedic level, sorry kei :p !!! also i have like ZERO experience w/ escape rooms so im kinda talking out of my ass—i hope things make sense 🫶 👍

this would genuinely be so, so fucking chaotic i can't even guys LMAOOO

they're all so ready to go and crack the case and escape real fast because "chifuyu's with us, and like, draken too i guess."

"OH, YOU GUESS?" -draken, with a vein bulging out his temple

you and the guys decided that the easiest way to do this was to split up into pairs and look for clues/hints together

here's a breakdown: mikey + draken, pah + mitsuya, kazutora + baji + chifuyu, you + takemitchi

"thank fucking god i'm paired up with mitsuya 'cause my shit for brains ain't gonna do much with kazutora." -pah with a triumph smile

"PAH???? PLEASE??" -kazutora in complete disbelief

"AHAHAHHA—WAIT, SHIT HE'S IN MY GROUP." -baji, with his hair tied up because he's fucking ready

chifuyu is rubbing his temple at this point

"WE'RE ALL IN THE SAME ROOM, SHUT THE FUCK UP." -mitsuya with a growing headache

"guys we need to start the clock is fucking ticking!!!" -you, as mikey, draken, and takemitchi are DYING of laughter

the staff have to settle you all down and explain the rules, time limits, and hint system before letting you into the room with a final cheerful 'good luck!'

the group laughs out loud as pah and mikey somberly wave goodbye to the crew, eyes fixed on the door shutting with a loud SLAM and lock

the group of you gape as you walk around the humongous room filled with props and setups that resembled a haunted mansion of an older era - it was quite beautiful really, but something about it made you and takemitchi shiver

first thing everyone noticed, was the huge closet that was locked and required a specific code to undo the chains that held it tightly shut

it was evident that the task was to find out a code somehow, and so each pair began investigating the room

some spoke up when they came across something of mild interest—only to find out it served no real purpose

mikey keeps on mentioning that they should ask for a clue but baji and kazutora claimed they didn’t want to look like pussies just 20 minutes in

a few moments later, chifuyu notices papers sticking out of certain books along the walls; he collects them all and shows his partners to which baji screeches:

“GUYS!!!! THERE’S A BUNCH OF LETTERS HERE!!” 

he waves the pile like a flag and kazutora’s jumping up and down in excitement, shaking baji’s shoulders with a grin

chifuyu, who actually found the letters: lmfao k den bitch

the rest of the group huddles together and split up the letters to read

draken suggests that the numbers hidden within the letters are important for the code: “maybe there’s a specific sequence of some kind? each letter has one number.”

mitsuya’s head perks up and he leaves the group to rummage through something at the back—pah is all like “where are you going? wait where are you going, mitsuya please tell me where you’re going.” BECAUSE THIS MF IS SO LOST LMAOOO

“i found this collection of stamps by the coffee table, each one has a number on it but they’re not numerical order” mitsuya says, offering the box to takemitchi’s open hands

he picks each one up and inspects it closely, the stamps were from 1-5 but as mitsuya had mentioned, they weren’t in order

kazutora grabs them out of takemitchi’s hand with a cheeky grin, “MAYBE they correspond with the numbers in the letters?”

he puffs his chest out, before baji slams his palm flat on it with “YEAH, no shit sherlock. it doesn’t take a fucking genius to assume that.”

everyone just bursts out in laughter as kazutora physically deflates and lays on the ground: “fine, then you guys solve it.”

everyone shoots out possible strategies and solutions, but none of them work out every time you attempt to change the numbers

and baji gets so irritated and starts complaning like "god damn this shit is so hard it's making my ponytail fall apart" LIKE WHAT???

then there's pah: “BRO MY ASS HURTS LIKE HELL!”

“??? then stand up ????” -draken and mitsuya

“WHY WOULD I STAND UP WHEN YOU ARE ALL SITTING DOWN, I’M APART OF THIS TOO.”

you laugh, shaking your head at your friends

but you also find yourself getting increasingly irked as time ticks by

“uhhh you sure we’re not missing something?”

“i don’t know! why don’t you go ask an expert, idiot?”

“EXACTLY!” mikey yells, “let’s ask an expert,” he winks, signalling with his head to the big, bright red clue button on the wall

“it wouldn’t hurt right?” he scrunches his nose, trying to work his so-called adorable looks on the rest of the group

everyone looks around, and no one lets out a single complaint

mikey squeals as he stands, sauntering over to the other side of the room

and just as he raises his hand to press on the button, a loud alarm calls:

“TIME LIMIT REACHED, ESCAPE FAILED. YOU MAY NOW EXIT UPON STAFF INSTRUCTION.”

THE LOOK ON EVERYONE’S FACES IS JUST FUCKING (⊙⊙)(☉_☉)(⊙⊙)

I CAN NOT

everyone is just sitting down like a bunch of ducks staring at the door which is about to open

“WAIT WHAT THE FUCK? NOOOOO—”

“hi everyone! hope you enjoyed playing, you may now exit and grab your belongings from the cubbies outside. please come and try again next time!” 

ya’ll just fucking walk out like a bunch of sad children who couldn’t prove themselves smart enough despite having NINE PEOPLE AHFHADFJSD

“wow that was so fun, so uh can we get food now please i’m starving.”

“MIIIIKEEEY!!!!” -everyone

sigh, maybe go to an arcade next time or something <3

taglist: @dai-tsukki-desu @kazuhoya @gwynsapphire @sscarchiyo @reiners-milkbiddies @smileyswifeyy @bontensimp-blog @thisbicc @megumisemo (send me an ask or dm to be added!)

reblogs and comments are very appreciated!

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x reader fluff #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo revengers headcanons #mikey sano headcanons #draken headcanons #baji keisuke headcanons #mitsuya takashi headcanons #pah headcanons #kazutora hanemiya headcanons #takemitchi hanagaki headcanons #chifuyu matsuno headcanons #mikey headcanons #baji headcanons #mitsuya headcanons #kazutora headcanons #chifuyu headcanons #takemitchi headcanons #request #mikey sano fluff #baji keisuke fluff #draken fluff #kazutora hanemiya fluff #chifuyu matsuno fluff #pah fluff #takemitchi hanagaki fluff #pah-chin headcanons #pah-chin fluff

[popcornforone]

FEBRUARY

From the Marcus Pike Fan Fic Diary

Masterlist

January

Time for extract number 2 from your diary. The first one seemed to go down well & I have a few months now preplanned so I hope these all really do deliver. Well I’m enjoying writing them, they are a nice little distraction.

Synopsis:- Marcus has to work late on Valentines night, so how will this effect your plans for the most romantic night of the year

Word count:- 1800

Warnings:- DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! PIV Sex, established consensual relationship, sex in the work place, swearing, teasing, spanking, mentions of pregnancy. Remember this is a diary so it’s written as I.

Thanks as always for the read peoples, all feedback is welcome. I hope you enjoy.

My hand still trembles when I think back to Wednesday. Valentine’s Day. I know it was only a few days ago but I am still amazed how well it worked. I’ve replayed it all in my mind countless times. So much so that this morning while I thought he was asleep, I was thinking of it as I touched myself. Marcus was playing possum & I didn’t notice until his thumb slide over my clit.

“We’re we that good beautiful?” he said with morning breath before he pulled me on top of him. My pussy was filled & oh my did he feel good. Morning kisses & gasps filled the air but oh fuck he knew what to do this morning, he always makes me cum.

Wait this is for valentines not today.

We never do anything on Valentine’s Day. First year I was sick, second year he worked late & last year a friend got married on Valentine’s Day.

How “original” is that?

But this year I had a plan. I wanted to do something we’d both remember & give him a gift he’d never forget.

I had to act naive when he said on the 10th he was on the late for the 14th. Usual patter flew out my mouth of “I don’t need a day to tell you how much I love you” & “as long as I get morning sex it’s okay” he blushed. He liked that I’m so open & honest with him about sex & our preferences. He likes that once I have said everything though, that he gets to take control. Those hips have a power over me as I quiver beneath him, be it slow & sensual or blistering passion. I’m his, my body is too.

What Marcus had no idea about is that this was all planned. Id contacted his supervisor & asked if he could work late & promised to not make a mess. Ha! Surprisingly it was all approved & allowed.

So in I sneak into his office at 6pm on valentines evening . Oooh the morning sex was wonderful before I went to work by the way. He’d got me a bunch of 13 roses & took one to trail over my body as I sat in his lap riding his cock. The way the petals felt over my nipples had me grinding harder.

“So beautiful” he whimpered as my head rolled back as he looked at my strained body about to explode in sexual desire. I knew he was going to think about the way I moaned his name as I came, for the rest of the day. I had the look from his dilated eyes imprinted in my memory. God he was good.

Sorry but it adds to the surprise.

So I crept in & set up his office & got changed & put a little recorder I had to the side to hear it all back. I wanted to get it right word for word for you my diary & so I could listen back to our flirting. I made sure his desk was clear & organised. I’d even sent him an email as to where his paper work was so he could find it the next day. As much as the fantasy of papers being thrown over the office is a romantic, it’s not practical.

I hear his tones come from down the corridor.

“I’ve just got to sort 1 more thing out & then I’m clocking off I’ve got a 7pm talk in my office & then I’m done.” The door clicks at 6:55pm & it swings on & Marcus jaw hits the floor. “I’ll call you tomorrow”

“Hi baby” I giggle as I twist my hair which I’ve slightly curled for him. He likes that. I’m sat on his desk.

“What on earth?” Hes stuttering. “You can’t just rock up here like this, I have a meeting in…” I tut & wave a naughty oh no finger at him. His eyes went from shocked to suddenly surprised.

“I’m your 7pm meeting” i lick my lips.

“How”

“Your supervisor approved it, I think he’s a romantic deep down”

“Well I’m very happy he did” I hear Marcus lock the door & hit the button to close the blinds. He takes off his jacket & stands hands on his hips. “So a valentines surprise?”

“Exactly & your gifts you are going to love.” I smirk.

“Oooh morning sex wasn’t enough”

“Never Marcus,” I giggle & stand up & start to unbutton the long coat I am wearing. I stand next to Marcus. A soft but rich kiss encapsulates us both as his hands plunge into my hair. I wriggled enough for the coat to drop to the floor. “This is your gifts baby” & I step back.

Now I know what your thinking diary & I think so was Marcus when he opened his eyes. I wasn’t just standing naked infront of him. Quite the opposite.

“I’m confused” he asked & then he looked me up & down once again.”wait is…” I nod.

“Your valentines present is all the clothes I ‘borrow off you’ baby, for you to have & so they smell a bit more like you again” he chuckles.

“You know I have no problem with you…” his voice trails off as I slowly remove his long thick football socks I wear in the winter & i seductivly remove them from my legs & feet flinging them at him. “…. Actually…” he gulps down undoing his top button”… maybe I do need them all back, urgently right now” he grabs the second sock I throw & sniffs it. “Oooh cheesey”

“Marcus!” I joke back “so you want your big comfortable captain america hoodie back then, it will make me cold when I take it off, I might need extra warmth”

“Oooh I need it” I slowly peel it from my body & Marcus blushes even more.

“What’s the matter baby?” I asked “you often see me in just your blue shirt & your boxers in the morning”

“T…t…true” he’s losing composure & his hand is trying to palm his erection but it failed. I mean Marcus should always be so proud with how big he is. “But not before sex”

“Who says we’re having sex tonight” I raise an eyebrow at him as I unbutton the shirt I’m wearing. His face burrows & he pouts. “Well maybe I need to swap this shirt for a new one.” I take a few steps towards Marcus & start undoing his own shirt. Kissing around his chin & neck. Both shirts fall to the floor at the same time.

There’s something about the way he sucks on my nipples. It’s every time. I moan. Even if I’m not in the mood or not up for it, he twists, licks, cups & then sucks. I’m instantly an aroused feral mess all just for him.

“Marcus” I groan. A feeing I adore but always has me being vocal. He whispers my name back before moving onto the next breast. My nipples are erect as I start to undo his belt. I then push away from him. He doesn’t look shocked he knows where this goes.

I step back & twang the elastic in the boxers & then turn around & shake my bum. I hear his trousers drop to the floor as I climb into the empty desk. As I do so I peel the boxers off showing him my arse. Peachy & ready.

“Don’t be shy baby” I moaned.

Slap.

The feel of his palm in my buttocks sends shivers down my spine & I gasp. He’s not into spanking, but when we were seeing what we were both into he loved the little squeak I made, it makes him throb. So he does three spanks to hear the noise each time which is his turn on.

I then turn around & open my legs, spread apart, completely vulnerable & my pussy is in need of satisfaction. He has a brief look at the state of me in front of him before he shimmy’s his boxers down. Stroking his long veiny meaty length, in his large hands, he makes the 5 paces towards me. I quiver as it glides across my clit, no lube needed I’ve been aroused for a while. He fills me in one jolt still standing.

“Fuck Marcus” he’s hit the spot already on the second thrust. His teeth grind as he growls as he fucks me into the desk. I eventually end up lying on my back on the desk, screaming his name.

“Fucking tight” he stammers “best cunt, my cunt, gonna fill you til you can take no more”. Marcus didn’t know this was how his day was going to go but he was loving it. So caught up in the moment enjoying as I clamp around his penis.

We don’t just fuck on the desk but against his filing cabinet & in his office chair.

“Fuck” we scream in unison, our final orgasms hitting. I’m in his lap. Both our bodies spiralling out of control. It was pure lust & desire. He squeezes my bum as I breathe into the crook of his neck.

“Do you know that lots of babies come from office flings?” I lift my head up eventually & look into his deep brown eyes.

“Really?” He smirks, he’s now wondering if this is a coded way of me telling him something.

“Good job this isn’t a fling & a real deal” I say as I stroke his face & he sighs. We need to have the future conversation soon.

“Well when it happens it happens & I just know if we do decide to try, our kids will be loved” his hand stroke down my arm as we suddenly then both realise the time & should probably be heading home.

Marcus was impressed I did have a change of clothes that I got dressed in, & that I brought a gift bag for all of his “gifts”.

“Baby you know you can keep these?” He says as he puts his shoes on.

“Oooh I know I just want you to wear them for a while so they smell if you again”

“All an alternate motive” I roll my eyes “hey don’t do that I mean technically you were my 7pm meeting”

So yea that was my Valentine’s Day surprise for my man. We finally got to properly celebrate one together. He has already asked if he can see my at 7pm in his office next year, I’ve said it’s a date…

March

#pedro pascal #fanfic #my fics #smutt #no minors #pedro pascal cinematic universe #over18 #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal universe #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fan fic #pedro pascal fic #marcus pike fanfics #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike #Marcus pike fan fiction #valentines day #valentine #valentines day fan fiction

[hpysprkl]

gimme that Beautiful Hell and one shots (pretty please 👉🏻👈🏻)

Oooh fun, thanks for asking!

There's not a lot in my oneshots folder, but I fell in love with Heller about a minute and a half into Starfield, so I started writing a little Heller/Spacefarer thing. What can I say, I guess I love me a snarky boy with a rock collection 🤷‍♀️

Heller's never been the best or the brightest. He's always known it. He's good at his job, sure. Smart enough to know how to get ahead in it. He makes sure the folks under him work hard enough and work safe enough. Lin trusts him, and they get along. He's made a name for himself in her crew. Which is not hard, really, when the only competition is a bunch of half-drunk dusties from the kind of bum-fuck systems the rest of the universe forgot. Most of them just want to clock in, meet their quotas - just barely - and get paid at the end of the week. Guy like Heller puts in a little extra effort, shows he knows what he's doing, and the boss notices. So when a new batch of recruits filed in one boring afternoon on some boring old rock in the middle of nowhere, he was expecting more of the same. And that's mostly what he got, until he got to her. She'd been staring all around the place while she waited in line for processing. Fidgeting, antsy. So when the line had moved along and he called her up to the desk, he'd figured she probably wasn't all there. They get all kinds in this line of work, and she wouldn't be the first zone-head. But then he called her over, and her gaze snapped to his face. The green eyes she fixed on him were piercing. Intelligent. Way too damn sharp for her own good. It caught him off guard, and he glanced down at her file to cover it up.

Your Beautiful Hell is a Deacon/Sole Survivor thing about soulmates who really, really don't want anything to do with all that fate bullshit. It's pretty early stages, but here's a snippet from the first chapter, their first 'meeting' through the telepathic link they share. It's not a happy scene.

TW: Deacon has PTSD-type flashbacks of his wife's death. There's mention of blood, a dead cat, and Barbara's corpse.

He closes his eyes and tries to ease the link open slowly. The overwhelming emotions from her side flood through, crashing over him. Deacon inhales deeply, letting the burn of the smoke seep through him, focuses on the feelings coming from her end of the link. Pain. Her knees where they hit hard ground, the burning on her arm, same place as his. She doesn't seem to be injured. Freezing cold. Fear, panic, confusion. A strange chemical smell. Frantic thoughts. Ohgodohgodohgod... Nate, Nate, fuck...Open, come on, open up for fuck's sake! Oh god, baby, what do I do? What do I do? You'd know, you always knew what to do. What would you do? Oh fuck, oh god, I have no idea. I — I promise, baby, I'll find him. I'll find Shaun. Oh god, I'm so sorry, baby. I can't stay here, I — The stream of consciousness comes to an abrupt halt, and he realizes she's just become aware of him. There's a moment of utter silence, and then another scream tears through the link, wordless grief and anguish and raw fury ripping through her and, by extension, him. It punches Deacon in the gut, forcing the air from his lungs, doubling him over. He sees flashes. Barbara, their little farm. Evening sunlight streaming in through the windows. Her blood pooling on the scrubbed wooden floor of their kitchen. The stray cat she'd taken in, its limp body sprawled next to hers. He struggles to draw a breath, choking on air like it's water. Her thoughts flood into his head, panicked and angry and drenched in loss and sorrow. No, I don't want this, I don't want another, I had mine already, goddamnit. I want him back, I want Nate back and our baby and — The rest dissolves into incoherent sobs and he feels her shove the link away hard. It makes him think of being pushed from the top of a skyscraper, the sensation of falling rapidly away from her and the simultaneous promise of impact as the ground rushes toward him. Deacon chokes down a ragged breath, tears streaming down his face, and collapses into the dirt. Barbara's blank, staring eyes are the last thing he sees before darkness takes him.

#fanfic writing #my wips #fallout #fallout 4 #fallout fanfic #deacon #starfield #heller #vectera

[theoddcatlady]

Nearly lost my temper at work yesterday

For a bit of background, I work at an insurance company. I’m not exactly changing the world, but it pays well and it’s usually pretty chill. Except for yesterday, which I just really need to rant about. It was a bunch of little things that stacked up to my… almost explosion.

The water cooler was dripping nonstop. Citrix servers had gone down and that was the main program I use for work. I had a pounding headache from the bright lights in the office and my skin was all dried out from the artificial air. And for fuck’s sake, Barbara would just not leave me alone.

I’m not a people person. I can answer the phone and be amicable enough, but I’ve never been like BFF’s with my coworkers at… any of my jobs. Most of my coworkers get I’m here to do my job and get paid. Barbara though, good god. She just doesn’t get the hint. And I can’t exactly mouth off to her because she’s been with the company for like two decades so if she complains I’m the one in trouble… not like she’s done work for the last five years, but I digress.

“So is this your boyfriend, Ellie?”

I chewed the inside of my cheek as Barbara plucked one of the pictures in my cubicle up, cooing and aww’ing. I hated being called Ellie. “He’s so cute!”

“Andrew is my brother, actually. I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.” One of the only other people I can tolerate in this world. I grabbed the picture and not so gently snatched it back, setting it down. The vein in my forehead probably popped out another good inch as I saw that Barbara had left a greasy thumbprint on the glass. I’d need to clean it when she was gone.

“Oh!” Barbara cocked her head to the side. “You don’t look alike!”

“I’m adopted.” Desperately I stared at my computer, willing Citrix to get its shit together so I could tell Barbara I was busy working. I was not going to be that lucky.

“You know, I have a son about your age.” Barbara started fiddling with the other things in my space, my notepad, the pens. “He just broke up with his girlfriend, and I was wondering, I bet the two of you would love to have coffee together…”

“I’m sorta preoccupied with other things at the moment than dating. And I hate coffee. I’m more of a tea person.” Jesus Christ, I was at the point where I was begging the clock to speed up. Even with the systems down, I still wasn’t allowed to leave until four. Just in case they came back on, even though they never had in the past. I wouldn’t mind getting paid to sit on my ass and do nothing if fucking Barbara would leave me alone.

“At your age?”

Oh, here we go. I rolled my eyes as Barbara tutted her tongue at me. “You need to get on that, honey, otherwise you’re going to be unmarried at thirty! After that it’s all downhill, not to mention how this could effect your future children- is something wrong with your arm?”

Shit. I hid my hand under my desk. “No!” I spared a glance and almost starting cussing. Of all times to start shedding, this was not a good time. “Bathroom emergency, move it!”

I shoved past Barbara, accidentally pushing her to the ground in my haste. I heard her snap after me but I didn’t care. I scooted into the bathroom and slammed the door behind me.

I held my hand in front of me to see more skin start to flake off, revealing the putrid muscle and flesh underneath. Fuck me. Today had to be that bad, huh?

My brother used to call it my ‘zombie mode’ to make me grumpy, but it’s not really like that. I keep my sanity, but I just start rotting and falling apart at the seams. It’s been like this since I was a kid, though I do tend to rot quicker when I’m having a shitty day, so Barbara can get fucked.

There’s really only one way to speed up the process so my skin grows back normal and healthy, and it sucks.

I sent Andrew a text, telling him to come pick me up as soon as he could and to bring my large coat. He knew what I meant. With a sigh, I double checked the lock before I pulled my shirt off, bra following onto the floor. Where the underwire was pressing against me the skin was already starting to come off. I gritted my teeth, grabbed on, and yanked.

It doesn’t hurt, not when my skin’s already dead. Sometimes a bit of the live skin comes with it and oh that hurts like tearing a hangnail, but it’s hardly lethal.

Pus and blood spattered into the sink as I ripped more and more of my skin away, both lumps I once called breasts slapped on the ground with a wet sound. I could see tumorous, bulbous growths starting to form in the fat. With most of the skin on my torso gone, I moved onto my arm. I groaned with relief as I finally scratched away at the sore, ripping away more skin and flesh.

I had skinned my entire upper body and was finally starting to feel relief when I heard a timid knock at the door.

“Sweetie? Ellie? Are you okay?”

Barbara’s voice made my blood boil, but right now she was exactly what I needed. I cleared my throat before approaching the door. “Sorry, Barb, I… I threw up. Everywhere. On my clothes, on the sink. It looks like a horror film in here. I called my brother to come get me, but could you please bring me stuff to clean up? I am not leaving this for Willis to clean up tonight, he’ll probably quit.”

“Oh, of course, sweetie! Don’t worry about work, I’ll handle it.”

She even was nice enough to cover her eyes as she handed me the cleaning supplies through the crack in the door. I scrubbed that floor and counter spotless, filling a garbage bag with bloody paper towels and gore so that no one would assume I butchered someone in the bathroom.

My brother gave me my trench coat when he came to pick me up and acted like he was helping me out of the building as he escorted me, in reality he was making sure I wasn’t bleeding over everything.

Now I’m home, enjoying a few seasons of Friends as I heal up. Andrew is a coroner and if I didn’t have him, I probably would’ve lost my mind and eaten Barbara on a bad day years ago. Whenever I’m done ‘shedding’, he brings me home a few human body parts so I can eat. I usually add them to whatever junk I’m eating, but Barbara was nice enough to bring me some chicken noodle soup. Now it’s chicken noodle soup plus a kidney, but hey, what can you do.

Whoa, feels good to get my shitty yesterday off my chest. Thank god it’s Friday.

#my stories

[integra1127grimmreaper]

The New Devil’s Pact - Part six

Series Masterlist

Part 5

You made sure to dress in the tightest, sexiest dress possible; you were keeping company with the Evans’ tonight after all.

“You want both of us to accompany you tonight, Boss?” Alfie asked from the sitting area.

“Just one of you will be fine” you call out from the bedroom whilst looking yourself onceover in the mirror.

“You guys decide which one.”

“You sure about that, Boss?’ Alfie responds back.

“Yeah” you reply, stepping out of the bedroom.

“Just gonna be a bunch of rich people watching a show, nothing dangerous about it.”

“Y/N...” Vera gets up to greet you as you got near to the table.

“You’re looking gorgeous...” she fusses over you.

“Doesn’t she look gorgeous, Ike?”

You couldn’t contain the smirk of satisfaction on your face when Ike cleared his throat as he silently scanned you from top to bottom.

“You’re looking beautiful tonight” Ike mutters out with a head nod.

“Thank you, Ike...” you sweetly grin at him, turning your attention back to Vera then.

“You’re looking absolutely gorgeous yourself as well.”

“I try my best...” Vera chuckles softly as you took your seats.

You were seated on the one side of Ike whilst Vera was on the other; it gave you a perfect view to witness his discomfort at having you so near to him.

The dimly lit room also worked perfectly with the game you had decided to play with Ike; your hand would occasionally dance across his trouser covered thigh from time to time.

You were quite surprised at his resilience to remain unphased by your antics. That was until the first act had ended though; after everyone stood up to cheer and slowly sat back down, you discreetly lowered your hand into his crouch.

“You ok honey?” a concerned Vera looks to Ike when he jolts up in his seat, causing the table to rattle.

“Mhmm...” Ike clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Just got a leg cramp.”

Not able to contain the amusement in it all any longer, you politely get up from your seat.

“If you’ll excuse me, have to use the ladies...”

You powerwalked to the restroom in your hast to laugh; making it in record time inside as you stopped in front of the mirrors to chuckle out loudly at your own reflection.

After a few seconds of laughter, remembering that you’re inside a public place; you turn to check the stalls behind you, letting out a sigh of relief that you were alone in the room.

Thank God... people would have thought you insane if they had witnessed your behavior.

Taking a deep breath, you fix yourself up and head back out.

Walking confidently down the corridor, you’re caught off-guard when suddenly being grabbed and pulled into what looked be a storage room.

“Son-of-a...” you hiss out, about to clock the person.

“Oh, hi Ike...” you smirk, dropping your fisted hand when realizing it was him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ike growls out, cornering you against the closed door.

“Whatever do you mean?” you innocently purr out, resting an open palm against his chest.

“You know exactly what you did!” Ike hisses out, grabbing hold of your hand on his chest.

“Feeling me up, while my wife’s sitting next to me... grabbing my cock.”

“Is that what I was doing...?” you pretend obliviousness as you reach out in attempt to touch his chest again.

Enraged at your nonchalant behavior, Ike grabs hold of your throat then; harshly slamming you against the door.

“There’s that famous Ike Evans rage...” you teasingly slur out, your gaze seductively bouncing between his eyes and mouth.

Ike remains quiet, breath coming out in heavy rasps as he scowls at you, his eyes turned dark by the dangerous glint in them.

“Go on...” you taunt him with an amused smirk. “You know you want to... I dare you...”

With a loud snarl, Ike tightens the hold around your throat, slamming his lips onto yours in a hard kiss then.

You clung onto Ike for dear life as he held you pressed up against the door while your tongues battled for dominance.

A soft moan escapes your lips when Ike’s hand slips through the slit of your dress; lifting your leg to wrap around his waist as he ground his now hard cock against your belly.

“Ike...” you softly whimpered out as he growled against your lips in response.

And just as hastily as the kiss had started, it suddenly ended when voices were heard from outside the room.

Ike instantly froze as the reality of what he was doing kicked in; silently releasing his hold on you, he pulls you away from the door and hastily storms out from the room.

With a frustrated huff, you lean against the nearby wall to compose yourself. Once your equilibrium had settled, you exited the storage room as well.

“You ok, Boss?”

Turning around, you find Alfie staring at you in concern.

“Oh... yeah, I’m perfect” you flash him a smile.

“You sure?” Alfie's brows furrow.

“You were gone for some time...”

“Perfectly fine...” you smirk in response.

“Just had an eventful exchange with Ike.”

Satisfied that you were ok, Alfie nods and heads back out to his station.

You make your way back to the Evans table, politely tapping Vera on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry to be doing this, but I'll heading back to my suite.”

“Is everything ok?” Vera looks to you in concern.

“Just came up with a headache” you answer with a faint smile, noticing how tense Ike looked in his seat.

“The loud music will only make it worse. Thank you for the lovely evening though.”

“Of course...” Vera nods in understanding.

“We should do lunch sometime?”

Noticing Ike’s posture stiffening even more, you flash Vera a broad smile.

“Sounds like a wonderful idea...”

Part 7

#Ike Evans #ike x reader #ike x y/n #magic city #Isaac Evans #Jeffrey Dean Morgan #JDM

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Sixteen — Precipice

Were the monkey suits pulling the wool over my eyes that well, or was I just blind? Because with the gray beanie and vest, all casual wear — it was him. Older, wiser, a bit more wrinkled. But there was no doubt in my mind.

5.6k words | 19 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: arguing? they finally get a break :) for now

I woke up curled against the back cushions of the couch, sunlight streaming through the windows. It took me a few minutes to move from right there; I was still so fucking exhausted. It took way too much effort to flip over. 

Most of the boxes on the floor by the couch were gone save for one with trinkets and the one with Ruth’s blanket. The fire was dead, a pile of ash and wood that made me nauseous to look at for too long, and there was no sign of Dad. 

Which made me feel really bad, ‘cause I took his sleep spot. 

I debated just going back to sleep when I offhandedly thought looking at the clock on the oven would be a good idea, physically jolting when it read 2:16. Was it really that late in the day? I forced myself up, begrudgingly leaving the blanket on the couch as I went to freshen up in the bathroom. 

Brent wasn’t in the nursery, Dad not in the master, and neither downstairs — but Brent’s bed was moved into Reggie’s room, the boxes discarded all around the foot of it. They must’ve talked, if our photo album wide open on the bed was any hint — but where the hell were they? 

I bounded back up to the ground floor, a bit panicky until I heard a distinctive crack that barely echoed in from outside. It wasn’t in the front — the snow on the truck hadn’t even been brushed off yet — so I rushed back to look through the slated blinds of the sliding glass door, relieved to see Brent and Dad talking. Dad was holding the ax Brent had made in hand, a split log at his feet. 

‘Course. Destructive boy time, I should’ve known. 

But under the knit hat, Brent’s forehead was splotched red, eyes still bloodshot, and I knew what Dad was doing — he was trying to keep Brent from pushing himself hard again. I’m surprised he was even up now, to be honest; maybe the Conduit powers ‘hard reset’ his body over the night? I wasn’t expecting to see him before dinner. 

Either way, I left them alone, making something that was all breakfast food but shouldn’t constitute such as the clock hit 3 PM before I dug in, hearing more weird metal grinding sounds from outside. 

I disappeared downstairs, digging through the leftover boxes in Dad’s room and bringing them back upstairs to distribute them. It was still so cool being in a room full of Delsin Rowe’s art — and sort of weird. Something in my mind just wasn’t computing that this Delsin Rowe was my Dad Delsin Rowe; surely they were two separate people, right? The idea that they were one in the same was still a completely foreign concept to me. 

I shoved linens away in the giant hall closet, bounding back down the stairs and pulling at the taped edges of another box until the cardboard came free, peeling it open to sort through the next batch of things. 

And freezing when I noticed what was in it. 

Oh my god. All that doubt of my Dad-Delsin Rowe and Revolutionist-Delsin Rowe being the same guy disappeared as I pulled out that iconic jean jacket with the two-headed eagle spray painted on the back, the vest stiff from unmoving for so long. It still had the little buttons on it even! A bunch of band buttons, one of a capital G crossed out that I didn’t really get, one with the logo of that super old furry video game I knew Cat emulated all the time, Sly-something. A bigger one with the Conduit emblem on it again, as if anyone could miss the giant spray painted logo on the back. 

I was holding a piece of history! It kinda felt like this belonged in a museum, honestly. There was so much willpower going into not putting it on, even if it’d just be some sort of art smock on me more than a vest. This was the vest. Holy shit. 

There was sudden chuckling behind me, and I spun in place to see Dad leaned against the doorframe, an eyebrow cocked. “Wha’cha got there?”

My cheeks grew hot like I was a kid just caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “I was, uh, unpacking while you guys did whatever and…” I held it up. “Vest.” 

‘Vest.’ Really, Jean? 

Brent popped his head around the corner, starting off with, “Oh you’re awa—“ and ending with, “Holy sh—“ 

“Brent.”

“Ah! I didn’t curse that time, doesn’t count!” 

I snorted as Brent made his way past Dad and into the room, coming close to look at the jacket and sort of freezing when I held it out for him to look at. But eventually he took it, fanning it out to look at the Conduit emblem in all its glory. “I ever tell you what inspired that?” Dad asked.

“Don’t think you could have,” Brent pointed out, Dad nodding in a sort of resigned agreement. 

“Yeah, fair. But anyways, have you ever heard of the Thunderbird?” 

Brent blinked, turning his head to look at Dad. “Like the guy from the Tom Clancy Revivals?” 

“No, like the myth. It was this giant two headed eagle said to make thunder with its wings and shoot lightning out of his mouth — uh, mouths. The Thunderbird isn’t only an Akomish thing; the Twana believed in him, and there’s a bunch of other tribes that do too. All around America, not just locally. I thought it was really cool that so many different tribes had this same idea about this one thing that when we made the band, I suggested we use it as like, a symbol of solidarity. And being the only one who could draw—“ he motioned to the jacket. “Came up with that. Didn’t want it to be too Akomish ‘cause we were trying so hard to break into the scene and didn’t want to look…traditional.”

He said so hard mockingly, as if he was an idiot back then. 

“It looks cool,” Brent commented, turning and motioning like he was gonna chuck the vest at Dad in a warning to get ready. Dad clapped his hands once and held them open, catching the vest in his hands. 

“Thunderbird is supposed to be this guardian spirit. He’s on the pole at the Longhouse as this whole protection thing—“

“But doesn’t that bird have one head?” I interrupted. 

Dad nodded. “Yeah. But that’s also why I like the Akomish version of Thunderbird most; he can split his head in half. He’s this eagle that balances the world, and his heads are supposed to be these symbols of good and bad karma. One would bring rain to water crops if the Akomish respected their traditions and each other, were good people and whatever. Other one would cause flash floods and dangerous storms and electrocute people or something. Just seemed pretty badass to me as a kid.” 

That was a really cool way to explain thunderstorms. 

Dad looked down at the jacket in his hands for an impossibly long time, long enough for Brent to glance over at me with his eyebrows raised and mouth ‘he okay?’ and for me to shrug in answer. “Hey, why don’t you two come sit on the couch,” he finally said, looking up at Brent and I. “I want to talk to you about something.”

Dad disappeared into the hall, Brent flashing me another confused look before following, me just on his tail. By the time we got to the ground floor of the house, Dad was already standing by the fireplace, the jean vest slung over the arm of the couch. 

It felt like an interrogation. Brent and I sat on the couch under Dad’s thoughtful gaze, and he didn’t break that stare for a while. Not until Brent shifted awkwardly and cracked, saying, “What’s up, Dad?” 

Dad inhaled, thinking over his words carefully before his eyes moved to focus solely on me. “I’ve been thinking about what you said last night, Jeanie,” he began. “And…you might be right.” 

Holy shit, he thought I was right?!

“Eugene called me earlier — there’s a protest tomorrow. March from COLE’s remains to city hall. He’s going, and…and I think I’m gonna go, too.” 

Brent looked from Dad to me, his stare almost accusatory as he said, “You’re leaving?” 

“Portland’s only a three hour drive,” Dad shrugged. “I’m planning on being back by Tuesday night. I’ll definitely be here for Christmas, I promise that much. But there’s Margie’s wake on Monday, and I need to talk to COLE about what’s going on, maybe set something up—“

“Oh, what, you're gonna go in office?” Brent bit, the swat I landed on his bicep definitely hurting me more than him. 

“Brent!” 

“No, Jean,” Brent brushed me off. “They just blew up COLE and you want to go out there? It’s not safe, Dad!” 

“I can take care of myself.” Dad said, surprisingly not even upset at his outburst. “I’ve been doing this for eighteen years.” 

“So? A fucking IED isn’t gonna ask for your work experience—“

“Stop cursing—“

“No, fuck that, Dad.” Brent shot to his feet. “What if something happens?”

“Something did happen: Nineteen people are dead because of speculation. You don’t have your phone right now, so you don’t know about what else is happening.” 

My heart sank. “‘What else?’”

Dad nodded. “There’s riots all over. People are using public databases to find Conduits and harass them, and Conduits aren’t holding back from retaliating. All of this started because of my connection to COLE, and they don’t even know if it’s true.” 

Brent scoffed. “So what, you want to play martyr?” 

“I want to clear the air,” Dad said through gritted teeth. “It’s — I can’t hide anymore, not unless you want to relocate out of the country and last I checked, you don’t have a passport. And you shouldn’t have to hide, Brent. Your sister shouldn’t, and neither should every Conduit in this country. Do you know how soul crushing the past eighteen years have been? Do you want to live a life where you have to hide who you are, what you are, until you die?” 

“I don’t want to lose my Dad because he cares about some fucking company more than me!” Brent raised his voice. “This isn’t about COLE—“

“It’s not!” Dad’s voice got louder too. “This is about you, and Jean, and every other Conduit getting the blame pinned on them for sins they didn’t commit—“ 

“So you’re going to go put a target on your back? Being their meat shield isn’t gonna fix anything—“ 

“It’s going to make sure more innocent people don’t die for something that isn’t their fault—“ 

“They can protect themselves!” Brent retorted, throwing up a hand in a random direction where these mythical theys were in accusation. “Why the hell should we have to sacrifice more for them? Mom’s fucking gone because of—“ 

“Abigail is gone because I wasn’t there to help her!” Dad roared, so loudly I was surprised the window shutters didn’t shake. He suddenly pointed towards me, the action making me flinch in place. “Your sister could have died because I wasn’t there to help. You got shot! Those people at COLE died because I wasn’t there to help. You know 11 of them were Conduits? How were they supposed to protect themselves then?”

Brent’s scowl didn’t disappear, but he bit his tongue, staying silent. Dad huffed a few times before running his hands over his face, exhaling with a sound not unlike a growl, but less defensive. “Please sit back down, Brent,” he requested, palms pressing into his eyeballs. 

Brent didn’t move until I reached out and tugged on his shirt, a silent plea to just listen. He rolled his eyes and plopped down rather violently, crossing his arms tight around his abdomen. 

Dad gave himself another minute, trying to calm himself down. The hands left his face but it took him quite a while to look at us again, eyes missing all that biting anger. He squatted down, placing a hand on each of our knees, chewing on his inner cheek for a minute before he even tried to speak — and even then, it took an extra try. “When I began pitching COLE, everything was restabilizing after the Second Recession and another mass lockdown from the virus — we were barely getting back to normal. There were these conspiracies about a Conduit causing it and it began all this bullshit. Politicians ran with it the next few elections and…god, it just got worse. Conduits started getting barred from places and being tracked and it…it wasn’t right. I couldn’t help them as Delsin, but I knew I could help as Damion. 

“They don’t need Damion anymore. I have a chance to help as Delsin, and shouldn’t we help when we can?” Dad turned to look at Brent, who deftly avoided his gaze. “I didn’t pick you up from eight Saturday school sessions because you don’t believe in helping people, Brent. You knew if that kid used their powers, they’d never see the outside of a juvie cell till they were an adult. You told me that. You know how important it is to help someone who can’t help themselves. 

“I’m scared to leave you two.” Dad shrugged. “I’m fucking terrified to, if I’m being honest. But I can’t hide either of you anymore. The world knows you exist, they know you’re Conduits. This isn’t just about them anymore, but you. I can do this for you, and that’s all I want. You shouldn’t have to do online school. You shouldn’t have been hit or shot, or…or have to grow up without your mom. All of that’s because of this fear mongering, all the bullshit from Empire City to now. If I can do something to change that for you two? I’m going to.

“I’m just going to the march, and maybe to speak. I’ve done it a dozen other times as Damion, just not as large-scale. From there, we’ll see what needs to happen next. But there’s a chance that if I also bring attention to this Archangel…thing or person or whatever, it’ll force them to draw back. I don’t know where to start with them, so maybe if I bring it up on a national stage, it’ll do something. But anything beyond this march, we will decide on as a family. I care about all the Conduits out there, but any sacrifices I make are for you two, and if there’s really something you don’t want me to do then I won’t do it. Eugene’s still there, he can take over whenever I need him to. But this is where it has to start.” 

I nodded, just happy my words meant something to him, enough to change his opinion. Dad seemed thankful for it, then turned to look at Brent, who sighed. “I’m sorry, Dad, I—“ 

“Don’t be.” Dad shrugged. “You have a right to be worried. Sometimes we need the people we love most to tell us when we’re being fucking idiots.” 

Brent breathed out a laugh, the hold around his torso slackening a bit. I didn’t miss the squeeze Dad gave his knee. 

“I love you both,” Dad added. “I just want to give you guys a world where you don’t have to be scared. You’ll be safe here, and I won’t be gone long.” 

Brent sighed, his arms fully letting himself go as he asked, “When are you gonna leave?” 

“I was thinking tonight. The march starts at eleven in the morning, so I should get there early. I also…I need to see the people in the hospital. Antonio. He’s probably torn up, now that Margie’s…” he trailed off. Shaking his head, he took to slapping his hand gently against our knees, standing. “I did want to do something before I Ieave, though.” 

I glanced at Brent, who looked just as clueless. “What?” 

Dad’s smile grew a bit more impish as he said, “We don’t have a tree.” 

Brent had way too much fun mowing down the first fir. In fact, it didn’t survive the razor sharp saw he chucked at it, the tree bursting into a confetti of needles and wood chips that rained down on us, making me absolutely lose it as Dad just shook his head. “Oh god, this is payback for what I did to Reggie, isn’t it?” I heard him mutter to no one, running a hand over his face. 

The next tree, Dad stressed to Brent to try and properly judge the power he’d need. “You shouldn’t have figure out trajectory or anything, but you’re letting the powers obliterate stuff. Reel it in, alright?” 

Brent nodded, closing his eyes in thought before raising his arm, steel raising from it to trap it in its sleeve. He breathed once, holding the breath as if it’d help him aim, shreddings of steel rising from the layered steel on his arm to spin furiously around it. 

He drew his arm back and pushed forward, all of that steel exploding from his arm as it launched away, pulling into itself once it detached. It became this ramp of sorts, kinda like the steel edge of a hatchet, flying towards the base of the tree without wind to propel it and slicing clean through its trunk. The tree cried out some sort of crackly groan of protest before keeling over, falling to the ground in front of Brent. The curved slab continued its dive into the ground, imbedding itself in the snow with a hearty thunk. 

“There you go!” Dad said, clapping Brent on the shoulder. “We’ll even out the base when we get home. Now c’mon, help me pick it up,” 

No need; Dad only had to complain once about the prickly needles of the tree before Brent went full steel, hauling the tree up by its middle and carrying it like it was some lapdog forcing him to chauffeur it around, not a seven foot tall pine. 

We got back home after sunset, the dash on the truck only just passing 5 PM as Brent unloaded the tree with no issue. He got irrationally excited at the next part; building his own little tree stand from scratch. The side of the fridge was suddenly covered in expo marker as he did math for the size, measuring it out with a measuring tape he scored from the same junk drawer he found the marker in. I hadn’t seen him this excited to build something since the last gigantic Lego set Dad got him. 

“If I make this,” he began, cap of the marker between his teeth, “Y’think you can add something to it Jean?” 

“What like, decorate it?” 

Brent shrugged, finishing up a calculation before going, “Yeah,” 

I shook my head. “I don’t have any of my art supplies, and water isn’t that sort of power.”

“Keep it plain,” Dad interjected. “I have a better idea anyways.” 

Brent just shrugged again, going back to his math. 

He eventually made the tree stand, all that math apparently for an accompanying collar made out of a steel he somehow made look polished. Dad made us stop, finding something to pop in the oven for dinner and having us eat before saying, “Brent, come outside with me, we need to find something for you to drain. Jean, drain some water.” 

“Wh-, drain?” I glanced to Brent, who was already looking at Dad weird. “Why?” 

“You’ll see. Oh, and do the dishes while you’re there.” 

“Oh sure, pin the water chore on the water Conduit. Y’know, it feels like stereotyping,” 

“Jean. It’s three plates.” 

I hadn’t considered how hard draining might be; here, all I had to do was turn on the tap, but Dad and Brent had to rush off to find something. Or, at least, Brent did — I wasn’t sure which power Dad had right now. What if there was a situation where I couldn’t find water? Or Brent couldn’t find a good source of steel? Once we bled the power dry, was that really it? Could we not do anything else? 

They came back eventually, laughing at some shared joke I wasn’t privy to. “You good?” Dad asked me, and I nodded. “Good, okay. Let’s decorate the tree,” 

Brent caught on first. “Wait — like, with our powers?” 

Dad nodded. “Yeah, why not?” He turned, heading towards the tree in the corner and adding, “I don’t have anything else anyways, so,” 

It was…awkward, at first. Brent apparently didn’t know how to make a snowflake, which came out with a first attempt that looked as if a ninja star was run over by a train. Dad had to pull up pictures of snowflakes on his phone before Brent could attempt again, and even then, it still took a few times. “I don’t understand,” I began, “You want to create buildings but can’t even make a snowflake?” 

“Shut up,” he muttered, trying again. 

But he got it! And now that he did, he was confident enough to make a bunch of different shaped ones. Then came him and Dad geeking out, beginning their fandom ornaments of Death Stars and Pokémon and other show trinkets. 

Dorks. 

Dad had a giant pack of rubber bands he found in the master bedroom he used to begin hanging them up, Brent and I joining him. But where he had Brent stop with making ornaments wasn’t nearly enough to fill out the tree; it still looked absolutely sparse, like a Charlie Brown tree only somehow more disappointing. 

Then Dad turned to me, and said, “Your turn, Jeanie.” 

Apparently, I’d be creating the ball ornaments — only they’d be perfect little spheres of water, levitating against the tree. “Dad, I don’t know if I can make them stay,” I warned. 

“Usually they do, but if they don’t, we can just scrub the carpet dry,” he said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. 

And I mean, I guess it wasn’t. 

So I let my arms slip into their water gauntlets, pushing the sleeves down into my hands and cutting it off from the rest, leaving a little pool levitating in my hands. “Like a snowball,” Brent offhandedly said somewhere on my right, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to roll my eyes or snort. 

He kinda had a point too, though; so I pushed the puddle in my hands together, not needing to touch it to force the water to follow my will and round out. “Now just place it somewhere on the tree, and let go,” Dad coached gently. 

I sort of pushed the orb of water towards the tree, knowing it’d at least stay levitating while I had control over it. It’s when I’d let go that I was worried about. But like Dad said, it isn’t a big deal, right? If it dropped, we’d just scrub it up out of the floor. Easy fix. 

I pushed the orb till it was flush against the tree but not being stabbed into by the needles, hanging in one of the open gaps the rows made. One hand came down, the gauntlet disappearing, and the orb jiggled like jello. “Easy…” Dad drew out. 

I stared at the water, finding a confidence deep within me. You will stay, I thought hard, hand tensing slightly like I was force choking the ball. It bubbled in response, some sort of garbled promise it’d listen, and I let go. 

The orb jiggled again with the sudden release of my control, but it didn’t fall. Stayed slowly spinning in on itself, bubbles rising up and giving it a foamy top. “I knew you could do it, Jean,” Dad said, eyes full of pride when I glanced at him. “Stick some more up there,” 

It became a game at some point, Brent moving to stand in front of the tree and dodging the little orbs I slung his way before pinning them in place around the tree. One hit him in the crotch and Dad and I laughed till we couldn’t breathe as Brent breathed through the pain. “Okay—“ he wheezed, standing from his doubled-over stance. “Okay, how about you two get changed into pajamas? I’ve gotta grab something.” 

Dad vanished into the master, Brent glaring at me with his wet lap. “You look like you pissed yourself,” I chuckled, walking away. He didn’t have much of a retort — just repeated my words mockingly. 

We changed, Brent taking a moment to move his stuff downstairs and leaving me the nursery — not that I was upset about that. I kinda didn’t want to leave it at all. We appeared in the hall at the same time just as a loud thunk sounded from Dad’s room, followed by a hearty crash. “Dad?” Brent called out.

There was no debating it — we were already headed to the door, Brent throwing it open with a little too much force. The room was still pitch black save for the light from the open door, illuminating a mountain of boxes that had tumbled on Dad, who was trying to balance a few in his arms. “I uh,” he began, corner of a box in his mouth, “I shouldn’t have done this without a flashlight,” 

“I’ll get your phone,” I said, rolling my eyes. 

We tried to reorganize the pile by the phone’s spotlight, Brent eventually muttering something about how this was stupid and going to try and find a lightbulb. Dad and I were in the middle of cardboard Jenga when Brent returned, saying, “I took it from that hall closet,” he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “The hall has a light already, there’s no need for it.” 

After another hilarious fifteen minutes of more box Tetris and Dad trying to balance me on his shoulders (“You can’t use your powers, electricity and water don’t mix,” Dad said), the bulb was in, Brent flipping the switch as Dad put me down. 

Now that the room was properly lit up, I could see beyond the boxes; there were dozens of little neon signs propped up against the wall or still bolted to it, hidden by the darkness the blackout curtains encouraged even during the day. “Were these for Mom?” Brent asked, looking at one of angel wings against a long dresser. 

Dad nodded. “Yeah, figured we needed to keep them around to drain. I let her decorate this room however she wanted and let me tell you,” he plugged in what looked like a custom one, ‘Fetch’ in pink cursive, “It looked like a nightclub in here.” 

He gave the light this meaningful look, somehow making me feel like I was intruding on a personal moment. Like he was saying goodbye to someone for the last time, or a hello to someone he hadn’t seen in eons. Y’know, if melancholy had a sibling that was constantly riddled with grief — that’d be what his face was right now. 

He looked down at his feet a moment, steadying his breathing. When he lifted his head again, his right hand came up too. 

And he reached out and drained the neon. 

The sound it made as the neon bled from the sign was weird, almost like the dying chirp of an electronic bird. The pink stretched out in bright ribbons to meet Dad, twisting around his arm in a glaring fury as if it missed him. It kissed his skin, seeping away, leaving Brent and I to stare at his arm as it fell to his side. Dad turned, a sad smile on his face. “Every tree needs lights, right?” 

We were much more placated when we followed Dad back into the living room, watching him as he pulled the tree away from the wall a bit more before he summoned the neon back, wisps of blue and pink just like in the nursery gathering into a tight ball in his hand and pulsating with power. It was so beautiful, so powerful. He pushed his hands in as if to tighten it a bit more before throwing the neon ball up in the air like he was tossing a tennis ball, the ball arching a bit before exploding. 

The little candle flames of pink and blue fell, gluing themselves to needle ends or dissolving in my water orbs. We didn’t move as they fell and stayed in place long after they settled, dead quiet in some sort of moment of silence. The tree had a soft glow to it, the pink and blue bouncing off of the water and steel ornaments and casting colorful reflections on the paneled walls. 

“I think that’s good,” Dad finally said, giving us a gentle smile. “It looks good.” 

Soon came the hardest part; Dad preparing to leave. We emptied out one of the duffle bags with its price tag still attached, and followed him into the room as he rooted through old clothes still hanging up in the closet, stiff and a little weird smelling. “You both can take anything from in here, too. I know you don’t have many clothes right now,” Dad said, shoving a shirt in the bag without giving it the respect of being folded. “They’re my old clothes or Reggie’s, so Jean, it’ll be huge on you.” 

“It’s okay,” I shrugged, already zeroing in on a nice blue flannel to steal. “I like oversized sweaters,”

We meandered back to the living room and watched him gather things, pull on his skin-saving layers and trade out the leather coat for a way comfier looking light gray hoodie. He hesitated after that, looking at the jean vest laid on the arm of the couch before reaching out to grab it, lifting it up and contemplating it a moment longer before pulling it on. 

Dad shuffled the layerings around, pulling the hood out from under the vest and facing us again. “How do I look?” He asked, a bit offhandedly, a bit like he was genuinely worried about his appearance. 

I felt like an idiot; how did I never see it before? Were the monkey suits pulling the wool over my eyes that well, or was I just blind? Because with the gray beanie and vest, all casual wear — it was him. Older, wiser, a bit more wrinkled. But there was no doubt in my mind. “Like Delsin Rowe,” I breathed, the actual reality of it all smacking me in the face. 

The streetlights barely illuminated the driveway, all the light that made our faces disconcernable from the dark being the blue lights from the dash. “Okay, you have to be up early tomorrow, you still have those make-up exams,” Dad reminded us, shoving the duffle bag in the back. “Betty’s gonna be here at eight to pick you up. I talked to her about this already, and after she picks you up from the school, she’s gonna take you two to get phones. Jean?” 

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t drown them this time.”

“Sure,” I jabbed my thumb towards Brent. “So long as He-Man doesn’t send his to the moon the next time his football team loses.” 

“Who the hell is He-Man?” Brent asked.

“I’m gonna call as soon as I can. I just ask that you two be careful with who you talk to — there’s no use in hiding but you need to be cautious. Stick to people you already know. Brent, do not contact Tommy. I know you; it’s not worth cursing him out right now.” 

Brent rolled his eyes. “Fine.” 

Dad opened the driver’s door, turning to face us fully. “And stay safe. I’ll be back late Tuesday, okay?” 

I was on Dad first, practically jumping into him to pull him into a tight hug, Dad chuckling a moment before squeezing me right back. “Be careful Dad,” I said, voice muddled by the jean jacket pressing into my mouth. 

“I will be,” he promised. “I’ve done more dangerous stuff than this,” 

I let him go, Brent taking my place almost instantly. They did that weird thing guys do when they hug where they instinctively clap a hand on the other’s back in some sort of show of affection. They parted, Brent coming to stand at my side, and Dad just…looked at us. “I’m proud of you two,” he said, giving us a half smile. “I’ll call you later, okay? I love you.” 

And then he got in the truck…and was gone. 

Every time Dad left…we knew it came with a bit of danger, his job. Bomb threats were the worst of it, but he’s definitely been assaulted a few times by rowdy protesters, or received death threats online. But this felt so different. Different enough that Brent and I didn’t move well after Dad’s truck lights were eaten up by snow, stuck in place by the reality of what was happening. What was going to come. Tomorrow, Delsin Rowe would be back, and who knew what type of bullshit it would bring. 

“C’mon, let’s go inside,” Brent muttered beside me, the first to move. 

I stayed a few seconds longer, looking back towards where Dad disappeared. Yeah, Pandora's box would be opened tomorrow, and I knew things would never be the same. But y’know what? I was also so happy for Dad. He wouldn’t have to keep hiding behind a false name and made-up memories. He wouldn’t have to pull away from getting too involved in fear of risking Brent and I, especially now that if push came to shove, we could protect ourselves. He didn’t have to go back, but he wanted to — and that was heroic. 

“I'm proud of you too, Dad,” I whispered towards Portland, ready for everything to change. No matter what, he’d be there, and we could take on whatever life would throw. 

[incarnateirony]

Looking in to tomorrow, Walker is toast. Both Walkers. Guys, I think this is about to be Merry Christmas Walker Is Spontaneously Cancelled Party.

Part 1: It barely clutched that 0.07 last time, now that I looked into it. Funny enough it's M/F 18-49 only clocked 0.06 and 0.05 and it was funky math roundy skew nonsense that made it look like 0.07 but oh my god, is that fucking brittle. Like a bird farts and knocks one nielsen antenna brittle. like your grampas buttons after thanksgiving dinner brittle

so like

we also had to deal with sports other than the world series, mostly cable (ESPN, etc). But here's where this is really gonna scorch. Fox has the world series in most areas tomorrow, short of the Texans game competing in some areas, and when it's not in those areas because it's too busy world seriesing, it'll be on ESPN like our sports was.

But I repeat, it's the Texans.

So like that entire. texas. suburban. rural. white. demo. if you look man that's already sad but they're gonna shuffle one ways or the other, and it ain't like white texas women hate sports either. Walker's own demographic is about to completely betray it liveksjdfsdf if you can call it a demographic.

it barely avoided a 0.06 last time. It's in real danger of a 0.05 if the wind blows wrong and even rounding to zero at 8P and 9P both if a butterfly flaps its wings in china at the wrong heartbeat.

Then you gotta understand the production stalls. Ep 5 airs for them tomorrow and they're, what, barely wrapping 6 after the last shutdown? They got no choice but to bust their planned schedule and delay by a FEW weeks, which technically saves it from getting too ground up in the season, but the question is--if this show is raking its face and constantly production stalling like

why is Miller going to keep fucking throwing it money. Walker actually isn't holding up to its end of contractual obligations at this point so any promises on like ep commitments and shit are breaking right now. But what's to stop Miller from saying, you get like, 2 eps to figure out how to wrap it or however much you can shit out before christmas, happy holidays.

bc those 3 million an ep could instead go to grabbing a bunch of other cheap shit to plug and do just as well until 2023 products start kicking in. one or two wiggled a little earlier if possible.

i just. someone tell me. tell me why. nobody is buying their ad space, for obvious demo reasons, and all you gotta do is compare shows ad spaces right now. no advertising seems to help it. It has a rotten skew and like no chance of acquiring youth interest. Its spinoff is somehow even deader. Can both. Tada that's like 6 million dollars per thursday saved like. seriously.

this is a big yikes tbh. If Walker even gets to finish its season, it should consider itself blessed, because Miller is being incredibly patient with the way Jared is inevitably fucking up his entire network schedule plan for it.

jesus, what a mess.

#nexstar #ratings #walker #vulture watch

[swimmingback]

this is awesome

time to talk about these songs bcoz they are perfect and awesomw

triptych was my april era whence i was consuming an exclusive mix of samia hippo campus and bruce springsteen yes i absolute started looping this bc of a fanfic but i am honest with myself about my past and history. make a predator of me ill be good 2 uuu. (april)

i listen to boys so much my friends knew about it which is monumental bc i don’t perceive myself being perceived. ultimate screaming out the bus window song. every day for about 3 months i would walk out of physics at 8:45 am holding back tears to work clock in sit in my comfy beloved desk chair put this song on loop and transcribe band music for 2 periods forget to clock out and run to accounting. (january-april)

i let glory loop at work over the summer very excellent song but not necessarily favr from the album (august-september)

if any song was going to rival boys it’s this song. my friends were so fucking tired of it. this song and boys were the exact same to me served the same exact purpose except this dropped a month after finding omar apollo and oh cool he’s my guy of the year. nice. so good. (february-march)

going to be sentimental about the gold i have a playlist of a bunch of phoebe features but nothing beats this it’s just so. song. it got my best friend into phoebe it was onestly a late 2021 song but proof of how good it is is that it carried over. kiss kiss only fond/slightly yearning memories (september 2021 onward)

stayaway was the first song of my yet to cease muna phase (aside from silk which was quite literally song of 2k21.) naomi mcphereson the production god that you are. very much a listen at summer job era song (august-october)

DON’T GO PUTTING WISHES this is the best song ever. i showed it to my mom in the car and then i cried about that that night. what more can i say (august onward) one day i will have this

neil young on high adore this song so much i published a shitty guitar tab for it i have been passionate about this song so so long and so you’d think i’d have gotten into the rest of the ophelias stuff but i never really have... :( but i can’t understate how much i love this song very phoebe the gold era too one day i will learn the guitar picking it’s julien doing harmonies in the way she does best and god the strings on this thing (august 2021 onward)

ode was just my silly indie pop girl era much fun but that lil intro part is sooooo doobly doo del water gap is liteally the definition of pop princess (may)

taken same era as stayaway except it was about a crush i had exactly a year before don’t worry i got better 

THIRSTIER. yueah.

#from me to me! #suds

[ahh-fxck]

Warrior’s Blues repost event part 11! In which Jaskier is not the paragon of emotional grace and coping well with shit, and we meet one of his dearest friends.

Chapter 11: What Would I Do Without You?

Tags/warnings: Grief, discussion of original character’s death, alcohol, smoking

Beta: @stressedspidergirlsfandomblog​

~Ao3 Link~

Something about the wide-eyed, guilty glances that he keeps shooting her makes him look sixteen again. She smirks. “I think you wanna tell me but you’re embarrassed, so how about I start making guesses?”

 Going pale, Jaskier groans. “Why are you so hell-bent on pushing my buttons?” The last thing he wants is Julia making guesses about what is bothering him. She has a terrible habit of being accurate and she has a memory like an elephant.

 “Because you’re not a dumbass kid anymore and you haven’t shown up drunk in years. You missed an important meeting! What the fuck, Jaskier? Don’t make me call you Julian, I swear to fucking god I’ll break out your birth name.”

 “Julia…!” Jaskier protested. “I d-”

 “Julian Alfred P-”

 “Fine! Stop! Oh my god, you are merciless!” Jaskier cries.

 On the day of Yennefer’s visit, Jaskier arrives at work on a bicycle. He’s late and on a bicycle for the same reason, which is to say, he is drunk and cannot drive his car. He is drunk because he’d been so full of mixed emotions after Yennefer left that he’d sat down to eat the rest of the fruit and whipped cream. Somewhere in there, it had seemed like a brilliant idea to pour half a bottle of bourbon after it.

 It was not.

 Luckily for him, the person working the bar tonight is Julia.

 She is a stocky woman in her mid-forties. She has tawny skin and skeptical hazel eyes, and there’s a kind twist to her lips that she often hides. She has a tuft of cropped blue hair and wears a denim vest with a white t-shirt. Even though she is exasperated when he staggers through the door, she feeds him a sandwich and coffee while she fills him in on the meeting he missed. From there, she lets the crew in for the night.

 Jaskier feels like the whole world is an itchy sweater, even after the sandwich and coffee. It’s like his brain is on fire, and he can’t quite settle into the usual friendly chatter that his job requires. He passes an irritable and lonely night out by the door. By the time it’s time to clock out most of the staff is eager to clear out from underfoot; Jaskier is a good boss, but when his good humor runs out he can be a real asshole.

 The only one who doesn’t give a fuck is Julia. She knew from the second she saw him wheeling in the door that it was going to be a late night, so she lets the rest of the staff out before pouring herself a big glass of gin. Then she settles her elbows against the bar, watching Jaskier mop the dancefloor. He is flailing wildly with the mop, clearing the floor with brutal inefficiency. Internally she begins to count down the time until he knocks the bucket over. Sure enough, a moment later he does just that. She nods in satisfaction- still got it.

 He throws his head back and lets out a shout of pure frustration as his poorly-contained feelings boil over at last. Julia smirks and grabs a bunch of towels, then ambles over to him and starts tossing them on the floor to soak up the mess.

 As she does so she says nothing, but the look she gives him makes him feel transparent. Jaskier avoids her eyes as he tosses some towels down onto the puddle.

 She gives a little harrumph, unimpressed, bending to help him clear the towels away. They right the bucket and clean the floor in silence. When they’re done, she turns to him and gives him a long look.

 “So… What’s eating you?”

 “Nothing,” he grumbles as he straightens up. He hauls the bucket away, fills it with water, and returns. Without making eye contact he begins to mop again.

 Julia hums, crossing her arms. “Yeah, and nothing made you stink like bourbon, too. Cough it up.” She leans against a nearby wall, giving him a skeptical look. He looks at her from under the fringe of hair that has fallen over his face. Something about the wide-eyed, guilty glances that he keeps shooting her makes him look sixteen again. She smirks. “I think you wanna tell me but you’re embarrassed, so how about I start making guesses?”

 Going pale, Jaskier groans. “Why are you so hell-bent on pushing my buttons?” The last thing he wants is Julia making guesses about what is bothering him. She has a terrible habit of being accurate and she has a memory like an elephant.

 “Because you’re not a dumbass kid anymore and you haven’t shown up drunk in years. You missed an important meeting! What the fuck, Jaskier? Don’t make me call you Julian, I swear to fucking god I’ll break out your birth name.”

 “Julia…!” Jaskier protested. “I d-”

 “Julian Alfred P-”

 “Fine! Stop! Oh my god, you are merciless!” Jaskier cries. He stops and holds the mop for a moment, blowing his hair out of his eyes as he gathers his thoughts. He’s burning with embarrassment, but deep down it’s good to know that she cares enough to needle him. He starts pushing it across the floor again, more steadily this time. Using his muscles feels good, gives him something to focus on. “I’m sure you heard about the man who rescued Pride this year.”

 “Heh, I feel like I’ve met him. Yarpen won’t shut up. Heard from him recently?” She narrows her eyes at him, sure that she’s about to hear some sort of horny idiot story.

 Jaskier blushes hotly, confirming Julia’s suspicions. “Well, funny thing about that.”

 “What did you do now?” Julia asks, smirking. She retreats to the bar and picks up her tumbler of gin, then lights a cigarette.

 “We-e-elll…” he wavers, hot spots of color blossoming on his cheeks.

 Julia gives him a long look, and he folds.

 “Um, so I might have brought him back to my house after Pride.”

 Julia barks a short laugh. “Color me not surprised. What’s the problem? Is he why you were wearing that birdy when you came in?”

 Jaskier’s flush deepens. “I meant to take that off before his wife showed up. After that my day got all sort of… muddled.”

 “You mean you got chewed out and then got drunk, right?”

 “No! You know what, Julia? She yelled at me when I met her in the hospital, but when she came to my house she was…” He pauses, seeing the bewildered look on Julia’s face. “All right, let me back up and explain. He broke his hand, and I had to take him to the hospital. Two weeks later we go for his followup appointment and his wife is there waiting for him. Tracked him down all the way from fucking England! Got the third degree from her there,      naturally,     but the wildest part is, she showed up at my house the next day to talk. About me dating him.”

 Julia laughs again, harder and longer. “What the fuck, Jaskier?”

 Despite himself, Jaskier breaks into a rueful grin.“Right? Seriously though. This strictly between you and me, got it? All of it. He’s in the closet and no one else here needs to know any of this.”

 “You got it. No gossip. Your secrets are my secrets.” Julia smiles crookedly, sipping at the last of her gin. She’s been keeping Jaskier’s harebrained shit to herself since he was a teen. At first, it was out of a desire to not get involved, but by now she genuinely likes the dingbat. He’s dumb but sweet, and he’s been good to her even when she didn’t deserve it. “So what’s the deal, kiddo?”

 “So what it all boiled down to is that she’s not mad at me for sleeping with him, she’s mad I slept with him so fast. She’s ah… she’s okay with me seeing him again.”

 Julia puts her glass down on the bartop, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Okay, that is a new one on me, I gotta admit. What’s the story there? She into watching or something?”

 A surprised laugh escapes him. “No! Oh no, and thank fuck because I don’t think I’d survive. This woman… oh Julia, you should have seen her. She’s like, five foot four inches of lightning in a bottle. A total force of nature. I think she could snap me like a twig.” A wry twinkle comes into his eye as Julia’s eyebrow goes up.

 Smirking, she taps some ash off of her cigarette. “Sounds like a hell of a woman.”

 He snorts, cutting her an amused look. “She is, but I don’t think you’d get very far with her. She’s asexual.”

 “Oh? The plot thickens.” Julia grins wolfishly, leaning her chin on her hand. He had a way of getting up to his neck in crazy situations, and it had become a spectator sport for her.

 Flushing with embarrassment, a crooked grin flickers across Jaskier’s face. “Yeah, well.” He turns his glass in a full circle. “So it turns out, they uh… have a kid together. And I want you to understand how terrifying this woman was because there was no way in hell I was going to ask for more details. But. What she told me was this. They got married because of their daughter, but Geralt… her husband, the man I was sleeping with… He’s gay.”

 “Oh man, you really have a way of finding them, don't you?" This is top-notch Jaskier fuckery, it really is. She’s glad she’d stayed to get the story out of him, even though she knew it meant that she’d be dragged into his shit sooner rather than later.

 “I really do,” Jaskier agrees with a little groan.

 “What’s her name?”

 “Yennefer.”

 “Hm. Nice names. Yennefer and Geralt. So she got mad at you for sleeping with him so fast, and then what?”

 “And then, Julia! And then! She told me that she’d always known that he might find someone special. She looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘maybe someone like you’ and I just lost my mind. Just-!” He makes an exploding gesture out from his head with his hands with accompanying sound effects, then shakes his head and returns to mopping.

 “Wow. That was not the reaction I was expecting.”

 “Yeah. Yeah! No kidding! So… then she hits me with the next thing, and you’re not going to believe this.”

 “Oh yeah?”

 “She said he’s been free to choose his lovers, always has been, but he’s never wanted to bring one home before.”

 Julia lets out a low whistle, her eyebrows going up. “So he likes you, likes you. And his wife is… okay with this?”

 “I don’t think she likes me very much. But! She gave me the phone number to their hotel room. Says I should have a real talk with him before I think about dating him.” He stalks past her into the kitchen to dump out the dirty mop water.

 “Just like that?” Julia laughs, leaning in the doorway.

 “Threatened to bury my dead body if I didn’t treat him right, in those exact words,” he calls over his shoulder.

 Shaking with mirth, she leans against the doorframe. “Oh my fucking god.”

 “I know!” Jaskier cries, flinging his hands up. “This is absurd! And you know what’s even more ridiculous? I really think I could fall for him, I really do. He’s just so…” He sighs, tossing the mop and bucket in their corner and washing his hands.

 “Yeah, Yarpen wouldn’t shut up about him. Six feet plus, white hair, amber eyes, stacked? Sounds very striking,” she drawls, eyebrows arching.

 “No, Julia- Well, I mean, yes, but…” He walks back out to the bar, flopping onto one of the tall stools.

 “But what?” she smirks, returning to the bar and tapping out her ash.

 “Well, I was gonna say beautiful, but I didn’t mean it like that.” Jaskier puffs, drumming his hands on the bar top, trying to find a way to put it. “Like… ohh, I sound like a fool, but he feels like a warm hearth. I just wanna curl up next to him with a book and a cup of tea and fall asleep because I feel so good around him. Safe. And don’t you go telling me he’s a stranger-” Jaskier breaks off as Julia rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to speak. “I know that! I know, and that’s what makes it so weird, Julia. But like, good weird.”

 Julia hums thoughtfully, tipping her head to the side. Jaskier has been getting more self-aware as he ages, and for once, she’s inclined to believe that he remembers this guy’s a stranger. “Have you called your therapist yet?”

 “For once in my life, yes. I called her before I came in. Hopefully she’ll have gotten back to me by the time I get home.”

 “Good for you. So this is why you came in here drunk off your ass this morning? This whole mess?” She pours him a shot glass of rum and passes it to him.

 He takes it with a nod of thanks. “Yeah… I guess I got a little freaked out after his wife grilled me this morning, didn’t cope with it well.” Taking a sip, he frowns. “Julia, I’m in over my head. I don’t really know what to do here. He’s never had a boyfriend before.”

 Letting out a low whistle between her teeth, Julia stubs out her cigarette. “Ain’t he about my age?”

 “Yeah… He’s… I guess he never let himself have one, he was protecting his career. That’s what his wife said.” Jaskier worries at his lip, blue eyes wide as he shoots her a glance. His glass scrapes on the bar top.

 Annoyed by the sound, Julia tosses him a coaster. Then she hums thoughtfully, swirling the dregs of gin in her glass. “That’s a long time to be lonely.”

 Puffing out a long, slow breath, Jaskier nods. He draws the coaster over and sticks it under his drink with a guilty look. “Yeah.” Slumping to the bar top, he puts his chin on his hands. “She said… if I cheated on him it would crush him. She said… ‘Please don’t make things worse by being irresponsible with his very fragile heart.’” Putting his face into his arms, Jaskier gives a little groan.

 Julia sucks in a breath, watching Jaskier crumple in front of her. He’d at least grasped the concept of fidelity by now, but until recently his romances hadn’t been particularly stable. Heart going out to him, she finds herself walking around to the other side of the bar to stand awkwardly by his side, her stocky frame only coming up to his shoulder where he sits on the stool. She awkwardly pats said shoulder, then gives it a squeeze. “That’s gotta feel pretty big to you. How are you doin’ with it?”

 “I’m feeling massively intimidated, Julia. He’s gorgeous and I really want to date him, but I’m really afraid I’m going to be bad for him. I don’t exactly have the most amazing track record.”

 Julia hums, sucking her teeth thoughtfully. She rubs a gentle circle between Jaskier’s shoulder blades, an unusually affectionate gesture. “Kiddo, you know I wouldn’t say this normally, but you’ve put a damn ton of work into yourself. I trust the man you’ve grown into, and I think you should try trusting yourself for once. See how it works out for you.”

 Jaskier sighs, leaning into the touch. “I know. I worked so hard, and Rue didn’t even get to how good things got. I hope she’s proud of me.”

 “She’d be proud of you all ‘round, kiddo,” she says, grief tightening her throat. Her partner Rue had passed two years ago, but the pain was still fresh and hot for both of them. Rue had been more than a friend to Jaskier, she’d been his absolute favorite person. He missed her almost as dearly as Julia herself did.  “You’ve really shaped up,” she adds. “Hell, you stepped up when I needed you.” She gives Jaskier a little shake. “You might be a dumbass, but it matters that you try to get things right. It matters more that you do your best to fix it when you don’t, and you do that now. That’s all anyone can do.” Julia’s hand moves back to his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “You’re a good man, and I think she’d tell you that, too.”

 Jaskier nods, swallowing hard. As her hand closes on him he realizes all of a sudden how much he misses Rue. His heart contracts with terrible grief. “Oh!” He gasps, surprised by the abruptness of the pain. Reaching back to squeeze Julia’s hand, he murmurs, “I feel really lost right now. She’d know what to do.”

 A crack appears in Julia’s heart. She nods and steps closer to Jaskier, reaching around his hip and pulling him close. Jaskier leans into her and she grips him tightly with her strong arm. Her cheek presses against him and she squeezes her eyes shut, nodding. “Me too. I miss her like hell.” As she grips Jaskier, silent tears dampen his cheeks. Before long, Julia’s eyes begin to well over too. Jaskier wraps his arms around her as well, and for once she allows him to squeeze her close.

 Rue had been the center of both of their lives. Julia had been in love with her since they met one hot summer on Coney Island as teenagers. They had kissed in the rain under one of the piers, and that had been it for her. By the time they’d moved in together as adults, Julia would have gone down on one knee and married her in a heartbeat.

 Every summer they took a long vacation on Fire Island, where Julia would pick up part time work as a bartender. They’d met Jaskier one summer there when he was just sixteen years old. He’d been a disaster of a baby queer, but gregarious little Rue had seen something of herself in him. She had taken him under her wing, and he had thrived.

 When Rue was diagnosed with ovarian cancer four years ago, it had been at a quiet time in Julia’s life. Jaskier had gotten a therapist a year before and was finally out of her hair. The bar was thriving. Rue and Julia had settled into their home just the way they’d liked it, tea settees and all. Julia remembers looking at this yellow, gold, and cream-colored doily on their tea table after they got home from Rue’s diagnosis. The little sunburst pattern had seared into her mind as she sat in shock.

 The following two years had been hell on a plate. The bar came closer to folding than it ever had as both Julia and Jaskier bent themselves completely out of shape trying to get Rue the care she needed. In the end, that had meant hospice and a funeral. Jaskier had ended up having to plan it for her, and he’d stepped up to the role with a seriousness that she hadn’t thought him physically capable of. It changed something about his personality. Julia watched him go almost overnight from a happy-go-lucky kid to a closed-off and responsible adult. The only exception had happened shortly after Rue’s death.

 When the fuss from the funeral had died down, Jaskier had disappeared for the better part of two weeks. Scheduled everyone in, made sure payroll was cued to go properly, and just… vanished. He’d come back with a bloody lip and fear in his eyes, and Julia had been too heartsick to ask questions. That night they’d grieved Rue together, sitting next to one another and crying their eyes out. Jaskier had fallen asleep on their dinky little couch, and she’d tucked one of Rue’s crocheted blankets over him before she went to bed.

 Since then Jaskier had been eerily quiet. At least, until Pride. After that his mood had been so pleasant that it was making Julia downright nervous. She’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Now, at last, it had.

 Jaskier takes a few napkins out from under the bar top, passing them to Julia. They wipe their faces in sticky silence, and afterward, Julia pulls out a smoke and hands him one too. The click of her lighter is loud in the silent bar, echoing off the far walls.

 “Can you imagine what she’d say about this mess?” he asks, a soft huff of laughter escaping him as he shakes his head. His wide blue eyes turn up to take in the fairy lights over the bar, the smoke twisting among them.

 “Oh! I can just imagine.” Julia chuckles damply, shaking her head. “She always said you found love in the strangest places.”

 Jaskier smiles crookedly. “She’s not wrong.” Smoke drifts from the cigarette between his long fingers, swirling eddies forming as it rises.

 Julia nods, then blows a slow, lazy smoke ring. “She’d say… don’t listen to your heart anymore. Don’t listen to your head. You’ve heard enough from them for now. Go find someplace quiet, where the silence can slip in through the cracks of you and fill you up. Sometimes the answer slips in alongside the silence."

 The damp groan of chagrin that escapes Jaskier makes Julia smile. "That's right,” he replies, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And I would say, I hate silence, it makes me nervous."

 Julia nods, amused. "And she would say-" Jaskier's voice joined Julia's and they finished together, "There's your problem right there."

 With a damp chuckle, Jaskier shakes his hair out of his eyes and blinks away the last of his tears. “Oh lord, Julia. I’m glad you’re still here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 “Suffer.” Julia jokes, knocking back her gin. “Suffer and die, probably.”

 “Crash and burn, at the very least.” Jaskier snorts. He knocks back his glass of rum, then rises at last from the bar. He stubs out his cigarette as he rises. Then, with a soft clinking, he gathers all the glasses and takes them back to the sink to wash. A hush falls over the room, broken only by the splash of water against the metal sink.

 Julia turns to watch him, leaning her elbows against the counter. Her head tips to the side as she watches Jaskier dry the dishes, then start scrubbing at the already-clean sink. He takes sanitizer and sprays it on a towel, then starts trying to evict the microscopic grit left around the base of the faucet. After a while, she stirs. “You think this guy might be it?” she asks, her eyes soft as she tips her head to look at her friend.

 Jaskier looks down at the wet towel dripping in his hands. “I don’t know. I just… he’s different. I feel really different around him. I think I want to try, but I’m trying to just...” He grimaces, tossing the towel into the bin with a little too much force. “Take a minute to look before I leap.”  

 Julia breaks into a wry smile, hazel eyes sparkling with gentle humor. “Good for you. Does that mean I’m gonna be staying late a few more nights?”

 “Could you? I could use the company.” Jaskier looks at her out of the corner of his eye, moving on to wipe the counter.

 Julia scoffs, but there’s a playful note in her voice. “Fine, but you gotta cough up those kreteks you've been teasing me with. You owe me.”

 “Oh! I actually have those back at my house, thank you for reminding me!" Jaskier exclaims, smacking his forehead. "I can't believe I forgot. I’ll bring them in tomorrow, I got you a whole case. They came in from Indonesia last week and I just spaced out about them what with everything else going on.”

 Eyes lighting up, Julia socks Jaskier affectionately on the shoulder. “Hey! My man! That’s what I’m talking about.”

 He laughs, rubbing his shoulder. “Anytime. It's the least I can do.”

 She takes one last drag off of her cigarette, then turns to stub it out. “Listen. You want a ride home? It’s late.”

 Jaskier wavers, then turns to look at the storeroom where his bike is. It’s a long ride home in the cold and dark, and he’s heartsick as all hell. It’s hard to turn her down. “Got room in your trunk for my bike?”

 “Yep. No sweat. I’ll pull the car around front while you shut down.” Julia pats her pockets, making sure that her wallet, keys, and cigarettes are all in place.

 By the time she’s parked in front, Jaskier is locking the door of the bar. They wordlessly wrestle the bike into the back of the car together, working with the ease of practice. In the car, Julia flips on the stereo and pops in a Patti Smith cassette. Patti’s smoky, dry voice floats through the car, twining through the bouncing and jangling guitar riffs of the opening song of the album. Oh, she looks so fine… I’m gonna uh-uh, make her mine…  

 They drive home in comfortable silence. Julia pulls up behind Jaskier’s car and parks. She eyes the white truck in the driveway silently, finishing her smoke as she considers it. Jaskier sits beside her, making no move to get out of the car. Finally, she stubs out her smoke and says, “Is that his?”

 Jaskier nods. “Engine keeps overheating. He knows what’s wrong with it but I don’t have the tools for him to fix it, so it’s gonna stay there until I can get them for him. Honestly I don’t have the faintest idea what he wants, it all goes in my ear and then out the other. If he’d just let me take him to the store it would be fine but no-”

 Putting her hand on the door, Julia eyes Jaskier kindly. “Kiddo, I don’t need every single detail. It’s his truck, I get it. Let’s go in.”

 Jaskier puffs as he’s thrown off track. Then he smiles crookedly, face catching in a bar of orange light from the streetlamp outside. “Sorry. You go on in, I’ve got to bring the bike around back.”

 Flourishing her keys, Julia nods. She ambles around the front of Jaskier’s house and unlocks his door, letting herself into the dark entryway. Flicking on the lights, she looks around. The place is uncannily clean and stinks of floor wax and furniture oil. Jaskier’s home usually looks a bit rumpled, like a bed that’s been slept in and then had the covers thrown back into place without being smoothed or tucked. Not dirty, precisely, but not clean. Lived in. This, though… she gives a low whistle under her teeth. Her friend had been understating the distress he’d been experiencing. His home didn’t get this tidy unless something really got under his skin.

 She kicks her boots off and heads to the kitchen to get a pot of coffee going, then snags a pudding out of the fridge. As she’s digging around for a spoon, she hears the jingle of keys announcing Jaskier’s arrival through the back door.

 He notes the pudding cup in her hand and the very corner of his mouth turns up, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he slips past her to drop his bag in his bedroom. When he returns to the kitchen he smiles at her, leaning against the fridge.

 “Better?” she asks, tearing open the plastic lid.

 “Better,” Jaskier agrees, eyes dancing with a teasing light. “Still like the taste of stolen pudding?”

 “Tastes better if you swipe it,” Julia grins unrepentantly. She settles on the stool with her pudding. “Gonna cough up those kreteks?”

 He grins. “You’ve got it. Just a minute, darling. I have to figure out where I put them.” He turns on his foot and bounds off, rummaging around until he remembers where he stuck the package. It turns out it’s still next to the front door in plain view, hidden on a shelf amongst the other oddities it’s stacked on. Jaskier’s house may be unusually clean, but it isn’t that clean. Making a triumphant noise, he grabs it and heads back towards Julia.

 Pleased, Julia opens the case up in a few quick movements and takes out a carton. She flicks it open, smelling it with great satisfaction. The rich smell of clove and tobacco wafts up to her, and she sighs in contentment. “Ah, that’s the good shit. Thanks, man.”

 “You’ve got it. I’ll order more tomorrow, you deserve them.”

 Julia laughs. “Man, I’m earning them signing up to listen to your shit like this. Go check your message machine, I ain’t subbing in for your therapist.”

 Jaskier huffs a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Fine, fine, I’ve got it.” He pours himself a cup of coffee, then ambles over to the message machine and picks up the receiver. He punches in a code and waits, then jots something down on a pad of paper next to it with a brief smile flashing across his face. He turns back to Julia, wiggling the notepad at her. “Got an appointment tomorrow before I go to work. She shoehorned me into her lunch hour.”

 “Huh,” Julia grunts, amused. “Better bring that poor woman lunch, she’s a saint for taking you back like that on short notice.”

 Jaskier looks chagrined. He settles himself back on a stool with his back to the refrigerator. “Yeah, you're not wrong. Best kind of saint. I thought I’d bring her Thai from that place up on Market street. You know the one with the little golden treasure bag dumpling things?”

 “Man, she gets treasure bags? Do I get some?” Julia teases.

 “If you come hold my hand tomorrow, you can get anything you want.”

 “Mm, no dice. I’m doing enough hand-holding as it is. Speaking of which, you could still bring it to me at the bar...” she grins over her mug, eyes sparkling playfully.

 Jaskier rolls his eyes and sighs. “Extortionist.”

 “You love me,” she snorts.

 “I do,” he breaks out into a smile, leaning against the island top with his elbows. “Thanks for running me home.”

 Julia shifts in her seat and sighs, leaning forward onto her elbows and giving Jaskier a frank look. “I got you, it’s no problem. It’s not every day you get blown out of the water by something like this. You gonna be ok?”

 Jaskier considers his mug with a thoughtful moue, then nods. “I think I am, Julia. I’m sorry about this morning, it won’t happen again.”

 Smirking, Julia shrugs. “Just do better.”

 Fluffing the hair on the back of his neck, Jaskier nods. “You got it.” He takes a thoughtful sip of his coffee, then asks, “How are you doing?” His voice is gentle as he asks the question, sensitive to the ongoing nature of her pain.

 Julia shifts uneasily, squinting at her mug. “I dunno. I’m making it. Don’t wanna look for a new place yet, but I know it’s gonna be time soon.” She casts a short, hard-to-read look at Jaskier. She appreciates him asking, but she’s also not sure how much she wants to talk.

 “When’s the lease up?” he asks, his eyes soft.

 “Uhm…” Julia cleared her throat. “June.”

 “Julia!" Jaskier gasps, exasperated. "That was over a month ago! You didn’t just sign a new one, did you? Why didn’t you talk to me first?”

 “I didn’t wanna talk about it,” Julia growls, scowling.

 Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Oh, don’t get all growly with me. You’re miserable there! Rue is all over that place, darling! I can barely turn around twice in there without bumping into something that breaks my heart, I don't know how you go and live there every day."

 Julia presses her lips together, tapping her carton of kreteks between her fingers. She shrugs. "I can't imagine being anywhere else. All I have left is there."

 Heart breaking a little, Jaskier sighs. He regards her kindly. "You can't hold on like that forever."

 Scowling, she shrugs. That might be true, but she didn’t have to like it.

 Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Jaskier looks her over for a moment. He hesitates, then says, "Why don't you just start looking? There's no harm in at least checking the paper…" he nudges her gently. "Worst that can happen is you don't fall in love with the first place you see. No harm, right?"

 Julia shuffles uncomfortably, taking a big gulp of her coffee. She frowns at her cup, then looks out of the corner of her eye at Jaskier. “I can’t afford to break the lease.”

 “Nonsense, you’ve got plenty of savings to cover shit like that,” Jaskier replies, still exasperated.          “Besides, even if you didn’t, I’d cover you. You know that!”

 “I know…” Julia grumbles, “But-”

 “So what you mean is, you’re still stuck and you’re not ready to go yet.”

 Julia scowls. She wants desperately to argue with him, to lash out and protect herself, but the impulse passes before the words can even form. She shrugs. “Maybe so.”

 Jaskier sighs. “Julia darling, I’m convinced there’s a place in the world for you. Somewhere that will feel good and be just for you. Who knows, maybe you’ll even meet someone soon? Stranger things have happened.”

 “Stranger things can eat my ass,” Julia snaps.

 Unimpressed, Jaskier shrugs. “Okay.” He pops open his pudding cup and spoons up a mouthful, sucking it off of his spoon thoughtfully. “Mm. Should you ever decide to come out of that suck-ass hedge-maze of grumpiness you’ve built for yourself I’ll be here. I love you, despite all your best efforts to turn into an unmanageable troll.”

 “Oh what, and you’re Prince Charming?” Julia scoffs. “Puh-lease, you little drama queen.” They both eye each other for a moment, wavering, then break out in quiet laughter. Jaskier reaches over and pats her hand, and Julia smiles crookedly. She drains the last of her mug, then sets it down with a final-sounding ‘thunk.’ “All right, mijo. I won’t keep you talking all night. Thanks for the kreteks. I hope you work everything out. Call me if you need me.”

 “I will. Same goes for you, darling. My phone is always on for you, and my door is always open. I don’t care what time it is, if you need me you come. Ok?”

 Julia eyes him uncertainly, then nods. She had taken him up on the offer before, showing up at odd hours eaten alive by grief and unable to be alone with it anymore. “Ok. See you tomorrow.” She punches his shoulder affectionately, then heads for the door.

 “Good night, Julia. Safe drive, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 ~*~

 Jaskier puts himself back together during the intervening days. He attends therapy, brings Julia her takeout, and things return to normal at the bar. Sunday morning he rides his bike, but this time he’s sober, more himself. At the end of the night, he pulls Julia to the side as she sighs in exasperation.  

 Jaskier gives her a sheepish smile, leaning back against one of the counters. “Sorry, I’m not going to keep you long tonight.”

 “Yeah? Good, my fish are starting to worry I’m seeing someone new,” Julia cracks. “What’s up?” Her eyes travel to the closet where the bike is and back to him. “Car ok?”

 “What?” He looks over his shoulder in the direction she’s indicating. “Oh! No, it’s fine. I just wanted to take a long ride tonight after work, maybe catch the sunrise out south of my house.”

 “Then what is it?”

 “It’s Geralt. I finally decided to call him. I think I’ve got my head on straight and I still wanna do it.”

 Julia sucks her teeth thoughtfully. It’s sweet to see him excited, but she worries about his heart, too. He doesn’t always guard it as carefully as he should. “You sure? From what you’re telling me, it doesn’t sound like you’re lookin’ at a walk in the park. He’s married, he’s got a family halfway across the world, he’s in the closet…”

 Jaskier sighs. “I know, Julia. I was there, I remember.”

 Julia arches her eyebrow at him but doesn’t comment.

 Jaskier chews his lip. “I know it’s probably stupid, and I know we could break each other’s hearts, but…” he ruffles his hand through his hair. “I don’t meet men like that every day. Besides. I will definitely regret it if I don’t at least see him one more time.”

 Julia rolls her eyes, but a fond smile creeps across her tawny face. “I’ll give you wanting to see him again one more time, you two really should talk. Just try not to be a dumbass, ok? Go slow. You’ve gotta take care of yourself, you’re not twenty anymore.”

 The look on Jaskier’s face softens thoughtfully, and he nods. “I know. I’ll try to be good.”

 “Good. Where are you planning on taking him? This doesn’t sound like public conversation material.”

 “Well… that’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you. I was thinking maybe the best place would be the bar.”

 “What, don’t want to use your house?” Julia asks dryly.

 “Nnnoo, uh…” Jaskier rubs the back of his neck, turning red.

 “I get it.” Julia cuts him off with a quick gesture, smirking.   “You wanna keep it on the up and up. Don’t you have somewhere else you could meet him though?”

 “Mmm… I mean, there are some parks I could take him to, but that feels weird for a private conversation, you know?” Julia nods. Jaskier continues, “He’s staying with his wife at the hotel, and I feel like it would be rude to ask him to kick her out so we can talk. Most of my friends have these teeny apartments so I can’t exactly borrow space from them. The bar seemed like the best place.”

 Julia hums, then nods. “I get it. Not like I have a porch I could offer you or anything.”

 “Yeah. So…?”

 Shrugging, Julia stuffs her keys into her pocket. “Go for it. Just don’t fuck all over the furniture or I’m gonna fire you,” she cracks.

 Jaskier laughs. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She might not be able to actually fire him, all joking aside, but Julia has a way of finding truly horrifying tasks to saddle him with. He isn’t about to try her and they both know it.  He pushes off of the counter, then digs a faxed receipt out of his back pocket and unfolds it. “Kreteks are on the way, by the bye. Here’s the tracking number.”

 Julia lights up, making grabby hands as Jaskier hands the receipt over. She scans it, then gives a satisfied smile and folds it up to stick in her wallet. “Great. All right, I’m gonna head outta here. Let me know how it goes, ok?”

 “As if I’d leave you out of the loop,” Jaskier hums fondly. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Am I gonna lose a hand if I try to hug you?”

 “Yep,” Julia says with a chuckle. She reaches over and slaps Jaskier’s shoulder companionably on her way out the door. “Good night, mijo.”

 “Good night, Julia. Drive safe.” Jaskier says to her retreating back, smiling. He turns away as the kitchen door swings shut and makes one last circuit of the bar. When he gets outside he closes up; there is a satisfying click as the tumblers lock into place. It has been a good night, and tomorrow is full of possibilities.

Tag List: @astouract​,​ @smolpoe​​, @yes-im-the-violin-girl​, @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde​, @ladyknight-keladry​, @your-lordsherlockholmes-posts​, @thepassifloradiscord​

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fic #witcher fic #witcher fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fanfic #geralt #jaskier #yennefer #geraskier modern au #modern au #witcher modern au #witcher modern gay bar au #witcher gay bar au #the witcher modern au #the witcher gay bar au #warriors blues #warrior's blues

[hunterwritesstuff]

Can I get some general hcs for riddlebomb?

OF COURSE! :D

🔎🧨 Right off the bat, these two ran into each other completely on accident.

🔎🧨 Like, ran into each other at the hardware store.

🔎🧨 Wesley had a bunch of pipes, Ed had a bunch of bits and bobs.

🔎🧨 After that, they just sorta. kept in contact.

🔎🧨 "It's too late, Batman! When the clock reaches zero, the bomb in that room will go off!"

🔎🧨 "I put all the explosives I could fit into it in, Boss-man!"

🔎🧨 "YOU WHAT?!? OH MY GOD, IT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE AN ACTUAL BOMB WHERE IS I-"

🔎🧨 Safe to say, Riddler watches Nothing like a fucking HAWK most of the time.

🔎🧨 In all due fairness, if your boyfriend had a hyperfixation on pipe bombs?

🔎🧨 YOU WOULD TOO.

🔎🧨 They're like, one of the more domestic couples.

🔎🧨 "HONEY, DO YOU THINK A CAESAR CIPHER WILL STUMP HIM?!"

🔎🧨 "SPELL IT BACKWARDS, THEN CAESAR SHIFT IT!"

🔎🧨 Nothing tries to help Riddler with his stuff as best he can.

🔎🧨 Which means Riddler has to(begrudgingly)help Nothing with his schemes too.

🔎🧨 "No, honey, you can't blow up the Gotham City waterways. You did that in June."

🔎🧨 "I DON'T CARE IF IT'S 'BE GAY DO CRIMES', YOU WERE BARELY ABLE TO BREAK OUT OF GOTHAM LAST TI-"

🔎🧨 They do have sweet moments!

🔎🧨 Riddler just. hates having to bail Nothing out of Gotham because he got bomb-happy again.

🔎🧨 Nothing tests Riddler's escape rooms that he subjects Batman to.

🔎🧨 Most of the time, he lies down and cries because he doesn't think he's smart.

🔎🧨 Riddler remedies this with sending him into easy escape rooms.

🔎🧨 He will NOT have his beloved thinking he's stupid. Batman can wait, his love needs reassurance, dammit.

🔎🧨 That being said, sometimes he will(JOKINGLY) call him a dumbass. Nothing is fine with this, as he knows Riddler means nothing bad by it.

🔎🧨 THE INSTANT SOMEONE ELSE CALLS NOTHING STUPID, HOWEVER; IS THE INSTANT HE BECOMES LIKE GHOST FACE AGAIN FOR THE FIRST TIME IN YEARS.

🔎🧨 Riddler WILL track down the perpetrator and pull a Scream Ghost Face on their asses. And then proceed to DOX THEM ON WHATEVER THE UNIVERSE'S VERSION OF TWITTER IS SO THAT PEOPLE CAN FIND THEIR MANGLED CORPSE WITH THEIR BLOOD SPELLING OUT "Don't call my darling stupid :)"(The smiley-face is important.)

🔎🧨 All-in-all, very loving towards one another! :D

I love my gays sm <3

#riddlebomb #riddler x oc #Riddler WAS a murderer at one point in my AU #just not like the batman 2022 because that one was too much like Syndrome/Incrediboy from the Incredibles for my comfort- #nothing

[burnedbyshoto]

the bodyguard

— Kirishima gets assigned to be the bodyguard to one of the worlds greatest idols: you. —

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pairing: bodyguard!kirishima eijirou x idol!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, brat taming, authority kink, spanking, blowjob, slapping, choking, brat taming, brat!reader, modern!au, no quirks, bodyguard!kirishima, idol!reader, PTSD portrayal, anxiety, war flashbacks, implied minor character death, drugging, alcohol consumption, size difference: kirishima is 2 feet taller than you, regardless of the reader’s original height. If you’re 6 ft congrats he’s 8 ft.

word count: 20,500

a/n: this is for the bnharem collab.... im so sorry, it’s 4:30 am and I have a plane to catch in 2 hours to get back to school. thank you jo for proofreading this for me because lol I am a mess. if the paragraph spacing did not work as I wish it does, please let me know so I can go in and edit in visible paragraph spacers!

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“I’ll be okay.”

The smell of dirt, sweat, and blood clung to the air.

The sun was setting, its blood-red shine illuminating against the destroyed earth, making the already bloodied soil even bloodier. 

There was no telling if the land was quiet, if the reason why the world's silence was because the world just for this moment had gone silent, or if the earlier explosions were still ringing in his ears.

Kirishima sat wounded, his back pressed to the wall, his eyes wide, breathing erratic. He can’t move, can’t bother picking up the gun that lays abandoned by his knee as warm, sticky liquid spills onto his clothed knees and continues to soak the fabric of his jeans.

What had he done?

What in the fucking world had he done?!

BOOM!

Kirishima stills, his eyes stilling on the floor and looking at the clear moisture. He doesn’t need to touch his face to know it’s a combination of both sweat and tears. 

His ears sing with white noise, the erratic beat of his heart, and his pained breathing.

“I’ll be okay,” the ghost taunts his mind.

But I’m not okay, Kirishima tries to speak, but knows with how his tongue is sitting like a thick dried sponge in his mouth, he won’t be able to speak. Pushing off the cold floor, flops onto his back, his arm flinging over his closed, shaken eyes until the ringing in his ear disappears into his alarm clock. 

05:30.

Kirishima lays there for a bit more, his chest still heaving heavily with the weight of lead.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Better?

No, not yet.

Kirishima runs through breathing exercises, his chest never stopping in it’s hiccuped, broken pants as his memories continue to haunt his mind. If only he was smarter, more observant, better.

“Time to get up, time to get up, time to get up,” his phone screams with his second alarm set at 06:45. The sound does what it’s intended, jolting Kirishima out of his own head. His labored breathing shallowing just enough for his lungs to finally grasp ahold of its required function.

Today was an important day for him; he needed to be on his tiptop game, according to what Toshinori said yesterday.

I’m okay, he convinced himself as he does every morning after having this dream. Kirishima flings his arm off his eyes, the morning purple sun shining softly through his blinds. I’m okay.

Date: 4/2 Time: 08:00 Location: UA Services

“And in other news, music industries princess Y/n has been attacked by yet another round of masked perpetrators. Fortunately for the music idol, she was left unhurt but was clearly rattled. This is but the fourth attack on Y/n since three weeks ago. It’s leaving many of us fans, spectators, and civilians wondering just what is being done to ensure her safety? Y/n is reported to not have a single bodyguard to her name, wanting to quote-on-quote ‘experience her fans to the fullest’, but with these recent attacks, we can’t help but hope something is done. At least until something is done about these attackers—”

Kirishima’s eyes tore away from the screen, his lips pressed into a deep frown as he took in the story. There was deep worry about it, not only because he hated the idea of people getting hurt, but because he was a big fan of yours.

Your debut album had come out during his training camp for the military. Not only was it an instant billboard smasher breaking every standing record, but his commanding officers were obsessed with the album and played it continuously until they graduated. Most of Kirishima’s comrades came to dislike your music solely because they remember throwing up, bleeding, and suffering while you sang about love and whatnot, but Kirishima? Kirishima fell in love.

It was a bright spot in his life, and he was grateful for your music, even if it has been ten years and six albums since the training camp.

“Yo, Kiri!” a voice cheered out happily as a hand clasped onto his shoulder from behind. Kirishima held the flinch that threatened to rip through his bones. Kirishima turned to find Kaminari grinning up at him, a cup of steaming tea in one hand as he grinned brightly at his coworker. “I heard you’re finally getting a good case today!”

Kirishima found himself relaxing at the sight of his rather spontaneous friend, a warm smile easing onto his face as he raised his fist for a greeting fist bump.

“We’ll see, I know Toshi’ said it was going to be important, but he also said escorting the paranoid old lady was important,” Kirishima sighed, his smile softening a bit.

Kaminari laughed, his arm slinging around Kirishima’s shoulders as he remembered that.

The little old lady was sure that the government was out to kill her and wanted protection until her son returned from his vacation. Needless to say, Kirishima had thoroughly enjoyed his time with her, even if she was a bit scary. It was a low-risk job, and he only was paranoid by her cane, which she used to thwack his back many times as she talked about how plums extended your life.

“God, I remember subbing in for you for one hour because of your family emergency, and she was so scary! She still haunts my nightmares!” Kaminari shudders, placing the cup of his tea to his lip and taking a long, slow drink. His eyes shift over to the TV, which is still broadcasting the story of your attack. “What a bunch of bastards,” he growls, eyebrows scrunching as the news reporter ends the segment. “Thinking they can go after such a beautiful and talented idol… I’ll kill them.”

Kirishima was more than well aware of Kaminari’s plentiful budding romances. The blond man fell in love with just about any smiling woman who happened to waltz in front of him. Still, unlike most times, he found himself agreeing with him.

“It sounds really serious. I hope that she really considers some type of security team,” Kirishima inputs too, taking the teacup in his fingers with a nod of thanks. “There’re too many weirdos in Japan and in the world, I wouldn’t want to hear the news the day something bad happens.”

Kaminari hums, his face nearing Kirishima’s as he takes a small sip of the apparently black tea. His eyes scrunch, and Kirishima smiles awkwardly as the blond studies him intently.

“W-Wha—”

“You like Y/n!” Kaminari exclaims (accuses, maybe?), his arm leaving Kirishima’s shoulders as he points a finger accusingly at him. “I thought I was the only one in this department who did!”

“Don’t be an idiot, Denki,” the familiar voice of Sero responds for Kirishima. “Everyone in the world is in love with Y/n; she was voted the favorite artist of the year in our company. Everyone but Bakugou voted for her if I remember correctly.”

Kirishima looks over at his black-haired friend who is rummaging through his locker, his mouth curved into an easy, teasing smile as he looks between the bashful Kaminari and sneering Bakugou, who also seemed to just walk in.

“Her shit is basic and overrated,” Bakugou defended himself. “Nothing special and bad for your brain and ears.”

“Your go-to music playlist is fifty percent death metal and alt. rock. I don’t think you have ground to say that it’s bad for your brain and ears,” Midoriya’s snicker sounded from behind Kirishima, and he looked around to see the freckled man grinning at the snarling ash blond.

“And how does your stalker ass know that, shitnerd?!”

“‘Cause I’m a stalker, duh.”

“Oh, Bakugou-kun, Midoriya-kun! You’re both here! Todoroki-kun is looking for you!”

“I’m just saying that Y/n’s dates to all the award shows and premieres have been blond. She’s into blonds, so she would totally be into me!”

“Deku, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to kill you myself.”

“You wouldn’t even be able to protect Y/n, bro. The only thing you performed well on in the application process was the tasing part. You can’t even tase people repetitively! She’d be dead in a second.”

“Can you believe my client dropped me because I couldn’t cook a five-star meal correctly? Hello, I can make 7-11 into a five-star course; it’s not my fault they’re not refined.”

“Kirishima-kun, are you okay?”

“I deadass got into a dance competition on the way to work. That’s why I’m late, why would I lie? Of course, I had to compete; my reputation was on the line!”

“Kirishima-kun?”

“Yo, he’s not looking too hot?”

“Kirishima?!”

“Can you hear us?!”

Silence.

Kirishima found himself opening his eyes — when had he closed them? For a moment, the air turned coppery, his body feeling weak, and he thought he felt something heavy on his lap. But that wasn’t right; he was standing up, he wasn’t sitting down. Most importantly, he was in Tokyo, Japan. He was alright. He was safe.

The sweat that clung to the back of his neck was cold, clammy, and intrusive. His chest felt tight again, his hands shaking so harshly the tea's warm, dark liquid was sloshing onto the floor.

There were seven pairs of eyes on him, each a different color, each swimming with concern and other emotions. Kirishima knew his ears weren’t working right now, his face unable to meet his brain's screaming demands to smile, and he watched as their mouths moved as they questioned his sanity.

He was okay.

He was okay.

He was okay.

“Kirishima?”

Kirishima looked up, his neck craning to the side to see a tall, skinny man standing at the doorway. 

Toshinori Yagi was an esteemed bodyguard, one of the best in the industry, which was saying something considering that most bodyguards went unknown and unnamed. According to Google, Toshinori gained the nickname All Might after saving multiple political and celebrity lives when the government could not. It was long after his prime, and the man had retired but has since filled as the company’s head — thus why this job was near impossible to get.

Kirishima heaved a breath, realizing that he hadn’t taken a single breath when Toshinori’s bruised eyes narrowed in his concern.

“C-Coming,” Kirishima smiled, the blood rushing to his ears mostly ignorable now, but the scorching concerned gazes of his friends feel like cinders on his shoulder.

He straightens his tie, fingers curling when he feels the cold sweat penetrating through his clothes, but Kirishima doesn’t let it show. Smiling like he does, Kirishima pushed through his friends and followed Toshinori out the door.

They walked down towards the conference rooms, rooms that held their contractors, in complete silence.

“This is an important case,” Toshinori began, his voice gentle and poorly hiding his concern. “I chose you because you are a great asset to have, Kirishima. You are strong and smart, and most importantly, are personable.”

Kirishima looked at the man, his face contorting with his anxiety. He didn’t want to be treated like glass.

“Honestly, you being so personable is why I chose you for this assignment. Todoroki-shounen was a contender at first, but he’s not much of a talker; the same goes for Bakugou-shounen. Midoriya-shounen was probably the best choice, but there’s a new assignment that asked for three, so I gave up those three,” Toshinori explained the current assignments. It both delighted Kirishima to hear that he could keep up with arguably the three most qualified workers here as it did, at times, make him feel lesser. 

“Oh.”

But he was obviously not the first choice still.

“The only reason why you weren’t the first choice is because of what I walked into just now,” Toshinori interrupts Kirishima’s thoughts and words. Kirishima finds his eyes tearing away from the smooth, polished wood floor to see Toshinori stopping in front of Conference Room A, his gaze intense on him. “To be frank, I wasn’t too sure if we should have hired you all that time ago. You are excellent on the field, your skills are phenomenal. Something to be proud of, truly, but you are clearly not completely healed from your time on the force.”

“Toshinori—”

“Kirishima-shonen, I’m not saying that there’s shame in your current struggles,” Toshinori once again interrupts, his hand a soothing warmth on Kirishima’s shoulder. “I’m still not healed from my past injuries, and as many people have undoubtedly told you, it’s okay to not be okay. But you barely passed the psych evaluation and only passed your field training because you scored so phenomenally on the other things your lack of a shooting score passed you.”

Kirishima felt unable to look away from the piercing blue eyes, and the lump in his throat never tasted as bitter, as sad.

He had barely passed the admittance test.

“I just need to know, are you ready to take on this assignment?” Toshinori asks in complete seriousness. “It’s a high stake, big-name client. We do not expect anything untoward to happen, but we never know in these cases. I think highly of you, Kirishima-shonen, and if you are ready to take this on, I’ll believe you, but likewise, if you’re not, I will gladly give this to someone else.”

Kirishima swallowed, his dry tongue passing through his equally dry lips.

Without question, he was not okay, not when he nearly broke down twice in a matter of hours, but it was just a bad day. He wasn’t as shaken as he was two months ago; he was going to his mandated therapy, talking to people who could assist him. Kirishima just didn’t want to be treated like glass anymore; he wasn’t glass; he was an unbreakable force.

Steeling over his nerves and ignoring how his stomach twisted and turned, Kirishima raised his gaze to Toshinori.

“I can do it.”

A smile.

“Good.”

If Kirishima was sweating because he was on a mental slip earlier, he was now sweating because he was beyond petrified and embarrassed. His hands raised up to brush against his red spikey hair, praying to God that it didn’t look dumb. His legs bounced at a speed that was bordering insanity, but he could only hear the sound of his racing heart as he stared at your frowning form from across the table.

It was you — the Y/n, the world's biggest music idol, an absolute legend in the making.

“This is our very own Kirishima Eijirou, age twenty-eight. He has been with U.A.Services for approximately six months now and is without a doubt one of our most capable and well-serviced men,” Toshinori began the introduction to the three people on the other side of the table. Kirishima could feel a blush rising up his neck and settling into his cheeks as what he presumed to be you, your manager, and your lawyer shuffling through paperwork that was very thorough on his background. “He was enlisted in the military before joining our ranks and was honorably discharged at the age of twenty-six as First Sergeant Kirishima Eijirou due to extreme injury. He excels in negotiating, scouting, and is, as you know, a skilled close combatant and was skilled in handguns—”

“I don’t think he’ll need firearms,” you interrupt, a frown on your face in contrast to the bright smile Kirishima was so used to seeing on your face. He tensed in worry.

“Y/l/n!” your manager, Sato Kimiko, scolded.

“What? It’s true! We’ll be around my fans for the majority, if not all the time! How is that right? For him to have a firearm around defenseless, and may I add, harmless individuals?!” you argued, your eyebrows scrunching in your fury.

Kirishima felt frozen in his chair, his eyes seeking Toshinori for guidance, but found himself unable to look away from you. He knew nearly everything about you, he could admit with a proud grin that he was a super mega fan of you, and he might have, at one point, looked your height up to imagine how you would appear beside him. Kirishima had known this entire time that you were two feet shorter than him, but it hadn’t hit what that meant until he was shaking your hand when he first entered.

You were tiny.

His dick and mind really liked that, and seeing your own passion spilling out for your fans was making him fall deeper into this hole he had for you.

“You don’t have a say anymore? Do you understand? You were nearly assaulted yesterday, and we are all done waiting around for something serious to happen!” Kimiko yelled, her face contorted into a look of both frustration and fear. “Either you take this, or we all leave you. I won’t have you murdered in front of me! You’re twenty-six now, stop acting like a damn brat and grow the hell up!”

The words scorched the table, blistering heat filling the conference room as you met Kimiko’s glare.

Kirishima watched with a dropped jaw as your nostrils flared, your lips pursing, and your eyebrows furrowing with unspoken distaste and anger.

“Six months tops.”

“Uh, yes,” Toshinori interjected. “Our contracts only last up to six months for new clients, but if you find yourself wanting to extend your contract after those six months, we are very much open to negotiations.”

You nodded your head, your eyes falling back onto the booklet in your hands that exposed all the information available on Kirishima. From his likes, dislikes, to his allergies and the reason why he was discharged. Each in disturbingly deep detail to make sure all things were up on the table.

“So, you can’t shoot your gun, Kirishima-san?” you speak, your voice tight, a pleased, almost taunting tone.

Kirishima stills, embarrassment bubbling in his chest as you drop the booklet onto the table, exposing his military history to him and you. 

“...no,” Kirishima answers truthfully.

The lawyer shifts from the other side of you, his eyebrows scrunching as he too comes across that piece of information. 

“He won’t use firearms?” the lawyer scoffs, his semi-permanent frown deepening. “How will we know that he will keep Y/n completely safe from any sort of danger that may come her way? We’ll be paying six months for a glorified security guard? We want a bodyguard.”

“And we clearly have one,” you snap back, your eyes narrowing. “If my bodyguard isn’t Kirishima-san, I’m not getting one. I mean, isn’t that what you said earlier?”

“When we were assuming that the person Toshinori was assigning to your case was a well-rounded bodyguard. Not one that was still clearly haunted by his past.”

Fuck, that one hurt.

You scowled, your head tilting as you bared your teeth slightly, “And what? He managed to get into the best agency in all of Japan in spite of that. Sounds like he’s competent. I already told you I won’t take on a team, just one individual. I trust in Toshinori-san’s guidance and his choice in picking Kirishima-san. If you disagree, that’s too bad for you.”

“Y/n! Please stop this! You’re being ridiculous!” Kimiko huffed, slamming her own booklet down, her eyes drowning with her exhaustion. “I’m so sorry, Toshinori-san, Kirishima-san.”

“H-Hey, it’s okay!” Kirishima immediately imputed, his hands raising in a sign of retreat. “I know that Y/n has always enjoyed her independence as a solo star, and how me being involved now is imposing, especially after multiple attacks.”

Kirishima felt that his smile was a bit strained, a bit too forced, especially as your eyes hawked onto him. He felt like you were examining him, like a lab rat going through its initial trial and not knowing just what was to be expected.

“Six months?” you spoke, your gaze not leaving Kirishima’s own.

“Six months,” Kirishima agreed.

You hum, your head nodding. “Fine, six months tops unless the Lieutenant Colonel can apprehend these assholes faster.”

It had been ages since Kirishima had been called by his title, and for some reason, he found himself blushing. His mouth, for the first time this entire meeting, curled into a wolfish grin.

“You got it.”

The lawyer groaned, entirely aggravated and insulted. He stood up, “You’re asking to be murdered, Y/n. Don’t come haunting me when you end up dead and mutilated. You deserve all the shit you’re getting.”

Kirishima watched with his lips parted in a bewildered expression as the lawyer walked out of the room with a loud slam of the door.

You were unfazed, and Kimiko groaned, exhausted and embarrassed as she mumbled a weak, sullen, “I am so, so sorry, Toshinori-kun.”

“Ah, Kimiko-chan, it’s okay!” Toshinori shook his head and smiled knowingly. It wasn’t as if the long time famous bodyguard hadn’t seen his fair share of childish fights between clients. “Thank you for coming as always, and we’ll do our best to make sure that Y/n is in the best of hands.”

“Thank you… and so, the rest of the contract?”

“Ah, yes, let’s continue.”

So, the contract was discussed to full detail.

For six months, Kirishima would be attached to your side. He must always remain at most three meters away from you when there is no one around, and during fan interactions no more than one meter. He had a full say about your safety. If things got rough, you were to follow his every command. Your agency would pay for his room and lodging. He was to wear black pants and a black long-sleeved cotton tee. He would be working with every venue, every hotel, every conventions security team. He would lead them and never leave your side. He was to be awake an hour before you, rest when you were asleep so long as it was safe to do so. He was your guardian angel of sorts, and you would do nothing but adhere to him. 

Most importantly, according to Kimiko, there was one thing they were hoping for: Kirishima's help and discretion. For the next six months, they would be relying on Kirishima’s support to figure out who the group behind the assault was and who the mastermind was behind it all is.

Or so the contract said.

“Y/n!” Kirishima called when the papers were signed, and the day he was set to start was printed. He will begin tomorrow. “Wait!”

You stopped at the door, Kimiko and Toshinori chatting merrily between them as they exited the conference room, Toshinori’s booming voice asking if it was true that Kimiko was attending to a near forty clients to which she bashfully admitted to. You were dressed in a creme knit long-sleeved shirt, faded ripped jeans, and a pair of nude heels. The heels were big, undoubtedly giving you inches, but you still barely got to his shoulder.

“I-I’m looking forward to looking — I mean working with you!”

You looked at him closely, your eyes dragging to the top of his toes to the tallest spike in his hair before your lips pulled into a contemplative pout. You looked back to his eyes, and you steeled over, your head tilting to the side.

“I mean no offense, Sergeant, I thank you for doing your job, but I have no intention of looking forward to working with you. I don’t want you here, so do your best to ignore the contract and realize that I am the most important person, so you will follow my demands.”

Kirishima can do nothing but stare as you turn on your heel and leave.

Well, so much for a good case.

Date: 5/2 Time: 14:00 Location: Tokyo Music Stadium

If you would have told Kirishima Eijirou that he had been working for the grand, the perfect, the fantastic music idol Y/n for a month now, two months ago, he would have laughed so hard he’d cry. Not only would he have not believed it, but he would only think of a million and two scenarios where he would go the entire day flirting.

Now a month into knowing you, of being your bodyguard on a contract for six months, Kirishima could say that of that entire thought, the only thing he had been right about was that he was, in fact, crying. Not only has he never managed to speak an entire conversation with you despite being attached to your hip seven days a week, but despite your much shorter stature, you had managed to get away from him.

You always managed to sneak away from him.

Kirishima could admit that the no more than five meters rule had been wholly and utterly demolished.

And now, Kirishima was crying, not out of joy, but of pure manly fear as he raced through the backstages of the stadium, desperate to find your short-ass anywhere.

“Go, Kirishima!” someone yelled as Kirishima whizzed past him, “Find Y/n!”

“T-Thank you!” Kirishima screamed as he continued onward, the yellow-lit concrete hallway seemingly haunting the further he went into it. The earpiece in his left ear shrilled, the telling sign he was getting a call. Putting a finger to the circle in his ear, he answered the car. “Hello?!”

“Ah, Kirishima-san!” Kimiko’s voice chirped on the other side of the line. “Wonderful to hear your voice again! I’m calling to let you know that the tour bus is parked outside of the venue now. The concert was a smashing success, and she’s come out unharmed for the past month! To make matters even better, since your arrival, there have been no more assault attempts! Oh, um, sorry, where are you guys?”

“We’re just, um!” Kirishima tried not to pant into the microphone; he was still racing ahead, his head peeking into every door and room he passed. “Y/n needed to use the restroom?!”

“Oh, wonderful. Okay! Let me know when you two are on your way over!”

“Ya, okay, bye!”

“By—”

Kirishima hung up as he crashed through the doors at the end of the hallway.

It was night out right now, the full moon reflecting down on the dirty concrete with the same intensity as the streetlamps overhead. And in the middle of a crowd of around twenty people was the person Kirishima was trying to find: you.

You were still dressed in the final costume change of your concert. Even from a distance, Kirishima could see the glitter and highlight on the tip of your nose and the curve of your cheekbones. The crowd around you was clearly not hostile. Each face was bright with broad smiles and sparkling with fresh tears, each voice high and pitchy as if they were talking with some goddess and not you. 

There was a slight longing in Kirishima’s chest at the sight of you interacting with your fans, your smile was so beautiful, and he wished just for a moment that he was the one that it was directed towards. If he had met you as a fan, and only a fan, he wonders if you would look at him as you did the others. Would he see the pure joy in the depths in your eyes, the love, wonder, and pride as they asked you questions and answered your own?

He wanted to be just a fan.

“Y/n, the tour bus is here,” Kirishima finally found his voice, the tenor of his voice spreading through the narrow alleyway. “Say your goodbyes.”

He had to ignore the way you stiffened immediately, the unsolicited joy in your face breaking and becoming bleak as you met his gaze. Kirishima absolutely did not feel pressure behind his eyes when you rolled your eyes and began to say your goodbyes; he did not!

The group of fans waved goodbye as you walked backward toward Kirishima; you didn’t stop waving and continuing your parting conversations with the group until the metal doors of the stadium doors closed behind the two of you. Kirishima let out a sigh, his eyes closing for a brief moment before looking down at you. You were expressionless, eyes cold as you looked dead ahead.

“You’re not supposed to run away like that.”

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t tell me what to do, Sergeant.”

“You know I can’t do that it’s not—”

“Part of your contract. Yeah, I know, but that’s your contract, not mine.”

“Oh, okay. Um, Kimiko? ...yeah, we’re heading out now. Five minutes, till.”

And then there’s only silence.

Neither Kirishima nor you bother talking the entire walk towards the tour bus, and you ignore Kimiko’s call that your lawyer would be meeting briefly before tomorrow's fan signing event. You walk into the bus and go directly to the beds, throwing yourself into the terribly padded bunk and passing out without so much as a sound.

Kirishima sinks into his own bed, it’s too small for him, but there’s nothing he can do about it. Sleep overcomes him easily these days; he’s always way too exhausted in chasing you down like some spoiled toddler you’re behaving like to dream. But that’s okay, he thinks as the comfort of sleep begins to dig its skeleton fingers into his side, at least the exhaustion stops the night terrors.

Date: 5/3 Time: 10:00 Location: Tokyo Music Tower

Now, Kirishima knew that it was a common belief and a nearly proven theory that when you met your idols, you should never ever have your expectations high on who they are as a person. Celebrities were out of touch, cruel, rude, nearly jaded. They weren’t exactly the common folk. With people willing to forget things like them being human beings themselves or the common thread of celebrities being too rich to care, any type of famous person was cold, rude, and ruthless.

He knew that.

He also knew that you weren’t like the nearly proven theory.

You were kind, sweet, a practical angel to anyone who dared to approach you. You were the exception to the rule, an outlier to them all. You spoke politely to all your fans, domestic and foreign, and you treated each fan like the most special person in the world.

You were a good person.

But Kirishima knew, just as you reacted to any cruel person you encountered, you had an edge. Your words were as vicious as your name was known. He genuinely enjoyed watching you put assholes into place, but he sulked, knowing he was always at the receiving end of the sharp, bitter tongue of yours.

For a month and a day now, he had been the number target of your bitter words and scorching hate, but he admitted that he enjoyed it when it wasn’t directed at him, if but a little bit.

“I’m not renegotiating my contract!” you groan, your palms slamming into the depths of your eyes. “I already told you that I don’t need all that money!”

“And I’m telling you that you need to increase the wages that you pay the rest of your team instead of all those charities or else people will begin dropping you!” the lawyer countered with similar fire, his scowl angry enough that Kirishima felt like he had to tear his gaze away from this horrible battle. “You won’t be the best of the best forever, y/n, get over your stupid savior act and look over the changes!”

Kirishima looked over at you, his eyebrows pinching as he watched you fold your arms, your cheeks pushed out to a puff as you looked at the stack of papers with the title page fully covered with the word Contract of Y/n and Co. on it. Well, it seemed that the rumor of you spending your paycheck on things that weren’t you was right, how entirely manly.

“Oh fuck off,” you growl, pushing out of the chair and storming away.

Kirishima glanced over at Kimiko, who was looking pale and exhausted, undoubtedly exhausted from the past thirty-minute battle between the lawyer and the idol that neither made a single step forward nor a step back. How you had the energy to fight so passionately was beyond him. Kimiko nodded minimally, her lips parting in a sigh as Kirishima stood up and followed after her.

“The only way that brat is going to listen is by force,” the lawyer sneered, his voice fading into the room that Kirishima exited. “If that’s how she wants to play, so be it.”

Fortunately for Kirishima, he catches up to you. There are tears of fury dripping down your cheeks, and he feels unable to speak as he discovers a new layer to you.

...how interesting.

“It’s my money,” you speak, but Kirishima is unsure if those words are meant for him or for the void, the earth that you would much rather converse with than him. “I already pay them all a much greater paycheck than they should be getting considering their client pool. Why do I have to bend to their stupid will when I’m the one making the money.”

Kirishima blinks, wondering just what people might want to raise with their contracts. But, he knew you were right. By her account, Kimiko had a client list of many successful individuals, and he may not know anything about the lawyer, but if he worked with Y/n, his name must be good. Guess they weren’t like you.

“People are selfish assholes,” was the only thing that Kirishima could think of, and was something he spoke before he could stop himself.

But you stop in your storm, the anger that clouded you somewhat dissipating, clearing just enough for you to turn to him, your sharp, beautiful eyes for the first time filled with rage that was not pointed at him, and an emotion that made him think of… amusement?

“Yeah,” you agree, a half-smile cracking onto your face, and Kirishima feels his soul begin leaving his very body. “People are selfish assholes, huh?”

“Very much.”

There’s a calm, a snorted chuckle, and Kirishima finds himself stumbling further into the abyss of his feelings for you.

The next ten hours seem to pass in a blur, Kirishima feeling like he was on Cloud Nine as he stood behind you, three meters as he watched fan after fan approach you. Signatures were made, pictures were taken, and Kirishima found that he never once had to approach.

Maybe, he thinks, just perhaps, the two of you can overcome this.

Ten minutes after the official signing is done, Kirishima can’t find you, and he curses loudly into the echoing floor.

So much for change.

Date: 5/17 Time: 23:00 Location: The Parking Lot - Mt. Lady Studios

Kirishima was, for the lack of better words, completely fucking done with you.

Don’t get it wrong, he still was a complete and massive fan of yours. He would never once betray his loyalty to you and your musical career, but he was slowly starting to realize just why the lawyer was set to dying of a heart attack any time soon. Despite your early entrance to stardom and the stuff of legends, you had kept your fiery, stubborn individualism.

Kirishima thought it was absolutely hot and sexy at times, especially the times where you strut around in revealing clothes because ‘this is your body,’ or the lingerie campaign you completed two days ago as part of some fundraising event. There were significant perks to your strong handle and claim to keeping your indestructible personality, but it came back to rub them all back in the worst of ways when once again, you escaped from Kirishima’s side.

To be fair, most of the time, Kirishima was a very level headed individual; he was near impossible to rile up despite popular initial belief. I mean, he was good friends with Bakugou Katsuki, who riled up just about anyone he talked to! He needed to have steel calm emotions, or at the very least portray that he does. But even the unbreakable after tireless attempts can, at times, be broken.

It had been a hard morning.

Kirishima had woken up in a panic, the sweat of his night terror soaking through the sheets of his bed, and his head felt like lead. They had been in the tour bus for the entire day because you were going from the tip of Japan to the bottom of it, thus meaning that you couldn’t run away from him, concluding that when he went to bed that night, he was merely tired, not exhausted.

“K...Kiri...shima?” the voice whispered in his ears when he bolted from his bed and tumbled to the ground, his chest heaving in his panic as he cried.

He only slept for four hours that night, the ghost of his comrade haunting him too much for him to ever drift back to sleep. The only thing he was grateful for when he stumbled down to the hotel lobby for breakfast was that he had an attack while in his own room and not in a tour bus with ten others.

But the lack of sleep and the twisting of his guts from his still unburied memories meant that his exhaustion was dialed up larger than he thought was capable. Today was an interview day plus a miniconcert at said interview.

That meant that for an hour before your interview and two hours afterward, Kirishima lost you and had to hunt you down. You weren’t making it easy on him and had started moving with the crowd you gathered to evade him.

But today, Kirishima was exhausted.

Today, Kirishima wanted to sleep.

Today… Kirishima broke.

“Let’s go,” Kirishima spoke in a low, commanding voice. His eyes were hooded as he looked down at you, the crowd of fans parting like the red sea as he stands behind you, larger than life, imposing.

You ignore him.

“We’re leaving, now.”

“Aw, did you make that just for me?! This beading is gorgeous!”

To be fair, Kirishima isn’t really sure if he’s crying right now or if steam is protruding from his ears like some stupid cartoon. The only thing he knows is that it's been a bit longer than a month, and his client is the most perfect person in the world except to him and some lawyer. All he knows is that he has been continuously mocked, shamed, and disrespected by his client, and at this moment, with his mind and body aching with the memories of the morning, he can no longer stop the tsunami of emotions and thoughts that shove out of him.

He grabs your wrist and begins pulling you away.

“We’re leaving now, sorry to disrupt your time. Come see Y/n another day.”

Kirishima isn’t even aware of your screams, the banging of your small fist against his back as his hand encompasses your bicep easily. He walks and walks and walks until he stops, his mind slightly put back into place.

“—FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?! LET GO OF ME, SERGEANT!”

Oh, right.

He lets go of you immediately and nearly snorts at how you stumble into his back. So small, so delicate, and so completely weak.

“You want to know my problem, y/l/n?” he asks, voice eerily calm, much calmer than he actually is. “My fucking problem is that I signed onto this case with a single rule: keep you in sight and protect you. It’s simple, almost too easy, isn’t it? But easy and simple is everything that this assignment is!”

Your face contorted into a flash of anger and embarrassment, your nose scrunching as you found your footing, “And I told you that I don’t give a crap about that contract! I didn’t want it in the first place, but no one listens to me!”

Kirishima snorts, his body shifting so that he can look at you properly; your face is seething, your teeth bared and eyes wild, but Kirishima has faced worse.

“It’s not in my contract to listen to you, unfortunately,” Kirishima points out, his eyes narrowing. “I would have a better time listening to you, trying to find an agreement that worked if you used that brain of yours and figured out a way to compromise with me.”

“Compromises aren’t—”

“You think I wouldn’t?” Kirishima almost whines, his voice tight with emotions, fingers fisting in his hair, “You really fucking think that after a month and how many days of me spending stupid hours trying to find your ass, most of the time never knowing if you’re dead or not, I wouldn’t want a better solution?!”

“Like hell they’ll kill me! And if they do, I don’t fucking care!” you stubbornly insist, finger buried against the swell of your chest.

“Oh my god,” Kirishima can’t stop the bitter laugh from escaping, “you’re ridiculous.”

“I’m ridiculous?! I’m not the ridiculous one here!” you cry, your eyes bursting with unshed, bitter tears. “So what that I run away from you? Can you imagine living the past ten years of your life trying to be something that the media wants you to be? No! You can’t, Sergeant! Those times where I’m running away isn’t to be some dick, but to give me time to be me!”

“You’re a goddamn idiot!” Kirishima barks, his anger curdling in his chest like a raging fire. “If you had looked at my damn file correctly, instead of focusing on the stupid shit like me not being able to fire my gun correctly, you would be more than aware of the fact that you are one of my favorite artists!”

“Wh-”

“I am one of the best in my company! I am easy to get along with, personal, manageable, flexible even, but from the very first moment you laid eyes on me, you’ve hated me! You talk down on me, you shit on me, my job, the reason I’m here! Listen, I would fucking love to be anywhere but here right now. I have literally never hated my job before, but you just made that a reality. But the worst part of this all is the fact that you seem to think I would have kept you away, prohibited you from doing things that I already know you love! You stand there and tell me that I would try to force you to do shit you don’t want when I have merely been asking for you to take me there with you! I don’t care if I have to stand away and watch, but I want to be there! I’m supposed to be protecting you, but you’re being nothing more than a stubborn brat who refuses to see the efforts I’m trying to make, and frankly, I’m done.”

Kirishima’s chest is burning with the lack of oxygen, his eyes narrowed and filled with raging fire as he stares down at you, his neck craned so that he could be closer, more daunting, intimidating.

“Fuck o-off,” you snap suddenly, a lone tear, your voice tight and shoulders tense as you storm off.

“So predictable,” Kirishima calls after you, but it’s not filled with the previous anger he had but the sinking misery and regret.

And for a moment, it’s quiet.

Until a single name is screamed.

“SERGEANT!”

And then the all too familiar sound of a fist colliding with skin.

The anger in Kirishima’s blood evaporates immediately, and horror sinks in as he turns towards where you had stormed off. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

The parking lot is filled with an ugly yellow light that seems to set the stage for what was to come down. His footsteps crashing down against the black pavement were mute in his ears, and his eyes were focused on your limp body slung over somebody's shoulder. There was one person behind him, the other one already hopping into a van; Kirishima was the devil on their heels.

“Come on! Let’s go!” the one in the van screamed, his voice full of gruff apprehension and fear.

The van turns on.

Kirishima grunts, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he sidesteps the man who was lingering behind the one carrying you and quickly slams his shoulder into the man's sternum, knocking him out the moment he collapses onto the ground. 

He lets out a roar of such, his eyes glowing with anger and a single mind track to take down the person who held you, ready to throw your unconscious body into the back of the van.

Kirishima doesn’t even know when he manages to get to the man's side, one hand on his shoulder, the other on you, and with the strength and anger of a million fighting warriors, he ripped you from his hold and sent him stumbling into the trunk. Your shallow breathing brushes against his neck, and Kirishima is hyper-aware of the cursing men who chose to abandon their unconscious comrade on the floor. 

With his arms filled by your unconscious body, Kirishima can only watch the van scurry out of the lot, the license plate immediately burning into his mind.

T082-23

When the man on the floor finally wakes up, he’s in police custody, and you’re just waking up. There's a bruise on your cheek, and you begin crying immediately.

Kirishima watches from the distance, his heart aching and guilt climbing up his throat as he watches Kimiko hold you close, her arms warm and tight.

Well, shit.

So much for the month of no attacks.

Kirishima sits in a waiting room, his head relaxed against the wall as he waits for your discharge from the hospital. They suspect a concussion, and they’re running some tests right now. The police are there too, trying to get information from you on the failed kidnapping attempt as well as beginning the initial trials of interrogation of the abandoned kidnapper with a broken sternum, ruptured spleen, and three cracked ribs.

He was not surprised when the police officers came to talk to him, and he gave them the license plate.

But they also gave him an essential piece of information.

(“Well, when we asked for a motive, it seemed that it wasn’t his idea,” the detective admitted, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “His boss said that, and I quote, Y/n will end up dead and mutilated as is deserved. She deserves all the shit she has coming her way, end quote. Any ideas of who it could be”

Kirishima rubbed a hand across his face, the words striking a bit too familiarly to him, but from where. He shook his head, his eyes focusing on his bouncing knee.

“Thank you,” Kirishima said, his tone pointed in a clear indicator that this conversation was now over. The detective nodded, his frown slight as he left. The moment he was gone, Kirishima pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Kimiko? Yeah, I think we might have our first suspect.”)

For now, he was waiting for you.

An hour passed before you shuffled into the waiting room. There was a bandage on your swollen cheek, but besides the obvious attack, your eyes looked strong, and it seemed like there was no concussion.

“I should be fine,” you speak first, your jaw tensing as if it physically pained you to speak (whether it was because you hated talking to him or because of the injury, Kirishima had no idea). “I will be fine; I just need some sleep.”

Kirishima nodded, his body completely exhausted, and his mind filled with nothing but regrets on how he handled his anger earlier. He needed to apologize. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but he had definitely crossed a few too many lines.

“Should we go?”

You chewed on your lip, your eyes looking down at the white tiled floors of the hospital — so bleak, so anxiety driving.

“I actually wanted to talk before we left.”

Oh?

“Of what, if I may ask?”

Your eyes raise back up before looking away again, “the contract.”

Kirishima finds himself nodding, his hand gesturing towards the empty seat in front of him.

“Sure.”

And with a heaving sigh that sounds like you were on the verge of tears, you sit before him.

The contract was then discussed.

It was decided that you could continue to interact with fans as you wish, so long as you took Kirishima with you. He didn’t care about the long hours, the manic fans, or the impending doom of a group of people who meant business. He needed to be there.

Everything else stayed the same, but Kirishima looked at you one last time that night in the hospital, his body leaning towards you as he did his best to keep his face void of emotion and any lingering teasing.

“I’ll only accept this new negotiation on one term.”

“W-What?!” you pause, thinking. “Fine, say it.”

“From here on out, I think we should be friends, yeah? I’m on your side, after all, it’s a bit weird if we stay just acquaintances.”

The tension and horror leave your body, and Kirishima, for the first time ever, bears witness to the most relaxed, meaningful smile he has ever seen you give. It had been one hell of a shitty night, but at that very moment when the seventh turned into the eighth, Kirishima felt a new warmth flood through his chest, his heart racing at the sight of your glorious smile.

“Of course, Kirishima.”

“Oh, and y/n?” 

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry about all that I said. It was unmanly of me and out of line.”

“It’s okay. To be fair, I was a bit of a self-absorbed brat, too.”

The next day, a picture of Kirishima holding you bridal style is trending.

Date: 6/12 Time: 19:00 Location: Hime Onsen

An Interview with Y/n | Vogue Japan 4.5 million views • Premiered 2 hours ago 874k [liked this] 12.3k [disliked this] Timestamp: 05:32 / 10:33

[Interviewer]: Now, Y/n, we must congratulate you on your latest achievement! Your latest self-titled album, ‘Y/N,’ has been nominated for a record high of twelve awards for the upcoming Japan Record Awards, which will be coming up in about a month! Tell us how you feel about this?

[You]: It was quite a surprise actually! I didn’t realize that it would have done so well in the critic's eyes to get this type of award. I am proud of myself and am excited to see all the other amazing artists and musicians who were nominated as well.

[Interviewer]: Now, your album is all about staying true to yourself, whether that be in love or war. It depicts your own highs and lows while also highlighting beautifully universal things many of us face. Without question, you have always been adamant on staying connected with your fans and keeping a simple rule: no bodyguards.

[Y/n]: Oh, (laughs) yes! That is definitely a new thing, huh?

[Interviewer]: A new thing and a beautiful thing at that, too! Look here!

[captioner notes: interviewer displays many photos of Y/n’s bodyguard, including the most famous one where he’s holding y/n after the failed kidnapped attempt]

[Interviewer]: This is a beautiful — don’t giggle! — a beautiful man, Y/n! What do you have to say for yourself?! Did you finally succumb to keeping untrue to yourself for this beautiful man?! If so, it is perfectly acceptable. By chance, is your contract with him done? I would personally love to have this man on my team.

[Y/n]: (laughing) By all means, take him! (Y/n looks behind her, her bodyguard is there) I’m kidding, I’m kidding! (pauses) No, actually, sorry. Kirishima is an outstanding bodyguard, and I have no intentions of leaving him so soon. Uh, while I did say I had no wish or intentions to have a bodyguard, obviously that was not the best solution, so I hired Kirishima. He is a wonderful addition to my team and still allows me to be authentically me, so it’s still all good.

[Interviewer]: Ah, okay, well, Kirishima-kun, if you ever need a new client, call me. But moving on, yes! Would you like to discuss the series of increasingly concerning attacks?

Kirishima stood in the softly lit hallways of a sauna.

Today was one of the last remaining days you had off, and in celebration of your upcoming award season, you had decided that it was mandatory to visit the hot springs. Everyone on your team — the backup dancers, band, and hair and makeup — were ecstatic to learn that they were being involved with it too.

This high-end resort had accommodated your entire team to receive their own private spring with an all-inclusive menu too. 

It was thanks from the owner for the free PR and, of course, because they were some of your biggest fans. So, in thanks, everyone got to enjoy the springs.

Well, everyone but Kirishima, that was.

As of the past month, things between Kirishima and you had improved a lot.

With Kirishima no longer needing to run a marathon daily to find where you were, he would find himself walking at your side. He no longer felt like you hated him. There was respect and actual friendship between the two of you. You joked with him, showed him memes and TikTok, sent him snapchat streaks, and invited him to watch weird shows with you. You even complained to him about the things that annoyed you, namely Kimiko’s attention being stolen by other clients and the rude conversations you would have with the lawyer.

It made Kirishima’s chest warm up knowing that you were friends now.

A stressful month had passed into a friendlier one.

But there were some things that Kirishima would not have expected to… arise.

Namely you growing to be comfortable enough to walk around with nothing but a thin pair of panties and a large shirt. You curling into his side whenever you watched a show together in the bus, the way your lips brushed against his neck when he leaned down to hug you, or the very so not obvious teasing you would do when you changed in front of him. It was as if you were watching his every reaction, enjoying the way that his eyes horribly tore away, or the silent hitch in his throat whenever you speed his heart up.

The biggest surprise arose the night after the failed kidnapping attempt:

You had come to his room, hours after you were supposed to have fallen asleep.

Your eyes were sunken, still a bit tired, and the bruise on your cheek was looking bad. In your arms was a white binder undoubtedly filled with the introductory packet you had received at your initial meeting. Kirishima had opened the door in his sleepy state in nothing but gym shorts. He had barely started dozing off, his mind wouldn’t stop thinking of what could have happened if you hadn’t managed to scream, and so he kept tossing and turning.

Seeing you outside of his room, his head dropped down to look at you properly, and his fist rubbing at his eye fell, “Y/n?”

“Did I wake you?” you asked, your face filled with a shocked, near uncomfortable, and embarrassed expression he doesn’t recall ever seeing on you. “I’m so sorry! I’ll wait until—”

“No,” Kirishima grunts while he shakes his head, his voice raspy and dry from his lack of use. “I’ve been tossing and turning, um, what is it? Do you want to come in?”

“I-If that’s okay?”

Kirishima breathes out a bit, his shoulders relaxing as he smiles softly, “Come on, let’s talk about what’s on your mind.”

The door clicked behind your tentative steps with an echo, and Kirishima watched as you walked into the hotel room with wariness and caution.

“Would you like some tea?” Kirishima offered, picking up a shirt from his dresser and pulling it over his body. The fabric was tight against his chest and shoulders, but felt more appropriate to wear around you.

“No, I’m okay,” you politely decline.

You stood in the center of the room, unsure of where to sit, stand, or lay.

“Go ahead and make the bed,” Kirishima offered, taking the chair by the desk. “I promise it’s still clean.”

You laugh slightly, smile strained but grateful as you sit at the edge of the bed, binder resting on your lap.

“Thanks, I wouldn’t want to sit on a dirty bed,” you joke, but it sounds weak to Kirishima’s ears.

“So, what questions do you have?”

“Hm?”

“You have my portfolio,” he shrugs, leaning forward so that his forearms rest on his knees. “I have a feeling you have some questions.”

“Oh, right,” you whisper, your eyebrows scrunching as you open the binder to the first page, but your eyes are focused on the desk. “What’s the medication for?”

Kirishima turns his head to follow your gaze and comes across the yellow tinted medicine containers.

“My PTSD,” Kirishima answers honestly, his voice soft with emotion, but there was no shame in it. “My service had a difficult end.”

“That’s actually… that’s what I came to talk about,” you rush, your hands slamming the binder closed. “If you don’t want to talk about it, obviously I won’t push it! God, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s okay,” Kirishima interrupted, his smile sad, but he stood up, his body a tower in front of yours as he urged you to sit back down. “It’s okay; I don’t mind talking about it.”

“B-But what if I say something that makes it all worse?”

A pause.

“Then I’ll tell you that it’s too much.”

A nod.

“Are you… are you still experiencing a lot of symptoms?” you ask, your fingers tightening and untightening around the binder.

“Some days are worse than others,” Kirishima admits, his shoulders shrugging. “I don’t experience much anxiety while in crowds anymore; I don’t have many flashbacks to those days anymore, not since February at least. I do still get… I still get night terrors and dream of that day. It’s nowhere near as bad as the first few months after the accident, but it’s still here.”

“What happened?” you asked after a bit, morbidly curious.

The file had all the details that proved Kirishima to be a master of firearms during his entire time on the force. He was a powerful combatist, and his ranking was a clear indicator of the respect and skills he had. Still, it was the quick honorable discharge, the near year-long hospitalization, and the current inability to use a firearm that concerned you.

What had happened?

“I was involved in a grenade explosion on my last day on tour. I was the only one who managed to survive the blast,” Kirishima easily stated, his voice quiet.

“Oh my god, I… holy shit, I’m so sorry.”

“Nah, it’s all good. There were only two others around, and one of them was already dead.”

“Was that um, Major—”

“We called him Crimson Riot, actually,” Kirishima smiled, a chuckle light on his tongue as he leaned back onto the chair, nodding. “Yeah, that was him.”

“Crimson Riot,” you repeat, nodding. “Did you watch him… watch him die?”

Kirishima presses his lips tightly together, and for a moment, you’re unsure if he’s going to cry, answer you, or tell you to leave. There’s a whirlwind of emotions on your optimistic and typically jubilant bodyguard despite your asshole tendencies that make your stomach twist.

“Yes,” Kirishima finally answers, and you nod.

It’s hours into the morning before you finally depart back to your room, the horrors of Kirishima’s past still pounding into your ears. Kirishima wouldn’t notice, and neither would you, but on his shirt and yours, there’s a few drops of tears the both of you shed when you said goodnight.

Sergeant Kirishima Eijirou, while on an active warzone, had accidentally struck and killed his superior officer, his friend, his role model Crimson Riot, thinking that he was nothing more than an enemy target as he sat wounded behind a wall. He died on his lap, and as someone came to help, a grenade landed two meters away before detonating.

“K...Kiri...shima?” Crimson Riot had whispered as he fell to his knees, blood gushing and seeping through his clothes, spilling onto Kirishima’s lap. “I’ll be okay.”

For whatever reason, since that night, Kirishima felt something in him shift. He still took his medication, still had his virtual therapy sessions when he could fit them in, and even had painful night terrors of that moment, but it was becoming less frequent.

He wasn’t made of glass.

There had been more instances after the kidnapping attempt, but unlike the last times, Kirishima was prepared. He had stopped each one, keeping you safe and sound. As of one week ago, he had officially been given a firearm to keep strapped to his thigh at all times now.

It was an unfamiliar weight, one that still twisted his stomach and made him nervous, but he knew the reason why it was needed. Since the gun had been added to his gear, the attacks stopped. He was definitely not ready to be firing it anytime soon, but it had deterred the attackers for the time being.

Kirishima paused when he heard his earpiece ring, and he dropped his phone where he had been watching your interview despite being there himself.

“Talk to me,” Kirishima answered, his finger pressing the accept button.

“Kirishima!” came the distressed voice of Kimiko, “We just got a tip!”

Kirishima stilled, his eyes scanning the empty hallways that stretched throughout the private hot springs.

“I don’t know, but a person with connections with this mastermind said something about how there were two more events he was staging. Today is one of them!”

Kirishima’s eyes widened, his lips parting to answer Kimiko when instead there was a large, loud crash in the water from inside your room. He assumed the worst.

“Y/n!” Kirishima shouted, hands throwing open the sliding door and racing through the storage room, the shower, and exited out into the hot spring.

Steam curled through the wind, the white wisps of steam feeling warm and light against Kirishima’s skin, and Kirishima panicked when he couldn’t see your shadow or figure in the hot springs.

“Where is she?! Is she alright?!” Kimiko panicked, her voice panicking already. “I’ll call the—”

Kirishima turned on his heel, ready to complete a full sweep of the outdoor hot spring when he crashed into something smaller than he was… smaller, softer, and definitely the shape of a woman. Kirishima felt his entire body stiffen when his rough palms felt the undeniable feeling of wet, warm skin.

“Oh my god,” he heard you shriek. “KIRISHIMA!”

“She’s all good, Kimiko,” Kirishima stifled out, his voice tight, his head slamming backward so that his eyes were concentrated on the starry night sky.

“...sorry… uh aha! Another client of mine is calling, goodbye!” Kimiko’s apology was meek and small before she hung up.

Kirishima’s mind was racing a mile a minute, but his body was frozen, unmoving like a rock when he realized that pressing to his stomach was, without a doubt, your breasts.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“What are you doing in here, pervert?!” you splutter, your hands pressing to his stomach as you step away. “Are you a pervert or something?!”

“I, no! No! Of course not! Fuck, shit, I’m so sorry! I’ll go! There was a tip that something was going to happen right now, and there was a crash and—”

“What are you looking at?” you exclaim, squeaky frustration heavy on your tongue. “There’s nothing wrong with the sky! Look me in the eyes? Have you never been to a co-ed hot spring before?!”

“Y-Yes, sorry!” Kirishima apologized, bowing slightly in apology before he peered down. Still, his face bursted in a flame as he watched the way your jaw dropped in disbelief, the dewy wetness of the hot spring clinging to your body. You were, obviously, soaked, and Kirishima bit his tongue as hard as he could to keep the whimper from expelling past his lips when he saw the light gleaming off your breasts. But he watched your face shift between a million emotions, each one appearing too fast for him to read, too fast to register, but he saw the way a single-arm wrap around your breast and the other shoving into his stomach.

“PERVERT!”

“What?!”

“That was a test! This is my private room! I have the right to not be willing to be looked at right now!” you shrieked as Kirishima spun around, allowing you the complete privacy of his gaze.

“You told me to look at you!” he squawked. “Y-You told me, and I listened because of our contract!”

Kirishima could feel his body trembling, his mind reeling in disbelief that he definitely saw you in your entire nakedness, and if the swirling heat in his stomach had anything to say about it, he liked it. Fuck.

There was a soft laugh and the sound of sloshing water as you probably (he wouldn’t know because he wasn’t looking) reentered the spring.

“I know, I was teasing,” you sing, and he can tell the water is gliding around your body. “Turn around, Kiri, let’s talk.”

“Haha, um, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” Kirishima admits, although sitting in this steam-filled space with just you sounds so very nice. 

“Why not?” you asked, voice sounding a bit upset.

“I’m supposed to be outside, doing my job?”

“Augh, but these private springs are so boring alone,” your voice whines; the water sloshes, and Kirishima winces at the slight throb on his tongue as he continues to look at not your direction. “Turn around, Kiri.”

Not too long ago, you had taken to calling him Kiri, a subtle change, a not unusual nickname people gave him. But just because it was you, his stomach flipped and twisted, and now with the image of your tits in mind, his dick throbbed. 

Gulping, Kirishima turned, his gaze bashfully looking down at you before glancing away. You were chest-deep in the hot springs, tendrils of your wet hair sticking to your neck. Was he dead? Maybe dreaming?

No, his dreams were never like this.

“Do you want to come in?” you continued to ask, your body moving towards him in the water until you reached the edge of the pool, arms testing into the black rocks. “You’re the only one not in one, and since I hate being in these alone, I figured you’d like to join.”

Kirishima wanted to join. More than anything, he wanted to take his clothes off and jump into the springs with you, for you, but that would be unprofessional. Entirely and utterly unprofessional.

“Please?” you ask softly, pleadingly, and Kirishima makes the mistake of locking his gaze with yours. 

“...fine, but I’ll be on the other side of the spring,” he concedes, his steps near clumsy and oafish as he stumbles backward to the shower and closet.

“Such a gentleman pervert,” you tease, fingers curling as you wave at him until Kirishima finally closes the door behind him.

The empty room is nearly deafening in its silence and the future as Kirishima slumps against the sliding door, excited apprehension rippling through every cell of his skin as a smile spreads across his face. He walks to the storage room, and despite it being a private room, there were two closets. The closet not already occupying your clothes had the things needed for him, and thankfully, it fit. 

He undressed slowly, folding his clothes and placing them into the cubbies. Fully naked, he approached the showers, and under the lukewarm showerhead, he cleaned his body of any grime, dirt, and sweat. 

Feeling refreshed and clean, Kirishima began his descent to the hot spring, his heart hammering when his fingers grabbed the handle of the door.

“I’m coming in,” he announced, a healthy amount of fear, excitement, and heat drumming through him.

“I’ll keep my virgin eyes away from your body, don’t worry,” came your slow tease, and Kirishima snorted softly.

Kirishima stepped back out to the hot spring.

Just like the first time, the entrance to the spring was warm, the steam seeming thicker than last time, clouding the outdoor room and his sight. You were at the furthest out part of the pool, your back towards them as you worked your fingers through your scalp.

Discarding his slippers at the edge, Kirishima climbed into the pool.

The pool only went as far as his thigh, and he sank into the warm water. It felt wonderful on his body, relaxing his muscles just enough for him to wonder when was the last time he had managed to visit a hot spring.

“I’m in,” Kirishima said, his arms rising up out of the water, resting onto the black stone. “You can turn around now.”

“God, took you long enough,” you tease, your body twisting so that you were facing him again.

To Kirishima’s complete and utter surprise, you stilled, eyes dragging up and down his exposed chest, eyes locked on the series of tattoos all over his right pectoral, and trailed down his right arm. His lips felt dry as your eyes shifted back to his face, to his arm, and back to him. The smile on your face felt weak, but it sent a spiral of dizzying heat through Kirishima when he noticed the hushed lust.

For a while, the two of you remained at opposite ends of the hot spring. Eyes closed, hummed melodies passing through the song. You asked Kirishima about how he felt, if his medication was due for refills, if therapy was okay (he was doing better, a refill was due in two weeks, and therapy was going the same). He asked you about your relationship with Kimiko, with the lawyer, and if you had any real friends within the music industry (Kimiko was like an older cousin to you, the lawyer was a pain to deal with at times, and surprisingly, you did meet some genuine friends). You questioned how his friends were doing, if he had any contact with them despite their busy schedules. 

So Kirishima found himself retelling stories of his coworkers turned close friends. Each story he told left both of you with sore stomachs from laughter, and tears at the corner of your eyes from laughing too hard. 

“Was the tip story true?” you asked once the quiet overcame and grew old. You shift through the water, getting a bit closer to Kirishima.

Kirishima coughed, suddenly feeling a tad bit shy about his posture, but decided to keep from moving.

“You honestly think I would have barged into here just because I wanted to see you?”

Truthfully, had Kirishima been a man without morals, chivalry, or disrespect for you, he would have. Definitely would have.

“Let a girl dream,” you smile, like a luring siren as you wander closer by just a step. “It would go against everything I know about you, but it’s fun to tease.”

“You’re a bigger brat than I thought you would be,” Kirishima smiles back, trying his best to not show the way goosebumps were bursting against his skin, his eyes locked on yours, trying to not get distracted by the way your wet skin made his mind spin.

“I don’t think I’m a brat,” you counter, getting close enough that he could feel the currents of the water with your movement. But you were far enough that Kirishima felt like pointing out the fact you disregarded his keep apart rule would be a mistake. “How am I a brat?”

The sound of the water rippling through the springs along with the growing noises of the bugs began a melody around the two of you, and all Kirishima could do was stare at the way you blinked your eyes slowly — like a feline stalking a prey.

“A lot of ways, really,” Kirishima breathes, his heart rising up to his throat as he felt your hands gingerly place themselves on his knees.

“Yeah?” you ask, parting through his naked legs, and Kirishima felt his breathing stop when your exposed chest pressed against his. Your lips were ghosting so far from his but tantalizingly close enough that he felt drunk off your sweet breath. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Kirishima sucked in air, his arms resisting movement, and his eyes glanced down at the way your mouth was millimeters from his. His dick was very much interested in what he could do about it, and when your hands grazed up his thigh and onto his chest, Kirishima could feel something rumble in his chest.

He moved to eliminate the space, but there was a crash in the following spring, pushing you away from him long before he could claim your mouth.

“FUCK!” the person in the opposite spring screamed, and Kirishima’s eyes closed in his muted annoyance as you sighed.

His eyes dropped to the water, giving you the privacy to rise out of the water and make your way over to the wall.

“Jenny, are you okay?” you called.

“Give me a warning the next time you try fucking your hot bodyguard in the middle of a private onsen!”

“We weren’t fucking you prude!”

And with that, Kirishima took this as his embarrassed cue to leave.

He stood at the entrance of your private spring for about twenty minutes, entirely uncomfortable with the still hard dick in his pants, rubbing and chaffing against his jeans as he stood there. Eventually, you exited the hot spring, face glowing from the steam and eyes avoiding his gaze as you walked back to your room. Your robe was tight on your body, the hair on the nape of your neck pressed to your skin.

Kirishima sighed as he watched you enter your room, your smile short as you nodded a simple goodnight before letting the door slam shut behind you.

Rubbing his face, Kirishima listened to the voices in his intercom talk about how nothing had happened tonight. An attempted unwelcome visitor tried to get into your room, but they had stopped him. They didn’t fight, but they had run away the moment they caught on to the fact that they weren’t exactly authentic.

Kirishima sighed as he slumped into his room, collapsing on the too small bed as he found himself looking at the ceiling in deep concentration.

What was he going to do now?

That was undeniably sexual, his still semi-hard dick damning evidence to the known fact that he wanted you. By god did he want you. Wanted you beneath him, over him, splitting yourself down onto his cock while you gripped your arms and legs around him, fucking down onto his driving cock. 

Kirishima groaned low in his chest, guilt blooming in the back of his throat as his palm rubbed his pulsing cock.

Bad, Kirishima, bad.

“Kirishima-san?” a voice broke through his earpiece, and Kirishima nearly jumped out of his skin. “Are you there?”

“Hi Kimiko,” Kirishima sighed, his dick deflating instantly. “Everything all right?”

“Ah, yes! Sorry about earlier, the false tip and the sudden abandonment!” Kimiko embarrassingly apologized. “My client was ringing for the fourth time, and while I care deeply for y/n, I had to take it!”

“Mm, no worries, Kimiko,” Kirishima smiled politely despite the lack of visual contact. “How can I help you?”

“Ah, yes,” Kimiko asserted, her tone changing from apology to one of formality. “So, about the visitor incident I’m sure you were brought attention to, it seems that the vehicle they came in was with the driver's plate: T082-23. Does that sound familiar?”

“Not currently,” Kirishima sighed, his body stretching into a sitting up position. “Does it to you?”

“No…” Kimiko admitted, and Kirishima could feel the worried frown on her face. “Well, I just wanted to call and give you that information. It was passed along to me, and they mentioned they hadn’t told you. And since I was going to give you the schedule for the upcoming JRA’s award day, I figured I’d let you know!”

“No problem! Let’s go over the schedule now?”

“Yes! I have a client meeting in America right after this! Can you believe it? An American celebrity wants my help?!”

“That sounds amazing, Kimiko!”

“Okay, so this is how the day’s going to go!”

Date: 7/10 Time: 18:00 Location: Tokyo Hotel Room 101

Kirishima watched as an entire team was getting you dressed up.

Two people were doing your hair, three people doing your nails, one person doing your makeup, and five getting one of your three outfits for the night ready.

According to you, as you had strutted around in these outfits nearly two weeks ago were your red carpet and beginning of the award show outfit, your performance outfit, and of course, the after-party outfit. Each one was different, yet when adorned on your body was a perfect replica of who you were.

Most importantly, the two of you had decided to ignore every single instance of tremendous sexual energy and desire that basically leaked from both of your pores. It was for the best to ignore it. There was no point in pursuing it, especially when there was a known hunt for you, and Kirishima was the last line of defense between you and whoever it was.

Whoever it was, pfft.

Kirishima was willing to bet on who it was already.

Since the night of the initial kidnapping that finally closed the gap between you and Kirishima, there was something that the caught criminal said that stuck with him.

Everything you had coming your way, you deserved, he had said in bitter spite.

The interesting thing was that it was the lawyer who had said that, multiple times at that. The lawyer seemed to have everything to fuel him to rage against you. Everything you said or tried, the lawyer was on your heel, barking at you that it was wrong. Kirishima had also seen the contracts between you and the lawyer, and the amount that he was paid to be your attorney was not large at all.

The mass majority of the funds you earned were always funneled towards charities and organizations you trusted to help people in need — in fact, it was almost 80% of your total earnings. A meek, barely larger than 20% was split between you, your lawyer, Kimiko, your music crew, and any other unforeseen expenses. The lawyer was also in a situation where he was not in demand with clients, and if you weren’t heeding his expensive tag, he needed a new contract with you.

A contract he was always demanding to discuss with you that you denied to change.

Attacks tended to happen days after you and the lawyer tumbled, not enough to rouse suspicion if you weren’t looking, but Kirishima was. He just needed damning evidence now.

Something.

Anything.

And for some reason, his gut was screaming at him that something big was going to happen tonight, that tonight was going to be the last attack—the one to end everything.

So he had told everyone about it. Kimiko, the security at the JRA’s, even you. It made him nervous.

It made his hand sweat, the gun strapped to his thigh feeling like hot iron as he stood about as you laughed with your makeup crew.

Kirishima swore, promised, and vowed he would protect you.

He was going to.

And when the gold dress was tied to your body, fitting you beautifully, Kirishima found himself unable to look away like strands of your hair framed your temples.

“What do you think, Kiri? Will I be on the Best Dressed List?” you asked, tearing Kirishima’s attention away from the bodice and skirt of the dress. Your eyes were bright, hopeful, yearning for a positive reaction from him.

“How could you not be?” Kirishima admitted, his grin toothy, and he shifted against the wall.

“You’ll make me blush,” you grin back, eyes batting just a bit as you clasp your hands together. It takes everything in Kirishima to keep from striding across the space between the two of you and kissing you silly. “Are we ready to go?”

Kirishima wet his lips, unwillingly tearing his gaze from you, and whispers into the intercom.

“Ready to move out?”

“We’re all clear.”

Straightening back up, Kirishima smiled at you, his head motioning towards the door.

“Alright, y/n, let’s see you make some history?”

“Damn right I will.”

Kirishima smiled as he exited first, carving the path for you. 

Paparazzi were on you immediately, the lights flashing and terribly bright as he helped you through the throngs of them. His hand pressed to your back as they screamed demands, most of which you complied with until Kirishima stated that you would be late. You, unfortunately, couldn’t be late to the awards show.

Ushering you into the limousine, Kirishima follows in shortly after you, scrunching up in his seat as he sits opposite of you. However, your typical light and bright demeanor are gone; instead, you seem almost anxious as you open your handbag.

“You okay there?” Kirishima asks as he realizes you pulled out a distinctly obvious metal flask.

“Awards make me nervous,” you painfully admit; you're weakly smiling as you knock back a shot of the drink. “I hate winning and losing; the alcohol makes me less… of a wreck. Do you want some? I think it’s apple soju, I don’t know, a good luck gift from Kimiko.”

Kirishima grins, his eyes rolling as he decides to decline the drink. “Sorry, love, I think that I need to be completely sober for today.”

You scrunch your nose, obviously displeased, “Lame, who shows up to these awards sober?”

“Me,” Kirishima laughed, his head tilting back and scraping against the ceiling of the limousine. 

“Such a prude, sober, pervert,” you sigh, taking yet another swig before putting the flask back into your bag. 

“Such a brat.”

Just like every previous instance, your eyes seem to glow in glee at that name, your lips curling into a pleased smirk as you shrug. It's a sight that makes Kirishima’s mouth dry and heart racing. Fuck, he should not be thinking about fucking you in the limousine right now.

But before the heat in the limousine could simmer to one of undeniable boiling, you had arrived.

Kirishima cleared his throat, sending a quick wink your way as he exited the car first. The first stop was for him to join the lineup to guide you through all the different photo and interview sessions. No one wanted pictures of him emerging from the limo after all. 

There's a moment where after Kirishima closes the door, your eyes filled with worry and excitement as he winked goodbye, that things changed. He stood up, his eyes already scanning the area for anything suspicious, when he saw the all too familiar van.

T082-23.

His eyes widened, his head looking around for anyone else, but there was no one to help. No one could do anything as the car continued to drive away, disappearing from Kirishima’s line of sight. His heart hammered in his chest, and his hands instinctively went to his thigh. He had his firearm… he had it.

With nothing but a quick report to the head of security via his com, Kirishima pushed on ahead, waiting for your descent down the red carpet.

When you eventually emerged from the limousine, Kirishima found that at this moment, the entire world faded away as a gloved hand assisted you out of the vehicle. You were elegant, stunning, a realistic vibrant portrait within his world of greys. As you took photos for the cameras, he was by your side a few strides away as you talked to reporters.

You really came to life right now.

You were beautiful.

“For all the pain in the world that she is, she’s quite charming from a distance, huh?” a voice spoke to his side, and Kirishima froze. His eyes widened completely when he noticed that standing beside him was none other than the lawyer.

The lawyer was dressed in a nice suit, glasses perched on his nose, and for the first time Kirishima had seen, the scowl was not quite so hard.

He was here.

Every warning bell sounded in Kirishima’s head.

This was the man he was so sure was the reason behind your every attack. A man fueled by insufficient funding, a need for a new contract that would never be approved without your signature.

“What are you doing here?” Kirishima asked, subtlety never being something he was ever good with. “I’ve never seen you anywhere except to argue with Y/n about contracts. This doesn’t seem like the appropriate time to be discussing it.”

“Kimiko wanted me to give her a new contract proposal to give to y/n. However, to be fair, it’s quite easy for anything to come down to an argument with y/n,” he shrugs, and Kirishima watches a cloud of emotions pass between the man’s eyes. “At least between her and me, we’ve never gotten along, but I suppose that’s how it is for any type of family who works together.”

Wait.

“What?! Family member?!”

“Yes, I know it’s strange to believe. I am quite ugly, and she is not, but we’re family.”

Kirishima’s mind was racing now. It didn’t make sense. If he was family, why would he be in such pursuit of potentially murdering you? If you were family, he was sure that you would help out? If he needed a raise like he thought, wouldn’t you have helped?

There was no way you wouldn’t.

Was he wrong?

Who was it?

“Kiri!” your voice broke into his mind and tore him back to reality. You waved at him, then passed a stuck-out tongue to the lawyer in a teasing fashion. “Let’s go in?”

Kirishima looked over at the lawyer who greeted a woman, who was also walking down the red carpet, a celebrity he could name no less, with a warm kiss. 

Oh fuck.

He needed to call Kimiko; he was so very wrong.

You had won two awards so far, and at this very moment, Kirishima was being ushered back to his seat in the audience as you were being escorted to the main stage to perform your latest song. You had removed your gold dress for a black, sleek gown. Your lipstick changed to a dark red, and your hands trembled in the white lace gloves you wore.

“Oh, Kiri,” you wheezed almost, your hands shaking as the announcers on stage were announcing the last awards before your performance. “I’m getting nervous. What if I mess up or sing off-key? I’d be the laughing stock!”

Kirishima laughed gently, his hands easily encompassing your waist as he stilled your frantic moves. “Y/l/n y/n, if there is anything I know for sure about you is that you are one hell of a singer and a performer. The awards you’re nominated for tonight speak for themselves! You never fail at your performances, and even if you somehow manage to sing off-key, I’m sure that no one would notice! Your biggest fan in the world won’t notice, at least.”

Not more than seven days ago, when you had cried about the impending nerves of being an artist, Kirishima had come to claim the title of being your biggest fan in the world. It had made you chuckle through your tears before coming near a hysterical laugh as the two of you held each other close.

“You’re a nut, Kirishima Eijirou,” you laugh, hands resting on his lower ribs, but your smile was bright, warm. You paused a bit, fingers pulling at the fabric of his shirt. “I’ll sing just for you then, but I think I should take another swig of that soju.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Could you tell that Takeyama is completely drunk off her ass?”

“...she’s drunk?!”

“Exactly, I’ll be fine,” you breathe, taking a new smaller flask from the purse Kirishima was holding for you and taking the final swig. Your face contorts at the bitter liquid. “Ew, Kimiko really fucked me over with this one. Why is it blue?! Have you ever seen blue apple soju?!”

“No?” Kirishima startled, his eyes looking at the indeed splash of blue liquid tainting a small part of your gloves. “Who gave you that one? What happened with the other flask of yours?”

“Oh, Kimiko sent it along after I lost my other one; it’s her own flask,” you said before the backstage crew whisked you away to begin your set, and without you, Kirishima was sent to the audience.

Kirishima felt trapped as he was ushered into his seat, his eyes scanning the entire audience for something suspicious, a familiar face perhaps. His broad shoulders continued to bump into his neighbors, their disgruntled noises doing nothing to stop his worry.

“And now, Y/n,” came the strong voice of the male announcer, and the light dimmed.

Kirishima watched as the spotlight came down upon you, a golden halo of colors against your darkened gown as the instrumentals began to play in the background. And he saw you take a step forward, the building motifs suddenly silencing when you finally sang the first note.

Despite the panic arising in Kirishima, the unknown of who was behind it all, what was going to happen, he stilled at the unmatched strength and ambiance of your voice.

You sang as you did at every stage, to every audience.

There was a reason why you were considered a legend.

And then, with one last sound, one last melody, and your hand holding your microphone dropped. Your chest heaving, tears falling down your face, and the roar of the audience was silent. You looked through the audience, unable to see, but for some reason, you just knew where Kirishima was.

You smile.

But as the looming sounds begin to fill your ear again, you find that the world is hazy.

You swallow, eyes unfocused as you bowed, hurrying to leave the stage.

Kirishima watched as you took a final stumbling step off the stage, something he felt was going to be written off as you stepped on your dress. But his mind whirled.

The lawyer felt like a setup; the contracts made no sense, the blue soju.

How were they related?

What connected them?

“Oh, fuck,” Kirishima whispered, horrified, and immediately his finger pressed to his earpiece. “Find Y/n! Now!”

Kirishima was racing through the back of the venue, the announcers' voices still ringing through the dirty, bleak hallways. You had just won but was written off as being somewhere backstage; after all, the show must go on.

Voices screamed in his earpiece, each declining to have found you. No one had seen you after you stepped off the stage. No one knew who had taken you.

Kirishima noticed the doors closing at the end of the hallway, and with a dreading sense of doom, Kirishima removed the gun from his harness. And with the devil on his heels, he ran.

Kirishima panted as he looked before him.

You were passed out, draped limp, confused, and woozy against Kimiko’s body, and two men knocked unconscious beside them. To anyone else, it looked as if Kimiko had saved you, some guardian angel within this world, but if Kirishima’s gut meant anything, he knew better.

“Kirishima-san!’ Kimiko squeaked as Kirishima raised his gun, his body tense, unwilling to take a chance on her. “I don’t know what those two were doing! I was saving her, I swear!”

“Don’t do this, Kimiko,” Kirishima whispered, his head shaking. “I figured it out.”

There was a shift in Kimiko’s face at that; the scared unknowing hero melted into one of anger, resentment, one of someone who knew they had been outed.

“So, you figured it out,” she bitterly spoke, her arms that were supporting you from behind revealing to be a firearm of your own. “I didn’t expect you to.”

“I can’t say I figured out your reasoning; honestly, it doesn’t make sense to me, but I felt like it was you,” Kirishima carefully states, his heart roaring at the implied danger of the firearm against your chin. “Don’t do anything stupid, Kimiko.”

Kimiko stares, her lips forming a small o before changing into one of a large, near unattached grin.

“Anything stupid? If anyone is doing anything stupid, it's this selfish prick!” Kimiko spits, her arms tightening around you, making you whimper ever so gently in pain. “She thinks she’s so great, so rich, so smart! Just because she wastes most of her money on stupid shit like charity! Everyone thinks working for her is a dream, but they’re all blind idiots!”

Kirishima’s eyes widen as he notices the glazed, unfocused of your eyes as you shift your attention over to him. Were you listening?

“What’s wrong with the contract?” he asks, a small attempt to diffuse the situation.

“The fact she pays me next to nothing, and yet she works me half to death!”

“You have multiple clients, don’t you?” Kirishima splutters, unsure as to what was wrong. “Why is this one contract so important you wanted to frame her lawyer?!”

Kimiko laughs; it’s pitchy, almost hysterical as she bends over, your body slumping further onto the floor. “That was a lie! All a fucking lie! Do you know that I knew no one when I first started? Y/n is a name everyone wants. I don’t need to do anything to get her things! The world wants her! But the other clients? None of them stayed, none of them wanted me past a month! The salary was okay when she was a snot-nosed brat, but ten years later?! NO! She won’t fucking listen. She never fucking listens to anything but herself! So she has the option to give me the eighty percent, or fucking die here!”

Suddenly the gun in Kirishima’s hand feels like a ton, the skin on the back of his neck crawling and slicking with sweat.

“You know how much those charities mean to her,” Kirishima whispers. “She won’t do it.”

Kimiko trembles for a second, her arm holding the firearm lowering as she looks at the wall, shaking.

“Oh my god… you’re right,” Kimiko realizes, horror and uncertainty flashing across her face. “I guess… she has to die, oh my god, she has to die.”

At that moment, the world slowed down, and Kirishima swore he could see the atoms, the electricity flowing through the space between them. Kimiko’s arm holding the gun raising back up to your temple, her smile detached, horrific yet gleeful.

His body trembled as he doubted himself, his mind unsure if the finger on the trigger was going to be strong enough to fire away. Could he do it?

Was he ready?

Actually ready?

Save her, his past whispered.

Save her, his nightmares screamed.

Save her, his heart yelled.

Kirishima raised his arm, his focus blaring, his past just for a moment, forgotten.

BANG!

“The effects of the rohypnol have already worn out. Thankfully she wasn’t given a whole pill. If she experiences any nausea or throws up, please bring her back, should anything else happen, she’ll be okay.”

The words of the doctor rang in Kirishima’s ears. For tonight, they were going to be discharging you to him. Thankfully, it was all happening in Tokyo, so Kirishima’s apartment was near, and if Bakugou was true to his word, it was clean.

With the help of hospital security, he had managed to get your tuxedo concealed body into a car, and the two of you rode off to his apartment. You’ve been silent the entire time, eyes downcasted as you sit pressed to his side, feeling like a small child compared to him. You knew that he was much larger than you, a near two feet taller, but this felt unmatched. 

Kirishima’s jacket was warm around you, it’s sheer largeness another dress on your body, and despite the horrific turn of events, you were feeling warm. You couldn’t remember much of what transpired after stumbling off stage, but you did remember Kirishima bursting through the doors, a look of anger and fear blistering off his person in such a way that made you whimper when you remembered.

You remembered the onsen basically every night, cursing your stupid makeup team for interrupting a night that definitely would have ended with you fucking Kirishima. You cursed yourself for being a coward and not just saying fuck it and fucking him afterward despite the brief awkwardness.

He wanted you, it was clear as day, and you wanted him as well.

Tonight.

“Sorry about how small my apartment is, or if it’s messy, I don’t actually know if my friends have been keeping up with it,” Kirishima apologized, guiding you into the apartment by the small of your back. “You’ll be safe here tonight, and I promise we can get back to your own place tomorrow!”

“Oh, don’t apologize, it’s okay,” you smile, feeling flushed as you cross the entryway to the apartment. His apartment, despite not being home in so long, is clean. The halls aren’t messy, and a hint of lavender is saturated to the air. The dim hallway lights were barely bright enough to cause you to squint as it was dark out. “Thank you for having me tonight, especially after everything.”

At the hospital, you had been given a pair of sweats and a cotton t-shirt. The change in outfit from your event dress was definitely needed, and even though you were sure your makeup was streaked down your face, you felt good hidden in the depths of Kirishima’s jacket.

“Are you hungry?” Kirishima asked, handing over his guest slippers, which you gratefully accepted. “I might have some microwaveable food leftover.”

“Ramen doesn’t sound too bad,” you admit as Kirishima unbuttons the first few buttons on his white dress shirt. You were instantly captivated by the movement, your eyes shifting back to his face when he began to walk off towards the kitchen.

Kirishima talked warmly, keeping the conversation going merrily and bright throughout the entire time in the kitchen. He undoubtedly knew you weren’t entirely okay, and at moments like this, you were entirely grateful for his sweet personality. 

To be fair, you knew that you had been quite unfair to Kirishima in the beginning. Looking back at the first entire month of knowing him, you were horrified and impressed that Kirishima didn’t demand to be dropped. You had been selfish, stubborn, a bottom line brat, and he took it day after day. It wasn’t that you disliked him back then; hell, you had been in a near state of delirium when he entered the door during your first meeting because you had no idea such huge men existed to the caliber of his hotness.

But you resisted and might have been harsher than needed.

It was okay now; after all, if he was genuinely bitter about that entire month still, the onsen said otherwise.

It didn’t take long for your stomach to be filled with warm broth, soft boiled eggs, and ramen noodles. Kirishima did, in fact, have ramen, fresh eggs, and some vegetables. In a grand act of preparing you the most sufficient dinner he could, Kirishima presented this under budget ramen and laughed when you said it was terrific.

But it was growing late.

The two of you still sat at his table that was full of a card game, your empty ramen bowls, and cups of water. The clock on the oven read 23:38, and the city lights were slowly dying.

“Are you ready for bed?” Kirishima eventually asked you. 

You looked up from your joined hands; your fingers had been playing with his thick and long fingers for some time now. The apartment grew steadily quieter as you studied and attempted to memorize each callous and scar on his hands. They were definitely marked and nicked, the sign of the warrior he once was.

“Depends on the bed,” you tease, lips rising into a small smile as you compare your much tinier hands than his. Your fingertips barely passed the edge of his palm. “What does a big guy like you sleep in? A twin? Tatami mat?”

Kirishima laughed, his hands twisting in yours, wrapping it around so that he raised your hands up to press a kiss to the center of your palms. 

“A futon, brat,” Kirishima explained, his smile small but sharp with his humor. “Let’s get you to bed?”

You frown. 

“Where will you be sleeping then?”

“My couch is just fine.”

“I’m sure your stuffing in a trash bag had holes in it.”

“That’s okay,” Kirishima laughed, standing up and quickly taking you to your feet as well. “It’s just for a night, I’ll live.”

Your face warmed immediately as he guided you down the hallway of his apartment before finally coming into what was definitely his room.

Kirishima’s scent was faint in this room, cinnamon, wood, and warm spices. It made your eyes flutter as you observed his room from the entryway as he began to set up the room. 

His eye for interior decoration was quite… different. You smiled brightly as you glanced around; the diverse and rather boyish decorations around the room warmed your heart. It seemed exactly like what you would think of for Kirishima. 

“Well, that’s all!” Kirishima exclaimed, his hands landing on his hips in triumph as he looked around. “The bathroom is the next door over, and I’ll leave a toothbrush out for you. I also left out a new t-shirt of mine if you want to change!”

You nod some more, watching as Kirishima seems unsure of what to do next. He looks around, coughs a bit before nodding.

“Okay, I’ll be leaving—”

“Um, can we talk?” you interrupt, arms wrapping around your body. “I have some things I want to say.”

“Oh, sure!”

“You can sit,” you say, motioning toward the bed. “I have a few things to get off my chest.”

Kirishima pauses for a bit, his eyes looking you over before he eventually nods, and he sits down. The bed slightly creaks under his weight, and you feel your body warm-up at the sound. You want to hear the bed creak more, to rock under the weight of you and him pressed against the sheets as you cried his name.

“What is it?” he asks gently, observing you.

“I just…” you huff, words failing you, your tongue feeling heavy. “I wanted to say thank you for saving me.”

“It was my job to do that,” Kirishima smiled warmly, his arms crossing again.

He was relaxed.

“I mean, I can’t even begin to believe that it was Kimiko who was behind all that, even though we know it was… I know it was,” you trail off, shivering slightly as you remember your ex-managers demented laugh in your ear. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Nothing would’ve happened to you,” Kirishima spoke with finality. “I promised to myself at the first meeting I was going to protect you, hell the entire world would. You’re not going to be taken down by pathetic people like that, not you.”

“Really?”

“One hundred percent.”

“I feel like I should repay you in some way, though,” you rub the back of your neck, eyes fluttering just the slightest bit flirtatious. Kirishima looked at you with full mooned eyes, his arms unfolding and his palms resting onto the bedspread.

“You repay me plenty already,” came his whispered answer, so quiet, so pure you almost smiled. “You don’t have to do anything.”

Your tongue pushes past your lip, wetting the drying skin as you take a step toward him. The shoulders of the jacket slowly fall from your own shoulders, pooling just above your elbows as you stop before him, hands resting daintily on his broad shoulders.

“And what if I want something?” you ask, finding yourself stemming with energy as his legs part, allowing you closer access to him. 

You step in closer and closer until your outer thighs are ghosting against the inner part of his.

“I think it’s in our contract for me to do everything that you request if I remember correctly,” Kirishima whispers, his bright clear red eyes turning a burnt shade: dark and ever consuming. 

“And if I want you to finish what you started over at the onsen?” you press, fingers curling against the muscles of his shoulders before locking behind his neck.

His nose was brushing against yours, cold yet burning against your own skin.

“I’ll gladly show you what I wanted to do that night,” he grunts, eyes deadly, and for the first time, his hands held your waist.

You took a second to recover, your skin sparking with the electricity of his touch, and you suppressed a shiver as you opened your eyes.

“Do it,” you cement your fates, “coward.”

And just like that, in a movement so euphoric, Kirishima’s mouth crashed against yours.

His mouth was hot, dangerous against yours -- a live wire sparking with uncontrollable energy and heat as your mouths danced. Hot puffs of air were passed between your mouths, your fingers shaking with an undeniable release of tension and want. 

The kiss was sloppy, desperate, so needy with unspoken frantic determination to fuck each other until the other could no longer move. 

Kirishima’s hand removed the jacket from your arms, letting the expensive material fall onto the floor with a heavy thud. Despite the lack of warmth the clothing provided, the feeling of Kirishima’s hands rubbing against your bare arms sent your mind spiraling.

“Get on the bed,” Kirishima commands against your mouth. “Let me fuck you.”

The words were nearly embarrassingly desperate, but the tone of his voice spoke of the absolute domination he wished to assert on you. He wanted you in one exact way, and you had a feeling you knew what it was. But if he had been paying attention, Kirishima should already know that getting you to listen was not easy.

“No,” you grin against his mouth.

Kirishima pulls away instantly, his lips red and swollen as he replays your word in his head. He looks frazzled, absolutely delirious already at the simple, passion-filled makeout. As soon as his eyes clear away the fog, your grin drops, and instead, you look at him with fierce determination and defiance. 

“No?” he repeats.

“No,” you confirm.

Your chest feels light, your head spinning as the hands on your waist tighten, and his eyes flash dangerously. The tip of his tongue pushes past his lips before quickly disappearing again. 

“Of course, you’re a brat in bed too, such a fucking princess,” Kirishima shakes his head, but his mouth curving into a shark-like grin. 

Menacing, promising, sending chilling shivers down your spine.

The world spins faster than you can keep up, your mouth opening to shriek as Kirishima easily lifts you up, and has you lying against his lap. 

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret, princess,” Kirishima begins, his large fingers hooking into the waistband of the sweats you have on and the panties you’re wearing. “My princess gets rewards for being good. If she can behave properly, she gets to be fucked with dick, her pussy gets to be fucked just the way she pleases.”

You can’t help but stifle a moan that threatens to spill out with his words and the way his hands move down the curve of your ass, exposing the naked skin to him. The waistband of both your panties and sweats stay high up your thighs, and it’s almost embarrassing to know you’re still so clothed despite what’s to come.

“And just what does the Sergeant do to bad girls?” you ask, unable to keep your tongue down, your hips rolling against his lap in undeserved friction.

Unexpectedly, abruptly, a hand comes down harshly onto your bare ass.

The contact is rough, stinging against your ass as you cry out in slight pain.

The hand not currently rubbing a warning circle into your ass twists the hair at the top of your head, lifting your head up so that your ear could near his mouth.

“Bad girls get punishments. They get what I want to give them. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Holy shit,” you whimper, heat flaring between your thighs at the thought of Kirishima doing anything to you regardless of if you were good or bad. You rut your ass back against his hand, longing for a heavier touch, a plea for something more.

“What does the princess want?”

“Nothing,” you bite, and the crashing smack of another spank has you moaning loudly at the stinging pleasure-filled pain. 

“You moaning like a whore at a simple spank says otherwise,” Kirishima chuckles darkly, his fingers pinching your stinging ass as your body bucks against him. He spanks you again, again, and again. Each slap is intentful, powerful, wanting to get you to admit what you want, and you cry against your hands each time, your eyes fluttering as the pain feels good. 

“Of course, a slut like you would be getting off on this,” Kirishima seems amused, his thick finger pressing to the slit of your cunt, spreading your dripping essence against your cunt. He presses against your entrance with just the tip of his finger, and you shriek in a sound for more, your hips jerking backward to get his finger into you, to fuck you with those thick fingers to do something about the growing desperate heat. 

“Kirishima!” you scream, your body sweating and twisting on his lap, desperate to find some way to get him to finger fuck you. 

“Ah, there we go,” he sighs in delight as his fingers swirl at your entrance, increasing the teasing and making your mind spin. “Tell me what you want, brat.”

“You!” you wail, two of his fingers carting between your wet, sloppy heated lips. They graze your clit, stimulating you further as you can do nothing but instinctively jerk against his hold, trying to get him to give you the needed pleasure to build up to an orgasm. “I want you to fuck me so good! Please, Sergeant, please, I want you to fuck me until I can’t remember anything but your name.”

“But you haven’t proven to be a good princess,” Kirishima tuts, his hands disappearing from your pussy despite your crying pleas. His hand grabs your ass, though, massaging the abused skin, grasping it tightly.

You moan, embarrassed at the sensation of his massive hand easily cupping your ass cheek, your fingers fisting into the fabric of his pants as you shake your head.

“Are you going to prove that you’re good?” he asks you, his tone like that of a parent chastising a child. “Gonna prove to me that you can be good?”

You shake pathetically against his legs, but you can’t keep yourself from shaking your head. You can’t prove to him that you would be.

“I can’t!” you whimper loudly, your body twisting on his lap to look up at him, your eyes filled with tears and pleading need. Kirishima looked down at you with lust filled eyes and an undeniable need to be followed.

“You can’t?” he repeats, his head tilting, eyes narrowing, and his fingers dug into your ass. “Or you won’t?”

You tremble on top of him, unable to answer because you weren’t ready to hand over the reins just yet. You didn’t want to submit so fast, you wanted to make his own head dizzy with need but the stubbornness to continue punishing you the way he was promising.

“I won’t,” you gasp, eyes fluttering at the way he finally drops your head.

You gasp loudly as you find him shoving you off his lap, and with your panties and sweats sitting so awkwardly high on your legs, you find yourself tumbling off his lap and onto the floor.

“Guess if you don’t want to behave, I’ll treat you like some fucking pussy pocket and dispose of you once I’m done,” Kirishima easily breathes, and you look up at the now standing man as he tears his shirt off.

Your mouth waters, your cunt throbbing at the sight of the rippling muscles and dark lines of his tattoos on his upper body. You watch fascinated, like one does to a masterpiece, as he undresses until he’s in nothing but his socks. And at the sight of his dick, you can feel at once all the blood in your flushed face drop directly into your throbbing cunt.

He was fucking enormous, his girth barely fitting into his hand, and the angry red head spilled its precum against his abs. A black happy trail connecting Kirishima’s abs to his vein throbbing cock.

Holy fuck, he could quickly kill you with that.

Kirishima doesn’t ask any questions as he watches your awkwardly dressed state of a body on the floor. His head is tilted upwards, a small pleased smile on his face as he looks down on you, his hand slowly, leisurely fisting his cock as you can do nothing but stare.

You make some insane noise at the back of your throat at this sight, your thighs trembling with need, and you're pushing off your side, your ass burning, and your balance off as you open your mouth, offering all you could to him.

And thankfully, Kirishima allows it.

He’s much too tall for you to suck him off on your knees, so he sits back down onto the bed, letting you scamper between his legs, mouth open wide like some needy pet.

“Such a good little slut,” Kirishima sighs, sinking his cock into your wet, hot mouth. “Such a fucking cockwhore, all it took was a single glance for you to lose your will.”

You whine against his dick, your jaw tight with the stretch, your tongue lapping so desperately around the cock that was no more than halfway in yet couldn’t go in any further.

“Suck me right, and I’ll reward you by fucking that pretty little pussy of yours,” Kirishima grunts, his fingers pressing into the side of your neck as he ruts his hips up into your mouth, shoving his cock even further into your mouth. “And don’t you dare look away from me while you suck me off.”

It feels like fire.

His cock driving down your throat hurts, the taste of his salty pre-cum slathering all over your tongue and dripping out of your mouth with the saliva you can’t control. His cock hits the back of your throat, and you continue to bob your head, continue to fuck him with your throat as animalistic, praiseworthy noises begin spilling from Kirishima’s mouth.

You whimper at the sight of his head dipping back, and you nearly whine when he shoves the fingers he had gathered your juices on into his mouth. He moans at the contact and with his pleasure with your actions so obvious as you choke against his girth. That was hot, holy fuck, you wanted him to fuck you, please fuck you. 

Your eyes close as he begins to fuck faster into your mouth, his delight in hearing you choke around him his driving force. Tears start pouring from your eyes despite your best efforts, your throat and inner thighs burning with lust and need as Kirishima groans, his cock twitching deep in your throat.

Slap!

“Hey!”

Slap!

You gag harshly as your cheeks sting with his heavy slap, your teeth grazing underneath his cock, right against a thick, twisting vein.

“Did I tell you to close your eyes?” Kirishima practically growls, his hands grasping the back of your neck, the other one slapping you across the face yet again. “No. I said… fuck… I said, keep your eyes on me!”

Tears weep down your face, your eyes struggling to keep focus on him as he continued to fuck deep and intensely into your mouth, shoving himself further into you until you could feel his thighs grazing your chin. Oxygen wasn’t flowing anymore; your gags and chokes the only time the burning element could manage to flow through you, but Kirishima doesn’t seem to care. He seems to delight in the way you are, despite it all, are moaning and looking at him in a pleading way for more.

More, you plead.

And he delivers. 

Kirishima pulls his still hard, not yet cummed, dick out of your mouth and stands. 

You splutter with the sudden intake of oxygen to your lungs, burning you from the inside out as you splutter on the ground.

“W-What’s going on?” you hoarsely stammer, your jaw and throat aching from its prolonged abuse. “E-Ei?”

However, Kirishima seems dead set on getting you naked, and you squeal in flustered excitement as he rips the shirt off of you and his mouth pressing against yours again. His mouth crashes against yours, and you moan into his mouth immediately.

His tongue curls into your mouth and your tongues press and rub against each other. Each passing second growing more desperate, needier, more intense as your clothes are ripped one by one off your body.

“Holy fuck, I’ve wanted you for so long,” Kirishima nearly whines, his mouth trailing down your neck, biting and sucking against every centimeter of skin he passed. “Wanted to fuck you against the wall, in my bed, and now I get to do that.”

“Please, please, fuck me, please,” you beg, your voice bordering a wail as your arms wrap around his neck, letting him lift you up off the floor. Despite you being so much smaller than him that when he held you to him, your cunt wasn’t pressed to his angry leaking cock, you continued to desperately roll your hips against his abs, the friction welcomed and easing the building pressure. It was an action conveying just what you wanted. “I need you in me, Sergeant!”

“Just cuz… holy fuck,” Kirishima breathes ragged, his body twisting around, and you cried when the cold sheets pressed into your back. “Imma fuck you, Imma… god, just fucking watch.”

Your head thrashed back onto the pillow as Kirishima’s teeth sunk into your collarbone, then captured your sensitive nipples, his fingers dancing against your clit and teasing your center. 

“Now!” you cry, fingers digging into his shoulder. “Put it in!”

This time, Kirishima didn’t need to be told twice.

His larger body was suddenly pressed entirely against yours, dwarfing you immediately as your arms wrapped around his back as his cock slammed into you. You screamed at the sudden intrusion, your pussy stretched beyond its typical limits by his girth, his size, his power.

Your cunt throbbed around him, your face buried within his pecs as you, despite the searing pain, shove your hips up towards him. Fucking into him, sucking him further into you.

“Holy shit,” Kirishima groans, “you’re amazing.”

“Talk less, fuck me more!” you screech, your body spasming, twitching so hard from the splitting pleasure and the lava pit in your stomach, and Kirishima does that exactly.

His hips begin to meet yours in equaled power, slamming into you so that the bed creaked beneath you. He fucked you until he had to hold a hand on your hip so you could stay there, and you kept a hand on the wall to continue to push yourself down onto his cock.

You screamed with pleasure, cried for more, Kirishima’s shark-like smirk getting bolder, darker, hotter with every slam of his hips until his tattooed right arm shot down. His hand wrapped around your throat, choking you.

“You’re so loud, princess,” Kirishima moans, clearly liking your loud noises, “but you’re going to wake everyone in Tokyo.”

His hand around your throat is enough to have your legs trembling around his waist, your choked and muffled moans and splutters drowning out even more as he pressed a kiss onto you. He kissed you, licking your mouth, and devouring your every word and thought. Your core twisted, tightened, and burned. It throbbed and clenched with it’s impending orgasm, and your body began to tense to the heavens as his cock throbbed deep within you.

“Who saved you?”

“E-Ei did,” you garble.

“Who’s fucking you?”

“E-Ei is!”

“Who’s going to fucking cum when I tell her to?”

“Me! Fuck, me!”

Kirishima laughs, his arms wrapping around your waist, and in one final, fleeting burst of strength, fucks into you with his own power, needs, and desire, and you can only take it. “Cum, princess,” he whispered almost sweetly against the top of your head, and it was all over. Your teeth sink into his chest as you scream, a blinding white light erupting through your vision as you cum around his cock.

Kirishima whimpers, his cock still pushing deep into your cunt, until you can feel the warm spill of his seed in your womb.

He collapses to the side of you, taking you with him so that you were resting on his sweaty chest.

“Holy shit,” Kirishima whispered after a bit, your body already warm and too lethargic to notice the star-like tone to his voice. “That was fucking… holy shit.”

“Does this mean you like me?” you half tease, half wonder.

There’s a pause, a silence, and you wonder if maybe he had fallen asleep.

But he didn’t.

“I’ve been in love with you for some time now, I think,” he admits, his hand beginning to rub small circles into your back.

You find that despite the exhaustion, warmth floods your cheeks.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I guess we’re going to have to discuss a more… permanent and maybe different contract tomorrow morning, huh?”

Kirishima chuckles, and you find yourself smiling into his chest.

“I think we do.”

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