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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

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the bodyguard

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

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pairing: bodyguard!kirishima eijirou x idol!reader

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

word count: 20,500

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

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“I’ll be okay.”

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

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

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

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

What had he done?

What in the fucking world had he done?!

BOOM!

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

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

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

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

05:30.

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

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Better?

No, not yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Cause I’m a stalker, duh.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Kirishima-kun, are you okay?”

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

“Kirishima-kun?”

“Yo, he’s not looking too hot?”

“Kirishima?!”

“Can you hear us?!”

Silence.

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

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

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

He was okay.

“Kirishima?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

But he was obviously not the first choice still.

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

“Toshinori—”

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

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

He had barely passed the admittance test.

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

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

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

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

“I can do it.”

A smile.

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were tiny.

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

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

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

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

“Six months tops.”

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

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

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

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

“...no,” Kirishima answers truthfully.

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

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

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

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

Fuck, that one hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

“Six months,” Kirishima agreed.

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

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

“You got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, yes, let’s continue.”

So, the contract was discussed to full detail.

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

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

Or so the contract said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, so much for a good case.

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

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

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

You always managed to sneak away from him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ya, okay, bye!”

“By—”

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

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

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

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

He wanted to be just a fan.

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I can’t do that it’s not—”

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

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

And then there’s only silence.

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

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

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

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

He knew that.

He also knew that you weren’t like the nearly proven theory.

You were kind, sweet, a practical angel to anyone who dared to approach you. You were the exception to the rule, an outlier to them all. You spoke politely to all your fans, domestic and foreign, and you treated each fan like the most special person in the world.

You were a good person.

But Kirishima knew, just as you reacted to any cruel person you encountered, you had an edge. Your words were as vicious as your name was known. He genuinely enjoyed watching you put assholes into place, but he sulked, knowing he was always at the receiving end of the sharp, bitter tongue of yours.

For a month and a day now, he had been the number target of your bitter words and scorching hate, but he admitted that he enjoyed it when it wasn’t directed at him, if but a little bit.

“I’m not renegotiating my contract!” you groan, your palms slamming into the depths of your eyes. “I already told you that I don’t need all that money!”

“And I’m telling you that you need to increase the wages that you pay the rest of your team instead of all those charities or else people will begin dropping you!” the lawyer countered with similar fire, his scowl angry enough that Kirishima felt like he had to tear his gaze away from this horrible battle. “You won’t be the best of the best forever, y/n, get over your stupid savior act and look over the changes!”

Kirishima looked over at you, his eyebrows pinching as he watched you fold your arms, your cheeks pushed out to a puff as you looked at the stack of papers with the title page fully covered with the word Contract of Y/n and Co. on it. Well, it seemed that the rumor of you spending your paycheck on things that weren’t you was right, how entirely manly.

“Oh fuck off,” you growl, pushing out of the chair and storming away.

Kirishima glanced over at Kimiko, who was looking pale and exhausted, undoubtedly exhausted from the past thirty-minute battle between the lawyer and the idol that neither made a single step forward nor a step back. How you had the energy to fight so passionately was beyond him. Kimiko nodded minimally, her lips parting in a sigh as Kirishima stood up and followed after her.

“The only way that brat is going to listen is by force,” the lawyer sneered, his voice fading into the room that Kirishima exited. “If that’s how she wants to play, so be it.”

Fortunately for Kirishima, he catches up to you. There are tears of fury dripping down your cheeks, and he feels unable to speak as he discovers a new layer to you.

...how interesting.

“It’s my money,” you speak, but Kirishima is unsure if those words are meant for him or for the void, the earth that you would much rather converse with than him. “I already pay them all a much greater paycheck than they should be getting considering their client pool. Why do I have to bend to their stupid will when I’m the one making the money.”

Kirishima blinks, wondering just what people might want to raise with their contracts. But, he knew you were right. By her account, Kimiko had a client list of many successful individuals, and he may not know anything about the lawyer, but if he worked with Y/n, his name must be good. Guess they weren’t like you.

“People are selfish assholes,” was the only thing that Kirishima could think of, and was something he spoke before he could stop himself.

But you stop in your storm, the anger that clouded you somewhat dissipating, clearing just enough for you to turn to him, your sharp, beautiful eyes for the first time filled with rage that was not pointed at him, and an emotion that made him think of… amusement?

“Yeah,” you agree, a half-smile cracking onto your face, and Kirishima feels his soul begin leaving his very body. “People are selfish assholes, huh?”

“Very much.”

There’s a calm, a snorted chuckle, and Kirishima finds himself stumbling further into the abyss of his feelings for you.

The next ten hours seem to pass in a blur, Kirishima feeling like he was on Cloud Nine as he stood behind you, three meters as he watched fan after fan approach you. Signatures were made, pictures were taken, and Kirishima found that he never once had to approach.

Maybe, he thinks, just perhaps, the two of you can overcome this.

Ten minutes after the official signing is done, Kirishima can’t find you, and he curses loudly into the echoing floor.

So much for change.

Date: 5/17 Time: 23:00 Location: The Parking Lot - Mt. Lady Studios

Kirishima was, for the lack of better words, completely fucking done with you.

Don’t get it wrong, he still was a complete and massive fan of yours. He would never once betray his loyalty to you and your musical career, but he was slowly starting to realize just why the lawyer was set to dying of a heart attack any time soon. Despite your early entrance to stardom and the stuff of legends, you had kept your fiery, stubborn individualism.

Kirishima thought it was absolutely hot and sexy at times, especially the times where you strut around in revealing clothes because ‘this is your body,’ or the lingerie campaign you completed two days ago as part of some fundraising event. There were significant perks to your strong handle and claim to keeping your indestructible personality, but it came back to rub them all back in the worst of ways when once again, you escaped from Kirishima’s side.

To be fair, most of the time, Kirishima was a very level headed individual; he was near impossible to rile up despite popular initial belief. I mean, he was good friends with Bakugou Katsuki, who riled up just about anyone he talked to! He needed to have steel calm emotions, or at the very least portray that he does. But even the unbreakable after tireless attempts can, at times, be broken.

It had been a hard morning.

Kirishima had woken up in a panic, the sweat of his night terror soaking through the sheets of his bed, and his head felt like lead. They had been in the tour bus for the entire day because you were going from the tip of Japan to the bottom of it, thus meaning that you couldn’t run away from him, concluding that when he went to bed that night, he was merely tired, not exhausted.

“K...Kiri...shima?” the voice whispered in his ears when he bolted from his bed and tumbled to the ground, his chest heaving in his panic as he cried.

He only slept for four hours that night, the ghost of his comrade haunting him too much for him to ever drift back to sleep. The only thing he was grateful for when he stumbled down to the hotel lobby for breakfast was that he had an attack while in his own room and not in a tour bus with ten others.

But the lack of sleep and the twisting of his guts from his still unburied memories meant that his exhaustion was dialed up larger than he thought was capable. Today was an interview day plus a miniconcert at said interview.

That meant that for an hour before your interview and two hours afterward, Kirishima lost you and had to hunt you down. You weren’t making it easy on him and had started moving with the crowd you gathered to evade him.

But today, Kirishima was exhausted.

Today, Kirishima wanted to sleep.

Today… Kirishima broke.

“Let’s go,” Kirishima spoke in a low, commanding voice. His eyes were hooded as he looked down at you, the crowd of fans parting like the red sea as he stands behind you, larger than life, imposing.

You ignore him.

“We’re leaving, now.”

“Aw, did you make that just for me?! This beading is gorgeous!”

To be fair, Kirishima isn’t really sure if he’s crying right now or if steam is protruding from his ears like some stupid cartoon. The only thing he knows is that it's been a bit longer than a month, and his client is the most perfect person in the world except to him and some lawyer. All he knows is that he has been continuously mocked, shamed, and disrespected by his client, and at this moment, with his mind and body aching with the memories of the morning, he can no longer stop the tsunami of emotions and thoughts that shove out of him.

He grabs your wrist and begins pulling you away.

“We’re leaving now, sorry to disrupt your time. Come see Y/n another day.”

Kirishima isn’t even aware of your screams, the banging of your small fist against his back as his hand encompasses your bicep easily. He walks and walks and walks until he stops, his mind slightly put back into place.

“—FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?! LET GO OF ME, SERGEANT!”

Oh, right.

He lets go of you immediately and nearly snorts at how you stumble into his back. So small, so delicate, and so completely weak.

“You want to know my problem, y/l/n?” he asks, voice eerily calm, much calmer than he actually is. “My fucking problem is that I signed onto this case with a single rule: keep you in sight and protect you. It’s simple, almost too easy, isn’t it? But easy and simple is everything that this assignment is!”

Your face contorted into a flash of anger and embarrassment, your nose scrunching as you found your footing, “And I told you that I don’t give a crap about that contract! I didn’t want it in the first place, but no one listens to me!”

Kirishima snorts, his body shifting so that he can look at you properly; your face is seething, your teeth bared and eyes wild, but Kirishima has faced worse.

“It’s not in my contract to listen to you, unfortunately,” Kirishima points out, his eyes narrowing. “I would have a better time listening to you, trying to find an agreement that worked if you used that brain of yours and figured out a way to compromise with me.”

“Compromises aren’t—”

“You think I wouldn’t?” Kirishima almost whines, his voice tight with emotions, fingers fisting in his hair, “You really fucking think that after a month and how many days of me spending stupid hours trying to find your ass, most of the time never knowing if you’re dead or not, I wouldn’t want a better solution?!”

“Like hell they’ll kill me! And if they do, I don’t fucking care!” you stubbornly insist, finger buried against the swell of your chest.

“Oh my god,” Kirishima can’t stop the bitter laugh from escaping, “you’re ridiculous.”

“I’m ridiculous?! I’m not the ridiculous one here!” you cry, your eyes bursting with unshed, bitter tears. “So what that I run away from you? Can you imagine living the past ten years of your life trying to be something that the media wants you to be? No! You can’t, Sergeant! Those times where I’m running away isn’t to be some dick, but to give me time to be me!”

“You’re a goddamn idiot!” Kirishima barks, his anger curdling in his chest like a raging fire. “If you had looked at my damn file correctly, instead of focusing on the stupid shit like me not being able to fire my gun correctly, you would be more than aware of the fact that you are one of my favorite artists!”

“Wh-”

“I am one of the best in my company! I am easy to get along with, personal, manageable, flexible even, but from the very first moment you laid eyes on me, you’ve hated me! You talk down on me, you shit on me, my job, the reason I’m here! Listen, I would fucking love to be anywhere but here right now. I have literally never hated my job before, but you just made that a reality. But the worst part of this all is the fact that you seem to think I would have kept you away, prohibited you from doing things that I already know you love! You stand there and tell me that I would try to force you to do shit you don’t want when I have merely been asking for you to take me there with you! I don’t care if I have to stand away and watch, but I want to be there! I’m supposed to be protecting you, but you’re being nothing more than a stubborn brat who refuses to see the efforts I’m trying to make, and frankly, I’m done.”

Kirishima’s chest is burning with the lack of oxygen, his eyes narrowed and filled with raging fire as he stares down at you, his neck craned so that he could be closer, more daunting, intimidating.

“Fuck o-off,” you snap suddenly, a lone tear, your voice tight and shoulders tense as you storm off.

“So predictable,” Kirishima calls after you, but it’s not filled with the previous anger he had but the sinking misery and regret.

And for a moment, it’s quiet.

Until a single name is screamed.

“SERGEANT!”

And then the all too familiar sound of a fist colliding with skin.

The anger in Kirishima’s blood evaporates immediately, and horror sinks in as he turns towards where you had stormed off. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

The parking lot is filled with an ugly yellow light that seems to set the stage for what was to come down. His footsteps crashing down against the black pavement were mute in his ears, and his eyes were focused on your limp body slung over somebody's shoulder. There was one person behind him, the other one already hopping into a van; Kirishima was the devil on their heels.

“Come on! Let’s go!” the one in the van screamed, his voice full of gruff apprehension and fear.

The van turns on.

Kirishima grunts, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he sidesteps the man who was lingering behind the one carrying you and quickly slams his shoulder into the man's sternum, knocking him out the moment he collapses onto the ground.

He lets out a roar of such, his eyes glowing with anger and a single mind track to take down the person who held you, ready to throw your unconscious body into the back of the van.

Kirishima doesn’t even know when he manages to get to the man's side, one hand on his shoulder, the other on you, and with the strength and anger of a million fighting warriors, he ripped you from his hold and sent him stumbling into the trunk. Your shallow breathing brushes against his neck, and Kirishima is hyper-aware of the cursing men who chose to abandon their unconscious comrade on the floor.

With his arms filled by your unconscious body, Kirishima can only watch the van scurry out of the lot, the license plate immediately burning into his mind.

T082-23

When the man on the floor finally wakes up, he’s in police custody, and you’re just waking up. There's a bruise on your cheek, and you begin crying immediately.

Kirishima watches from the distance, his heart aching and guilt climbing up his throat as he watches Kimiko hold you close, her arms warm and tight.

Well, shit.

So much for the month of no attacks.

Kirishima sits in a waiting room, his head relaxed against the wall as he waits for your discharge from the hospital. They suspect a concussion, and they’re running some tests right now. The police are there too, trying to get information from you on the failed kidnapping attempt as well as beginning the initial trials of interrogation of the abandoned kidnapper with a broken sternum, ruptured spleen, and three cracked ribs.

He was not surprised when the police officers came to talk to him, and he gave them the license plate.

But they also gave him an essential piece of information.

(“Well, when we asked for a motive, it seemed that it wasn’t his idea,” the detective admitted, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “His boss said that, and I quote, Y/n will end up dead and mutilated as is deserved. She deserves all the shit she has coming her way, end quote. Any ideas of who it could be”

Kirishima rubbed a hand across his face, the words striking a bit too familiarly to him, but from where. He shook his head, his eyes focusing on his bouncing knee.

“Thank you,” Kirishima said, his tone pointed in a clear indicator that this conversation was now over. The detective nodded, his frown slight as he left. The moment he was gone, Kirishima pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Kimiko? Yeah, I think we might have our first suspect.”)

For now, he was waiting for you.

An hour passed before you shuffled into the waiting room. There was a bandage on your swollen cheek, but besides the obvious attack, your eyes looked strong, and it seemed like there was no concussion.

“I should be fine,” you speak first, your jaw tensing as if it physically pained you to speak (whether it was because you hated talking to him or because of the injury, Kirishima had no idea). “I will be fine; I just need some sleep.”

Kirishima nodded, his body completely exhausted, and his mind filled with nothing but regrets on how he handled his anger earlier. He needed to apologize. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but he had definitely crossed a few too many lines.

“Should we go?”

You chewed on your lip, your eyes looking down at the white tiled floors of the hospital — so bleak, so anxiety driving.

“I actually wanted to talk before we left.”

Oh?

“Of what, if I may ask?”

Your eyes raise back up before looking away again, “the contract.”

Kirishima finds himself nodding, his hand gesturing towards the empty seat in front of him.

“Sure.”

And with a heaving sigh that sounds like you were on the verge of tears, you sit before him.

The contract was then discussed.

It was decided that you could continue to interact with fans as you wish, so long as you took Kirishima with you. He didn’t care about the long hours, the manic fans, or the impending doom of a group of people who meant business. He needed to be there.

Everything else stayed the same, but Kirishima looked at you one last time that night in the hospital, his body leaning towards you as he did his best to keep his face void of emotion and any lingering teasing.

“I’ll only accept this new negotiation on one term.”

“W-What?!” you pause, thinking. “Fine, say it.”

“From here on out, I think we should be friends, yeah? I’m on your side, after all, it’s a bit weird if we stay just acquaintances.”

The tension and horror leave your body, and Kirishima, for the first time ever, bears witness to the most relaxed, meaningful smile he has ever seen you give. It had been one hell of a shitty night, but at that very moment when the seventh turned into the eighth, Kirishima felt a new warmth flood through his chest, his heart racing at the sight of your glorious smile.

“Of course, Kirishima.”

“Oh, and y/n?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry about all that I said. It was unmanly of me and out of line.”

“It’s okay. To be fair, I was a bit of a self-absorbed brat, too.”

The next day, a picture of Kirishima holding you bridal style is trending.

Date: 6/12 Time: 19:00 Location: Hime Onsen

An Interview with Y/n | Vogue Japan 4.5 million views • Premiered 2 hours ago 874k [liked this] 12.3k [disliked this] Timestamp: 05:32 / 10:33

[Interviewer]: Now, Y/n, we must congratulate you on your latest achievement! Your latest self-titled album, ‘Y/N,’ has been nominated for a record high of twelve awards for the upcoming Japan Record Awards, which will be coming up in about a month! Tell us how you feel about this?

[You]: It was quite a surprise actually! I didn’t realize that it would have done so well in the critic's eyes to get this type of award. I am proud of myself and am excited to see all the other amazing artists and musicians who were nominated as well.

[Interviewer]: Now, your album is all about staying true to yourself, whether that be in love or war. It depicts your own highs and lows while also highlighting beautifully universal things many of us face. Without question, you have always been adamant on staying connected with your fans and keeping a simple rule: no bodyguards.

[Y/n]: Oh, (laughs) yes! That is definitely a new thing, huh?

[Interviewer]: A new thing and a beautiful thing at that, too! Look here!

[captioner notes: interviewer displays many photos of Y/n’s bodyguard, including the most famous one where he’s holding y/n after the failed kidnapped attempt]

[Interviewer]: This is a beautiful — don’t giggle! — a beautiful man, Y/n! What do you have to say for yourself?! Did you finally succumb to keeping untrue to yourself for this beautiful man?! If so, it is perfectly acceptable. By chance, is your contract with him done? I would personally love to have this man on my team.

[Y/n]: (laughing) By all means, take him! (Y/n looks behind her, her bodyguard is there) I’m kidding, I’m kidding! (pauses) No, actually, sorry. Kirishima is an outstanding bodyguard, and I have no intentions of leaving him so soon. Uh, while I did say I had no wish or intentions to have a bodyguard, obviously that was not the best solution, so I hired Kirishima. He is a wonderful addition to my team and still allows me to be authentically me, so it’s still all good.

[Interviewer]: Ah, okay, well, Kirishima-kun, if you ever need a new client, call me. But moving on, yes! Would you like to discuss the series of increasingly concerning attacks?

Kirishima stood in the softly lit hallways of a sauna.

Today was one of the last remaining days you had off, and in celebration of your upcoming award season, you had decided that it was mandatory to visit the hot springs. Everyone on your team — the backup dancers, band, and hair and makeup — were ecstatic to learn that they were being involved with it too.

This high-end resort had accommodated your entire team to receive their own private spring with an all-inclusive menu too.

It was thanks from the owner for the free PR and, of course, because they were some of your biggest fans. So, in thanks, everyone got to enjoy the springs.

Well, everyone but Kirishima, that was.

As of the past month, things between Kirishima and you had improved a lot.

With Kirishima no longer needing to run a marathon daily to find where you were, he would find himself walking at your side. He no longer felt like you hated him. There was respect and actual friendship between the two of you. You joked with him, showed him memes and TikTok, sent him snapchat streaks, and invited him to watch weird shows with you. You even complained to him about the things that annoyed you, namely Kimiko’s attention being stolen by other clients and the rude conversations you would have with the lawyer.

It made Kirishima’s chest warm up knowing that you were friends now.

A stressful month had passed into a friendlier one.

But there were some things that Kirishima would not have expected to… arise.

Namely you growing to be comfortable enough to walk around with nothing but a thin pair of panties and a large shirt. You curling into his side whenever you watched a show together in the bus, the way your lips brushed against his neck when he leaned down to hug you, or the very so not obvious teasing you would do when you changed in front of him. It was as if you were watching his every reaction, enjoying the way that his eyes horribly tore away, or the silent hitch in his throat whenever you speed his heart up.

The biggest surprise arose the night after the failed kidnapping attempt:

You had come to his room, hours after you were supposed to have fallen asleep.

Your eyes were sunken, still a bit tired, and the bruise on your cheek was looking bad. In your arms was a white binder undoubtedly filled with the introductory packet you had received at your initial meeting. Kirishima had opened the door in his sleepy state in nothing but gym shorts. He had barely started dozing off, his mind wouldn’t stop thinking of what could have happened if you hadn’t managed to scream, and so he kept tossing and turning.

Seeing you outside of his room, his head dropped down to look at you properly, and his fist rubbing at his eye fell, “Y/n?”

“Did I wake you?” you asked, your face filled with a shocked, near uncomfortable, and embarrassed expression he doesn’t recall ever seeing on you. “I’m so sorry! I’ll wait until—”

“No,” Kirishima grunts while he shakes his head, his voice raspy and dry from his lack of use. “I’ve been tossing and turning, um, what is it? Do you want to come in?”

“I-If that’s okay?”

Kirishima breathes out a bit, his shoulders relaxing as he smiles softly, “Come on, let’s talk about what’s on your mind.”

The door clicked behind your tentative steps with an echo, and Kirishima watched as you walked into the hotel room with wariness and caution.

“Would you like some tea?” Kirishima offered, picking up a shirt from his dresser and pulling it over his body. The fabric was tight against his chest and shoulders, but felt more appropriate to wear around you.

“No, I’m okay,” you politely decline.

You stood in the center of the room, unsure of where to sit, stand, or lay.

“Go ahead and make the bed,” Kirishima offered, taking the chair by the desk. “I promise it’s still clean.”

You laugh slightly, smile strained but grateful as you sit at the edge of the bed, binder resting on your lap.

“Thanks, I wouldn’t want to sit on a dirty bed,” you joke, but it sounds weak to Kirishima’s ears.

“So, what questions do you have?”

“Hm?”

“You have my portfolio,” he shrugs, leaning forward so that his forearms rest on his knees. “I have a feeling you have some questions.”

“Oh, right,” you whisper, your eyebrows scrunching as you open the binder to the first page, but your eyes are focused on the desk. “What’s the medication for?”

Kirishima turns his head to follow your gaze and comes across the yellow tinted medicine containers.

“My PTSD,” Kirishima answers honestly, his voice soft with emotion, but there was no shame in it. “My service had a difficult end.”

“That’s actually… that’s what I came to talk about,” you rush, your hands slamming the binder closed. “If you don’t want to talk about it, obviously I won’t push it! God, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s okay,” Kirishima interrupted, his smile sad, but he stood up, his body a tower in front of yours as he urged you to sit back down. “It’s okay; I don’t mind talking about it.”

“B-But what if I say something that makes it all worse?”

A pause.

“Then I’ll tell you that it’s too much.”

A nod.

“Are you… are you still experiencing a lot of symptoms?” you ask, your fingers tightening and untightening around the binder.

“Some days are worse than others,” Kirishima admits, his shoulders shrugging. “I don’t experience much anxiety while in crowds anymore; I don’t have many flashbacks to those days anymore, not since February at least. I do still get… I still get night terrors and dream of that day. It’s nowhere near as bad as the first few months after the accident, but it’s still here.”

“What happened?” you asked after a bit, morbidly curious.

The file had all the details that proved Kirishima to be a master of firearms during his entire time on the force. He was a powerful combatist, and his ranking was a clear indicator of the respect and skills he had. Still, it was the quick honorable discharge, the near year-long hospitalization, and the current inability to use a firearm that concerned you.

What had happened?

“I was involved in a grenade explosion on my last day on tour. I was the only one who managed to survive the blast,” Kirishima easily stated, his voice quiet.

“Oh my god, I… holy shit, I’m so sorry.”

“Nah, it’s all good. There were only two others around, and one of them was already dead.”

“Was that um, Major—”

“We called him Crimson Riot, actually,” Kirishima smiled, a chuckle light on his tongue as he leaned back onto the chair, nodding. “Yeah, that was him.”

“Crimson Riot,” you repeat, nodding. “Did you watch him… watch him die?”

Kirishima presses his lips tightly together, and for a moment, you’re unsure if he’s going to cry, answer you, or tell you to leave. There’s a whirlwind of emotions on your optimistic and typically jubilant bodyguard despite your asshole tendencies that make your stomach twist.

“Yes,” Kirishima finally answers, and you nod.

It’s hours into the morning before you finally depart back to your room, the horrors of Kirishima’s past still pounding into your ears. Kirishima wouldn’t notice, and neither would you, but on his shirt and yours, there’s a few drops of tears the both of you shed when you said goodnight.

Sergeant Kirishima Eijirou, while on an active warzone, had accidentally struck and killed his superior officer, his friend, his role model Crimson Riot, thinking that he was nothing more than an enemy target as he sat wounded behind a wall. He died on his lap, and as someone came to help, a grenade landed two meters away before detonating.

“K...Kiri...shima?” Crimson Riot had whispered as he fell to his knees, blood gushing and seeping through his clothes, spilling onto Kirishima’s lap. “I’ll be okay.”

For whatever reason, since that night, Kirishima felt something in him shift. He still took his medication, still had his virtual therapy sessions when he could fit them in, and even had painful night terrors of that moment, but it was becoming less frequent.

He wasn’t made of glass.

There had been more instances after the kidnapping attempt, but unlike the last times, Kirishima was prepared. He had stopped each one, keeping you safe and sound. As of one week ago, he had officially been given a firearm to keep strapped to his thigh at all times now.

It was an unfamiliar weight, one that still twisted his stomach and made him nervous, but he knew the reason why it was needed. Since the gun had been added to his gear, the attacks stopped. He was definitely not ready to be firing it anytime soon, but it had deterred the attackers for the time being.

Kirishima paused when he heard his earpiece ring, and he dropped his phone where he had been watching your interview despite being there himself.

“Talk to me,” Kirishima answered, his finger pressing the accept button.

“Kirishima!” came the distressed voice of Kimiko, “We just got a tip!”

Kirishima stilled, his eyes scanning the empty hallways that stretched throughout the private hot springs.

“I don’t know, but a person with connections with this mastermind said something about how there were two more events he was staging. Today is one of them!”

Kirishima’s eyes widened, his lips parting to answer Kimiko when instead there was a large, loud crash in the water from inside your room. He assumed the worst.

“Y/n!” Kirishima shouted, hands throwing open the sliding door and racing through the storage room, the shower, and exited out into the hot spring.

Steam curled through the wind, the white wisps of steam feeling warm and light against Kirishima’s skin, and Kirishima panicked when he couldn’t see your shadow or figure in the hot springs.

“Where is she?! Is she alright?!” Kimiko panicked, her voice panicking already. “I’ll call the—”

Kirishima turned on his heel, ready to complete a full sweep of the outdoor hot spring when he crashed into something smaller than he was… smaller, softer, and definitely the shape of a woman. Kirishima felt his entire body stiffen when his rough palms felt the undeniable feeling of wet, warm skin.

“Oh my god,” he heard you shriek. “KIRISHIMA!”

“She’s all good, Kimiko,” Kirishima stifled out, his voice tight, his head slamming backward so that his eyes were concentrated on the starry night sky.

“...sorry… uh aha! Another client of mine is calling, goodbye!” Kimiko’s apology was meek and small before she hung up.

Kirishima’s mind was racing a mile a minute, but his body was frozen, unmoving like a rock when he realized that pressing to his stomach was, without a doubt, your breasts.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“What are you doing in here, pervert?!” you splutter, your hands pressing to his stomach as you step away. “Are you a pervert or something?!”

“I, no! No! Of course not! Fuck, shit, I’m so sorry! I’ll go! There was a tip that something was going to happen right now, and there was a crash and—”

“What are you looking at?” you exclaim, squeaky frustration heavy on your tongue. “There’s nothing wrong with the sky! Look me in the eyes? Have you never been to a co-ed hot spring before?!”

“Y-Yes, sorry!” Kirishima apologized, bowing slightly in apology before he peered down. Still, his face bursted in a flame as he watched the way your jaw dropped in disbelief, the dewy wetness of the hot spring clinging to your body. You were, obviously, soaked, and Kirishima bit his tongue as hard as he could to keep the whimper from expelling past his lips when he saw the light gleaming off your breasts. But he watched your face shift between a million emotions, each one appearing too fast for him to read, too fast to register, but he saw the way a single-arm wrap around your breast and the other shoving into his stomach.

“PERVERT!”

“What?!”

“That was a test! This is my private room! I have the right to not be willing to be looked at right now!” you shrieked as Kirishima spun around, allowing you the complete privacy of his gaze.

“You told me to look at you!” he squawked. “Y-You told me, and I listened because of our contract!”

Kirishima could feel his body trembling, his mind reeling in disbelief that he definitely saw you in your entire nakedness, and if the swirling heat in his stomach had anything to say about it, he liked it. Fuck.

There was a soft laugh and the sound of sloshing water as you probably (he wouldn’t know because he wasn’t looking) reentered the spring.

“I know, I was teasing,” you sing, and he can tell the water is gliding around your body. “Turn around, Kiri, let’s talk.”

“Haha, um, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” Kirishima admits, although sitting in this steam-filled space with just you sounds so very nice.

“Why not?” you asked, voice sounding a bit upset.

“I’m supposed to be outside, doing my job?”

“Augh, but these private springs are so boring alone,” your voice whines; the water sloshes, and Kirishima winces at the slight throb on his tongue as he continues to look at not your direction. “Turn around, Kiri.”

Not too long ago, you had taken to calling him Kiri, a subtle change, a not unusual nickname people gave him. But just because it was you, his stomach flipped and twisted, and now with the image of your tits in mind, his dick throbbed.

Gulping, Kirishima turned, his gaze bashfully looking down at you before glancing away. You were chest-deep in the hot springs, tendrils of your wet hair sticking to your neck. Was he dead? Maybe dreaming?

No, his dreams were never like this.

“Do you want to come in?” you continued to ask, your body moving towards him in the water until you reached the edge of the pool, arms testing into the black rocks. “You’re the only one not in one, and since I hate being in these alone, I figured you’d like to join.”

Kirishima wanted to join. More than anything, he wanted to take his clothes off and jump into the springs with you, for you, but that would be unprofessional. Entirely and utterly unprofessional.

“Please?” you ask softly, pleadingly, and Kirishima makes the mistake of locking his gaze with yours.

“...fine, but I’ll be on the other side of the spring,” he concedes, his steps near clumsy and oafish as he stumbles backward to the shower and closet.

“Such a gentleman pervert,” you tease, fingers curling as you wave at him until Kirishima finally closes the door behind him.

The empty room is nearly deafening in its silence and the future as Kirishima slumps against the sliding door, excited apprehension rippling through every cell of his skin as a smile spreads across his face. He walks to the storage room, and despite it being a private room, there were two closets. The closet not already occupying your clothes had the things needed for him, and thankfully, it fit.

He undressed slowly, folding his clothes and placing them into the cubbies. Fully naked, he approached the showers, and under the lukewarm showerhead, he cleaned his body of any grime, dirt, and sweat.

Feeling refreshed and clean, Kirishima began his descent to the hot spring, his heart hammering when his fingers grabbed the handle of the door.

“I’m coming in,” he announced, a healthy amount of fear, excitement, and heat drumming through him.

“I’ll keep my virgin eyes away from your body, don’t worry,” came your slow tease, and Kirishima snorted softly.

Kirishima stepped back out to the hot spring.

Just like the first time, the entrance to the spring was warm, the steam seeming thicker than last time, clouding the outdoor room and his sight. You were at the furthest out part of the pool, your back towards them as you worked your fingers through your scalp.

Discarding his slippers at the edge, Kirishima climbed into the pool.

The pool only went as far as his thigh, and he sank into the warm water. It felt wonderful on his body, relaxing his muscles just enough for him to wonder when was the last time he had managed to visit a hot spring.

“I’m in,” Kirishima said, his arms rising up out of the water, resting onto the black stone. “You can turn around now.”

“God, took you long enough,” you tease, your body twisting so that you were facing him again.

To Kirishima’s complete and utter surprise, you stilled, eyes dragging up and down his exposed chest, eyes locked on the series of tattoos all over his right pectoral, and trailed down his right arm. His lips felt dry as your eyes shifted back to his face, to his arm, and back to him. The smile on your face felt weak, but it sent a spiral of dizzying heat through Kirishima when he noticed the hushed lust.

For a while, the two of you remained at opposite ends of the hot spring. Eyes closed, hummed melodies passing through the song. You asked Kirishima about how he felt, if his medication was due for refills, if therapy was okay (he was doing better, a refill was due in two weeks, and therapy was going the same). He asked you about your relationship with Kimiko, with the lawyer, and if you had any real friends within the music industry (Kimiko was like an older cousin to you, the lawyer was a pain to deal with at times, and surprisingly, you did meet some genuine friends). You questioned how his friends were doing, if he had any contact with them despite their busy schedules.

So Kirishima found himself retelling stories of his coworkers turned close friends. Each story he told left both of you with sore stomachs from laughter, and tears at the corner of your eyes from laughing too hard.

“Was the tip story true?” you asked once the quiet overcame and grew old. You shift through the water, getting a bit closer to Kirishima.

Kirishima coughed, suddenly feeling a tad bit shy about his posture, but decided to keep from moving.

“You honestly think I would have barged into here just because I wanted to see you?”

Truthfully, had Kirishima been a man without morals, chivalry, or disrespect for you, he would have. Definitely would have.

“Let a girl dream,” you smile, like a luring siren as you wander closer by just a step. “It would go against everything I know about you, but it’s fun to tease.”

“You’re a bigger brat than I thought you would be,” Kirishima smiles back, trying his best to not show the way goosebumps were bursting against his skin, his eyes locked on yours, trying to not get distracted by the way your wet skin made his mind spin.

“I don’t think I’m a brat,” you counter, getting close enough that he could feel the currents of the water with your movement. But you were far enough that Kirishima felt like pointing out the fact you disregarded his keep apart rule would be a mistake. “How am I a brat?”

The sound of the water rippling through the springs along with the growing noises of the bugs began a melody around the two of you, and all Kirishima could do was stare at the way you blinked your eyes slowly — like a feline stalking a prey.

“A lot of ways, really,” Kirishima breathes, his heart rising up to his throat as he felt your hands gingerly place themselves on his knees.

“Yeah?” you ask, parting through his naked legs, and Kirishima felt his breathing stop when your exposed chest pressed against his. Your lips were ghosting so far from his but tantalizingly close enough that he felt drunk off your sweet breath. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Kirishima sucked in air, his arms resisting movement, and his eyes glanced down at the way your mouth was millimeters from his. His dick was very much interested in what he could do about it, and when your hands grazed up his thigh and onto his chest, Kirishima could feel something rumble in his chest.

He moved to eliminate the space, but there was a crash in the following spring, pushing you away from him long before he could claim your mouth.

“FUCK!” the person in the opposite spring screamed, and Kirishima’s eyes closed in his muted annoyance as you sighed.

His eyes dropped to the water, giving you the privacy to rise out of the water and make your way over to the wall.

“Jenny, are you okay?” you called.

“Give me a warning the next time you try fucking your hot bodyguard in the middle of a private onsen!”

“We weren’t fucking you prude!”

And with that, Kirishima took this as his embarrassed cue to leave.

He stood at the entrance of your private spring for about twenty minutes, entirely uncomfortable with the still hard dick in his pants, rubbing and chaffing against his jeans as he stood there. Eventually, you exited the hot spring, face glowing from the steam and eyes avoiding his gaze as you walked back to your room. Your robe was tight on your body, the hair on the nape of your neck pressed to your skin.

Kirishima sighed as he watched you enter your room, your smile short as you nodded a simple goodnight before letting the door slam shut behind you.

Rubbing his face, Kirishima listened to the voices in his intercom talk about how nothing had happened tonight. An attempted unwelcome visitor tried to get into your room, but they had stopped him. They didn’t fight, but they had run away the moment they caught on to the fact that they weren’t exactly authentic.

Kirishima sighed as he slumped into his room, collapsing on the too small bed as he found himself looking at the ceiling in deep concentration.

What was he going to do now?

That was undeniably sexual, his still semi-hard dick damning evidence to the known fact that he wanted you. By god did he want you. Wanted you beneath him, over him, splitting yourself down onto his cock while you gripped your arms and legs around him, fucking down onto his driving cock.

Kirishima groaned low in his chest, guilt blooming in the back of his throat as his palm rubbed his pulsing cock.

Bad, Kirishima, bad.

“Kirishima-san?” a voice broke through his earpiece, and Kirishima nearly jumped out of his skin. “Are you there?”

“Hi Kimiko,” Kirishima sighed, his dick deflating instantly. “Everything all right?”

“Ah, yes! Sorry about earlier, the false tip and the sudden abandonment!” Kimiko embarrassingly apologized. “My client was ringing for the fourth time, and while I care deeply for y/n, I had to take it!”

“Mm, no worries, Kimiko,” Kirishima smiled politely despite the lack of visual contact. “How can I help you?”

“Ah, yes,” Kimiko asserted, her tone changing from apology to one of formality. “So, about the visitor incident I’m sure you were brought attention to, it seems that the vehicle they came in was with the driver's plate: T082-23. Does that sound familiar?”

“Not currently,” Kirishima sighed, his body stretching into a sitting up position. “Does it to you?”

“No…” Kimiko admitted, and Kirishima could feel the worried frown on her face. “Well, I just wanted to call and give you that information. It was passed along to me, and they mentioned they hadn’t told you. And since I was going to give you the schedule for the upcoming JRA’s award day, I figured I’d let you know!”

“No problem! Let’s go over the schedule now?”

“Yes! I have a client meeting in America right after this! Can you believe it? An American celebrity wants my help?!”

“That sounds amazing, Kimiko!”

“Okay, so this is how the day’s going to go!”

Date: 7/10 Time: 18:00 Location: Tokyo Hotel Room 101

Kirishima watched as an entire team was getting you dressed up.

Two people were doing your hair, three people doing your nails, one person doing your makeup, and five getting one of your three outfits for the night ready.

According to you, as you had strutted around in these outfits nearly two weeks ago were your red carpet and beginning of the award show outfit, your performance outfit, and of course, the after-party outfit. Each one was different, yet when adorned on your body was a perfect replica of who you were.

Most importantly, the two of you had decided to ignore every single instance of tremendous sexual energy and desire that basically leaked from both of your pores. It was for the best to ignore it. There was no point in pursuing it, especially when there was a known hunt for you, and Kirishima was the last line of defense between you and whoever it was.

Whoever it was, pfft.

Kirishima was willing to bet on who it was already.

Since the night of the initial kidnapping that finally closed the gap between you and Kirishima, there was something that the caught criminal said that stuck with him.

Everything you had coming your way, you deserved, he had said in bitter spite.

The interesting thing was that it was the lawyer who had said that, multiple times at that. The lawyer seemed to have everything to fuel him to rage against you. Everything you said or tried, the lawyer was on your heel, barking at you that it was wrong. Kirishima had also seen the contracts between you and the lawyer, and the amount that he was paid to be your attorney was not large at all.

The mass majority of the funds you earned were always funneled towards charities and organizations you trusted to help people in need — in fact, it was almost 80% of your total earnings. A meek, barely larger than 20% was split between you, your lawyer, Kimiko, your music crew, and any other unforeseen expenses. The lawyer was also in a situation where he was not in demand with clients, and if you weren’t heeding his expensive tag, he needed a new contract with you.

A contract he was always demanding to discuss with you that you denied to change.

Attacks tended to happen days after you and the lawyer tumbled, not enough to rouse suspicion if you weren’t looking, but Kirishima was. He just needed damning evidence now.

Something.

Anything.

And for some reason, his gut was screaming at him that something big was going to happen tonight, that tonight was going to be the last attack—the one to end everything.

So he had told everyone about it. Kimiko, the security at the JRA’s, even you. It made him nervous.

It made his hand sweat, the gun strapped to his thigh feeling like hot iron as he stood about as you laughed with your makeup crew.

Kirishima swore, promised, and vowed he would protect you.

He was going to.

And when the gold dress was tied to your body, fitting you beautifully, Kirishima found himself unable to look away like strands of your hair framed your temples.

“What do you think, Kiri? Will I be on the Best Dressed List?�� you asked, tearing Kirishima’s attention away from the bodice and skirt of the dress. Your eyes were bright, hopeful, yearning for a positive reaction from him.

“How could you not be?” Kirishima admitted, his grin toothy, and he shifted against the wall.

“You’ll make me blush,” you grin back, eyes batting just a bit as you clasp your hands together. It takes everything in Kirishima to keep from striding across the space between the two of you and kissing you silly. “Are we ready to go?”

Kirishima wet his lips, unwillingly tearing his gaze from you, and whispers into the intercom.

“Ready to move out?”

“We’re all clear.”

Straightening back up, Kirishima smiled at you, his head motioning towards the door.

“Alright, y/n, let’s see you make some history?”

“Damn right I will.”

Kirishima smiled as he exited first, carving the path for you.

Paparazzi were on you immediately, the lights flashing and terribly bright as he helped you through the throngs of them. His hand pressed to your back as they screamed demands, most of which you complied with until Kirishima stated that you would be late. You, unfortunately, couldn’t be late to the awards show.

Ushering you into the limousine, Kirishima follows in shortly after you, scrunching up in his seat as he sits opposite of you. However, your typical light and bright demeanor are gone; instead, you seem almost anxious as you open your handbag.

“You okay there?” Kirishima asks as he realizes you pulled out a distinctly obvious metal flask.

“Awards make me nervous,” you painfully admit; you're weakly smiling as you knock back a shot of the drink. “I hate winning and losing; the alcohol makes me less… of a wreck. Do you want some? I think it’s apple soju, I don’t know, a good luck gift from Kimiko.”

Kirishima grins, his eyes rolling as he decides to decline the drink. “Sorry, love, I think that I need to be completely sober for today.”

You scrunch your nose, obviously displeased, “Lame, who shows up to these awards sober?”

“Me,” Kirishima laughed, his head tilting back and scraping against the ceiling of the limousine.

“Such a prude, sober, pervert,” you sigh, taking yet another swig before putting the flask back into your bag.

“Such a brat.”

Just like every previous instance, your eyes seem to glow in glee at that name, your lips curling into a pleased smirk as you shrug. It's a sight that makes Kirishima’s mouth dry and heart racing. Fuck, he should not be thinking about fucking you in the limousine right now.

But before the heat in the limousine could simmer to one of undeniable boiling, you had arrived.

Kirishima cleared his throat, sending a quick wink your way as he exited the car first. The first stop was for him to join the lineup to guide you through all the different photo and interview sessions. No one wanted pictures of him emerging from the limo after all.

There's a moment where after Kirishima closes the door, your eyes filled with worry and excitement as he winked goodbye, that things changed. He stood up, his eyes already scanning the area for anything suspicious, when he saw the all too familiar van.

T082-23.

His eyes widened, his head looking around for anyone else, but there was no one to help. No one could do anything as the car continued to drive away, disappearing from Kirishima’s line of sight. His heart hammered in his chest, and his hands instinctively went to his thigh. He had his firearm… he had it.

With nothing but a quick report to the head of security via his com, Kirishima pushed on ahead, waiting for your descent down the red carpet.

When you eventually emerged from the limousine, Kirishima found that at this moment, the entire world faded away as a gloved hand assisted you out of the vehicle. You were elegant, stunning, a realistic vibrant portrait within his world of greys. As you took photos for the cameras, he was by your side a few strides away as you talked to reporters.

You really came to life right now.

You were beautiful.

“For all the pain in the world that she is, she’s quite charming from a distance, huh?” a voice spoke to his side, and Kirishima froze. His eyes widened completely when he noticed that standing beside him was none other than the lawyer.

The lawyer was dressed in a nice suit, glasses perched on his nose, and for the first time Kirishima had seen, the scowl was not quite so hard.

He was here.

Every warning bell sounded in Kirishima’s head.

This was the man he was so sure was the reason behind your every attack. A man fueled by insufficient funding, a need for a new contract that would never be approved without your signature.

“What are you doing here?” Kirishima asked, subtlety never being something he was ever good with. “I’ve never seen you anywhere except to argue with Y/n about contracts. This doesn’t seem like the appropriate time to be discussing it.”

“Kimiko wanted me to give her a new contract proposal to give to y/n. However, to be fair, it’s quite easy for anything to come down to an argument with y/n,” he shrugs, and Kirishima watches a cloud of emotions pass between the man’s eyes. “At least between her and me, we’ve never gotten along, but I suppose that’s how it is for any type of family who works together.”

Wait.

“What?! Family member?!”

“Yes, I know it’s strange to believe. I am quite ugly, and she is not, but we’re family.”

Kirishima’s mind was racing now. It didn’t make sense. If he was family, why would he be in such pursuit of potentially murdering you? If you were family, he was sure that you would help out? If he needed a raise like he thought, wouldn’t you have helped?

There was no way you wouldn’t.

Was he wrong?

Who was it?

“Kiri!” your voice broke into his mind and tore him back to reality. You waved at him, then passed a stuck-out tongue to the lawyer in a teasing fashion. “Let’s go in?”

Kirishima looked over at the lawyer who greeted a woman, who was also walking down the red carpet, a celebrity he could name no less, with a warm kiss.

Oh fuck.

He needed to call Kimiko; he was so very wrong.

You had won two awards so far, and at this very moment, Kirishima was being ushered back to his seat in the audience as you were being escorted to the main stage to perform your latest song. You had removed your gold dress for a black, sleek gown. Your lipstick changed to a dark red, and your hands trembled in the white lace gloves you wore.

“Oh, Kiri,” you wheezed almost, your hands shaking as the announcers on stage were announcing the last awards before your performance. “I’m getting nervous. What if I mess up or sing off-key? I’d be the laughing stock!”

Kirishima laughed gently, his hands easily encompassing your waist as he stilled your frantic moves. “Y/l/n y/n, if there is anything I know for sure about you is that you are one hell of a singer and a performer. The awards you’re nominated for tonight speak for themselves! You never fail at your performances, and even if you somehow manage to sing off-key, I’m sure that no one would notice! Your biggest fan in the world won’t notice, at least.”

Not more than seven days ago, when you had cried about the impending nerves of being an artist, Kirishima had come to claim the title of being your biggest fan in the world. It had made you chuckle through your tears before coming near a hysterical laugh as the two of you held each other close.

“You’re a nut, Kirishima Eijirou,” you laugh, hands resting on his lower ribs, but your smile was bright, warm. You paused a bit, fingers pulling at the fabric of his shirt. “I’ll sing just for you then, but I think I should take another swig of that soju.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Could you tell that Takeyama is completely drunk off her ass?”

“...she’s drunk?!”

“Exactly, I’ll be fine,” you breathe, taking a new smaller flask from the purse Kirishima was holding for you and taking the final swig. Your face contorts at the bitter liquid. “Ew, Kimiko really fucked me over with this one. Why is it blue?! Have you ever seen blue apple soju?!”

“No?” Kirishima startled, his eyes looking at the indeed splash of blue liquid tainting a small part of your gloves. “Who gave you that one? What happened with the other flask of yours?”

“Oh, Kimiko sent it along after I lost my other one; it’s her own flask,” you said before the backstage crew whisked you away to begin your set, and without you, Kirishima was sent to the audience.

Kirishima felt trapped as he was ushered into his seat, his eyes scanning the entire audience for something suspicious, a familiar face perhaps. His broad shoulders continued to bump into his neighbors, their disgruntled noises doing nothing to stop his worry.

“And now, Y/n,” came the strong voice of the male announcer, and the light dimmed.

Kirishima watched as the spotlight came down upon you, a golden halo of colors against your darkened gown as the instrumentals began to play in the background. And he saw you take a step forward, the building motifs suddenly silencing when you finally sang the first note.

Despite the panic arising in Kirishima, the unknown of who was behind it all, what was going to happen, he stilled at the unmatched strength and ambiance of your voice.

You sang as you did at every stage, to every audience.

There was a reason why you were considered a legend.

And then, with one last sound, one last melody, and your hand holding your microphone dropped. Your chest heaving, tears falling down your face, and the roar of the audience was silent. You looked through the audience, unable to see, but for some reason, you just knew where Kirishima was.

You smile.

But as the looming sounds begin to fill your ear again, you find that the world is hazy.

You swallow, eyes unfocused as you bowed, hurrying to leave the stage.

Kirishima watched as you took a final stumbling step off the stage, something he felt was going to be written off as you stepped on your dress. But his mind whirled.

The lawyer felt like a setup; the contracts made no sense, the blue soju.

How were they related?

What connected them?

“Oh, fuck,” Kirishima whispered, horrified, and immediately his finger pressed to his earpiece. “Find Y/n! Now!”

Kirishima was racing through the back of the venue, the announcers' voices still ringing through the dirty, bleak hallways. You had just won but was written off as being somewhere backstage; after all, the show must go on.

Voices screamed in his earpiece, each declining to have found you. No one had seen you after you stepped off the stage. No one knew who had taken you.

Kirishima noticed the doors closing at the end of the hallway, and with a dreading sense of doom, Kirishima removed the gun from his harness. And with the devil on his heels, he ran.

Kirishima panted as he looked before him.

You were passed out, draped limp, confused, and woozy against Kimiko’s body, and two men knocked unconscious beside them. To anyone else, it looked as if Kimiko had saved you, some guardian angel within this world, but if Kirishima’s gut meant anything, he knew better.

“Kirishima-san!’ Kimiko squeaked as Kirishima raised his gun, his body tense, unwilling to take a chance on her. “I don’t know what those two were doing! I was saving her, I swear!”

“Don’t do this, Kimiko,” Kirishima whispered, his head shaking. “I figured it out.”

There was a shift in Kimiko’s face at that; the scared unknowing hero melted into one of anger, resentment, one of someone who knew they had been outed.

“So, you figured it out,” she bitterly spoke, her arms that were supporting you from behind revealing to be a firearm of your own. “I didn’t expect you to.”

“I can’t say I figured out your reasoning; honestly, it doesn’t make sense to me, but I felt like it was you,” Kirishima carefully states, his heart roaring at the implied danger of the firearm against your chin. “Don’t do anything stupid, Kimiko.”

Kimiko stares, her lips forming a small o before changing into one of a large, near unattached grin.

“Anything stupid? If anyone is doing anything stupid, it's this selfish prick!” Kimiko spits, her arms tightening around you, making you whimper ever so gently in pain. “She thinks she’s so great, so rich, so smart! Just because she wastes most of her money on stupid shit like charity! Everyone thinks working for her is a dream, but they’re all blind idiots!”

Kirishima’s eyes widen as he notices the glazed, unfocused of your eyes as you shift your attention over to him. Were you listening?

“What’s wrong with the contract?” he asks, a small attempt to diffuse the situation.

“The fact she pays me next to nothing, and yet she works me half to death!”

“You have multiple clients, don’t you?” Kirishima splutters, unsure as to what was wrong. “Why is this one contract so important you wanted to frame her lawyer?!”

Kimiko laughs; it’s pitchy, almost hysterical as she bends over, your body slumping further onto the floor. “That was a lie! All a fucking lie! Do you know that I knew no one when I first started? Y/n is a name everyone wants. I don’t need to do anything to get her things! The world wants her! But the other clients? None of them stayed, none of them wanted me past a month! The salary was okay when she was a snot-nosed brat, but ten years later?! NO! She won’t fucking listen. She never fucking listens to anything but herself! So she has the option to give me the eighty percent, or fucking die here!”

Suddenly the gun in Kirishima’s hand feels like a ton, the skin on the back of his neck crawling and slicking with sweat.

“You know how much those charities mean to her,” Kirishima whispers. “She won’t do it.”

Kimiko trembles for a second, her arm holding the firearm lowering as she looks at the wall, shaking.

“Oh my god… you’re right,” Kimiko realizes, horror and uncertainty flashing across her face. “I guess… she has to die, oh my god, she has to die.”

At that moment, the world slowed down, and Kirishima swore he could see the atoms, the electricity flowing through the space between them. Kimiko’s arm holding the gun raising back up to your temple, her smile detached, horrific yet gleeful.

His body trembled as he doubted himself, his mind unsure if the finger on the trigger was going to be strong enough to fire away. Could he do it?

Was he ready?

Actually ready?

Save her, his past whispered.

Save her, his nightmares screamed.

Save her, his heart yelled.

Kirishima raised his arm, his focus blaring, his past just for a moment, forgotten.

BANG!

“The effects of the rohypnol have already worn out. Thankfully she wasn’t given a whole pill. If she experiences any nausea or throws up, please bring her back, should anything else happen, she’ll be okay.”

The words of the doctor rang in Kirishima’s ears. For tonight, they were going to be discharging you to him. Thankfully, it was all happening in Tokyo, so Kirishima’s apartment was near, and if Bakugou was true to his word, it was clean.

With the help of hospital security, he had managed to get your tuxedo concealed body into a car, and the two of you rode off to his apartment. You’ve been silent the entire time, eyes downcasted as you sit pressed to his side, feeling like a small child compared to him. You knew that he was much larger than you, a near two feet taller, but this felt unmatched.

Kirishima’s jacket was warm around you, it’s sheer largeness another dress on your body, and despite the horrific turn of events, you were feeling warm. You couldn’t remember much of what transpired after stumbling off stage, but you did remember Kirishima bursting through the doors, a look of anger and fear blistering off his person in such a way that made you whimper when you remembered.

You remembered the onsen basically every night, cursing your stupid makeup team for interrupting a night that definitely would have ended with you fucking Kirishima. You cursed yourself for being a coward and not just saying fuck it and fucking him afterward despite the brief awkwardness.

He wanted you, it was clear as day, and you wanted him as well.

Tonight.

“Sorry about how small my apartment is, or if it’s messy, I don’t actually know if my friends have been keeping up with it,” Kirishima apologized, guiding you into the apartment by the small of your back. “You’ll be safe here tonight, and I promise we can get back to your own place tomorrow!”

“Oh, don’t apologize, it’s okay,” you smile, feeling flushed as you cross the entryway to the apartment. His apartment, despite not being home in so long, is clean. The halls aren’t messy, and a hint of lavender is saturated to the air. The dim hallway lights were barely bright enough to cause you to squint as it was dark out. “Thank you for having me tonight, especially after everything.”

At the hospital, you had been given a pair of sweats and a cotton t-shirt. The change in outfit from your event dress was definitely needed, and even though you were sure your makeup was streaked down your face, you felt good hidden in the depths of Kirishima’s jacket.

“Are you hungry?” Kirishima asked, handing over his guest slippers, which you gratefully accepted. “I might have some microwaveable food leftover.”

“Ramen doesn’t sound too bad,” you admit as Kirishima unbuttons the first few buttons on his white dress shirt. You were instantly captivated by the movement, your eyes shifting back to his face when he began to walk off towards the kitchen.

Kirishima talked warmly, keeping the conversation going merrily and bright throughout the entire time in the kitchen. He undoubtedly knew you weren’t entirely okay, and at moments like this, you were entirely grateful for his sweet personality.

To be fair, you knew that you had been quite unfair to Kirishima in the beginning. Looking back at the first entire month of knowing him, you were horrified and impressed that Kirishima didn’t demand to be dropped. You had been selfish, stubborn, a bottom line brat, and he took it day after day. It wasn’t that you disliked him back then; hell, you had been in a near state of delirium when he entered the door during your first meeting because you had no idea such huge men existed to the caliber of his hotness.

But you resisted and might have been harsher than needed.

It was okay now; after all, if he was genuinely bitter about that entire month still, the onsen said otherwise.

It didn’t take long for your stomach to be filled with warm broth, soft boiled eggs, and ramen noodles. Kirishima did, in fact, have ramen, fresh eggs, and some vegetables. In a grand act of preparing you the most sufficient dinner he could, Kirishima presented this under budget ramen and laughed when you said it was terrific.

But it was growing late.

The two of you still sat at his table that was full of a card game, your empty ramen bowls, and cups of water. The clock on the oven read 23:38, and the city lights were slowly dying.

“Are you ready for bed?” Kirishima eventually asked you.

You looked up from your joined hands; your fingers had been playing with his thick and long fingers for some time now. The apartment grew steadily quieter as you studied and attempted to memorize each callous and scar on his hands. They were definitely marked and nicked, the sign of the warrior he once was.

“Depends on the bed,” you tease, lips rising into a small smile as you compare your much tinier hands than his. Your fingertips barely passed the edge of his palm. “What does a big guy like you sleep in? A twin? Tatami mat?”

Kirishima laughed, his hands twisting in yours, wrapping it around so that he raised your hands up to press a kiss to the center of your palms.

“A futon, brat,” Kirishima explained, his smile small but sharp with his humor. “Let’s get you to bed?”

You frown.

“Where will you be sleeping then?”

“My couch is just fine.”

“I’m sure your stuffing in a trash bag had holes in it.”

“That’s okay,” Kirishima laughed, standing up and quickly taking you to your feet as well. “It’s just for a night, I’ll live.”

Your face warmed immediately as he guided you down the hallway of his apartment before finally coming into what was definitely his room.

Kirishima’s scent was faint in this room, cinnamon, wood, and warm spices. It made your eyes flutter as you observed his room from the entryway as he began to set up the room.

His eye for interior decoration was quite… different. You smiled brightly as you glanced around; the diverse and rather boyish decorations around the room warmed your heart. It seemed exactly like what you would think of for Kirishima.

“Well, that’s all!” Kirishima exclaimed, his hands landing on his hips in triumph as he looked around. “The bathroom is the next door over, and I’ll leave a toothbrush out for you. I also left out a new t-shirt of mine if you want to change!”

You nod some more, watching as Kirishima seems unsure of what to do next. He looks around, coughs a bit before nodding.

“Okay, I’ll be leaving—”

“Um, can we talk?” you interrupt, arms wrapping around your body. “I have some things I want to say.”

“Oh, sure!”

“You can sit,” you say, motioning toward the bed. “I have a few things to get off my chest.”

Kirishima pauses for a bit, his eyes looking you over before he eventually nods, and he sits down. The bed slightly creaks under his weight, and you feel your body warm-up at the sound. You want to hear the bed creak more, to rock under the weight of you and him pressed against the sheets as you cried his name.

“What is it?” he asks gently, observing you.

“I just…” you huff, words failing you, your tongue feeling heavy. “I wanted to say thank you for saving me.”

“It was my job to do that,” Kirishima smiled warmly, his arms crossing again.

He was relaxed.

“I mean, I can’t even begin to believe that it was Kimiko who was behind all that, even though we know it was… I know it was,” you trail off, shivering slightly as you remember your ex-managers demented laugh in your ear. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Nothing would’ve happened to you,” Kirishima spoke with finality. “I promised to myself at the first meeting I was going to protect you, hell the entire world would. You’re not going to be taken down by pathetic people like that, not you.”

“Really?”

“One hundred percent.”

“I feel like I should repay you in some way, though,” you rub the back of your neck, eyes fluttering just the slightest bit flirtatious. Kirishima looked at you with full mooned eyes, his arms unfolding and his palms resting onto the bedspread.

“You repay me plenty already,” came his whispered answer, so quiet, so pure you almost smiled. “You don’t have to do anything.”

Your tongue pushes past your lip, wetting the drying skin as you take a step toward him. The shoulders of the jacket slowly fall from your own shoulders, pooling just above your elbows as you stop before him, hands resting daintily on his broad shoulders.

“And what if I want something?” you ask, finding yourself stemming with energy as his legs part, allowing you closer access to him.

You step in closer and closer until your outer thighs are ghosting against the inner part of his.

“I think it’s in our contract for me to do everything that you request if I remember correctly,” Kirishima whispers, his bright clear red eyes turning a burnt shade: dark and ever consuming.

“And if I want you to finish what you started over at the onsen?” you press, fingers curling against the muscles of his shoulders before locking behind his neck.

His nose was brushing against yours, cold yet burning against your own skin.

“I’ll gladly show you what I wanted to do that night,” he grunts, eyes deadly, and for the first time, his hands held your waist.

You took a second to recover, your skin sparking with the electricity of his touch, and you suppressed a shiver as you opened your eyes.

“Do it,” you cement your fates, “coward.”

And just like that, in a movement so euphoric, Kirishima’s mouth crashed against yours.

His mouth was hot, dangerous against yours -- a live wire sparking with uncontrollable energy and heat as your mouths danced. Hot puffs of air were passed between your mouths, your fingers shaking with an undeniable release of tension and want.

The kiss was sloppy, desperate, so needy with unspoken frantic determination to fuck each other until the other could no longer move.

Kirishima’s hand removed the jacket from your arms, letting the expensive material fall onto the floor with a heavy thud. Despite the lack of warmth the clothing provided, the feeling of Kirishima’s hands rubbing against your bare arms sent your mind spiraling.

“Get on the bed,” Kirishima commands against your mouth. “Let me fuck you.”

The words were nearly embarrassingly desperate, but the tone of his voice spoke of the absolute domination he wished to assert on you. He wanted you in one exact way, and you had a feeling you knew what it was. But if he had been paying attention, Kirishima should already know that getting you to listen was not easy.

“No,” you grin against his mouth.

Kirishima pulls away instantly, his lips red and swollen as he replays your word in his head. He looks frazzled, absolutely delirious already at the simple, passion-filled makeout. As soon as his eyes clear away the fog, your grin drops, and instead, you look at him with fierce determination and defiance.

“No?” he repeats.

“No,” you confirm.

Your chest feels light, your head spinning as the hands on your waist tighten, and his eyes flash dangerously. The tip of his tongue pushes past his lips before quickly disappearing again.

“Of course, you’re a brat in bed too, such a fucking princess,” Kirishima shakes his head, but his mouth curving into a shark-like grin.

Menacing, promising, sending chilling shivers down your spine.

The world spins faster than you can keep up, your mouth opening to shriek as Kirishima easily lifts you up, and has you lying against his lap.

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret, princess,” Kirishima begins, his large fingers hooking into the waistband of the sweats you have on and the panties you’re wearing. “My princess gets rewards for being good. If she can behave properly, she gets to be fucked with dick, her pussy gets to be fucked just the way she pleases.”

You can’t help but stifle a moan that threatens to spill out with his words and the way his hands move down the curve of your ass, exposing the naked skin to him. The waistband of both your panties and sweats stay high up your thighs, and it’s almost embarrassing to know you’re still so clothed despite what’s to come.

“And just what does the Sergeant do to bad girls?” you ask, unable to keep your tongue down, your hips rolling against his lap in undeserved friction.

Unexpectedly, abruptly, a hand comes down harshly onto your bare ass.

The contact is rough, stinging against your ass as you cry out in slight pain.

The hand not currently rubbing a warning circle into your ass twists the hair at the top of your head, lifting your head up so that your ear could near his mouth.

“Bad girls get punishments. They get what I want to give them. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Holy shit,” you whimper, heat flaring between your thighs at the thought of Kirishima doing anything to you regardless of if you were good or bad. You rut your ass back against his hand, longing for a heavier touch, a plea for something more.

“What does the princess want?”

“Nothing,” you bite, and the crashing smack of another spank has you moaning loudly at the stinging pleasure-filled pain.

“You moaning like a whore at a simple spank says otherwise,” Kirishima chuckles darkly, his fingers pinching your stinging ass as your body bucks against him. He spanks you again, again, and again. Each slap is intentful, powerful, wanting to get you to admit what you want, and you cry against your hands each time, your eyes fluttering as the pain feels good.

“Of course, a slut like you would be getting off on this,” Kirishima seems amused, his thick finger pressing to the slit of your cunt, spreading your dripping essence against your cunt. He presses against your entrance with just the tip of his finger, and you shriek in a sound for more, your hips jerking backward to get his finger into you, to fuck you with those thick fingers to do something about the growing desperate heat.

“Kirishima!” you scream, your body sweating and twisting on his lap, desperate to find some way to get him to finger fuck you.

“Ah, there we go,” he sighs in delight as his fingers swirl at your entrance, increasing the teasing and making your mind spin. “Tell me what you want, brat.”

“You!” you wail, two of his fingers carting between your wet, sloppy heated lips. They graze your clit, stimulating you further as you can do nothing but instinctively jerk against his hold, trying to get him to give you the needed pleasure to build up to an orgasm. “I want you to fuck me so good! Please, Sergeant, please, I want you to fuck me until I can’t remember anything but your name.”

“But you haven’t proven to be a good princess,” Kirishima tuts, his hands disappearing from your pussy despite your crying pleas. His hand grabs your ass, though, massaging the abused skin, grasping it tightly.

You moan, embarrassed at the sensation of his massive hand easily cupping your ass cheek, your fingers fisting into the fabric of his pants as you shake your head.

“Are you going to prove that you’re good?” he asks you, his tone like that of a parent chastising a child. “Gonna prove to me that you can be good?”

You shake pathetically against his legs, but you can’t keep yourself from shaking your head. You can’t prove to him that you would be.

“I can’t!” you whimper loudly, your body twisting on his lap to look up at him, your eyes filled with tears and pleading need. Kirishima looked down at you with lust filled eyes and an undeniable need to be followed.

“You can’t?” he repeats, his head tilting, eyes narrowing, and his fingers dug into your ass. “Or you won’t?”

You tremble on top of him, unable to answer because you weren’t ready to hand over the reins just yet. You didn’t want to submit so fast, you wanted to make his own head dizzy with need but the stubbornness to continue punishing you the way he was promising.

“I won’t,” you gasp, eyes fluttering at the way he finally drops your head.

You gasp loudly as you find him shoving you off his lap, and with your panties and sweats sitting so awkwardly high on your legs, you find yourself tumbling off his lap and onto the floor.

“Guess if you don’t want to behave, I’ll treat you like some fucking pussy pocket and dispose of you once I’m done,” Kirishima easily breathes, and you look up at the now standing man as he tears his shirt off.

Your mouth waters, your cunt throbbing at the sight of the rippling muscles and dark lines of his tattoos on his upper body. You watch fascinated, like one does to a masterpiece, as he undresses until he’s in nothing but his socks. And at the sight of his dick, you can feel at once all the blood in your flushed face drop directly into your throbbing cunt.

He was fucking enormous, his girth barely fitting into his hand, and the angry red head spilled its precum against his abs. A black happy trail connecting Kirishima’s abs to his vein throbbing cock.

Holy fuck, he could quickly kill you with that.

Kirishima doesn’t ask any questions as he watches your awkwardly dressed state of a body on the floor. His head is tilted upwards, a small pleased smile on his face as he looks down on you, his hand slowly, leisurely fisting his cock as you can do nothing but stare.

You make some insane noise at the back of your throat at this sight, your thighs trembling with need, and you're pushing off your side, your ass burning, and your balance off as you open your mouth, offering all you could to him.

And thankfully, Kirishima allows it.

He’s much too tall for you to suck him off on your knees, so he sits back down onto the bed, letting you scamper between his legs, mouth open wide like some needy pet.

“Such a good little slut,” Kirishima sighs, sinking his cock into your wet, hot mouth. “Such a fucking cockwhore, all it took was a single glance for you to lose your will.”

You whine against his dick, your jaw tight with the stretch, your tongue lapping so desperately around the cock that was no more than halfway in yet couldn’t go in any further.

“Suck me right, and I’ll reward you by fucking that pretty little pussy of yours,” Kirishima grunts, his fingers pressing into the side of your neck as he ruts his hips up into your mouth, shoving his cock even further into your mouth. “And don’t you dare look away from me while you suck me off.”

It feels like fire.

His cock driving down your throat hurts, the taste of his salty pre-cum slathering all over your tongue and dripping out of your mouth with the saliva you can’t control. His cock hits the back of your throat, and you continue to bob your head, continue to fuck him with your throat as animalistic, praiseworthy noises begin spilling from Kirishima’s mouth.

You whimper at the sight of his head dipping back, and you nearly whine when he shoves the fingers he had gathered your juices on into his mouth. He moans at the contact and with his pleasure with your actions so obvious as you choke against his girth. That was hot, holy fuck, you wanted him to fuck you, please fuck you.

Your eyes close as he begins to fuck faster into your mouth, his delight in hearing you choke around him his driving force. Tears start pouring from your eyes despite your best efforts, your throat and inner thighs burning with lust and need as Kirishima groans, his cock twitching deep in your throat.

Slap!

“Hey!”

Slap!

You gag harshly as your cheeks sting with his heavy slap, your teeth grazing underneath his cock, right against a thick, twisting vein.

“Did I tell you to close your eyes?” Kirishima practically growls, his hands grasping the back of your neck, the other one slapping you across the face yet again. “No. I said… fuck… I said, keep your eyes on me!”

Tears weep down your face, your eyes struggling to keep focus on him as he continued to fuck deep and intensely into your mouth, shoving himself further into you until you could feel his thighs grazing your chin. Oxygen wasn’t flowing anymore; your gags and chokes the only time the burning element could manage to flow through you, but Kirishima doesn’t seem to care. He seems to delight in the way you are, despite it all, are moaning and looking at him in a pleading way for more.

More, you plead.

And he delivers.

Kirishima pulls his still hard, not yet cummed, dick out of your mouth and stands.

You splutter with the sudden intake of oxygen to your lungs, burning you from the inside out as you splutter on the ground.

“W-What’s going on?” you hoarsely stammer, your jaw and throat aching from its prolonged abuse. “E-Ei?”

However, Kirishima seems dead set on getting you naked, and you squeal in flustered excitement as he rips the shirt off of you and his mouth pressing against yours again. His mouth crashes against yours, and you moan into his mouth immediately.

His tongue curls into your mouth and your tongues press and rub against each other. Each passing second growing more desperate, needier, more intense as your clothes are ripped one by one off your body.

“Holy fuck, I’ve wanted you for so long,” Kirishima nearly whines, his mouth trailing down your neck, biting and sucking against every centimeter of skin he passed. “Wanted to fuck you against the wall, in my bed, and now I get to do that.”

“Please, please, fuck me, please,” you beg, your voice bordering a wail as your arms wrap around his neck, letting him lift you up off the floor. Despite you being so much smaller than him that when he held you to him, your cunt wasn’t pressed to his angry leaking cock, you continued to desperately roll your hips against his abs, the friction welcomed and easing the building pressure. It was an action conveying just what you wanted. “I need you in me, Sergeant!”

“Just cuz… holy fuck,” Kirishima breathes ragged, his body twisting around, and you cried when the cold sheets pressed into your back. “Imma fuck you, Imma… god, just fucking watch.”

Your head thrashed back onto the pillow as Kirishima’s teeth sunk into your collarbone, then captured your sensitive nipples, his fingers dancing against your clit and teasing your center.

“Now!” you cry, fingers digging into his shoulder. “Put it in!”

This time, Kirishima didn’t need to be told twice.

His larger body was suddenly pressed entirely against yours, dwarfing you immediately as your arms wrapped around his back as his cock slammed into you. You screamed at the sudden intrusion, your pussy stretched beyond its typical limits by his girth, his size, his power.

Your cunt throbbed around him, your face buried within his pecs as you, despite the searing pain, shove your hips up towards him. Fucking into him, sucking him further into you.

“Holy shit,” Kirishima groans, “you’re amazing.”

“Talk less, fuck me more!” you screech, your body spasming, twitching so hard from the splitting pleasure and the lava pit in your stomach, and Kirishima does that exactly.

His hips begin to meet yours in equaled power, slamming into you so that the bed creaked beneath you. He fucked you until he had to hold a hand on your hip so you could stay there, and you kept a hand on the wall to continue to push yourself down onto his cock.

You screamed with pleasure, cried for more, Kirishima’s shark-like smirk getting bolder, darker, hotter with every slam of his hips until his tattooed right arm shot down. His hand wrapped around your throat, choking you.

“You’re so loud, princess,” Kirishima moans, clearly liking your loud noises, “but you’re going to wake everyone in Tokyo.”

His hand around your throat is enough to have your legs trembling around his waist, your choked and muffled moans and splutters drowning out even more as he pressed a kiss onto you. He kissed you, licking your mouth, and devouring your every word and thought. Your core twisted, tightened, and burned. It throbbed and clenched with it’s impending orgasm, and your body began to tense to the heavens as his cock throbbed deep within you.

“Who saved you?”

“E-Ei did,” you garble.

“Who’s fucking you?”

“E-Ei is!”

“Who’s going to fucking cum when I tell her to?”

“Me! Fuck, me!”

Kirishima laughs, his arms wrapping around your waist, and in one final, fleeting burst of strength, fucks into you with his own power, needs, and desire, and you can only take it. “Cum, princess,” he whispered almost sweetly against the top of your head, and it was all over. Your teeth sink into his chest as you scream, a blinding white light erupting through your vision as you cum around his cock.

Kirishima whimpers, his cock still pushing deep into your cunt, until you can feel the warm spill of his seed in your womb.

He collapses to the side of you, taking you with him so that you were resting on his sweaty chest.

“Holy shit,” Kirishima whispered after a bit, your body already warm and too lethargic to notice the star-like tone to his voice. “That was fucking… holy shit.”

“Does this mean you like me?” you half tease, half wonder.

There’s a pause, a silence, and you wonder if maybe he had fallen asleep.

But he didn’t.

“I’ve been in love with you for some time now, I think,” he admits, his hand beginning to rub small circles into your back.

You find that despite the exhaustion, warmth floods your cheeks.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I guess we’re going to have to discuss a more… permanent and maybe different contract tomorrow morning, huh?”

Kirishima chuckles, and you find yourself smiling into his chest.

“I think we do.”

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

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (chapter 10 - FINALE)

series masterlist

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind. you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 6k

warnings: implied smut, angst, fluff, romcom tropes, lots of swearing, pregnancy mention/minor breeding kink

note: click the asterisk for a hyperlink to a translation when the time comes

Six months later...

“It’s good!” she beamed, setting down the last chunk of pages and taking off her reading glasses. “Oh man, that ending hurt, but it’s really, really good!”

You leaned back into the plush chair and sighed with relief. “You think so?”

“It’s best-seller material,” she assured. “With some editing, of course. God, I can’t believe you were sitting on this for so long.”

“What are the biggest changes you want to make?” you asked.

“Well, I’m thinking we’ll cut the romantic subplot,” she mentioned in passing, like it was no big deal. “It’s distracting.

“Distracing?” you repeated. “Nia, it’s the story. It’s a romance.”

“I thought it was a thriller,” she frowned.

“A romance disguised as a thriller,” you corrected.

“Listen, I get what you mean, but I didn’t get this—” she tapped the nameplate on her desk: ‘NIA BROWN, HEAD PUBLISHER’ in shiny letters— “for nothing. I know what I’m talking about, and I know what your readers want. Violence, gore, drama!”

“It has all that!” you defended. “But it’s all there to talk about the real love he finds in her!”

“What do you mean ‘real love’?” she pressed flatly.

“I mean…” you pondered. “I mean love where you feel like a version of yourself that you actually like. Love where you feel unjudged, no precedents or caveats or back-up plans. Love that fucking hurts because you never wanted to rely on anything or anybody. Love that lives in silence because you don’t even need words.”

She furrowed her brow. “That… sounds nice, I guess, but I don’t think anybody really has that. Everybody needs a back-up plan. Everybody needs words— a writer should know that.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god,” you groaned, your face falling into your hands. “I’m so fucking stupid. Jesus Christ, I’m a moron.”

“What? What’s going on?”

“I had that! I had that, and I let it go! I’m the dumbest bitch on the fucking face of the Earth.”

“Don’t say that,” she soothed, but you were already standing up.

“No, I need to find him,” you decided as you grabbed your coat and briefcase. “I need to go back and try to fix this. I love him, I’ve never— I didn’t know I could love like that, I didn’t know I could be loved like that… oh my god, I need to find him. It isn’t over.”

“It isn’t over?” she repeated incredulously. “You said Michael signed the papers!”

“It’s not Michael,” you rolled your eyes as you stormed out of the office. “It was never Michael.”

You ran into the first telephone box you could find, slamming the door shut as you searched your purse for the business card that probably wasn't even in there.

After a moment, you gasped with delight when you pulled it from a very bottom pocket and began punching in the number as fast as possible with shivering hands, long-distance charges be damned.

“Hello?” the confused voice on the other end answered.

“Mrs. Alberti, hi— does Sebastian still work for you?” you asked hastily.

“No, dear," she sighed, apparently recognizing you by just your voice (and likely your request), "he quit recently, and moved away.”

“Moved?" you repeated with a wrinkled brow. "Where?!”

“I assume back home, sweetheart; to Bucharest.”

“Shit,” you sighed. “Shit!”

“Are you having your ‘run through the airport’ moment, sweetheart?” she realized.

“Yes, I think so— do you have his address?”

“Well, no, but I’ll see what I can find.”

You waited rather impatiently as she shuffled through papers in the background, mumbling to herself as she apparently searched for information that could help you.

“All I’ve got is the address of a previous employer… a carpenter,” she finally explained, breaking the silence. “It was his only reference when he came to work here," she explained.

"Wow, you really did just hire him for his looks," you blurted out.

"He was desperate for work, that boy had nowhere else to go,” she defended.

“Right, well, I guess if that’s my only lead then I’ve gotta go for it,” you decided. “Thank you, Mrs. Alberti.”

“I told you to call me when that book was a hit. Did it happen yet?” she piped up.

“It’s not published yet,” you explained. “It needs some more work… but I think it’s almost ready.”

“I think so, too, dear.”

Learn Romanian in 10 Weeks! A practical language guide.

Week 1, Day 1: Greetings

Hello Salut

Goodbye La revedere

Thank you Mulțumesc

You’re welcome Cu plăcere

Good morning Bună dimineata

Good afternoon Bună ziua

Good evening Bună seara

Good night Noapte bună

You brushed your hair back out of your face with a sigh, turning the page as you mumbled the phrases to yourself. Broken Hungarian and your high school education in Latin were not getting you as far with this as you had been hoping.

How are you? Ce mai faci

I love you Te iubesc

“Te iubesc, te iubesc, te iubesc,” you repeated over and over in a whisper.

Each day you had a new routine: practice Romanian for an hour, check flight prices online (or call the airline), research what you knew about Sebastian and the address Mrs. Alberti had given you, and then get back to practicing Romanian again.

Oh, and occasionally you worked on the edits Nia wanted for your manuscript. You were focusing on the minor changes— grammar errors, rearranging sentences— and putting off her big request for the removal and replacement of the romantic aspects. More than ever, they seemed like the most important thing the book had to offer.

You had a small apartment, just a place to sleep and shower really; much too small to fit everything you’d already taken from Michael’s house (you know, the one that used to be your house) along with what he’d shipped to you that you forgot before. He included a letter in the package as well. You threw it out, unopened.

Truthfully, you never really fully unpacked. As much as you realized you probably should, in order to really feel like you had a real home, you couldn’t bring yourself to empty your suitcases when you knew you’d be packing them again any day now.

You also realized how outrageous this all was. Ignoring the unlikelihood of even finding him in the first place, Sebastian probably wouldn’t want anything to do with you after you broke his heart, left, and then randomly tracked him down after over half a year. But to be totally transparent, you weren’t really doing this to get him back, necessarily. You knew that was probably never going to happen. You were doing this because you needed to try. You needed to go there, and get hurt, and come back knowing you did everything you could: you’d never be able to live with yourself if you did anything less than that.

You couldn’t start your new life until you had put everything else to bed. And if that meant being 100%, painfully certain that you and Sebastian could never be together, then that was just how it needed to be.

After two weeks of looking, there still weren’t any reasonable flights to Bucharest, so you booked another trip by train, figuring you could use the three day trip to brush up on the key Romanian phrases you were going to need as well as prepare your speech.

Yes, your plan was a speech. You didn’t have a back-up plan. You didn’t even have a return ticket back to London yet.

A passage by Yeats came to mind; But I, being poor, have only my dreams. I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.

In all your life, you’d never understood before why someone would want to only have their dreams. But now, here you were… and yes, it felt terrifying and vulnerable and uncomfortably naked, but it felt pretty damn good, too.

With a sigh, you scribbled out the last sentence you’d written, tossing the trash paper aside. You looked up out the window at the scenery flying by in a blur, worried that if you didn’t look out from the train every once in a while you’d get motion sickness.

The sun was beginning to set already, the green of hills and trees tinted orange. You only indulged in it for a moment, though, before getting back to this god-forsaken speech you were deadset on finishing before you arrived in Bucharest tomorrow. At first, you’d figured the translating would be the most difficult part… but writing in English wasn’t exactly a piece of cake, either. You had so much to say, and suddenly so few words for any of it.

You’d probably done more editing on this than any of your novels combined; the crumpled up pages spilling out of your wastebasket were proof enough of that.

“And I’m a fucking writer!” you groaned aloud, to no one in particular. “How is anybody else supposed to be able to do this, if I can’t?”

Other people aren’t as emotionally constipated as you, the voice of your inner critic reminded you plainly, making you roll your eyes at yourself.

A rap at your door made you sit up straighter and turn around. A stewardess slid open the frosted glass slightly to give you a friendly smile. “Is everything alright, ma’am?”

Your brows furrowed at the sound of her accent. “Is that a Romanian accent?” you asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” she nodded.

“So you’re fluent in Romanian and English,” you concluded.

“And Portuguese, yes ma’am,” she agreed.

“Could you come in here for a moment and help me translate something?”

She seemed slightly confused at the request but stepped forward, sliding the door most of the way shut behind her. Leaning beside you on the desk, she picked up your handwritten letter and blinked her wide, brown eyes a few times. You felt slightly embarrassed knowing she was reading such intimate thoughts, but that was how it felt the first time someone read anything you wrote so you were pretty much used to it by now.

“I usually ask the passengers what brings them to Bucharest,” she mumbled after a moment. “This is the most interesting thing so far. Am I reading this correctly, that you intend to confess your love to someone you met—” she scanned the page quickly— “during a vacation in Hungary?”

“Yup,” you smiled awkwardly, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word.

“And he doesn’t speak English?” she assumed; you nodded. “And… you don’t speak Romanian?”

You nodded again, and she breathed in and out quickly, sitting beside you as she stared at the letter.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she explained.

“Sorry for sucking you into the entropic vortex that is my life,” you chuckled.

“I don’t mean to pry,” she sighed, setting the letter down, and you laughed a little internally at the idea that she was worried about prying when she just read the most personal piece of writing you’d ever put to the page, “but do you think this is… enough? I mean, to build a relationship on?”

You just gave her a shrug. “I have no idea. But, you know, I spent my whole life worrying about stuff like that. I dated my husband for seven years before we got married, because I wanted to be sure. I was initially interested in him because he was successful and ambitious, and it made me feel like this was a really secure relationship that I could rely on. I double majored in English and Computer Science because I wanted a more stable career to fall back on in case being a writer didn’t work out, and even though it did, I’ve spent most of my career publishing what I thought people wanted to read instead of what I wanted to write, so I’d have a better shot at a good paycheck. I grew up thinking the best thing I could ever have was security. And now I’m divorced, watching my royalties shrink every month, more insecure in every way than I’ve ever been, and I’m realizing that the choices I made didn’t give me what I wanted. I gave up so much in the name of safety, and I let the one good thing I’d ever found go, so I could go back to being the same person I always was. I’m ready to settle again, if this doesn’t work… I’m ready to accept that this is just the way life goes, and be thankful that I got a taste of the kind of stuff I thought only existed in the sort of books I’d read but never write.”

She swallowed as she looked at you, and you felt your eyes water as you stared out the window towards the dimming scenery one more time, smiling at the sight of a distant village, a church with a steeple, vineyards and farms. Someone’s whole life is in that little town, you imagined, and they’re just watching your train go by like they see every other day.

“Sebastian gave me more security than I’d ever had before, even though the whole thing was such a ridiculous little whirlwind, and nothing like I ever imagined my life could be. But he made me want to be honest and raw and write sappy letters like the one you just read. He doesn’t have any money, at least as far as I know, and I haven’t known him for seven years, and on paper it makes no sense… but you would understand if you knew him. If you felt that joy that he radiates, if you saw him live his simple little life like it’s the best thing in the world. You would understand if you knew how much I needed this. You would understand if you had been just as miserable being who I’ve been for so long, and finally had a chance to be somebody you think you were maybe meant to be the whole time. So, if I never see him again, I hope I just get to thank him.”

You waited for her to say something, but furrowed your brow at the long moment of silence, looking back from the window finally and finding her staring at you with a tear running down her cheek. When you met her gaze, she quickly wiped it away with a sniffle and looked down at your desk again. “Let’s get to translating, shall we?” she announced with a half-smile.

You noticed the way the other passengers looked at you as everyone was in line to deboard from the train car; you stuck out like a sore thumb, since everybody else was carrying heavy luggage and all you had was a backpack.

In your defense, you really had no idea how to pack for a trip where you knew neither the duration nor the true final destination. So, it was mainly filled with your essentials, a few clothes for any kind of weather, and enough leu to buy anything else you needed along the way.

The stewardess was waving goodbye to everyone as they shuffled out into the train station, occasionally stopping to shake a hand or give directions to nearby destinations. When you were just about to pass by, though, she pulled you into a tight hug.

“Good luck,” she whispered, holding you just a moment too long before pulling back and giving you an encouraging look. “If he doesn’t take you back, feel free to blame my translation… because if he knows what’s in your heart, I know he’ll say yes.”

“Yeah, that’s the hard part isn’t it?” you laughed weakly. “Thank you for your help. I guess if I come back alone for the return trip tonight, you’ll know how bad it went.”

“Then I hope I don’t see you again,” she winked.

It being a major train station and all, cabs were waiting around every corner so it was pretty easy to grab one and give them the address you already had written down for this exact purpose.

“This is pretty far,” the driver explained, “on the edge of town. Not a tourist spot.”

“Good, because I’m not a tourist,” you nodded, already only giving him half your attention as you pulled out the translated speech to practice.

“And you can afford this?” he pressed. You sighed and dug through your bag, pulling out a haphazard stack of bills and handing them through the plastic partition.

“Is this enough?” you asked, and he didn’t answer, just taking the money and starting the car as you smiled and leaned back in your seat.

As much as you had tried to convince yourself to not get your hopes up, the butterflies in your stomach felt more like whole birds at this point, demanding to break free as you practiced the words hand-written on the page over and over again, committing it all to memory.

“What are you reading?” the cab driver asked after several minutes.

“Oh, nothing,” you mumbled, “sorry if I’m bothering you, you can turn on the radio.”

“No, it’s not bothering me, but what you are saying… it’s very odd. It sounds like something from a play, or movie,” he explained.

“Um, it’s not,” you replied, a little embarrassed. “But does it sound like it’s from a good movie? Like, if you heard a character say this to another character, would you think they should get together?”

“I… don’t know,” he answered, sounding confused. “I mean, it depends on what happened, right? How they met, how well they get along…”

So, you told him the whole story, as succinctly as possible (which is not very succinct at all). By the end, he was actually giving commentary as you spoke.

“Why the hell did you leave?” he interjected, clearly irritated with you. “You loved him!”

“Yeah, well, sometimes love isn’t enough! I loved my husband too, and look how that turned out,” you defended.

“But that’s different. That was love for all the wrong reasons.”

“I promise, it felt very real at the time,” you shrugged.

“And now?” he countered. “You realize that this man— Sebastian, right?— is real.”

“I hope I’m right this time,” you offered. “But even if I am, he may not agree.”

The driver scoffed, taking a hand off the wheel to wave dismissively. “If he’s anything like you said, then he will still be completely in love with you. After all, you still feel the same way after all this time apart, don’t you?”

“If anything, I love him more every day,” you admitted, your heart beating quickly just to say it aloud.

“You know, when I met my wife, she was engaged to another man. He was rich, good-looking, and he wasn’t even a bad guy unlike this husband you describe. He was a good man, but he wasn’t right for her. They were… content together, but she wasn’t truly happy. Every night I would come to her window and beg her to marry me, because I knew that she knew we were meant for each other, but she was scared because her family wouldn’t approve and she would be a poor man’s wife.”

“How did you convince her to marry you instead?” you asked eagerly, sucked into the story already.

“I didn’t. On the day of the wedding, some people told me to go and break it up but I didn’t. I thought it would be wrong, to try to ruin her happiness and take it for myself by making a scene at the wedding. I realized she was her own woman and if she wanted to choose him, I had to let her. I had locked myself in my house, not wanting to see anyone that day, and she appeared at my door. I didn’t need to convince her because she knew the truth in her heart, and called off the wedding herself.”

“Wow,” you smiled.

“She was still in her dress!” he recalled with a hearty laugh. “She looked like an angel. We were married just a few days later. And next month will be thirty years,” he added as he lifted his left hand to show the golden band on his finger.

“Thirty years, that’s… a long time,” you sighed.

“It wasn’t always easy,” he admitted. “But it was always worth it.”

Just as you wondered what you could possibly say to that, you felt the car slow down to a stop.

“This is the address you gave me, this is it,” he explained, pointing out his passenger-side window. You leaned up against the glass and gasped in dawning fear as you saw the storefront dark and empty inside.

“No, nonono,” you whispered rapidly to yourself as you swung open the door and hopped out, pressing your face against the glass to try to get a look inside and finding what was undeniably a closed carpentry business. There was a note on the door, taped on the inside of the glass, and you knew enough Romanian to know it said something about a vacation and three months.

“Shit!” you yelped, holding your face in your hands, wondering if your journey had come to an end before it really began.

“Are you alright?” the driver asked, rolling down his window to speak to you.

“This was my only lead, I don’t have his real address,” you explained. “He used to work here, I thought maybe someone would know him…”

He sighed, giving you a sympathetic look. “Get back in, we can search nearby. You came too far to give in yet.”

But getting back in the car felt like giving in, too, which you realized as you looked back at the note taped to the carpenter's door. This was the closest you'd gotten, and it felt wasteful to leave with nothing.

Just as you were ready to hop in the passenger seat and start searching aimlessly through suburban Bucharest, or maybe look around for a Romanian yellow pages, you heard a noise from behind you, across the street; a laugh. His laugh. But it couldn’t be because it was too good to be true… and yet you found yourself whipping your head around and hoping beyond all reason that it was Sebastian.

Across the street was a restaurant, with a large patio where patrons were dining and chatting as they sat at wrought iron tables, and your eyes searched the crowd for any signs of him.

And then your gaze landed on a head of thick brunette hair, red and gold highlights so obvious now when the sunlight hit it this way. Broad shoulders wrapped in a white button-up shirt. He was facing away from you but he was looking to the side so you could see his face; he was smiling, laughing at something someone had said. And it was his smile that you recognized; it was like everything else faded away, and in that moment you thought maybe you could almost be happy with just this, just seeing him be happy even if it had nothing to do with you.

“Sebastian,” you called out to him, but he didn’t react. “Sebastian!”

His whole body turned, his eyes met yours, and you couldn't help but let the tears well in your eyes as you ran across the road to him.

He looked, understandably, stunned, and you realized he was actually waiting on a table at the moment; he said something to them, apparently excusing himself, and stepped closer to you.

But he stopped walking, not coming any closer, not exactly dragging you into his arms like you might've preferred, but with a breath to try to soothe your racing mind, you summoned your memories of the practiced letter and began. *

“Când am venit în Ungaria…” you started slowly, doing your best to remember the words and hoping your pronunciation wasn’t too awful, “nu căutam dragoste. Căutam spațiu, claritate și poate o idee de carte de un milion de dolari. În schimb, am găsit tot ce am căutat toată viața mea…”

You did your best to bite back tears, especially when his expression was nearly unreadable and you had no idea how well this was going.

“Ești tu, Sebastian, bineînțeles că ești tu,” you sighed, laughing slightly. “Ai fost acolo pentru mine când nici nu știam ce vreau de la nimeni. Ai fost prietenul meu fără să spui vreodată un cuvânt - cel puțin nu un cuvânt pe care l-am înțeles. M-ai iubit și nu știam ce să fac cu asta, pentru că uitasem cu mult timp în urmă cum se simțea să fii iubit. Și ce simțeai să iubești cu adevărat pe cineva. Dar te iubesc. Și am fost prost să te las să pleci, atât de neconceput de prost. Vreau să fim noi, Sebastian. Lasă-mă să te iubesc, mai dă-mi o șansă și îți promit că nu te voi mai lăsa să pleci niciodată.

The first thing he said was your name, and just the way he said it made you fall in love with him all over again.

“I… I dream that you would come back,” he shakily replied. “But now I cannot believe. You are my dream.”

Tears were openly flowing at this point and you wanted to run into his arms, but you tried to stay calm and hear him out. He stepped closer, almost hesitant, like you would run away if he got too close too fast.

“I love you, very much that I am sure I am insane person,” he explained with a grin, and you giggled. “We will live anywhere, do anything you would like— be my wife.”

You gasped as he pulled you into him, gripping your arms tightly as his desperation became apparent.

“Marry me?” he asked softly.

“Da,” you nodded, “yes, of course, anything—”

He kissed you suddenly, but gently, and it said more than any words in any language could.

It was a small wedding, in the Hungarian countryside by the lake. You could remember diving into that lake for lost pages of your manuscript; you could remember looking out over the water and dreaming of this moment you were living right now, thinking it was impossible.

He didn’t have much family, but they welcomed you with open arms.

Your family, well, they were too busy with planning another wedding, for your ex-husband and your ex-sister. A few of them sent cards but the rest were suspiciously quiet. You honestly didn’t even notice… you had a new family to attend to, anyhow. And it wasn’t like you didn’t have any guests, since you were able to track down and invite a stewardess named Maria, and a cab driver named Andrei and his wife, Paola.

Sebastian’s cousins weaved flowers into your hair and his grandmother tailored her dress to fit you like a glove. A picture of his parents was hung nearby in tribute; he told you they would’ve wanted to see him get married but that he felt, in some way, they were able to even if they had passed away quite some time ago.

You realized you’d never seen him in anything even mildly formal before; in fact, the suit he wore was rather casual, all things considered, but he looked so painfully cute in it. Sometimes you thought he actually looked a bit out of place wearing a shirt, though, especially one that was buttoned up all the way.

Luckily, the shirt was halfway unbuttoned about ten minutes into the reception.

Mrs. Alberti cooked a massive dinner for everyone, and even grew the flowers that you carried down the cobblestone aisle.

And wow, can Romanians drink. You had to be careful not to try to keep up with them, because if you had you would’ve been blacked out halfway into the night and the last thing you wanted was to forget even a moment of this.

As the night started to wind down to a close, you and your new husband retired to the lakehouse, running up the stairs and finding them as creaky as always.

He wrapped his arms around you in the hall and kissed you eagerly as you stumbled back into the bedroom, tripping over the doorway and falling onto the bed together.

It felt so right to have his weight on top of you, to feel his smile against your lips, to wrap your arms around his neck.

“This room,” he mumbled into the kiss. “Do you remember first time?”

“Yes,” you nodded, “da, I remember, how could I forget?”

He grinned and moved his lips down to your neck. "I thought of you every day… I love you,” he whispered.

“Te iubesc,” you whispered back.

It was almost like the first time in so many ways: passionate, yet oddly hesitant as you rediscovered each other. It was comfortable, though… you couldn’t think of any other person you felt so comfortable with, somebody who finally got you out of your own head and who made you want to experience everything life had to offer.

You were sure you’d never gone so long without worrying about something in all your life.

“My wife,” he whispered against your skin. “This is all I had wanted… from seeing you in very beginning.”

“You’re all I ever wanted,” you sighed in return, “ești tot ce mi-am dorit vreodată, Sebastian.”

Life with Sebastian was beautifully simple. You spent most of the day writing, usually, while he built furniture to sell and occasionally gardened with his spare time. You could always tell how busy you’d been with a new novel lately by how perfectly groomed the hydrangea bushes were.

You’d told him once that you’d come to Hungary looking for a million-dollar book idea. A Killer in Disguise performed alright, but not anywhere near that. The Language of Love, on the other hand, was definitely a million-dollar idea… about eleven times over. Sebastian didn’t seem to worry too much about how much money you made, though; he was just proud to say that he was the inspiration for your hit novel. You secretly suspected that he was more proud of your work reaching enough international notoriety to be translated into Romanian.

His English still needed some work, but you found it endearing. He was determined to get better and spent at least a half-hour each day practicing, but you hoped he wouldn’t get too perfect because you would miss the silly little mistakes he made. At least you could be sure he’d keep the accent forever… damn, that accent; and he knew exactly what it did to you, too.

In fact, you were crossing through the hall in your robe one evening when your husband’s voice stopped you.

“Darling wife,” you heard Sebastian call from the bedroom in a playful sing-song.

“What is it, Seba?” you asked with a smirk.

“Come in here, please…”

You opened the bedroom door to find most of the room covered in rose petals: most of all the bed, which was surrounded by candles, and topped with a shirtless (as per usual) Sebastian, laid on his side seductively with a long-stemmed rose (one you recognized from his very own garden) between his teeth.

“What are you doing?” you laughed. “Is this some sort of special occasion I’ve forgotten?”

You were already searching your mind for what it could be, but your two-year anniversary had passed a few months ago already and since it was spring it couldn’t be the anniversary of when you first met since that was late in the summer.

“Iss not quite a thpecial occathion yeth,” he answered before taking the rose from his mouth so he actually made sense. “I was considering it could be a special occasion, when we’re done…”

You smirked and climbed over the candles and into bed with him, taking the opportunity to run your hands over his chest. “And what occasion would that be?”

“A year from now, it could be the anniversary of when our child was conceived,” he answered.

Your breath caught in your throat, your voice reduced to a whisper of surprise. “Seba—”

“If you’re not ready, I will be understand,” he instantly added, stern yet soft. “Only if you want this, I just thought that maybe—”

You silenced him with a kiss, lacing your fingers into his hair and letting him roll you onto your back. He pulled back just enough to let you answer, but your noses were still bumping into each other and you smiled.

“I’m ready, Sebastian. More than ready,” you whispered.

He grinned and kissed you again, deeper and slower as he held your face with one hand and gripped your waist with the other. As his lips trailed down to your neck, you were interrupted with one pressing thought.

“Can I ask you something?”

He popped up and looked down at you with a smile. “Sure!”

“Why are you wearing ratty old jeans?” you laughed.

“Hey, these worked on you the first time,” he defended.

You gasped. “You don’t mean those are the jeans—”

“Yes,” he nodded, “the jeans that I had been wearing when I was working on Mrs. Alberti’s cottage. And, truly, when I was finding an excuse to work outside your window.”

“Wait,” you sat up, “did you actually work outside my window on purpose?”

He laughed, hanging his head quickly before looking back at you again with a sparkle in his eye. “You are very smart, my love, except for those times when you are— how do you say? Oblivious.”

You chuckled, unfortunately very aware that he was right.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why I was building a window frame, nearly a dozen metres away from the window it was for?”

You thought for a moment before dropping your face into your hands and laughing. “No, I didn’t notice that. I was too busy giving you a thorough eye-fuck,” you recalled.

“Yes, because I was not wearing a shirt and this distracted you,” he pondered, sounding suddenly like a scientist explaining a theorem or something. “See, that’s the beauty of wearing the jeans and no shirt. The body distracts you while the jeans seduce you.”

“How about you take the jeans off and put that body on me, capisce?” you pleaded; not that you didn’t love his humor or anything, but maybe his funny bone wasn’t exactly the bone you were interested in at the moment.

He grinned devilishly and suddenly pulled your legs apart, settling his body between them as he kissed your neck again, nipping at your jawline and ear. “You’re being impatient, dragă,” he purred. “You want to have my baby that badly?”

You whined involuntarily, arching your back as his hands roamed your body and finally began to untie your robe and push the silk out of the way. “Yes, Sebastian, please—”

“Let’s just say, theoretically, I wanted to have more than one? Would you have another of my children?” he asked softly as he reached up and palmed at your breasts, teasing your nipples which were already much too hard and sensitive for how little he’d touched you. The rough denim rubbing against the inside of your thighs was oddly arousing— maybe it was the sensation itself, or maybe it was just that this was almost like the first thing you imagined when you saw Sebastian all those years ago.

“Yes,” you moaned out your answer, “yes, you know I’d do anything for you.”

“What if I wanted a big family?” he pressed. “Really big? Like, Catholic big?”

“We can have our own fuckin’ Brady Bunch, Seb, I just need you right now,” you begged, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him into a hot and desperate kiss.

He decided to wait until afterwards to ask what a ‘Brady Bunch’ was. You decided to wait until afterwards to ask when he’d learned how to use the word ‘theoretically’.

sfarsit; the end

#sebastian stan x reader

493 notes · View notes

jhsgf82 · 2 years

Text

Happy Birthday, Stella! IDSS (Reylo version)

Credit to the awesome @lemonluvgirl87 for the amazing edit. Thank you for taking the time to make this little masterpiece for me!

Author’s Note: For Stella. @the-sparkling-way Happy birthday, bb! Stella requested a Reylo (Kylo Ren/Rey from Star Wars: The Force Awakens, the Last Jedi, and the Rise of Skywalker) version of one of several of my Everlark fics, and I’ve chosen I Do Solemnly Swear (lawyers!Everlark, Older!Peeta, Peeta is Katniss’s dad’s boss). As you know, I don’t know these characters well (Reylo), so I hope I did alright with them. I’ve tried to use what I know (and what I’ve learned) of their personalities to fit them into the plot of this story, tweaking bits of dialogue and events slightly to fit their personalities more so as opposed to Everlark. A couple of bits I’ve kept the same. FYI, this isn’t an entire, completed fic, but I hope you’ll enjoy what I’ve written. Have a wonderful day!

P.S. I’m using Kylo Ren’s alter ego, Ben Solo, because the name fits more with modern AU. As for Rey and her family, I used her father’s first name but Obi-Wan’s last name.

Prologue: A Capital Offense

I can hear the fight happening in the living room, though I’ve been banished from there as if I’m all of 13 instead of 19. It’s humiliating and borderline sexist on my father’s part, sending me out of the room while the men handle their business, although I have bigger concerns. Besides, my father probably just thought he was sparing me from seeing him bust my boyfriend’s‒is he?‒beautiful face.

Presently, my father and Ben Solo-his boss and the man I’ve been in love with for most of my life-are laying into each other. Well, mainly, it’s my father who’s doing the laying into; Ben is only defending himself. And I must say, he’s doing so masterfully.

I can hear Ben’s booming, sexy (surprisingly calm) voice emanating from the next room, interspersed with my father’s shouts and accusations. I can only imagine how Ben’s handling all this. On the outside, he’s cool and collected as usual, but on the inside…?

I can’t help but think that this overprotectiveness from my father must be completely foreign to Ben, growing up feeling ignored and unloved as he did. His parents weren’t bad people. His father was a truck driver, rough around the edges and hard-working, always on the road. His mother was a powerful politician, always campaigning and trying to save the world when in actuality, it was her son who needed saving the most. My heart aches for Ben, having a childhood like that‒one so different from mine‒and yet, he turned out just fine.

Much better than fine, actually.

Benjamin Solo, J.D. is a great man. A force of nature. Intimidating. Powerful. A man no one would dare cross. That is, no one except a loving father who thinks he’s protecting his baby girl.

I really don’t get why it’s such a problem, though. I’m 19 (almost 20), and Ben’s 29. Not that big a deal, right? Oh, but tell that to my father. In my father’s eyes, Ben’s as good as a pervy 60-year-old hitting on a barely legal teen.

My father can be so dramatic.

Even so, I love him.

I love Ben, too, though. At least, I’m pretty sure I do. And the past few weeks he’s been staying with us have only solidified that it’s indisputable fact.

In addition to his greatness, Ben Solo is an extremely handsome man, at least in my humble opinion. Tall, at six feet, two inches. Strong. Hazel eyes. Dark, wavy, shoulder-length hair, which he sometimes pulls back in court, though I prefer it down. Basically, he’s appealing to me in every possible way.

I guess that’s how we got into this mess.

I touch my lips. I can still feel his on mine…

“You are out of order, sir!” I hear my father shout, and I have to zone back in‒guess I always was a dreamer.

Thing is, Ben is still my father’s superior, so the whole time my father’s been yelling at him for kissing me, he’s been calling him ‘sir.’ It’s interesting how even when he’s furious with him, my father still addresses his superior using a formal title, even if it is in a caustic sort of way. However, I’m not surprised; my father has always been highly respectful of authority.

Ben wasn’t always my father’s superior, of course, but that’s a story for another time.

Presently, my father and Ben are engaged in something of a DA-style drag-out. The two of them are lawyers in every sense of the word, and apparently, it’s impossible to dissever that part of themselves, even while in the midst of a personal beef. As concerned as I am about this, it’s kind of fascinating to me, for I, too, am studying to be a lawyer‒I’m not in law school yet, still taking pre-law, but I’m confident I’ll get there; I’m already on track to graduate early‒and it’s because of those two men in there.

Mainly, it’s because of my father that I decided to study law, but I must admit, Ben has been an influence as well.

I snap to attention as my father tosses a zinger out at Ben, and Ben comes back at him with the perfect retort. Oh, the object of my affections’ tongue is sharp! And I should know. I can’t help but smile as I lick my lips, recalling his taste (sweet, and just a little salty). If only he weren’t such a good kisser, then maybe I would have been more cautious, been able to break away sooner, avoiding being caught and hence, this whole catastrophe. Our secret rendezvous could’ve gone on uninterrupted. And everything would have been fine.

I wonder how long it would have lasted. What’s going to happen now?

I shake my head and refocus. One thing at a time.

The argument seems to be getting more heated, my father’s voice gaining volume. From his tone, I imagine Ben’s about to have his ass‒that tight, perfect one‒handed to him for defiling me as my dad says.

Well, not quite, Dad. Although we were well on that path…

But I digress.

Stealthily (I’m light on my feet), I creep closer and peer around the corner of the wall like a child. I used to do this when I was little after being sent to bed without being allowed to watch the scary movies.

I watch what’s unfolding now.

They’ve stopped arguing for the moment and are staring each other down, arms folded. That penetrating gaze from Ben’s alluring hazel eyes, which sometimes look light green with a ring of brown surrounding the pupil and sometimes look so dark chocolate they’re practically black‒the latter when he’s at his most intense‒is far too enticing. Particularly, when it’s directed at me…

However, it is not directed at me right now.

As they begin to argue once more, I listen in.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult not to get too hot and bothered over Ben’s lawyer-speak; although, reminding myself of the situation at hand and that he’s in there with my father is like a bucket of ice water being dumped on my head.

I know my father must be shocked by this turn of events, but for me, it’s been a long time coming‒I’ve been in love with Ben Solo for 14 years, or at least ever since I knew what love was. He’s only very, very recently paid attention to me in that regard, but there’s definitely something explosive happening between us now...

The hold Ben Solo had on me from the beginning has been unparalleled. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. It’s more than attraction. It’s like we’re destined for one another or something. We can’t fight it. We couldn’t fight it. There’s no use fighting it.

I sometimes wonder, had we been the same age and grown up together, could I have helped him out. I wish I could have been there for him during the difficult times.

I sigh and return my attention to the problem at hand.

Really, I can’t blame my father for being upset; what Ben has done is a capital offense in his book. A friend or colleague kissing a guy’s daughter, especially under a man’s own roof when you’ve been taken in as a guest, is most certainly breaking the honor code. It’s not all on Ben, though; I, most certainly, am not innocent in this.

Thankfully, no fists have been thrown; it’s all been verbal, but my father is getting redder in the face and oh shit, Ben just loosened his tie. That means he means business. I’ve seen him do it in court during those limited opportunities I’ve had the privilege of watching him, and not only is it sexy as sin, but when he loosens his tie, watch out! I’ve learned he uses it as an intimidation tactic in court, and when he does it, I know something big is coming.

Damn, is it getting hot in here?

My heart pounds and my pulse races, from adrenaline and yes, from being turned on.

I can't help it. Ben in his natural habitat, the courtroom (or rather, this substitute courtroom of my father’s in our living room) is like catnip to me. And seeing Ben go into full-blown lawyer mode in defense of my honor and our feelings for one another is incredibly hot, and it makes me want to spill out those five words I said all those years ago all over again.

But saying I love Ben wouldn’t go over at all well with my father, and quite honestly, I’m not sure how Ben would take it, either.

Now, Ben is tugging on his tie, another sign he’s getting worked up. He’s normally cool as a cucumber, utterly collected. But then again, I know Ben has a lot of anger inside. Truthfully, he holds it in so well. And he’s never been the defendant before. This is shaping up to be a battle of monumental proportions, and I really don’t know how it’s going to turn out. My father and Ben have both crossed lines (me too), and I don’t want this to adversely affect their working relationship, nor do I want to lose Ben, or my father’s love and esteem.

I rub my suddenly throbbing temples. How did I get into this mess? I wonder, for about the dozenth time.

Oh yeah, Ben Solo is fucking irresistible.

It had to come out eventually, I tell myself. We couldn’t hide our feelings for one another forever; I know I never could.

And at least for me, this isn’t just a passing flirtation or a whim. No, I’ve always had feelings for Ben, since the first day we met, even if I wasn’t sure what those feelings were back then. And when I learned he’d be staying with us for 5 weeks during the holidays while his home undergoes renovations, from the moment I got my head on straight (and after a pep talk from Rose), I was certain this was my chance to finally make my feelings for him known.

I wouldn’t say I formulated a plan to seduce him, not exactly, but I definitely used my wiles‒what wiles I have, anyway. I’m not very sexy. I’m also naïve and kind of troublesome, but I hope Ben will see past my flaws and realize that I’m loyal, and I love hard. I would do just about anything for him. Honestly, I never expected that Ben could return my feelings, even in small measure. But now that he has, I don’t plan on letting him go.

Because I truly believe this is written in the stars, the fulfillment of a little girl’s fantasy from long ago. Granted, what’s happened between us so far is more adult than what that little girl was dreaming about, but maybe young Rey can have her wish, too: A man like her daddy to love and cherish her.

------

Chapter One: I Love Him, Your Honor

Age 5

“You’re a bad man, Finn! My daddy’s gonna put you away for a long time! The judge’s,” I lisp, “gonna throw the book at you!” I slam my hand down on the picture book I’m using as the Bible, for effect, but it doesn’t make that nice thumping sound I like that the Bible does, or the sound my daddy’s hand makes when smacking a table in court.

He’s so scary and so great when he does that!

From my little chair (the witness stand), I jab my finger accusingly at my best friend who sits there, blinking his brown eyes at me and looking dumb. He is kinda dumb sometimes. And he hates playing this game with me.

I jump up from the stand and go back to stand in front of Finn. I’m not just the witness; I’m the lawyer, too, my dad’s co-counsel, except he’s pretend right now because he’s at work. “Don’t you have anything to say in your d’fense?” I ask, spitting a little as I say it and putting my hands on my hips.

Finn shakes his head from side to side‒he looks like one of those bobblehead dolls‒and I know he just wants to get this over with and stop playing. I sigh, deciding to let him off the hook.

Well, it’s not really up to me.

“Okay,” I say. “Jury?” I look over at the 12 neatly-lined stuffed animals on my bed, awaiting their answer on whether this boy is innocent or not. His fate is in their paws now…

Before the jury can give their verdict, my daddy comes in. He picks me up and kisses my face, then spins me round and round. I squeal and giggle happily before remembering that we’re in Court‒and it’s not the place for twirlies and hugs and kisses.

I tell him so, and he sets me down.

“Oh, forgive me, Your Honor,” says my daddy. “That was certainly not proper court decorum.”

I wave my hand at him and say, “I’ll overlook it this time.”

My daddy grins. “Thank you, Your Honor. You are truly just and magnanimous.” My daddy winks at me, and I wink back.

-----

Age 19

November 24th, 2021

I don’t know why I think back on that memory now, 14 years (minus three months) later. I suppose it’s the typical nostalgia hitting, which comes with the territory of returning home after a period of time away.

With final exams looming, I’m more than ready for the Thanksgiving break. This semester has been a killer, but no one ever said becoming a lawyer was easy, even for someone with a Highly Superior Autobiographical Memory. Fortunately, the ability to remain cool under extreme pressure is an inherited trait. My father, Dathan Kenobi, Esq. is always cool and collected, in court and out, and he’s taught me well how to keep my emotions in check, to be in control of both mind and body. My mother, Miramir, an antique dealer, is generally patient and level-headed, but she has a bit of a feisty side to her. I guess that’s where I get it.

Regarding my exams, I know I’ll be fine. And not because I believe it’s my destiny to follow in my father’s footsteps, but because I know how to work hard and get things done. That is the Kenobi way.

And yes, I’ve worked hard and am ready to relax (and stuff myself with food), even if only for a few days prior to returning to take exams. This break couldn’t have come a day sooner.

I’m ready to head out the door, the turkey and all those wonderful Thanksgiving feast fixings calling out to me, when I get a phone call‒it’s from my mom. I nearly drop my phone at her news: Ben Solo, my father’s boss, will be staying with us over the holidays. “O-oh.” I know I must be breathing hard into the phone because I’m practically hyperventilating. How could my mother just drop this on me at the last minute? I’m suddenly wondering if I should beg out of the family holidays and stay holed up in my empty dorm. No, that sounds pretty lonely. But still, I’m not sure how I’m going to function right with Ben Solo staying in my house with me.

My mother questions if I’m alright, saying I sound out of breath. I lie and tell her I’m just taking the stairs, and I end the call with the usual ‘I love you’ pleasantry.

On my way out of the dorms, I catch sight of Finn‒we’re still friends after all this time‒and his girlfriend, Rose.

“Rey-Bae!” Finn calls out to me, and I groan. Not that I don’t want to see Finn, but I’d hoped to duck out and get an early jump on beating traffic. But since my mother already hindered that a bit for me (and gave me the shock of my life)…

As for the nickname, I don’t mind it so much. He calls me Rey-bae, you know, because I’m his bae. Although, not really. It’s more in the platonic sense. There was a time when Finn was interested in me, but thankfully, he moved past it relatively quickly after meeting Rose, so things didn’t have much of a chance to get awkward. I’m relieved; I’d hate to lose a good friend over something so silly.

I walk over to Finn and Rose, and we exchange pleasantries about school and what we’ll be doing over the holidays. I end up blurting out, all red-faced, that my father’s boss will be staying with us.

“Isn’t that the guy…?” Finn begins but cuts himself off. I thin my lips, which I’m sure he takes as acknowledgment. Finn already knows about my crush on Ben Solo; although, I’m not sure he knows I still have one after all this time.

“The guy who…?” Rose questions, and I cast a glare at Finn. He grins disarmingly and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

I like Rose, I do. She’s a gem. She’s fun and a little feisty, like me, and most importantly, she’s never shown any jealousy over my closeness to Finn, or even the Rey-Bae thing. However, I’m not exactly thrilled about discussing my love life (or lack thereof) with her.

“He’s just this guy who works with my dad who I’ve known for a long time,” I say.

“Oh.” Rose nods, although I can tell she knows there’s more to the story. She’s sharp like that.

“Speaking of guys,” Rose chirps. Oh no… I can tell she’s planning to use this as a chance to get me talking about my least favorite subject. “I haven’t really seen you with anyone here at school…”

Yes, she’s clearly fishing for information.

“Nope,” I say.

“Well, do you have…?”

“A boyfriend?” I fill in. “Nope. Been concentrating on school.”

Which is true.

“That’s good. Good not to get distracted.” Rose chews on her lip, and I sense she wants to comment further.

“You know,” she begins after a moment, “I’ve never really heard you talk about anyone.”

I exhale. “No, I, uh, it’s been a while.”

A bald-faced lie. It hasn’t been a while; I’ve never had a boyfriend.

“I suppose you have had something of a…” Rose chews on her thumbnail, and I know she’s trying to think of the best way to say it, “dry spell.”

Dry spell? More like a desert. But that’s okay. I know all about deserts‒I grew up in Tucson, Arizona.

I know Rose didn’t mean any offense; she’s just concerned about my well-being, so I give a little laugh and say, “Yeah, I have.”

“But that’s okay!” she hurriedly puts in, waving her hands. “Like you said, you’re focusing on school.”

“Yep,” Finn chimes in. “Rey-Bae here is super serious about becoming a lawyer. Not that she needs to study so hard, because she’s freaking brilliant.” One side of my mouth quirks up, appreciative of Finn’s compliment and thankful as I am for the change in subject.

Or, so I thought.

“That’s wonderful. But…isn’t there anyone you’re interested in?” Rose persists sweetly.

What, am I cloaked in loneliness or something? Has Finn said something to her? It’s not like I’m all alone and bereft. I have my loving family, school… I really don’t understand why Rose is so set on getting me hooked up. I know she means well, but it’s not like I don’t want a boyfriend…someday. It’s just not at the top of the priority list right now. Right now, I’m focusing on what I want more‒that pristine diploma bound in smooth leather with my name printed in fancy lettering and the words ‘Juris Doctor’ after it.

There will be plenty of time for guys after that.

Of course, I really only want one particular guy...

I can tell I’m not going to get out of here unless I give Rose something, so I say, “I guess I do…like someone…but it’s stupid.”

“I’m sure it’s not!” exclaims Rose.

I twist my lips. And with a sigh, I spill my guts about my crush.

Afterward, Rose keens over my finally showing interest in a guy‒because she’s a romantic, and also, she’s nosy. Rose is a believer in true love, in love overcoming any obstacle, and definitely in the old adage that love is blind. I’m not sure what she’s getting at by pointing that out now...

But rather than my friends making me feel pathetic, they, surprisingly, encourage me. At least, Rose does. Finn tries to be positive, in his own way, but says very little, and I have a feeling he’s still unsure about Ben, and the age difference.

I further tell them that Ben will be staying with my family over the holidays, and Rose thinks that’s just perfect.

Depends on your definition of ‘perfect.’

Rose is apparently spearheading Operation Rey Confesses Her Feelings to Ben, but when I tell her I can’t possibly do that, she says I can start simple‒by using the time he’s living with me to get to know him better.

I nod, tell her it’s a good idea, but then I bring up the biggest problem in all this: my father.

“I suppose it is kind of complicated.” Rose taps her chin. “But maybe after you two get to know one another better and talk about your feelings you could bring it up to your father in a way that he would understand and accept.”

Those are some big maybes, Rose. Huge ones, actually.

Love in real life doesn’t work like in rom-coms.

“Ben doesn’t feel the same way about me,” I blurt out, hanging my head a little. It makes my stomach churn to say out loud.

“How do you know?” Rose asks.

“I just know,” I say bitterly.

Yeah, in my wildest dreams would Ben return my feelings…

We do have a connection; we get along, and there was that one time…that little sparring match we had, that one moment… But no, it meant nothing.

There was also the last time I saw him, which I’m not quite sure what to make of…

It was September 3rd of last year. The end of summer break. I’d stopped by the law office to say goodbye to my father before heading back to school‒also in hopes of catching a glimpse of Ben.

He saw me first and caught me off guard.

*** “Hey there, princess,” Ben said.

I spun around. “Don’t call me that,” I snarled. Although, I didn’t really mind it, at all.

“It wasn’t an insult,” he said somberly. “You’re not the stereotypical princess, more like one of those smart, capable princesses, the type who saves herself from the dragon. Like in…Shrek.” He shrugged his broad shoulders.

“Excuse me, are you comparing me to the princess in Shrek?” I smirked at him. Honestly, I couldn’t believe he’d said such a thing. He was normally so serious. I couldn’t believe he’d seen Shrek, either. “Do I look like an ogre to you?” I teased.

Ben laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle. I always loved his laugh. And to think that I’d gotten one out of him... “Not at all,” he responded in brief.

The corners of my lips twitched. I knew Ben was just messing with me, but I took it as an opportunity to do a little flirting with him, just to see how he’d react. It was my first attempt at flirting, ever.

“If I’m a princess, should I start calling you ‘My Lord,’ then?” As soon as I said it, Ben’s eyes darkened, and he turned around and went for a book on his shelf. At first I thought he might not have heard, but he had to have; more than likely, he thought me a silly little girl and was completely ignoring me and my stupid comment. Disappointed, I huffed, watching him out of the corner of my eye. I might’ve thought I had no effect on him, but from the slight ticking of his jaw, and the way he couldn’t seem to look at me, perhaps I was wrong.

He likes it, I thought (imagine/dreamed) then. He likes when I refer to him as ‘My lord.’

Well, what man wouldn’t? *** I manage to escape Finn and Rose after shutting down the conversation as politely as possible and leaving them with goodbye hugs and holiday wishes. Then I head to my little hunk of junk (but still reliable) car. My father offered to buy me a new one, but I’ve grown fond of it and wasn’t ready for a trade-in.

The entire three-hour commute home, I’m listening to music and fighting not to think of Ben, and having him under the same roof as me for weeks. But it’s difficult. Extremely difficult. And inevitably, my mind begins to wander, crossing time and space as if making the fabled 20-parsec Kessel Run I’ve read about in my science fiction novels.

----- After warm greetings from my parents, I decide I need to clear my head–because Ben will be here soon for dinner. So, I throw my long hair up into three buns and head out for a run in the desert. When I return, I’m sweating like crazy, so I shower and change into my nicest blouse and a pair of skinny jeans. I leave my hair down, aside from tying my bangs back.

Not long after, I’m hanging out in the living room, bare feet up on the arm of the couch, reading. There’s a knock at the door, and all too readily, I shout out that I’ll answer it.

When I open the door and see Ben standing there, I perk up at the sight of him. I always do. My father has said before that my smile is like sunshine, but with Ben, I know it must take on an utterly radiant luster. That is, when I’m not trembling in terror. Oh, not because Ben Solo frightens me, not a bit, but because I’m terrified of being rejected by him, or humiliated.

But rejection isn’t even in the ballpark‒Ben doesn’t know I exist in that way. He still thinks I’m that academically-minded, knobby-kneed kid with decent speed and agility who has a knack for the bow staff.

“There she is, my sparring partner,” Ben exclaims, and I’m momentarily stunned. He remembers that?

“Hey, Ben,” I say. Playing it cool, I cross one ankle over the other and casually lean against the door frame.

I realize I should step aside and welcome him in, but then he does something unexpected… He opens his arms wide (man, he has an impressive wingspan) as if expecting me to walk right into them, and I do.

TBC

#Happy Birthday Stella!#birthday fic #Reylo #Reylo fanfiction #I Do Solemnly Swear Reylo version #I've never written them before so go easy #lol #lawyer!Ben Solo #law student!Rey

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talkfantasytome · 3 years

Note

Bless us with more Gwynriel! Loved the story you posted <3

Thank you! 💕💕 Idk if the ask wanted a continuation from the last Gwynriel piece I did. If so...that didn't happen. 👀 I wanted to do autumn fluff instead, so I did. This is in the same AU as my Touch of Spice piece. I think most of what I do this month, fluff or kinktober, will be within this AU if it's for ACOTAR.

Cassian invites Az to join him and Nesta for lunch, purposefully hiding who else will be joining them.

Warnings: Innuendo, super mild hints at Gwyn being the dom she is

Word Count: 2,111 | Read on AO3

a/n: This piece is basically fluff, and I don't entirely know what it is, to be honest. Like, part of me feels good about it, part of me feels like it's crap. Part of me thinks I've got some great lines, another part of me is like, "oh, shit, what if everyone hates it or thinks I crossed lines???"...which, you know, will be a super fun anxiety to have as I move into the kinktober asks over the next few days. 👀 (Yes, nonnies that sent those, they'll be answered. 💕)

Also, this wasn't really edited.

Azriel was going to kill him.

It was time. He was finally going to do it.

He was going to wipe that stupid smirk off his stupid face and slam his stupid, hairy head into the wall. Or maybe just knee him in the balls. Hard enough he loses function. That would be worse than dying for Cassian.

And he'd deserve it for this horrendous trick.

Even if it likely did come from a 'good place', as Nesta would say. Always defending her man.

Az hated that even more. Because he wanted it desperately.

Worse, he knew exactly who with, and she was standing right next to him, her red hair shining in the autumn sun, the two of them practically on a double date with Cassian and Nesta. Except it wasn't, because Az had no idea she'd be there, and he was fairly certain she didn't know he'd be there either.

No, Cassian had simply dragged Az to the Pumpkin Patch festival the city of Velaris put on every year, saying he was meeting Nesta there for lunch and Az should join. Something about trying out some new curry chips booth Emerie had been raving about all week.

Az liked curry, so he agreed, assuming it was just some casual, last minute lunch.

The look on Cassian's face when Az realized Nesta wasn't alone told him it most definitely wasn't last minute or any type of coincidence. Cassian knew exactly what he was doing bringing Az with him, and Az was pretty sure Nesta was just as knowledgeable. Especially after she claimed she wasn't yet hungry enough to eat, so they should all go on a hayride to let her hunger grow.

It was noon, and Nesta spent almost two hours every Saturday morning at the gym. Typically from about nine to eleven. And he'd seen her come back to their place afterward and instantly devour half a carton of eggs and two chocolate croissants.

Not hungry his ass.

But what was Az to do? He couldn't exactly say no. Not without looking like a stubborn jerk in front of Gwyn. Besides, it's not that he didn't want to go on a hayride with her. He very much did. Preferably at dusk, or even night with a full moon overhead, maybe bringing a picnic for afterwards.

A proper date.

However, that would involve him getting the nerve to actually ask her out. And seeing as she obviously didn't like him back, Azriel doubted he'd ever actually have the courage to do so.

Cassian was really just wasting his time with this attempt. Gwyn was gorgeous, funny, outgoing, and incredibly smart - she'd never have any interest in him. Besides, she was always teasing him, and Az couldn't see that as a good sign.

"Just the four of you?" the hayride driver asked as the last group unloaded from the bed of the truck.

"Yep!" Cassian exclaimed, offering his hand to help Nesta into the cab. She ignored it and used his shoulder instead, knowing that denying him would drive him about as crazy as her touch on his shoulder would.

Az also hated how he knew that. He really did need to get out more on his own, without them, for his own sanity.

"Are you going to offer to help me?" Gwyn asked in a taunting tone as they walked up to the truck, an eyebrow raised at him, though he barely noticed. He was too busy getting sucked into those teal eyes, deep and entrancing and completely unique to her.

He felt his cheeks warm as he nodded, holding out a hand for her and stiffening his arm as she used it for balance, savoring the shock-like sensation that sizzled through him from where her skin met his.

Hopping onto the hay beside Gwyn, he rolled his eyes as Cassian shot him a wink before turning his attention fully on Nesta.

"So, how long do you think they'll last before…never mind," Gwyn sighed, looking away from their friends as Nesta started peppering kisses to Cassian's neck as she whispered something to him, Cassian wearing that same dopey smile he always got around her and laughing softly.

"Yeah, I kinda wish they wouldn't do that so often," he groaned, his own eyes moving to look at the surrounding area as well, not wanting to watch their friends in their…affections.

It was a beautiful backdrop.

The festival was on the border of the city, and the hayride took a path where the wooded area at the edge of the mountains started. Most of the leaves had already shifted colors, the trees in hues of mustard, rusted orange, and deep crimson. Even the sun seemed to have a slightly warmer yet dimmer light, as if it, too, were celebrating autumn with them.

The hay wasn't exactly comfortable to sit on, even with the blankets covering most of the bed, but somehow it felt right in the gentle breeze. It was true sweater weather, something neither Nesta nor Gwyn seemed to be taking for granted, the latter looking absolutely adorable bundled up in a knit, russet pullover.

"At least we have each other to talk to," Gwyn offered, throwing him a kind smile. Az met her stare, hoping she read the agreement in his face. "Assuming you know how to hold a conversation for longer than a minute," she added with a chuckle and a mischievous glint in those seas of green-blue.

"What would you like me to talk about, Berdara?" he requested, his tone low, somehow portraying a confidence he certainly wasn't feeling.

Gwyn thought for a moment tilting her head slightly and looking up, her irises sliding to the right side of her eyes. "Pumpkin carving," she finally decided.

"Pumpkin carving?" he repeated.

"Sure! We are at the Pumpkin Patch."

Az chuckled, brushing his fingers through his hair quickly. "Okay. I'm not much of a fan, I guess. When done well it can look cool, but I'm not particularly good at it, and it just seems like a waste of pumpkin. I mean, sure, you can roast pumpkin seeds, but that's nothing to what you can do with the shell of the pumpkin, but instead we're just going to carve it up, put a candle in it, and leave it outside for the squirrels to munch on, often destroying the design before Halloween actually comes? I mean, surely, with the technology we have today, we could create fake pumpkins that are a lot like real ones, but without the gross insides, and wouldn't be as appealing to the squirrels. Best of both worlds - people can do the activity and make their own, since that seems to be important to some, and you don't end up with a ruined design. Plus, farmers can then grow actual, good-tasting pumpkins, and we don't have to deal with making sure we're buying the right ones for the various foods we wish to make with pumpkin. What?"

He focused back on her as she giggled, watching him in his rant.

"I didn't realize you felt so strongly about pumpkins, Az," she teased, a light smile on her face that had his heart fluttering.

He blushed again under her gaze, his own eyes hopping from freckle to freckle on her face. "I like…pie…" he explained, only afterwards realizing he sounded like an idiot with that statement.

"Pie?"

"Yes." His eyes darted away from her as she laughed heartily, tipping her head back slightly.

"Pie is good," she agreed, Az meeting her stare once again, the hint of a smile on his lips. "But I never would've expected such a rant from you."

Az raised his eyebrows at that comment. "And why's that?"

She shrugged. "You're just so…stoic and mysterious. I always feel like you'd rather hang out in the shadows, on the outskirts of whatever's happening."

"The shadows are my friends," he joked, feeling the smirk in his eyes.

"Oh, do they talk to you? Or, better yet, sing? Do you sing to them?" Gwyn's face grew wide with excitement at the concept. "Are you a shadowsinger?"

"What is a shadowsinger?" he asked, laughing loudly. He'd never heard of such nonsense.

"I don't know, but it sounds cool," she answered simply, beaming up at him.

His laughter died down as their gazes remained locked. In his peripheral, he noticed a leaf lightly float into her hair, the burnt orange against her shimmering copper hair was gorgeous, but Az doubted she'd want the leaf to stay there. So he lifted a hand, leaning in slightly to pick it out.

Just as his fingers grabbed hold of its stem, Gwyn pushed herself forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, Az freezing at the touch, his mouth opening slightly in shock when she pulled back away. Her eyes were wide as she looked at him, something like horror flashing through them when she caught sight of the leaf in his hand he'd clearly been reaching for.

But he didn't say anything, not as his heart galloped away, not as his mind raced, attempting to process what had just happened. He just stared.

"Oh my gosh," she gasped, her face falling into her hands. "I'm so sorry. I thought…"

She shook her head, still hiding herself from him when his mind finally caught up to everything. Gwyn had just kissed him. She kissed him. And he was just sitting there, stiff as a statue.

Az tossed the leaf to the side as his other hand lightly wrapped around her wrists, pulling them down. He used his now-free hand to tangle his fingers in her hair and lift her face, bringing her eyes to his.

Gwyn stared back at him, uncertainty and fear staining her glorious eyes, and Az knew he'd never find the right words to make her feel better. So, instead, he acted.

Flashing her a small half-smile, he leaned in and brought his lips down to hers, gentle and tentative, just in case she'd suddenly decided she didn't want it.

As it turned out, Az was far luckier than he ever could have imagined. Gwyn was quickly kissing him back, fisting her hands in his shirt to pull him closer. Their lips parted in sync with each other's, both attempting to deepen the kiss, but the growing smiles made it difficult.

Gwyn gave up first, resting her forehead against his as they breathed each other in. "I've been waiting for you to do that for months."

"What?!" Az asked before he could think better of it. "I…I didn't think you liked me."

Rolling her eyes, she sighed loudly, huffing out a small laugh. "I thought you were supposed to be smart."

She looked into his hazel eyes, her pupils dilated to the point that the teal was only a small ring and Az wanted to shout at her eyes to bring it back. But instead he just chuckled, placing a small kiss to her nose, which had her scrunching her face adorably. "I'm pretty sure my mind empties whenever I'm around you."

"Ew, gross," she groaned, pushing him away lightheartedly as they both laughed before scooting closer and resting her heat on his shoulder. She nuzzled in when Az wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and then placed a hand on his leg, brushing it softly. Her hand going higher with each stroke.

"Um, Gwyn," he gulped, his focus now entirely on that hand, and the feeling as she got closer and closer. "Not that that doesn't feel amazing but, erm…I'd rather not have something…extra on display when we go for lunch."

She tilted her head to look up at him, a playful smirk on her lips, her hand never stopping. "I guess you'll just have to control yourself, then."

Azriel felt his eyes widen as he saw a small question flash in Gwyn's. If he truly wanted her to stop, she would, but he definitely didn't now. Not after that comment. Not as Az hardened instantly at the power she seized.

"I think you and I are going to have a lot of fun together, Berdara," he grunted in a guttural tone as he attempted to breath deeply and steel himself.

"Oh, I know we are," she shot back. "But you might not want to think too hard about that right now." With a wink, Gwyn was back to leaning fully against him, her eyes drifting to watch the trees go by, her hand continuing its soft brushes. And Az attempted to think about everything other than the wicked woman he now knew he was desperately in love with.

a/n: So, yes, I'm American, and most everything will use American terminology. However, curry chips is really a more British thing (and something I've only had when I lived in London - it was amazing), and I just can't call it "curry fries"...it sounds weird. So, yeah...in case that confused some of you...there's that explanation. XD

And really hope this flowed well! There may be a part I put in to help me with something later on, and idk if it really works but I'm keeping it. 😂

If you would like me to make a Gwynriel tag list and put you on it, let me know! 🙂

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fanficimagery · 4 years

Text

They’re So Not Holograms.

Imagine being expelled from school so your uncle Ray offers to take you in and offers you a chance to start over. You accept and you're in for one heck of a story when you realize you're not the only occupant of the Molina garage.

Words: 10K Warnings: This is my first work for JatP, so I apologize in advance for the OOCness of them all. I had no idea what was going to make the final edit, so yeah.. this is not my best work. Be warned that there's mention of an incident that involves a straight guy not taking no for an answer from a lesbian girl. I won't go into detail of that particular scene since it happened before Y/N shows up on the Molina's front doorstep, but it is mentioned which is why I'm warning you now.

Staring up at the large two story home you usually visit every summer and every spring break, you can't help but sigh and wish you were visiting rather than moving in. You love your uncle and your cousins, but you were forced to leave a lot behind in order for your parents to keep their jobs and their mostly in-tact reputations after your little incident.

The front door opens, the shortest and youngest of the bunch jogging straight for you. You drop your duffel bag and prep yourself for Carlos throwing his weight at you, and you catch him with a laugh as you spin from the momentum. "Carlos! Dang, little man, you're growing fast." Julie walks up soon after, shaking her head in amusement at the two of you as you settle her little brother back on the ground and then ruffle his hair. He swats at your hand before you give Julie your attention then. "Hey, superstar. How's it hanging?"

"Hey, Y/N," she muses, "was the drive okay?"

"Eh. I angry karaoke'd all the way here." You shrug. "So where's uncle Ray?"

"Upstairs trying to figure out how to divide Julie's room for the two of you," Carlos says.

Your smile falls and you look at Julie. "What? He's making us share?"

"Yeah. It's totally fine though," she says when she notices your expression.

"No way, Jules! I can't put you out like that. That's not fair."

"It's fine, Y/N. Really."

"Julie, we're both teenage girls. I love you, but you know our hormones will eventually make us clash."

"And on that note, I'm going back inside."

You grin at Carlos' hasty escape, but then quickly refocus on the situation at hand. "God Jules, I'm so sorry. I thought uncle Ray would put me in the spare room or on the living room couch or something."

"Well the spare room was originally the plan," she says, "but then we remembered all of mom's stuff was in there." You cringe, but she assures you it's okay. "And you're going to be here for a while. You are not sleeping on the couch."

You sigh and offer her a faint smile. "I'm sorry to be an even bigger pain in the butt, but I'm not staying in your room either."

"It's either my room or Carlos' room. I suggest you choose wisely, cousin."

"I-"

"Y/N!" Your uncle Ray suddenly appears in the doorway, walking down the sidewalk towards you. "Carlos told me you had gotten in. How are you doing, mija?" He wraps you in a brief hug, kissing your forehead in greeting.

"Hey, uncle Ray. I'm doing good. How are you?"

"I'd be better if I knew where you were gonna sleep." He sighs. "Carlos also told me we have a bedroom dilemma as you refuse to share with Julie."

"I'm really sorry." You frown. "If I were only staying here for a few weeks, I'd be stoked to share with Julie. But it's not a couple of weeks, uncle Ray."

"I know and I'm sorry for trying to shove two teenage girls into one space." You smile sheepishly at him as he seems to understand your reasoning as well. "But the only other space I can think of is the studio garage out back." You seem to perk up a bit, attention solely focused on your uncle that you don't notice Julie's eyes widening. "Julie uses it to practice with her band, but there's a loft that we've recently cleaned out. There's a bathroom in there already, so all I'd need to do is drag a mattress up there. That is if you don't mind all the musical racket."

"Y-yeah. Of course! I don't mind at all." You say, feeling just an ounce of excitement of having your own space.

"What? No," Julie laughs nervously. "I'm sure Y/N doesn't want to live in our garage all on her own. Right?"

"What? Are you kidding me?" You huff. "It'd be like having my own mini apartment, only my favorite cousin in the entire world gets to visit everyday!"

Julie looks like she wants to object some more, which is surprising, but she eventually slumps and shakes her head. "Okay. Just as long as you're sure."

"Of course I'm sure."

"Then I'll go move stuff around. Give me your duffel bag," she holds her hand out for you to pick up your bag and hand it over, "and I'll take it out back. You go inside and help dad bring the mattress out."

"Sounds like a plan." Feeling better about your situation now, you quickly hand your cousin your duffel bag and then follow after your uncle Ray inside their home.

Julie sighs, shaking her head in amusement as she catches the pep in Y/N's step. As soon as the front door is shut, she quickly runs around the house, down the stone steps, and into the studio garage where the boys are chilling. They, however, jump up to their feet upon seeing Julie's hasty entrance.

"Okay so we have a problem."

"What? What is it? Did your not dad not take the ghost secret well?" Reggie asks, whining. "Aw man. I knew we should have waited. Does he hate us now? He hates me. Right?"

Julie's eyes, having widened at Reggie's rapid fire questions, blink owlishly at him. "One, slow down. And two, no I haven't told my dad. I can't seem to find the right time."

"Okay then," Luke drawls. "So what's the problem?"

"My cousin got expelled from her school so my dad offered to let her move in and she's going to be living in the loft. In here. With you guys."

Alex slowly leans atop the piano, clearly intrigued. "Whoa. What'd she do?"

Julie opens her mouth to answer, but then closes it and settles for a shrug. "I'm not sure. Dad wouldn't tell us when we asked. He just said there was an incident and if Y/N didn't move in with us, then her parents would have to relocate and she already had a rocky relationship with them so.." she says, smiling fondly. "She's better suited for our family anyway. She's more like a sister to me than a cousin."

Reggie raises his hand as if he needs to, to ask a simple question. "Is this cousin of yours hot?" Alex is immediate to reach over and smack his friend. "Ow! What?" He wonders as he rubs his arm. "I'm just asking what me and Luke are thinking."

"Hey, bro, do not bring me into this!" Luke quickly defends himself. He then glances at Julie, lips stretching into a small smile. "You gonna tell her about us?"

"I'm going to have to, aren't I? I can't exactly leave her in the dark while you three are lurking about. I don't want her to do something she doesn't want anyone else to see."

Reggie nods, smiling. "Like getting naked."

Alex moves to hit his friend again, but then realizes Reggie is right. If he were in Julie's cousin's shoes, he wouldn't want to strip while three ghosts watched on unknowingly. Instead he sighs and Julie nods in agreement. "Exactly. I'm going to tell her. I just- I'm not sure when. So until I do, you three need to be on your best behavior."

"Jules," Luke feigns being hurt as he clutches at his chest, "it's us you're talking about. When have we ever misbehaved?" Julie huffs, crosses her arms over her chest, and raises an eyebrow at Luke. His façade cracks as he laughs. "Fine. We'll be on our best behavior until you tell her about her roommates."

"Thank you." She rolls her eyes, but before she can say any more Carlos is jogging into the room.

"Okay so Y/N and dad are almost here. Tell your ghostly dude-bros to chillax and not scare her like Reggie did tía Victoria."

Reggie squawks. "You scare an adult one time and he never lets you forget it."

Julie chuckles at her ghostly friend while her brother glances around in hopes of seeing them. Ever since Julie freed them from Caleb Covington's curse and was able to finally touch them, they had the choice of turning visible whenever they felt like it. But for some reason, they were more comfortable as ghosts and only turned solid when they got the desire to eat food.

The garage door suddenly opens wide and Ray walks in, one end of the mattress settled on the back of his neck. Y/N is on the other end, struggling slightly with the mattress in her hands.

"I am not meant for physical activity."

Carlos giggles at his cousin's words, jogging over to help her. But when they get to the steep stairs, both Y/N and Carlos leave it up to Ray to figure out how he's going to get the mattress up into the loft. He does, eventually, and then Ray drags Carlos back towards the house with him to retrieve sheets, pillows, and a blanket.

"Oh my god. She is cute!" Reggie muses.

Alex chuckles, but Luke is caught staring at Y/N with awe etched into his features. Alex nudges Reggie and gestures to their friend, and Julie tries her best to fight off a grin. Oh to be able to tease him right about now on having a crush on Y/N as he did to her with Nick that one time while she was in school.

"Listen," Y/N says as she nears Julie. "I know this was tía Rose's place and I know how much it means to you." Julie smiles sadly as Y/N starts to walk around, eyeing the piano, drums, bass, and guitar appreciatively. The boys make sure to stay out of her way as they watch her every move. "I promise to keep my place nice and tidy, and to not mess with anything down here." She goes to touch the drum set, but thinks better of it and pulls her hand back as she smiles sheepishly.

Alex is quick to point it out. "I like her! She knows boundaries."

"Just say the word and I'll be out of your way when you're here with the band."

"It's no problem. Really," Julie assures you. "I, uh, I already called the boys to let them know. They're excited to meet you."

You pause and meet your cousin's eyes. "Really? I-I mean cool."

Julie's eyes narrow at your reaction and the way you can't seem to meet her eyes. "You think they're cute, don't you?"

You cave with a relieved sigh of her automatically knowing. "So cute." Alex rolls his eyes with an amused smile as Reggie and Luke high five, chuckling at their good fortune. "But boundaries! They are your bandmates and I won't interfere other than offering my friendship. Heck I won't even let it be known that I find them cute."

Julie chuckles, angling her head down as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It's a little too late for that."

"Hmm? What did you say?"

Her head snaps up. "Nothing! Nothing," her chuckles now sound a little nervous. "So, uh, is there anything else we need to get from your car?"

"Oh yeah! I have some stuff that needs to come in." As Julie joins her cousin's side, Y/N asks, "Is there any place I can set up my laptop and printer?"

"Of course. Come on. Let's get you set up. I'm sure you're ready to get some sleep."

"So ready," you groan. "I don't have much to unpack, but I want to settle in before I start school on Monday."

As the two girl cousins walk out of the studio, the three ghostly boys watch them leave.

"Oh yeah. She's definitely hot."

"Hey. Come on, dude." Luke softly swats at Reggie. "That's Julie's cousin you're talking about."

"What? I'm just stating facts," Reggie says. "And besides it's you we should be worried about." He steps towards Luke, reaching for his face. "I think I still see a bit of drool. You might wanna wipe that off."

Alex laughs as Luke rolls his eyes. "Whatever. We're ghosts anyway. It's not like anything can happen between us."

"Can't it?" Alex muses, shoving his hands deep into his front pockets. "I mean we can turn solid now. If you want something to happen, it can definitely happen." Reggie smirks as Luke takes a moment to process his friend's words. "And while you think on that, I'm gonna go see what Willie's up to. See you later!"

Alex poofs out of the room, leaving Reggie and Luke. Reggie laughs at his friend's sudden ghostly crisis, stepping closer to him and clasping his shoulder in hand. "Dude, we're ghosts. If something happens, it happens. Just don't get attached." And with that, Reggie poofs out too.

Luke hears Julie and her cousin's laughter ring out, the two girls already coming back. His eyes widen and he poofs out as well. The girl was cute, he will admit that, but he needed to get his head on straight before he became a pining ghost.

You spend the weekend with Julie, surprising her best friend Flynn with your new living situation and then driving them around since neither of them had their driving permit. The girls had kept you busy at the beach and showing you their favorite food places. Sometimes you would catch your cousin mumbling to thin air, but Flynn was quick to distract you and you ended up forgetting Julie's weird behavior minutes later.

Monday morning rolls around and, after taking your time to get ready, you grab your backpack and exit the studio to head inside the house. Uncle Ray has cooked up a breakfast feast, and Julie and Carlos are just coming down the stairs as you're taking a seat at the table.

You smile through a yawn as a plate is placed in front of you. "Whoa. That was a big one," uncle Ray says. "Did you sleep well?"

"Sorry. And yeah," you say. "I love it out there, although it is a bit colder than I expected."

Julie freezes as Carlos snorts. "Sorry about that. It's just our resident ghosts. Ow!"

You frown as he glares at his sister, said sister laughing nervously as she glances between you and Carlos. "Don't listen to him. Ghosts? Pft. What ghosts?"

Ray chuckles as Carlos rolls his eyes, the young boy digging into his eggs and sausage as Julie quickly casts him a brief glare.

You glance between the siblings suspiciously, but don't give it much thought and start in on your own breakfast. "Well if you need a portable heater, we can get you one."

Carlos opens his mouth to retort, but upon seeing his sister's stare he thinks better about it. You fight off a smile, shaking your head at your uncle. "It's fine. I usually kick my blanket off in the middle of the night which is why I get cold when a gust of cool air hits me. I just need to learn not to kick off the blankets. I'll be fine."

"Alright. Well eat up, guys. I need to head into the office as soon as I drop you off."

Carlos nods, but you and Julie frown at him. She looks at you and you look at her, and then you look at your uncle. "Um, uncle Ray, did you forget I drive? I can take Carlos with Julie and I. We were going to pick up Flynn as well."

"Huh. I forgot you drove." You grin up at him. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. From what I saw, Carlos' school campus is on our way to the high school. It'll be fine."

Uncle Ray seems to sag with relief. "Thanks so much, mija. I can actually head in early today then." Carlos cheers about riding with his cousin instead of being dropped off by his dad. "Well if you're all set, I'll see you guys after school. We'll go out for burgers tonight."

This time it's your turn to cheer. "Yes!"

- - - - - - - - - -

The first day of school went about as expected. Everyone was drawn to you as the new girl and Flynn thrived under the attention, but you mostly kept to yourself unless Julie introduced you to someone. You met Nick and thought he was okay, and then hid your amusement when Flynn would tease Julie about him breaking up with his girlfriend Carrie for her.

Of course not everyone was a fan of your cousin and you met the one person who seemed to dislike her the most. You knew Carrie from previous summers, but she and Julie had a falling out and no one would mention why. Not even Flynn. So figuring it was none of your business, you let it go but ended up staring Carrie down when she tried to intimidate you. Needless to say, the junior had nothing on you and didn't seem keen to start anything with a senior after your feathers didn't ruffle as easily as she thought.

Julie had more homework than you, so while she focused inside the house at the kitchen table, you went to the studio and up into your loft. The second you plop down onto the bed, a cold gust of wind sweeps up your back. You shiver, frowning, but then move on with a shake of your head.

From your backpack you pull out your Algebra II and History textbooks. You immediately start working on history, reading the assigned passages and answering the questions that follow. It takes you half an hour to complete it and before you move on to Math you reach over and grab your laptop from the bedside table. However when you open it up, your laptop automatically comes to life and you're left frowning at the YouTube page it's been left on.

"What the.. this is weird," you mumble. You briefly glance at the top Rock songs from the last decade before exiting out of YouTube and bringing up iTunes, choosing your Math Blows playlist and closing your eyes in brief bliss as Queen starts to play.

But the moment Bohemian Rhapsody ends and Aerosmith's Dude (Looks Like a Lady) begins, you get started on Math. It takes you a little bit longer to complete the assignment than History took you, but by the time you're done Julie has yet to find you. So after putting everything back into your backpack and setting it aside, you roll across your bed and reach into a hard plastic tote that holds some of your belongings. You pull out your drawing tablet and a stack of stickers, and then head on downstairs to the couch.

Drawing caricatures was a hobby of yours and you just so happened to have a friend who would take your edits and turn them into stickers. For now you have about five stickers of each member of your cousin's band- caricature style- and the name of whatever instrument they played curved underneath their faces. Lately you've been working on a sticker that said 'Julie and the Phantoms', but you couldn't get the font or coloring quite right.

You've just settled on coloring Julie's name in a purple that transitions into blue from one end to the other when said girl walks in, sodas in hand. "Finally," she sighs. "I didn't think I'd ever finish that homework. What are you doing?" She then asks as she hands over a Coke.

"I'm just messing around," you tell her as you show her what's on the tablet. "There's a small stack of stickers for you and the boys right there."

Julie glances at the table where you've gestured to and she walks over to pick up the stickers. She sets her soda down and skims through each sticker, a smile blossoming. "Did you- did you make these?"

You shrug. "I drew them, but my friend printed them. As soon as I finish this one I'm working on right now, I'm gonna email it to him so he'll make them into stickers as well."

Your cousin is so in awe that she's not paying you any attention, but you catch her murmuring beneath her breath and nodding along as if she were agreeing with something being said. She eventually looks up, chuckling. "These are sick. The boys are going to love them."

You smile. "I hope so. If you want more, just let me know. They're pretty cheap to make so I don't mind getting them for you guys."

"Can I- can I make a suggestion to the one you're working on now?"

"Oh. Yeah! Of course. What'd you have in mind?"

"Under the band name or wherever you think is good, can you add the words 'tell your friends!'?" She asks. "It's just something silly Reggie says every time the band is introduced."

"Yeah." You glance down at the tablet, trying to figure out the best placement. But then you look up, brow furrowed in thought. "Is this something only Reggie says?"

"Uh yeah. I guess so," she says, shaking her head at something off to her side.

You grin. "I have an idea. Let me try something out and see if you like it. Give me like ten minutes."

Julie sets the stickers back down, picking up her soda and cracking it open. You crack open yours as well, taking a sip before getting down to work. You make the sticker you originally had a little bit smaller, adding in a caricature of a waving Reggie from the waist up peeking out from behind the font. You add a speech bubble, filling it in with the requested 'Tell your friends!'.

When Julie sees it she can't help but laugh. "That's perfect. I'm sure he's gonna be stoked."

"Speaking of, when do I get to meet these hot friends of yours?"

Julie groans and you laugh as you finish coloring and resizing the sticker before sending it off to your friend to print. Closing your tablet, you give her your full attention as she's now sitting next to you on the couch. "Soon," she promises.

"Alright. So what are we doing until your dad gets home? You gonna sing for me, Jules? Give me my own private concert?"

She laughs. "No way. Just watch the Youtube videos. I'm sure Carlos posted every performance."

"Oh he did. And believe me when I say I've watched them. Repeatedly. That guitarist of yours has got some arms that are just- mmm." Julie groans some more, hiding her face in a pillow, and you laugh. "What? I need to get it out of my system before I meet them."

Julie lets the pillow fall into her lap, a smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "All I'm gonna say is don't be surprised if they know what you've said. They kind of have a sixth sense about these things."

"It's all good." You laugh some more.

You go to ask her if she wants to torment her little brother with you, but you see her amusement slowly die and you keep yourself from saying anything. "Hey Y/N, can I ask you something? You totally don't have to answer, but I'm really curious about it."

"Oh. Uh, sure."

"What happened at your old school that ended with you being expelled?"

Your smile falls. "Uncle Ray didn't tell you?"

"Not really. He just said there was a disagreement and a.. protest?"

You snort. It takes you a moment to collect your thoughts, but when you do you end up telling her exactly what happened. "I had this friend back at my old school. She's gay, but only those close to her knew. What it boiled down to was that some asshole found out and outed her to our entire school. Then this boy took things too far by, in his words, giving her what she was missing out on and trying to turn her straight." You roll your eyes, not noticing Julie smiling sympathetically off to the side. "He shoved his tongue down her throat, she tried to push him off of her, but he wouldn't budge. So I beat the shit out of him."

Julie chokes on her own saliva. "W-what?" And then she laughs.

"Well I hit him across the back of the head with one of those hard plastic lunch trays. And then when that broke I used the heaviest textbook I could get my hands on and hit him a few more times."

"Oh my god," she grins. "You're such a badass."

You laugh at your cousin's look of awe. "There was like a week of back and forth between the school and that douchebag's parents, and it made everyone at school show their true colors. I was disgusted that the guy practically got off with a slap on the wrist for assaulting my friend, so I contacted a few friends to make some signs for a mini-protest in front of the school and it kind of got out of control. A few friends turned into thirty and I think there were even a few drag queens in there. They had signs and Pride flags and it- it got pretty scary for a second when a fight almost broke out."

"I repeat," Julie smirks, "you're a badass."

"I was expelled because my protest drew in adult strangers to where many minor children attend school, but the expulsion wouldn't have mattered anyway because I had a restraining order slapped against me by that douchebag's parents and would have had to leave anyway."

"Screw them," Julie says. "That's so messed up."

"It is, but it worked out in my favor. I got out of my parents house and now get to spend the rest of my last year of high school with you."

"And your 18th birthday. You can't forget that," she muses. "It's only a few months away."

Your nose wrinkles. "No parties."

"But it's New Year's! Of course we're having a party," she gushes. "Your birthday is a rare one. Instead of blowing out a candle at midnight, you get to make out with someone."

Laughing, you reach over to nudge her. "You're something else, Jules. I don't know how you have your dad fooled about being so sweet and innocent." She giggles, batting her eyelashes at you. "Now come on. Lets go torment Carlos. It's been about a year since I've sat on him and made him listen to Barbie Girl on a loop."

You stand up, Julie laughing as you offer her a hand and pull her up off the couch.

By the end of your first week with the Molinas, you've settled into a routine that you're comfortable with. You had noticed Julie got a little squirrely whenever you mentioned the boys, so you dropped the subject of meeting them and figured it'd happen when the timing was right. Julie's tía Victoria was happy to have you around the family, she noticing a lightness around the house that she hadn't seen since her sister had passed.

Life with your cousins was going spectacularly well, so of course there had to be a bump in the road. And a major one at that.

You're sleeping when cold air suddenly seeps into your back, making you shiver and wake up briefly. You find your blanket and pull up over your shoulders, turning around in the process and.. rolling into something- er, someone solid. You're fully awake now.

"Ahh!" You scream.

The figure in bed with you jolts, screaming as well. "Ahh!"

"Who the hell are you?!" You move to punch at them, only for them to disappear right before your very eyes. You freeze as your heart drops into your stomach, your eyes blowing wide when he reappears at the foot of your bed. "What the- how did-"

Another figure pops in, grabbing the first by his ear. "Dude, not cool!"

Your sudden fear has you frozen and only capable of glancing between the two figures. Semi-slicked hair, leather jacket, flannel wrapped around his waist.. "R-Reggie?" You wonder aloud in confusion.

Both boys glance at you, the shaggy hair and killer arms in a cut off tee letting you know exactly who he was. You hold your blanket tighter to you, heart thumping wildly. Reggie grimaces in pain as he finally pulls free from Luke's hold. "Hiya. Sorry about waking you and all that. I totally should have asked before taking up the other side of your bed."

Luke shakes his head. "When Jules finds out she's going to kick your butt, man. We were supposed to ease her into the whole ghost business."

"G-ghost?"

Another figure pops in, the blonde sighing and shaking his head in disappointment at his friends. Alex. "I woke Julie. She'll be down here soon." Then he glances at you, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry about all this. Reggie and Luke are idiots."

"Can you blame me?" Reggie whines. "Y/N's bed is really comfortable. And I actually thought she'd just roll through me. I didn't know I'd gone solid. It was unintentional."

"Um," you gulp. "H-how would you know my bed was comfortable?" Reggie freezes and then suddenly looks very interested in the ceiling, and your eyes narrow at him. You sit up a little straighter, staring at Luke, but he too averts his gaze when he notices you're staring at him.

Alex is the only one amused and he meets your gaze with a smile. "These two idiots like to nap in your bed when you're in school."

"WHAT!?" The two guilty ghosts poof out, making you flinch as you suddenly remember they're not exactly normal boys.

"I told them it was going to bite them in the butts. I guess they hadn't counted on it being so soon." You blink owlishly at him, unsure of what to say now. After all, HE'S A GHOST! Alex notices your stare and sighs. "Well if you'd like to get dressed or whatever, Julie should be here any second now. We'll explain things then."

Alex poofs out and you're left staring at nothing but air. Your heart is still wildly thumping and there are only three words running through your mind: what.. the.. fuck.

After what seems like several long minutes, but really it was only about a minute after the boys had left you alone, the studio door opens and a frantic Julie rushes in. At the sound of her panicked voice, you throw off your blanket and scramble down the stairs.

Julie stares at you in shock, still in her own pajamas, before her gaze falls towards your legs and then back up to your own gaze. "Uh, Y/N? You forgetting something?" You glance down, frowning and wondering what she's talking about. "Pants, loser. You forgot pants."

"Yeah? And you forgot to tell me that ghosts are real!" She sighs as you stare her down, but then you subtly glance around for a pair of pants or shorts or something. Black sweats hit your shoulder and you meet Alex's sheepish gaze. Hesitantly smiling at him, you quickly step into them and drag them up your legs. "If they've been in here this whole time it's nothing they haven't seen before."

Reggie giggles and Alex shakes his head at friend. Luke, however, can't seem to look in your direction and there's a telltale flush on his cheeks. Huh, that's odd.

"I'm really sorry," Julie says. "I was going to tell you, but it was never the right time."

"Jules, the right time would have been when uncle Ray gave me permission to sleep out here."

She frowns guiltily at you and you know you're not really upset with her. The adrenaline of bumping into someone in your bed was still rushing through your veins which is why you seem a bit cranky. "If it'll help we can explain everything now?"

"Might as well," you sigh. "I don't think I'll be able to fall back asleep." You shuffle over towards the couch, eyeing each boy on the way. Sitting down, you drag a pillow into your lap and hug it. "So.. what the hell is going on?"

Your cousin and the boys glance at one another, Reggie and Luke subtly shaking their heads. Alex rolls his eyes and steps forward to stand with Julie. It looked like they were going to be the ones to explain.

"Okay, so," Alex says. "Luke, Reggie, and I died twenty five years ago."

Immediately your hand raises and Alex falls silent. "Quick question. If you guys are supposedly ghosts, then why was I able to actually feel Reggie?"

"That part comes in later. Just please listen," Julie pleads.

You nod, gesturing for them to continue then. Alex flashes you a small smile. "So we died-"

"Death by hotdog," Reggie sadly muses.

Luke nods along. "I'll never look at another hotdog the same way again."

You can't help but snort, especially when Alex and Julie roll their eyes at the interruption. "Anyway, as I was saying," Alex says, raising his voice a little higher, "we died. We ended up in this dark room for what felt like an hour and then got spit out here in Julie's garage when she played one of our demo CD's."

"Only it wasn't an hour later," Julie says next. "It was twenty five years later." You shake your head in utter amazement. "At first I was the only one able to see them. Then when I had a performance at school and the boys performed behind me in solidarity, they could- they could be seen! The entire school could see them, but then as soon as the performance was over they poofed out."

"Hence the phantom part of the band name," you mumble.

"We let everyone believe we're holograms," Alex says. "Anyway, we used to be a band of four before we died. Sunset Curve. The only one to survive went on and skyrocketed to fame with songs that Luke wrote."

"He didn't!?" Your eyes widen. You glance at Luke to see him frowning. "What a dick thing to do."

The boys all snort, but a moment later Alex continues to tell their story. "We were pissed and ended up being introduced to this ghost who was supposed to help us get revenge on our ex-band mate. Only this ghost was old and powerful and wanted us to join his ghostly club house band."

"And when he noticed we weren't going to join him, he stamped us with a curse," Luke finally speaks up. "The longer we were away from his club, we got hit with these painful jolts. They started to become more frequent and would have eventually destroyed our souls."

"But our girl Julie," Reggie muses, "cried her big heart out and, we're not sure exactly how, was able to touch us. Her touch made us feel stronger, warmer, and it disappeared the stamps off our wrists."

"And now I have three ghostly brothers who can go corporeal whenever they feel like it," Julie says as she hooks her arm through Alex's. You grin at her. "I really am sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

You wave her off. "At least the truth came out before I was in a rush to go somewhere and whipped off my shirt. I'd have hated to traumatize the boys."

"Oh please traumatize me." The words are mumbled, but still heard by everyone. Every gaze darts to, surprisingly, Luke and his eyes widen as cheeks redden. "Did I- did I say that out loud?"

Reggie snorts. "You did."

"Well I- I didn't mean-" Luke rubs at the back of his neck, falling silent and then poofing out.

The second Luke is gone, everyone bursts into laughter. You laugh so much that tears gather in the corner of your eyes and Julie is hanging off of Alex's arm. Reggie is the first to recover and mentions going to check on his boy, and then it was just Alex with you and Julie.

You eventually stand up, intent on doing something now that you've had this big secret dropped into your lap, when Alex takes a step in your direction. He pauses and you quirk an eyebrow at him. "Can I just say thanks for being so cool about this? I mean you could have ran inside the house and alerted everyone like Julie first did-"

"Hey! Not cool." Said girl pouts, swatting Alex with the back of her hand.

"-but you didn't. Sure you freaked, but I would too if I woke up next to Reggie."

You chuckle softly. "You guys are just lucky I hate physical activity and loathe running." Alex grins at you. "Plus I guess your secret is pretty cool. I'm okay living with ghosts so long as no ghosts occupy my bed while I'm still in it."

"Noted. I'll be sure to let the boys know."

"Thanks." As soon as Alex poofs out, your chill façade drops. "Oh my god, Julie!" You hiss. "They're ghosts!"

Her smile falters. "Uh, yeah."

"They're ghosts who heard me talking about how cute they were and about Luke's arms!"

"Oh yeah." She chuckles. "Well if it's any consolation, Luke is clearly into you. He totally wants you to traumatize him with your boobs."

"It's not funny!"

She fights to contain her amusement. "It kind of is."

"Ugh. Julie," you groan. "This is so embarrassing."

"Relax. They'll probably poke fun for a few days before letting it slide. Just give them a chance, Y/N. They're really cool guys."

"God I hope you're right."

Now that the secret is out, the boys are corporeal more often than not inside the studio. Reggie and Luke take pleasure in teasing you, the two of them bringing up stuff you said about them when they were invisible or drawing attention to Luke's arms or Luke somehow suddenly needing to change to his shirt while in your presence. You made promises to get him back- to which Alex couldn't wait for to see what you came up with- but you've yet to fulfill that promise because there were more pressing matters at hand.

You're more than okay with keeping their secret, but it's only a matter of time before uncle Ray catches them. They like interacting with you, Flynn, and Carlos so they're visible quite a lot, but anytime uncle Ray nears it's a race to clean up any evidence of their presence and then poof out. You manage to convince Julie to tell her dad with promises that you'd be by her side the entire time, so she does. It had seemed uncle Ray was moments away from asking if she needed to see her therapist again when Reggie poofed in, followed by the other two boys who slapped him upside the head for doing so. Needless to say, Ray was shocked to his core but accepted the boys after seeing them interact with his two children and yourself. However, it was agreed by all that tía Victoria could not know the secret.

One day you had gone shopping for a couple new outfits with the girls and figured it was now or never to get Luke back. Sure they had seen you in an overly large shirt and boy short underwear, but they'd never seen you in proper lingerie. And when Flynn and Julie had caught on, they helped you choose the most daring piece of underwear to stun the ghost boy from the 90's.

When you get back to the studio, Julie pokes her head in first since she was the only one capable of seeing them when they were invisible. "Alex, where's Luke and Reggie?"

"They mentioned going down to the beach. Why?"

You and Flynn stumble in then, giggling. "It's payback time, my favorite ghostie. Your boy is not gonna know what hit him."

Alex's eyes light up. "Yes. What did you have in mind?"

"Two words," Flynn says. "Victoria's Secret."

"Oh no. You're gonna kill him all over again."

You mockingly glare at him. "He caught me ogling his v-line, Alex! He deserves to see exactly what I'm working with and not be able to touch."

He grins. "Can I see what you chose?"

"Duh. I need you to choose which set is going to make him lose his mind."

Walking over towards Alex, you set the bags down and sit on the couch beside him. Julie and Flynn sit on the armrests, eagerly waiting for you to dig out your purchases. And when you do, Alex's eyes widen before he bursts into laughter.

There are three identical sets of bras, panties, and garter belts in the colors of black, navy blue, and emerald green. You giggle as Alex takes choosing seriously, he picking up an article in each color and holding it to your arm. He hums in thought.

"In my opinion the blue suits your skin tone best, but I'd still go with the green."

You take it, carefully cutting tags off. "And this is why I love you. You're the best."

"Mhm. So how do you plan to have him see you in this?"

"I actually have an interview with the people uncle Ray works with in two days. I might not be able to take pictures, but I am good with all the technology stuff," you say. "I can pretend the straps to the belt are aggravating me and walk out to ask for your help."

Alex giggles. "You're evil."

"He started it." You shrug. "And besides, lingerie is such a confidence booster. You guys have no idea," you chuckle.

And then two days later you finally put your plan into motion. Flynn was bummed she couldn't be there, but Julie managed to be in the studio for your surprise after having pulled Luke into an impromptu writing session. Reggie, after having been given permission to use your laptop whenever he wanted, was watching Youtube videos, and Alex was flipping through a magazine not too far from his friend where he constantly glanced at the bathroom door rather anxiously.

Not too long after you enter the bathroom in a rush, you having screeched about being behind schedule for your meeting on the way in there, you start making a racket and cursing just loud enough to be heard outside the door. Outside, Alex does his best to fight off a grin.

Inside the bathroom, you've slipped into the emerald green lingerie, black garter belt, and black stockings. Both bra and panties are lace, giving the illusion of being sheer, but your important bits are still covered which is why you're more than okay walking out in this particular set. You spritz some body spray over your cleavage and abdomen, grinning when you see yourself sparkling as you move, and then quickly clip your garter belt to the tops of your stockings. However, for the clips in the back, you purposely twist the straps when you clip them on.

You curse some more to make everyone outside believe you're having some sort of problem, groaning for good measure, and then crack open the bathroom door to stick your head out. "Hey Jules, can you give me a hand?" You ask, already knowing what she's going to say.

"Mmm," she mumbles distractedly, writing in her notebook.

Luke glances between you and Julie, Reggie has clearly paused his video to see what's going on, and Alex takes his cue. "I can help," he calls out as he tosses his magazine aside. "What do you need?"

You frown at your cousin when she purposely doesn't look at you before looking at Alex, inhaling deeply before you straighten up and open the door wider. Given his position, Reggie is the first to take notice of your outfit and whimpers. Audibly. Julie and Luke look up then, Julie hiding her smile and Luke's eyes widening as his jaw drops open in shock.

"I'll do it! I can help you," Reggie blurts, cheeks red. He gulps. "What exactly is it you need help with?"

Walking towards Alex, you mockingly glare at Reggie and then ruffle his hair on your way to his blonde friend. You stop in front of him, turning around and then glancing over your shoulder at him. "The garter belt," you say. "I keep getting the straps twisted."

"On it." You see a smile threatening to break free as he immediately takes hold of the clasps and rights the wrong, and you turn around so you don't lose it yourself.

Only when you face forward, you can't help but snort at Reggie's awestruck expression and the fact that Luke is faring no better. But Luke is the one who seems to know almost immediately what you're playing at and his eyes narrow when his gaze finally meets your own. However, before he can call you out on your act, there's a distinct snap!, a brief stinging pain on the back of your thigh, and you whirl around on Alex.

"Hey!"

"I'm sorry," he laughs, immediately sitting back and out of range of your swatting swing. "I couldn't help myself."

You shake your head in amusement before making sure the strap isn't twisted anymore and then make your way back towards the bathroom. It's oddly quiet as you finish getting dressed behind the bathroom door, and then exit in a cream-colored blouse tucked inside a black pencil skirt. Julie wolf whistles when you exit and you wrinkle your nose at her as you head towards your heels to slip your feet into.

Once your heels are on and you run your fingers through your hair to give it a very stylish, mussed look, you can't help but meet Luke's gaze. When you notice his slackened expression, you wink and finally allow yourself to laugh.

Red rushes to his cheeks as he narrows his eyes at you. "You're the devil."

"And don't you forget it," you immediately retort. "Keep it up, Patterson. I won't play fair and I promise my next look will drive you to take a cold shower." Alex finally loses the battle with his laughter, as does Julie, and Luke frowns at you. "Now that I've pranced around half naked, it's time I get to my interview. Wish me luck?"

"Luck!" Julie immediately shouts. As soon as Y/N disappears, there's a telltale beep and Julie lowers her phone. She glances between Luke and Reggie, shaking her head and chuckling. "God you straight boys are so easily distracted. Flynn's going to be so mad she missed this."

Luke points to where Y/N disappeared, stammering over his words before he finally gets proper hold of his thoughts. "She doesn't play fair!"

After what you would have called a successful interview, you went back to the studio where you found Luke all alone. You ended up calling a truce with him, but that ended up being a terrible decision on your part. Because interacting with a Luke who was as genuine as can be without the flirtatious behavior or teasing, well it turned out you found yourself liking the boy a little more than you should.

When Halloween came you found yourself dressing up alongside Flynn and Julie. Normally you'd have gone for something sexy, but after parading around half naked and knowing uncle Ray would not appreciate his underage daughter showing off too much skin, you settled for something that would make everyone laugh. You, Julie, and Flynn agreed to dress up as the boys, but you couldn't take their clothes until the day of. So when Halloween morning rolled around, Carlos and uncle Ray kept the boys busy while you and the girls raided their stash of clothes in the studio.

Julie took Alex's pink Champion hoodie and a snapback to shove down backwards atop her curls, Flynn wore Reggie's leather jacket atop a plain tee and wrapped a red flannel around her waist, and you took Luke's white Rush shirt with its cut off sleeves and a blue hoodie that also had it's sleeves cut off. You had giggled with each other when you all saw the final outcome and even took a few pictures to post to your personal Instagrams.

Then when the boys finally came in, it took them a moment to realize what they were seeing and it only clicked when you stepped forward and said, "Hey! We're Sunset Curve."

And then Flynn stepped forward, shooting finger guns at the boys. "Tell your friends."

Julie snorted and the boys burst into laughter, and then you took even more pictures with the boys- only when they were posted online you captioned them that you were the Phantoms from Julie and the Phantoms. Then when all was said and done, the six of you took Carlos trick-or-treating around the neighborhood while uncle Ray and tía Victoria cooked up a Halloween feast.

Thanksgiving and Christmas were emotional holidays for quite a few of you. The boys for obvious reasons- they being dead and not able to spend time with their loved ones- and you because while your parents could be more decent, you loved them all the same and wished the circumstances between you were different. But uncle Ray was understanding and made sure everyone had more than enough food and presents, and the night ended with everyone under the age of twenty falling asleep in the living room after admiring all their new belongings.

New Year's Eve rolls around and you're excited for two reasons- one being because of the fireworks that will no doubt go off at midnight and because at that exact same moment you'll be turning 18. Everyone expected you wanted a big party, but you surprised them all when you said all you wanted invited was everyone in the Molina household + studio, Flynn, and tía Victoria. You just wanted to have karaoke and a jam session, and some fireworks. You didn't want to make a big deal out of it.

The morning of New Year's Eve, you're woken up by Reggie bouncing on your mattress. But instead of being grouchy about it, you laugh and then yelp when Luke and Alex poof in to pop confetti poppers above you. You sit up, keeping the blanket across your lap as you shake your hair free of the shimmering mess.

"Happy birthday," Alex says, sitting down beside you and hugging you. "Ray said to be inside in twenty minutes. He's got a whole breakfast spread planned."

"Technically it's not my birthday yet, but thank you very much. I'll be inside as soon as possible."

Alex beams before Reggie takes his place, he leaning in and kissing your cheek with a loud smack. You giggle and accept his hug. "Happy birthday, my beautiful living friend. You don't look a day over 30."

You snort and then shove at his shoulder. "Shut up and get out. You don't get to be mean to the birthday girl."

"I thought it technically wasn't your birthday?" He winks at you. "Now hurry up. We can't eat until you do." And then with one last grin, Reggie poofs out.

Sighing happily, you stare up at Luke then. He grins as he readily lowers himself onto your mattress, laying on his stomach and keeping his expression directed at you. "Are you ready for tonight?"

"Am I ready to be a year older? Not really," you say. "But I am ready for some sparklers."

He chuckles. "Age is just a number, Y/N."

"Says the ghost who's forever 17," you mumble.

"Do you want me to find you a rancid hotdog? Because I will. Then the two of us will forever be 17."

"You're such an idiot." You can't stop grinning, especially when he mentions the way he died. It was terrible they died, but absolutely hilarious that it was death by hotdog for them. "I still don't understand how you didn't notice the weenie was bad. Rancid meat smells disgusting and you ate it!"

"In our defense we thought the smell was coming from the trash in the alley." You can only shake your head at him. "And we were still riding the rush of sound check inside the Orpheum."

"Your idiocy amazes me," you deadpan. "Now go on. I need to put on pants and brush my teeth. I'll meet you inside."

"Oh now you want to be all shy about walking around in your underwear." Luke playfully rolls his eyes. "Okay."

"You know what? I was being considerate so my near nudity didn't turn you into a stammering fool, but now I think I'll just do it." You grab your blanket to throw it off of you, but Luke quickly scrambles up and off your bed.

"Okay. Okay! I'll see you inside."

As soon as Luke poofs out, you grin to yourself like an idiot. The tension between the two of you was obvious from the beginning and it's still there even after you called a truce. You giddily get up and head on downstairs, making your way towards the bathroom to freshen up before heading inside. But as you're brushing your teeth, you realize you can't stop thinking about Luke. Which is kind of a bad thing. For you.

Everyone who has eyes can see the way Luke looks at you and the way you look at him, but given he's a ghost and you're very much alive you've agreed that nothing can happen between the two of you. Not just because of his ghostly status, but because of his status as Julie's bandmate- which is another problem they need a solution for but they won't worry about it until they have a record deal in their clutches. After then, they'll worry about revisiting the boys' family they had left behind when they died.

Quickly fixing your hair, you pull on a pair of leggings afterward and start making your way out of the studio. You sigh and come to the conclusion that for now you'd just enjoy the company of a cute ghost. You can totally get over the silly crush in no time.

- - - - - - - - - -

As you're getting ready for the night, you're surprised there's a knock on the floor of the loft right before Luke's head pops up by the stairs. "Is it okay if I come on up?"

"Yeah. Of course," you say. You grab your boots before sitting on the edge of your mattress, slipping your feet inside of them and start lacing up. Luke stands off to the side, a little sheepishly, and you grin at him. "Something up? You're too quiet."

"Yeah. No, I'm good." He chuckles a little nervously and then finally moves to take a seat next to you. When he's seated, you nudge him with your shoulder to get him to lighten up. "I just- we got you a present and I've been nominated to hand it over."

"A present? From who?"

"Well it was originally from Ray, Jules, and Carlos," he says, "but when us ghosties wanted to get you something too, it kind of turned into a joint gift from all of us." Luke reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. You quirk an eyebrow at him as he hands the it over and immediately lift the lid. You coo at the silver charm bracelet inside and then lift it to examine the charms. "Ray, Julie, and Carlos had the laptop, dahlia, and lightning bolt charms already on there, but then we went back to the mall and had a microphone, a guitar, a bass, and drum sticks added to it."

"This is perfect. Help me put it on?"

You manage to unclasp the bracelet to slip it onto your right wrist and then Luke is scooting even closer to you so he can clasp it correctly. When he does, you twist your wrist back and forth so the charms jingle and fall correctly in place. Then you glance up at the same time Luke does, noses inches apart, and it's like both your breathing ceases.

Both your gazes seem to dart down to each other's lips and then you're jerking back while shakily inhaling. "You're trouble, Luke Patterson."

He smirks. "Fun trouble. You should try me sometime."

You can't believe the nerve of this ghost, so you roll your eyes, grin, and then climb to your feet. "Whatever you say, ghost boy. Now let's go. Tía Victoria was making me menudo for my birthday dinner."

Everyone at the Molina household is exactly who you wanted there and you get a kick out of watching the ghost boys attempt the menudo, watching the way they freeze when it's explained what exactly is in the menudo. Alex and Luke had slowly swallowed what was in their mouth before proclaiming they were full, but Reggie shrugged it off and kept on eating.

Outside uncle Ray grilled up some burgers and hotdogs for those who weren't fans of the menudo, and Julie had brought out bags of sparklers. You, Flynn, and Alex wasted no time in sparking some sparklers up while Reggie, Luke, and Carlos grabbed ahold of some small cannons to shoot off into the quickly darkening sky.

Many laughs are had, running amok in the streets with sparklers, and many pictures are taken. Your favorite, by far, had to have been when Carlos accidentally caught Reggie's flannel on fire and he stopped, dropped, and rolled in the street. You, Flynn, and Julie were never going to let him forget that terrified expression of his.

But then there's only five minutes to midnight, uncle Ray and Carlos are carrying several large firework boxes into the middle of the street and hurriedly untangling some wires, and a birthday sash is being draped over your head by Julie.

Seeing your uncle Ray and Carlos space out large boxes have drawn some of the neighbors to see what no doubt is going to a firework display, and you excitedly wait several feet away from the impending commotion.

Suddenly tía Victoria starts a countdown from twenty, Flynn hands out party horns, and everyone excitedly joins in.

"FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE. HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

You blow your party horn, laughing when you spot Reggie jumping on Alex and Luke's backs in excitement. Uncle Ray hits a button in hand and the first box shoots off it's first firework. The explosions of white, gold, pink, blue, purple, and green has everyone making happy remarks, and you watch on, not noticing everyone pairing off to watch the show (Alex and Reggie, tía Victoria and Carlos, and Julie and Flynn).

You're smiling up at an explosion of white crackles that chase each other across the sky when two arms wrap around your neck from behind and a body presses up close behind yours. You chuckle as your hands come up to grab onto a forearm and you briefly glance over your shoulder. It's Luke.

As you go back to watching your uncle put on a spectacular firework display, you feel warm breath fan across your ear. "Happy birthday, Y/N," Luke murmurs.

"Thank you." You smile brightly even though he can't see it and then glance over your shoulder once more, holding his gaze as your faces are literally an inch apart. "Happy New Year, Luke."

He beams at you and against your will your gaze darts to his lips. Your mind is whirling and you know everything about you and Luke is a bad idea, but you just can't help yourself. And apparently neither can he.

Luke is the one to close the distance, softly pressing his lips to yours. You smile against his lips, giggling some before adding a little bit more pressure so he doesn't think you're laughing at him. The entire situation is just a little bit hilarious to you.

After a few seconds you pull apart and the two of you end up laughing before you go back to watching the fireworks. Fortunately no one had been paying you any attention, so you and Luke can keep the kiss between the two of you.

You know for sure nothing can actually come out of whatever is going on between the two of you, but for now you're willing to take it one day at a time and come up with official rules later on the down the line.

#julie and the phantoms imagine #julie and the phantoms x reader #jatp x reader #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson #julie molina #ray molina #reggie peters #alex mercer #carlos molina #julie and the phantoms

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calzona-ga · 3 years

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In her unauthorized book, Lynette Rice explores the stories behind some of the ABC drama's biggest moments, including — in this exclusive excerpt — the factors that led to McDreamy's shocking death.

In How to Save a Life: The Inside Story of Grey’s Anatomy, author Lynette Rice recounts the ABC medical drama’s eventful 16-year history, revealing new details behind some of the show’s biggest departures. Included in the unauthorized, 320-page oral history (St. Martin’s Press, Sept. 21, $29.99) is a chapter that offers new insight into leading man Patrick Dempsey’s shocking exit in season 11 of the Shonda Rhimes-created drama. In the chapter, Rice speaks with Dempsey’s co-stars and exec producers who were present during filming of his final days on Grey’s Anatomy, and reveals claims of “HR issues” that contributed to the death of his alter-ego, Derek “McDreamy” Shepherd.

“There were HR issues. It wasn’t sexual in any way. He sort of was terrorizing the set. Some cast members had all sorts of PTSD with him,” recalls exec producer James D. Parriott, who was brought back to the series to oversee Dempsey’s exit.

In more than 80 interviews with current and former cast- and crewmembers, Rice, an editor-at-large at Entertainment Weekly, also explores the show’s early days, recounts the thinking behind some of its more polarizing storylines and offers exclusive details about the show’s behind-the-scenes culture.

“After 17 seasons, fans still can’t get enough of Grey’s Anatomy,” Rice tells THR. But what went down behind the scenes was just as dramatic as what viewers saw every Thursday. I’m excited for fans to read what I learned about those early days, along with what it was like to work for Shonda Rhimes, and why the drama was so freakin’ headline-prone.”

Below, The Hollywood Reporter shares an excerpt — the full eighth chapter — from How to Save a Life, and tune in Friday to TV’s Top 5 for an interview with Rice about her book and the other big reveals she uncovered in her reporting for it.

(Reps for ABC, ABC Signature, Shondaland, and Dempsey declined comment on the reveals in Rice’s book.)

“He’s Very Dreamy, but He’s Not the Sun,” Or, How Grey’s Anatomy Loved — Then Learned to Live Without — Patrick Dempsey Ellen Pompeo may have played the titular role, but for many fans over many years, Patrick Dempsey was the real draw to Grey’s Anatomy. Some of it had to do with his celebrity: Dempsey was the most famous member of the original cast at the time of the pilot and brought with him quite a cult following from his 1987 movie Can’t Buy Me Love. But a lot of it was due to the way Rhimes wrote her McDreamy and how Dempsey depicted him. James D. Parriott I would say, “The guy would never say that,” and Shonda would say, “He’s McDreamy. He’s the perfect man. He would say that.” I’d say, “Okay. It’s your show.” Eric Buchman Shonda had a very clear idea of how important it was to keep Derek as this almost idealized love interest, not just for Meredith but for the audience. Naturally, the writers—especially writers who had been working on one-hour dramas for a while—were like, “Well, maybe have McDreamy make a big mistake in surgery and kill somebody. Or he develops an addiction of some kind. What is his deep, dark secret?” Shonda was very insistent: that’s not the character we do that with. Even when you find out he’s married, that was done in a very sympathetic way that kept him being a hero. He was wronged by his spouse and in spite of it all he was still gonna give his marriage a second chance. Stacy McKee Shonda was protective of McDreamy, but it was really with an eye toward being protective of Meredith. I don’t think the two were separate from one another. I don’t think she wanted to put something out there that maybe on the surface might seem a little frivolous. At its core, there was something really substantial that she wanted to say. She wanted to be very specific about the type of relationship values that she put out there. Tony Phelan I was in editing with Shonda once, and it was the scene where Meredith and Derek had broken up. He comes over and she’s like, “I can’t remember the last time we kissed.” And he says, “I remember. You were wearing this and you smelled of this …”

Joan Rater “Your shampoo smelled like flowers, you had that sweater on …” He described their last kiss. Tony Phelan Typically in editing you start on Derek, then you cut to Meredith for a reaction, and then you’ll go back to him. I noticed that we weren’t ever cutting back to Meredith. I asked why. Shonda said, “Because the woman in Iowa who’s watching this show wants to believe that Patrick is talking to her, and if you cut back to Meredith, it pushes them out of it.” In those special moments, we would just lock into Derek and let him do his thing. Joan Rater And he was a master at it. Patrick Dempsey He’s the ideal man, and that’s what Shonda constructed. There’s a projection [of him] onto me when you come in contact with fans, certainly with the younger and older fans. There is a certain amount of expectation. There is a responsibility to it. It made me grow, too. There were good qualities [of his] that you work on to obtain. Off camera, Dempsey was equally as charismatic to his fellow actors, crew members, and anyone who would come to visit the set. Lauren Stamile I was going in to meet him, and I remember I had this little cardigan sweater on and I took it off before I got into the room. Dempsey is one of those people—it’s almost like there’s a light shining around his body, and you feel like you’re the only person in the room. I got so hot and I remember saying, “Gosh, I would take off my sweater if I had one on because I’m so hot, but I took it off.” I was just babbling. He said, “You look nice,” and I said, “You look nicer.” I felt so awkward and he was so gracious and lovely. I was having a nervous breakdown. It’s like this “it” factor. I was like, God, whatever he has, I wish I had. I think it was very obvious how nervous I was, and he went out of his way to make sure he introduced me to everybody and made sure I felt comfortable, which he certainly didn’t have to do. But he did. Joan Rater He knew I had a giant crush on him, and he loved it. And when we’d go to table reads—I was an actress at one point in my life—they would always give me Meredith if Ellen wasn’t there. And I’d be getting my chicken tenders at craft services before the table read and he’d come up behind me and say, “Are you reading Meredith?” in my ear, like, so sexy. I’d be like, Oh my God. I mean, I could barely … I could not look at him. Tina Majorino I worked with Patrick a ton. I love him so much. We had a really great time working together. I think he’s such a great actor and he really made me laugh a lot. I feel like we had a good dynamic in scenes together, and it was always fun to play opposite him. Yes, he’s that charismatic in real life. Yes, his hair is that awesome. Yes, he is dreamy up close.

Chandra Wilson Patrick Dempsey will forever be known as Grey’s Anatomy’s McDreamy. Derek Shepherd is a permanent part of television history.

Norman Leavitt He is a big, personable guy.

Jeannine Renshaw We all love Patrick. Patrick is a sweetheart. If I saw him on the street, I’d give him a hug. I love the guy.

Mark Wilding I’ve always had a soft spot for Patrick. He really does try to do the right thing. Brooke Smith, who played Dr. Erica Hahn, remembers how Dempsey defended her when the decision was made to fire her from the show in 2008. Brooke Smith I remember calling him and saying, “Oh my God, they said they can’t write for me anymore, so I guess I’m leaving.” And he was like, “What are you talking about? You’re the only one they’re writing for.” Which at that time, it kind of did feel that way. But I guess someone didn’t like that. They gave me a statement [to release, about her departure] and I never said it. Patrick said that he actually took it out of his jacket on The Ellen DeGeneres Show and read the statement. He won’t let me forget it. He was like, “I defended you, see?” And it was true.

By season eleven, however, fans saw a disturbing break in MerDer’s once unbreakable bond. Six episodes had gone by without a peep from Derek, who was supposedly in Washington, D.C., where he had apparently made out with a research fellow. Fans began threatening to bolt if their hero didn’t return soon to Seattle. “I have never missed one episode,” wrote a fan on Dempsey’s Facebook page. “But I swear if [Rhimes] kills you off I’m done.” But there was a critical reason for Derek’s strange absence: behind the scenes, there was talk of Dempsey’s diva-like fits and tension between him and Pompeo. To help manage the explosive situation, executive producer James D. Parriott was brought back in to serve as a veritable Dempsey whisperer.

Patrick Dempsey [That] was the first year that I haven’t been in every episode. I [was] in every episode since the pilot— close to 250 episodes. That [was a] huge run. James D. Parriott Shonda needed an OG to come in as sort of a showrunner for fourteen episodes. There were HR issues. It wasn’t sexual in any way. He sort of was terrorizing the set. Some cast members had all sorts of PTSD with him. He had this hold on the set where he knew he could stop production and scare people. The network and studio came down and we had sessions with them. I think he was just done with the show. He didn’t like the inconvenience of coming in every day and working. He and Shonda were at each other’s throats.

Jeannine Renshaw There were times where Ellen was frustrated with Patrick and she would get angry that he wasn’t working as much. She was very big on having things be fair. She just didn’t like that Patrick would complain that “I’m here too late” or “I’ve been here too long” when she had twice as many scenes in the episode as he did. When I brought it up to Patrick, I would say, “Look around you. These people have been here since six thirty a.m.” He would go, “Oh, yeah.” He would get it. It’s just that actors tend to see things from their own perspective. He’s like a kid. He’s so high energy and would go, “What’s happening next?” He literally goes out of his skin, sitting and waiting. He wants to be out driving his race car or doing something fun. He’s the kid in class who wants to go to recess.

Patrick Dempsey It’s ten months, fifteen hours a day. You never know your schedule, so your kid asks you, “What are you doing on Monday?” And you go, “I don’t know,” because I don’t know my schedule. Doing that for eleven years is challenging. But you have to be grateful, because you’re well compensated, so you can’t really complain because you don’t really have a right. You don’t have control over your schedule. So, you have to just be flexible.

Longtime Crew Member Poor Patrick. I’m not defending his schtick. I like him, but he was the Lone Ranger. All of these actresses were getting all this power. All the rogue actresses would go running to Shonda and say, “Hey, Patrick’s doing this. Patrick’s late for work. He’s a nightmare.” He was just shut out in the cold. His behavior wasn’t the greatest, but he had nowhere to go. He was so miserable. He had no one to talk to. When Sandra left, I remember him telling me, “I should’ve left then, but I stayed on because they showed me all this money. They just were dumping money on me.”

Patrick Dempsey It [was] hard to say no to that kind of money. How do you say no to that? It’s remarkable to be a working actor, and then on top of that to be on a show that’s visible. And then on top of that to be on a phenomenal show that’s known around the world, and play a character who is beloved around the world. It’s very heady. It [was] a lot to process, and not wanting to let that go, because you never know whether you will work again and have success again.

Jeannine Renshaw A lot of the complaining … I think Shonda finally witnessed it herself, and that was the final straw. Shonda had to say to the network, “If he doesn’t go, I go.” Nobody wanted him to leave, because he was the show. Him and Ellen. Patrick is a sweetheart. It messes you up, this business.

James D. Parriott I vaguely recall something like that, but I can’t be sure. It would have happened right toward the end, because I know they were negotiating and negotiating, trying to figure out what to do. We had three different scenarios that we actually had to break because we didn’t know until I think about three days before he came back to set which one we were going to go with. We didn’t know if he was going to be able to negotiate his way out of it. We had a whole story line where we were going to keep him in Washington, D.C., so we could separate him from the rest of the show. He would not have to work with Ellen again. Then we had the one where he comes back, doesn’t die, and we figure out what Derek’s relationship with Meredith would be. Then there was the one we did. It was kind of crazy. We didn’t know if he was going to be able to negotiate his way out of it. It was ultimately decided that just bringing him back was going to be too hard on the other actors. The studio just said it was going to be more trouble than it was worth and decided to move on.

Stacy McKee I don’t think there was any way to exit him without him dying. He and Meredith were such an incredibly bonded couple at that point. It would be completely out of character if he left his kids. There was no exit that would honor that character other than if he were to die. Patrick Dempsey I don’t remember the date [I got the news]. It was not in the fall. Maybe February or March. It was just a natural progression. And the way everything was unfolding in a very organic way, it was like, “Okay! This is obviously the right time.” Things happened very quickly. We were like, “Oh, this is where it’s going to go.”

So that was that: McDreamy would die in episode twenty-one of season eleven, even though Dempsey was in year one of his recently signed two-year contract extension. Rhimes wrote a script that was befitting of her lead’s heroic persona: she began “How to Save a Life” by having Derek witness a car crash and helping the injured. Once it appeared everyone was out of harm’s way, Derek continues on his road trip but is suddenly broadsided by a truck.

Rob Hardy (Director) The paramedics leave. He’s there by himself. He’s having a moment. The nice music is playing, and all of a sudden, bang. It comes out of nowhere, which, you know, is how accidents happen. So as opposed to watching it as a viewer, we saw the accident happen through Derek’s perspective. Derek ends up at Dillard Medical Center, a hospital far from Grey Sloan and the talented doctors who work there. His eyes are open, but his brain is severely damaged. No one hears his plea for a CT scan; he can’t speak. To help keep the episode a secret, the scenes were shot in an abandoned hospital in Hawthorne, California, about twenty-two miles from the show’s home studio in Los Feliz.

Mimi Melgaard It was really hard on all of us because it was so secretive and we had so many different locations. We shot at this closed-down hospital that was absolutely creepy haunted. All the scenes there were so sad anyway, and in this yucky-feeling haunted hospital? It was really weird. His whole last episode was really tough. Patrick Dempsey It was like any other day. It was just another workday. There was still too much going on. You’re in the midst of it—you’re not really processing it. Rob Hardy Here’s a guy who’s immobile. Now you’re inside of his head. We were trying to make that feel scary from the perspective of a person who’s used to being in control, from a person who usually has the power of life and death in his own hands. But now he doesn’t have the ability to speak on his own behalf.

Samantha Sloyan When I went to audition, I didn’t recognize any of these doctors’ names. I assumed they were just dummy sides so people wouldn’t ruin the story line or anything like that. All we knew is that we were dealing with a man who’s been in a car accident. I had no idea that it was going to be Derek. I just figured I was going to be a guest doctor and that whoever this person was who was injured, was going to be just a character on the show. Once it became clear what we were working on, I was like, Oh, my gosh. I can’t believe this is the episode I’m on.

Mike McColl (Dr. Paul Castello) I signed an NDA before they would release the script to me. I was reading it in my house, and I was like, “Oh, my God.” I didn’t tell anyone, including my agents. I just said, “This is a really great booking. It’s a great role on Grey’s.” And they didn’t know anything until it aired.

Savannah Paige Rae (Winnie) The first scene I shot was actually the sentimental scene when I’m saying, “It’s a beautiful day to save lives, right?” I’m in the hospital room with Derek and talking to him. Even though I never watched the show, I recognized the value of the episode I was in and just really took it to heart. It was so special that I got to be a part of it.

Rob Hardy [Patrick] had a lot of emotions during the whole shoot, which evolved. I think when we first started, he was very calm and cool … the same Patrick that I remembered when I worked on the show a year or so before. With each passing day, he was a lot more emotional. A lot more was on his mind, and that would show itself in different ways. The finality of the episode and for his character was setting in. You’ve become a global icon on this show and then in five, four, three, two, a day … it’s over.

James D. Parriott Patrick was very cooperative and good.

Mike McColl When I met Patrick, he’s lying on a stretcher and we’re rushing him into the ER. I just introduced myself, shook his hand, and was like, “Man, I cannot tell you what an honor it is to be the guy to take you down.” He loved it. He could not have been nicer to me and was funny through the whole shoot. He was on the table in front of me there when I cut his chest open and all that stuff. He gave me a hug at the end. It was a real privilege to be a part of TV history in that way.

Samantha Sloyan I remember him being incredibly kind. They had his neck in a brace, and he’s strapped down to the board, so there wasn’t a ton of chatting. I remember him being really kind, but it was clearly intense for him.

Stacy McKee It was such a beautiful piece of storytelling. I knew this event was going to be a really sad, horrible event for Meredith, but I also knew it was going to be the beginning of such an incredible chapter for Meredith.

Dempsey completed his final hours of shooting on a rainy night. There was no goodbye party, no goodbye cake. Maybe that’s because some cast members were left out of the loop. James Pickens, Jr., told ABC News that the cast “didn’t know a whole lot. It was kind of on the fly. So whatever information we got, we pretty much got it kind of right before it happened.”

Caterina Scorsone (Dr. Amelia Shepherd) I didn’t get to say goodbye to Patrick when he left. I do think that helped, because I’ve been using the character of Derek in my internal landscape since Private Practice. Derek was the stability in Amelia’s life. He became a father figure after they watched robbers shoot their father. When he was suddenly gone from the show, we didn’t have that closure, so I got to play it out. She’s about to use drugs again before Owen confronts her in a way that she finally talks about her feelings about losing Derek. She doesn’t end up using.

James D. Parriott The day he left, that was my last day. There was a certain sadness to it, but I think he was relieved. I mean, I think it took a toll on him, too.

Rob Hardy I didn’t see other actors showing up and saying, “Hey, it’s the last day! Wanted to come and wish you well.” I didn’t get that. It was more the Patrick show. We were in the Patrick world, and then Ellen came, and there was definitely a lot of emotion that both of them had individually … not necessarily together. It was more so her being there on the day that he died. He had his own way of being with that, and the same thing with her. It was like two people who grew up together and … here we are. They had their own way of reflecting.

Patrick Dempsey I very quietly left. It was beautiful. It was raining, which was really touching. I got in my Panamera, got in rush-hour traffic, and two hours later I was home. Big news like this doesn’t stay quiet for long. Both Michael Ausiello—who left EW in 2010 to launch the news site TVLine—and Lesley Goldberg of The Hollywood Reporter learned two weeks prior to Dempsey’s final episode that he would be leaving the show. No reporter worth their salt wants to sit on a scoop—least of all one as huge as this—but Ausiello and Goldberg didn’t want to spoil the outcome for fans, so they agreed to hold the story until after the episode aired. I eventually found out, too, but in the nuttiest way imaginable: I was standing on the set of CSI: Cyber, watching Patricia Arquette talk about some droll techno-criminal. Unfortunately, the publicist also cc’d Dempsey’s manager and ABC publicist while trying to give me a major story, so I couldn’t immediately report the scoop. But I did use the information to successfully negotiate the one and only exit interview with Dempsey. Two weeks before his final episode, I met him and his publicist at Feed Body & Soul in Venice, California, for a story that would hit newsstands on April 24. He seemed a little shell-shocked and at one point choked up, but at the time he said nothing about how his on-set behavior may have contributed to his ouster. My editor, Henry Goldblatt, wanted to put him on the cover of Entertainment Weekly, but he couldn’t guarantee to ABC that no one would see it before the episode aired. Good thing we didn’t: some subscribers got the issue on the morning of Dempsey’s final episode— and one actually tweeted the story. Our PR department tried to get the tweets removed, but the cat was out of the bag: some fans found out early that McDreamy was about to be McHistory. Outlets like Variety reported how the story got out early, while our PR department released this statement: “We are surprised that an EW subscriber may have received their issue a day earlier than planned. We always try our best to bring readers exclusive news first. We would like to apologize to fans of the show that learned the news ahead of time.” Dempsey’s final episode was watched by 8.83 million viewers—the show’s largest audience since the premiere that season. Variety even pontificated whether the ratings boost was due to my exclusive with Dempsey.

Lesley Goldberg (The Hollywood Reporter) I’m used to working with networks to hold news as part of their efforts to guard against plot spoilers. But the way Patrick Dempsey’s exit was handled involved a layer of paranoia and secrecy that has been unlike anything I’ve seen in my reporting career. News that he was leaving, and his character being killed off, would have been a major story considering how big the show is domestically and internationally. However, it also would have meant spoiling the episode and, more important, damaging key relationships I’ve worked hard to build. At some point, publishing the news of Dempsey’s exit before the episode aired became an ethical question of what was more important—a big story and its subsequent traffic, which would have come no matter what, or the relationships and trust that it took years to craft. Ultimately, I still published early because EW subscribers received the issue with Lynette’s Dempsey interview before the episode aired.

Mike McColl The morning after Derek’s last episode aired, my daughter sent me a link that was on YouTube or Facebook or something. I actually pulled it up to look at it, and it was a Grey’s Anatomy showbiz cheat sheet. It asked the question “Who is the attending doctor who killed Derek ‘McDreamy’ Shepherd?” It included a photo that I posted from the set. I had on a bloody rubber glove and was in my scrubs and mask. I never obviously would have posted this before it aired. I posted it well after the episode aired, and I [captioned it] “McDeadly.” This writer said something like, “Kill McDeadly.” Maybe that’s why the producer didn’t choose a big-name actor to be the one who killed our beloved McDreamy! I want to be ultrasensitive to these hard-core fans because it means so much to them, and I certainly didn’t mean in that case to make light of it. It’s just, I’m an actor, and I recognize it for what it is. Is everybody clear on the fact that this is just pretend and Patrick knew he was going to be leaving the show? It was just like, “God. He’s okay. He really is okay.”

Peter Horton Derek was going to be there forever with Meredith because you went through a whole journey with them. That was incredibly fulfilling. So even if he’s not there, he’s there. I don’t think any of us really worried about that going away because by then you were so invested in it. The show can last as it has for years.

Patrick Dempsey Lots of people [miss him]. “It’s good to see you alive” is the comment I get. I’m like, “Yes, I’m very much alive in reruns.” People were really invested in that relationship. I knew it would be heavy. Very happy to have moved on with a different chapter in my life.

Samantha Sloyan The montage just killed me, when Meredith says, “It’s okay, you can go.” God, I’m getting choked up just thinking about it. The chemistry they have as a pair and the way they were able to build that and sustain it! So many of these relationships are, like, “Will they, won’t they,” and then it wears thin. They sustained it for the duration of their relationship on the show, and it’s just, I think, a testament to what those two created. It was just unbelievable.

Pompeo addressed Dempsey’s departure with a tweet that focused solely on his character, not on how she spent eleven years working side by side with him: “There are so many people out there who have suffered tremendous loss and tragedy. Husbands and wives of soldiers, victims of senseless violence, and parents who have lost children. People who get up every day and do what feels like is the impossible. So it is for these people and in the spirit of resilance [sic] I am honored and excited to tell the story of how Meredith goes on in the face of what feels like the impossible.” Meanwhile, fans futilely created a Change.org petition to reinstate McDempsey, while other, more desperate ones simply tweeted “We Hate You” to Rhimes.

Shonda Rhimes Derek Shepherd is and will always be an incredibly important character—for Meredith, for me, and for the fans. I absolutely never imagined saying goodbye to our McDreamy. Patrick Dempsey’s performance shaped Derek in a way that I know we both hope became a meaningful example— happy, sad, romantic, painful, and always true—of what young women should demand from modern love. His loss will be felt by all.

Talk about the mother (father?) of all postscripts: In November of 2020 Dempsey reprised his role as McDreamy in the season opener—but only in Meredith’s dreams. Stricken with COVID-19, an unconscious Meredith “imagined” reuniting with her husband on the beach. After talking exclusively to Deadline and saying how it was “really a very healing process, and really rewarding,” Dempsey would return for more beach-based episodes that would ultimately stand out as the best moments of season seventeen. “It was a second chance thing,” one ABC executive told me at the time. “Shonda likes a comeback. Also, they wanted him in their last season.”

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