#watched woman clothed in the sun and the flashbacks. my god the flashbacks..... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

burnedbyshoto · 4 years ago

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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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danddymaro · 4 years ago

Text

Underground Gem | Kars x Reader

Word Count : 1346

Thoughts = ‘ Example ‘

Flashback = Example

Wouldn’t you give yourself to him too? // SFW

He’s her weakness, and vice versa // He adores his little human.

Underground Gem

Her fingers slowly weaved through dampened locks of long, lovely plum which held an intoxicating, sweet scent that was touched by a faint trace of spice.

With every inhaled breath she welcomed the smell, a soft smile out on display throughout the tranquil moment.

“My precious, little gem,” The man before her said with a smile, one that was both placid and content as he leaned back onto her gentle stroking, silently begging for more of her caress.

"- Worship your Kars," he encouraged her whilst he spoke with a grin, one that melted as he felt her lean onto him more, her lips pressed to his ear to grant him a sweet kiss that ran back onto the hidden flesh behind his lobe.

It was then that his ruby eyes fluttered close, a long, warm breath leaving him in a pant,

"I am your God," He murmured, something she hummed at with a soft amusement he easily detected,

"Oh?" He sounded playfully, " You mock me?" he questioned her with a little chuckle, amused such a tiny speck of a being could disregard him so,

"Even now while having yet to conquer the sun...I am far more than any human could ever be," He reminded her.

" And you are nothing but a little creature…

Weak and small ; Easily tamed by me. " He added, her devoted presses not being cut short nor halted by his sardonic words.

There was not a hitch in her movements, and at that, he lightly shook his head,

' All this is true. Yet you seem unconcerned.

It must be because you are well aware that just as your body grazes mine…

I am rendered weak, ' he thought with a little huff.

‘ You see no harm in a man that’s been enslaved. ’

" - You'd break at my full force, " He told her, his nude lips grazed by his own tongue as it ran between the soft flesh.

' But of course... I wouldn't allow you to shatter, ' he then thought while he practically purred, releasing a sweet, warm sound that was of a tamed animal as she then teasingly ran her teeth over the spot between his shoulder and neck.

"You were saying..?" She breathed, her (e/c) colored eyes staring down at the spot she'd repeatedly ventured to in the past, lightly pouting as the flesh was perfect, clean of any mark.

'It never stays.

it's never pertinent,' She thought with frustration, finding it unfair how easily he drew marks over her, yet when she made the same attempt, it was met with failure.

"The little sounds you make when I remind you of your place... they're insulting my darling," He told her with warning in his tone, " They should be whimpers of fear instead; Or rather, sounds of submission and plea." He added a dark grin overtaking him.

' But of course...you know you're far too precious to be discarded.

You know well enough that every tender breath you take should have a mingle of mine.

-Like this,' he mused while he pulled her to face him instead, her thinly dressed body soaked with the warm water of his bath.

‘You know I will not accept any other way,’

The thin, black cloth she'd worn became a second skin, clinging to her and teasing him with the sight of revealed curves,

' You know that I am yours just as you are mine. '

His lips were on hers, vicious ripples formed in the petal decorated water as he moved to then attack her neck, planting needy kisses that drew out soft moans.

' You play on with the notion that you are precious to me.

You've willfully taken your place with pride, and face the world with assurance.

- Assurance that I won't allow anyone to even bruise you. '

" Taunt this being again," he threatened her, playing a little game he always found amusing.

' Who worships who?

How long will this act last?' He briefly wondered before she spoke, a little smirk out on display as her eyes glittered with kittenish playfulness,

"What will you do?" She then asked him, her voice soft and breathy. “ What will you do if this little, pathetic human denies you your place?” She added as she drew from him, her body being just an inch from him before his hand stopped her from going further,

' Devious little creature, Pretend as though I don't make you quiver for as long as you can,'

He then mused, the reaching hand tearing through her dress.

' Pretend as though this little human can resist me, Kars.'

" Giggle again my precious," he breathed, face flush against her breast, catching bits of flesh to nibble while his fingernails raked over her skin,

" Resist me for once, and then you may taunt me.

Do so, then you have my blessing, " He said while his mate fought no fight, in the end letting him win, her little face of fierceness quickly morphed into bliss not seconds after.

‘This is your true nature.

This is your place out of devotion.’ He concluded as he watched her give herself to him, her body gravitated towards him in pursuit of more of his attention.

' Take me.

In the end, Please, take me.

All of me.

Every bit of me.' She begged in silence, her fingers yet again weaved through his dark strands, finding his scalp where she then held onto him as his mouth worked over her skin,

' Run your tongue over me again, and be unashamed as always.

Of course, I'm yours.

Of course...you're nothing short of a god.

But you love me, right?

You love me.

You can't live without me,' she thought to herself as his powerful arms circled her, his mouth trailing up to her chin, inching up to her parted mouth.

‘Because of that, you let me tease you so daringly.

But we both know that right as soon as you bring me this close, I’m sure to cave.

I’m sure to sink into you.

I’m willing to give you everything you ask of me.

But I wonder...How can something so perfect be so bewitched by me?' She wondered, hearing his rough breaths fan out over her naked skin.

' How can someone so beautiful stare down at me for so long… and with such hunger, as though you've been starved all your life?' She then thought with a small sting to her eyes that was calmed as she closed her (e/c) colored eyes shut, every bit of pain she’d ever felt always washed away at his touches.

The pitiful moans of the (h/c) haired woman rang, the sound echoing throughout the dark underground like a song on repeat.

" Taunt me again my little gem," he encouraged her, daring her to yet again defy him, awaiting it with open arms when he already knew he’d won.

He loved her submission, as well as her aggression, every bit of her that was given to him eagerly devoured,

‘I can only resist for so long.’ She thought with frustration. ‘I can only play with you if you keep your hands at bay.

Never like this.

You win,

You win

- You’ll always win.’

' This is my woman; the one precious to me.’ He pridefully declared, even in spite of her species and how lowly he thought of them all.

- All save her,

‘ For now, you are my only light; My perfect gem in the underground.

For now, you are denied of the sun's glory as I am.

But it all means nothing to you, right?' He went on, well aware of her sacrifice as she chose him instead, casting aside humanity in its whole, including their only glory, just to stay at his side,

' I am your sun.

I am your light.

I am your one true place of worship, ' He reasoned, knowing that he was the center of her world,

' I'll hand it back to you my dear.

Once I've tamed the sun...

Once I become the Ultimate being...

Once it is all mine to take, I will make certain the world caters to you,'

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maatryoshkaa · 5 years ago

Text

young god | chapter 11

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 5.3k

warnings: ryu says: be extremely careful with this one. extremely triggering; extreme descriptions of violence, domestic abuse, sexual abuse of a minor, child abuse, foul language, traumatic/suggestive descriptions

description: Han Jisung finally recounts the dark events of his past, revealing just what made him into the monster he is today. the world as you knew it has flipped on its head in the span of one night, and time is running out for you to decide who you’ll stand by.

watch the trailer here!

11| young god.

“Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop,

And when the wind blows, the cradle will rock.”

Mama’s singing voice was soft in Jisung’s ears, her gentle fingers smoothing out the locks of his hair. He was curled up into her side, his tiny fists, which had been clutching stubbornly at her nightgown, finally loosening as his heavy eyelids drooped. Jisung couldn’t even remember what nightmare he had been having before he had cried out involuntarily and woken his mother, the warm embrace that followed immediately soothing the tightness in his chest and drying the tears on his cheeks.

Mama was always so warm. Mama was home, and Mama was safe.

This was the earliest memory Jisung could remember — every time something triggered all the flashbacks, the nightmares, he would always find himself back here — in this memory, in Mama’s arms, everything growing less and less clear every time. It was like wading through muddy waters, a thickening shroud of fog, as if his memories had become a frayed photograph — blurred at the corners and fading out of focus.

Eventually, he had stopped trying to remember altogether, and the lullaby became nothing more than white noise ringing in the back of his mind.

━━━━━━━━

“Well, aren’t you going to open it?”

The box was wrapped in gold paper, complete with a red bow and ribbon. Covered in little Santa Clauses and Christmas tree patterns, it was small, but weighted enough to make Jisung’s arms slightly sore from holding it. Father would have called him weak had he said anything, so Jisung bit his lip and sucked it up.

“Man up, boy,” he would bark, delivering a slap to the side of Jisung’s head that was hard enough to make his eyes water. “Don’t tell me I raised a little girl?”

Mama would tell him not to mind his words.

Father was watching him now, leaned back on the couch. Maybe there was a glint of impatience in his eyes, but Jisung didn’t notice it as he slowly undid the bow, fingers barely touching the paper for fear of ripping it as he unwrapped it. He never got gifts on his birthday — in fact, Father didn’t even seem to remember the date at all, and Mama never had the money to buy him anything. Christmas, though, was easier to remember.

The fluttering paper fell away to reveal a black box, and when Jisung lifted the lid it something shiny — metal? — caught his eye.

“Cost me a damn fortune. Old geezer down at Young Wings gave me a load o’ shit...”

Mama glanced over at his father, a hand hovering above his arm before withdrawing it timidly. Jisung’s attention was still fixed on the present — it was a camcorder, and brand new; the polished silver metal winked at him, and Jisung pulled it out with wide eyes. He flipped open the screen, fingers fumbling with the power button. The red recording light blinked at him like a rabbit’s eye. Grinning, Jisung held it up to his parents, smile not faltering despite Father’s disinterested eyes and Mama’s tense features.

Mama smiled into the lens. “Merry Christmas, ‘sungie.” Jisung turned away, too fascinated with the present to notice how the smile never quite reached her eyes.

They didn’t celebrate any more Christmases after that.

━━━━━━━━

“February 22nd, 2005.” Jisung cocked his head, squinting at the viewfinder as it came into focus. “Yes! That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” His tongue ran over the gap where one front tooth used to be — he’d lost his first tooth a couple days ago, but he could swear the strange, metallic taste of blood was still in his mouth. He scrunched up his face. Blood didn’t taste good; he decided he wanted as little to do with it as possible.

Jisung was sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor, the dying rays of the sun filtering through the window and spilling onto his hair. He had been filming video logs since Christmas — dramatically narrating battles between his old teddy bear and action figurines, or pretending he was a celebrity showing guests around the house. On some days, he would prop up the camcorder and hum a radio tune stuck in his head until he fell asleep. After all, Mama said he was too little to play outside with the other kids, and Father certainly didn’t play with him.

“Darn,” Jisung mumbled as the camcorder screen went blurry again. “Why do you keep doin’ this?” He got to his feet, pacing around his room while pointing the camcorder at random items. When it still didn’t focus, he opened his bedroom door and wandered into the hallway. His father was home — Jisung hadn’t seen him all day, but he had heard sounds coming from his parents’ bedroom — and surely, Father would know what to do, right?

“Father?” Jisung called, his voice coming out more timid than he’d intended. “Um, I—I know you don’t like to be bothered, but my camcorder isn’t--isn’t working. U-um...could you, m-maybe—”

Jisung’s stutters were cut off by a loud, strange gasp that made him freeze at the door. It sounded as though someone was in pain, but not quite. The door was shut, but when he listened closely he could hear...heavy breathing...heavy breathing, and a woman’s voice.

“Mama?” His voice was barely above a whisper as one hand scrabbled for the doorknob, twisting it open. Inside, it was dark — but his camcorder was zoomed in, and Jisung watched as it finally focused on two figures on the bed. One, his father.

And two, a woman who was definitely not his mother.

Jisung’s gaze darted wildly. Clothes were strewn all over the floor — a red cashmere coat, his father’s dress shirt. His wide, confused eyes flickered up again, adjusting to the darkness. Father wasn’t hurting the woman — no, he was kissing her; she was on top of him, touching him, and he was letting her, and Mama was nowhere to be seen, and — and —

His camcorder clattered to the floor and Jisung felt his heart stop, both heads on the bed snapping in his direction.

“Baby, we have a little visitor.” The woman spoke first, the cool calmness in her voice turning Jisung’s skin to ice.

“Get out.” His father had locked eyes with him, and when Jisung’s feet stayed frozen in place, his father pushed the woman off and strode towards him. “GET OUT!”

Something in Jisung clicked and he unfroze, fingers slippery with cold sweat as they grabbed at the fallen camcorder and he dropped to his knees. His father was standing in the doorway now, Jisung scrambling to push himself away — back into the hallway, back into the light.

“If you ever speak a word of this to your mother, boy,” his father’s voice was a low rumble above his head, like thunder before a tempest. “I’ll ram that camera right into your skull.” His finger came to rest on Jisung’s forehead before pushing, hard, and Jisung fell backwards, watching his father’s dark face disappear behind the closed door. His head hit the floorboards, hard, but he crawled to his feet, breaking into a run back into his bedroom and slamming the door shut.

Jisung glanced down at the camcorder, a pounding headache beginning to ebb and flow between his ears. The red recording light was still blinking with the comical innocence of a child’s eye — as if forever oblivious to the things it had seen. He slid to the floor, feeling like he was about to throw up, and punched the button to stop the recording.

━━━━━━━━

“June 3rd, 2006.” The ice cream truck rushed past him, and Jisung lightly whistled its tune as it disappeared around the corner. “This is my neighbourhood! Here’s the basketball court—” He pointed the camcorder through a chain-link fence, where a couple of older boys were in the middle of a game. “There’s Levanter Park—” — a children’s playground surrounded by tall lavender flowers — “And in the distance, that’s Miroh Heights.” He shifted the camcorder upwards to film the tall buildings looming in the distance, behind the suburbs. “And we’re back to my house!”

Ever since Mama had started working more shifts, Jisung had been able to sneak out more without anyone noticing. When Father got home, Mama would have to leave, and vice versa.

Jisung had tried his best to forget the woman in Father’s bed — after all, he hadn’t seen her since, having begun avoiding his parents’ bedroom altogether. Sometimes, he wondered if it had happened at all. It was all so strange. It must have been a nightmare.

He swung open the front door, reaching down to unlace his sneakers — and froze. On the doormat sat a pair of red heels.

Did...Mama own red heels?

He ran into the kitchen, a familiar nauseous feeling settling in his gut. There, sitting on top of the kitchen counter, was the woman from months before. She was wearing the same cashmere coat despite the summer weather, loosely draped over her frame so her bare shoulders were exposed.

Jisung’s breath caught in his throat. Somehow, he willed his feet to move, every fibre of his being screaming for him to run, to run into his room, to run out the door, to run anywhere that wasn’t here. But instead, he lifted his camcorder, shaking as he tried to focus on her face. This was real. He needed something to show someone that this was real. Sensing the movement, the woman turned, eyes widening in surprise before a dark smirk curled across her blood red lips.

“Well, well. Look who we have here, hm? Filming something?”

“I-I won’t tell Mama,” Jisung blurted, and the woman’s face darkened. “P-please don’t tell F-Father—”

“Oh, he’s not home, pet,” she chuckled, and stood up. Jisung felt as if his feet had rooted in place, throat painfully dry as she slowly walked up to him. “It’s just you and me.”

There was a red Zippo lighter in one hand, and the other fished in her pockets as if looking for cigarettes. She lit it with a crackle that made him jump, and ran a long finger down the side of his cheek before glancing down at the camcorder in disdain. “Naughty, naughty. You look just like your daddy, though. Same pretty-boy eyes.”

She held his chin between two of her long, red nails and Jisung shrank away from the touch, the sound of his ragged breathing filling the air as his eyes brimmed with tears. “Not quite a man yet, though, are we?” The woman chuckled, her breath reeking of cigarette smoke and liquor. With a smirk that made Jisung’s gut flip, she shrugged the red coat off her shoulders, the heavy fabric hitting the kitchen floor.

She was wearing nothing but lace lingerie underneath, her catlike gaze flickering back to Jisung. “Say, mama’s boy, want me to teach you how to be like daddy?” Jisung was frozen, pupils quivering as his eyes darted back and forth. “Just give me your little camera, hm? You can touch me, too. I’ll make you feel real good.” Her hands were touching him, they were grazing his shoulders and chest and roaming lower, and lower, and —

Jisung shook his head frantically, hands shooting out to push her away — but a red-taloned hand caught his arm and halted his feeble attempts. The woman scowled, and before Jisung knew it his arm was burning — she was pressing the lit cigarette into his forearm to snuff the flame. With a choked gasp he squirmed in pain but she wouldn’t let go, red nails digging into his forearm like a snake’s fangs as his nostrils filled with the smell of her perfume and his own burning flesh. His fingers were trembling violently around the camcorder, clutching it close to his chest for dear life.

She pressed harder, and a scream of agony ripped through his throat before he could stop it, making the woman loosen her grip in surprise. Seizing his chance, Jisung yanked his arm away before a voice thundering through the house made him halt in his tracks.

“What the fuck is that?”

So his father was home.

The moment Jisung’s eyes shot up to meet the woman’s, it all made sense. She was leaning back on the kitchen table, red lips spread wide in a Cheshire Cat’s taunting smile. She was toying with him — she knew that the moment his father came down, wrenching the camcorder from Jisung’s hands would be child’s play.

Snapping out of his horrified state, Jisung finally willed his legs to move and he sprinted out of the front door. The woman’s high-pitched laughter was ringing in his ears even as he made it to the sidewalk and ran out of his neighbourhood, as far away as his legs could possibly carry him. The sky had darkened, the red hues of the sunset making him shiver involuntarily. When Jisung finally collapsed, it was in a field of lavender flowers on the outskirts of town.

He threw his head back towards the sky, and let the sobs rack his body until he lost consciousness.

━━━━━━━━

“December 31st, 2009.”

His own voice sounded foreign to his ears, barely above a hoarse whisper. His house was always so quiet — tip-toes and whispers and furtive glances, for as long as Jisung could remember, as if one wrong move would set off a bomb.

What Jisung would give for quiet in moments like right now.

He could hear shouting and banging on the other side of the house, shaking the walls and making him jolt with every sound. The moment it had begun he’d froze, bare legs hanging off the side of his bed before — as if by reflex — snatching the silver camcorder off of his dresser. He hadn’t picked it up in months — no, years — hadn’t been able to touch it since without feeling nauseous. The moment his skin brushed the cold metal, the memories would shoot through his head like electricity. The grits of dust it had collected bit into his palm now, his own erratic breathing filling the room.

“You fucking whore — you want to leave me? That it? Do I need to remind you that I’m the reason you’re still alive?”

Father. Father’s voice always carried no matter how far away he was. Jisung heard pounding on the floorboards, the sound of someone running — no, crawling; his mother’s fingernails were scrabbling at the base of the stairs. There was a crash, and the struggling stopped momentarily.

“N-n-no, pl-please—” choked sobs were closing up his mother’s throat; Jisung could hear the thick tears in her voice through the paperlike walls. “You can h-hit me, y-you can — I won’t mention your--your other woman, just--God, not in front of Jisung.”

Jisung heard his father wheeze an incredulous laugh. “Jisung,” he spat. “You should’ve gotten rid of him when I told you to, eh? I’m telling you, Ji-Eun—” his mother’s name sounded foul in his father’s mouth — “I never wanted any of this.” There was a blow, and a cry of pain. “But you just wouldn’t get rid of the baby, huh? You just had to fuck everything up, and you still bitch about how hard your life is every fucking day.”

“N-not Jisung,” his mother gasped desperately, “Chungho, he’s your son—”

“THAT BOY IS NOT MY SON!” His father’s sudden roar made Jisung leap to his feet, eyes darting around his room frantically. “I never wanted a son, that boy is a mistake you made and kept.” There were footsteps coming up the stairs now, getting louder and louder — and with a jolt of horror, Jisung realised that his father was dragging his mother towards his room.

Before Jisung knew it, there was a deafening bang on his door that nearly sent him toppling to the floor, as if a body had been slammed hard on the other side. The fighting had never happened so close before — it was always, always on the other side of the house, always downstairs, as if Mama had wanted him as far away from it as possible.

Mama always told him to stay far, far away from the danger, from Father — but it had never been this bad. Jisung would always stay in his room and pray for it to end — pretending as if the shouting, the banging, the screaming was all just static from the TV he could tune out if he tried hard enough. But he knew it had been getting worse as the years passed, Father’s drunken rages growing more and more violent; Mama’s face growing sickly pale and paler still.

The sound of his bedroom door cracking at the hinges snapped Jisung back to reality. Shaking, his eyes shot to the window, under his bed, then to his closet doors. Feeling as though his feet were dragging through wet cement, he felt his legs propel him towards the closet, not even managing to shut the door properly before his bedroom door came crashing down in an explosion of splinters and plaster.

Father was crushing Mother’s weak frame into the ground, both their faces scratched from splinters of wood. Jisung’s body was pressed against the back of the closet — he was long past the age where he could hide away from the fighting in the closet. He was taller than he was years ago, his limbs having grown awkwardly lanky and so he barely fit anymore. The camcorder shook violently between his fingers as he aimed it through the tiny crack in the closet, the small crack of light revealing a fragment of the hellish scene.

Father’s huge hands were wrapped around his mother’s throat and every fibre of Jisung’s being was on fire, every inch of his body screaming for him to open the door, to save her, to stop him. His mother’s voice echoed in his ears, telling him to stay away from the danger, to run, to stay away — but Father was killing her, he was killing her—

He lowered the camcorder, trembling fingers ready to push the door open — and froze. At that moment, just outside the closet, his mother tilted her head upwards. Her eyes met his, wide and bloodshot with fear, and Jisung felt his heart stop. Mama, I’m coming, he wanted to scream, Mama, Mama, I’ll save you—

Face contorted with pain, swollen eyes locked on his, she shook her head ever so slightly. Then Father’s fist came down with a sickening crack, and her eyes rolled backwards into her skull.

The silence that followed seemed to swallow Jisung whole.

This couldn’t be. This wasn’t happening. Mama wasn’t — Mama couldn’t be. But her whole body had fallen limp like a rag doll, and the house felt infinitely emptier, and at that moment Jisung just knew what horrible thing had just happened.

Father’s erratic breathing on the other side of the door brought him back, if only momentarily. “Shit,” the man muttered. There was so, so much blood pooling from beneath Mama’s body, slowly leaking a trail towards Jisung’s hiding place. “Bitch fucking--fucking asked for it. Had it coming…”

Little broken sobs were beginning to bubble in Jisung’s throat as the horror sank in, pathetic hiccups growing louder the harder he tried to shove them down. His vision was growing hazy. His head was throbbing. And when his father wiped his bloodstained hands on his dead mother’s body with the nonchalance of wiping on a rag, something in Jisung’s chest snapped.

Jisung tore through the closet doors, the hoarse sobs licking like flames in his throat giving way to a roar of anguish. His eyes were burning with tears, gaze tinged with crimson red, ears ringing as his face contorted into something animalistic, something he had never felt before, something that wasn’t him. Everything was spinning; the floor was collapsing beneath his feet and threatening to swallow him whole. His hand wrapped around a long fragment of broken wood, and, as if it was an anchor to the last bits of sanity he had left, Jisung let out a bloodcurdling wail and plunged it deep into his father’s neck.

The man howled in pain, wheeling his large body around, but Jisung had already sprinted through the splintered doorframe and tumbled down the stairs. There was dark, slippery liquid all over the floors that reeked of blood and alcohol, shattered glass from bottles sinking into the soles of Jisung’s feet as he ran, his father’s heavy footsteps shaking the ground right behind him.

Jisung found himself in the kitchen, and the caricature before him turned his blood into ice. His mother had been cooking: a pot boiling over on the stove sending hot water splashing onto the tiles and onto his bare feet. The corners of his vision were blurred like a fish-eye lens, the camcorder dented but still locked between the fingers in one hand and slippery with blood. Little details jumped out at him. An open jug of cooking oil. An abandoned meat cleaver on the counter.

He whipped around just in time to see his father lunge for him, and Jisung’s mind went blank. He felt his fingers find the handle of the meat cleaver, his eyes bulging out of their sockets and trained on his father’s chest — and charged forward.

Jisung drove the knife straight into his father’s flesh with a terrible force he never knew he had, a neverending scream tearing through his vocal chords -- and brought it down again, and again, over and over and over, until several eternities later, when Jisung’s screams had finally given way to quieter, quivering sobs, his hands stiffened and he dropped the knife with a clang.

Suddenly, the house felt enormous, a seemingly endless silence flooding the suffocating air. Somehow, he got to his feet and limped out of the kitchen, stumbling back up the stairs.

“Mama,” he mumbled. His vision was blurry, eyes darting everywhere and refusing to focus. The camcorder was forgotten in his hand. “Mama?” Jisung dropped to his knees by her side, shaking hands touching her hands, her blood-drained face.

Jisung didn’t know how long he stayed like that, by her side, silent wails racking his body as he felt the warmth slowly seep from her skin. Mama was always so warm, Mama was always safe, Mama was all he had—

And Mama was dead.

He wrapped his arms around her limp frame, trying to lift her from the growing pool of blood and down the stairs as best he could. His legs gave way before he had reached the bottom, toppling down the steps, and he landed hard on his side, dragging his mother’s body the entire way down. As Jisung’s hands scrabbled to push himself back up, crawling forwards into the kitchen, his mouth went dry as he caught a full glimpse what he had truly done.

Red. That was the only way he could describe the remnants of his father, a giant crimson mass soaking the white kitchen tiles. Red blood on his own raw, bruised hands. And a familiar red lighter that had skidded from his father’s pocket and was now lying in the mixture of fluids on the floor tiles. The cooking oil was still on the countertop, and the moment Jisung’s eyes fell on it there was only one thought coursing through his mind.

In a single, final motion he lurched forward and brought down the jug cooking oil, feeling it sear his eyes as it splashed all over the floor, the walls, the body — before fishing the the red lighter out from the pool of blood and vodka. With the last of his strength he flicked it open, eyes mesmerized momentarily by the tiny flame — and let it fall to the ground.

Flames erupted from the floor, enclosing him in a circle of fire and heat. It was like a bomb detonating, the walls shaking violently as black smoke flooded his lungs. Choking, Jisung’s hands blindly snatched at the flames for his mother’s body, desperately trying to lift her out of the fire. The camcorder’s acrylic strap was sticking to his palm, melting into his skin as it grew unbearably hotter, flames licking at his skin as he limped forwards, no longer able to tell if he was dragging himself out of the fire or further inside of it.

Jisung’s palm smashed the screen door and it burst open. The blast of freezing winter air that hit him as he stumbled out of the building finally leached the energy from his bones, and Jisung collapsed, skinned knees buried deep into the fallen snow. The night sky was a hollow purple, the weak lights of stars drowning in the black billowing smoke from what once was his home. Cradling his mother’s lifeless body as the house burned to the ground behind him, weeping with the agony of an angel cast to the infernos of hell, Jisung could almost hear a familiar lullaby ringing in his ears.

Rock-a-bye, baby, on the treetop

When the wind blows, the cradle will rock

When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall

And down will come baby, cradle and all.

Somewhere, a firetruck sounded, followed by the growing wail of police sirens approaching — but Han Jisung was laughing like a madman.

━━━━━━━━

“They told me that there was nothing left from the fire but bones,” Jisung had told you. “The delivery lady — Old Mrs. Hwang, I think — was the one who called the police. I woke up right before the paramedics arrived and hid the camcorder’s memory chip in my pocket. It was like I already had the reflexes of--of a murderer.”

“What happened then?” You had asked him, your voice barely above a whisper. “Did they…”

“Find out? Never. How could a ten-year-old single-handedly burn down a building? More importantly, why would he want to? I must’ve looked traumatised enough, because the whole thing was written off as a gas explosion. Faulty pipes, something leaked, and the moment my father turned on the stove the house went up in flames.

“I was famous across the country,” Jisung’s voice was ironic, but his eyes were flat and hollow. As if he had already condemned himself long ago. “Everybody pitied and swooned over the poor, orphaned boy — but after a month had passed I became a ghost again, floating from orphanage to orphanage. Then I met Minho—” his eyes snapped up at you— “And after the kidnapping case, it was like everything had snapped again. I couldn’t run from what I had done — I could still see it, every single time I closed my eyes.

“I couldn’t save her. I should’ve died that day — no,” he had chuckled hollowly, “maybe, I never should have been born.”

The moon was three-quarters full, a pale teardrop outside your bedroom window. Your mind had been in limbo for hours now, shifting endlessly back and forth between what Jisung had said, what you had heard, and everything you had seen until now.

Jisung had finally fallen asleep beside you on the bed, his eyebrows slightly furrowed but his breathing otherwise even. You had made him stay the night, a request that surprised the both of you — Jisung, who had still been respecting the distance you had forcibly wedged between the two of you — but you couldn’t bear the thought of him having more nightmares. Especially not after tonight.

Funnily enough, you thought, you’d much rather have a wanted serial killer safely sleeping next to you than out roaming the streets doing heaven-knows-what. A voice in the back of your mind mentioned how you had never expected that your first time with a boy in your bed would be under circumstances that were...less-than-favourable, but it wasn’t like you could do anything about it now.

It all made sense. It all fit together like a grotesque puzzle: the way Jisung reacted with the colour red, all his strange, uneasy symptoms, why all the victims were known to be abusers or mistresses, and oh, God — his family. Your mind flashed as you imagined him bringing the knife down on his abusive father, the scrap metal on his kidnapper — and the stone on the dead man from the Yellow Wood. It was like he had his own Mark of Cain — whoever hurt him would have the pain and wrath reenacted upon them thousandfold.

Maybe it should have felt wrong, what you were feeling — you should have been repulsed, you should have turned him in on the spot, you should have written him off as a monster, a murderer — but you didn’t. No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him. You’d seen the moments his facade had cracked and revealed the raw, vulnerable, broken boy underneath; you could feel the regret and torment he was living with every day, eating away at him from the inside like a disease. And, most of all, you saw the flashes of the boy he might have been in his wide, sheepish smile and bright, mischievous eyes, in his gentle hands and soft voice. In the fleeting moments of happiness that had been robbed from him too young. And now, you realised that you were certain about one thing.

You were absolutely, hopelessly in love with Han Jisung.

Your eyes wandered to his sleeping face, studying the dark circles beneath his eyes, the stress ingrained in the lines of his features. You had seen the same shadows in Lee Minho’s expression — these boys who had grown up with worry and pain etched into their faces like scars.

Jisung shifted slightly, mumbling incoherently and changing sleeping positions. After hesitating for a moment, you gently took his wrist in your hand, gingerly studying his hands and ankles.

Sure enough, there were faint white lines where cable ties and rope had once burned into. Jisung’s shirt had hitched up slightly, revealing rosy skin dappled with numerous bruises and mapped with more miscellaneous scars that all told the same, horrible story.

Your eyes finally settled back onto Jisung’s face again, a knot of bittersweet emotions festering in your chest. Outlined in the silver moonlight, he looked ephemeral — like a young god with too much power thrust into his hands, cold and damaged and beautiful; capable of the most terrible things.

You didn’t know what was going on inside his mind, and you had no idea how things would change when morning came. It felt like he was slipping from your grasp the harder you tried to hold on. Was this how Minho had felt? Out of control? If so, you were beginning to understand why the coroner had wanted to help Jisung in the first place, to mask the ugly truth. To protect his friend, the only brother he’d ever known.

“Trust me, y/n, I was in your position once, too. You’re just like how I was.”

Maybe you weren’t so different from Minho, after all. Because as you watched Jisung’s sleeping figure, felt his body warmth pressed up beside you as something in your chest swelled in both tenderness and pain — you knew you were more than willing to lie for him, too. If you could save Han Jisung’s life, if you could bring back the boy with the happy, angel-like smile from your very first date — no, if you could keep even a fragment of the light and peace left in his eyes, then that was what you had to do. You would hide everything until — until the case was closed.

And maybe, you thought as the moon burned into your drooping eyes, just maybe, everything will be okay.

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hees-theman · 4 years ago

Text

3 is Just a Number (Chapter Finale)

LAST CHAPTER

Title: 3 is Just a Number

Pairing: Wooyoung x Female!Reader x San

Genre: Romance, BFF to lover, Eventually poly!relationship

Summary: The bond between the three of you is almost unbreakable. Wherever you go, they will follow. Wherever they go, you will join. The moment both of the guys got into a relationship, everything just got better. The three of you are happy with the current moment. That is until one of them decided to follow their own heart – and may or may not break the friendship that you have been holding onto for more than five years.

A/N: And we have reached to the end of 3 is just a number. Thank you for reading this series until the end. I hope you enjoy reading it. I will come back with a new series soon ^^

masterlist

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“I guess you’ve finally found your answer.”

You look up from your suitcase, just to see Yunho leaning against the door as he watches you packing.

Flashing him a small smile, you then nod your head indicating yes. After receiving your answer, Yunho does not hesitate to enter the room and take a seat beside you, trying to help you with your stuff.

Watching him willingly lending a hand reminded you of all the moments you had with the bigger man. All the laughter, the countless dates, his kindness towards you.

He had always been there for you every time you need to rant on to. The guy never complaints about anything that you do. He is so kind towards you, and you know why.

However, you yourself know that you cannot pick him because you are thinking about someone else while being with him.

Those feelings make you feel bad for choosing someone else other than Yunho. But, deep down, you know that he deserves someone better than you. He will found that someone in the future.

“Do you know why San and Wooyoung dislike me so much in the first place?”

His question managed to turn your head to face him. You twist your lip for a while before shaking your head.

Right, you never knew why the boys refused Yunho in the first place. All you knew was that you got into an argument with Wooyoung and then San comforted you, as usual.

You never know the real reason, until today.

“I used to cheat on my ex-girlfriend and hook up with other girls behind her back, and they knew about it,” he stated.

A frown appears on your face. You know that people have their own dark secrets but you did not expect Yunho as a cheater.

He radiates gentleman and innocent aura. His gaze is soft and the way he speaks sounds like a melody.

Well, you cannot judge a book by its cover, y/n.

“How did they found out,” you asked.

The man proceeds on telling you about the night that you suddenly fell sick and cannot join the boys to hang out. That was the night Yunho was introduced to Wooyoung and San, the same night his dirty little secret got exposed. (Chapter two)

You on the other side decided to listen to him attentively and nod your head once in a while.

To be honest, ever since you and Yunho decided to go out together, this was the first time he told you about his past relationship.

Both of you would usually just talk about classes, hobbies, and the future. Most of the time, you are the one who did the talking while he sat down and listen to everything.

“That was why they don’t want me to be with you. They’re worried about you.”

You let out a soft sigh as soon as he finished his sentence. A part of you feels bad for lashing out on Wooyoung and blaming both of them for trying to control your life.

But in reality, they did that to protect you. They are truly your knights. The thought of it is enough to melt your heart and spread a smile on your face.

They had been the best boys you have ever met, and they will always be your best boys.

Yunho’s eyes switch to study your face. Happiness is apparent again on your face. The old Y/N that he knew had slowly came back.

Sadly, it was not because of him.

*Flashback*

The sun was slowly rising itself. She just got back home from her all night producing. The moment she entered the house, she could not contain her joy at the thought of cuddling with her boyfriend after an exhausting night at the studio.

However, she saw unfamiliar shoes. She did not remember buying that, and even if she did, she would have put it away in the cupboard. Besides, it looks smaller than her size.

An uneasy feeling slowly crept up into her heart. Suddenly, she felt something in her stomach that made her wanted to throw up.

Truth to be told, she had heard a few rumors about his boyfriend hooking up here and there while she was gone. Yet, she always preached to people that she trusted him enough and she knew that he is not a guy like that.

Today, maybe God is trying to prove that she was wrong all along.

As she walked to the living room, she accidentally stepped on a cardigan, which once again did not belong to her.

At this point, tears slowly forming in her eyes. Her hand gripped onto the doorknob of the room. With her eyes closed, she chanted into her mind that everything would be okay and it was all in her head.

But, the two figures on the bed proved her otherwise.

Yunho’s arm was currently hugging an unknown girl. She did not need to pull the blanket to know that both of them were naked under it. The clothes scattered on the floor were enough to tell her what happened while she was gone.

With heavy heart, she went out of the room and sat herself down on the couch, crying silently to herself.

A few minutes later, Yunho woke up from his sleep. He let out a sigh as he looked at the figure beside him.

He did it again. He knew he should not do it, but he did it anyway.

The man was about to wake the lady up, but a frown appeared on his face at the opened door. He was sure that he closed the door last night.

He remembered falling asleep right after he did the deed with the stranger.

As if on cue, his eyes widened. He grabbed the phone on the nightstand and read the time – 9:09 AM.

He fucked up.

Getting off the bed, he wore his underwear at the speed of light before exiting the room, revealing a woman sitting on the couch with her hands covering her face.

Swallowing his saliva, he took a few steps to the lady before she suddenly spoke up.

“How long has it been?”

Yunho did not answer. He stayed frozen at his spot. After a while, she who was supposed to be his lover looked up at him. Her eyes were red and swollen due to crying. Her cheeks were crimson red in color.

Her knuckles became white as she tried to restrain herself from lashing out to him.

All of a sudden, he could feel his heart shattered into pieces. His hands unconsciously trying to reach out to her and pulled her into a hug, whispering his apologies in her ears.

But, it was too late. Everything was too late.

The girl in front of him used to look so bubbly and full of joy. Her eyes would always sparkle every time she talked about music and producing. She was so innocent.

And he broke her.

“I thought they were joking when they said you always play around with others when I wasn’t with you. Guess I should’ve listened to them better.”

The woman stood up from the couch and walked towards their shared room to take all of her belongings. As she passed by him, she muttered a few words that sounded like a curse.

“You can continue with what you are doing, but don’t expect other people can’t do the same to you.”

Just like that, she was gone from his life, forever.

Now, as he looks at you, he thought to himself, I deserve this.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Wooyoung smells an aroma of fresh foods. He recognizes this scent. You always cook this food whenever he craves for your cooking. It is his ultimate favorite food.

The scent reminded of back then when he used to disturb you in the kitchen while you were cooking. He would always try to tickle you and your laughter filled the whole kitchen area.

Those were happy days. He misses you. Guess his feeling for you is so strong until you managed to appear in his dream too.

A few minutes later, the scent came back but a little bit stronger than before. He scrunches his nose in his sleep. Only your cooking can smell like this.

Wait, scent, your cooking.

He wakes up with his eyes widen. The smell entered the room once again. He rushed out of the room, totally ignoring San who might or might not wake up due to his action and run towards the kitchen.

That is when he saw a familiar figure, currently stirring the food in the pot. Just like that, his heart beat so loud it almost felt like it was about to jump out of his body.

You look to your side and a grin appears on your face when you saw the younger guy.

“Did I wake you up? Go wash up. The food is almost done,” you said to him.

Wooyoung ignores all the moral he had left inside him and engulf your body into a tight hug. His face buried at the crook of your neck as his arms wrap around your waist.

“You’re here. You’re really here,” he cried.

Your hand moves to caress his hair. None of you said nothing, but you can feel your neck starts to get wet. Wooyoung is crying. He really is crying.

Moving your head slightly, you place a soft kiss on his head. “I’m home,” you muttered against his hair before smiling to yourself.

San rubbed his eyes as he walked out of the room.

“What’s with the noise-“

His words got cut off by the sight of you and Wooyoung hugging each other in the kitchen. He was about to make his way there until he saw Yunho sitting on the couch, watching the scene too.

Before he greets the bigger man, he studies the look on his face. Although he is smiling, his eyes look sad. That was the very moment that San realized, the guy really do loves you.

With a soft sigh, San walks towards the lonely man and holds out his hand for a shake. Yunho was surprised at the sudden appearance but quickly regain his composure a few seconds after that.

He stands up from the couch and grabs San’s hand with his own. Both men smile at each other.

“Thank you for bringing her back,” San said.

Yunho let out a chuckle and shakes his head.

“I’m the one who should be thankful to both of you for giving me a chance to learn how to love,” he admitted.

San does not need to question the meaning behind that. He already knows. The two boys let go of each other’s hands and turn to face the two figures who are still in their own world.

The sound of Yunho clearing his throat loudly managed to pull you and Wooyoung away from the heart-warming scene you were having. Though, his arms are still around your body, refused to pull away.

Yunho’s gaze shifts from San and Wooyoung back and forth before landing on you. A small smile form on his face once again.

“Thank you for everything, y/n. I’m grateful to have you in my life.”

A soft-expression filled your face at his words.

“Thank you, Yunho. You know you can still find me if you need anything.”

The said man did not say anything but the smile stays on his face. Patting San’s shoulder, he walks towards the door.

Just before he exited the house, he turns around to remind the boys.

“If any of you didn’t treat her right, I’ll swoop her away forever.”

Wooyoung sends a scoff in his way.

“Keep dreaming, big boy.”

Yunho chuckles at the feedback. He spends a few more seconds looking at you before making his way out of the house, leaving you where you are supposed to be – and it is totally not by his side.

After the door closed, Wooyoung turn to face you again and grin widely, his eyes are almost gone because of it. He cannot contain his happiness, and so do you.

“You’re here. You’re really here,” he repeated.

A chuckle slipped out of your lip as you nod your head. Your hand then move to stroke Wooyoung’s cheek, eager to feel the softness of it once again.

Instinctively, Wooyoung leans to your hand. He miss the warmth – your warmth. Even if you and him tend to fight a lot, you are also his comfort place, other than San.

You are the only girl he wants to spend his life with and nobody can convince him otherwise.

Drunken into your eyes, Wooyoung suddenly looks at you with his serious face. His eyes shift down to your lip. It looks so seductive. It’s like calling him closer. He feels like he is being intoxicated.

Slowly, he leans closer to your face, eyes still lingering on your tier.

“Can I kiss that lip of yours,” he asked in a soft yet sensual tone.

It would be a lie if you said that you did not get affected by Wooyoung. The man in front of you had always told people that he is hot and sexy. But, you never really did experience it with your own eyes.

Your cheeks slowly turning red. It is too embarrassing for you to say it out loud but you want it. So, instead of verbally, you decided to grip onto his clothe, giving him permission to initiate the action.

Wooyoung swore he would have claim your lip and kiss it as if his life is depending on it. However, someone interrupted him, again, by clearing his throat loudly.

It took Wooyoung every cells inside him not to pick a fight with the person – San. Right, this is his house too. He did not believe that he really forgot the existence of his boyfriend in this house.

San who was standing at the kitchen entrance with his arms folded, raised his brows slightly.

“Hate to break it to you baby but she is mine too, remember?”

There it is. The playful mocking tone of San. It was rare for the older guy to act like this but when he do, you can see smoke coming out of Wooyoung’s nose.

You shake your head lightly before letting yourself out from Wooyoung and wrap your arms around the other guy’s neck. In return, he wraps his arms around you, his hands caressing your side gently.

“Welcome home, my princess,” he muttered against your head. You let out a soft hum as you bury your face against his neck, feeling more of his warmth.

San can sense a fit of jealousy coming from the younger guy. So, he holds out one of his arms for Wooyoung, asking him to join the hug.

Even though the man rolled his eyes, he still walks towards the two of you and secures his arms at your side, his hands on San’s shoulder. The three of you spend a few moments in a group hug.

Finally, you are together with the boys again. Finally, your longing towards both of them cure. Finally, you have them back in your arms.

You vow to yourself that you will not leave them behind anymore. True, being in a polyamory relationship is different. But, three is just a number.

You can never ask for something better than this – and the boys felt the same way.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“You know, being with me doesn’t mean I give you free access to use my room as your own,” you said as you look at the two boys.

One is currently flipping through your novel pages on your bed, while the older one is writing his assignment on your study table, using your laptop.

Wooyoung shifts the book in his hand to the side so he can directly look at you with a sheepish grin.

“I don’t care. Besides, your room smells super good. I’m addicted to it,” he said.

You roll your eyes and shake your head at the man. Walking towards San, you put your bag on the floor and take a peek from his shoulder.

“Still have a lot to write?”

San shakes his head at your question, indicating no. Your hands move to his arms and massage his muscle gently, hoping that it can make him less tense.

A soft hum slips out of his lip. “It feels nice,” he said.

You just smile at yourself hearing those words. It makes you feel proud whenever he compliments you, even if it is just a small thing.

As a reply, you bring your face closer to him and place a soft peck against his cheek.

“Finish it up quickly and then we can cuddle,” you whispered. Both of you laugh lightly at each other before he takes your arms and circle it around his neck and continue writing his assignment.

You and San were in peace for a few moments, until Wooyoung decided to interrupt the situation by purposely clearing his throat out loud.

Turning your head to the man, you can see him staring at the two of you with jealousy in his eyes. A scoff came out of your mouth at his childishness.

To satisfy the younger ones, you unwrap your arms from San and move towards your bed so you can cuddle with your other man.

His eyes instantly become soft as you play with his hair. In his mind, he keeps on repeating to himself, how lucky he is to have such a woman like you by his side forever.

Without saying anything, he lifts himself slightly to surprise you with a kiss on the lip. It was just a short one, but you can still feel the softness of his own against yours.

To say that you were stunned for a while is understandable, but you manage to regain your composure after a few seconds.

“Where did that come from, hm?”

Wooyoung said nothing. However, his mouth instantly forms a smile and his hand reaches up to push a strand of your hair to the back of your ear.

Closing the gap between both of you, he leans his forehead against yours, the smile still apparent on his face as he mutters, “I love you.”

You are not sure why, yet, a tear escapes from your eyes as he said those words to you. Although he was the annoying one – and still is – between him and San, you cannot deny that you love and care for him, just as much as you feel for San.

This time, a smile form on your face and your hand move to touch his cheek.

“I love you too, dumbass.”

You did not realize that San had already finished with his assignment until an arm suddenly circles itself around your waist.

You glance at the man behind you just to see him already looking at you with his usual soft and loving gaze.

“Am I interrupting something,” he asked in a teasing tone.

The same smile is still on your face as you shake your head at him. You straighten your body so that your back is directly on the bed with each man on your side.

San pushes himself from the bed a bit to kiss your lip and move his head to the crook of your neck. None of you speak a word, leaving the room in silence for a few moments.

“We are going to be together forever, right?”

The two boys look at each other before they get closer to you with wide smiles displayed on their faces.

“Together,” the older one muttered.

“Forever,” the younger one ended.

- The End -

#san #wooyoung #woosan #ateez #san scenarios #wooyoung scenario #woosan scenarios #ateez scenarios #san imagines #wooyoung imagines #woosan imagines #ateez imagines

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 5 years ago

Text

Dawn (2)

Loki x fem!Reader

ONE/TWO/THREE SHOT

Warnings: mention of past trauma and fluff.

Summary: A truce to end all wars leads to an alliance between Earth and Asgard in the form of Loki marrying a mortal. None of them what this. None except fate.

Word Count: sleep is nice. Water is super nice. music is dope nice. weather is siren-like nice. not being able to meet my dogs? not nice.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"Is it really necessary to do this? All of this?"

"It's a custom created by the Allfather, your grace," answers the handmaiden that helps you into the soft gold of a dress that seems to be way too over the top for something as simple as breakfast.

"Your Allfather needs to get laid," you whisper loud enough for her to hear and turn red.

"I beg your pardon, your grace?"

You whine as you watch yourself in the gigantic mirror in the bathroom. "Nothing. Come on, let's go."

She picks up your clothes from last night and the bags that have your belongings from the earth. "Where are you going with those?"

She turns around and bows a little. "To clean them all up, your grace. The Prince said that they might have been sullied with the party they arrived."

"Loki?"

"No, your grace. Prince Thor."

"...okay? Anyway, where do you guys have lunch?"

"In the kitchen, your grace."

"Cool. I'll join you guys there."

"B-but your grace!"

"You don't have to end every sentence with your grace, Sybll. Okay?"

"...y-yes, your-"

"What?"

"...yes."

"Okay. See you later, Sybll."

You shut the door behind you, leaving the poor young handmaiden's heart pumping as she tries to make sense of what has happened.

"See you...your grace," she whispers in the empty room.

"Oh, no, thank you, dear," you blurt, bringing your hand up to avoid the servant from serving an entire lobster- at least that's what it looks like- to you, "no...no meat for me, please."

Odin seems to be taken aback a little by that request. And a smile is the only thing you can conjure up.

Where. The fuck. Is everyone else?

The large table feels a tad much for the two of you. Not mention the nausea you are feeling from overthinking about Odin's internal judgements about you.

"Is everything all right, Y/N?" Odin finally asks, the half-eaten berry resting in between his fingers and thumb.

"Yes, sir, I mean, your majesty," you stutter, feeling yourself punching in the gut for screwing the first words coming out of you in front of him.

"Do you not like to eat meat, then?"

No father-in-law, it's just that all meat comes out as vomit when I am nervous.

"I...have a sensitive stomach."

"Huh," is all he bothers to state before going back to his berry.

So all you have on your plate now is leaves and fruits sitting as the subject for an art session.

"The gardens of the palace are beautiful, s-your majesty," you mention, remembering the flowers in full bloom you saw this morning.

"Ah, yes," he exclaims with a delight, "Frigga used to take great care of them. It is all of her hard work that blooms in those soils. Like it does in my sons."

You nod, taking a piece of watermelon and filling your mouth with it. "Mmhmm."

"You must think of me as some foolish old bastard for my way of doing things, like...like joining two worlds in a peace treaty through marriage, don't you, young lady?"

All you can do is gulp down the melon sitting unchewed in your mouth as you look at him with a blank expression.

"For an inexperienced mind like yours does not understand how crucial it is to stand united in the face of adversity."

You nod with your mouth full. "You're right. I don't. So, if you don't mind me asking, what was Frigga like?"

The lines on Odin's forehead change and he is back in time to some fond memory while he moves his food around his fingers. "Frigga was gentle as the first cool breeze that soothes you at the crack of the dawn, my dear. She was my rock. She kept Asgard running even when I was not there. That too while she had two young notorious sons to take care of." He chuckles silently and looks into some distant void, letting the sun reflect on the moisture at the edge of his eye. "She loved Loki like her own son. When the world saw a monster in him, she saw an innocent soul that needed the love and care of a mother. She taught him all the magic she knew. She had a way with him, with his mind that was always in a different direction than the rest of us. Whether she knew him or not, she did her best to make him a better version of himself."

"Would she have agreed to this truce?"

The words are out sooner than you realise and Odin is out of the trance he was a while back, the eye losing its hues.

"My sons will do what I say, woman. They are the pride of Asgard. The reflection of what expanded my kingdom and its peace stands for. And Frigga would have agreed with me. With whatever decision I took."

The words crawl over your shoulders like ants. Your nails are scraping the edges of the pie crust as silence seems to erode any feelings of respect between the two of you.

"I bet he is your reflection as well, Loki-" you stress on his name with a tilt of his head- "I bet he was your reflection that day too when he was a child and you told him he was no good as a warrior and he'd rather go hide in his mother's skirt."

The clatter of fork and knives stops. So does the breath of every servant present in the vicinity, discreetly looking at their Allfather for any reaction.

"He was your reflection when the boys from the streets teased him for being so weak for a Prince. And when he could not take the insult anymore, he used his magic to teach them proper manners. Hm?"

You pick up the chalice of wine kept for you, squeezing an orange into it before taking a generous sip. "He was also your reflection the day Thor was to be crowned king-" you smacked your lips, keeping the chalice down with a thud- "and the day he let the wormhole swallow him?"

The air is heavy. Heavier than any third person can take.

"You might be sitting in a seat of privilege, woman, but do not forget you are speaking to your king." His tone is soft but the intended weight with which they flow is not.

"Yes. I do realise my place, my king. I am but a mere human tied to a son you deem unworthy of serving any purpose to you. But here's the thing, your highness-" you look Odin in the eye, your face losing every feeling- "I am not Frigga, Gods rest her soul."

The napkin resting on your lap is crumpled in your hand before being left on the plate as you get up, dragging your chair back and turning around to collide with the servant coming with a pitcher of wine.

His apologies are cut short by you, assuring him it's no big deal before turning back to the Allfather. "It was a good talk, your majesty," you state with a full-blown bow.

"Oh and one more thing! Loki does not have some different brains that you cannot figure out. He just thinks seven steps ahead of everyone else. I found out through observation. And the one time we both had to escape being killed. You should try it sometimes too."

And with that declaration, you walk out of the hall, leaving a stunned silence with an audience and a King sitting with heartburn.

FUCK!

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST DOOOOO!!!!!

Your steps cannot match your heart rate at this point as you try to make your way back to Loki's room. And the constant flashbacks to the conversation you just had do not help. At all. If only the ground would crack open and swallow you right now.

You really need to keep your issues with controlling fathers in check, woman!

Well, TOO LATE! you yell back at your inner voice.

The corridors are a blur. So are the voices of people asking you if you're okay.

You didn't have to defend him like that.

You try to shove your inner voice away.

What do you even know about him?

You can finally see the door to your sanctuary, and your steps get faster than they already are.

What is Odin going to do to you now?

Opening the door, you throw yourself inside before shutting it back and letting the whimpers of weakened shallow breaths become audible.

"Okay, breathe. Breathe breathe breathe-" you take in a lungful- "yes, breathe."

Five times more and your heart finally finds a rhythm for your brain to function a bit better, bringing your attention to the wetness you feel on your stomach and realise you're still in the soiled dress with a huge blotch of wine stain colouring it in an ugly tone.

Undoing the knots around you, you walk to the bathroom to change into clean clothes and realise only when you are standing naked in there that all your clothes have been taken for a wash.

Perfect.

Your palms are rubbed hard against your face with frustrated groans before you catch a glimpse of the black fabric lying on top of one of Loki’s drawers; the one he wore last night.

Oh, screw it.

The cotton shirt slides over you with ease, flowing till your thighs, though the thin fabric barely covers much. With that taken care of, you walk over to the other drawers and cabinets to find anything else you can wear for the moment.

“Where were you two?!”

“Good to see you too, Sif,” Thor comments with a tone of sarcasm as a fuming Sif walks over to the brothers getting down from their horses.

“We went to inspect the new territories under Vanaheim. There was a little disturbance there last night,” Loki mentions as he twists and adjusts his shoulder with a muted grunt. No one notices for there are other pressing matters at hand.

“The Allfather is fuming because of your absence at breakfast today. Especially since-” she pauses to look at Loki and point out at him in general, which reasonably confuses both the brothers- “and on top of that things went downhill from here thanks to that woman.”

Now, this leads to the brothers to furrow their brows at Sif.

“Downhill how?” Thor asks.

“Spare no details,” Loki adds.

“This...is...hilarious.” Loki guffaws as he ends the sentence and this time Thor is the one to roll his eyes.

“It is still hard to believe Y/N would do something like this,” the blond states.

“Oh, Thor,” Loki purrs with a jump in his step, making his brother automatically uncomfortable, “it’s not that hard to believe once you realise she has lived the better part of her life with Stark. She has learned the snark from the best.”

“How do you even know what that word means?” Thor gasps in frustration. He opens his mouth to follow it up with a contradiction before pausing to run Loki’s words in his mind, hating the smirk building over his brother’s lips as realisation dawns on him.

“I need to talk to her about this-”

“WOAH! Woah! Easy brother,” Loki exclaims, stopping him with a hand on his chest, pausing the steps just outside the younger one’s room, “are you sure you want to do that?”

“What do you mean? Of course-”

“Thor-” Loki pats his brother’s chest as a gesture of patience- “first, talk to her only if you yourself have never defied your father.”

Thor looks at Loki with judgment-filled eyes, getting his brother’s index finger to wait and listen for more. “Second, talk to her with the thought that she barely has been here for a day and she has to spend the rest of her life here. Away from everything she knows.”

This, somehow, dilutes the smoke rising from the embers inside Thor. Loki isn’t wrong after all. “And third, don’t follow me inside. I am going to take a long shower.”

“Wha-”

“What? Sybll said Y/N told her she’ll join her for lunch in the kitchen. Now off you go,” he shoos his brother away with his hands before shutting his bedroom door behind him.

A chuckle leaves him involuntarily as he recalls Sif’s word by word description of how it all went down in the dining hall.

Good for her , he wonders, taking his armour off, there will be something to keep Odin and Thor occupied.

The arm plate stops short from landing on the table with a thud as a thought stirs in Loki’s mind, slowly invading his heart through the tiniest of veins. Letting the arm plate softly rest on the table, he lets his fingers grab the back of his doublet to remove it.

Why did she defend me in front of Odin?

The summer breeze from outside takes the first chance it gets to rub itself all over the naked chest and back of the God lost in a puzzle which isn’t that hard to solve once he has all the pieces.

Right. Forgot she had a mad father too. What was it that Stark said we were? Two kids with daddy issues.

Shaking his head, his fingers undo the first button on his pants when he hears a soft clunk from somewhere within the room. And the relaxed cat becomes the predator within a flash.

Why does he have so many greens and blacks?

The drawers and closets in front of all have nothing but those hues. Wait, is he colourblind?

Grunting and stomping your feet for not finding anything you could borrow from your ‘husband’s’ clothing, you close all that is opened and start to move towards the bedroom to call for Sybll for a change of clothes when faint voices are heard outside followed by a door being shut.

It takes a lot for your heart to jump in your mouth; and right now, that lot is Loki walking in the room with a smile, undoing his armour while looking at some invisible void in the distance.

Fuck!

You could not go out in front of him like this. In his nightshirt that was barely covering your assets.

Hiding behind the archway next to an Oakwood drawer, you take a peek at the God lost in some thought. There is a faint smile on his unexpectedly pink lips. What is he thinking? That thought runs away and hides in a corner as soon as it sees long pale fingers are pulling away the doublet from above his head to reveal a bod sculpted in some mountains of divine beauty not meant for the naked eye.

Your breath gets caught in the moment of revelation. Wasn't he supposed to be...frail? At least that's what you thought when you first saw him. But now that you think about it, anyone and everyone looks frail in front of Thor. But never in your life would you have thought that all that layer of clothing hid a figure like this.

You won a lottery, woman , your inner voice nudges and winks at you before it is pushed into a dark corner. Though I feel bad for him for getting stuck with you , it shouts as it fades into the darkness. The muscles on his back shift when he rolls his shoulders and you feel your insides shudder. Does Asgard realise what they're missing under all that leather? Is what you question till you see marks and bruises that seem old- healed but not so thoroughly. Hmm, everything with him has a reason, doesn't it?

Your daylight musing seems to crack as you realise- with his back to you- he is about to open his pants.

No matter how enticing it seems to the dark corners of your brain, you draw yourself back from the archway, colliding straight into a drawer. You IDIOT!!

Moving on your toes, silent as a cat, your steps go backwards, past the drawers and lux bathtubs towards the balcony while your eyes stay on the archway, waiting for your heart to stop any moment that Loki showed his face through it.

One step back and you are in the balcony, your feet feeling the cold stone under them while your back collides into something equally cold and rigid. And it does not raise all those tiny hairs on your body till you can feel that cold rise and fall rise in your back.

MOTHERF-

The siren voice of the night sings right into your ear.

"Looking for someone?"

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reveurmaudit · 3 years ago

Text

MIND GAMES - PART ONE

TW: Gunshots, abduction

It felt as though I had been enraptured in my own personal passage of time. The sun peeking through the custom drapes plainly brushes up against the headlined front page of the New York Times — it’s the word “abduction” that throws caution to the wind . . . And my father’s name painted as the suspect is written in bold, black lettering.

Before I had the chance to finish the well-researched article in its entirety, Father’s manservant came barging through the room’s French doors with a message of urgent matters in need of discussion. His reluctance when entering the illuminated room seemed to surprise even him the second he shot me a gaze.

I followed Alistair down the curved stair of the mansion’s east wing, through Dad’s mahogany office doorway. Numerous bookshelves of various popular poets and fiction authors who spent their entire existences devoted to the written word resided within these four walls, but they were all on display. Years ago, before separating his third wife who was fifteen years her senior, my father would actually sit down at the grandeur desk of his, the one I’d inherit after his passing, and read. Every single one.

Father dismissed Alistair with the wave of a hand before he glued his cold, amber eyes to mine. “Where were you last night, when you said you were with Emily?”

I practically laughed in his face. “I’m not tarnishing the family name, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I was almost too irked to claw my way further into the web of agony I had created, and yet, I couldn’t seem to help myself either. “Besides, it’s none of your business. It hasn’t been for a long time.” To those who came into this world with a name that grandfathers and grandfathers before him would vow never to defame, it was difficult to find time and space in which breathing the same air was no longer a viable chore.

“People talk, Lucien. Don’t you think I have eyes and ears everywhere in this Goddamn city? Being foolish and arrogant in random clubs and bars in a place that never sleeps won’t get you everything I’ve built over these last decades.” His stern voice carried through the still air like a kite soaring through the light of day. But his scolding lecture of rights and wrongs didn’t seem to faze me.

Whatever hopes and dreams Father had wished for me to obtain over the years, I’d come to realize I was a product of creation. It was ridiculous of him to believe I was still the same boy I once was.

“I think we’re done here. Believe it or not, Dad, you have much more important matters to attend to, instead of fixating on my whereabouts,” I spoke calmly and evenly, despite my father evidently boiling with rage. “You’ve read the Times this morning, haven’t you?” His face turned cold, and just by looking into those golden-like eyes of his, I could sense the panic burning inside.

I turn, temporarily hovering over my father’s desk before he inhales sharply, and I’m catching my breath. And with that, I left my father to the multitude of stacked papers beside him, as Alistair snuck back into Father’s office where his presence was requested immediately.

[Flashback - Yesterday Night]

The four enclosed walls of the bathroom in the Blue Ocean Nightclub, one of the most exclusive nightclubs in the entire city, made my skin crawl like the smallest insect had simply been eating me alive from the inside out until I was nothing more than a rotten corpse.

I had drank a day’s worth of bourbon, and after tending to Father’s expanding business like I was told, I wanted to implode — for being a puppet in a larger crusade made the days feel elongated.

Perpetually scraping away at the remnants of my sanity that was left to fend off aggravating, drunken souls, I was lost in thought. With memories lost in the void of darkened hearts, I feel a hand caress the back of my shoulder.

“Did you miss me?” I grinned pleasurably at the spoken words he uttered. I must have been lost in my own fragmented illusions for too long, because the next thing I remember was the man’s lips pressing mine, as he roughly slammed me up against the navy blue backsplash tile.

It wasn’t so much so that I had found anything resembling hope — no, it was but a longing sensation, as if aching for something, quivering at the mere mention of its name made it worth the heavyweight that it carried.

A distraction keeps the mind afloat in a thunderous wave of darkness which I lay victim to.

But alas, our time of love making came to an end when the DJ out in the main space lifted the turntable of the record player, and I could hear the muffled gasps and commotion from go-getters alike. I listened to the echoed vibrations that bounced off the bathroom walls before putting my clothes back on and kindly shoving the young gentleman off of me.

I pushed the door open, and immediately saw a horde of tasteless people hovered around one another in common chatter, as the smoke diffused into thin air. I stood there, stunned, as a young woman, likely underage, quietly handed me a coral iPhone with a renewed headline plastered across the bottom of the screen.

"Assistant to real estate mogul Gabriel Orza missing . . ."

I lifted my chocolate eyes up to see the shock painted across each of their faces and felt my stomach churning.

Father had far too many tales that ought to remain buried so as not to wreak havoc on the Orza name — as did I. And on this night, I had made a big one that needed to stay buried.

[End of Flashback]

Secrets in the eyes of the keeper needed to prevail in order to be the ones kept hidden from the public. And in a social media-ridden world, the crimes committed are part of the stories we must bring to our graves.

A duty to the name, I presume — never a product of creation, just a product of one’s own demise.

From the moment the story broke in the Times, every journalist reporter in the city was standing outside the Orza Estate, waiting for Gabriel to give a speech — a proclamation that he knows nothing about Mr. Shay’s whereabouts.

“I’m sure each of you have numerous questions in regard to the Shay case, specifically my involvement in my assistant’s abduction. However, I’m here to tell you all that I am just as curious as you are. It pains me that I am even considered a suspect in this case. Mr. Shay was a dear friend of mine for years. I hope the NYPD finds him and brings him back alive to where he rightfully belongs.” Gabriel’s voice echoed through the clouded wind distancing himself from the reporters of various magazines and newspapers, both local and national, such as the New Yorker and USA Today. He brought with him much poise and eloquence in articulating his words whole-heartedly.

I, myself, stared out into the vast majority of anonymous faces in the crowd of correspondents from the high steps leading up to the front door of the mansion. I felt the cool rush of air brush up against my tanned skin, as I stood beside Alistair — both of us representing the ruptured desolation to Father that existed following Mr. Shay’s abduction.

Of course watching Gabriel provide a heart-warming speech to ease the souls of those mourning the mysterious absence of a good man, in the distance was none other than my half-brother, Xavier, whom we shared different mothers. The glance we exchanged lasted only a few moments, but it was one filled with emptiness and contempt. Always two steps behind, three steps from slipping through the cracks of an endless void to Hell’s haven.

And that’s when I felt my heart sink, as the gunshots were fired into the air when the sound of the bullet scraped my eardrums before steadily breaking off into splintered echoes of disbelief. I watched, as the voices faded into oblivion, the reporters evading the shot. I could feel my body fill with paranoia and hatred before Father turned his head toward Alistair.

“My God, sir,” Alistair said in a soft murmur, the distress in his voice severely evident, as he drew breath sharply.

Utter hysteria was unleashed in the crowd of journalists who were gasping for air. My father’s eyes widened with horror, as we both followed his gaze, as it traveled from Alistair’s face to Dad’s lower abdomen that was gushing with crimson blood. I felt my mind slip into thought — into delusions of the head, and the heart. That’s when I knew it was only the beginning.

I made my bed, now it’s time to lie in it.

#writer #original character #white light #darkness

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allfandomxreader · 5 years ago

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A Eulogy for Billy Hargrove

Pairings: Billy Hargrove x Reader

Words: 2.9k

Summary: It’s one week after Billy’s death and Max asked you to speak at his funeral.

Warnings: Definitely cussing but I think that’s it

A/N: Hi I’m back from the dead and have been thinking about Billy a lot lately and thought of this :) let me know what you think! Not my gif!

Masterlist

In the first flashback you were the one talking to Billy, not El whenever he died.

Billy’s weight presses against you. His hands no longer feel soft and gentle, the way they felt in the months prior. His body no longer belongs to him. His eyes see right through you, almost as if you aren’t beneath him. You still see him as the man you loved --love.

Your body aches. Your head reels from the impact it made against the tile. Your limbs sore from running, your throat still burning from where Billy grabbed you. But none of this matters. You want to reach Billy, you want him to come back to you, for everything to be over and life to carry on.

“Seven feet,” You blurt. His eyes lock with yours for the first time, his body jolting at your words. “You told her the wave was seven feet.” His breathing deepens, his grip relaxes. “You ran to her on the beach. There were seagulls,” Tears escape your eyes as Billy begins to slowly come back. “She wore a hat with a blue ribbon. A long dress with a blue and red flower.”

Billy looks away, his eyes scanning something you can’t see. Something he always does when he’s concentrating. “Yellow sandals, covered in sand.” You choke, “She was pretty,” Billy’s lips curl into something like a smile, the closest he could get in a time like this. “She was really pretty.” You nod and he follows your actions, curls bouncing beside him. “And you, you were happy.”

Tears cascade down his cheeks. You reach for him, slowly, as if asking permission to touch. “Do you remember telling me this?” He nods again, eyes fluttering closed. “Do you know who I am?” Another nod. “I love you,” You sob, “I love you so much.” You want to hold him, to feel his skin against yours.

The sound of the Mind Flayer’s screeches pull Billy away. Just when you finally had him back, he was taken once more. He stands slowly, squaring his shoulders like he does to seem threatening.

The Mind Flayer screams but Billy doesn’t flinch. From where you lie, you can see the terror spreading through Billy’s eyes. You already know what’s coming, the monster will reach for you. There will be pain. You don’t want to die, you’re not ready. But Billy came back, and right now, to you, that’s all that matters.

Instinctively, you kick yourself back. Using the last bit of your strength to scoot away from the Mind Flayer, but there’s no use. You can already see the hand shooting from his mouth. You raise your arms to block your sight, accepting pain, accepting death.

And then nothing.

When your eyes open you only see Billy. His hands push against the Mind Flayer, running at it, trying to save you. He’s screaming, you can almost feel his agony through his cries.

You see the other hands too late. It’s too late to scream, too late to warn Billy. The Mind Flayer tears into Billy’s side. Billy doesn’t stop screaming. Another hand into his body. Billy’s grip weakens, his limbs fall back to his sides but the hands don’t stop coming.

With one final scream from the Mind Flayer. Dark liquid leaks from Billy’s mouth, you can’t tell if it’s blood or whatever’s left from the Mind Flayer’s possession, maybe both. He hasn’t stopped screaming.

The Mind Flayer shoots one last hand, this time into Billy’s chest. Billy falls silent, his body limp in the monster’s many hands. The monster retracts, Billy’s body dropping to the floor.

It was your turn to scream, a sudden burst of strength pulsing through your body, just enough for you to reach him. He’s gasping, choking on the darkness that’s pooling in his mouth. “Billy?” You sob, hovering over him. Your hands brace his shoulders that are slick with sweat. “Billy, Billy please.” You shake him, trying your best to keep him awake, to keep him alive.

“I love--” Another choke, “You too.” His voice is hoarse, but nevertheless, it’s him. You can tell by the twitches in his lips that he wants to smile, he wants to speak, to say how everything will be okay like he normally does when life gets shitty. You reach for his hand, squeezing it gently, careful to not add to the pain he’s already in. He squeezes back.

The blue in his eyes fade, his lips in a line, his body perfectly still. Just like that, in a span of a few agonizing moments, the Mind Flayer took everything from you.

Billy Hargrove died six days ago.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, the young woman staring back is almost unrecognizable. Your eyes swollen, the circles beneath them so dark even makeup couldn’t hide them.

You should be getting ready for college, packing up last minute things for your dorm, bidding goodbye to your parents, eager to get the hell out of Hawkins. Instead, you’re preparing to say goodbye to a man that was taken too soon.

You clutch the crinkled eulogy in your hands, folding it gently and tucking it into your pocket. With a final deep breath, you carry yourself through the house and out the door and into your car.

The four doors and cushioned seats used to be comforting, but now it just reminds you of Billy. Even his scent still lingers, or maybe you’re just imagining it.

“I hate when you drive, you know? You always take turns too fast and hit every single pot hole on the road.” Billy scoffs, dipping some fries into ketchup that’s smeared onto a napkin.

“Oh, so suddenly I’m the bad driver?” You laugh, “That’s rich coming from you Mr. 60 miles per hour in a 35” as if on cue, your tires glide over broken pavement jolting you and the complaining passenger.

“You just proved my point!” Billy laughs, flailing his hands dramatically. His outburst sends the napkin from the console and onto the seat and his jeans. “Shit.” He grumbles, peeling back the flimsy paper and rubbing it with clean napkins.

“Don’t rub it, shithead! That’ll make it worse!” You screech, trying to stay focused on the winding stretch of road ahead of you.

“How else am I supposed to clean this shit off then?” He only rubs the condiment into the seat’s fabric further.

“You blot it... I think?” You chuckle, watching your boyfriend struggle beside you with ketchup covering his fingers. “I swear to god if that stains my seat you’re never going to hear the end of it, Hargrove.”

You stare at the dark, lopsided stain that still adorns the passenger seat. You can faintly make out his sincere apologies through his laughter. You almost laugh at the amount of chemicals the two of you scrubbed the seat with. You’ll never wash it off, or even try to. Not now.

Billy’s burial is tucked away near the edge of the cemetery. Knowing Neil, it was probably the cheapest plot of land he could find. Even in death, he couldn’t honor his son. It makes you sick.

Today, the air is warm, the sky is clear, not a single cloud in sight. The sun beats down on your black clothes, you feel as if you’re being burned alive. As if you haven’t endured enough pain to last you a lifetime.

You walk leisurely along the path not ready to face the closed casket. You weren’t ready to face a lot of things that this day will bring. The looks of solemn faces, the look of concern. Your mother has worn that look every single day. People will ask the inevitable: “Are you okay?” and of course, you’d have to say yes.

You aren’t okay. You don’t know if you ever will be. Billy left a gaping hole that will never be filled. He was your other half. Everyone will tell you “It’ll get better with time.” but it won’t. You could live seven lifetimes and the pain of Billy’s death will never get any easier.

You hear voices behind you. The annoying shrill of Carol and Tommy’s voice linger behind you. “Should we say something?” Carol says in an attempt to whisper, she’s never been very good at it.

“Be my guest.” Tommy hisses. They fall silent as they approach, their footsteps even slow. Carol doesn’t say a word, neither does Tommy, and soon they pass. You meet Carol’s eye, the look of sympathy written across her features. You can’t tell if she’s faking it or not, either way it disgusts you.

Carol’s claws for nails drag along Billy’s bicep, he doesn’t bat it away. “Billy,” She sings, bringing the red cup to her lips, staining the plastic with expensive lipstick. “Come on, just this once. Forget about the little bitch for just tonight. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” She purrs.

Billy rolls his eyes but looks at her nevertheless. He opens his mouth to say something but is cut short when locking eyes with you.

Your hands shake, rage pulsing through your veins more than the alcohol. You throw the half empty cup against the wall, trudging out of Tina’s grand house and into the cold autumn air.

“Y/N!” He calls after you, pushing through the crowd of teenagers. “Hey! Would you just stop walking for two fucking seconds?”

“Fuck off, Hargrove.” Your feet don’t stop moving. You don’t know where you’re going or even where the sidewalk leads, but anywhere is better than that house.

“I didn’t even do anything.” He jogs to catch up.

“Exactly. You didn’t do anything. You could’ve told her to piss off or push her hand away but you did nothing!” Billy watches your arms move in wild motions as your anger got the best of you. “For fucks sake, is everything you said a lie? Everything that we’ve done and talked about, was it all just some sick game to you?”

“What? No! I--”

“Because it looks like you’re still the same power hungry horn dog that you were when you first stepped into town. Fuck, I should’ve listened to Nancy or Steve, or literally anybody with a working brain to not get involved with you.”

“What are you talking about? Carol means nothing to me.” He’s frantic, you can tell he’s being truthful. You almost feel bad for making a scene. You stand silent for a moment, crossing your arms over your chest to keep warm.

“Then why didn’t you defend me?” Your voice is almost lost in the wind but Billy catches every word.

“You stormed out before I could even say anything.” He sighs, taking slow steps towards you. “I’ve never lied to you, everything has been nothing but the truth. I’m sorry I was a piece of shit when we met but I promise I’m not that guy anymore.” He folds you into his chest, the scent of tobacco and alcohol invades your senses.

“You promise?” You whisper. He pulls away, taking his warmth with him.

“Fuck Carol, or any other girl. I want you, I love you. I’ll love you until my heart stops. I’m going to be yours forever.”

“Jesus Christ,” You chuckle, “Are you proposing to me right now?”

“No, but one day, I’d like to.”

There was a lot of truth in what Billy said that night at Tina’s party. He loved you until the very last second of his life. But you didn’t think forever would just be memories and old ketchup stains. You thought forever would entail a marriage, maybe kids, if not at least a dog. Forever should’ve ended sixty years from now, not six days ago.

A sea of black greets you when you finally make it to the burial. People are milling around, some talking to one another, other’s munching on refreshments you’re surprised Neil even arranged. People stop talking as you pass them.

You see Max, her tear stained cheeks, tissue balled in her hand. Lucas holds her free one, El rubs soothing circles along her shoulders. The rest of the teenagers are beside her, nobody says anything, each of them staring at the closed mahogany casket just a few feet in front of them.

The funeral begins, a minister takes the podium and rambles about the afterlife. Neil even talks, he says bullshit about being a proud father and how Billy meant the world to him. You can’t help but roll your eyes. Susan blots her tears and gives Max a soothing pat on the leg as her daughter emerges, brushing past Neil as she messes with the microphone.

“Billy--” She begins, words caught in her throat. “Billy was my brother,” She opens her mouth to say more but her voice fails. Her sobs are amplified from being so close to the mic. Through blurry vision, her eyes meet yours, a silent plea to help her.

You stand, gaining attention and murmurs from the audience. When you reach Max, you pull her into a hug, stroking her hair as she cries into your shoulder. “It’s okay, I got you.” You rock her back and forth, ignoring the uncomfortable shifts from people in their chairs.

Max finally stands, still sniffling. She squeezes your hand before taking her seat between Lucas and El.

You lean close to the microphone, shifting it slightly so you could stand straight. “Um, a few days ago, Max asked me to speak today,” You start to pull the wrinkled paper from your pocket, ignoring the smeared ink and tear stains before balling it up and tossing it to the side. He didn’t deserve something rehearsed, that’s not how either of you did things. You refuse to start today.

“Billy Hargrove was a lot of things. He was a student, an athlete, a brother,” You pause, giving a weak smile towards Max that she attempts to return, “A friend, and probably the love of my life. I know a lot about Billy, I know him better than anyone sitting here today. So, I thought I’d share with you who the real Billy Hargove is.” You breathe, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“If Billy ever told you that his favorite color was red, you shouldn’t have believed him. It’s actually blue. More specifically, he told me it was the color of the sky on a clear day.” You look towards the sky, the sun blinding you only for a moment. “Billy would’ve loved today. He’d look up at the sky, he’d close his eyes, and stand in silence. After a few moments he’d beckon for me, and I too would face the sky with my eyes closed. He’d ask if I could hear it, the waves, the seagulls. Truthbetold, I’d never be able to. I’ve never heard the ocean. But I’d always say yes.” You smile fondly at the numerous occasions where that exact scenario occurred.

“Billy was smart, he was one A away from a 4.0. He always took pride in having a higher GPA than me. Billy was also strong, and not just because he worked out everyday. No, Billy was strong because he had to be.” You glare at Neil for a brief moment, making him move awkwardly in his seat.

“Billy deserved so much more than what was given to him. I wish he could’ve seen California one last time. I wish he had the chance to leave this town, to start over, to never look back. He deserved that more than anyone else I know.” You take another breath, mind racing for something else to say, something to make people know Billy wasn’t the monster they believed him to be.

“California was his happy place. He told me many times that wherever I was, he was happy. But I always knew his happy was in California. Billy would tell me all kinds of stories about him and his mom. There was this one story where he caught a wave that was seven feet. He ran and told his mom who was on the shore. He never forgot to emphasize how pretty she was. How happy she was, how happy he was.” Tears prick your eyes, threatening to spill as you retell the story for the second time this week. This time, Billy wasn’t your audience. “He always talked about how one day he’d see her again. I wish he got that chance.”

“Billy died a hero, in many ways most of you could never understand. He died a hero to me,” Your eyes travel to find Nancy, Steve, and Johnathon. Each of them give a knowing, proud smile. You look at the young teens in the front row, the boys stare at their shoes, kicking their toe into the earth below. El wipes away tears, Max grins at you through hers, clinging to every word you speak. “To all of us. Even if you don’t know it.” With a final deep breath, you open your mouth one last time to finish your speech.

“Billy didn’t know peace for most of his life. I hope that he does now. And I hope wherever he is, the sky is forever clear, that he can see the ocean waves and hear the seagulls.”

Most people have left by now. Nancy and Johnathon made sure to give you hugs, Nancy reminded never hesitate to call. You said you would, but both of you know you’d probably never pick up the phone.

You sit alone staring ahead at the grey tombstone. “In loving memory of William Hargove. A loved brother and son.” You trace the words with your eyes over and over, unable to look away.

“I’m sorry,” You say quietly, “I know you would’ve wanted it this way. But it should’ve been me.” You stand, taking a final look at the empty cemetery. “I’ll love you until my heart stops, Billy Hargrove. I’m going to be yours forever, I promise.”

Forever Tags: @superfrankie111 // @rueinn // @lemonadeorange73 // @simplechicwithacrazedheart // @youshutthefuckupville // @captainpeggy40

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queen-rogah · 5 years ago

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Hold Me Close Before I Go (Roger Taylor x Reader)

Summary: In 1982, you are invited to his wedding. He was the love of your life before, but now you're just watching him showing his love with another woman, that is supposed to be you. You can't stop but to remember the things that had happened between the both of you that really struck your heart...

Warnings: THIS IS SOME PURE ANGST HERE, mild fluff, language

Word Count: 6.6k+ words

Note: I have rewatched Enchanted last night and I heard the song again,"So Close" by John McLaughlin and it really touched my angsty heart again with those freaking lyrics! So, I was inspired to make this angsty fic. Enjoy reading and try not to cry.

Ps. Btw, the other woman will be an OC :) aaaand there will be lots of flashbacks

A normal day. The sun is high and bright. Today is going to be one of the best days, you guessed...

Until the mailman stepped foot in your small porch, shouting you have mail as he put the letters and other envelopes in your mailbox and walk away to do his work to the other houses here. You have been living in this small house for almost 5 years, after your sudden breakup with Roger. You and him are sharing a wonderful apartment before, but when everything was a tragedy. You can't help but to do the right thing and leave the house and leave all the memories. He left the apartment behind too and that place have imprinted the memorable things you both did.

Now, you heard he bought a large mansion together with his new girl.

A better one. Better than you. A model slash actress.

You saw them in several paparazzi pictures together and in the newspaper. Ever since those pictures came out, you never set your eyes on the news page of a newspaper. Even on the television, when you hear their names, you immediately shut it off. It's so ridiculous to feel that it's been years and it's obvious he moved on about you, but you...there's still a part of your heart that really belongs to him.

And you still wear the golden heart necklace he gave to you in your first anniversary before. This is the only piece of memento left with you that holds a lot of memories.

You finished your cup of coffee and stepped outside your house, breathing in the summer breeze of London. You took all your mail from the box and put it on your coffee table. Some are letters from your parents, some are flyers from restaurants with coupons, some are letters from your boss at work and a gold envelope.

Wait, a gold envelope?

You set aside the other letters and hold the golden envelope and look at the back view of it with your full name in a beautiful handwriting. Your brows are furrowed, still staring at this paper in confusion.

Now, you snapped out of your confusion and opened the envelope wherein you smell a very nostalgic scent. And that made you stop and remember what that smell is...

You heard the front door opened to see him walking inside with a tired look of his face. He finally came back on tour and he went straight home to you, just like he promised.

"Hi love." He rasps, smiling at you as he sets his thing down the floor and open his arms for you to enter in.

Enjoying his warm welcome embrace and indulging his scent you truly love so much.

"God, I miss you so much Roger. I always love your perfume..." You grin at him as he caressed your hair. Then he suddenly hoist you up, carrying you by your thighs and you immediately wrapped your legs around his torso.

"I miss you too my love." He smiles and pulls you in a passionate kiss, now walking his way in your bedroom to continue his action.

You're gripping the necklace as the flashback ended in your mind. The scent coming from this envelope is helping you remember him, after all those years that you want to forget him, but with just this simple scent. It goes right back to you.

You soon pull out the letter inside the envelope, reading the contents and slammed it on the table. Your hands covered your face as you try to forget that you read that.

You're just thinking of him. You're just remembering your good times with him.

And now you just read the letter coming from the golden envelope saying, You are cordially invited to the wedding of Roger Meddows Taylor and Loreleigh Charlotte Jameson...

They will also held the wedding at Southwark Cathedral, where Roger promised you where he will marry you. And the reception will be at The Decorium. A very well-known reception venue.

After all the years of no contact from him, no calls, letters, whatsoever and now he have the nerve to invite you in his upcoming wedding--that is happening next saturday already.

But you're going to do this, for him and his bride. And after that, you will officially move on about him and even plan to give back the necklace to him. Your hands again held the necklace as a single tear fell down to your cheeks.

You're going to give back the necklace to finally forget him.

...

"He invited me ma," Your words came out as a whisper through the phone with your mother listening to you. She's been the only person that you share everything with and she knows how much you loved Roger since the beginning of your relationship with him. She's the first one who knew that you liked him, she's the first one who knew that he finally became your boyfriend, she's the first one who knew that you're moving in with him and she's the first one who knew that he broke your heart into a million pieces.

"Y/N, if he invited you, he wanted to see you there, maybe wants a support that that is his choice, to marry that woman..." Your mother replied and the word support coming out of her mouth made your choke in your tears.

"I don't think he'll receive get a single support from me ma, but he'll receive a proper goodbye from me," You responded, wiping away your tears. "I actually think he'll be the one for me, that we will also get married someday, turns out everything was just a joke to him. He just...he threw away my love and that love I gave was one of my best...and he just wasted it..."

He won't answer your calls. The phone was just ringing...constantly.

You gave up as you put down the phone, leaving this telephone booth and finally stepped inside the bus to go back home. You came from your parent's house for almost a whole month to spend time with them. Roger was left busy with all those interviews and different invites of television shows to perform on, but he's been telling you that he misses you always and it's sad that you're not with him in the house.

He's lonely without you.

After an hour from Canterbury to London, you took the cab back home to him. The cab came to a halt as it reached your destination. You handed him the fare and took your things, walking towards the front door of your shared apartment. You took your keys out and unlocked the door, seeing that no one is around.

That's why the phone is just constantly ringing to you earlier.

And it's already 8 in the evening, he's not home.

The scent of Roger circulates around the bedroom as you throw yourself on the mattress. Blankly staring at the ceiling. Your bags are still in the living room, you still have your winter clothes on.

He didn't say to you that he's going out, maybe with the other boys or some friends.

You took off your jacket and your scarf, soon standing up from the bed and made your way towards the kitchen to get a glass of water or something to drink. Then you found a beer inside the fridge as you opened and drink it.

Then suddenly you heard the door creak open from the living room as a smile appeared on your lips. You set the beer down on the counter and step out of the kitchen, only to be greeted by Roger, holding another woman--maybe a drunk woman--in his arms where you saw those marks around his neck, even though it's so dark in this room.

You saw it.

And your heart breaks.

"Y/N...I--"

"Fucking save it Roger, I don't want your excuses." You shut him off and turn your heel away as you march your way back to the bedroom to take your jacket and your scarf on the bed.

Roger followed you behind, leaving the dumbfounded young girl in the living room. You heard his footsteps approaching towards the door to see him out of breath.

"Y/N, I thought you'll come home by next week, I--"

"--Yeah Roger, you thought! You didn't answer my calls today because you're not home, and if you just answer my calls, you could know that I'm coming home early to you. Or if you answered my calls and knowing that I will come home early, maybe I'll just ruin your plans with that girl in our living room." You argued and walk by past him, but he caught your wrists, "What--Roger, let go of me!."

"Y/N, please...I'll make it up to you, just...don't go. You're the love of my life..." He cried and you hate seeing him cry.

"I gave all myself to you Roger. All my love and my life, but you just throw it all away in just one night."

Then you left him.

"I understand dear, it's just...give that man another chance, only for one day. If he wants to see you there, let him see you, and if he wants to talk to you, let him talk to you. Only for that day dear, his special day." She said and that made you fell into a silence.

"Okay ma. And by the way, can I borrow a dress from you? I don't have a proper dress for the ceremony." You dryly chuckled.

"Sure dear. What time will you come over?." She asked. You look over to the clock hanging on your wall to see it's already 2 in the afternoon.

"I'll come over right now." You said, hanging up on her as you jog your way up to your room to change your clothes. You took your car and house keys and finally left the house, driving towards your parent's house.

...

Your mother handed you the sixth dress from her closet to try on if it's decent for the ceremony. The others are just boring, too revealing and too overdressed to look but this dress that you're now trying on feels like it's the one you'll be wearing now. Your father was also watching you both from the door frame of the room, him reminiscing like it's your homecoming night before when you're in highschool back in the days.

"I like this one! This is the one!." You said inside the bathroom as you stepped out and show them the dress.

"You look perfect my dear, you can pair that with silver heels and diamond earrings," she said while smoothing out the dress on you, like she always do when you're wearing a dress and suddenly stare down on the golden heart necklace, "That can be the perfect necklace for the dress." She slightly smiled.

You sighed and looked down on the ground, "I plan on giving it back to him on the day of his wedding. I don't deserve this thing anymore, and...he should give it to her, maybe she'll look beautiful with it." You painfully smiled at the thought. Hearing his voice and imagining him giving this necklace to her and complimenting her looking so beautiful, like he did when he gave it to you before.

By the time you heard his car pulled up by your place, because you invited him to stay the night with you and just watch movies and cuddle with him, your giddy self jump up from the couch and opened the door, seeing him walking up to your door. You welcomed him with an embrace and a sweet kiss, your hands came to his long blonde hair as you pull away from each other, inviting him in.

"I'm sorry I'm late, me and the boys just had this emergency meeting with John Reid, about the upcoming third album. We'll have a meeting too with the EMI producer by the last week of this month too. Everything is just going insane love..." He sighs and you cupped his face, looking into his tired eyes.

"Then you should rest my love, I promise I'll make you breakfast next morning, I have to give everything back from what you did last week to me." You grin at him as he wrap his hands around you.

"Thank you Y/N, you're the best." He smiles and pull you in a kiss again.

But you pull away from him, "By the way, do you know what today is?." You put your hands around his neck as he think about it for a couple of minutes.

And it's making you feel sad.

He forgot it.

"Is it already September...?." He said with doubt as you huff out the air from your lungs and took a step back from him.

"Yes, you're right it's already September but...do you know what happened this day?." You gave him a hint again as he furrowed his brows at you. "Seriously Roger? You've forgotten it?."

You gave up and made your way inside the kitchen to take out your disappointment, but then you heard his footsteps closer to you and stood before you, looking at his hand now holding something.

"I'm just playing with you love, of course I remember everything this day. I remember you in that pub, wearing that beautiful red dress and your favorite fur coat. It's our third date and we go to the same pub where I first saw you. I complimented you in your dress, you teased me throughout the dinner and you ended up in my bed, like you always do after every of our dates," he said and you blushed when he mentions about you sleeping with him every after the dates with him, which is true, "And then I asked you to be mine while we're both in bed after sharing that intimate time with you. Of course I remember our anniversary and it's the most memorable day of my life."

You didn't said anything and just pull him in a passionate kiss again, "Just don't do that again Roger. It almost made me hate you." You pout your lips.

"I promise." He chuckles and soon showed you the red box in his hands as you gazed on it.

"What is it Roger?." You excitedly asked.

"Well open it."

You slowly open it and reveal a beautiful golden heart necklace before you.

"It's beautiful Roger." You beam, getting the necklace out of it's box and look at the heart. It's simple but it's so beautiful.

"Just remember that it's my heart that you stole it from me," he smiles.

"You cheeky bastard." You laughed.

He laughs with you too, "Well, it'll look more beautiful when you wear it." He said.

"Will you...?." You gave him the necklace, asking to put it on you.

"...Of course love." He mumbles as you turn your back on him, letting him wear the necklace on you. Locking it and also kissing your neck before you turn around for him.

"So? How do I look?." You grinned.

"Beautiful..." He replied.

The flashback made your heart even hurt you more. So you made your way back inside the bathroom and change up to your ordinary clothes earlier. You fold the dress and put it in a bag as you stayed with your parents until dinner and drive home safely with doubts in your head.

Asking yourself while looking at the dress inside it's bag, Am I really going to face him after all those years? Am I ready to talk to him again?

Those words are in your head until you fell asleep in your bed.

Alone.

...

The day of the wedding came. The day was perfect. The sun is up and bright. The sky clear.

You lastly put on the diamond earrings before looking at yourself in the mirror. Wearing this powder blue dress of your mother's to go to your ex-boyfriend's wedding. You took a deep breathe before plastering a smile, practicing on what you'll look like if you'll see him later. But the smile really shows something, it's not genuine happiness.

It's genuine sadness.

That's why you lost that smile again and look away from the mirror. You took your bag with your car keys, house key, and your wallet inside as you took your favorite fur coat, that Roger knows, and finally stepped out of the house. The drive to the cathedral wasn't bad at all and there was no heavy traffic. When you arrived there, you saw different people coming out from their cars and going inside the cathedral while wearing those fashionable dresses and suits. You awkwardly followed the other people inside the cathedral and saw the venue.

The pews are decorated with white roses, the red carpet on the aisle has little petals of white roses too and the altar was also decorated with white roses, scented candles and other beautiful flowers you can't really name. You are surprisingly early as you sat on the pew far behind so that nobody would ever see you or talk to you. You just have to watch.

But you failed until, "Y/N?." A voice came from behind you.

You turn around to see John Deacon standing before with his own family. His facial expression changed into pure happiness when he finally saw you again in the flesh and waste no time hugging you tightly. You hugged him back as you missed this person who's been your friend since college. You can't believe you abandoned him for years too, just because of the breakup.

"Bloody hell, I can't believe it's you Y/N...you're here...in Roger's wedding." His voice lowered down when he said those words as you just gave him a small smile.

"Gotta show him my support." You murmured, saying a complete lie to him.

"If you say so. The boys are coming too and I heard Roger is finally on his way. Freddie is his best man though..." He chuckles.

"Yeah, I knew..." Your voice cracked a bit, hoping he didn't noticed that.

"By the way, come join us with Brian up front. You're too far back Y/N..." Deacy held out his hand to you but you shake your head.

"No thank you Deacy, I can handle myself here. I'm still going to see you again in the reception." You put up a smile, the same smile you saw on your face through the mirror and he nod in reply.

"Okay Y/N, see you there." He said, coming close again as he pulls you in a hug again, planting a soft kiss on your temple before making his way to the front pew with his family and Brian.

You took a deep breath, trying not to break down and cry here. You felt his sympathy and it really bores you. Everyone does that. Even to yourself.

You saw the pity in his eyes. And you hated it.

The guests came in one by one until the cathedral is fully packed. You hide yourself in this pew with the other guests you didn't know, maybe they are the bride's family or friends and you're drowning in their different stories of the bride and Roger being perfect with each other. You also heard rumors about them only doing this to feed the media, but you didn't listen to those things. Roger would never do any of this effort with just a fake one. You knew he loves that woman.

And why would they gossip those things in their wedding day? And in a goddamn cathedral?

Two-faced people.

Their obnoxious sounds stopped when you heard the soft melodic sound of the organ played in the background. The people stood up, you also followed suit as you finally saw him. His arms around his mother while they walk down the aisle. He's wearing that white suit and white pants, and he have a white rose attached on his suit. This is the first time you ever saw his newly cut hair in person, since the last time you saw him is he still have a long blonde hair that you loved you twirl and pull.

Your stare at him lasted for a couple of minutes until he was now in front of the altar. They closed the doors once again as you ready yourself to see his bride. Closing your eyes to compose and try to calm down.

But then you suddenly imagined yourself, standing behind those closed doors. Your bridesmaids fixing the train of your wedding gown as they also fixed your hair. You can feel your heartbeat getting a little bit faster in so much excitement and a bit of fear. You watch the bridesmaids march inside the cathedral with their flowers and your maid of honor. And then you're left behind here, breathing in and out. You heard the bridal march music played as the doors finally opened for you, seeing him by the distance, enjoying himself seeing you walking down the aisle, steps away in becoming his girl, forever.

Then you open your eyes.

The imagination stops.

The doors are opened and you saw her walking down the aisle with that beautiful dress and a beautiful bouquet of flowers. You gaze at her, almost thinking like she's an angel. That's why Roger picked her. She's really beautiful.

She's really beautiful

...

The reception looked also familiar like in the cathedral. Multiple tables are around the place as you found your table with some new faces again, thankful that you're not sharing the table with those people in the cathedral earlier. The newly wed couple entered the place as you see her wearing a different kind of dress, a white body con dress that really hugged her curves so well and Roger also wore a different looking white suit and his shirt underneath has it's few buttons undone.

The people clapped for them.

You did it too.

"Um hi," the woman across you wants your attention as you looked at her, giving her a questioning look, "You know, I almost know everyone in this room except for you, whom are you here for...?."

You mentally rolled your eyes at her nonsense question. This is why you hated in sharing tables with someone you barely even know.

And Roger kept the relationship private before. Only the boys and your families knew you're both dating.

You didn't want the spotlight always following you as the legendary Roger Taylor's girlfriend before.

"Groom." You replied to her then shoots her a small smile before looking away again while drinking on your wine silently.

"Cousin? Friend? Ex-girlfriend?." She still goes on. A smirk appeared on her lips after mentioning about the ex-girlfriend thing.

Now you're officially uncomfortable.

"Just a friend," You replied back as you finished your drink before standing up from your chair, "Would you excuse me, I will go to the bathrooms." You pose a fake smile and walk away from the table.

You didn't actually go to the bathrooms, you just stood by the corner and lean against the wall while watching the people enjoy the whole evening. You took a champagne flute again from a roaming waiter and consume the drink in just one gulp. You heard the host saying that the speeches for the newly wed couple will be up next after all these dancing. You sighed deeply and immediately regretted that you came here, after that nosey woman in your table and now you have to listen to their speeches. Your heart's been so broken ever since their vows earlier.

You think it's finally the end of your night here.

You turn your heel around, ready to go, until you bump on someone that came from the direction of the bathrooms. You quickly apologized and looked up at the person as your eyes widened in surprise.

"Y/N?." He eyed you from head to toe with a huge smile on his face.

"Hi...Freddie." You responds as he lets out a chuckle before hugging you tightly in his arms. You have missed his embrace everytime that he'll see you before. Now years have passed, you are still enjoying his hugs.

"Oh darling, where have you been? I fucking missed you!." He happily exclaims while still keeping you in his arms.

You pull away from him to see him in the eyes, "I still live here in London, and I will never ever abandon this city. How about you? I heard you're now called as a rock legend." You smirked at him.

"Oh that's nothing dear, I know everyone calls Freddie Mercury a goddamn rock legend." His confidence went up again as you chuckled in his remark, "By the way, Roger...really invited you? Are you and him are already in good terms?." He asked.

You took an intake of breath, "Honestly, I don't know if we're actually good or not...but yeah, he invited me. He send the invitation to my mailbox Fred, so that means he also knows where I live right now." You replied to him.

"Roger has it's own ways, especially a way to you." Freddie answered you back and his words froze you.

"It's been 5 whole years Freddie, why would he still be thinking about me? And he have that beautiful woman already..." You look over to them having fun in front.

"Leigh is beautiful, we know that, but for me you're still the best Y/N. You're far more better than Leigh." Freddie said. His words sent you to the state of either happiness or sadness because your tears are building up again as you silently cried to him, letting out your weight off your shoulders.

Freddie comforted you until you've come down. He asked if you want to sit with them in the front table, which you don't want you happen, but he still wants to push you with him. So you did go with him.

Sitting just in front of them.

You're on full view just for him.

Freddie hold your hand tightly while walking towards their table. You see Brian and his wife, Deacy and his family, and other people who's close to Roger in the table. You're shy to come close, but Freddie surely doesn't notice you wanting to back out.

"I'm back darlings, and look who I found." Freddie announced in their table as they all looked at you, seeing their reactions.

Deacy already saw you in the cathedral, that's why he's just smiling widely at you now exposing yourself tonight. And Brian, he quickly stood up and pull you in his arms. You and Brian were friends ever since college and because of him you've met Roger.

"Where have you been Y/N? It's been years..." Brian whispered in my ear as you pull away from his hug.

"I'm always here in London Bri, I just...I just have to lay-low for all those years, after what happened..." You mumbled. They soon gave you a vacant seat before asking more questions about you and your life without Roger. It's sincere that they haven't brought out about your sadness without him, they just looked and asked you on the bright side.

Your chatters died down when the speeches are now starting. You gulped and just looked on your hands resting on your lap, not wanting to look in front.

You always heard the same words from each of their family and friends.

Congratulations to the both of you!

You both are going to have a wonderful time together!

You will have such beautiful babies!

After those people speaking through the microphone, they called up on Freddie who's sitting beside you as they all looked at him. That's the time you lift up your head and saw him looking directly at you in this very table. His look towards you was full of relief and a hint of genuine happiness. He finally saw you. Roger finally saw you.

You tear your eyes away from him and looked at Freddie who's now holding the mic to give out his speech, "Roger has been my friend ever since my college years. He's born to be a rockstar, the best drummer and has the best falsetto..."

The people laughed.

You also laughed.

Roger saw that. His heart swells.

"...but underneath that wild blonde hair and personality on stage, like me, I knew Roger as a very loving person. A compassionate and caring person, and I can see that to every person he truly loves," Freddie said as he turn his look to you, referring about his love to you instead of his love to his bride.

And that made you inhale deeply and looked down on your hands again, stopping your tears to fall down.

"And I can already really see it right in front of me, see?." Freddie saves himself as he chuckles. You looked up again to see her leaning on his shoulder and suddenly pull him in a soft kiss.

They look very in love. Like you both did before.

"Anyways, I am now to congratulate to this couple, don't forget to get me as your children's godfather because I'm going to spoil the bloody hell out of them. Roger and Leigh, I love you both, wishing you all the very best." Freddie smiles at them and finally gave back the microphone before going back to his seat beside you.

You felt Freddie's hand intertwined to your hand as you pressed your lips in a hard line and lean your head on his shoulder. You really missed him being your listener and your comforter.

"Y/N?." Freddie spoke amidst of your silence.

"Yeah?."

He looked at you, "You deserve anything and you deserve a proper love someday."

...

After all those messages, the dancing continues. A disco song was playing in the speakers and see the people having fun and dancing to the rhythm of the music. Roger and his bride were also dancing along, remembering Roger couldn't dance, so he's just holding her while she's letting herself loose in the music. You looked at the time and see it's already approaching to midnight.

You really want to go home and sleep and eat yogurt already.

But, "Y/N, will you dance with me?." Brian asks and he stood up from his chair and offers his hand to you.

"I'm not in the proper mood Bri..." You apologized to him as you showed him a tired smile.

But he didn't listen to your excuse.

"I'll set up the mood for you. Maybe this will be our last meeting and you'll be gone again..." He pouts his lips as you groaned, giving in for him.

You held his hand as he lead you in the dancefloor, just in time a slow song played as he showed you a small smile before pulling you close to him. Your hand resting on his shoulder, his hand on your waist as he slowly sway you around the slow beat of the music.

"Is Chrissy totally okay with this...position?." You awkwardly asked him as he lets out a dry chuckle.

"Chrissy trusts you too. She knows you're one of my closest friends." Brian explains.

"Okay," You smiled and looked up on him, "I really appreciate you all tonight, of how you welcomed me in your group again, of how you welcomed me in your arms and your comforts. I know it's been years after that incident and knowing that you guys panicked about me going missing for days..."

"It's been a week Brian! No one ever saw her anywhere! Even her own bloody mother doesn't know where she is!." Roger shouts at the guitarist who's as concern as him. He slammed the phone back to it's box after just speaking to your mother wherein she's also panicking over her daughter's vanishing.

"If it wasn't for what you did to her, she won't be running away and be missing for a couple of days!." Brian argued back to him. Freddie and Deacy are only sitting on the couch. Silent.

Roger fell in silent after what Brian just said.

"I can't apologize for what you did to her Roger. She's one of the most important people for me and I trusted you to take care of her heart before when I brought you two together. I thought you changed for her, turns out you actually didn't..." Brian hissed at the drummer before walking out of the room.

You disappeared for a week and three days without anyone knowing where you are. You didn't informed them that you went to Munich and stayed there to have a silent life but after those days, you went back home to your mother and eventually found a house in London. Only your mother knew you have the house.

You stopped in front of the house you bought with all your savings and some of your mother's help. You have your things inside the car and brought them in one-by-one, the furnitures will come by shortly too. You stood inside and fell into a deep silence, your eyes looking around.

"I deserve this fresh start..."

"...and I'm sorry that I let you guys worry so much about me. I ran away to bring out the sorrow in me and for what he did to me." You finished your sentence as you felt his heartbeat became a bit erratic.

He sighed, "Enough with this dramatic thing, I saw you laugh earlier and I'm going to keep that smile on your face...by doing this..." Brian said as he suddenly spins you around and did some simple waltz with him.

Until you heard someone cleared their throat and you both stopped dancing around to see Roger, finally standing before you with his hands behind him. He does that when he's nervous.

"Hey Rog, can we help you with something?." Brian asked, still has his hands around you. You're just quiet in front of him, not knowing how to greet him or else.

"Can I...dance with Y/N?." He politely asked and that your heart skipped a beat as Brian slowly let go of his touch to you and looked down on you.

"Y/N? Is it oka--"

"--yes Bri, it's okay. I'll let Roger dance with me." You cut him off as he nod his head before walking away from him and you. You can't look into his eyes as you just waited for his next move. The next song finally came in and it's still a slow one. (imagine "So Close" playing) You're breathless, shaking, nervous as your eyes look around the room, looking for the bride.

"She knows." Roger said.

"Knows...what?." Your eyes slightly widened.

That you have history with him?

"That I'm dancing with you," He soon took your hand on your side and put it on his shoulder as he slowly pull you close. The nostalgic scent of his hit you the wave of reminiscence and longing. After almost 5 whole years, this is the first time you'll stand so close to him again. You tried to stop your tears but some already fell down but you automatically wipe it away.

"Did she know?..." You asked him.

"No, she doesn't." Roger replied to you.

You didn't replied to anything but just continue swaying you around in this dancefloor. When the music suddenly reached to it's instrumental part, you saw his smile that you missed so much as he twirls you around. You let out small giggles here and there that's why he have the biggest smile right now.

"I miss that laugh. I miss that smile. I miss all of you..." Roger whispered in your ear as he continues swaying you with him in the music.

You really want to tell him that you missed him so much too but what if someone will hear you both. That will surely ruin his wedding day.

"You are one of the people who completes my life but when you betrayed me, a part of me really have a hole. A hole that you left me after what you did. I didn't take a revenge on you and did some horrible things because you don't deserve that," You muttered and you finally reached on the nape of your neck to unlock your necklace then slide it off you.

"Y/N, what are you--"

"--give me your hand Roger." You said. He was hesitant at first, but he knows that you're serious already.

He showed out his palm as you lay the golden heart necklace on it, "This is what you deserved. I'll let you remember what you did to me when you gave me this necklace and do the same thing for her. Give the necklace to her...for me." Tears soon ran down your cheeks as you wipe it away again.

"But this is your's Y/N. I gave this for you and only for you." He said while trying to give back the necklace to you, but you're stopping him.

"I don't deserve that necklace anymore. No one will ever say that the necklace will look beautiful on me anymore, at least if you give that to her, you'll compliment her everyday with that beautiful necklace." You replied, your hand playing along the thin chains of the necklace laying on his hand. Then your fingers ran through his palm, so calloused and rough from all the years of drumming for Queen.

"Now hold me close before I go." You whispered in his ear as he held you again, swaying with the music. You have your head resting upon his chest to hear his heartbeat.

"I love you always Y/N." He whispers to you. You remember those words making you happy and contented, but when you heard it right now, you just felt your heart break and feel that pain that never goes away.

You lift your head to him and look into his eyes that is dried from his tears, "I love you too always Roger," You choked on your tears and took a step back from him.

"...and goodbye." You mumbled before you walk away from him. Away from the crowd and away of this venue. You didn't said your goodbyes to the others, you just walk past straight the people who's also dancing and out in the parking lot. You got inside your car and turn the ignition on before you drive away from this place, crying and still hoping if everything will be okay for you.

Hoping you'll be okay.

Hoping your heart to be stitched up into whole again.

_____________________________ this is the reader's dress in the wedding:

This fic turned out to be a long one and a very very angsty one because I only planned the fic to only have the scenes in the wedding ceremony and the reception area.

Hope you liked this fic!

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x you #roger taylor angst #queen band #queen fanfiction #queen fic #queen imagines #queenrogah's fic

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munsonsduchess · 4 years ago

Text

So. I re watched The Magnificent Seven again because I’m at home self isolating until my housemates covid test comes back in a couple days so I made some notes. Presented below as I watched the film … again

Teddy looks like he wants to say something to encourage Matthew not to speak but like he just can’t find the courage to speak up

Everyone turning to stare at Sam as he rides through the town. Like they aren’t used to seeing a man of colour make something of himself.

The bartender who tells Sam they don’t serve ‘that kind’ as a direct insulation that they don’t serve Sam’s kind. Which could have just been because Sam is a lawman and the barman is an outlaw but could also be more than that

Faraday isn’t as stupid as he looks. He knows exactly who Dan is and what Sam’s purpose was. He could tell something was happening and was ready in seconds with a gun drawn to help Sam.

He sticks around after everyone runs out because he knows Sam’s occupation and seems to want to know more.

Emma has obviously been searching for someone who could help for a long time. Teddy stopping her from talking to Sam and her acceptance seems to imply that they’ve spoken to people before but that no one has taken them seriously. Maybe because Emma is a woman

Emma is clearly ready to offer up anything she can to find ‘righteousness’. It also seems like she’s more than ready for a fight.

Sam had decided upon hearing Bouge’s name that he would take the job and then when Emma shared her convictions he knew he could pass off his intentions as unselfish if anyone asked

Faraday cheats at cards and is scared of the dark confirmed. He’s also clever enough to use his wits to get out of a situation when he’s seemingly at the mercy of two other men

Faraday has issues around killing people. He clearly shows remorse for his actions. He doesn’t seem to like violence but he’ll use it to get what he wants if he needs to

Does Faraday know who Joan of Arc is?

He’s also apparently willing to throw his life away for strangers

Emma is not here for your shit

Teddy is a good boy and he’s here to help his friend on her vengeance quest as all good friends should

Vasquez wants Sam to know that he’s not the type of man who kills in cold blood. He uses Emma as leverage because a white woman’s death will look worse for Sam

Sam offers to tear up the warrant to get Vas on his side but I have the feeling he would have done it anyway

Vas taking a minute to decide and figuring if he works with Sam there’s a possibility of him going free and not having to run anymore

GOODY! That hip swagger

“That’s ok son you just pay me double” Goody is a respected member of the community and his reputation proceeds him so there is a level of fear there at offending him or anyone associated with him

Faraday is clearly interested to see how people react to or behave around Goody. To see how the man stacks up to the story

Goody very interested in who Faraday and Teddy are and what they have to say. Putting them off their game by speaking in the middle of the saloon while he’s getting a shave

“I keep him employed and he keeps me on the level” clearly Billy has been helping Goody with his demons far beyond what we see later

Goody and Sam being friends warms my heart

That good old southern breeding. Goody can’t resist being charming

“Ain’t no such thing as a Texican” that’s one hell of a loaded statement right there

“This is not going to end well” couldn’t have said it better myself Goody

The Famous Pigeon Brothers who weren’t famous for very long

“I believe that bear was wearing peoples clothes” Joshua the man was snuck up on in the dead of night, had a boulder smashed over his head and has been tracking the culprits for two days. I don’t think you’d be in your right mind either

“Don’t call the alligator big mouth till you cross the river” Goody just has all the best advice

IT’S MY BOY!

There’s obviously something Faraday is trying to drown in all that whiskey and Teddy knows it which is obviously why he tells Faraday to keep it

Emma doesn’t trust Farday at all

Goody knows what’s up although he’s not one to talk about the battle behind him

MY SON! HE’S SO PRETTY I WANT TO CRY

Sam giving Vas the gun so he’s less threatening to Red. Same way he left his gun outside when they went after Vas

I love that Martin cut his hair off to be historically accurate but damn what I wouldn’t have given for a long haired Red in this movie

Peace offering or trolling? Both? Both.

“Yeah ok I trust you now”

Can I also say I love how Martin learnt to ride bareback for the historical accuracy? Like historical accuracy is my jam. Now I just wonder how accurate the costumes are

“Oh good it’s a black man and an Asian man quickly call your children inside for who knows what havoc they might bring”

I do love how the racism is never as overt as someone using a slur but it’s always there just under the surface

“Manservant? Really?”

Did they practice how they were going to come into town and look imposing or do they all just instinctively know how to pose? I know Goody does anyway

I cannot keep a straight face when Farday calls himself the worlds greatest lover

Sam has no time for these Blackstone men and I am here for it

Sam’s horse is just called Horse

Goody having PTSD flashbacks before the shooting even starts since he’s clearly triggered by just the situation

A western staple where the bad guys always miss and the good guys never do

At times like this Mal Reynolds comes to me speaking words of wisdom “shoot the man not the horse, a dead horse is cover, a live horse is a whole lot of panic”

Faraday and Vas being very gay and poor confused Red like “tie him up what?”

“Lincoln like the president” and goody just “oh damn”

Someone please give Emma a better shirt. She’s gonna spill out of that one

“Seems I was the only one with balls enough to do so” damn right you were

Emma just breaking down when there’s no one around to see her use she has to be strong

“Fame is a sarcophagus” “what’s a syllable?”

TABLE MANNERS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD TABLE MANNERS

Goodbye to the working girls the town isn’t the same without them

Emma has a better shirt! She still looks like she’s gonna spill out though

Shooting lessons with Goody and Faraday

“The way of northern aggression”

Billy’s class just running away because he’s way too good

“Make me some eggs”

“GET SOME GRAVEL IN YOUR CRAW!”

Faraday trying to goad Goody into proving himself. Sam’s wariness and Goody turning around and showing Faraday just why he got the title he did despite the reasons why he doesn’t pick up a rifle anymore

Do any of them know what Jack is talking about?

“So far so good”

We’re to assume it’s Goody picking off Bouge’s men at the mine since he’s the only one who could make those sorts of shots which means Sam has talked him into doing it even though he’s seen what happened to Goody during the initial fight

“I’ve always wanted to blow something up”

The look on the faces of the people who live in town as the miners come through. They’ve always lived separately from these men and now they’re forced to look at their faces and see just how they’ve all been living

Sam putting the dynamite in the hotel like it’s no big deal

Poor Peter Skarsgard. He’s the bad guy or the poor Dad in a horror movie while his dad is spooning Colin Firth on a boat in Greece

“I worked for my money. I wasn’t given a million dollar loan. I’m a good guy”

Emma can shoot just fine. She does not need you Faraday

“I had a father thank you” “I didn’t” proceeds to show off as if to prove himself

“They say the nightmares never go away” no they really don’t ask Goody

“Avenge me!” Yeah faraday it’s not that hard

“I am to fight” “it comes to that and we’re all dead” excuse you Sam but Emma is the one who brought you here and she’s the one who’s been raring for the fight since the beginning but sure put her with the women and children

I’m also so mad they cut out of the scene of Vas and the school teachers kid talking

“I have three Maria’s!”

I’m afraid of owls too goody you aren’t alone

TABLE MANNERS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

How long had Bouge been in Rose Creek and making the residents live in fear? That it had to be the seven who were able to show them how to live their life again

Those loose white shirts though 👌🏼

Squinting into the sun as the realisation dawns

Sam knows Goody better than Goody knows himself and Goody knows Sam better than Sam knows himself

Sam doing his best to help his friend with his PTSD but Goody just can’t

“It looks like he’s started to drink” that’s because Goody was his friend his best friend and there are untold emotions and god knows what else between them and now that man had left but not just that but left him behind is torturous

“I’m hungry” You little shit!” Red Harvest. Professional Troll

Sam seeking refuge in what’s left of the church. Feeling the proverbial noose tightening as he clutches at his neck

Emma reminding us what this whole endeavour is for. How it all started. How it’s going to end

Bouge sitting back because he’s sure his hired men will be enough. He’s never faced opposition before so he’s confident he still won’t. Or at least that his money will solve all his problems

Also if Red only wears his war paint for special occasions and if he was tracking the group prior to joining them does that mean he put his war paint on specifically to talk to Sam

Another man in Goody’s spot in the bell tower because presumably he’s the second best shot with a rifle or the only other person they could trust up there

A+ use of Fox holes though

Jack reciting his prayers as he goes absolutely feral

Faraday’s happy little smile when he finally gets to blow something up

Jack trying to help as many men as he can, men who are fathers, husbands, good honest men

Bouge who doesn’t seem to care one ounce that the people in the village are being slaughtered and bringing the battling gun out just for extra overkill

“You ok güero?” “So far so good”

“We still have men there sir” proof that Bouge does not care one single ounce for human life that isn’t his own

That rebel yell

“The devils breath” I can only imagine how a Gatling gun got that name especially from a war vet who’s likely seen countless friends allies and enemies alike be blown down by this devil

Faraday being concerned for the children even though he’s injured himself

Jack protecting Teddy at the cost of his own life. Defiant of Denali to the end But accepting his death with a sigh believing in his faith that he’ll be rewarded in heaven and reunited with his family

“I knew you’d be back” Billy has so much faith in Goodnight and I’m gonna cry

Emma with an empty gun putting herself in front of an injured man between the injured man and Denali

Denali ain’t shit!

“You’re a disgrace”

“My daddy used to say a lot of things” these two I cannot cope

“I might need a new vest” Faraday you reckless idiot

“Hit the steeple”

“I got him!” “Oh Goody” I’m not crying you’re crying

I know there’s a lot of talk about Chris Pratt being the worst Chris but he was so good in this movie I swear. Which yeah I know doesn’t change anything but when you see him playing Faraday in that last scene where it’s all down to him. I can’t

“I’ve always been lucky with one eyed jacks”

Nope definitely not crying. Not me

Bouge’s complete disregard for human life as he surveys the town

Bouge V Sam

“If god didn’t want them sheered he wouldn’t have made them sheep” says a man who feels no remorse at all for the blood on his hands

This time it’s Bouge who’s going to feel the noose tighten and I am here for the cinematic drama of it all

God won’t save you now Bouge. Run into the church you like. It’s not going to help

“Ask for forgiveness” The reveal of the rope mark. What Sam has been doing in Rose Creek this whole time. Why he took the job at the mention of Bouge’s name

#duchess.txt #mag 7 #the magnificent seven #duchess watches mag 7 #part one

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alexhogh7137 · 4 years ago

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Rule The World with Me-

Ivar the Boneless × Reader

Story Summary: Ivar travel's to Kiev to escape his brothers, where he meets you and hopes that you will be his queen.

Chapter Twenty-Three: A Relaxing Day in Kiev

Chapter Summary: You and Ivar spend most of your day in bed. Ubbe and Torvi head back to Kattegat.

Word Count 2,035

Warnings: Fluff, a little bit of angst (not really)

_____________________________________

The sun is shining bright on this day. No clouds are in the sky, just the most beautiful blue to ever be seen. The birds are singing their tunes and the animals are dancing in the trees. You roll over to see your husband laying flat on his back. His arm is above his head and his chest rises and falls so beautifully and calmly.

You smile and ask yourself, how did I get so lucky? You use your hand to move away a piece of hair that has fallen on his face. You move your body to lay on top of his. Once you are comfortable, you squeeze him a little tighter and nuzzle your face in his chest. You feel his arm wrap around your waist and he moans. You smile and place a kiss on his chest, to which he tightens his grip.

Ivar "Mmm, good morning princess."

"Nope, we aren't getting up yet."

Ivar chuckles, "Oh we aren't?"

"Uh uh..just wanted to get closer to you."

Ivar squeezes both of his arms around you and nuzzles his hand into yours. "How is this?"

"Mmm much better."

Ivar "okay, kitten. Sleep tight."

…

It is early afternoon by the time you and Ivar wake back up. You probably would've stayed in bed all day if you didn't have to feed two people (you and your child). Ivar uses the chains above the bed to help lift him up in the mornings. He puts on clothing and you do the same. You decide to go with a blue and white dress for this day, you haven't worn it in the longest time. Ivar gets up using his crutch and looks up at his beautiful wife.

Ivar "So perfect." You turn around and smile at your beloved. You never get tired of how much he compliments you, given that your late husband never did.

"Thank you, babe. Do you think Ubbe and Torvi have left already?"

Ivar "No, I don't think so. Kiss?"

You walk up to him, wrap your arms around his neck and lean up to kiss him. He smiles into the kiss and pulls you closer by your waist.

Ivar "Can I kiss you forever? Hmm?"

You kiss him again, "Yes. I would love to kiss you forever, my love." He kisses you once more and then drags you out of the bedroom doors. You walk out to see Hvitserk, Ubbe, Torvi and Igor sitting around the dining table talking and laughing. It is such a beautiful sight to see your family happy given yesterday's circumstances.

Ivar "Eating without us, are we?"

Hvitserk "Well good morning Ivar, it's almost three." You burst out laughing and lean into Ivar's side.

"Hey, you told us to sleep in! We simply took your advice." You say and take a seat at the head of the table.

Hvitserk "I'm only kidding, little sis."

Ivar "When are you leaving, brother?"

Ubbe "Before night fall. I want to spend some more time with you all before we head back to Kattegat."

Hvitserk "How is Thora?"

Ubbe "She is doing well, brother. Why don't you just come home, and see her?"

Hvitserk "No. No. I must stay here to see the birth of my godchild."

Ivar "You can go home, Hvitserk. We will send news when we think Y/n is close to delivering."

Hvitserk "But I promised Y/n-"

"It's okay, Hvitserk. Go home to your beloved."

Hvitserk grabs your hand and gives it a little squeeze. "I'm not leaving you."

Ivar "Well what about you bringing her here then, huh?"

Hvitserk "That's not a bad idea.."

Torvi "When I get back to Kattegat, I can tell her you wish to see her."

Ubbe "I'll have a few guards be with her on her travels, if you would like."

Hvitserk "Okay, let's do that. Are you sure Ivar?"

Ivar "Of course. I want you to be happy here in Kiev, not sad because you are missing your woman."

Hvitserk "Thank you, brother."

Igor "I can't wait for the day I get married.."

Ubbe "Oh yeah?"

Igor "Yes. You are all happy with your special someone's...I want to be happy too."

"Well we all have been through a lot of heartache to get to where we are today, dear boy. I was with your uncle before I met Ivar, Hvitserk was with a slave before he met Thora, and Ubbe was once married before he was with Torvi. It's not always perfect love the first time around."

Ivar "Y/n is right. You are still young, dear Igor. You will find love one day, but for right now...focus on being a kid. Because once you aren't a kid anymore, you have bigger responsibilities."

Igor "Yes, my king."

Ubbe "I remember when we were kids, brothers."

Hvitserk "Oh no.."

Ivar "So do I, it was horrible.."

Ubbe "Not every memory is horrible, Ivar."

Ivar "No but many are. You aren't a cripple are you, Ubbe...huh?"

Ubbe "No but we have some fun memories!"

Ivar "Like what? Hmm? Tell me..because what I remember is being pitied by everyone, Sigurd being mean to me every chance he got, watching father die before my very eyes and losing mother to that bitch Lagertha.. so tell me Ubbe. What is a good memory?" Hvitserk hung his head down because he knew that Ivar was right. Ivar's childhood was much different than theirs. He couldn't fight like they could, he couldn't do a lot of things that they did.

Ubbe "I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even said anything."

Hvitserk "We might not have good memories as kids but we have these past few days. These will be good memories to look back on. We won a battle together as brothers!"

Ivar "That is true, Hvitserk. I am glad that you are all here right now. But don't tell me that I had a fun childhood Ubbe, because it was no such thing." Ubbe didn't say another word. You could see the pain in Ivar's eyes. He was probably having horrific flashbacks come into his mind because he was breathing heavily and his eyes were glassy.

"Ivar, look at me. You might have had a rough childhood but look at your life now-"

Ivar "I am going to be a father."

You smile, "Yes you are. You have also ruled Kattegat, a Christian village and now you are ruling Novgorod with me!"

Ivar "You are right, my love. I am so happy."

Hvitserk smiles, "I have never seen you this happy, brother. And that makes me happy. I love you."

Ivar "You do?"

Hvitserk "Yes, I do Ivar. We have had our rough patches but the gods put me back into your life for a reason and ever since I have been here, I have grown closer to you every single day."

Ivar "I love you too, brother."

_____________________________________

Ubbe and Torvi are preparing to head back to Kattegat. You will be sad to see them leave but you understand why they can't stay any longer. Ivar has been mostly silent for the remainder of Ubbe's time here and it broke your heart.

"My love, will you talk to me. What is going through your mind right now." You walk up to where he is sitting, and pull his face into your torso, unbraiding his hair.

He sighs, "My childhood. It was terrible, princess."

"From what I heard earlier, I can only imagine how hard that all was for you. And I am sorry."

Ivar "But if none of that would have happened, I probably wouldn't be here with you right now. I wouldn't be in the happiest place in my life."

"Everything does happen for a reason Ivar, good and bad. The gods always make things happen for the greater good."

Ivar "Yes, they do-"

Ubbe "Ivar, Y/n..we are leaving!" You and Ivar walk over to say goodbye to Ubbe and Torvi.

Torvi "It was so nice to meet you, beautiful! Send me news of your baby, will you?"

"Yes, of course! You as well, I can't wait to meet the little guy." Torvi agrees and pulls you into a hug. She has become one of your closest friends during this period of time. You and her talked the days away while your husband's planned the battle. You are going to miss her company.

Ivar "Goodbye Ubbe, thank you for coming to help my wife and I."

Ubbe "You are very welcome. Anytime, I will always be here for you and Y/n. You believe that, yes?"

Ivar "Yes. Safe travels home, brother."

Hvitserk walks over to Ubbe and they give each other big bear hugs.

Hvitserk "See you soon, brother." They bud heads and they walked out the door.

….

Your back started to ache, so you decide to take a bath to calm your senses. Ivar and Hvitserk sit down in the formal room and chat for a bit.

Hvitserk "It's going to be nice to have Thora here."

Ivar "Yes, I think so too. Y/n will get along with her very well."

Hvitserk "Oh they will love each other!" They both giggle and take a drink of ale.

Hvitserk "I want to apologize, Ivar."

Ivar looks up at his brother, "What?"

Hvitserk "You heard me. I want to apologize for fighting against you, choosing Bjorn's side..I regret it immensely."

Ivar "I know you do, brother."

Hvitserk "I really do. I was angry and acted on those feelings. I was blind to his schemes and I am so sorry for fighting against you, Ivar."

Ivar "Thank you. I forgive you. I don't want to think about the past anymore, Hvitserk. I just want to focus on the here and now and my future with my family."

Hvitserk "I agree completely. I just had to say it because it was bothering me. I love you, you are my brother and I want to stay in your life."

Ivar "You will. I love you too, dear brother. I am glad that you decided to stay...I would have been sad to see you leave."

Hvitserk "Yeah well, I'm not leaving anytime soon."

Ivar "Good."

_____________________________________

You were on the verge of dozing off in the tub when Ivar came in.

Ivar "Awe kitten, come on. The water must be cold by now. Let's get you to bed." You reach down to drain the tub before he takes your hand to help you out of the tub. He raps you in clean fur and takes you to bed. You are so relaxed and your muscles feel so good. Once your body hits the warm mattress, you melt into it like butter. Ivar joins you after a few seconds and giggles seeing his wife so sleepy after sleeping most of the day away.

Ivar "So sleepy, huh?"

"Mmm."

Ivar "This baby is sucking the life out of you tonight!"

"Mm I'm just so relaxed from the bath."

Ivar "I am glad. Your back was bothering you earlier, I am pleased to see that the bath helped you."

"Me too, I should start to feel the baby kick very soon!"

Ivar "How exciting!" He grabs your belly, one of his favorite things to do, "I had a vision this morning about our child, my love."

"Yeah?"

Ivar "mmhmm. It is a boy, and he has your beautiful blue eyes and my smile. He is strong and whole." He watches your smile grow bigger and bigger across your face, "and wanna know the last part of the vision?"

"What is it?"

Ivar "....Hvitserk cried." You started to laugh, making Ivar laugh with you.

"He definitely will. He already loves it just as much as we do."

Ivar "I know he does. I can't wait to see that vision become our realities."

"It will soon enough, just a few more months, my love."

Ivar "I love you so much," he looks down, "and I love you so much little one."

"We love you, Ivar." He kisses you and you melt into the kiss. You swear that you fall more and more in love with him everyday. You feel so blessed.

_____________________________________

@hvitserkmarcosource @youbloodymadgenius @ivaraddict @ivarthebonelessvk @ivar-andersen @ivarthebonelesspage @ivarthebloodyking @desiredposion

#alex hogh andersen #ivar the boneless #hvitserk #marco ilsø #ubbe lothbrok #jordan patrick smith #torvi vikings #vikings #rule the world with me

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katehuntington · 5 years ago

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Title: Changes - part six Word count: ±5000 words Summary “Changes”: Huntress Zoë Sullivan (OFC) crosses paths and swords with the Winchesters, when the brothers stumble on a case she’s already working. When complications arise, they are forced to work together. Summary part six: Zoë remains one step in front Dean, which annoys the cocky hunter. As new details about the case unravel, both Winchester brothers find out that the independent woman is not planning to share. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Demon possession, supernatural creatures/entities. Smut, swearing, alcohol use/addiction. Kidnapping, mentions of torture and murder, illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: I couldn’t be more excited to share Supernatural: The Sullivan Series with you. There are quite a few people I want to thank: @coffee-obsessed-writer, @soupornatural & @mrswhozeewhatsis, who edited the early drafts, and my girls @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish & @winchest09 who are deciphering the recent version. Everyone who encouraged me to go for it, you are awesome!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist 01x01 “Changes” Masterlist

Dean squints when he steps into the light. A clear blue stretches out across the sky, the bright color gradually turning paler as it closes in on the horizon. He’s outside in the parking lot crammed with cars; the desk clerk wasn’t lying when he said he was fully booked. The place doesn’t have a sinister feel to it anymore like it did last night, allowing the hunter to let his guard down on this caffeine-deprived morning. The older Winchester brother needs a fix and he needs it badly. Sam drank all the instant coffee and he refuses to drink that shit from the machine in the lobby.

He expected it to be chilly outside, but the sun feels pleasantly warm. Sam woke him up, turning up the volume of the radio completely during the drum solo of a Guns ‘N Roses song. Not because his little brother likes that particular music, but he does like to watch Dean bolt upward in bed. Payback, because the older Winchester can’t deny that he pulled a similar prank on his brother more than once. Honestly, he’s glad Sammy is starting to mess with him again. It’s been a while since they acted like siblings. The joke was a good wake up call, too, he has to admit, but he still feels hungover: wrecked, tired and in desperate need of a cup of coffee, or several.

Traffic rushes by, most of the cars and trucks entering the city of Rochester. It’s a big town, big enough for people to disappear in without others noticing. For a moment, he thinks of those the shapeshifter already took. Sam found a string of at least three disappearances and that conclusion was drawn from the information he had access to offline while Dean was driving up north. These people could be anywhere. Dead? Probably. Going to die if they don’t find that bastard’s hideout fast? Definitely. But before he can work, he needs food, too. Dunkin’ Donuts, now that would be a treasure in this town.

When he asked Sam where Zoë was, all he got was “out”, followed by, “she’s already getting us lunch” when Dean grabbed his wallet and intended to leave. He went outside anyway, in need of some fresh air. His shoulder is throbbing, shooting daggers through his arm whenever he moves it, but as long as he keeps it still, it’s not too bad. In the bathroom earlier, he did peel the gauze back slightly to check the injury, and he has to admit that he was impressed. He might not be able to stand Zoë, but she did an awesome job removing that bullet and sewing him back together. Plus, the painkillers she offered are a God’s gift.

Slowly, he strolls towards his car. The pitch-black Chevrolet Impala blinks in the sun, chrome glistening. Dean smiles; what a sight for sore eyes. He’s honored to own the car Dad gave him a while back. Not just because she’s such a joy to drive, but because it was Dad’s first car. He kind of owes it to his old man to take good care of her. It’s what he expects him to do; to look after the family. “Hey, Baby,” he greets his Chevy, letting his fingertips glide over the trunk. “Since when have we reached the phase that you call me ‘baby’?”

Dean looks over the top of the Impala and finds Zoë’s Harley parked on the other side, but he can’t spot the owner. When he moves around his car he finds her, laying on her back underneath her bike. “Who says I was talking to you?” Dean returns, leaning against the hood. She crawls from under the Road King and judgmentally observes him for a few seconds, then she grabs a socket wrench and slips back under. “Right, men talk to their cars. I forgot they do that,” she nags.

Dean grins and decides not to respond; it’s still early and he’s not sharp yet. The rhythmical sound of the bolt being turned sounds like music to his ears and he has the sudden urge to pull his tools out of the trunk and get some work done himself. But Baby is fine, she doesn’t need any TLC right now. “What’s wrong with your bike?” Dean asks curiously. “I was in a bit of a hurry last night, probably hit a speed bump. It’s just the gasket, nothing serious,” she explains, keeping her eyes on the exhaust. “And what’s wrong with you?” he rephrases his question. “Excuse me?” Caught off guard, she pauses, but doesn’t make an effort to get out from under her Harley. Dean doesn’t bother to repeat himself. “You heard me.” “There’s nothing wrong with me, Shortbus.” Zoë continues tightening the bolt, faster than she did a moment ago, annoyed about the fact that she doesn’t know where he’s going with this. “Then what is that bandage doing there?” Dean asks smartly. Startled, Zoë sits up and hits her head hard against the chrome outlet of her bike, causing a loud bang. Cursing like a sailor she lands back on the ground. “Ow! Fucking hell!”

She didn’t realize her shirt crawled up. Dean smirks at the string of strong language, but hides his smile when she surfaces from under the bike. Irritated, she pulls down her buttoned shirt to hide the gauze through which a little bit of blood has formed a perfect circle in the shape of a bullet wound. She uncomfortably pretends like neither he nor she saw it and disappears under her Harley again. Dean, of course, isn’t going to let it go. “Did Sam shoot you?” “What?” “Last night he fired two bullets. Did he shoot you?” Dean repeats. The huntress scoffs. “Ha! Your little bro isn’t that fast on the draw.” “I’m not kidding,” he states seriously. “Someone apparently was.”

She gives the bolt one last turn and appears from under the bike, this time without hitting her head. Annoyed, she looks up at him, lightning in her brown eyes. Zoë is nowhere near admitting to him what went down. Shit. How the hell is she gonna talk herself out of this one? “Don’t worry, Sam won’t get the credit,” Zoë comments snarky, as she grabs a dirty cloth and cleans her hands, looking away. “If he didn’t do it, who did?” he interrogates, clearly not accepting a smart answer. “What does it matter? It’s nothing serious,” she mutters, getting up. “It is. You got shot, damn it,” Dean argues. “So did you. How’s that shoulder by the way?” Zoë quickly changes the subject, but Dean is smart enough not to take the bait. “No - no - no,” He shakes his head and grins. “I’m not gonna fall for that one. My shoulder’s fine, thanks, but you’re still answering that question.” She sighs; seems like there’s no way out of this. “It’s not that bad, it was a clean shot,” she assures, still avoiding Dean’s question. “Did you get the bullet out?” Dean asks, almost parental. Zoë narrows her eyes at him. “Of course I got the bullet out.” “Who shot you?” he asks again, slowly this time.

Zoë doesn’t answer and saunters up to him, after which she leans against Dean’s Chevy as well. Her hair, still damp from the shower she took earlier and seems black. Despite the crappy night, her natural tan gives her a healthy appearance. The only thing that gives away that she’s tired, are the slightly visible dark circles under her eyes. When she looks aside, she meets Dean’s gaze, who’s waiting for some kind of response. With a sigh, she gives him an answer. “The shapeshifter.” Dean’s eyebrows shoot up, needing a moment to analyze her words. He doesn’t know which question he needs to ask first. “You ran into him?”

Zoë averts her gaze, debating her conscience. Should she tell him? She knows he will keep digging until he does, but she could lie, obviously. Oh, what the hell. She might as well give him the whole story. “Yeah, yesterday evening. I had an appointment with a possible next victim, this guy called Cliffer. Turned out the son of a bitch already shed into him,” she explains. “Wait… Cliffer? As in Terry Cliffer?” Dean double checks. She suspiciously tilts her head while looking at him. “Yeah.” “Shit.” He rubs his face, realizing what is going on. “You’re Sharon Evans.” “What? How the hell do you know my alias?” Zoë asks with a tone. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think Sam technically did get you shot,” he starts off hesitating. “Beg pardon?!” she cries out, turning towards him, completely stunned. “We rang Cliffer around five yesterday afternoon, to meet up with him,” he admits. She stares at him as the missing links connect. She places a hand on her hips, switching her weight to one leg, radiating her attitude. “Let me guess! FBI?” “Yeah. He asked if Sam was Sharon Evans’s partner. We didn’t realize we were on somebody else’s case,” he admits. “You son of a…”

She swallows down another waterfall of curse words and turns around furiously. That’s why the bastard changed! She didn’t give herself away, those dumbass Winchesters did! It’s a bit of a coincidence that two federal agents call, being on the same case without knowing it. The shapeshifter was tailing Cliffer already, she was suspecting that, but when it learned about the appointments, it changed shape quicker than planned. The fucker knew there was at least one hunter in town. It was on to her! “Fuck!” she exclaims.

Furious, she turns away and walks back and forth between Dean’s car and her bike. Dean just follows her with his eyes, not saying a word. He knows that anything coming out of his mouth will only make her angrier, even if it’s just a smart attempt to lighten the mood. “What time’s that appointment?” “Five-thirty.” “Where?” “A bar. I’m not sure where.” “You don’t know?!” she snaps. “Sam knows. He made the appointment, not me,” he returns. Zoë rolls her eyes and forks her fingers through her hair, staring at the passing traffic for a moment.

“I don’t see why this is a bad thing,” Dean starts off, casually, but she doesn’t take it well. “You don’t see why this is a bad thing? It probably means the real Terry Cliffer is dead!” she hisses, lowering her voice when guests walk out the Motel Six. “You don’t know that. There could be two of them walkin’ around,” Dean argues. “The shifter doesn’t know that we’ve met. That gives us the advantage. It doesn’t know we know.” “What was your major plan then, Hannibal Smith?” she taunts. “I don’t have a plan. Like I said–-” “- Sam’s the geek, I know. God, seems like your folks saved the brains for the second child,” she huffs, turning on her heels as she crosses her arms firmly in front of her chest.

Dean glares at her, offended. Not that she notices, with her back already turned to him. She picks up the tools she used for the repair and puts them back in a small case, resting on the saddle. While she cleans up, Zoë tries to figure out some kind of plan, but if she’s not even sure who Sam actually made that appointment with, then how can she work out a strategy? Big chance that she’ll meet the shifter, but it could very well be Terry, so she can't actually go in guns blazing. Cliffer hasn’t been reported missing yet, even though he has a wife and kids. If he did disappear, they would have called the authorities and Zoë would know about that. Nothing is certain, which makes this job so much more impossible to work.

She stops what she’s doing and stares at the asphalt. Gears are turning in her head as she goes over every scenario. Dean observes her for a moment. “Did you eat?” he asks out of nowhere. “Or have coffee?” “No,” she answers confused; what does that have to do with anything? “Then how the hell can you think properly?” he wonders. She shrugs, only just now realizing that her stomach sounds like there’s a war going on inside. She could certainly go with a good latte macchiato to jumpstart her brain, too. It’s no fun to admit, but Dean has a point. “You’re right. I’m off.” Zoë throws her right leg over her Harley and lands in the black leather saddle. She picks up her old biker jacket from the handlebar and puts it on. “Can I come?” The way Dean asks is like a little boy would, innocent and hopeful, adding ‘pretty please’ with his green eyes without actually pronouncing the words. She chuckles and shakes her head. “Sorry, Dean. I fly solo.” Her engine starts with a satisfying purr instead of the louder sputter it produced earlier. Content, she smiles and puts on her helmet. Dean, on the other hand, looks at her just like that same little boy, disappointed, even though he tries to hide it. Without another word, she turns the throttle and exits the parking lot. Just before she turns on the parallel road to the 52 highway, she glances over her shoulder with a smirk from ear to ear. “Thanks for lunch!” she shouts, overruling the sound of her Harley.

Puzzled Dean watches her drive off. Lunch? What lunch? He feels his pockets, knowing he’s missing something. When the identical roar seems to come closer again; he looks up. The Harley Davidson isn’t exactly coming back, but drives up the ramp going to the city. She heaves her hand victoriously, holding his wallet as she drives by. Dean’s eyes follow her, his jaw dropping to the ground. That dirty little thief! She just stole my wallet! He gapes at Zoë, as she and her Harley merge into busy traffic in the distance. How could she…? When did this…? Stunned, he scoffs. Un-fucking-believable. He, one of the best goddamn hunters in the world, just got pick-pocketed. While shaking his head he turns around and walks back to the lobby, muddling softly. “Son of a bitch.”

An hour later, Zoë slips her key in the lock of room 82 and walks in like she owns the world, a straw coming from her iced latte on-the-go firmly between her lips. “Finally!” Dean complains. He made himself comfortable on the bed with his shoes on the bedspread again, sitting up against the back wall reading a magazine Zoë doesn’t want to know the content of. Sam is behind his laptop, not surprisingly. The older of the brothers smiles happily when he sees the Taco Bell symbol on the paper bags she’s holding. It might have taken her a while to get back, but at least she brought the good stuff.

Without responding to his comment, she throws him back his wallet without Sam noticing, who is occupied by research. Dean catches it with his left hand and answers her victorious grin with an unintelligible mutter. She sets down a small tray with two more coffee containers. “I didn’t know how you guys like your coffee, so I brought you both an Americano,” she says. “Francis over there prefers a half-caf double vanilla latte,” Dean comments, wiggling his eyebrows at his brother, who on his turn glares at him and takes his coffee. As if Dean hasn’t eaten for days, he attacks the burrito, quickly tearing away the paper wrap and taking a big first bite. Zoë isn’t surprised by his manners. Sam, however, can’t help but stare at his brother for a moment and clears his throat, disapprovingly. His sibling doesn’t seem to be bothered at all and lets out a satisfied ‘mmm’. “This is good,” he comments with his mouth full. “Thanks, Zo,” Sam says, after which he also takes a bite of his lunch. “Don’t thank me,” she nods at Dean. “He’s the one who paid.” The younger brother frowns and looks over at Dean for an explanation. Dean and paying the bill? That’s new. He doesn’t need to observe him for long before Dean stops chewing and his facial expression goes blank. Uneasy, he looks away and swallows his bite. Zoë watches him, too, smirking like a cheshire cat. “She - uh,” he pauses, studying his taco for a moment. “She kinda… stole my wallet.” Sam almost chokes on his food and laughs out loud, the action earning a lethal glare. He then continues to look the huntress up and down. “That explains the new jacket.” Dazed, Dean looks up. New jacket? What new jacket? Then he spots the black leather Harley Davidson bomber jacket on Zoë, brand new by the looks of it. “You didn’t,” he reacts, shocked. She grins at him, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, I did.” He grinds his teeth, trying to keep calm. “How much was it?” “Not sure, actually. I didn’t bother to check the price tag when I slipped your card,” she returns, utterly satisfied. For a moment Dean just stares at her, his upper lip nervously twitching. What would that jacket be worth? 400, 500 bucks, maybe? “Oh, don’t be such a cheap jerk about it,” she comments, when she notices his expression, as if he has eaten something spicy yet disgusting. “You have at least a dozen more credit cards hidden in the trunk.” “How the hell would you know that?” Dean snarls at her.

As she takes a bite of her burrito, she looks up, digs deep down in her pocket and tosses him his car keys. While she casually continues with her lunch, Dean stares at the keys in his hand with his mouth agape, trying to figure out how the hell she got those as well. Sam has a hard time keeping a straight face, and who could blame him? There’s no finer entertainment than this: Dean is getting played. “You touched my fuckin’ car?” his brother hisses. “Obviously. I need to borrow this, by the way.” Zoë holds up a demon protection amulet. “Give that back, Zoë,” Sam demands, trying to be strict. “What else did you take?” “Some herbs, nothing expensive,” she admits, carelessly. “You fucking thief. What did you take, Sullivan?” It’s Dean who rises to his feet, holding his hand out to collect the stolen items. Reluctant, Zoë reveals a dried vine of Viburnum from her inner pocket. “Gardener over here -” Dean nods at Sam, “- went through a lot of trouble to get ahold of that dead plant you have there. I’d give it back if I were you.” “No. I need it,” she decides a matter of factly. Sam narrows his eyes at the huntress, trying to read her. Why would she need that herb? He stares at it, two dried out plants tied together with a double shoestring. It only works for one thing… “Not for yourself, I hope?” Sam asks, carefully. “A case I’m working on the side, actually. Can’t find the damn plants anywhere,” she clarifies. “Keep the damn twig, but I want the amulet back. Get your own supplies.” Dean ushers Zoë to hand the item over, which she does with a sigh. He snatching his coffee from the table and returns to the bed without thanking her. In fact, he’s not happy at all that she has been sniffing around in his car. The silence that follows is awkward, even for Zoë, and she decides to change the subject.

“I reckon you updated Sam while I was out?” Dean nods, taking a sip of caffeine. “In detail.” “Let me get this straight.” Sam, seated on one of the chairs by the table, leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The shapeshifter knows you’re a hunter.” “It does, but it didn’t know that at the time of the meeting. It knew one of the callers was out to kill him, but for all it cared, I could have been an FBI agent. The fucker shot me anyway,” she elaborates, finishing her drink and tossing it in the trash. Dean crosses his arms in front of his chest. “What’s your point?” “Her point is that if we go to Beetles Bar, pretending to know nothing, it won’t take any risks. If the shifter shows instead of the real Terry Cliffer, it will try to kill us both,” Sam understands. “You guys are not going in,” Zoë makes clear right away, taking a mental note of the bar’s name that Sam just mentioned.

“So, what then? Lure him out and shoot the bastard?” Dean suggests. “Not until I’m sure it’s the shifter, not Terry,” Zoë replies, as she walks over to the fridge. Two confused faces follow her as she opens the door and looks inside. “You’re not making any sense at all,” Dean returns, puzzled, after which he apparently gives up on the conversation and props his feet up on the bed again. “You might actually have made an appointment with the real Cliffer guy, not with that chameleon. No one would be able to tell, unless you shine a flashlight in his face,” she explains, as she takes out three beers.

Sam looks back at Zoë, who beckons one of the bottles to him, but he rejects it. Dean takes both the beers without hesitation. “You’re serious? You haven’t even been up for two hours,“ Sam scolds at the older Winchester brother, astonished by the both of them. “It’s happy hour somewhere,” Zoë defends, puts the bottle against her mouth and takes a swig, earning a grin from Dean. “Want anything else, Sammy boy? Some juice, or milk perhaps?” she coos cheerily as if talking to a child. Dean snorts, almost choking on his beer, but when Sam shoots daggers at him, he quickly takes another sip.

“Don’t call me Sammy,” he warns the huntress, continuing their discussion on the case. “So, there is a possibility that we might actually have a meeting with Terry Cliffer–-” “Okay, stop there for a second. Let me make something very clear: there is no ‘we’.” Zoë leans on the table, her knuckles resting on the surface. Her body language is strictly business all of a sudden; apparently she’s not very happy about Sam and Dean joining in on the case, especially not without her permission. Dean eyes her as he sits up. “You could use our help, Zo.” “Help?” She scoffs. “Thanks to the big ‘help’ you’ve been, I couldn’t finish the case last night!” “That happened, sorry about that. But as long as we’re here, we can offer a hand. Besides, we have an appointment with Cliffer,” Sam argues. “I don’t care. This is my hunt. I’m going to that appointment myself,” she clears up. A quick glance at the clock tells her that it’s a little past three. She still wants to dig up more information on her guy. The boys better get going. “No, you’re not. That’s our appointment,” Dean bounces back. “Seriously? You really wanna fight me on this?” she returns snappily, pushing herself from the table and crossing her arms in front of her chest. “That appointment that you scheduled fucked up my entire case! I was here first and I’m gonna end it!” “Oh, come on. How old are you? Five? Haven’t learned how to share yet?” Dean chuckles with an attitude, adding fuel to the fire.

Before Zoë can counter him, Sam comes between the two hot-blooded hunters. “Knock it off, both of you. It will be easier to catch that shapeshifter with three hunters than with one, Zoë. Why don’t we go there together? You lay low and when we find the shapeshifter, we shoot it. We know he’ll probably be in the bar anyway, either as Terry Cliffer or someone else.” “No,” she decides without any consideration. “I’m gonna deal with this alone and I do not need your help.” “I can see that,” Dean comments, nodding at her abdomen, reminding her of the bullet wound that’s covered by her shirt. “Who’s fault is that again?” she snaps. “I’m gonna say it one more time: I fly solo. I don’t do teamwork, certainly not with you two. End of discussion.”

She takes one last sip of her beer and sets the bottle down on the table with a loud bang. “Who do you think you are, ordering us around like that with your ‘end of discussion’? Our dad?” Sam bites back, defensive for the first time today. She freezes at the comparison and turns her head. The boys can see the fury burning in her eyes, as if they just lit the fuse of a bomb that’s about to explode. His comment stirred something inside of her they should have left alone. “I am nothing like your father!” she hisses. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean questions, offended. “Exactly what it sounds like, Winchester,” she counters with a tone. “What did he ever do to you? He exorcised that evil son of a bitch that was wearing you to the prom, for fuck’s sake.” Dean gets up and steps towards her, clearly not too happy about the way she’s talking about his father.

Trying to not lose her cool, Zoë chuckles sarcastically, looks away, and places her hands on her waist. “You owe him,” Dean pushes, halting before her. “I do not owe him a fucking thing,” she snarls fiercely, staring him down. Their eyes battle, waiting for the other to look away, but both Dean and Zoë are determined not to be the first. Her anger towards John Winchester radiates from her; the brothers can both feel it. They struck a nerve, that’s for sure. “I want you out,” Zoë declares without even blinking. “And I’m serious.”

Dean's jaw tenses as he grids his teeth. “Fine.” With a sigh, Sam gets up from the bed and grabs his duffel, Dean already on his way out. The younger brother doesn’t feel like leaving her alone on this case, but Zoë clearly isn’t going to change her mind anytime soon. “If you need us-–” “- I won’t,” she immediately intervenes. “If you do, we’re going south.” He leaves a card on the bed. “Don’t bother, Sam. The stubborn bitch won’t call us anyway,” Dean responds, holding the door.

She ignores his words, annoyed by the slightest sting that his bitter voice leaves. In a quick glance, Zoë sees two phone numbers written down on the card, but she doesn’t intend to pick it up. Sam looks over his shoulder, but he isn’t angry with her. His eyes ask her to please reconsider, but all she returns is a cold gaze. The door closes behind them and the brothers walk down the hallway. “Unbelievable,” Dean scoffs. “What a fucking waste of time.” Their footsteps echo through the hall as they pass the front desk. Sam nods at the younger guy who took over for the day when they exit Motel 6, and enters the parking lot. The sun is still shining and shimmers on the cars passing by on the 52 highway, tires rush over the blacktop. Dean halts on the driver’s side of his Impala.

“Where to?” he asks, opening the door to get in. “We’re staying in town,” Sam decides before he sits down in the passenger seat. “What? No! We have better things to do, Sam,” Dean argues, still mad at the huntress. “I know we do, but I have a bad feeling about this,” Sam admits. Dean sighs. “Here we go again with that feminine intuition shit.” Sam rolls his eyes at him, but doesn’t respond to his words. He can’t understand why, but somehow he has the urge to look out for Zoë, almost like it’s instinct. Unnecessary, of course; she has been fine by herself for four years. Why should today be any different? “Let’s just go. You said something about a possible case in Iowa yesterday? If she can handle this, why bother to stick around if we can hunt something else?” Dean reminds him. “One night. We book a motel, check on her, and if she nails it, we leave. She doesn’t even have to know we’re there,” Sam suggests. “I thought you were determined to find Dad?” Dean looks aside at his brother, waiting for a response. “I still am, but we have no lead, not even a single clue where he is,” Sam points out. “Hey, that’s what I’ve been telling you, but it didn’t stop you from looking. You were the one who was all, ‘I gotta find Dad, it’s the only thing I can think of,’ Dean bounces back, imitating his voice. “And now you’re ditching him for some chick?” “I’m not ditching him for some chick!” Sam denies. “Ah, come on. You like her and you know it,” Dean carries on. “I do not like her, Dean! Jess just died, damnit!” he exclaims.

Dean looks away and pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth. He knows he went too far, so he keeps quiet and turns the ignition. When he flips the key, the V8 motor under the hood growls, impatiently waiting for Dean to back up and hit the road. “You said it yourself: Dad doesn’t want to be found. I don’t see how it’s a bad thing to spend the night here, unless you have some kind of lead I don’t know about,” Sam suggests. “Fine, whatever. As long as that motel has a bed. I really need to get some sleep.”

He puts his car in reverse and looks in the rearview mirror as he guides her out of the parking spot. The shift of his body causes him to grimace, pain cutting through his shoulder. “Feeling alright?” Sam checks. “Yeah, just tired. I need more painkillers, that’s all,” he mutters. Sam takes out his phone and calls a booking agency he had listed in his contacts earlier. As the call goes through, he sighs. It’s going to be a difficult task to find a room with that poker event in town. He waits for someone to pick up on the other side, meanwhile wondering why Zoë got so worked up about their father. Dean has a point; John saved her from that demon, so how could she possibly despise him? Something must have occurred; maybe she crossed paths with him later on and John did something to upset her. She wouldn’t be the first to cross blades with him, after all.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page).

Read part seven here

The Sullivan Series tags: @a-gir1-has-n0-name @destielhoneybee @fookinghelljensensthighs @heartsaved @idksupernatural @laphirablack @magssteenkamp

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