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#again i think this regardless of body; i think ten would happily respond to she/her pronouns or thirteen with he/him etc etc

burnedbyshoto · 3 years

Text

the bodyguard

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

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pairing: bodyguard!kirishima eijirou x idol!reader

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

word count: 20,500

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

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“I’ll be okay.”

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

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

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

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

What had he done?

What in the fucking world had he done?!

BOOM!

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

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

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

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

05:30.

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

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Better?

No, not yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Cause I’m a stalker, duh.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Kirishima-kun, are you okay?”

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

“Kirishima-kun?”

“Yo, he’s not looking too hot?”

“Kirishima?!”

“Can you hear us?!”

Silence.

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

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

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

He was okay.

“Kirishima?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

But he was obviously not the first choice still.

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

“Toshinori—”

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

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

He had barely passed the admittance test.

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

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

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

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

“I can do it.”

A smile.

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were tiny.

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

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

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

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

“Six months tops.”

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

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

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

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

“...no,” Kirishima answers truthfully.

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

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

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

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

Fuck, that one hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

“Six months,” Kirishima agreed.

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

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

“You got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, yes, let’s continue.”

So, the contract was discussed to full detail.

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

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

Or so the contract said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, so much for a good case.

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

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

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

You always managed to sneak away from him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ya, okay, bye!”

“By—”

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

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

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

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

He wanted to be just a fan.

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I can’t do that it’s not—”

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

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

And then there’s only silence.

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

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

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

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

He knew that.

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

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

You were a good person.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...how interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

“Very much.”

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

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

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

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

So much for change.

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

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

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

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

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

It had been a hard morning.

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

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

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

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

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

But today, Kirishima was exhausted.

Today, Kirishima wanted to sleep.

Today… Kirishima broke.

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

You ignore him.

“We’re leaving, now.”

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

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

He grabs your wrist and begins pulling you away.

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

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

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

Oh, right.

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

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

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

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

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

“Compromises aren’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Wh-”

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

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

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

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

And for a moment, it’s quiet.

Until a single name is screamed.

“SERGEANT!”

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

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

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

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

The van turns on.

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

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

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

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

T082-23

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

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

Well, shit.

So much for the month of no attacks.

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

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

But they also gave him an essential piece of information.

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

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

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

For now, he was waiting for you.

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

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

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

“Should we go?”

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

“I actually wanted to talk before we left.”

Oh?

“Of what, if I may ask?”

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

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

“Sure.”

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

The contract was then discussed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, Kirishima.”

“Oh, and y/n?”

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kirishima stood in the softly lit hallways of a sauna.

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

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

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

Well, everyone but Kirishima, that was.

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

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

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

A stressful month had passed into a friendlier one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-If that’s okay?”

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

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

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

“No, I’m okay,” you politely decline.

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

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

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

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

“So, what questions do you have?”

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A pause.

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

A nod.

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

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

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

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

What had happened?

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

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

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

“Was that um, Major—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t made of glass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

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

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

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

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

“PERVERT!”

“What?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, his dreams were never like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kirishima stepped back out to the hot spring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jenny, are you okay?” you called.

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

“We weren’t fucking you prude!”

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

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

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

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

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

What was he going to do now?

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

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

Bad, Kirishima, bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That sounds amazing, Kimiko!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whoever it was, pfft.

Kirishima was willing to bet on who it was already.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something.

Anything.

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

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

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

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

He was going to.

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready to move out?”

“We’re all clear.”

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

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

“Damn right I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Such a brat.”

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

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

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

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

T082-23.

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

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

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

You really came to life right now.

You were beautiful.

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

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

He was here.

Every warning bell sounded in Kirishima’s head.

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

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

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

Wait.

“What?! Family member?!”

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

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

There was no way you wouldn’t.

Was he wrong?

Who was it?

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

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

Oh fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

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

“...she’s drunk?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a reason why you were considered a legend.

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

You smile.

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

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

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

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

How were they related?

What connected them?

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

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

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

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

Kirishima panted as he looked before him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was he ready?

Actually ready?

Save her, his past whispered.

Save her, his nightmares screamed.

Save her, his heart yelled.

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

BANG!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you resisted and might have been harsher than needed.

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

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

But it was growing late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown.

“Where will you be sleeping then?”

“My couch is just fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I’ll be leaving—”

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

“Oh, sure!”

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

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

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

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

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

He was relaxed.

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

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

“Really?”

“One hundred percent.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” you grin against his mouth.

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

“No?” he repeats.

“No,” you confirm.

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

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

Menacing, promising, sending chilling shivers down your spine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does the princess want?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy fuck, he could quickly kill you with that.

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

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

And thankfully, Kirishima allows it.

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

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

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

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

It feels like fire.

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

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

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

Slap!

“Hey!”

Slap!

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

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

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

More, you plead.

And he delivers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who saved you?”

“E-Ei did,” you garble.

“Who’s fucking you?”

“E-Ei is!”

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

“Me! Fuck, me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t.

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

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

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

“I think we do.”

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

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definitelyseven · 4 years

Text

it was always you

summary: in a twisted turn of events, you find yourself naked in the bed of your best friend, Mark Tuan

“How are you?”

Sana looks up at you with a subtle smile, “I lost the love of my life and have a child to raise on my own. How do you think I am?”

You bit your lip nervous, “Sana, I...”

She cuts you off, “You’re sorry? Don’t bother. I know you guys are getting married soon.” You looked down at your lap, hiding your engagement ring from her. “It’s a nice ring. Looks similar to the one he gave me.”

“Sana, you have to know we never meant to hurt you,” you explained sincerely.

“Just because you didn’t mean to do it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

You felt every word she said and you still feel guilty. “Is he Mark’s?” you asked shamefully.

She chuckles, smirking, “Why do I have to tell you? Even if he was Mark’s I don’t have to tell you or him.”

“Sana, please...” you begged. “This is not about us, it’s about your son. Don’t you want him to have a father?” you asked. Sana turns to look at her son that was sleeping peacefully in the stroller “What’s his name?” you asked.

“I want to see Mark,” she demanded.

So it was his.

“Mark…” you said looking down at your feet. “Let’s cancel the wedding.”

“W-what?” Mark stuttered. “That’s not funny, Y/N. Don’t joke like that,” he responded, walking back to the changing room.

You grabbed his hand, “Mark, I’m not kidding...”

He turns back to look at you, confused and hurt. “Did I do something wrong?” It made you sad to think that it was his first thought; him doing something wrong to make you call off the wedding, but in fact you were the problem. You hesitated to speak, biting your lip and avoiding his eyes. “Y/N, look at me,” he demanded, cupping your cheeks in his hands. “Look at me,” he repeated making you finally look at him. “Tell me you don’t love me and you don’t want to marry me. Tell me you don’t want to spend the rest of your life with me.”

You didn’t say anything because you couldn’t. You couldn’t tell him you didn’t love him, and that you didn’t want to spend the rest of your life with him when that’s all you’ve every wanted.

“Tell me,” he repeated. You opened your mouth, but no words came out. “You’re not saying anything because I know it’s not true. Now, tell me what happened. Please talk me...nothing will make me stop loving you.”

“Mark, please don’t make this harder than it has be,” you said on the verge of tears. You walked past him towards the changing room. Mark quickly follows behind.

“Y/N, stop walking away from me,” his voice growing angrier. “Y/N, I’m serious.” You sighed and stood still. Mark comes up from behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. “Baby, we’re getting married. We should be able to share everything with each other,” Mark whispered in your ear. You placed your hand on his, removing his arm around your waist and turning to face him. “What could possibly be so bad?”

You stare up at him with tears in your eyes. “I can’t have children.”

“W-what?”

“I can’t have children,” you repeated. “I went to the doctor’s this morning and she said my chances were slim and that I should find a surrogate,” you sniffled.

He lets out a half-hearted chuckle, “That’s why you don’t want to get married?” He rubs your arm up and down, comforting you. “Baby, I don’t care if we can’t have children. I love you regardless of that. I will always love you,” he declared.

"You might not mind now, but what about 5 years or 10 years from now?” you asked on the verge of tears.

“I promise you I don’t care now, and I won’t care 5 or 10 years from now.”

“You can’t promise me that...” you sobbed. “I know how badly your parents want grandchildren.”

Marks sighed, pulling you in for a hug, “Yes, but I’m not the only child. My sister has kids and Joey can have kids. They’ll understand,” he comforted. “Listen to me,” he requested, making you look at him. “Nothing in this world will make you love you any less. You’re all I need.” You leaned on his chest, sobbing. “Hey...” he comforted again. “The doctor said there’s a slim chance, not impossible. Don’t give up on us.”

“But-” you protested.

“No buts,” he rejected. “We are not canceling the wedding,” Mark rejected firmly. “You’re the only person in this world that I would want to marry.”

“Mark, wait,” you interrupted. “I saw Sana at the doctor’s...” you mumbled. “She should be here soon.”

“What for?”

“I’ll let her explain when she gets here.”

Sana walks into the bridal shop with her son in her arms. Mark watches her carefully, just as shock as you were when you first saw her. “Mark,” she said with a bright smile. You excused yourself to the other room to let them talk privately. “Mark, this is our son,” she smiled, handing him to Mark.

Mark stood their frozen, but takes him in his arms, “W-what?”

“This is our son. You thought I was lying, but I wasn’t. I was really pregnant,” she explained. Your eyes clouded with tears as you quietly sobbed in the other room.

Maybe now, he will change his mind. Maybe now, he wouldn’t want to marry you.

“I wasn’t going to tell you, but Y/N is right. Our son has a right to know who his father is.”

“This can’t be happening,” Mark said shocked. He stares at the toddler in front of him, who was smiling happily. He was so cute.

“Da-da,” Sana’s son giggles.

“Those are his first words, Mark! It’s like he knows your his dad!” Sana exclaimed.

“Aren’t you a little cutie,” he laughs happily.

You covered your mouth to hide your sobs. He sounded so happy. How can you possibly take that away from him? You didn’t have to wait 5 years to know he would mind not having kids.

“His name is Mark,” Sana said. “I named him after you. You’re his father,” she reiterated.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” Mark stuttered.

“Say you won’t marry her,” Sana requested.

“W-what?”

“We have a son together. You don’t want him to grow up without a father,” she reminded.

“If he’s my son, I won’t let him grow up without a father. But it doesn’t mean we’ll be together. It doesn’t mean I love Y/N any less,” Mark clarified.

“I won’t let my son have two mothers,” Sana protested, taking her son away from Mark’s arms. “If you ever want to see him again, you cannot marry her.”

“Are you threatening me?” Mark asked crossing his arms across his chest.

“No, I’m just setting things straight with you. My son is my priority. He will only have one mother which is me. One father if you wish to be. If you can’t agree to that, then let’s say your goodbyes now,” Sana demanded.

Mark scoffs, “This is ridiculous. I don’t even know he’s my son and you want me to leave my wife!”

“She’s not your wife yet,” Sana smirked. “Y/N told me she can’t have children. Do you really want to lose the only son you’ll ever have?”

“Let me think about it,” Mark mumbles as Sana smirked.

He didn’t know what to do. There was no doubt in his mind that he loved you. He never second guessed choosing you over Sana because it was always you. It will always be you.

How can he convince Sana to let him do a paternity test? How can he convince Sana to let you be his son’s mother? That’s what he was uncertain about.

Mark made his way to the the room you were in, but he doesn’t see you.

You were gone.

All he sees is a note left on the table: “I’m sorry to leave like this. I can’t give you the option of regretting marrying me in 5 years so I’m choosing to leave now. I won’t deprive you an opportunity to be a good father and I will not let your son grow up without a father. He needs you more than I do and I know you’ll be a great father. I never doubted you. Please forget about me.”

Mark drops the note and runs out of the shop to find you. He picks up his cell to call you but you don’t pick up. “God damn it, Y/N!” he screamed before running down the streets to find you.

It’s been three months since you last saw Mark. Ever since you left Mark that day, you’ve been feeling sick; vomiting every morning and having no appetite.

He’s left over 100 messages, all begging you to come back. Every message assuring you that he doesn’t care and that you’re all he needs. Each message broke your heart even more. It took every cell in your body to not call him back.

Today was supposed to be your wedding day and Mark had left you a message this morning: “Y/N, please pick up baby. It’s been three months and I’ve been living in hell without you. Everything Sana said was a lie. He’s not my son! She was going to guilt me into being with her again. Baby, I swear to you I don’t care if we don’t have kids. Please..,” you hear him beg on the other line. He was crying. “Today is our wedding day. Although you’re not here, I’m still going to city hall. I hope you’ll come because I’m not leaving till I see you. I’ll be here rain or shine, waiting for you.”

You felt guilty for being relieved that it wasn’t his son. Up until now, Sana still wanted to make your life a living hell. She still wanted Mark.

You’d be lying to yourself if Mark’s message didn’t make your heart move. You wanted to meet him at city hall, and tell him you’re sorry, tell him you loved him. Will he even forgive you for leaving?

“Dr. Oh, I’ve been feeling really sick these past few months. I can’t sleep, I throw up everything I eat. I thought it was the flu, but it’s been three months,” you complained.

“Let me take a look at your report,” she said flipping through your file. “I’ll be damned,” she laughs, looking up at you. “Y/N, you’re pregnant!” she exclaims.

“W-what...”

“I know...I don’t believe it either. One in a million chance and you’re pregnant!”

“Please tell me you’re serious. If this is some kind of sick joke...” you whimpered.

“Y/N, congratulations! You’re three months pregnant. The test must’ve not picked it up the last time you were here,” Dr. Oh said happily.

The sky was already dark by the time you arrived at city hall. There wasn’t many people there, but you couldn’t find Mark. Did he leave already? He wouldn’t...he said he was going to be here waiting.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you sobbed quietly. God was surely playing a sick joke on you. Telling you there’s no way you could be pregnant, and then giving you the best gift you could ever imagine. You wished this was all a dream - never running into Sana and never leaving Mark. This was all your fault.

“Y/N!” you hear his voice call. You quickly turned around and see him. You ran to him as fast as you could, hugging him tightly and sobbing into his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried. “I was stupid to think that leaving you was the only option.”

“Shhh, baby...I’m not mad. I’m just glad you’re here,” he hugged you tight, as if he was afraid you’d leave him again. “Please don’t ever leave me again,” he sniffled.

“Never...” you mumbled into his chest. “I will never leave you again. I will never let our child grow up without its parents.”

“W-what?” Mark questioned, pulling you slightly away to look at you.

“Mark, I don’t know what happened but God gave us a magical gift. I’m pregnant,” you squealed in excitement. Mark lets out a loud cheer and picks you up in his arms to spin you around.

“We’re going to be parents!” he cheered before setting you down. He cups your cheeks in his hands, “We’re going to be parents,” he whispered against your lips. It’s been so long since you kissed him. “We have to be adults now. No more running away, okay?”

“I promise I will never run away again,” you said pulling him in for another kiss. “It was always you, remember?” you reminded, rubbing your belly. “But now, it will always be you both,” you smiled as he pulls you in for a kiss.

a little note from jennie: had to include one last rollercoaster before i end the story. thank you everyone for loving this series! please look forward to my other works!

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ateezmakemeweep · 4 years

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richboy!seonghwa (part 24)

word count: 7k

angst, fluff

(part 23) (series masterlist)

"can we kiss at midnight?"

"no."

"please."

"no."

"why not?"

"because i said so."

"b-but, what about just a-"

"i'm gonna kill you at midnight if you don't stop-"

guys!" you whine, snapping your head back to the arguing duo sprawled out on your bed. "you said you were gonna help me pick an outfit!"

"y/n, i'm sorry," yunho says, tone airy and not sounding very apologetic at all. "but i'm trying to secure my midnight kiss that i'll apparently have to get elsewhere because-"

"don't start," mingi growls, your and yunho's eyes meeting as a smirk covers both your lips. "who in that group is gonna kiss you, anyway?"

"i don't know, i think one of them would do it out of pity if they found out i'm a lonely boy."

"he's right," you say, hanging three dresses on the back of your closet and just wanting one of these flirty boys to help you. "perhaps wooyoung or-"

"oh yes, wooyoung," yunho says just as mingi growls out another "no."

the two of you giggle at the miserable expression on mingi's face, in disbelief you were able to convince him yet again to hang out with yeosang's friends (except not really, because where yunho is, mingi can be found in a ten-foot radius).

all of you were currently on winter break, snow on the ground and a festive spirit in the air as new years eve night rolls in. yeosang had told you about it weeks ago when they planned the event to be at his house; in his real house, though, and not the pool house which he claims is just a spot for you and him now.

you had spent a lot of the break with him, cuddling on his couch and playing in the snow and having a movie marathon of cheesy christmas movies. things had been going well, too well, feeling yourself fall for him more and more each day and almost in disbelief of how good the relationship was going.

you had even said that to mingi and yunho just yesterday on facetime and the boys chastised you, telling you that you deserve a good relationship with no fighting or bullshit and not to jinx it. (except you'll come to find out later tonight, that's exactly what you did).

"so anyway!" you say, squinting your eyes at yunho while smiling at mingi. "which one?"

their eyes roam over the dresses, the tall blonde getting up to handle the sliver, black and red pieces of fabric resting on the hangers. he holds each up over your body, mingi uttering "that's gotta go" when yunho holds the first one up.

"you don't like it?" you whine, a pout on your face making mingi smile softly.

"not when you have the red and black one right there."

"he's right," yunho says, tossing it backwards on your bed and laughing when a strangled "ow" is heard from mingi. "try the red and black ones on."

"turn around," you tell them, though something tells you it really doesn't matter. and with the eyebrow raise mingi throws you, you know he's thinking the same thing; but regardless, they do. yunho stands behind mingi and wraps his arms around his shoulders, holding him in a borderline chokehold as he begins to talk about a midnight kiss again.

"are you ever gonna fucking drop it," the boy snaps, though there's no malice in his tone. there never is with yunho, no matter how grouchy he is.

"are you ever gonna not be cranky," yunho says, poking at the boy's sides, "because i'm gonna be if i have to kiss someone who's practically a stranger tonight."

"why do you have to kiss anyone?" you hear mingi lowly ask him, biting your lip so you don't giggle at their conversation. "what's wrong with clapping and banging on pots."

"because why would i bang on pots when i could bang-"

"what do we think!" you say, turning dramatically in your first black dress. it's skin tight with small triangular cuts under the bust, coming down to mid-thigh as spaghetti straps hold it together.

"cute," mingi says just as yunho yelps "sexy!" you giggle at the two boys, looking yourself over in the mirror before deciding to try on the red. and that's when you know it's the one because even shy, shy, unbothered mingi's eyes widen.

"okay, that one's sexy, i can't even lie," mingi says, a laugh bubbling out of your mouth as yunho nods in agreement.

"that's the one, that's absolutely the one," yunho say, unzipping his backpack and pulling out a bottle of vodka. "now, let's start drinking."

still slightly traumatized from puking in public and embarrassing yourself on the ski trip, you only manage to get down two shots. but mingi and yunho prove to be just as tolerant as they are flirty, downing shot after shot until yunho's pink in the cheeks and a big smile is stretched on mingi's face.

"you're so pink!" you squeal at yunho, rubbing your finger on his cheek. you see mingi narrow his eyes at you, your own eyebrow shooting up as your mouth pulls into a smirk.

"what's wrong pretty boy," you say, using your boyfriend's nickname for him to really pack a punch.

"leave him alone," the boy grumbles cutely, yunho shooting a smile at mingi that looks far too loving and personal for you to be witnessing. but it doesn't stop you from feeling your heart warm, giggling at the two before going down to ask either of your parents to drive you.

the car ride is full of conversation, your mom chatting happily with yunho and mingi. she asks about their parents and studies and how they got to know you, telling her the half truth that you eat lunch together (not that you guys had really grown close after you confessed to them you were stuck in the crisis that is a rich boy love triangle).

she waves goodbye to you guys, telling you to call her when and if you need a ride home and to be careful. you wave goodbye and saunter up to mingi and yunho, a harsh blow of wind causing you to squeal and bury yourself into mingi.

you smile when his arm immediately goes around you, looking up at him with a teasing glint. "you should be drunk more often, you're such a sweet boy." and instead of rolling his eyes the way he usually would at your sarcastic tone, he sticks his tongue out and drags you up to the house.

yeosang opens the door and his eyes immediately narrow in on mingi's arm around you, his eyebrow raising before landing on you. "hey, baby," he says before moving to the two boys. "yunho. pretty boy."

and the last thing the boy expects is for mingi to reach out and wrap his other arm around him, pulling him into his body as he slurs into his ear. "you know, i don't...i don't really like you," he tells you, "but y/n likes you and things seem to be working, yeah?"

"yeah," yeosang agreed, trying his oh so hardest not to smirk in mingi's drunken face. "we're doing really good."

"good," mingi says, tightening his hold on you and you can't help the smile that spreads across your face. "because if not, i'm a lot bigger than you. and i will step on you."

"you'll... step on me?" yeosang confirms, humor in his tone as he looks at the boy.

"yes," mingi confirms, "and i'll step on wooyoung too if he tries to kiss-"

"okay!" yunho interjects, taking mingi by the back of his dress shirt and pulling him away from you guys. "let's get some water for you, yeah?"

you hear mingi utter the words "you're not kissing-" and "i'm taller than them" as yunho drags him away, turning to see yeosang with a shit eating grin on his face.

"tries to kiss who exactly?" yeosang smirks, eyeing the two giant boys fumbling into his kitchen.

"don't," you say warningly, already knowing he's gonna go on about-

"night's barely started and he can't even hold his alcohol, huh," he says, glossy eyes roaming your face and it's then you catch the smell of liquor on his breath. he leans down to press his lips to yours, knocking into you slightly as your back presses against the wall.

you feel his hands on your waist, squeezing as his tongue slips right into your mouth. and it's when you taste the alcohol on him that a part of you stills, something deep within your body feeling slightly unnerved.

it's very slight but it's there, your heart picking up and stomach feeling knotted.

you move your face away and he pulls back immediately, looking over your face when he realizes something's wrong. "what happened?" he asks, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

you bite your lip because you don't exactly know. you just know that with your back pressed against the wall and the taste of beer on his lips, your body had reacted strangely. like it was trying to tell your brain that something was wrong and to get away from the situation.

"nothing," you tell him sweetly, smiling at him reassuringly. "it just seems like mingi isn't the only one not being able to hold his alcohol."

his eyes roll at your teasing, his hands moving down the sides of your body before going back to grip your hips. "i'm fine," he grunts lowly, "you just look so fucking good."

and then the familiar feeling of arousal and fluttering creeps into your stomach at his lowly spoken growl. it causes you to bite your lip and lean your head back against the wall, turning it coyly to the side.

"you think?" you squeak out when he pulls back, his eyes darkening and he has half the mind to drag you upstairs or to the pool house. but instead, he just mumbles "i do," before taking your hand and leading you toward the big room.

"gotta have you around other people so i don't drag you right into bed," he says from beside you. you smirk up at him, your weird apprehension and nervous feeling from before already forgotten; it probably had been nothing, anyway, maybe just claustrophobia.

"you really think that's gonna stop you?" you quip teasingly, disconnecting your hands from his when a loud shout of your name erupts from wooyoung and san. you turn back to see his tongue in the corner of his lip, shaking his head at you that just screams 'wait until later.'

"you look hot, what the fuck," wooyoung says, a laugh bubbling out of your mouth as you throw your head back.

"thank you for sounding so surprised," you respond teasingly, spinning playfully before telling the boys they look handsome as well.

the main house is just as immaculate as you'd expected, high ceilings and perfectly decorated with hints of white and gold with a matching marble floor. music blares from the large flat-screen tv, a karaoke machine set up on the other side as an array of snacks, alcohol, and other drinks cover the bar top in the kitchen.

"so....karaoke?!" you hear san yelp in your ear, turning your gaze away from the house to smile at the boy; and even if you wanted to say no, you couldn't. not with the excited, innocent way he was looking at you and bouncing around.

"let's go," you say, catching mingi and yunho's gaze and flagging them over to you. the five of you gather around the machine, alternating between duets and covering your ears when someone tries to belt far too loud. you turn to see seonghwa alone on the couch, watching you guys with a small smile on his face.

you wave at him innocently, waving him over which is only met with wide eyes and a shake of his head. you pout slightly, walking over to him so you're standing right in front of him.

"hi!"

you two were now on fairly good terms, brought closer together from the project and the awareness that you and yeosang were in fact going strong. the slight confusion you felt the day he was sick dwindled away, since the distance with him and time with yeosang always seems to help.

"hey," he says, a smirk pulling at his lips. "if you're here to get me to sing, it's not gonna happen."

"ugh why not," you whine, "it's fun!"

seonghwa nods his head toward wooyoung and san dancing and flailing their drunken bodies as they (attempt) to sing about getting this feeling and feeling the static every time they touch. yunho and mingi laugh along with them, the redhead filming the chaotic disaster.

"exactly!" you say, hands placed on your hips. "fun."

"not fun, blackmail," he counters causing a scoff to leave your mouth. your eyes catch yeosang and hongjoong in the kitchen, empty cans and bottles scattered next to your boyfriend as he downs another one. shot glasses litter the table and you bite your lip wondering just how inebriated your boyfriend intends on getting tonight.

and naturally, seonghwa notices your discomfort immediately. he turns back to see the two boys, licking his lips nervously before turning back to you.

"was he drinking a lot?" you ask seonghwa lowly, watching yeosang falling over in laughter at something hongjoong said.

"uh.." seonghwa says, not wanting to lie to you but also not wanting to throw his friend under the bus.

but then he sees the concern swarming in your eyes on top of the fact that this might not be the easiest environment for you. with the alcohol and loud music and anything that can serve as a reminder of the party you went to when you first moved here. that he brought you to, no less.

"yeah," he finally says quietly, "but he can usually hold his shit together well. i'm sure he's fine."

but he can tell by the pout on your face that you don't think so, looking down at seonghwa with a small smile. "i guess," you say quietly, eyes casted at your feet as your hands come together nervously.

"you okay?" he asks softly. you meet his gaze and allow yourself to smile softly, eyes grazing back to yeosang who's hand is still wrapped around a beer bottle.

"yeah."

and it doesn't take a genius to know that you're lying. to know you're feeling upset and slightly uncomfortable and trying to not make a big deal out of it. because it's a holiday, you know that, and he's allowed to have fun and let loose. but there's something within you that's just not sitting right with it.

and it's a little sick that while you don't realize, someone else does.

"one song," seonghwa says suddenly. your eyes snap to his immediately, your eyebrows furrowing before your face brightens in recognition.

"wait, r-really?" you squeal, "you'll sing karaoke?" and he curses himself for still doing just about anything to get a sad look off your face. because before he can retract his statement, you're running over and informing the boys he'll be next.

suffice to say, a 'blackmail' video was taken of seonghwa singing along to the music perfectly, his styled black hair and fitted, white shirt just a little too handsome to be considered a threat.

you shoot seonghwa a thumbs up who only rolls his eyes and plops back down on the couch. you sing two more songs with mingi before your throat starts feeling sore, a pulling feeling in you to go over and see yeosang across the room. you make your way into the kitchen, smiling at hongjoong before poking your boyfriend's back.

"hi," you squeak out, smiling when he turns around and wraps his arms around your body.

"hey baby," he says, words slightly slurred but his glossy eyes staring down at you lovingly. "i saw your singing."

"was i good," you ask with a smile, slapping his arm lightly and giggling when his face turns into a grimace.

"kidding love, you were the best one up there," he chuckles, taking one arm away from you to grab his beer. his arm tightens around you when he places it back down on the counter. and it's when he realizes that hongjoong's long gone that he leans down to kiss you.

but then the smell of alcohol surrounds you again, your face pulling into a grimace but kissing him back nonetheless. because he's your boyfriend and you're in a safe place and there's no reason you should be feeling uncomfortable about his drinking...right?

when he slips his tongue in your mouth, you pull back and look at him with a slight pout. "what's with the face?" he asks, poking at your lips.

"you stink like alcohol," you whine, "how much more are you gonna drink?"

but he only laughs at your words, pecking your cheek before looking down at you. "it's new years, baby, i wanna get shitfaced."

"but why?" you ask, "i don't think that's a good idea."

"and why's that you little buzzkill," he says teasingly, squeezing at your hip lightly. you're shocked when you pull back from him, narrowing your eyes at him and crossing your arms over your chest.

"i'm serious, yeosang."

because not only had he been drinking all night but he's barely talked to you. he didn't bother to come over to sing or dance and has just been downing beers and alcohol in the kitchen.

"what's your problem?" he asks, annoyance quickly seeping into his tone at how serious you've become. "we're just having fun."

"i know that but-"

"guys, hurry!" yunho and wooyoung screech, "only fifteen minutes!"

you look over to see everyone huddled around the tv, noisemakers and hats and confetti prepared on the table for when the clock strikes midnight. a tiny sigh leaves your mouth, turning to see yeosang staring down at you with a dark, questionable gaze.

"c'mon, we gotta kiss at midnight," yeosang says, "unless you don't wanna do that either."

the sarcasm and punch in his tone causes your body to draw back in offense, your face falling. "i didn't mean it like that yeo-" but before you can finish your sentence, he stumbles past you as you let out a sigh, hearing as he opens a new can.

with a slightly dejected spirit, you walk over to mingi. he looks down at you when you place your head on his arm, giving him a small smile that doesn't meet your eyes; and he knows it as well, even in his tipsy state. it's why he drags you a few feet away, taking your face in his hand and squeezing your jaw affectionately.

"what'd he do?"

a tiny chuckle leaves your mouth as you shake your head, looking over at yeosang who's watching you two carefully; maybe he really is scared about being stepped on.

"nothing," you say when you look back at him. "i just...he's drinking a lot and i don't think it's a good idea."

mingi nods his head knowingly, looking down at you and not liking how sad and upset you're looking when you should be celebrating. "it's a holiday, love, and you're here with all of us. if anything bad happens, we'll be able to stop it."

"it's not even that though," you mumble to him, "it's just the smell...i don't-"

your brain suddenly becomes fuzzy, like it's trying to desperately to remember something but you can't quite put your finger on it. the images are foggy and the voices are blurred, shaking your head in an attempt to get them out.

"never mind," you mumble, eyes floating toward the tv where you see there are ten minutes till midnight. "we should get back. it looks like wooyoung is about to-"

a laugh bubbles out of your mouth immediately when mingi's neck nearly snaps off, whipping his head to see yunho innocently standing there talking to hongjoong and seonghwa.

"that was mean," the boy mumbles childishly.

"so is acting like you don't wanna have a midnight kiss." you watch as mingi's eyes gloss over, apprehension and fear and insecurity in them. but it couldn't possibly be about yunho's feelings; the boy makes it more than obvious that they're mutual.

but then you watch him look around at all the others, people who are still practically strangers and have barely scratched the surface with mingi.

"it doesn't have to be a public kiss," you tell him softly, lifting you hand to run it through his wavy red hair. "maybe get some fresh air or something."

"or something," mingi mumbles, the smirk on his lips causing you to smile and clap your hands. you grab the boy's hand and rush over to the rest of them, shooting a small smile at yeosang that he meets back.

and it does the trick because two minutes before midnight, you feel his arms wrap around you from behind and his face nuzzle into your neck. "two minutes, baby," he says, mumbling the words into your sensitive skin. your breath hitches at the feel of his lips on your neck but not in the usual way they do. hitching almost in fear and surprise, your heart racing and palms sweating.

but then he turns you in his hold and you meet his eyes, searching deep in the soft, glassy brownness and taking a deep breath. they look familiar but also don't, not used to the way they're so hazy and careless.

"one minute!" you hear san shriek, jumping slightly at his sound and furrowing your eyebrows at yeosang when he laughs at you. it causes him to teeter to the side, almost bringing you down with him had you not grounded yourself. you pull him up by the shirt and huff at him, his innocent, slurred "what?" causing you to roll your eyes.

the boys all start counting down from 30, a buzzing excitement in the air as everyone bounces around and scrambles to grab noisemakers. and you try to match the excitement, not quite feeling it in your heart, but wiggling excitedly anyway.

yeosang leans down in the last five seconds, each blow of his alcoholic breath smacking you in the face and making you queasy. but even with that, he still smiles so beautifully down at you. his low voice wishes you a happy new year before he slams his lips on to yours.

he had never had a new years kiss before, always thought the idea of it was kind of cringey and cheesy, but he figured that having you as his first wasn't the worst thing in the world. he thinks, in his happy go lucky drunken brain, that things couldn't be more perfect right now. that nothing could possibly ruin this day.

and the first hour into the new year, it seemed that way. all of you running outside happily, slapping pots and pants and hollering and san even jumping into the (heated) pool causing all of you to laugh and scream at him.

but then by 2:00, already abundant amounts of alcohol coursing through him, he went to take one last beer - that was until you quietly asked him not to.

"yeosang," you warned quietly, watching him stumble over to the cooler outside. that's where extra beer had been stored, meaning that every bottle and can inside was gone; and while he had help from the other boys, it was still an appalling amount to be gone.

"what, y/n?" he asks. you had been giving him shit for the past hour, giving him these snide little looks and grimaces anytime he took another sip.

"no more tonight," you beg quietly. "please."

seonghwa and hongjoong were on the other side of the backyard, the smaller boy getting in one last drag of a cigarette before he officially begins his new years resolution to quit; the other boys had all passed out on one another on the couch.

an annoyed groan leaves yeosang's mouth, looking over you like he's trying to detect...something. but apparently whatever he was looking for, if anything, he didn't find.

because he takes the can of beer out and cracks it open anyway, cheering your invisible drink sarcastically before taking a gulp. you feel sadness and anger and irritation fill through you, mostly the last two which may be what causes you to lash out.

to smack the beer out his hand boldly, his eyes widening as he watches it clank onto the concrete and spill out. the ruckus causes hongjoong and seonghwa to snap their heads in your direction, eyeing each other in shock but not saying a word.

"y/n, what the fuck!" he growls.

"really!" you laugh out humorlessly, "me, what the fuck?! you've been drinking all night!"

"yeah no shit," he bites back, kicking the can and missing the way you flinch when it knocks into you. "it's a holiday, i've been celebrating. something you should try to learn and do."

the look in his eye, the bite in his voice, the way your chest is burning with hot anger towards him reminds you so much of the way you both used to be. how you'd fight and yell and get in each other's faces with no regard for the consequences.

"celebrating is possible without getting shitfaced," you tell him, deciding to channel the anger in you and not the sadness. because if you stand here and cry and he's still a dick, it's only gonna hurt you.

"whatever, y/n," he says, going back into the cooler to take out another beer giving in to the childishness and spite in him. "you can't tell me what to do."

"i wasn't telling you what to do, i'm simply asking," you say, voice softer and quieter.

"and i'm simply asking you to leave it the fuck alone," he says, snapping off the cap and taking a sip. "new years is the only day i drink like this so why can't i?"

your teeth dig into your lip so hard you think you're gonna draw blood, backing away from him and about ready to bolt. but he's not done fighting apparently, stepping forward to raise an eyebrow at you.

"huh?"

"what do you want me to say?" you snap, "it won't even matter to you."

his eyes roll at your dramatics, popping his neck to relieve some tension. "you're my girlfriend for fucks sake, where did you get that impression, y/n?"

"yeah, i wonder where i got that impression, even though i've asked you ten times today to stop drinking."

"i will if you give me a good reason," he counters, "you're just sitting here trying to ruin the rest of my night."

a crazed laugh bubbles out of your mouth, shaking your head and resisting the urge to smack that can out of his hand again. "because it's making me uncomfortable," you say, "i don't like the smell of it on you. but who cares what i think, don't let me ruin the rest of your night."

hongjoong and seonghwa can't help but tune in to the conversation now, hearing how yeosang was getting progressively more nasty. which they discovered is usually typical around the holiday season, when most people spend time with their families and reflect on the year.

but for yeosang, that means spending his time alone. seeing his mom only every so often, accompanied by her boyfriend who doesn't get along with him in the first place. and if that wasn't enough, it's a reminder that he has no relationship with his father and has spent the last few christmases alone.

so while it doesn't excuse his behavior towards you, tonight, his friends also aren't surprised this is happening. because people always take their shit out on the people they care about the most.

"it's making you uncomfortable?" yeosang asks, grabbing your arm, his drunken self is completely ignorant as to why the smell on his breath would upset you. it's not exactly a pleasant stench but to make you this sensitive?

"yes," you squeak out, feeling yourself grown vulnerable under his touch and hating it.

"it's just beer, baby," he says, the endearing term not sending butterflies through you like it usually does. "so stop being so sensitive. let's just dance or something, yeah?"

and then the inevitable seems to happen again, the pleased, sarcastic smirk on his face causing anger to bubble inside of you; so, naturally, you rip your arm out of his hold, turn around, and smack the can out of his hand before storming past him.

"are you fucking serious?" he yells, turning around just as you pass hongjoong and seonghwa. "get back here, now."

"go fuck yourself, yeosang." and then with that, you slam the gate door shut and are completely out of sight. hongjoong and seonghwa can only watch their friend look at the gate, conflict in his eyes before he shrugs and kicks the can to the side. "third time's a charm, i guess."

the two boys make their way over to him before he can grab the third, hongjoong taking it from his hand as seonghwa guides him towards the pool house. "you guys, too?" he growls, fighting within the boys hold. "why can't everyone just fuck off?"

"i already wanna beat your ass, don't fucking push it," seonghwa growls to his friend.

"why? because i pissed off, y/n?" he says, his tone biting and malicious. "i'm actually shocked you didn't go after her."

"yeosang," hongjoong says warningly, knowing that this could get dirty and ugly quick if the mention of you becomes the topic of conversation.

"why would i go after her? she's your girlfriend walking alone in the freezing cold."

"you're gonna try to make me feel bad now? she's probably just sitting on the stairs."

hongjoong and seonghwa can only look at each other before going into the house, sitting him on the couch as the taller boy gets him a glass of water.

"you gonna tell me why you're being such a dick?" hongjoong asks lowly. yeosang only roll his eyes, laying back on the couch and throwing a pillow onto the floor.

"not being a dick."

"bullshit," hongjoong growls. "this is a shitty way to bring in the new year, yeosang. now quit being a bitch and talk to us."

"what the fuck do you want me to say?" yeosang shouts all of the sudden. "that i've been a lonely loser all winter break?"

"yes," seonghwa says, placing the water down on the table. "we wanna know what the hell happened to make you drink like that and then fight with your girlfriend over it."

and just as they suspected, it was the holidays. the way he feels like he has no parents and how he doesn't wanna bother you or them or anyone with his "family bullshit" or "bitch and complain to people about stupid shit like this."

"and you think lashing out and being a dick is better?" hongjoong asks, seonghwa smirking at the boy's bluntness. "we'd rather you bitch to us then be a raging asshole."

"thanks," yeosang growls out, his stomach sinking even in his intoxicated state when he realizes he'd been a real asshole tonight. that he fought with you for no reason and was completely inconsiderate to you.

"y/n was just trying to help you," hongjoong adds quietly, knowing seonghwa won't. "you made her...uncomfortable with your nonsense."

when seonghwa sees the confused look on yeosang's face, like he's trying to piece together what exactly made you uncomfortable about it, he finds himself answering.

"think about the first party she went to here," the boy says lowly, his chest raging with anger as he remembers that night. and just like that, it appears yeosang sobers up. springs from his spot on the couch and rushes out to the door.

"yeosang, wait-"

"no," he growls, "holyfuck. holy fuck. i'm such a dick." and like a mad man on a hunt, he rushes out of the gate and takes off down his driveway.

they say that the way you end your year is a good indication of how the next one will be. and for your friends inside, you really hope that's the case. they had so much fun tonight, seonghwa's friends laughing and having a good time together with your two best friends maybe solidifying their own relationship (if them sneaking in the front after midnight was for the reasons you thought).

but for yourself, you're praying that that's not the case. because sitting on the street, barefoot and crying is probably one of the saddest forms of foreshadowing. you were more so crying in frustration than hurt, even though your chest was aching with the way yeosang had been so careless towards you tonight.

you get it, it's a holiday, and maybe you were being a little annoying by not telling him straight away why you were so upset. by not taking him aside and explaining it to him right away opposed to just staring at him from afar like a sad puppy.

but that doesn't excuse the way he was so dismissive and mean, a shocking contrast to how sweet and loving he's been these past months. it wasn't even about the alcohol now or about the reminders, it was just his reaction.

"y/n?" you hear a voice call, your head snapping to the side to see seonghwa walking toward you. you wipe at your tears quickly, smiling at the boy who takes a seat next to you.

"are you okay?"

you can only nod your head, wrapping your arms around yourself as a cold stinging breeze brushes your skin. seonghwa notices immediately, slipping off his jacket and wrapping it around your body. it makes you jump at first, quietly thanking him as he nods at you.

"he was looking for you," he says quietly, "ran around his block four times before vomiting in the street." and after that, seonghwa had done his own search, pure luck having it that he found you three blocks away.

your face turns into a grimace, sighing as you place your head in your hands. "i just wanted him to stop," you say a few moments later, "i wasn't trying to ruin his fun."

seonghwa feels his heart pang but doesn't move a muscle; it's bad enough he put his jacket around you.

"he knows that," the boy tells you softly, kindly, the way he's always talked to you. "and i'm not excusing what he did...but he's usually like this. around the holidays."

you turn to look at seonghwa, a frown on your face as concern immediately floods through you; you hadn't even considered there had been another reason for him acting out.

"really?" you squeak out quietly. he nods his head, eyes roaming the concerned, pained expression on your face.

"yeah, all of our parents aren't around a lot," seonghwa tells you, "but his mom is definitely the worst. and at least we have siblings. yeosang's usually all alone."

you feel the tears burn the back of your eyes again, now thinking of your boyfriend spending christmas alone, dark and sad in his little pool house while everyone in his life celebrated with family.

"why didn't he ask any of us," you say quietly, "i would've loved to have him over for christmas." but seonghwa only raises his eyebrow at you, a look that says 'you know him' causing you to sigh.

"he's such a pain in the ass," you whine quietly. a contagious laugh bubbles out of seonghwa that causes you to follow suit, looking at each other at the cold wind whips around you.

"he really is," seonghwa says with a shake of the head. "he's passed out on his couch now. but i think he'd really wanna see you."

you nod your head immediately, quickly getting up before offering your hand down to him. he looks at it and takes it with hesitance, eyes narrowing at you when he sees you trying to take off his jacket.

"what are you doing?"

"giving you your jacket back," you tell him, "you were just sick a few weeks ago."

and proving to be almost as annoying as your boyfriend, he shakes his head before taking off down the block. "seonghwa!" you yelp, running after him with his jacket in hand.

you call it a time out about a minute in, cursing your lack of a workout routine and accepted defeat in the form of allowing him to walk through the cold by himself.

"you boys are so obnoxious," you grumble, the pout on your face causing a deep chuckle to leave his mouth.

"sorry we care about you, y/n," he says, the words so casual and carefree he doesn't have time to think about they're gonna effect him later. when he walks you to the pool house and watches you take off his jacket, thanking him quietly before wishing him a happy new year.

"happy new year, y/n," he says back. and then all the air seems to leave his lungs when you hug him. it's a friendly, polite hug, a hug you'd give any friend on a day like this. but that might be the problem after all, that friendly hugs with you is how he's bringing in the new year.

you walk in to see yeosang laid out on the couch, one leg on top of the cushions while the other is stretched out on the floor. you don't know if you wanna kiss or slap him, going with the latter when you notice the bucket next to him.

you kneel down next to him, running your fingers through his slightly damp hair and admiring his sleeping face; because he's even handsome with a clammy face and drool covered lips. the movement in his hair causes him to groan tiredly at first, a sigh leaving your mouth as you stand up. you grab the empty cup from the table to fill it with water, looking over him once more before you teasingly mumble,

"how stupid of me to think you'd grown out of your bullying ways, huh?"

and then just like that, his eyes pop open and he springs up. you're about to say something more when his arms wrap around waist, his head burying in your stomach as he tightens his hold around you.

"yeosang..." you say lowly, almost brokenly, your eyes watering at how tight he's holding you. like he thinks if he loosens it, you're gonna run out of here and far away from him.

"i'm sorry, i'm so fucking sorry," he says, words slightly muffled by your dress. "i..i wasn't thinking and was being a fucking loser and i'm such an asshole, i don't deserve to-"

"stop," you say quietly, running your fingers in his hair and pushing him back. you kneel down again and realize with his eyes open, he actually looks like shit. bloodshot eyes and messy hair and a worried, broken expression as he looks at you nervously.

"i'm such a fucking dick."

"that's true."

"and i shouldn't have gotten so shitfaced."

"that's also true."

"and i don't deserve you and if you wanna leave me, i wouldn't blame you."

you look at him with squinted eyes, shaking your head at that one before taking the seat next to him. "i don't wanna leave you, this was our first fight you drama queen."

he lets out a sigh of relief, slumping against the couch as he runs his fingers through his hair.

"but..." you say, "i would prefer if you'd talk to me when you're feeling shitty instead of like...destroying your liver and making me waste two beers. does that sound fair?"

a chuckle leaves his mouth despite how shitty he feels, both in body and spirit, so he can only nod his head before grabbing you into a hug. he lays down and drags your body on top of his, his lips on your head as he mumbles apologies over and over again.

"i hated that," he says suddenly, "i hated fighting with you. how did we do that all the time?" a giggle bubbles out of your mouth as you look up at him, a mix of minty mouthwash and alcohol wafting around you; he tried, at least.

"i only did it because you did it first," you tell him, placing a peck on his cheek to lessen the blow of your words.

"well i'll never do it again," he says adamantly, "i'll become a pussy, i don't care."

"no you won't," you tell him, narrowing your eyes at him. "and besides, i don't want you to be a pussy."

"thank god," he sighs out, wrapping his arms around you as you giggle against him. he smiles at the sound, kissing the top of your head before closing his eyes and praying he doesn't fuck up like that again.

because now the thought of losing you scares the shit out of him. and he's never really cared about losing anyone before.

(part 25)

#seonghwa #yeosang #seonghwa angst #yeosang angst #seonghwa fluff #yeosang fluff #ateez #ateez angst #ateez fluff #seonghwa series

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honeyrites · 4 years

Text

Welcome Home - Feren

(x reader)

AN: I had planned to post this to Wattpad at first, so the cover/picture might seem a bit strange for tumblr. The reader is Thranduil’s daughter, the princess of Mirkwood. I swear I don’t usually write Feren nearly as submissive as he is here.

WARNINGS: fluff, mentions of war and ptsd

WORD COUNT: 2,081

The trees in the woodland realm are constantly changing structure to ward off any intruders; because of this, the elves are forced to frequently remap the landscape. The elites of the Mirkwood military were scheduled to spend two weeks in the forest to accomplish this task. While this shift in paths typically only occurred every few years, a group of dwarves working to reclaim the Kingdom of Erebor were being particularly aggressive this time. The trees were shifting far more frequently, and with the threat of war growing each and every day, the elves needed a reliable way to track the area. They were forced to accomplish this task in the dead of winter, over a much longer period of time than had been hoped, for the woods had grown afraid, and so had the soldiers.

Commander Feren returned with his troops two months after they were expected to arrive, with perfectly designed maps fit to serve their king. While the men did ache to return home, they spared no expense in accomplishing their goal; they knew the next battle would be soon and it relied on them alone. There was no room for error, and every opportunity for it as well. Despite the fact that they'd met all of Thranduil's relentless and merciless demands, when the commander returned with a positive scouting report and everything that had he asked, all he received was a nod from the king, who accepted his work as adequate. So, the soldiers- tired, frozen, nearly traumatized, and deeply disappointed soldiers- went to drink. Save for old Commander Feren, who was going immediately to bed.

The commander sat close to the fire, staring into the void. He kept a light blanket around his shoulders and his mind clear of any thoughts; the mission was over- he should have been relieved, but still the ellon remained too exhausted to appreciate the moment's sentiment. The room was silent save for all but the crackle of flames, and occasional crunching of snow outside (a sound that would have driven Feren half-mad if he weren't so tired). It was truly a pitiful sight.

The creaking of his bedroom door brought him out his state of half conscious thought. He reacted slowly to the sound, it barely processed in his mind that anyone had entered. Feren turned to look, but he felt the warmth on his face rapidly fleeting, and found he had to turn back to the fire to recover it. A breeze blew in from the recently open door, causing Feren to gasp involuntarily and shake more violently. His mind had completely dismissed the fact that someone had entered, it focused once more on the seemingly impossible task of escaping the cold.

"Starlight?" A soft voice called from the other side of the room. He finally turned to see the princess searching for him. His quick movement caught her eye, she smiled warmly before approaching. Feren saw his love in her usual lilac nightgown, which didn't cover nearly enough skin to keep her warm on such a night. It must be later than I thought... Feren pondered.

The elleth brought a comforter, which was thrown over her forearm and a mug in each hand, one of which she offered to Feren before settling down with him. She straddled his lap, quickly replacing the sad blanket around his shoulders with a thick comforter. She pulled him in for a quick kiss, one of which Feren wished lasted much longer, but was very grateful for her presence nonetheless.

"I missed you," he blurted out, desperate for her attention, despite the fact that he had it in its entirety. YN smiled and pressed their foreheads together.

"I missed you, too." She kissed him softly. "But, before we talk, you must first drink your hot chocolate," she commanded of him. Feren did as told, but cringed at the unexpectedly strong taste of liquor. YN laughed at his reaction and commented, "Galion made this, what were you expecting?". Feren was overwhelmed with joy and he showed it proudly, what a nice surprise it was for an angel to offer him comfort from the cage he'd been trapped in for months. The dark, unforgiving winter that had overtaken Feren's being had become a part of him he thought he could never rid of, but YN chased it away in a matter of seconds.

She set her cup down next to them, "So, tell me about the trip. How did it go?" Her voice was eager and her smile was kind, she wanted to understand his troubles and somehow open up the boy. Feren's small smile fell. He shrugged slightly and looked away, attempting to avoid her gaze, but she quickly followed. He found he didn't have the words to respond to that question, despite his best efforts. Feren opened his mouth to offer an explanation, but closed it again once he felt tears well in his eyes. Feren had kept it together for ten weeks, he'd valiantly led his hopeless soldiers for months on end without wavering (externally). He thought his worries were over when the mission ended. He certainly didn't think the mere mention of the situation would bring him straight to tears, but he was glad it was in front of his lady when it did.

The ellon wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her neck. "I don't know..." were the only words he could quietly let escape between sobs. He felt the weakest he had in his life, like a child crying to his mother. He wanted desperately to stop breaking down, but YN knew it would only get worse if he fought it. She ran her fingers through his hair slowly and soothingly, gaining control of every nerve in his body as she did so. YN kissed her meleth's forehead, she knew he was ashamed of himself and had no reason to be. "I'm sorry, my angel, I'm sorry you were out there for so long..." she whispered, knowing all the commander needed was somebody to empathize with him. There were no casualties reported or any major incidents; on paper it looked as though all was well, but the princess knew her ellon must have suffered greatly to have returned with such fantastic results. "It's over now, I promise... hey, starlight?" She lifted his chin so she could look him seriously in his eyes. Feren looked back at her like a scared puppy, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. She leaned in close and spoke quietly on his lips, "I love you," while wiping the tears from his eyes. Feren smiled, finally done with feeling lost. "I love you," he whispered, voice breaking slightly.

YN peppered soft, gentle kisses all over the soldier's face. He inhaled a shaky breath, feeling better than he had in ages. He pondered how she could so quickly recover his being, which had been in pain for what seemed like an eternity.

"I can't pretend like I know what it was like to be stuck out there for so long... but, I can say a few things are for certain," she stayed as close as she had before, nose to nose with one arm around Feren's neck and the other still tracing his skull. The male couldn't even blink; he was too lost in the maiden's eyes, voice, and touch. "one, you're here now. With me. Safe from all harm," she pointed to the window, momentarily diverting his attention before continuing, "...two, you see that? That's the world, and it is way - way out there. Far from us," he laughed as she kissed him again. "...three, I love you. And four, I will always be here when you return." The last affirmation, once again brought the male to tears, but for a very different reason than the last.

She pulled the blanket further up on Feren's shoulders, leaning in for another kiss, when the door opened. It was Legolas. Feren's room was the third largest in the kingdom, the pair couldn't easily be spotted from the doorway. "Feren, I-" the prince began as he entered the grand estate. Luckily, the ellon's ears were sharp, he quickly located the two before interrupting himself. "-will come again at a later date!" With that, he turned on his heel and left as quickly as he had come. The soldier and the princess were both sent into an uncontrollable fit of laughter at the prince's reaction.

YN sighed happily, "At least we no longer have to tell him we're together,". Feren took a sip of hot chocolate before responding "but is this really how we wanted him to find out?"

"Ridiculous question, because he knows now regardless of how we planned to tell him." He wanted to respond with a witty retort, but found himself lost again in his lady's eyes. YN chuckled at Feren's severely submissive state, his attention was completely on her, waiting for her next move. They sat in silence for a few moments before either one spoke up, appreciating sounds and smell of the fire, as well as the other's presence.

"Come on," YN stood up before offering a hand to her meleth. Feren did not want to leave. He was content to go to bed, but his mind resisted any movement that would separate him from the state they were just in. Feren's mind, which had known nothing but peril for too long, was not ready to be moved from the only place it deemed safe. Like an animal born in a cage, he was convinced everything beyond their small space was unsafe. Even if they were going to bed, what if the cold returned? Who's to say the fireside with her isn't the only truly safe place on Middle-Earth? Feren cringed at the delusional thoughts that raced through his head; he knew they were hallucinations.

"Bed?" His voice was much gentler than he had intended it to be. The male cleared his throat to distract from that fact.

"No." YN stated clearly before walking off into the darkness. Feren stood, he could still see her pulling at the hem of her dress, but was only a shadow when the fabric hit the floor. "Bath."

"Let me wash your hair, starlight." YN moved so she sat behind Feren.

"Absolutely not!" He joked, and turned around to look at her. "You have spoiled me enough already, you move."

She smiled sweetly at him, knowing the soldier was more likely to follow her instructions if she did. He was going to do as she said anyway, but YN knew he'd feel less guilty doing so if she proved he was no burden to her. Feren rolled his eyes and reluctantly sunk back in the water. Their breaths were slow and relaxed, both partners perfectly content with where they were. The air smelled of sweet vanilla, as the few candles that surrounded the large bath gave off a dim light. YN ran a hairbrush through the soldier's auburn locks slowly. She was determined to enjoy every minute of their time together. She began to massage his scalp once more, earning a quick response. "Stop that." Feren stated plainly, knowing the playful elleth was determined to pamper him, and his words were powerless against her relentless will. He was right, of course, YN giggled quietly. "You know, commander," he opened his eyes slowly, knowing she'd be peering over his laying body. "Hm?" Feren hummed, challenging her. "I think you forget that I am not one of your soldiers. I am the princess- and unfortunately for everyone- I will continue to do as I please. And if what I please is washing your hair with lavender, then that's just what I'll do, regardless of your pointless protests... and I certainly won't hesitate to point out the fact that you look like you're enjoying yourself thoroughly." All the male could do was smile in response. He was soon too lost in the feeling of her hands in his hair and the warm water to care for anything else.

#the hobbit #lord of the rings #feren x reader #feren #mirkwood #thranduil #legolas #the desolation of smaug #botfa

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ruzek-halstead · 4 years

Text

baby project

pairing: jay halstead x hailey upton

jay deliberately misses a health credit and is forced to take a parenting class with his favourite blonde. this includes a weekend with a fake baby, little sleep and heart-to-hearts.

“what are we naming her? i promised adam i would consider his name as an option.”

(high school au)

masterlist

warnings: swearing, fluffery

“time to hand out your new babies!”

jay’s face paled.

how did he manage to get himself into this situation? he deliberately missed a health credit, hoping his extracurricular activities such as sports would be enough. but clearly, he wasn’t that lucky after being pulled into his guidance counsellor’s office and being told his only option was to take a health class specifically focused on parenting. at such late notice, it was the only class with an open spot that could count towards his requirements.

it was mostly fine.

hailey happened to be in that class and he was able to half-ass through it because his best friend is ridiculously smart. she’d only huff when he inched over to peek at her notes but even she couldn’t resist his grin.

however, this was an assignment where he couldn’t use his excellent level of bullshit. it was the final project of the semester and worth 30% of their final grade. in pairs of two, they were to care for a fake baby, who in reality, acts just like a real baby. it recorded everything and if you took too long to respond to its crying, or hold its neck the wrong way, it docked marks.

luckily for him, hailey agreed to be his partner, because he genuinely believed he’d fail without her. unfortunately, her genius brain alone was not enough to help them excel in this project.

“halstead, boy or girl?”

oh, and the best part about this course? they had been short on teachers at the beginning of the school year, so somehow jay’s lacrosse coach (who hates everything and everyone) was convinced to teach the course.

jay looked at hailey in a panic, unsure of his answer. “uh, i don’t know?”

“that’s not an answer, halstead!” coach jacobs yelled before throwing a baby simulator dressed in light pink in his direction. jay stumbled a little but managed to catch it. hailey cringed when she saw his hands wrap around the baby’s neck. the whole classes’ eyes flickered back to coach jacobs. “that doesn’t count,” he muttered before continuing to hand out the babies in a more civilized manner.

assuming that the simulators hadn’t been turned on yet due to the way it made no noise whatsoever after being chucked halfway across the room, jay gently placed it back on his desk. “it’s a girl,” hailey said softly, staring at her in admiration from her desk beside jay.

jay found himself staring at hailey, his heart fluttering. the way hailey was smiling at the baby, as if it was—and god forbid where his mind was dragging him, but as if it was theirs—was making his heart do all sort of weird things in his chest. jay and hailey had always been friends, but over their junior year and now in their senior year, he’s starting to feel things.

he cleared his throat awkwardly, shooting her a nervous grin when her blue eyes moved up to his face. “what are we naming her?” before hailey could chime in, he continued. “i promised adam i would consider his name as an option.”

“we are not naming our daughter adam,” she deadpanned with the utmost seriousness, but jay was too busy avoiding an aneurysm at hearing ‘our daughter’ to focus on anything else.

“adamella?” he choked out, because when in doubt, always make a joke.

hailey shook her head. “over my dead body.”

“i’ve always liked the name sophia,” jay shrugged, catching her eye to gauge her reaction.

she sent him a soft smile. “i really like that. let’s do it.”

the sweet moment was cut short when coach jacobs clicked a few buttons on his computer with a smirk. “alright suckers, get ready for the worst weekend of your lives!”

his statement was proven when half the babies in the room started screaming.

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

it was somehow decided that hailey would take baby sophia for the first night (because she’s more likely to not completely destroy the simulator than jay), then she would make her way over to jay’s house on saturday.

that was the plan. however, plans always change.

the first few hours went great. the baby cried but was easily soothed with a diaper change or a quick bottle. hailey was able to get the baby to sleep around 9:30 and ended up falling asleep herself after watching a movie on netflix.

she was woken up at two in the morning with soft cries, so she blearily picked up baby sophia and chimed her with her bracelet. she tried giving her a bottle which didn’t quiet her down and neither did a diaper change. she tried cuddling her and rocking her but to no avail; hailey pulled on her blonde hair, wondering if the cries she’s hearing are hers or the baby’s.

“baby, please go back to sleep,” hailey begged.

after another fifteen minutes of incessant crying, hailey decided to call in reinforcements. she shouldn’t be the only one suffering.

she quickly dialed jay’s number and prays he isn’t in a deep sleep where he won’t hear his phone. if that’s the case, she has half a mind to drive over and stick him with baby sophia so she can finally sleep for a bit. luckily, he picked up after a few rings.

“hello?” he mumbled sleepily.

“jay halstead!” hailey hissed over the phone, so sharply that he scrambled to sit upright in his bed and hold the phone tight to his ear. “you better get your ass over here before i murder you! i am dying over here!”

jay rubbed his eyes; he could hear the faint crying of sophia and sighed. “come on hails, it can’t be that bad.”

he could picture the absolutely furious and incredulous expression on her face. “are you kidding me, jay? how about i abandon you with this child, and then we’ll see what isn’t ‘that’ bad?”

“sorry,” he mumbled, nearly dozing off again.

hailey knew him too well. “jay!” she snapped and he flinched awake again. “i better see your face in ten minutes or you’re taking care of sophia the rest of the weekend by yourself!”

“shit okay,” he grumbled, grabbing a random sweatshirt and joggers. “i’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“it’s been over half an hour of this, you have ten!”

jay groaned as he hung up the phone and ran a hand through his hair. by the tone of hailey’s voice, he knows better than to make her wait any longer. jay arrived at hailey’s house with one minute to spare and grabbed the key lodged under the welcome mat. as soon as he walked in the door, he could hear faint cries.

at this point, he’s not sure if the cries are baby sophia’s or hailey’s.

he had barely gotten through the threshold of her bedroom before his baby was shoved into his arms. “oh okay,” he mumbled, stumbling on his feet. hailey’s blonde hair was tied back into a messy ponytail and her eyes are rimmed red.

“thank god you’re here,” she muttered, rubbing her eyes. she was undoubtedly making them even more irritated. “she hasn’t stopped crying, i’ve honestly done everything, i don’t know what she—” hailey’s words abruptly stopped because for the first time in hours, all she can hear is silence. “what the hell?”

jay looked just as confused as she did because it literally only took a few seconds before the baby quieted down once settled in his arms. hailey looked exasperated.

“you’re never leaving,” she replied quickly, staring at him in awe. “you can’t leave me alone with her again. i think she hates me.”

jay leaned against her desk, shooting her a disgruntled look. “relax, i’m sure that’s not true.”

“whatever,” she huffed, sitting down on her bed. “you can probably put her back now. i think she’s cried enough for the night.” jay slowly placed her back in her car seat. “can you imagine having a baby at this age? god, i couldn’t do it.”

she could barely make it through an entire night with a fake baby, much less a real one.

jay took a seat beside her, a generous amount of space between them. “i can’t imagine having a baby, no. i think it’s physically impossible, but i might be wrong.”

hailey laughed, hitting his shoulder in response. her actions brought her a little closer to him. “shut up. i’m still mad at you for abandoning me.”

“sorry,” he smirked in response. “i promise i’ll spend the rest of this weekend attached at your hip. i think that’s only fair after the night you’ve already had.”

hailey sighed happily. “you always know what to say, don’t you, halstead?”

jay shrugged his shoulders and felt his cheeks heat up slightly. “i wouldn’t say that.”

hailey wasn’t sure what was bringing it on, but she felt the sudden need to let him know just how much she appreciated him. he was always ready to help out, regardless of the obstacles. he always seemed to know just what to say to make her feel better, and even if it didn’t, he would always be the one to tell her exactly what she needed to hear. jay had the biggest heart of anyone she’d ever known and it had been damaged far too many times.

“hey, i’m serious,” she said softly, ducking her head down to catch his green eyes. “i appreciate you.”

jay chuckled nervously and before he knew it, his fingers were tangling together because he didn’t know what to do with his hands. his nervousness only got worse when hailey grabbed onto his hand.

“i think you’re more tired than you thought,” jay responded softly. his gaze focused on their hands. there had always been a connection between them; it’s hard to be just friends when you’ve known each other for so long.

hailey smiled. “yeah, i think i am,” she leaned over and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. “we should probably get some sleep bef—”

sophia’s loud cries cut her off before she could finish and hailey groaned, burying her head into his shoulder.

“don’t worry hails, i’ve got you.”

🌼

p.s. i genuinely love the name sophia, and it has nothing to do with sophia bush/erin lindsay. hope you enjoyed!!

#upstead fic #upstead fanfic #upstead fanfiction #upstead au #jay x hailey #jay and hailey #hailey and jay #hailey x jay #hailey upton #jay halstead #tracy spiridakos #jesse lee soffer #chicago pd #chicago pd fanfiction #one chicago #one chicago fanfiction #upstead

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kuratoki · 4 years

Text

Changes 02

So until April 23, updates for this fic will be daily~ Did you guys enjoy the first chapter? I find the beginning is one of the hardest (and mostly filler) parts to write but once there’s enough context, then the REAL story can begin :D

Anyways~ Happy Sunday!

Do you agree that things change in time? Well four years abroad would tell wouldn’t it?

Pairing: Reader x Jeno ft. NCT

Words: 2193

1 - 2 - 3

Warning: None in this chapter

“Hey Y/N~” Jisung said out of the blue.

School was now over and you, Jisung and Hana were sitting at your favorite Korean BBQ restaurant where you always spent your final day in Korea before you had to fly back to Europe.

“What’s up?” you asked, a mouth full of meat.

“When were you going to tell me Jeno was the main character in your contemporary piece?” he asked with a cheeky grin, causing Hana to almost spit out her drink while you struggled to keep the meat down.

“Ahh!!! He figured it out!!!” Hana said clapping happily and looked at Jisung with curiosity, “How did you find out?”

“She had to perform that one piece she did her first year of camp. You know how the advanced contemporary instructor always likes to have their new students perform a piece on the first day right? Y/N was the only student in that class that hasn’t taken it before so obviously everyone was looking at her with judgement.” Jisung started and you buried your head in your hands as he continued, “So I chose the song for her and I swear.”

Jisungs eyes got wide, “It was like for the first ten seconds she completely forgot the choreography and I was like crap, I screwed her over. Then out of nowhere, the music took over her body and it was the best I’ve ever seen her dance. Then I turned to Jeno and he was so mesmerized by your dance that I’m sure he wasn’t even aware he was staring. Once the music ended, I swore she was about to cry and I looked at Jeno and he looked guilty? Then I remembered her telling us one year that she left because she was trying to get over someone and when I heard that she and Jeno used to attend the same dance academy, I put the puzzle pieces together.” he finished with a grin and gave you a side glance.

“Plus, they had a moment after class today too.” he added with a smirk and your eyes widened before you started hitting Jisung’s arm, “She was blushing soooo much!!”

“You were there?!” you asked smacking your best friends arm and Hana burst into a new fit of laughter.

“A moment? Really?” she asked as Jisung nodded, acting out the two scenes.

“I dont think he would’ve let go of her hand if I didn’t join them. I was legit standing behind him the whole time” he grinned once he was done and Hana was holding the table for support.

“You know, as much as I missed you two...Yet, I have the urge to buy myself a plane ticket back to Europe.” you groaned as your friends continued to tease you. “Jaemin doesn’t know anything does he?” you asked Hana who shook her head.

“You’re nuts if you think I’d tell my boyfriend, who is best friends with Jeno about this.” Hana said quickly. “But Jeno’s been talking about you for years now, I put the puzzle pieces together earlier on but never brought it up since you always look so sad whenever he was brought up.”

“Years?” you asked with wide eyes as the two nodded, “When did you realize that I was the one Jeno kept talking about?” you asked Jisung as he thought back.

When did he know that you were the girl Jeno never got over? When the two of them met, it was through Jaemin and the three were always in the same dance class. When they got recruited into the NCT Dance Crew, that’s when their bond got stronger and it was also a year after Jisung and Hana met you.

While Jaemin had found Hana quickly, it was obvious Jeno refused to date anyone though between the two boys, he had the most suitors. He always used the excuse that his dance was more important to him which was a total lie. During a retreat that the older NCT members put on, Jisung overheard a drunk Jeno confessing to one of the older guys, Doyoung, about his past and why he never dated. There was a girl who was perfect for him in every way and she just got up and left him. When Doyoung, who felt empathetic for his favorite junior asked him who this girl was, Jeno just responded he didn’t know what he did wrong for her to leave for Europe just like that.

That’s when it clicked in Jisung’s mind and he put the two together. Of course, out of respect for you, he never brought it up and kept it to himself and now after a few years, he couldn’t believe that things had yet to change. He saw the way Jeno looked at you, a way he never looked at other girls before and he cringed thinking about the lost puppy look his friend had.

“It’s been a while.” he answered with a smile, “I still can’t believe you were the reason Jeno never dated.”

“Didn’t he?” you asked with a raised eyebrow, “The girl that I told you guys about.”

“Jaemin said they never dated. Jeno got accepted into SMAA the very next year and last I heard, she failed the auditions about four times.” Hana explained, “Maybe what you saw that night was a misunderstanding.” she tried to reason.

“So she just randomly showed up at his house to make a move?” you asked, scrunching up your nose, “And did it conveniently when I walked out?”

“Maybe she saw you?” Jisung suggested, “You said that she had been giving you a hard time since you spent so much time with Jeno and Jaemin. Maybe this was her way to get you to go away.”

“Which wouldn’t be surprising. The four of us ran into her one day while we were out and she was all over Jeno and Jaemin, even though I was holding Jaemins hand.” Hana said with a slight glare, “She also tried to get him to leave me so I mean…”

“Wow, so now I actually have an ass to kick?” you asked sitting up straighter, “How did you not tell me about this before?”

“Cause you’d start your emo hours the moment Jeno was brought up. So like I said, maybe it is a misunderstanding. Something you two can talk out.” Jisung suggested again, “Plus, I have a plan.” he grinned mischievously and you gave him a weird look.

“That’s the look you gave her when you said you had a plan to get Wong Yukhei off her back.” Hana stated looking frightened, “He hasn’t come back to camp since year 2.”

“It worked didn’t it?” Jisung asked as you and Hana shrugged, “By the way Hana, what are the chances of you transferring into our third period class?”

“I start tomorrow. Why?” Hana asked and Jisungs grin got wider and started telling you about his plan.

“So essentially, nothing changes between us but we let Jaemin and Jeno assume things and let it go from there?” Hana asked once Jisung was done with his explanation and he nodded his head as if he just solved the problem to world hunger.

“Isn’t that dangerous though?” you asked, thinking Jisungs plan over, “It’s not like I still like Jeno or anything.” you muttered to yourself.

“Liar.” your two friends said automatically with their thumbs down.

“If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have blushed the way you did earlier today.” Jisung said with a teasing grin.

“Jaemin said that Jeno had heart eyes for you all english class.” Hana added with a matching grin, “And that he chose to sit behind you this semester instead of Jaemin.”

“I’m starting to REALLY regret transferring over.” you moaned into your hands as your two friends continued to make fun of you. “You do realize you may get punched in the face for this stunt.” you said as Jisung shrugged.

“It’ll give me a reason to hit him back for taking my solo spot at nationals last year.” he said before taking a sip of his soda.

“Someone’s still salty.” Hana said as you nodded your head in agreement.

“Well, I can’t stop you regardless so I guess I have to go with it.” you said sighing, “Why do boys always have to resort to violence?”

“Cause they end up like us who hold grudges forever?” Hana asked with a shrug as Jisung proceeded to eat more.

Outside, two boys observed the group before them through the restaurant window.

“Do you think they’ve noticed us yet?” Jaemin asked when he noticed the three of you starting to get up.

“I think I saw Jisung look up just now.” Jeno said as the three of you left the restaurant.

Hana’s eyes automatically lit up when she saw her boyfriend and ran ahead of you and Jisung to meet with them.

“What are you doing here?” Hana asked Jaemin, “And how did you know we’d be in this area?”

Jaemin gave Hana his most charming smile, he had asked Jisung earlier that day which KBBQ restaurant you were going to after school and naturally, the other boy told him unaware that his girlfriend wanted to have alone time with her friends.

“You didn’t turn off your location on snapchat.” he answered, hoping his girlfriend would buy the answer and he swore he heard Jeno choke on his laughter beside him.

“What are you guys up to now?” Jisung asked once you joined the group.

“We just had dinner and I wanted to take Hana on a walk before we head home.” Jaemin said, “What about you guys?”

“I think I’m going to head home before I fall into a food coma.” you said stretching, “I think I ate enough for two meals and I still have a lot to unpack.”

“Ah… I have to meet with one of the senior dancers from NCT so I can’t walk you home…” Jisung said looking down at his watch, “Are you okay getting home yourself?”

“What am I? Twelve?” you asked giggling, “Of course I can get home myself.”

“Kay, then I’ll see you tomorrow.” he said giving you and Hana a hug before he left in the direction of the academy.

“We’ll head off too then.” Jaemin said, his arm around Hana’s waist as she waved to you and Jeno.

“Have a goodnight guys.” you said waving and watched them walk off towards the river leaving only you and Jeno.

The two of you looked at each other and he offered you a small smile.

“I’m heading home too... “ he said nodding his head in the direction, “you said you were living at your parents right?”

Taking that as a silent invitation to walk with him, you nodded your head as the two of you started to walk side by side.

The two of you walked in silence, Jeno with his hands shoved in his pockets thinking about what to say while you looked at anywhere but him, the conversation with your friends being fresh on your mind.

You didn’t want to admit that the moment you saw the boy next to you dancing in the lunchroom earlier that day made a lot of your old feelings resurface. He looked so cool and more refined than he did all those years ago and it made you think how much could change in four years. Four years where you both had a lot of time to grow up apart from each other. Once upon a time, you were able to call each other best friend or maybe something even more. Now, the two of you walk with each other practically strangers.

You let out a small breath, things really did change over time.

By the time you got back to your houses, no one had yet to say a word.

“I guess I’ll see you in class.” you said softly as you stood in front of your gate.

“See you in class.” Jeno said with a nod, “Have a good night Y/N.”

“You too Jeno.” you said waving at him before going into your house.

He stared at your front door for a few moments before he went inside his home himself and leaned his head back on the door. He thought about how he wanted to hug you at that moment, catch up on everything you missed in the last four years and ask what made you leave so suddenly.

There were so many questions running through his head but he just didn’t know how to approach things with you yet. You seemed different than you once were and he knew you weren’t the same person as you were before. But why did all the old feelings he once had for you resurface the moment he saw you dance that heartbreaking piece?

Taking out his wallet, he opened it to look at the polaroid picture revealing two very happy looking pre-teens infront of a bench that overlooked the city and he tried not to frown. Who was he kidding? The feelings never returned because they were never gone to begin with.

#nct imagine #nct #nct dream imagine #nct dream #lee jeno #jeno #jisung #jaemin #kpop #kpop scenario #kpop imagine #nct scenario #nct fiction #nct dream fiction #nct dream scenario #jeno imagine #jeno fiction #jeno scenario

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missbugaboo · 4 years

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That Other Guy (7)

“Why does it matter so much to you? What’s so terrible about Adrien Agreste that you can’t stand him as your competition – even though it changes absolutely nothing for you? What in magic’s name makes him such a hateful rival?” Or, Chat Noir finally learns who Ladybug’s dream guy is, but somehow, he’s not pleased at all. For more reasons than one.

LadyNoir, Adrienette.

fanfiction.net / AO3

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Chapter 7: The Iceberg

"I think it's going to rain."

Adrien's voice was calm when he uttered the words, his gaze fixed on the still blue sky above his head as he noted the clouds that were slowly starting to take over it. He heard Plagg snicker quietly, undoubtedly in response to his comment, and glanced down at the kwami as the latter munched on a piece of cheese they had – miraculously – found in Adrien's bag right after entering the school grounds.

Think of it, Plagg probably had known about it being there all along.

He sighed and closed his eyes, his brain once again betraying him as the image of a dark-haired girl in ponytails appeared in his mind once more, regardless of his tries to push it away. He had hoped he could do that for a little longer, at least until Plagg finished with his meal – clearly though, it was still too much to ask for.

He shook his head and looked around, deciding to at least organise his tangled thoughts before he was forced to open up before Plagg. He knew there was no escaping it now; so perhaps, the best he could do was to find a way of presenting his reasoning in a way that would leave no room for doubts on his companion's part.

Seeing how Plagg was still happily occupied with his cheese, he still had a few moments to figure things out.

Refraining from yet another sigh, Adrien frowned pensively, trying to come up with a plan for his unwanted (yet necessary) speech. The circumstances seemed favourable for once, with the warm spring breeze coming in place of the sterile, cold air of his own room and the noisiness of the photo shoot set replaced by the quietness that marked their current spot. No Nathalie, no Gorilla, no make-up or photography directors.

This time Adrien couldn't help but smile weakly to himself. Indeed, it would have been a real miracle to have any of them follow him all the way up here.

Maybe there were some perks of being a superhero, after all.

"You know I can still listen to you with my mouth full, right?" he heard Plagg ask mockingly, a note of suppressed laughter clearly audible in his tone. "I don't use my ears for eating."

Adrien raised an eyebrow at him, his own smile unwavering.

"Is that so?" it was his turn to ask. "I've always thought you put your whole body and soul into this particular action. After all, you're the one who keeps reminding me how important it is to savour one's meal. Especially when it's cheese."

"Not just any cheese, kid. We're talking about camembert here," Plagg responded after another big gulp.

"My point exactly, isn't it? And since I'd hate to disturb you during such a life-altering event..."

"As if you hadn't done that on multiple occasions so far..."

"This, as well as the fact that I obviously need your undivided attention during the conversation you insisted upon so relentlessly, are the reasons why I'm waiting for you to finish in your own time. There is no need to rush."

"Okay, okay, that's it," Plagg cut him off decisively, leaving his place and floating up to Adrien's eye level. "I can see what you're doing, trying to put it off so that we don't have enough time to talk it through before your next class starts. Well, let me tell you this, kid: you're not going anywhere until we're done talking."

"Now that was never the deal," Adrien responded firmly, however as of now, there was no trace of annoyance in his voice. "And you know perfectly well that I can't skip any more classes, even though I honestly wish I could. Also... It was not what I was thinking about."

"What was it then?"

"You want answers to your questions. I think the only way that makes sense it if they are throughout, too."

For reasons not entirely fathomable to Adrien, Plagg refrained from his next comment, even though it was obvious that he'd had more than a few words to say. The determined look in his kwami's eyes didn't fade, either, and yet, it was exactly what made Adrien's serenity grow, as he could once again witness the excess of his tiny companion's mindfulness and cool.

He might have been a source of destruction in the magical sense, and still, Adrien couldn't imagine him ever truly hurting him – and not only because he was Plagg's so-called master.

It really was time to show that their loyalty and trust went both ways.

"I need you to promise me that you won't interrupt, no matter how many times I trail off or get stuck," he said in a quiet voice, pulling his legs to his chest and resting his chin on his knees. "I don't fully understand all this myself, and even if I did, it would be hard to put all of those feelings into words. So... be patient with me, okay?"

A part of him expected to Plagg to disagree, or to at least treat him with some witty remark about how their time together was limited by Adrien's upcoming class. He was to be surprised again, however, as Plagg simply nodded in confirmation, giving him to understand that he comprehended and accepted the rule bestowed on him.

No, not a rule.

Just a request.

"I know there's only one thing you really want to hear, so I won't dodge the subject by talking about something else. Especially as it really is the only one that matters," he begun with as much calmness as he could summon. "I think so, anyway. So, as difficult as it is for me to bring it up, it's probably best if I just up and do it. I..."

He bit his lip anxiously but refused to close his eyes. Scared as he was, imperfect as he was, he at least wasn't going to act like a coward.

He was Cat Noir, for Fu's sake.

"I told you I was disappointed when I'd found out it was Marinette under Ladybug's mask. That it had always been her. I know it sounds cruel and unjust – that it's something that Felix might have said in my position, but which I had no right to say. And yet, it's true."

He could feel cold sweat break over his neck and go down his back, regardless of how early he was into his story. He swallowed painfully, but refused to give in to the anxiety.

"You probably think it makes no sense, either. She's my friend, a very dear one. I've always wanted to be closer to her, because I realised what a wonderful person she was under all of that stammering and clumsiness she seemed to hide behind. I wished she had acted towards me in the same way she did with Alya or Nino, or any of our classmates, really – the way she acted around Cat Noir, even if she was supposedly in love with him that one time. To learn that all this time, she has also been Ladybug...

"It hurts, Plagg. It just does. Partly because it shows how arrogant I've been, how stupidly naive to think I should recognise her the moment I laid eyes on her – that my heart would know the truth even if my eyes and brain were fooled. To realise that she's been there all this time is like a punch in the guts and one that I've deserved because heck, how could I have been so cocky? I failed to recognise the girl I loved in the one I saw each day; I couldn't see my darling friend in the partner I cared for so much. I literally met Ladybug's civilian self a day after I'd met her superhero one, and still couldn't make the connection between them.

"So there's that part. I am disappointed in myself for not having noticed that earlier. And yet... That's not even the tip of the iceberg."

He shifted slightly, just enough to press his forehead against his knees as he took a deep, shaking breath. It was all so difficult; so horribly terrifying while also entirely unexpected.

He told himself he should be alright talking about it, after so many hours of pondering over the situation he had found himself in. The time distancing him from his discovery wasn't short either: it wasn't a minute, a quarter or three. It had been full twelve hours, ten of which he'd spent torn between denying all his knowledge and tearing it to pieces in search of an explanation he had missed before.

Ten hours of pure hell and more than a dozen resolutions made along the way.

How come it still felt as if he'd only found out?

"Breath, kid," he heard Plagg say, in a voice so completely void of audacity that Adrien couldn't help but look up, surprised. "Just breathe, in and out. It's okay."

So he did just that. Inhale, exhale, with his gaze glued to Plagg as the kwami swung his tiny arm in order to dictate the correct rhythm. Once again, he was taken aback not only by his friend's obvious concern but also the enormous gentleness he displayed – a feature so different from his usual sassiness that Adrien had some trouble wrapping his head around it at first.

"Leave my personality traits be, Adrien, and just focus on your breathing," Plagg muttered grumpily. "We've got enough to deal with without you suffocating on the edge of the school roof, simply because you can't take in your oxygen properly."

"I thought I'd asked you not to listen to my thoughts?" the boy asked automatically, but this time, reproach did not resonate in his voice; if anything, it was cheerful. "I haven't got completely crazy, you know, I can still distinguish the things I say from the ones I've been wondering at. And I know I haven't said anything out loud just now."

"Well, I hate to break it to you but your inner monologues can be as loud as mayor Burgeois' outright speeches," Plagg responded readily. "I really don't have to try to hear any of it, especially if you're thinking about me. And just so you know, today isn't the only instance when that happened."

To that Adrien could only respond with a chuckle. With his face still pressed against his knees and his grip around his legs tightening, his shoulders shook nonetheless. It wasn't a loud, sonorous laughter; it couldn't haven been one. Yet, it was sincere – and that was the most they could count on now.

"Thanks, Plagg," he said after a moment and raised his head just enough to meet his loyal friend with his eyes. "You really have a way of dealing with depression, I must give you that."

"Experience, kid," Plagg responded shortly. "If you'd had to deal with as many Black Cat wielders as I did, you too would've figured it out. You're certainly not the first Chat Noir who's got himself into this kind of mess."

"You mean, I'm not the first one to fall in love with a Ladybug who then fell in love with my civilian self?" Adrien asked almost casually. However, his smile soon grew sorrowful as he recalled some of the words Plagg had thrown at him earlier that day, words that he had chose to push aside at the time but which now came back to him with double force.

He felt like the knowledge of it could make him implode.

"Did it really happen?" he asked quietly, fixing his gaze on the horizon ahead. "Have there really been reveals that ended up in the Miraculous Holders' deaths?"

He did not dare too look down at Plagg, certain that the amount of pain his question must have caused would reflect all over the kwami's little body. He felt bad for provoking such hurt; he wondered if keeping his eyes away from his friend was really a sign of discretion or just the cowardice he'd been trying to avoid all this time.

Something was telling him that he shouldn't have asked and yet, how could he not? The matter was too grieve to just let it slide.

Plus, it was Plagg who'd brought it up in the first place.

Clearly, the kwami wasn't going to back down now, either.

"It did happen," he said calmly, in the same tone he might use for commenting on the weather; taken aback, Adrien couldn't have helped to glance at him, even if he'd wanted to. "It were just a few cases, all of them happening a long time ago. Well, one of them was recent, at least if you look at it holistically. Still, regardless of when it happened, it was always during the toughest of times. Times when your dealings with Hawkmoth would have been considered a child's play at best."

"Well, at least there's that," Adrien whispered, shifting his gaze to the passing clouds once more. "One thing less to worry about. For now, anyway."

"Well, now is the only period you should concern yourself with at the moment," Plagg responded firmly. "Here and now, and only the situation involving you."

"I don't want to just disregard it though, I -"

"Adrien? Just focus on your own iceberg. We can have that history lesson at some less troubling time."

Adrien could not disagree with the suggestion. He knew Plagg was right: he'd had a lot to deal with on his own without the additional burden of the past heroes' struggles and pain, especially as he also realised that no wisdom would come to him by hearing about them now. It would have helped to fight his curiosity when he had still endeavoured to find out who his Lady really was; it might have been a good means to stop him whenever his eagerness had become a threat to both of them. Now however...

It could no longer be of use.

"My own iceberg. Right."

When Plagg had mentioned the other Miraculous Holders that morning, it hadn't been to make him feel miserable or go into mourning after the people he had never even heard of before. The reason for the unexpected trip into the past had been a very simple one: namely, to make him aware of how much better his own situation truly was.

To make him realise that he really had no reasons to complain – no reasons to feel disappointed.

Disappointed.

Dear Heavens, it must have sounded so wrong; and yet, he still couldn't find it in himself to deny that earlier statement of his.

Suppose the only thing he could do now was to explain what he'd really had in mind, even if he himself wasn't entirely sure what it was.

"She's in love with me," he said simply at last, swiftly coming to the conclusion that pouring out his heart was his best shot at the time, as there was no guarantee that his so-called reorganisation would bring any results. "Ladybug is in love with me. The Adrien me. And it's not a shallow celebrity crush, it's not a silly infatuation developed over the few times she's met me outside the Cat Noir suit. She knows me, she cares for me. Not the image. Me."

He paused for a second, puzzled. It wasn't that he didn't know what to say next or what words to use to make it most meaningful – rather, he knew exactly what it was, but because of it, he also perfectly conscious of the fact that it was by far the most difficult thing for him to say.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Speak.

"Ladybug is in love with me," he picked up at long last. "Ladybug is in love with me. And she's Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Which means..."

He allowed himself one last break to summon his strength before finally addressing the issue that had been the real cause of that inner conflict of his, the one idea that lay at the bottom of all this.

"It means that Marinette is in love with me, too."

Suddenly, it was as if a weight had been lifted, leaving him freer and calmer than he had been since he had first found out about Ladybug's feelings last night. He wasn't bold – or stupid – enough to believe that anything was solved or that the crisis had been overcome in any way. More like, he had taken the first step on yet another rocky path which, as challenging as it undoubtedly was, was still a much better option than the comfortable yet stifling prison he'd been locked in so far.

Now all he had to do was to keep going.

And yet, it was still so hard.

"Why didn't she tell me, Plagg?" he asked after a moment, as he hid his face in his knees and gritted his teeth angrily. "Like, I can understand her being shy and all. I probably should have been more observant and picked some of the hints. But still... We've been friends for more than two years now and she has never made any direct comment about it – if anything, she flat out denied it.

"And it wasn't just once, you know," he continued after a short pause. "When Jagged & Co. stormed into her bedroom and made a show of those photographies, I thought for a moment that there really might have been something going on. I didn't really believe in Jagged's suppositions... But it was impossible to just ignore it. That is, until Marinette cleared it up by saying that it was all about her love of fashion which, given the esteem she obviously holds my father in, was really not that unbelievable at the time, whatever some might say.

"But that's just the beginning of it, isn't it? I can still remember when Manon brought the photos up again during our drive to the museum that other day. I thought I knew the reason for it, so I didn't care much – and even her mentions of 'hearts drawn all around the pictures' seemed meaningless, especially with Marinette 'explaining' that right after.

"It was supposed to be such a great day, too, you know. Just the five of us – four and a half, really – hanging out together on a Saturday afternoon. Friends being friends, unlike what we usually were. Unlike what I was usually allowed to be."

Another pause, another deep breath. Another retardation in his ludicrous story, as he tried to find the strength within himself to go on despite the throbbing of his heart and the stinginess in his eyes. The clock was ticking; and he was not even halfway through his speech.

And he absolutely refused to split it and return to it afterwards.

He needed to finish it in one go, or he never would.

"Anyway," he said. "As you probably recall, it wasn't a great day at all, and not because of the akuma attack that had resulted from that meeting. Marinette was tense, I was confused; and then that stupid joke made everything a thousand times worse. And yet... That's not the point."

"What is, then?" Plagg allowed himself to reply at last. "You won't tell me that you think the prank was alright all of the sudden, will you?"

Adrien shook his head.

"The joke was dumb and I shouldn't have made it. However, it doesn't change the fact that it had led to the first bit of honest conversation between us that day. Or at least, it might have done, if only Marinette hadn't made that U-turn the moment I asked her about what she'd really meant when she'd confessed to the statue.

"She... She could have told me the truth then. I didn't expect another heartfelt, flowery confession; in fact, I don't think I expected anything specific at the time. But... Would it have been so very bad for her to admit that it wasn't entirely fake? To say: 'Yes, I was serious' when I asked her about it straightforwardly? A 'yes', Plagg. That was all I needed to hear.

"And yet, she went into straight denial mode. 'It was a prank,' she said. 'I like you a little', 'like an ordinary human being'. Those were her words. How on earth was I supposed to believe she wanted anything other than friendship after a show of this kind?"

It was Plagg's turn to shake his head. "Do you really want an answer to that?"

Adrien looked up, surprised.

"Can you give me one?"

Plagg sighed lingeringly.

"I can," he admitted. "Or at least, I can suggest something that should help you come to the right conclusions. The question is: do you really want that?"

"How could I not?"

"Just this morning you said you wished you hadn't learnt any of the things about Ladybug that you had learnt last night. This might be a similar case; I thought it's better not to risk and make sure you know what you're asking for."

Once again, Adrien's forehead was pressed firmly against his knees.

"I do," he replied. "What's done is done. And I need some answers if I'm to ever make any sense out of all this. And since that's something that I know for sure I want to do -"

"Alright. Then you should probably think of Kagami's place and role in this mayhem."

Adrien's head shot up abruptly, and the rest of his body nearly followed suit. He gazed at his kwami with a frantic, searching gaze; his eyes, wide with surprise skimmed Plagg's, boring into his little face with a look of absolute lack of understanding on his own.

Plagg raised an eyebrow, allowing himself a small, lopsided grin.

"Yes, kid," he said. "Keep those cogs turning. I'm sure you'll figure it out soon enough if only you try."

Adrien frowned in response, unamused. "I don't need more time to understand what you mean. But..."

"But: what?"

"But it doesn't make any sense," Adrien explained, turning away, his gaze now fixed on the school courtyard below them. "Marinette was always the first to support me whenever Kagami was concerned. She helped me set up that disastrous skating date. She made sure that Kagami could see her as friend. And when we... When we started dating later on, she never showed any signs of being uncomfortable or disappointed about it. And then there was Luka."

Plagg snickered. "Yeah. After you'd got together with the Tsurugi girl."

"Marinette had advised me about her! She'd agreed to come with us to the rink as soon as I told her about the plan. And she took Luka with her, even though it was months before Kagami and I began dating for real."

"Well, yes," Plagg agreed, though Adrien knew there was a 'but' coming with it; he was not wrong. "Still, it was after you'd mentioned going out with her."

Adrien's voice caught in his throat as dozens of images came rushing through his mind, proving that each and every word of Plagg's interpretations was was not only correct, but also fully and entirely logical.

And it sucked.

He shouldn't have been able to recall any of them, and yet, he did. The change of expression on Marinette's face after he'd told her whom he'd had in mind, going from giddy to confused, to wistful (it was the same shift that he had noticed in her during their ride back home from the museum, actually, even though he hadn't known that at the time); her hasty escape from the rink, when he had followed her to make sure she was okay; the look of uneasiness when he and Kagami had come to visit the Couffaines, right before Desperada stroke.

He remembered hanging out with both of the girls before the whole Miracle Queen nightmare, having the time of his life until all of the sudden, Marinette was no longer there.

And he had hardly even noticed.

"This can't be true," he muttered desperately, rubbing his hands against his face. "She was a friend. The first one I've ever had save for Chloe, but at the same time, the most amazing, most inspiring, most caring friend. A friend, who -"

"I swear, kid, you call her your friend once more and I'll leave you here on this roof."

"No, you don't understand," Adrien opposed Plagg's comment, the unsettling note of terror resonating in his voice and growing more audible by the second. "You've always picked on me for calling her that but that's exactly the way I saw her, because... Because I was so sure that was exactly how she saw me. As her friend."

Once again, his gaze became hollow, and he buried his fingers in his hair, fighting the urge to pull the blond locks out in a quite literal sense. He glanced at Plagg; he turned away again. He closed his eyes, shut them tight as he slouched, no longer caring if his behaviour was or wasn't a cowardly one.

He needed to find a way out of this pit, and he hadn't got the slightest idea were to start.

"A friend or not, you still chose Kagami over her," he heard Plagg say, his voice as muffled and distant as if they'd been separated by a ten inch glass at least.

It was a voice of reason and Adrien knew it; and yet, it provoked nothing but a new wave of anger on his part; and so when Plagg opened his mouth to add something, the boy next to him did the only thing left to do.

He snapped.

"Do you really think I would've chased after Kagami if I'd known Marinette was an option?"

Silence fell over them then, and this time, it lasted. Adrien's hands were still pressed against his scalp, pulling on his hair in a desperate manner, but at the same time feeling too numb to even acknowledge the pain he should have felt. The situation that had seemed so unbelievable from the start now turned out to be straight-up surreal, not to say – absurd.

Not a quarter ago he'd been surprised to see that the few hours of thinking had not been enough for him to comprehend the events he'd witnessed – now he realised that he could spend another month on it, and he still wouldn't have reached even the most basic understanding of it.

It was simply too much for him to deal with.

"So that's what it is about."

He raised his head at Plagg’s words, not even sure what he was expecting to see next. Was Plagg going to pick on him again? Or would he continue to play the part of a consoler, remaining gentle and understanding towards him, just like he had been so many times that day?

Well, teasing or not, Adrien had learnt by now that Plagg had only ever meant well – as long as he was concerned, anyway. And given the emotional state he was in, it was all that mattered right now.

There was one thing he hadn't foreseen, however.

It was a look of pure shock.

"What?" he asked promptly, seeing that very expression reflect all over his kwami’s little face. "Don't you dare act all surprised now. I bet you're dying to treat me with another I told you so, so you may as well say it now. Go on, let's get it over with."

"I'm not acting, Adrien," Plagg replied. "And I'm not going to say that."

"Why not?"

"Because that would mean I'd seen this coming when I can honestly promise you that I didn't. I knew Marinette was Ladybug, yes. I did think that your calling her your friend was always a sort of a defending mechanism of yours, provoked by the fact that you were determined to remain faithful the spotted version of her. Hearing you admit that you were interested in Marinette... Well, that's another pile of cheese."

"You were the one who nagged me about giving her a chance!" Adrien answered angrily. "When she said she was in love with Chat Noir, you were the first to advocate her case. And even though you made fun of that unsigned valentine I got, you still brought it up like some magic talisman to cure me from my love for Ladybug. And -"

"And no matter how hard I tried, it always turned out futile."

"Yes. Because I never had a reason to believe that I actually stood a chance."

Another long sigh escaped his lips, while he prayed internally that Plagg would not contradict this final statement as well. He was so tired, so terribly, terribly run down that he really could fall off the roof he was seated at and not realise what happened until he was halfway through his descent – and yet, he was also acutely aware of how far he was from rest.

How much more there was to be said.

He gritted his teeth and kicked the airs at the realisation, the feeling of utter helplessness taking over him. This conversation was supposed to be beneficial to him, even if not in the direct way. He had not expected it to be comforting, no; but he'd hoped it would at least allow him to cleanse his head at least.

That by answering Plagg's questions, he would also answer some of his own.

However, all it did was hurt and confuse him more. The thought of Marinette having feelings for him has been mind-blowing from the start – and yet, Plagg's suggestion about her hiding them because of Kagami of all people was a turn could not have anticipated.

How would it have played out if he'd known about it before?

"Listen, Plagg," he picked up again after a moment, once more deciding to just lay it all out in the open now and overthink it later. "It's not... It's not like I am in love with her. Or that I was at any other time, for that matter. You know that the main reason why things didn't work with Kagami was because I was still head over heels with Ladybug, so... So it probably would've been just the same with Marinette, as up until last night they had been two different people as far as I'd known. But I can't know for sure, right? I mean, she is important to me, she's always been... She's smart and funny and kind – In fact, she's about the most selfless person I've ever met in my life, which is all the more true if your suspicion about her cheering for Kagami and me despite her own feelings is correct. So maybe... Maybe..."

"Maybe you could've fallen for her after all, too."

Adrien groaned and fell down on his back, his legs still dangling from the edge of the roof. He wanted to punch the air above him or better yet, the hard surface he was lying on; to yell with all his might, so that the frustration in him would finally find a vent.

For a split second he wondered if someone would hear him if he'd done that.

"Perhaps I could," he moaned instead. "Even if she wasn't Ladybug, it still might've happened. You know, just because it didn't really click with Kagami doesn't necessarily mean it wouldn't be different with someone else! And since Marinette is very different from her, it's more probable than not."

"Mhmm. Not to mention that she is Ladybug."

"It's not like she acts like her, though," the boy mused. "I know now that her shyness around me was caused by... very specific reasons, and even before that, I'd suspected that it's not her typical behaviour. I wasn't that blind after all; I saw the way she interacted with other people around her, and not only the ones closest to her. She can be confident and not only with the people she likes, or people she knows or, I don't know, just girls. There were moments when she was like that with me. And still, it wasn't enough for me to recognise Ladybug in her. Because it's still not exactly how Ladybug is."

"You're one too talk," Plagg answered with a grin after landing on his Chosen's chest. "I don't think the differences between your precious Bug and her civilian self are half as significant as the change you go through every time you transform."

"It doesn't change the fact that I still have trouble blending those two girls into one in my mind."

"Look, kid. That list of qualities you've just enumerated? To me, that's Ladybug's character to a t. And from what I remember, you did point out the similarities between the girls at least once."

Adrien raised his head a little to look his kwami in the eye, surprised. "I don't recall doing that."

"You did call her your everyday Ladybug, didn't you?"

His eyes widened a little at the indication; he regarded his companion for a while as the words sunk into his brain, the smug grin on Plagg's face making him feel even more of an idiot now. With another groan, he let his head bump against the roof once more.

There really was something wrong with him.

"I did. Gosh, I did," he whined. "And you heard me say it when you'd already learnt her identity yourself. You've known all along and haven't said a word."

"Hey, I had no right to do that. And as you've already pointed out today, I did all I could to have you realise it on your own."

"Except that time when I nearly did figure it out when Kwamibuster attacked and you made sure I stopped thinking about it before I did for real."

"I didn't mean realising she was Ladybug, you moron. Just that she's the girl you can love and be loved back by her."

Adrien opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the sound of a bell going off on the school corridors. So he sat up and rubbed his eyes, his brow furrowed in thought as he tried to decide on what he should do next.

"I'm not ready for this," he said quietly. "I thought I would be, especially after talking to you, but somehow it only got worse, and now all I want is to transform back and run away, as far as possible from this place. Can I run away from this place?"

"I think you know the answer to that, kid," Plagg responded with a wink as he flew up to rustle the boy's hair. "Though you certainly will have to transform if you want to get down from this rooftop in time. Or any time at all."

Adrien smiled weakly, but his voice trembled when he answered, "I'm a little afraid that I may not be able to fight off the temptation once I'm suited up. I really don't want to see her right now. I don't think I can see her and not flee on the spot."

Plagg shook his head.

"There's no way you can avoid that now. That is, unless she's not at school, due to some terrible events that happened to her last night... But you won't know that until you get down."

"Now that's reassuring," Adrien muttered under his breath. Determined to ignore his kwami's sneers, he stood up and, after making sure he really was out of everyone's sight, he said the only words left to say.

"Plagg, claws out."

Not a minute later he was quietly sneaking into his locker room, transformed back to his very civilian self and pretending that he really had just entered the school grounds.

Meanwhile, his whole soul burned.

He was so going to regret going back.

#my writing #fanfiction #mlb #ladynoir #adrienette #this is so long i'm sorry #but at least you get some answers

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queentaylormademedoit · 5 years

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How Scott Borchetta’s Statement ‘Exposing’ Taylor Swift Actually Proves Her Point Completely

First, here is Taylor Swift’s open letter:

https://taylorswift.tumblr.com/post/185958366550/for-years-i-asked-pleaded-for-a-chance-to-own-my (if the link is being weird you can find it on her tumblr)

And here is the link to Scott Borchetta’s responding statement:

https://t.co/OqGI4GoN3P

(If the link is being weird you can find it on his twitter)

Think he just revealed shocking information that Swift is an evil, crazy, lying woman who just wants to make ~drama~ for no reason? Think again. Let’s break down his statement piece by piece from the beginning.

To refute Borchetta’s misleading opening statements, Taylor Swift’s father was NOT on the shareholders phone calls because NDAs would not have allowed him to communicate any information to his daughter. Instead 13 Management Lawyer Jay Shaudies and Big Machine LLC Shareholder Frank Bell were on the call to represent her side. The hilarious thing is that Borchetta tries to call into question Taylor’s statement that she “woke up to the news (of the sale to Scooter Braun) with the rest of the world” by saying he thinks it is “possible” that they “didn’t say anything to Taylor over the prior 5 days” and “possible” that she “might not have seen” his text, but that he “truly doubts she woke up to the news when everyone else did”. During the time between June 25 to June 27th, the possible deal in SCOTT BORCHETTA’s OWN WORDS, was a “PROPOSED TRANSACTION”. Meaning, the deal was still in discussion, a vote had not occurred yet and Taylor was hoping that the majority of shareholders would not vote in Braun’s favor. On Friday, June 28th Borchetta says 3 of the 5 shareholders voted yes on the proposal.

Scott then says “I personally texted Taylor at 9:06 on Saturday, June 29th to inform her prior to the story breaking on the morning of June 30th so she could hear it directly from me”. That’s right. He said “so she could hear it directly from me” meaning that he knew he would be the first person to contact her with this information, my guess being that for “courtesy” as he puts it (aka image), he wanted it to come from him. Now, he suggests that Taylor must have seen this text message but here’s a couple things: #1: 9:06pm Nashville time IS nighttime and I imagine when you’re Taylor Swift you’re probably doing something or exhausted and sleeping, #2: MORE IMPORTANTLY it is extremely unlikely that Taylor was in Nashville. many believe that she was in London at this time (where she has a residence with her sweet British man), in which case it would have been 3AM for her. Even if she was in New York it would have been 10pm and she’s TAYLOR SWIFT she probably gets a million messages to go through a day, not to mention probably tries to have some semblance of a personal life. So yes, she did in fact “wake up to the news” that this deal was officially made, with the rest of the world. This is such a stupid detail that Taylor has absolutely no reason to lie about but Scott Borchetta tried to call her character into question with it so there ya go, it’s been addressed.

Moving on.

Her 13 Management team attorney is Donald S. Passman (also known as ‘the author of music law’-Roy Trakin, Grammy.com) who went over the initial “offer” (if you can even call it that) which Scott Borchetta made to Taylor. As Passman has explicitly said in public statements, “Scott Borchetta never gave Taylor Swift an opportunity to purchase her masters, or the label, outright with a check in the way he is now apparently doing for others”. This “offer” was NOT for such a purchase.

Taylor Swift had expressed to Scott Borchetta multiple times that she wanted a chance to bid outright for control of her masters, but was always denied. Considering how much her body of work of the last 13 years means to her (6 record-breaking, award winning albums with songs she penned from the heart), Taylor was reluctant to walk away, because she knew Borchetta would likely sell, and she’d never own her masters. So, her team discussed the possibilities of what control she could get over her works if she stayed for 7 years, but Scott Borchetta “offered” back that she stay on for 10 more years and could essentially earn these rights in trade for new materials created with the label. That is basically trapping her into a continuous cycle.

Scott is aware that this was not a good deal, as he defends himself in his statement saying, “We are an independent record company. We do not have tens of thousands of artists and recordings. My offer to Taylor, for the size of our company, was extraordinary. But it was also all I could offer as I am responsible for over 120 executives and their families”. While he tries to tug the heartstrings of readers to make him look so caring, the fact of the matter is this: Taylor Swift was the ONLY massive superstar that Scott Borchetta was ever able to get onto his label (not to mention she was his first client and the label was literally created because he found her and convinced a 15 year old girl and her family that in signing a 12 year contract he would remain loyal and supportive because ‘music has value’). Without Taylor’s works on the label, no big deal executive would likely want to buy it and certainly wouldn’t be worth $300 million. If Scott Borchetta really cared about the fact that he is “responsible for over 120 executives and their families” and believed that “music has value” he could have been open to the possibility of Taylor staying on for 7 more years and having greater ownership of the art she creates.

So, when Scott Borchetta stated that “Taylor Swift had every chance in the world to own not just her master recordings, but every video, photograph, everything associated with her career” he really means that she had the chance to very slowly gain these things back over the period of 10 YEARS in exchange for new music (which many have compared to a scare tactic, because he knew losing her would make his label next to worthless). That is not an opportunity for a purchase. Borchetta says Taylor chose to leave, and that is true: she made the excruciating decision to leave because she realized that if she stayed with Big Machine she would never be treated with the respect she deserved to own all that she creates. Also, I imagine being the only pop superstar on a small country artists label likely had its downsides. So, she sacrificed the rights to her past in exchange for a freer future. A painful choice, knowing that Scott Borchetta would likely sell one day, but she never imagined that he would be so disrespectful as to sell to Scooter Braun.

Now, let’s get into that part where Scott Borchetta gets EXCEPTIONALLY DESPICABLE :)

He says that he “certainly never experienced” Taylor “‘being in tears or close to it’ anytime Scooter Braun’s name was brought up”. That’s pretty much her word against his, but regardless of wether or not he knew she was about to cry in such moments, he knew that there was conflict. Borchetta writes, “Was I aware of some prior issues between Taylor and Justin Bieber? Yes,”. Those “issues” as absolutely everyone knows, DIRECTLY INVOLVED Scooter Braun, as was evident when Justin Bieber posted that photo to Instagram of himself FaceTiming Kanye, Scooter Braun, and another man I have yet to identify, captioned “Taylor Swift what up”.

That post showed that these men were publicly laughing at what a lot of people thought would be Taylor Swift’s downfall. At that time, Kim Kardashian (Kanye’s wife) had released snippets of an orchestrated phone call between Kanye and Taylor which was recorded without Taylor’s knowledge. In that “scathing phone call” Kim shared with the world, Taylor agreed for Kanye to include the line “I think me and Taylor might still have sex”, in his new song, which she said was provacative but fine. In that phone call Kanye said he would have her listen to the full song later, but this never happened. He then went on to release the song and music video in which he used the line “I made that bitch famous” (supposedly referencing when he grabbed the microphone out of her hand during her VMA speech when she was 19 years old, to say he thought Beyoncé should have won, much to the disdain of Beyoncé), implying that he was the reason for her (actually hard-earned success), and showed her naked likeness in a hyperrealistic wax figure lain next to him in a bed. He also showed other celebrities nude in this same way, which I personally found equally disturbing. The figures were so realistic that articles immediately came out with headlines like “Was Anyone Real In Kanye West’s Famous Video?”. I agree with Taylor Swift’s statement that this was a form of revenge porn. He visually stripped her naked without her consent in front of the entire world because instead of taking accountability for his own actions (HE is the one who ran onstage and grabbed that mic in 2009 and made himself look like a huge jerk), he decided it was in some twisted awful way her fault that he did that. It tarnished his image, and he dreaded having to publicly apologize to her afterwards even though Taylor was very accepting and actually thought they’d started fresh and new, happily sharing this news publicly.

So yes, I agree with Taylor Swift that those actions should be classified as a form of revenge porn. And I think that anyone who dares to say that her suffering isn’t ‘bad enough’ to call it that, I say you don’t get to determine how profoundly damaging someone else’s level of pain from an experience that you did not have is.

There no possible way that Scott Borchetta was not aware of the extremely difficult position Taylor Swift was in at that time, because the ENTIRE WORLD was aware of it. And Scooter Braun’s implications as manager of Kanye West were without a doubt, known to Scott Borchetta.

In his post, Borchetta continues, claiming, “there were also times when Taylor knew that I was close to Scooter and that Scooter was a very good source of information for upcoming album releases, tours, etc, and I’d reach out to him for information on our behalf. Scooter was never anything just positive about Taylor,”. Taylor being fine with Borchetta communicating with Braun to get information about things like upcoming albums/tours hardly means a thing. If Borchetta had a business source he could ask for information without Taylor’s direct involvement, of course she wouldn’t care. And of course Scooter Braun would not be dumb enough to say bad things about Taylor Swift directly to the owner of Taylor Swift’s label. Obviously, it doesn’t mean that he didn’t share such thoughts to others (go check out Todrick Hall’s recent tweets).

Now, here is where Borchetta goes for a REALLY LOW BLOW:

Borchetta writes, “He [Scooter Braun] called me directly about Manchester to see if Taylor would participate (she declined). He called me directly to see if Taylor wanted to participate in the Parkland March (she declined),”. In this disgusting last-ditch attempt to suggest that Taylor didn’t care about the victims of Manchester or Parkland, Borchetta is actually making it clear that TAYLOR SWIFT REFUSED TO ACCEPT AN INVITATION FROM A MANIPULATIVE MAN WHO SHE KNEW HATED HER. Meaning, Scott Borchetta was FULLY AWARE that Swift did not want to work with Braun. Everyone reacts to tragedy differently. Taylor Swift went on to show her love for the victims of those terrible incidents and her opposition to hatred that caused them. Taylor immediately expressed her sympathies on Twitter and honored the Manchester bombing victims on her Reputation stadium tour, on the night when she performed in Manchester. With Scooter Braun being the manager of Ariana Grande, the artist who was performing the night of the Manchester attacks, it makes sense that Taylor wouldn’t have felt entirely comfortable with the situation. She publicly announced her support for the March for Our Lives movement (started by the students of Parkland High School), and made a generous donation to the cause. Furthermore, Swift has gone on to discuss her personal fear of such attacks (many people have stalked her/broken into her home/tried to get onstage etc), her belief that in the importance of preventing such tragedies and the extra preventative efforts she now goes to in order to keep her fans safe in various interviews. Borchetta’s attempt to suggest that Swift has anything but the deepest sympathies for those tragedies is absolutely revolting.

Finally, Borchetta closes his list of lies with the text message he received from Taylor when she told him of her news to leave Big Machine. In this message, she is kind, heartfelt and respectful of the past that they built together. Borchetta tried to take advantage of this kindness by placing it there as if her politeness and choice to go means she had no interest in a better deal with Big Machine at all.

I’ll include this message in its entirety below, so you can read it for yourself:

Scott,

I hope this finds you well. Since communication ran dry on our negotiations, I’ve done what I told you I would do and gone out exploring other options. Owning my masters was very important to me, but I’ve since realized that there are things that mean even more to me in the bigger picture. I had a choice whether to bet on my past or to bet on the future and I think knowing me, you can guess which one I chose. I also saw a rare opportunity to effect positive change for a lot of other artists with the leverage I have right now. I know you believe in the same things I do and I’d like to think you would be proud of what I’ve negotiated for in my deal. I wanted to tell you first that I’ll be signing with Lucian. I honestly truly cherish everything you and I have built together and I plan on saying so in my announcement of the new deal. What we accomplished together will be a lasting legacy and a case study on excellent partnerships, and may it continue. I still view you as a partner and friend and I hope you feel the same. Sending you a hug and my most sincere gratitude.

And SO much love,

Taylor

I think she makes it very clear that although she was disappointed, she weighed her options and decided to “bet on” her future instead of her past. Meaning, when Borchetta refused to offer her the ownership she wanted, she had to respect her own capability enough to make the difficult choice to walk away. She closes with the statement, “I hope you feel the same. Sending you a hug and my most sincere gratitude, and SO much love,” which shows that she hoped he would continue to regard her and her work with the same care and respect she showed him, even when disappointed.

Scott also includes the email he sent Taylor letting her know about the decision to sell to Scooter Braun:

Dear Taylor,

Hope all is well and congratulations on the success of your first two singles from “Lover”!

I can’t wait to hear the entire album…

I wanted to pass along to you the same courtesy that you passed along to me in regard to my future.

Tomorrow morning (Sunday, June 30th) at 10a central, the Wall Street Journal will announce that I am entering into a merger/acquisition with Scooter Braun and Ithaca Holdings. This move will give us more pop culture super-power than ever before and I’m so excited about the future.

I want you to know that I will continue to be the proud custodian of your previous works and will continue to keep you and your team abreast of all future plans for releases of you work.

Nothing but the best,

Scott

The letter is polite and to the point, because he has no need to say something nasty. His actions speak loud enough. He was greedy. Taylor knew Borchetta would sell to someone, but that fact that Borchetta went through with selling the life’s work of a talented woman he knew since she was fourteen years old to one of her greatest public intimidators is the ultimate betrayal.

For everyone saying, “well, that’s just business”, I have some news for you. There are good, loyal people out there in business. There doesn’t seem to be many of them, but they exist, and Scott Borchetta pretended to be one of them. This is a matter of moral principle. Of loyalty. Of ‘valuing music’. Taylor Swift isn’t ‘playing the victim’ and she didn’t ‘send people to attack a good man’. She wasn’t ‘bitching’. She isn’t ‘feuding’. She’s speaking her mind. She’s speaking the truth. She’s warning other artists to look out for themselves and she’s holding people accountable for their actions.

I am so, so proud of her.

Forever a Swiftie,

Grace

@taylorswift @taylornation

#we stand with taylor #yes i write essays about taylor swift in my free time #swifties #taylor swift #taylor nation #taylurking #swiftie blog #Lover #Big Reputation #taylor swift blog #share with people who dont understand whats going on please #artists deserve better #artists deserve to own their own work #give taylor her music back #give taylor her masters

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og-lacksubstance-studios · 5 years

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Do You Remember? - Part 3

Summary: Can you recall the first time you ever loved someone? Someone who made you challenge yourself and learn all the unexpected feelings? Sometimes you forget, but then the unexpected happens and you find yourself back to the beginning.

That day changed Embry’s perspective on what life she wanted to live. It was insane that this girl she barely knew could put something into perspective that could be considered so simple. She changed her entire life with a single sentence; a single piece of advice.

Embry didn’t know why she was going to this reunion in the first place. She didn’t know what to expect either, whether people were going to judge her for her career decisions or for her to not being married or at least seeing anyone.

She left this place and never looked back once she got her diploma. She swore that this place wouldn’t hold her back and would never scare her back into conforming again, but as she stands in front of the school entrance as people from her graduating class walk around her, it holds weight; fear. She shouldn’t be struggling this hard, but things truly have changed.

You need to suck it up Embry, she tells herself, letting out a deep breath to calm her nerves as she takes her first steps back to the school she spent four years in.

She walks in and immediately hears the music blaring from the gymnasium. She looks at the small crowds that have found purse at the entrance with drinks in hand. Some people she recognizes and others she doesn’t, but imagines are just the significant others of her past classmates.

She walks over to the entrance and stops short to see Kennedy standing in front of the double doors, greeting everyone with her smile and handing out flyers with the names of the graduating class.

She looks up and connects eyes with Embry, immediately moving out from behind her table to walk slowly towards her awkwardly. She never thought she’d speak to her, let alone see her again, but here she is, her once best friend standing there, trying to find the right words to say.

Instead, Embry opens her arms out to her and Kennedy immediately walks towards her and wraps her arms around her tightly. Embry engulfs Kennedy in her arms happily because she’d be lying if she said she didn’t miss her best friend.

They pull away and smile at one another. “I fucking missed you,” Kennedy tells Embry with complete honesty and sadness laced in her voice.

“You could’ve reached out,” Embry tells her and Kennedy sighs deeply, looking down at her fingers to get her nerves under control.

“I wanted to,” she says continuing to look away from Embry guilty. “But after the way I treated you, I didn’t think you’d ever want to hear from me again,” she admits looking up, tears forming in her eyes.

Embry nods slowly in understanding. “I know,” she says looking away briefly as people pass the two of them. “But we were friends for so long and yes, you treated me like shit the last months leading up to graduation, but you were more than just my best friend, you were like my sister and I forgave you a long time ago,” Embry admits and Kennedy stares at Embry in both shock and thanks that she had the strength to do that.

“For what it’s worth,” Kennedy says sniffling a bit. “I have changed,” she tells her, and Embry smiles softly.

“I invited her, you know? I don’t know if she’ll come. She RSVP’d that she may come, but I don’t know for sure,” Kennedy informs, and she doesn’t have to say her name for Embry to know exactly who she’s referring to.

“Well I’m not here for her,” Embry says and Kennedy smiles in response. “I need to catch up with the people that matter anyway.”

YEAR 2008 – 5.2 MONTHS TILL GRADUATION

Two weeks pass and over the course of those two weeks during free period Embry finds herself in the dark room with Sage just talking about pretty much anything and everything.

“I came out freshman year to my parents,” Sage tells Embry. “I knew when I was twelve, but I had to be sure, you know? So I let it simmer for two years and then just did it. Thankfully, my parents didn’t care,” she explains as Embry sat on another stool beside her.

“And any girlfriends?” Embry asks resting her chin on her closed fist. Sage laughs both slightly embarrassed and uncomfortable.

“I mean—I have,” she draws out her response, then looks over at Embry who is still staring at her curiously. “Not currently,” she finally says softly, taking in all of who she is.

On Monday of the third week, Embry decides to revisit her roots—the art room. She didn’t tell Sage she was going to be there, but she knew she’d have to know where she was at if she knew her as well as she assumed.

Embry checks the clock on the wall, ten minutes into free period. She returns back to her painting, biting her bottom lip in concentration as she uses her brush to give a stroke for the right detail she was looking for. She pulls back to assess it when she feels someone standing behind her.

“It’s stunning.” She turns to see Sage looking in awe of her work. Embry blushes slightly, having not had anyone really see her artwork before aside from the art teacher who tells her to enter the art shows, which she does under a different name.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” Embry says as she sits back down on her stool to revisit her painting. Sage places her backpack and camera on the nearest table, before hopping up on it to sit close by.

“Well when you didn’t show to the darkroom, I figured you’d be here, so I wanted to—,” she stops herself as Embry looks over at her as she speaks. “—I wanted to see you,” Sage finishes, looking away slightly.

Embry started noticing the change in Sage. She hasn’t been the confident person she once knew, and she couldn’t quite place the reason why especially ever since she told her she was gay. Embry didn’t care that she was, she never was bothered by that, but she wonders now if Sage is thinking of her differently because she knows this part of her, even though Sage doesn’t exactly hide it.

“I’ve been neglecting painting lately, so I decided to spend my time in here this week,” Embry confesses and Sage looks on in understanding.

“I’m sorry if I kept you away,” she says and Embry immediately shakes her head at Sage for even thinking it was her fault.

“No, I love spending time with you,” Embry says with a smile. “This fell on me,” she admits as she plays with the brush in her hand.

They fall into a comfortable silence which Embry always found strange, seeing as she hates silence, but with Sage, everything felt different. All the little things that bothered her had no meaning. Whatever this girl’s power was, affected her in some way and she couldn’t quite place it.

“Well if you want I can come—,” Sage is cut off when another more masculine voice rings through the art room.

“There you are.” They both turn their attention towards the door and see Greg walking into the art room over to the two of them and Sage merely looks down at the interruption with an unreadable expression. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he says as he gets closer to them and engulfs Embry into his arms, pulling her in for a deep kiss which she returns half-assed.

“Yeah, sorry I’ve been kind of MIA,” she says towards Greg. “So, what’s up?”

Greg looks over at Sage for the first time acknowledging someone else is in the room with them. “I just wanted to see if you wanted to hang out in my car till free period was over,” he says with a seductive smirk which makes Sage roll her eyes a little, it didn't go unnoticed to Embry.

“Um—yeah sure,” Embry shakes her head as she responds, reaching out to pull him in for another kiss.

“Oh no babe—no, dirty hands, I got to make sure I stay clean,” he says, motioning to his entire body and Embry pulls back holding her hands up in a mock surrender.

“Right of course, let me get everything cleaned up and I’ll meet you outside of the wing,” she says as he nods, walking out of the room, slapping the top of the door to show off a bit. Sage watches him go as Embry gets up to clean up her things.

“What do you see in him?” Sage asks curiously, developing a sudden bout of courage and Embry briefly looks over at her, then back to the paints she’s cleaning up.

“He’s nice and sweet, and—,” she’s cut off as she rambles generic qualities which even Sage can see right through.

“—and he’s a tool,” Sage says as Embry tosses the supplies into the sink to wash off all the paint from the brushes as well as the cups. Sage walks over towards her and presses herself against her, setting Embry’s entire body on fire. “For what it’s worth,” she whispers into her ear. “I would have kissed you regardless of the paint.”

She pulls away and grabs her belongings, leaving Embry at the sink to finish what she was doing, but for the first time Embry finally understood the change in Sage. Sage liked her as more than a friend, but is it possible that she may actually feel the same?

#do you remember #w/w fiction

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dunkalfredo · 6 years

Text

Mirage Springs (Home Sweet Home)

The protagonist: a young Gadget the Wolf.

The setting: a time when things were... simpler.

(Infidget, except it's that shared Old Friends AU I have with @theashemarie)

AO3 | FFN

yo yo yo what up im back at it again. I think I've only posted during- and post-war so far???? Yeah I think so. this should be somethin new for yall

warnings warn brief animal violence and also implied/referenced character death

anyways heres wonderwall be sure to like comment and subscribe to my youtube c

Gadget doesn’t dream about his father per say, but a few months out from the accident and the funeral and the beginning of it all his dreams get… unpleasant.

Always traumatic. Disaster, tragedy, bodily harm, his mother, trapped, his own self, broken and immobile. He wakes up with a prancing heart and pains in his neck, like his head was moving but there was resistance, a pillow in the way. Advil never really helps. He pretends it does.

One night, he spends all of two hours asleep, the second dreaming of a feral dog tearing a cat into two with its teeth. He hears the procession of the cat’s screeches so vividly, struggles with the molasses around his bones as he looks around at the others in the room, wondering if he should look outside, out the window at the sources of the screeches and the dying. Eventually, he does, and finds Finn, his best friend, one he hasn’t seen in person for years and only in grainy jpegs on his monitor, wrestling the wrangled parts of the cat from the bared fangs of the dog, horror pulling at his features in strange, uncomfortable shapes.

Gadget wakes up ten minutes before his alarm. He doesn’t shut it off.

It rings a few times, the peaceful, lighthearted marimbas that normally fill Gadget with destructive intent only reminding him of the hours ahead of him, hours undoubtedly to be filled with migraines and a putrid sickness in his stomach.

He stumbles down the stairs with Frankenstein feet, legs that don’t really fit him and feel short and stubby and long and gangly at the same time, legs that stick out from his body at odd angles, bones that grew too fast and in the wrong places. He sees his mom, Helen, in the kitchen, still and focused on the kitchen counter (empty) and he decides to tell her.

“We need to move.”

It’s the rain outside that sets him off. He sees it in the window behind his mother, feels it in his bones like little hammers against his marrow, chipping away bits and pieces with every impact until there’s nothing left to support his innards and his flesh. Rain, obscuring, blinding, slippery. Too wet and too slick for city tires. Too obtrusive to the eyes of a crowded interstate. Too enticing for accidents, for metal cars with disgustingly fragile bodies inside of them.

Gadget wants to get as far from the rain as possible.

Helen maintains that obsessive, hollow gaze at the counter tile, and only nods, mechanical and noncomprehensive. Gadget hums, accepting it for now and deciding that, maybe later, he’ll ask again, when she’s had food and a good night’s rest. He knows she didn’t sleep last night. Her pacing kept him up. He wanted to join her.

He didn’t, continuing to stare at his wall and eventually dreaming of rabid dogs and festering cat corpses.

Ultimately, it’s a matter of waiting for the house market to open and for Gadget to finish eighth grade, though perhaps not quite in that order. The where isn’t an issue, because there’s only one place that holds the familiarity they desperately need while also giving them needed, necessary space, and the “how” of the matter is settled with his father’s now liquidated assets.

So, July.

There’s the sad, forlorn, empty husk of Gadget that feels close to nothing about this, but then there’s this small, hopeful spark, created and fueled by a face he hasn’t seen properly since a distant, warm but entirely too fuzzy childhood, connected now only to a username tattooed to the back of his brain. Moving has one big, tangible perk, one that’s not centered on recovery, on death, on rain, and he didn’t realize it was there until he was halfway through listening to his mother speak with the realter on the phone.

A familiar face. A friend.

The revelation only reminds him of the loneliness, but. But. That spark shines a little brighter.

In May, they finalize the lease for the new homeowners and work on packing (there’s not much, and Helen has a distressing vastness to her knowledge on quick moving shortcuts; Gadget knows why and has never asked for details. Helen never gave them. It’s better that way).

Gadget’s quick to hop on his laptop as soon as he gets off packing duty, perched on the fat windowsill he used to furnish with pillows and blankets to make a makeshift couch (there’s a word for this sort of window-couch, he knows, but he can’t quite reach back in the recesses of his brain to find it, nor can he find the will or energy to care).

AIM is open and chippering happily when he opens the lid. As soon as the window pops up, he sees Finn’s gargantuan mix of x’s and numerals waiting eagerly for his return.

Gadget’s fingers fly over the keyboard. Mmmmmmmhenlo!!!! finally got the lease signed. were packing right now

He receives immediate whiplash as Finn spams a long, dark block of capital A’s.

Gadget types back, quick and a bit snippy: please don’t break ur a key ull give ur mom a scare

Finn, after hesitation and a guilt that seeps straight into the texts and out of Gadget’s monitor, responds with a single, solemn, h.

thank u, Gadget types.

They launch into quick, idle chatter after that, slowly morphing into something more thoughtful as the hours wear on until Finn sends, after a brief pause: u think ull recognize me?

Gadget’s chest collapses slightly, not quite a sigh but a hefty release of breath regardless. I mean. ive seen pictures but. I dunno

When a quiet, hesitant ‘we’ll see’ flashes across the screen, Gadget flinches, only to force his eyes closed and away from the affronting text. He breathes, in, out, shallow but to a slow count of ten.

It’s just Finn, unsure and insecure and afraid. He’s always worried, Gadget tells himself. He’s paranoid.

But there’s a brief image in his mind of himself looking out at the swarm of bodies in the airport, lugging a suitcase of clothes behind him and a ticket, punched, in his hand, with no one there to greet him.

He doesn’t know if he could handle that.

He doesn’t want to find out.

July. Humid in the north, but bone-dry in the south. That should’ve made it better. It didn’t.

Gadget forgot just how heavy the sun felt in Mirage Springs, and in that brief stretch between plane cabin and port entrance, he’s reminded with vivid, visceral clarity just how much he loathes the heat, even if it doesn’t stick to his neck like it did back home. At least, at home, he didn’t worry about blistered feet and heat stroke.

He tries not to take it as a bad omen, as a sign that this was a bad idea, but it sits in the pit of his stomach and grows fetid.

It doesn’t help that he aches, that his knees creak after stuck in artificial, harsh angles for so long, that his ears pop every now and then without warning because the plane was high but the mountains and trees up north were even higher.

He’s hurt, and tired, and nervous, and overall in a sour, worn mood (not helped by the long minutes spent in one security check after another), and there’s little pomp and circumstance when he’s finally out in the open with his meagre luggage behind him and plane ticket crinkled between his fingers.

Then, he sees Finn.

Or, rather, his mother Helen sees Finn, and he only sees Finn after she puts a knowing hand on Gadget’s shoulder and says, “I’ll go back for the rest of the luggage.”

And she leaves, and it’s just him, and Finn (and an entire airport, but that’s unimportant).

Gadget doesn’t know why he ever worried; Finn sticks out like a sore thumb. Not in stature, the shrinking violet he was, but definitely in the black everything and the thick, sturdy, too-hot boots and the long, long, chaos it was so long hair and really, even without all of that, his scar made him look like some rogue mercenary lost in a swarm of unfittingly normal people, loose from the trail of his target and aimless in his search for a way back on.

There’s no warning before Gadget is, in every sense of the word, swept off his feet.

“You’re back!” Finn booms with every ounce of air in his lungs, voice cracking like an egg on a floor but pitch reaching an unnerving deepness for a teen his age. Gadget’s overwhelmed, with all the earth-shaking timber of Finn’s voice roaring right next to his ear and the room spinning around him and the lack of ground under his feet and, wait, no ground, wait…

Gadget’s placed firmly on his feet mere seconds after the hug-and-spin that was needlessly thrust upon him (though he’d later reflect that, perhaps in other circumstances, maybe he would actually enjoy it, just a little), and his first words are not heartfelt, or gentle, but just as booming as Finn and with alarming distress: “You’re tall!”

This is just about shouted into Finn’s chest (Gadget is still being hugged (and is hugging back, undeniably)) and Finn only knows he said anything over the rumble of the surrounding airport because of the vibrations Gadget’s creaking tenor voice leaves in his chest (proximity, not power).

Finn pulls back, troubled by the tone and not sure what to make of it, simply responding with a dazed, panicked, “Yeah?” that cracks at the end.

His panic is furthered, if only for a moment, by Gadget’s subsequent movements of hand comparison, that funny maneuver where the hand, palm down, is dragged from the top of one’s head straight across to the other person, and Gadget lets out a distraught squeak when his hand bumps against the center of Finn’s sternum.

“What?!” This is Gadget speaking, or rather borderline hollering, as he stares exasperated at Finn. Then, just like that, he deflates. His head hangs. It’s a pity party for one.

Finn stands there, completely dumbfounded, watching his friend stew in his own misery, then walking forward to pat his back with the finesse expected from a young, awkward teenage boy. “There, there,” Finn soothes.

He receives a small, saddened whimper in response.

Later, when Gadget’s home and nestled in a neat corner of his bare room, it dawns on him that Finn’s boots had heels. His ears pop again.

B L E A S E reblog i beg of u my crops are dying

#sonic the hedgehog #sth #sonic forces #infidget #infinite the jackal #gadget the wolf #long post #cw: animal death #its rly brief but im sensitive and ive gotten bothered by this stuff before #so like gotta be careful #the rest of it is kinda punchy and sweet so it should b k #mmmmmmmm hopin i get some reblogs on my fic this time #b l e a s e #OH ALSO #art tag

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midnightlie · 7 years

Note

Oliness on the road together and it's a really hot day so they stop to swim under a waterfall? (starts out playful then things get steamy?)

im a SUCKER for things like this omfg stop

“Alright; it’s time to break.”

Nessa, who has been dozing on and off in the circle of Oliver’s arms, becomes alert. She twists her head, body shifting precariously on the saddle, as Oliver slows his horse to a gradual stop. He smiles down at her crookedly as she wipes her hand across her dirty forehead, sweeping aside a lock of sweat-drenched hair.

“Here?” she asks. “Is that safe?”

He props one hand on his waist and raises an eyebrow at her. “Would I really put you at risk, Princess?”

She regards him with a sheepish expression and turns her face away. “No, I guess not.”

“You guess?”

He releases the reins and slides down off the saddle. Once his feet are firmly planted on the dusty road, he reaches up to her. She leans her weight into his outstretched arms easily, trusting that he’ll catch her without a shadow of doubt. He holds her briefly against his chest, her hands braced against his shoulders as if to push him away, or steady herself.

“If I remember correctly,” she says, “you were the one who put me on this horse and then broke off from the rest of the group. I have yet to judge whether or not you mean any harm by it.”

He gives her a measured look. “That group was an unsavory band of thieves, Your Highness.”

“They were gentlemen.”

He snorts at her dismissal of the danger her gentlemen had posed, but truthfully, he is amused with her choice of words. He thinks she might be teasing him, even though her expression is sober. She’s getting better at deception.

“My lady,” Oliver says politely, his voice full of exaggerated respect. He sets her on her feet and gives her a boyish grin. “Please, judge me as you will.”

She turns her back on him and rummages through the bag strapped to the saddle. There might have been the faintest blush on her cheeks, but it could have been the heat. She moved too quickly for him to properly examine it. “Do we have any water for this horse, then?” she asks.

“Listen,” he says. They fall silent and in the distance, the sound of running water rises over the sound of bird calls and the breeze in the trees.

She spins back around gleefully. “Is that a river?”

He finds himself smiling at the expression on her face, and he props his hands on his hips, shifting his weight, admiring it. He has to say, even with the dirt from the dusty road, her excitement makes her look extra cute.

“I hope so,” he says.

She groans happily. “Oh my god, I can take a bath.” Adorable. He’s never seen anyone so thrilled at the prospect of a bath, but it makes sense, after all, taking into account she probably bathed every single day at the palace. Still. The smudge of dirt on her cheek, the sunburn on her nose, the tangle of her hair...still. She’s cute. His heart feels a bit lighter.

He laughs at her, and takes the reins to lead the horse into the forest, towards the source of the sound, and she follows eagerly. The river is closer than he could have hoped, slow moving, a short waterfall from a cliff about ten feet high feeds into it. It sparkles under the sunshine, bright and clear and beautiful. Despite the heat of the day, the air already seems a bit cooler here than on the open road.

Oliver leads the horse to the shore and it happily bends to drink from the water. He pats the horse’s neck, tethers a rope from its harness to a nearby tree and then goes to work filling the canteens with Nessa’s help. She sits on the bank with her legs in the water, humming. He thought she couldn’t get any more adorable but she always finds a way to prove him wrong.

Once the bottles are filled, he pulls his shirt off over his head and discards it on the shore, nearly sighing in relief as the damp, hot material is stripped away from him. He pauses in his action when he hears Nessa splutter in surprise.

“What are you doing?” she demands, eyes wide.

He runs a hand through his hair. “You aren’t the only one who wants to go for a swim.”

She stares at him, a bit longer than really necessary, but he doesn’t mind. He likes that she can’t look away. “Are you serious?”

Oliver winks at her and unlatches his belt. Her cheeks turn scarlet in response, but once he’s kicked out of his boots, he wades into the water until it reaches its waist. He’ll leave the pants on, for the sake of propriety, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to enjoy the cool relief of the river.

“C’mon, Freckles,” he taunts, turning back around to look for here. “What are you -”

His voice is stolen from him when he finds her standing at the edge of the water in nothing but a thin white shift. Her expression is bright pink and full of embarrassment and it just about kills him on the spot. His throat bobs uncomfortably and he looks away quickly, as if to afford her privacy. He hears her enter the river, and the chill of the water seems to grow icy as his skin grows hot at her approach.

Without warning, a huge splash of water crashes over his back. Oliver yelps in surprise at the attack and spins around wildly to see Nessa laughing as she makes an awkward beeline for the waterfall, desperate to escape before he can retaliate.

“Hey! I trusted you!” he calls after her, but laughter bleeds through his voice too.

“That was your first mistake, Mr. Kenton,” she replies saucily. The end of her sentence turns into a screech as he lunges for her, but the water resistance slows him down, and she is armed. Another wave of water smacks him in the face and her laughter rings high in the boughs of the surrounding trees.

He recovers quickly though, splashing her back just as she leaps into the waterfall. His fingers snag on the soaked fabric of her shift and he pulls her back towards him. She giggles, squirming in his hold, but he’s soon got her pressed against his chest with no hope of escape. He grins down at her crookedly.

“Now, I shall have my revenge,” he says, keeping his eyes trained only on her wet face and nowhere else. He knows that her shift has turned entirely transparent in the water, and he doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to cross any boundaries that haven’t yet been crossed. Gently, he reaches up and swipes a thumb against the dirt smudge on her cheek until its gone.

“What will you do with me?” she asks softly, almost breathlessly, a wet strand of hair stuck to her other cheek. It ought to have been an innocent question, but he can hear the double meaning in her words, can understand that this isn’t an innocent situation. Her hands are flat against his bare chest, hot as the sun, and he watches in fascination as she bites her lip.

He leans in as if to kiss her, and at the last minute, dunks her head into the spray of the waterfall briefly. She sputters and coughs as he pulls her out, and he laughs at the look of betrayal on her face.

“You ass!” she exclaims.

“You started it!” he says childishly, laughing, taking far too much pleasure in her outrage. “Next time, pick on someone your own size.”

She scowls up at him and before she can snap back with an irritated retort, he grabs her chin and kisses her. It’s too rough, he knows that, and he softens towards the end as he pulls away, but she chases after him, the space of a breath between their mouths.

“Stop teasing me,” she complains, her voice just a raspy whisper, her lips almost brushing his.

Oliver smiles, using his forehead against hers to angle his mouth away. “Never. You make it far too easy.”

“Don’t you want to kiss me, too?” Her hands curl around his upper arms as he holds her close, one arm around her back, the other resting at her neck.

“I want to do a lot of things with you,” he responds roughly. He feels her thin, wet shift against his skin, wants to let his hand slip lower than her back, but he doesn’t.

“Kiss me,” she whispers. “Please.”

He cups the back of her neck, unable to deny her, especially with that desperate tone in her voice. The sound she makes when he allows their lips to meet is unholy, a sound that will send him straight to hell, regardless of anything else he may or may not do. He’ll never forget it for as long as he lives, he knows that immediately at the ragged, needy draw of it.

Oliver wishes desperately that this is all they needed to be. It’s selfish of him to pretend like she isn’t a princess, like she doesn’t have anyone else waiting for her at the end of this road. To pretend like the entire world exists just in this kiss, and that nothing outside of it will ever matter.

He has never wanted to be someone else more than he does in this moment. If only he had been able to keep his father’s duchy; would he have been a duke? Would he have been allowed this intimacy, this complete surrender of his heart? Would she have still wanted him, even then? His kiss is hard, but not unkind. He can feel the thrill of her right down to his bones; a part of him thinks that she lives there, now.

She breaks for a breath for just a moment. “I wish…”

“Shh,” he says, brushing the hair back from her face tenderly, breathing hard.

Her voice breaks, not with sadness, but with a fondness. A gentleness. Her fingers play with the wet hair at the nape of his neck. “Oliver? C-Can we stay? Here, I mean. For the night.” She pulls away just a little more, to properly meet his gaze. “I want to spend more time with you.”

He smiles crookedly, his heart stuttering in his chest at the unexpected affection in her voice. “Are you sure? Reina will be worried.”

“Reina knows that you take good care of me,” she says.

This pleases him. He thought the guard didn’t like him at all. “She said that?”

“No, but I’ve known her for years, and she wouldn’t let you within a mile of me if she didn’t think you weren’t trustworthy.” She smiles a bit and then kisses his chin, the corner of his mouth. “Kiss me again, Oliver.”

“You are really demanding, you know.”

“Fine.” She lowers her voice. “Can I kiss you, Mr. Kenton?”

He leans back into her with a low breath. “We’ll stay,” he says, and then complies to her request.

#nessa and oliver #taylor writes things #THANKS ANON THIS WAS TH E B ESSSTTTTT #Anonymous

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acashgirl · 7 years

Text

Untitled Marvel Project: Part 11

We out here publishin’ writings that I just finished (this part) today legggggoooo! Yeah i dont know what’s up with me I’m tryna get together an American Idol audition but I keep thinking I sound like shit BUT WHATEVER INTERNAL STRUGGLES. Anyway, catch ya’ll on the flippity-flop!

(First) (Previous) (Next) (Index)

You woke up in the same position as you had fallen asleep, which was very unusual as normally it’d be much different. As your eyes fluttered open adjusting to the dimmed light the reason for your placement become clear; Peter Parker was sleeping away faced toward you with his hand happily wrapped around yours. Smiling down at the sight the urge to ask for the time brought itself known as if anyone came into to see this many many questions would come to head. But it was so damn nice! Feeling happy as you woke was so abnormal to you it had almost felt wrong, but what could be wrong as he was here. Peters muscles twitched in his restful state drawing your attention back in. He was so at ease in his sleep, no facial scrunching or hint of anything just a straight calm face. His hair was curled more than usual, most likely from the natural oils and stress ridden sweat you had caused, and was drawing down his forehead in sweet loops. Suddenly your hand had more pressure than before and you could feel the muscles in his palm working themselves around trying to determine what they were on. He began to shift around more, his brain telling him to wake up and access, and your brain couldn't decide whether or not to fake sleep or get caught staring. Might as well stick with it, you were the one who told him to join. A small groan escaped him as his nestled head began moving around in the pillow. A deep inhale vocalized itself and his eyes creaked open immediately drawing up to you. Blinking slowly you stared down at him, his lips curling into a waking smile. “Normally I disprove of spiders in my bed.” A tired chuckle let out and the smile spread brightly, “Normally?” “But if they were all so cuddly…” You laughed lightly. “Mm, good morning.” His shoulders shifted but his hand stayed linked to yours. “Good morning Peter, sleep well?” “Very comfortable.” “Any dreams?” “Just one, I kept trying to look off an edge but someone was holding my hand.” The smile still on his sweet face. “Oh? An edge?” “I was up high, it seemed like a cliffside with nothing in view. I kept trying to see past it all but whenever I’d get to close someone would grab my hand. When I turned away to see who it was, I woke up and saw you.” “Staaaaahp,” you groaned, “that’s too cute.” His brow furrowed while keeping that damn smile, “Is that a problem?” It should’ve been, it really should’ve been. You couldn't be important to Peter, you aren’t. But if he was feeling something… who were you to break that? Break something you wanted to have, his presence as much as you could. That sweet smile that was almost sickening staring down at you or his deep brown eyes burning into your dazed view. You couldn't respond just break the stare and look down at the warming connection. The two of you laid in silence embracing the feeling you brought to each other holding in the pure contentment. Time had passed, either quickly or slowly, but it hadn't mattered to either. You knew you could stare at him for years never wanting to blink and although it wasn't vocally claimed it was easy to tell he felt the same. Peter was very easy for you to read as he expressed himself so well. His face would twitch in the slightest and it would mean so much. One comment would change his whole demeanor and as much as he’d try to hide whatever feeling it inflicted you could tell. Plus he was very prone to blushing. The concentration you both had for each other was quickly broken by the sound of the door gliding open. Shit. “Y/N, Peter, good morning.” Both your heads shot in the direction of the voice to see Bruce Banner covered in a lab coat and cradling a tablet coming toward the foot of the bed. Without even looking you could feel the rising heat from Peter radiating toward and clashing with yours making the room feel ten degrees warmer. As much as you didn’t want to let go of him it was inevitable and he knew that, both your hands apprehensively loosening in grasp. Your throat cleared, “Good morning Bruce.” You smile sheepishly toward him and pushed yourself upright. Peter copied your action and let his leg hang off the edge bringing the other under his thigh. “Well I’m supposed to double check your vitals but I feel as if your heart rate may be… compromised.” His eyes meeting your reddening face over his glasses. “Uhm, well when you come in without knocking, the surprise will get your heart a-racin’.” Out of the corner of your eye you could see Peter attempt to muffle a laugh and hide his face away from you. Bruce took notice with his eyes and came back to you. “Well I suppose you're right. How rude of me. However unless you want Tony to check them instead I suggest you calm yourself.” Peters head shot straight up when Tony was mentioned and you felt damn near the same thing. “No no no, it’s fine!” A comically large smile plastered on your face. Your eyes followed as he went to a cabinet on the wall and pulled out a stethoscope, capturing his neck in between its vice then placing the tablet on the small end table. He came up upon your side and reached beside the bed pulling up a, uh, finger clasp thingy. “Its a pulse oximeter.” Noticing your stare. “Right.” You breathed a smile and stuck out your index finger, Bruce gently placing it on the extended pointer. Peter rested his upper body onto his propped up elbow within the space between watching intently as your chest rose and fell in instruction of the doctor every once and while staring into your focused face. Bruce nodded in approval and turned away to type into the tablet he brought with. “You really focused on your breathing hmm?” Peter whispered at you. You smirked and side eyed him, “What else should I be focusing on? Your elevated body temperature?” And brought your view forward again. “Y/N have you experienced any chest pain?” Bruce’ eyes still on the screen. “No not that I recall.” “Well, you are seemingly healthy.” He looked past his glasses to your face, “We’ll have to run a few brain scans in the near future.” “Why is that?” Peter chirped closely to your ear, apparently he had leaned closer to you than you thought. Bruce’ gaze traveled to his face, “We need to make sure overexertion won’t cause a similar attack. If it does though Y/N will have to either start medication or-” “Or what?” You interrupted. “Or- you’re going to have to tone it down, way down. Look we’ll travel down that road when we get there but right now,” He made his way to your side and gently looked down at you, “your vitals are looking great, you're in good company, and regardless of what the scans show we’ll be here to support you.” The honesty in his voice resonated into yourself creating a swelling warmth somewhere within. “T-Thank you, I appreciate that.” Looking up at him. He reached down and unclipped the oximeter placing it back into its hidden spot, “Well I’ll leave you two to… whatever this is.” The two of you were coated in the blush again as Bruce made his way out the door within a moment he was gone and were alone. Peter released a breath he had been holding in and you gently laughed to yourself which caught his attention and he dazed into your smiling profile. “You uhm- you have a g-great smile.” “Hm?” You turned your head toward him and saw his widening eyes. “Uh- uh nothing. It was nothing.” “Peter you could never say anything that means nothing.” Gently grinning down. He stared into the bed sheet before peering back up, “I said you have a great smile, but I-uh, I really meant a-um, a b-beautiful one.” Quickly pulling his gaze away again and looking back into the bed. A large smile crossed your face, “Peter, you don’t- you don’t have to be so nervous to admit things.” His brows raised as did his eyes, face still downturned. “You know, you always make me smile, without fail. So far you’ve never made me angry and I don't really see that happening either. I love when you become doe eyed and I love when you look at me without me knowing. With you around I just feel, I don't even know, I just am so at peace and happy and everything I want to feel all the time but it only happens when I see you.” “I-I, I feel the same way.” You pulled a grin even with the guilt that was beginning to build, “But-but Peter, it scares me. I’m not- I’m not someone to keep in your life, I’m not safe to have around. You deserve someone who can’t crumble a building just because we get into a stupid fight. I don't want to hurt you in any way but I need you to know that I’m-I’m…” Your throat began to swell and your eyes were past stinging to the point of welling tears, “I’m scared Peter. I’m scared of this feeling and what it could do to me and what could happen. I don't deserve all of this, any of it! Especially you. I don't deserve you. You deserve a beautiful girl who you can make laugh and smile and love herself as much as you love her and she just does the same because you both are so in love with each other that it’d be impossible to be upset.” He couldn't say anything, his throat ran dry. He could see how damaged you were and it had to have begun well before your appearance here. Scars that ran so deep that even now the need to build up a wall seemed necessary even though Peter had actually grown to care and a want to care. Not speaking was not helping but the act of stringing together proper words was damn near impossible in this moment; all he could do was stare with teary eyes. “I know right now it’s probably hard to think of something witty or caring to reply with, and that’s okay. I just- I needed you-I need you to know this. I am starting to care about you and as scary as it is it’s not something I’m trying to deny. But I’m just not sure if I’m ready to push yet.” Peters mind began to work at your words, ‘am starting to care’, and all that could happen was a small swelling smile until he looked back up and saw your tear stained cheeks and fully heard the way your voice was becoming dampened and tight. He clenched his jaw and furrowed his brow a bit trying to think of a solution to show you that he understood and will always understand and doesn't care how much you fight yourself because he’d always support you… but all he could do was reach down firmly grasping your hand once more. Letting in a small breath you looked down at the touch that warmed your body and made you feel as whole as you ever had which all led to a laugh. A small, giddy, tearful laugh. And it just kept coming with a wholesome smile and tears streaming down while you sunk into the bed pulling up your knees resting the arm not being sweetly held over your abdomen to attempt to pull yourself together. You felt Peters face deep into yours obviously confused as to what was happening but still smiling because you were laughing yet crying and smiling. Eventually the laughing began to slow as your diaphragm became exhausted while your eyes dried stinging ever so lightly. The smile was stuck there as his face came into view. “No words necessary.” Slipped through the smile as the two of you continued to stare into the depths of each others eyes colors.

#avengers imagines #avengers #peter parker imagine #reader x peter parker #peter parker #the hulk #the vision #scarlet witch #black widow #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #tony stark #iron man #steve rogers #captain america #fanfiction #falcon #sam wilson #clint barton

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rhnuzlocke · 7 years

Text

Episode 23 End

Scene 12:

[Less than an hour later it is dark and the planetarium is almost full. Steven. Wallace and Dizzy are sitting in a row together, but Steven keeps glancing around. Eventually he hops out of his seat.]

Steven: I’m going to look for Ren.

Wallace: Don’t be too long

[Steven edges his way out of the row and then out through the planetarium doors. He scans the lobby and sees Ren walking in the front doors.]

Steven: There you are! It’s about to start.

Ren: Sorry I’m late. I actually only came to tell you I’m gonna watch outside with my pokemon. Care to join us?

Steven: And waste my ticket? Of course I will.

[Ren smiles at him and they walk out into the night together. They barely get ten feet from the door before the entire island goes dark.]

Steven: So where to?

Ren: Your place?

Steven: Sounds perfect. So what kept you?

Ren: I decided to put the orbs back on Mt. Pyre. Kyogre severed their connection with me.

Steven: Is that safe?

Ren: I doubt anyone is gonna try and awaken them any time soon now that everyone’s had a fresh look at the kind of damage they can do. And if anyone tries, I’ll be around to stop them. I’m not worried.

Steven: [laughing] You’re right.

Ren: And it just felt right too, like closing a chapter. It’s time to start something else now.

Steven: I’ve felt that too. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I’m going to take you up on that job offer, if you’ll have me.

Ren: [smiling big enough to split her face in two] Anything to get Drake Nathan out of my life.

Steven: Ren!

Ren: I’m joking! Sorry! [mumbling] Feelings are hard sometimes. Besides, you know perfectly well I’d like nothing better.

Steven: Really?

Ren: Yes! [He laughs again but she is quiet for a moment.] Are you sure though? You have plenty of time to decide.

Steven: I am. Believe it or not the world almost ending really helped put some things in perspective. I realized there are some things I’m much more afraid to lose and not much else I’d rather do.

Ren: And nothing stops you from pursuing other things just because you’re on the Elite Four. If you need to travel, we’ll work something out.

Steven: You’re wonderful, do you know that?

[When they get to his cottage, Kotai and all of Steven’s pokemon are waiting for them. Ren sends out the rest of hers and they all settle down in the grass. Ren and Steven lay next to each other with Taraki and Bessemer beside them. The meteor shower has already begun and bright streaks light up the night. It almost seem like you can see forever up into the blackness and no matter where you look there are little points of light. Ren reaches for Steven’s hand and he knits their fingers together.]

Ren: So Steven, about what you said yesterday, did you mean it in a platonic way or a romantic way?

[Steven takes a few seconds to respond and Ren holds her breath.]

Steven: Both.

[She squeezes his hand tight and he turns to look at her.]

Ren: [relieved laughter] Good. Me too.

[Steven smiles and squeezes her hand back.]

Steven: It’s good to be on the same page… I'm sorry it took so long.

Ren: Don't be. This is better, I think, a lot better.

[She rolls over onto his chest and rests her head on her arms so she can look down at him. He smiles up at her and she grins back.]

Ren: But out of curiosity, how long have you been into me? [He squirms uncomfortably.] Want me to go first? [He nods.] To be honest, I wanted to smash my face into your face pretty much from the get go. [He laughs.] And it was a weird thing for me. I’d never felt that way about anyone before and it had sort of gotten to the point where I thought I never would. [She shrugs.] And then you had to be a wonderful person on top of it. I was definitely gone by Meteor Falls.

[He reaches up to stroke her cheek and she leans into his touch.]

Steven: It was a lot more gradual for me. You’re younger and you had only just gotten your first badge when we met. Meanwhile, I was the Champion. I just thought I’d keep an eye on you for Senri. But after you bonded with Latios and more or less took the reigns on taking down Magma, I guess I sort of started to see you differently.

Ren: More like I demanded you did. But this was an unintended consequence for the record.

Steven: I didn’t mean for this either. [He flinches and draws his hand away.] Shit! Was that a little too honest? I’m sorry if I’m ruining the moment.

Ren: Don’t be ridiculous. I'm glad we both followed our better judgement. Things are much more even between us now and we actually know each other. There’s a lot less room for a colossal disaster. Although, I’ll level with you: I’ve never actually dated anyone before, so I guess I’m still woefully unprepared.

Steven: Do you think we shouldn’t…

Ren: NO! [Steven starts at her sudden forcefulness] I’m sorry. What I mean is: if you're willing, we are so totally doing this. [crooked smile] Woefully unprepared is how I like to enter all the major commitments of my life. Are you sure you want to do this though? Things will be awkward.

Steven: Yeah, and maybe a little more difficult than I was anticipating. It never occurred to me that I’d be your first relationship.

Ren: [looking away] Yeah…

Steven: Thank you for telling me. I hope you know that I don’t expect anything from you. I like where we are now.

Ren: [She lays her head on his chest and hugs him.] Thank you.

Steven: [petting her back] We’ll be careful. You’ll tell me if I ever do anything to make you uncomfortable, won’t you?

Ren: You bet I will. I ain’t shy. Plus I can kick your ass.

Steven: [smiling] That’s true.

[She sighs in contentment and snuggles into him. All around them their pokemon are staring up at the sky and talking quietly to each other. Steven looks up too, smiling fit to burst. He feels Ren shift on his chest he turns his attention back to her.]

Ren: And you’re sure you don’t mind being stuck with [pointing at the scarred side of her face] this?

Steven: [completely taken aback] What?

Ren: By your own admission you’re pretty vain, Steven.

Steven: Ren, not that it matters, but I think you’re beautiful.

Ren: [rolling her eyes] Tsh. Charmer.

Steven: I’m serious. I—how can you think otherwise? Just looking at you right now with the stars falling behind you, and that light in your eyes… I can’t even picture anything I’d like to look at more.

Ren: [She snorts.] It’s dark and I’m disfigured. You can’t deny that.

Steven: So it’s possible not everyone is as enlightened as I am.

Ren: Steven.

Steven: So what if other people can’t see past it? I don’t have to look past it. It’s part of you and I love it. I love your freckles and your little button nose and your huge fucking eyebrows. I love that amazing jawline and the way your whole face scrunches up when you’re annoyed. Sometimes I want to smack myself because it took me so long to notice your eyes are green and I could have been looking at them for months now. [Her expression softens, but he is still a bit too agitated to stop.] You’re beautiful to me. And I hope you can see yourself that way. [almost petulant] Maybe I’ve been blinded by your other charms. [obstinate] I stand by my opinion regardless.

[Bessemer and a few of the others snicker and Steven huffs. Ren smiles and shifts her weight so that she can stroke Steven’s hair. He closes his eyes and lays his head back, tension leaving his body.]

Ren: I can’t argue with that. Why don’t you tell me about these charms instead?

Steven: Well first off, you don’t take any of my shit.

Ren: [quirking an eyebrow] And you like that?

Steven: Absolutely. I become a real shit-peddler when people let me and most people let me. I don’t like that Steven. And you always cut me down a peg when I’m being too vain. And you drag me out when I’m getting too self-involved.

Ren: Again, you’re saying that you like this, right?

Steven: What I’m trying to get at is that I like the Steven I have to be with you, even if I grouse about it sometimes.

Ren: That—that is so fucking sweet… I have no idea how to top that.

Steven: [relieved] Oh, good. For a moment I was scared I was screwing this up.

Ren: [soft teasing smile] Aww, were you nervous?

Steven: A little. I’ve never had it quite this bad before.

Ren: [turning beet red and groaning] Stop it! This is so much cuter than all of my dumb fantasies. [thumping her forehead against his chest] You’re killing me!

Steven: This is going pretty well. We’re covering a lot of ground.

Ren: That’s for sure. [popping back up] And we haven’t even kissed yet. [smirking down at him] Isn’t that supposed to be before we discuss all the ins and outs of our relationship?

Steven: We can do things in whatever order we want.

Ren: But how do we know this will even work? What if we’re not compatible?

Steven: [smirking up at her] If you want to kiss me, all you have do is ask.

Ren: May I kiss you, Steven Stone?

Steven: Please do.

[She grins and climbs the rest of the way on to of him, planting her hands in the grass on either side of his head to get a little leverage. He reaches out and touches her cheek, running his fingers along it and back to tuck her hair behind her ear. She leans in and he moves to meet her. It is soft at first but after a few moments, she pushes harder into him. He responds in kind, tilting his head slightly so that they don't bump noses. She puts her weight on one arm so she can run a hand through his hair and his hands run up her back. After a bit more he pulls back just a little.]

Steven: Well, what do you think?

Ren: You know what the hell you’re doing.

Steven: Benefits of being a slut.

[She laughs and kisses him again. He arches into it, pulling her tighter against him, she hums happily.]

Taraki: Whoa! Did everyone see that?

[They break apart and look over only to find Taraki is looking up at the meteor shower like the rest of the pokemon.]

Ren: Kuso! We’re totally missing my show! [rolling off Steven] More makeouts later.

[Steven grabs her hand and squeezes it tight as he turns his gaze back to the sky and she gives him a squeeze in return.]

Bessemer: Thanks for that, Taraki. I was about to say something myself, but I didn’t want to interrupt.

Kata: One of us had to.

Ao: We wouldn’t want you to miss the whole thing.

Ren: Sorry about that everyone. It must have been weird listening to half that conversation. Steven was a perfect gentleman, don’t worry.

Teka: We heard the whole thing. Bessemer has been translating for us.

Bessemer: It was more efficient that way.

Akahata: And Kata filled us in.

Pohaku: [wriggling in delight] I can’t wait to tell Panahi!

Kotai: Aye, she’ll be right proud.

Ren: Oh gods.

Steven: Are yours giving you a hard time? Half of mine were taking bets apparently.

Naihi: We were too. Is that considered rude?

[Ren starts laughing and so does Steven. She edges closer to be in more contact with Steven and he tilts his head to touch hers. Ren reaches out with her other arm and takes Taraki’s hand and he lets out a contented sigh. They all look up at the brilliant rain of meteors and smile. All around the region others are watching too. Kai and Wally are in their reclined seats in the planetarium, hands joined and armrest still tucked away between them. Wallace’s head rests on Dizzy’s shoulder and Dizzy smiles contentedly. Josh and his pokemon are on the roof of Courtney’s mansion taking turns looking through a telescope and marveling at the sight. Courtney herself meanwhile is on a small deserted island with her and Maxie’s pokemon around her. She is reading a letter with the aid of her ninetails’s will-o-wisp. She gets to the end and sets it down. We can see that the signature at the end is Maxie’s before her ninetails puts out the lights and she looks up at the sky. Archie and Maxie watch from the fenced in yard of a prison. Maxie is in the standard issue orange jumpsuit while Archie has a big visitor sticker on his breast pocket. The orb guardians are watching from the top of Mt. Pyre where the orbs are now back in their place at the shrine. Latios and Latias watch by the pool on their island that once again holds their soul dews. Ikki and her mate watch while a little surskit skates across a pond, chasing the reflections of the meteors. Putenga watches with her apprentices from a clearing in the Petalburg Woods. Panahi and her coordinator watch from one of the field in Fallarbor and Mele and his agent watch from Lighthouse Point in Lilycove. Terra and Moana are lying on a beach with their camerupt and sharpedo nearby. Asuka, Senri, Roxanne and the Birches are watching from a bridge over the estuary near Littleroot. And at the top of the waterfall in Meteor falls, Zinnia stands with her pokemon, parents, and grandmother, looking up at the sky. Even Aster, who cannot see, has her face turned upward. Zinnia’s eyes brighten and a tear runs down her face. She holds Aster tighter in her arms and her mother and grandmother each put a hand on her shoulders. Tears continue to fall and she lets them, never looking away from all the lights in the vast universe beyond. For just a little while all of Hoenn is dark, quiet and at peace.]

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mindymusejottings · 7 years

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Astral --Part 1

Prologue Part One:

The first thing that registered was the temperature. It was cold, so cold. It felt like I had never been warm in my life and yet I couldn’t move. My mind was crying out for my arms and legs to move just a little bit, but they didn’t respond. Everything felt like lead. It was not unlike those dreams where you find yourself paralyzed and no matter what kind of danger was lurking about, your body just didn’t respond. Overall, it was terrifying.

Beep...beep...beep…beep…

My head pounded in time with the incessant noise. It hurt…

Just like that, as easily as someone snaps their fingers, I woke up. The room was blindingly white. I had to close my eyes and blink several times until my they finally adjusted to the lighting. There were machines on either side of my bed, long tubes extending from them, twisting and twining together until they met my skin. I wanted to itch the spots where the tape was holding the tubes in place, but even as the thought crossed my mind, my limbs still lay numb against the soft white sheets. There was a powder blue blanket draped over me, thin and offering little warmth. I’d probably need another ten layers just to see some results.

The hospital, my mind finally supplied. I was in the hospital. How did I get here, though? What happened? The harder I tried to think, the more my head raged in agony. One particularly strong spike of pain had my heart moniter in a frenzy. Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Each thundering louder than the last. Please make it stop! Please!

“Doctor!” someone yelled. I winced at the loudness of her voice. Why was this happening? Why am I here? Why is everything so loud!? “Ma’am, please calm down!” the woman tried to sooth me, sidling up next to my bed. Her hand was cold, too, as it pressed lightly to my shoulder. “Honey, you need to calm down. You’re okay, I promise.” But I couldn’t calm down. I just couldn’t. It was too cold. Everything was too loud. Why was everything so bright?

“Give her another dose,” a male voice commanded softly. His voice was so gentle, like a light breeze at the start of spring. It was so soothing...

“Yes, Doctor,” the woman instantly complied.

The man came around the bed and leaned close to me, offering a kind, reassuring smile. “You’re going to be just fine, alright?” he told me as quietly as he could. I wanted to nod my head, so he knew I heard him, but my body just laid there numbly. I almost sighed when he brought the back of his soft hand to my cheek. It was so warm. The man chuckled as I closed my eyes in contentment. I even surprised myself as my head leaned into his warmth. “You must be freezing,” he commented knowingly. “Don’t you worry, I’ll make sure you’re perfectly cozy soon, okay?”

I barely had enough time to blink up at him before my world was once again consumed by darkness.

The second time I woke up was much better. I was warm for starters. Cozy, just like the doctor had said. This time the whiteness of the room didn’t burn my eyes and the beeping and humming of the machines around me didn’t sound like a cacophony of hell sounds. And, much to my surprise, I wasn’t alone this time.

“You’re awake!” she gasped, jumping up from her chair and rushing to my side. There were a number of emotions blasting through her dark eyes: happiness, relief, fear, anxiety, concern. She let out a noise that got lost somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle before she darted for the door. “Nurse! Nurse! She’s awake!” she cried out to whoever was outside the room and then rushed back to my side again.

“Rene?” I croaked, wincing at the dryness of my throat.

“Wait,” Rene shushed me, reaching over to the bedside table and grabbing a small bottled water. “Take a sip of this first. He said your throat would be sore from non-use.”

I did as she asked, sighing with pleasure as the cool liquid coated my throat. It felt like I hadn’t drank anything in years! “He?” I asked as she pulled the bottle away finally.

“She means me.” Both of us turned towards the entrance of the room to see the same man from before walk in with two nurses in tow. He beamed at me happily as he picked up the chart at the end of the bed. “You seem to be feeling better this time. I’m glad! Are you warm enough?” I nodded and he once again flashed me with a charming smile. “Good.”

The nurses fluttered about on either side of me, checking the monitors and the different systems, while Rene sat back down and the doctor flipped through a few pages. Finally one of the two women offered to help me sit up, to which I was more than happy to oblige. “We have to be careful, dear,” she said, smiling genially at me. Her smile was really nice, creating crescents with her eyes that were extremely endearing. Her silver hair was pulled back into a low bun and I couldn’t help but admire the pink satin bow that was wrapped around the tie as decoration. “It was a gift from my late husband,” she told me kindly when she noticed my stare. “I wear it wherever I go.”

“It’s very pretty,” I said.

“Thank you,” the woman smiled brightly.

The doctor cleared his throat, pulling my attention away from the woman and her bow. “___,” he began with a serious tone. “My name is Dr. Zhang. Do you know why you’re here?” he asked. When I shook my head no, the doctor’s expression turned troubled. “You were in a very serious accident.”

“Oh,” I mumbled. That would make sense, I guess. But why couldn’t I remember it?

“Do you not remember what happened?” he asked me. “Try to think back.”

I did, really I did, but it didn’t matter how hard I tried, nothing came up. It was like everything was a giant blank. “I’m sorry,” I shook my head again. “It’s just blank…” Dr. Zhang nodded his head, pulling a pen out of the breast pocket of his white coat and scribbled something down on the chart. “Is that a bad thing?” I questioned him, my voice wavering slightly. I looked over at Rene, who tried to smile reassuringly at me, but I knew that furrow in her eyebrows too well. She was worried.

The young doctor looked up from his notes and shook his head. “No, not necessarily,” he assured me gently. “Let’s approach this a different way. If you still don’t remember I’ll tell you what I know. Does that sound fair?” I nodded in agreement, my stomach twisting and turning anxiously. He smiled again, flipping the chart shut and clipping it back to the end of the bed. “What is the last thing you remember?”

Hmmm....what did I remember? I knew my name and I knew who Rene was. I knew I moved into a new building last year and I knew I had a dog, a little corgi named Moose. I worked for a company downtown and my boss was a serious looking man named Gong Jichul. “I think I remember...uhm...going to work…”

“What else,” Dr. Zhang encourages. “What happened at work?”

“Uhm...I...did a few presentations...and...turned in some reports...my boss was really happy. He let us leave early.”

“Where did you go after work?”

“Home. I went home and walked Moose.”

“Moose?”

“My dog”

He chuckled in amusement. “You named your dog Moose?”

I grinned and nodded, “Yeah, he was really big for his age group and he likes to eat a lot, so I named him Moose.”

“That’s a very cute name,” he complimented. “Where did you take Moose for a walk?”

I paused there for a moment. Where had I gone with Moose? “The...park,” I finally said. “There’s a park near where I live. I take Moose there all the time.”

“And then what happened?”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled. Taking Moose to the park was the last thing I remembered doing. I felt like there was something important I was forgetting. Something that wasn’t the accident. “I don’t remember. I just remember throwing the ball with Moose on the soccer field. Then...nothing. It’s just all blank…” I trailed off, dropping my gaze to my hands. I scrunched the blanket in my fists tightly and tried to think harder. Why couldn’t I remember? There was something important that happened at the park. What was it? Why was it so important?

“It’s okay,” Dr. Zhang told me softly, patting my ankle lightly. I looked back up at him unsurely, but he continued to smile like everything was alright. “You were involved in a very bad accident, ___. You were on a bus headed towards Town Center. It’s still unclear about what caused the accident, but you almost didn’t make it. We lost you twice.” My heart skipped a few beats at that. They lost me twice? I died twice? “You are a very resilient young lady. If you hadn’t fought to survive, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now. It’s honestly a miracle.”

I had died. Wow… That was a lot to take in. Sure, you hear stories about people who die and come back every so often, but it’s very different when that person becomes you. It’s an incredibly surreal feeling. “What about the other people on the bus? I couldn’t have been the only one…,” I trailed off unsurely.

The doctor sighed. “You were among three survivors. The other passengers and the driver didn’t make it.”

“Oh,” I mumbled. Only three of us… I didn’t know if I wanted to remember at that point. To look back and remember all the faces of the people on the bus and realize most of them were dead, would be awful. Why had I survived? Why me and not someone else?

“I do have good news for you, though,” he spoke up, changing the topic with a grin. “Aside from your head injury, you have some scrapes and bruises that will heal with time. In other words, I want to keep you one more night for observation, but if all goes well between now and tomorrow morning, I’ll let you go home. Of course, I’ll want to see you in two weeks just to check up on your progress.”

“Really?” Rene asked excitedly. When the doctor nodded, she beamed at me happily. “That’s great! I’ll stop by your apartment tonight and make sure you have everything you need before you get there tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to do that, Rene,” I told her, but really who was I kidding? Rene was a free spirit. She was going to do what she wanted regardless of what I told her.

“Nonsense!” she waved me off. “You can’t be going grocery shopping after something like this!”

“She’s right, you know,” the doctor said. He crossed his arms and gave me a firm look. “You are on bed rest for the next week. You can return to work thereafter. That way you have a week of rest and week of work before I see you again. But let me say this,” Dr. Zhang paused to wag a finger in my direction, “If you feel even the slightest bit woozy at work--the slightest bit off in any way-- you’re to call me immediately. That goes for your week at home, too. I’d feel better if someone stayed with you, but as I understand it you live alone.”

“I’ll check in on her often,” Rene promised, winking at me and grinning, “She won’t be able to get rid of me.”

I scoffed and laughed, “Like I was able to before this whole mess!”

Dr. Zhang left shortly afterward. Rene stayed with me for a while telling me all about the things I had missed and about the ongoing investigation into the accident. Apparently there weren’t any real leads. The most anyone could say was that the bus had lost control and flipped. There wasn’t a how or a why yet. It was odd to say the least and even as I huddled down into the blankets hours later, I still couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

Still I had a feeling things were different now. That something was off. I could just sense it. I didn’t know what it was yet, but I was sure of one thing: I would be finding out soon enough.

��JN��

So this didn’t have Baekhyun in it...I really wanted to put him in here but it was getting too long. Anyhoo, this is more of just setting things up. more of the plot will be revealed in the next part and we may or may not see Baekhyunie, too! Also, this is a super rough version just cuz I have a lot going on right now, so if you see anything that either doesn’t make sense or needs editing let me know bc it might be awhile before I get back to re-reading it. Enjoy!

#baekhyun scenario #exo scenario #kpop scenarios #baekhyun #baekhyun scenarios #exo #jnseries

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accio-ambition · 7 years

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til we’re grey and old

a/n: so this is a little thing that I wrote based off the James Arthur song “Say You Won’t Let Go.” Took a few liberties toward the end, but kept it canon at the beginning. Dedicated to Kavya (@the-corsair-and-her-quill) who told me to do the thing and Emily (@swan-road) because this was what kept your gift from being on time. (Again, real sorry about that one.)

I also suggest watching Michelle (@thenthereshope)’s video of this song. Iz gud.

ao3/ff

The moment she steps forward with a fierce face of determination, his heart begins to beat faster.

“I was hoping it’d be you,” he says with a smirk, infusing as much innuendo and sexual prowess as he can without earning himself a smack to the face.

The lass rolls her eyes and hold out her wrist for him to clasp the gauntlet.

“Just get on with it,” she mumbles unhappily.

He’s been pushing her buttons since properly introducing himself tied against a tree, but it’s more entertaining than he would expect. She’s feisty, this Swan girl.

He likes feisty.

Though it’s a bit difficult, Killian does get his hook back and it’s almost as comforting as if he were to have his hand back, he’s had it so long. Emma rolls her eyes at him again when he meets her gaze.

“Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second,” she threatens him.

“I would despair if you did.”

To be truthful, he would. This woman is a marvel to say the least. The entirety of their ascent of the beanstalk, he can feel himself scaling her emotional walls. It’s a challenge – makes climbing up the beanstalk easier than he’d thought – but by the time they reach the top, Killian feels like he’s had a deep, meaningful conversation with a practical stranger.

As he catches his breath and tends to her wounded hand, he likes to think she feels the same way.

The tone of her voice when the giant 20 times their size falls in front of him only add to his suspicion. They make quite the team and Killian tells her so. She heaves a sigh, rolls her eyes, and hurries down the statue and inside the beast’s lair.

Killian’s beginning to think that’s all she can do. What a shame that would be. Surely she’s got some other tricks up those leather jacket sleeves.

The giant’s lair is a pirate’s dream: filled to the brim with gold and other treasures. There’s so much to take in, let alone carry down the beanstalk. He can’t be faulted for getting distracted by the objects that could make him well-off for the next, oh, century or so.

Swan’s trying to get him to focus, get the compass and descend, but this will be the only time to enjoy this sort of haul. He knows better than to take it for granted.

He’s strolling through the room, passing table after table of gold. Next thing he knows, she’s pulling him toward her. Emma’s warm against his body and he wills himself not to react like an eager lad.

“It’s about bloody time,” he quips, smirking all the while.

They rock back and forth as she struggles from his grip. When she breaks free, Emma motions toward the ground. “Trip wire,” she says, following the string up to the ceiling, where a convenient cage lays in wait. “Quite the security system.”

A fair point, he mentally admits, but irritating her really is amusing. “That’s a plausible excuse for grabbing me,” he tells her. “But next time, don’t stand on ceremony.”

Again, she rolls her eyes – her pretty green eyes are going to roll right out of their sockets at this rate – and sighs. “Let’s find the compass and go home,” she says, gesturing that he proceed forward.

There really is so much to see and touch and too many places for something as small as a compass to be hiding. Another cage filled with treasure stands before him and when Swan fights his request to search the top of it, he gets frustrated and can’t help but blurt out, “Try something new, darling. It’s called trust.”

He watches something light within her, as if Emma considers trusting him in the first place. And it’s there that Killian first considers that maybe – just maybe – his walls are falling just as remarkably as hers are.

But then the giant wakes from his magical slumber and though he tries to protect her, get her to a safe place, she encounters the beast and Killian himself is buried beneath rubble. He’s slowly digging himself out when a hand appears in front of his face. Swan pulls him out from under the debris and, happily laughing, he lauds her praises.

“Have you got it?” he asks.

From her jacket, Emma pulls out the compass. It’s not nearly as ornate or worth half as much as the majority of the other treasures the giant has, but he supposes if it’ll help him get his hands on the Crocodile, it’s worth the trouble. He reaches toward it, but she quickly curls her fingers over it and places it once more in her pocket.

“Come, let’s go,” he tells her. Hand laid out before him, Killian watches as she hesitantly places hers atop his.

His hand grips hers tightly, but then a clang rings off the stones of the lair and she pulls away. It sobers him up quickly, reduces him from the suave lothario pirate to the scared lad whose father deemed him unworthy of raising.

“What are you doing?” he asks angrily. And then, as she continues to back away, he repeats himself. Even he can tell his voice sounds petrified. “What are you doing?”

“Hook, you’re right, I can’t-“

“Emma, look at me,” he orders her. She complies, surprisingly enough, and Killian can see betrayal in her eyes. He tries to head off her fear, tries to earn her trust again. “Have I told you a lie?” Because that seems to be the most important thing in her mind, his ability to tell the truth.

He hasn’t lied to her. He hasn’t been this honest with anyone since…well, since Milah, and now this blonde, this Swan girl questions him.

“I can’t take the chance that I’m wrong about you,” she says softly. Before turning her back on him completely, she adds, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” he asks in disbelief. “You’re sorry!”

Briefly, ever so briefly, he catches her looking back at him over her shoulder. She’s too far away to see what lies in her expression, but she looked back. That has to mean something.

“Swan?” he yells after her. “Swan! SWAN!”

But she’s already gone.

It’s in the ten hours of contemplation that follows that Killian decides to go after her. Nobody – least of all this woman – will get to say they’ve bested Captain Hook.

“She will pay,” he grumbles under his breath. “I’m not letting you go that easily.”

Even as he mounts the last couple of stairs, Killian knows she’s not going to be too happy with him. Emma’s been grumpier than usual lately, sleeping in when she can and taking naps more frequently throughout the day.

He really shouldn’t disturb her.

She’s still going to adore him regardless. If there’s one thing his love can’t say no to, it’s food.

Shouldering open the bedroom door, he sets the tray in his hand carefully on their dresser before opening the blinds. Sunlight streams in, illuminating the lump of Swan beneath the blankets. Killian approaches her side of the bed and jostles her slightly.

“Happy birthday, my love,” he murmurs.

Emma groans and burrows her head beneath the pillow. “It can’t be morning already,” comes her muffled response

“I fear that it is.” He returns to the tray and takes it back in his hand, carefully walking it over to her. He waits patiently until she rubs the sleep from her eyes and looks at him.

“What’s this?” she asks.

“Breakfast in bed for the birthday girl.”

A wide grin spreads across her lips. “You didn’t have to,” she tells him, putting up little fight as she struggles to sit up.

“Aye, but I wanted to,” he says. “Of all the days in the year, the occasion of my darling Swan’s birth is the one I should be allowed to dote on you.” He sets the tray down in front of her crossed legs, within reach despite the bulge of her growing belly. “Both of you.”

She tilts her head fondly. He knew he’d be off the hook for waking her this early, no pun intended.

“You’re too sweet, babe,” she thanks him. Quickly surveying the spread in front of her, Emma asks, “Coffee?”

Before he can answer, a commotion strikes up in the kitchen, the clash of pots and shattering of a glass or bowl. Killian watches Emma’s face fall and as she goes to stand up, he stops her.

“No, you stay in bed,” he insists, hand and hook in the air. “I’ll worry about the mess and take Henry to school this morning.”

Hesitantly, Emma settles back into bed. “Okay,” she concedes and picks up a piece of toast. “But can you send him up here before you leave?”

“Of course. With some coffee as well.” The comment makes her giggle and it make him all the more pleased when he leans forward and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Love you,” she mumbles through a bite of toast.

He says, “I love you, too, Swan” as he walks out the door and down the stairs.

Henry greets him with strained “Morning” while trying to put the pots that had fallen back in the cupboard. Killian rushes to help him.

“Why don’t you pour your mother a cup of coffee and take it up to her?” he suggests.

“Gladly,” Henry says, leaving Killian to push the stack of metal back on to the highest shelf.

“We’ll head off once you come back down, so make sure you’re ready.”

“Alright!” the boy shouts, his shoe-clad feet already clunking up the steps.

Living with the two of them is unlike what he’d really expected. It was bumpy at first, adjusting to not only living with two other people, but to living and sleeping somewhere stationary. The Jolly Roger was home for so long, and he’d grown used to the roll of the waves that lulled him to sleep that he’d begun to miss them about a month after moving in.

Killian’s reveries are broken by the telltale moan of the stairs as Henry barrels down them, swinging his pack on his back and heading out the door without so much as a word. He sighs, closes the cabinet door, and shouts up to Emma, “I’ll be back in a bit, Swan. Don’t get into any trouble.”

If she responds, he doesn’t hear it, already quick on Henry’s feet.

They spend the walk to school discussing the dinner they plan on making that evening – high-class grilled cheese and cupcakes decorated like onion rings, along with whatever today’s craving might be – and Henry gets even more excited about giving his mother his present.

“Do you think she’ll like?” he asks for at least the seventeenth time.

“Of course she will, lad,” Killian reassures him, laying his arm over Henry’s shoulder. “You know your mother. She’ll be happy to have you within arms’ reach.”

He’s silent for a moment before saying, “Yeah, but do you think she’ll like my present?”

Laughing, Killian shakes him a bit, hoping to knock a bit of sense into the teen. “Aye, Henry. I’m excited to see her reaction too.”

They reach the schoolyard just as the warning bell sounds. Henry quickly wraps an arm around Killian’s waist, squeezes, and bids him farewell. Killian watches the lad run through the yard and into the building before turning back and heading home.

Home. It’s still a bit foreign that home is more of a person – or persons, rather – now than it ever has been. In the last year alone, his life has changed for the better. Emma’s his true love, Henry respects him, and they’re all anxiously awaiting the arrival of another family member. A little girl, if his gut instinct is to be believed.

He’s found the love of his life and a family with her. A home that, for hundreds of years, was so far out of reach.

It may be Swan’s birthday, but Killian feels like he’s the one who’s been brought to life.

He reaches the front porch just as the sea breeze picks up, bringing with it obvious signs of impending cold. It’s supposed to frost tonight, so he and Emma will probably spend some of the day bringing in what plants they can fit from outside. After disrobing himself of his jacket and his boots, Killian makes his way back up to their bedroom, intending to clean up the mess he’s sure his love made with her breakfast.

Instead, he finds the tray neatly set up on the dresser and Emma standing up next to their bed, reaching high to stretch, sleep warmth radiating off of her in the ray of morning sunshine she’s in.

They’ve both changed so much the longer they’ve know each other, but she’s almost unrecognizable in the best way. Over the years, she’s softened so much, from their first moments of acquaintance when she held a knife to his throat and their climb up to Anton’s lair. Sure, his love is nothing if not obstinate and closed-off on occasion, but her heart is far more open to opportunity than it was.

She hasn’t gotten away from him, as he’d promised himself those years ago, shackled to the stone wall. Not yet. And he has no plans of letting her go any time soon.

Sensing his presence, Emma glances over her shoulder. “What?” she asks with a chuckle. Her hand comes to rest at the curve of her stomach.

Killian shrugs. “You’re gorgeous.”

She shakes her head. “You have to say that,” she answers.

Raising a brow, he points out, “You know when I’m lying, Swan.” Slowly approaching her, Killian brushes his lips against hers. He wraps her up in his embrace and begins to sway them back and forth.

Emma giggles, sparking a warmth deep within him. “Are you trying to dance with me?” she asks.

“Aye, darling.” He twirls her out and she willingly spins back into him. “Despite your gripes and grouses, you’ve always been quite a good dancer.”

“Well, thank you,” Emma chirps.

His hand in hers and his hook at the small of her back, Killian honestly can’t believe his luck. That this woman would win his heart and he hers. He’s thrown back to their trip to the past, when they were both unsure of what they felt and were only trying to keep Emma in existence. Not only does she exist, she’s thrived and brought him along for the ride.

The quiet continues for a bit, both of them dancing to the music in their heads until, finally, Emma sighs and steps back. “I miss you,” she says softly.

Her words stun him. “But I’m right here,” he reminds her. He spreads his arms wide, as if making himself larger would make him more noticeable in her eyes.

Emma laughs. “I know, but this -” she gestures at her stomach - “makes you feel so far away.”

“Ahh.” He can see her point. When they stand together, her head no longer burrows comfortably into his neck. Their little one forces her to lean forward, and she’s already uncomfortable as it is, so Emma just refrains from doing so.

To compensate and hopefully cheer his Swan up a bit, Killian replaces his hook at the small of her back and pulls her into him. This time, though, his hand moves to the side of her stomach, caressing her bump. Bending down, he presses a kiss to the top curve, then straightens up to kiss Emma soundly.

“I’m right here,” he whispers against her lips. “I will always be right here, no matter how far away it seems.”

Emma does her best to nuzzle into him, silently showing her appreciation. It only makes the spark in his stomach grow.

“Your beauty really does grow with each passing day,” he adds absentmindedly, making her chuckle as she withdraws from his shoulder.

“Easy, tiger,” she chides him. “I’m already pregnant.”

Gently, Killian begins to scoot backwards, hand and hook on her hips, until he feels the edge of the bed on the back of his knees. “Then we haven’t got to worry about little accidents, then, do we?”

III

He wakes one morning refreshed for the first time in years. No back pain, no annoying cough, no lingering exhaustion. Just fresh air, the slight sound of crashing waves, and a bright outlook on life. It’s practically a miracle.

Except something’s different. Something is just…off. He fell asleep with the windows shut last night, the cold outside reminding him too much of his and Emma’s adventures with Elsa. And the sunlight appears to be coming from every direction, not from the window next to her side of the bed.

But the thing that solidifies that something is wrong is when Swan walks in from the hallway. She’s carrying a mug, which immediately goes crashing to the ground when she raises her gaze and her green eyes land on him.

“Emma?” he says quietly, skeptically. He sits up in bed, the covers falling to his hips.

Her hand comes up to cover her mouth. “Oh, Killian.”

She hasn’t changed a bit over the last two years. Her body is just as he remembers when she jumps into his arms, all the same curves and softness that were there the last time they embraced.

He must be dreaming.

“Emma, my love,” he whispers. His hand winds its way into her hair – thinner than it was when they first met, but still as long and gold as it had always been. She buries her nose into the crook of his neck and he hasn’t realized how much he’s missed such a small movement until this moment.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she tells him, her voice cracking with grief. “I mean, I didn’t want you to show up, but I’m so glad you’re here now.”

“And where exactly is here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Taking a step back but keeping her arms around his shoulders, Emma licks her lips nervously. The motion makes his mouth tip up for a second. Her shoulders come up in a shrug. “The other side?” she says uncertainly.

“Other side?” he parrots. Then the words truly sink in. “I’ve died?” She nods slowly. “How?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Killian focuses, furrowing his brows and looking down toward the ground. “I had dinner with Miriam,” he says. “I spoke with Audrey. I read some then went to bed.” He raises his eyes to hers, hoping she’ll provide some sort of answer.

“It must’ve happened in your sleep,” Emma says quietly.

The cough he thought was nothing must have been something more serious. He has to say, he’s a bit disappointed. Especially during his pirate years, Killian had expected to die in a blaze of glory, fighting enemies on the Jolly Roger. But even after settling down with Emma, Storybrooke was hardly a safe place to live.

Emma’s fingers unwind from behind his neck and brush some stray hairs away from his face. “I can’t believe you’re here,” she tells him on a giggle.

“I’d follow you anywhere, Swan,” he says with a silly smile. He cocks his head to the side and raises his eyebrow. “You should know that by now.”

“It’s been a while, old man,” she says fondly. Her hand returns to the nape of his neck, nails scratching at the hair and skin there. It’s familiar, and it makes Killian’s stomach flutter. “Did I ever tell you you’re such a silver fox?”

He chuckles. “The girls have said the same thing since you’ve been gone,” he tells her. “They’re just like you, you know. Ferocious and stubborn. Loving.”

“I know.” His brows raise in surprise and Emma laughs, a full body laugh that has her shaking against him. “You can watch them on the television,” she explains. “Check in on them. Your loved ones.”

“You’ve been watching over them?” he asks.

“Yeah. All of you,” Emma admits. Her brief moment of happiness mellows out. She rests her forehead on his chest dejectedly and she breathes deeply. “I’m sorry I left you.”

Thinking back to what had to be one of the worst – if not the worst – day of his life sobers Killian as well. He’d hugged his love goodbye before she left for the station. Never would he have guessed that a mere six hours later, he’d be at her side as she bled out on Main Street, a wound too poisonous to magic away her downfall. “You couldn’t help it,” is all he can say.

Emma gulps, the motion reverberating through his chest. “It broke me, to see you that destroyed.”

“I like to believe I managed to live what was left of my life to the fullest.” His hand comes to rest on the back of her head, simultaneously holding her closer and trying to calm the pressure of sadness building in chest.

“You did,” she snickers. Pulling back, Emma sniffles and puts on what he thinks is supposed to be a smile, but it’s a poor attempt. His hand falls from the back of her head to trace her side and land on her waist. ”Henry and the girls are going to miss you.”

“As I miss them already,” he admits. For as long as he was alone, Killian isn’t used to it anymore. No day went by when he wasn’t surrounded by his stepson and or his daughters, especially after Swan’s death. Sometimes, the remaining members of his crew would drop by to check in. But now he’s left them without a word.

Life is cruel and unfair and all the more so once it ends in death.

His thumb comes up to tap at the dimple in her chin. Her mother’s chin, passed on to Swan and down to their eldest daughter. “But I have you, lass,” he reminds her. “Just as fierce and gorgeous as the day I met you.”

Humming, Emma shakes her head in disbelief and adds, “All those years ago.”

“Mhmm.” There’s a sappy grin on his face, sort of dopey, he can feel it, but he’s found his love – his other and better half, if he were to be honest – on the other side after two years of separation. Jokingly, he remarks, “Didn’t think you’d be stuck with me this long now, did you?”

That makes her laugh outright, bringing him closer until their bodies touch from toes to forehead. “Jones, it’s been you and me since day one, no matter how much we tried to stop it.”

He’d promised her forever a long time ago. Now’s the time to follow through. “There is no one in any realm that I would rather spend eternity with, Swan.”

#cs ff #captain swan #ouat ff #cs au #I guess?#i dont know #i heard this song on the radio adn by the end im like AFUHdlFAL #and then kavya was like ANGST #so there #my words #storytime

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