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burnedbyshoto · 3 years

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the bodyguard

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

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pairing: bodyguard!kirishima eijirou x idol!reader

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

word count: 20,500

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

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“I’ll be okay.”

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

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

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

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

What had he done?

What in the fucking world had he done?!

BOOM!

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

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

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

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

05:30.

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

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Better?

No, not yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Cause I’m a stalker, duh.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Kirishima-kun, are you okay?”

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

“Kirishima-kun?”

“Yo, he’s not looking too hot?”

“Kirishima?!”

“Can you hear us?!”

Silence.

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

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

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

He was okay.

“Kirishima?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

But he was obviously not the first choice still.

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

“Toshinori—”

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

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

He had barely passed the admittance test.

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

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

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

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

“I can do it.”

A smile.

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were tiny.

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

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

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

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

“Six months tops.”

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

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

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

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

“...no,” Kirishima answers truthfully.

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

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

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

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

Fuck, that one hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

“Six months,” Kirishima agreed.

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

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

“You got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, yes, let’s continue.”

So, the contract was discussed to full detail.

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

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

Or so the contract said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, so much for a good case.

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

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

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

You always managed to sneak away from him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ya, okay, bye!”

“By—”

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

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

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

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

He wanted to be just a fan.

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I can’t do that it’s not—”

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

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

And then there’s only silence.

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

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

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

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

He knew that.

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

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

You were a good person.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...how interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

“Very much.”

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

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

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

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

So much for change.

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

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

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

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

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

It had been a hard morning.

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

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

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

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

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

But today, Kirishima was exhausted.

Today, Kirishima wanted to sleep.

Today… Kirishima broke.

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

You ignore him.

“We’re leaving, now.”

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

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

He grabs your wrist and begins pulling you away.

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

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

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

Oh, right.

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

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

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

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

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

“Compromises aren’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Wh-”

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

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

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

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

And for a moment, it’s quiet.

Until a single name is screamed.

“SERGEANT!”

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

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

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

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

The van turns on.

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

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

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

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

T082-23

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

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

Well, shit.

So much for the month of no attacks.

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

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

But they also gave him an essential piece of information.

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

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

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

For now, he was waiting for you.

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

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

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

“Should we go?”

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

“I actually wanted to talk before we left.”

Oh?

“Of what, if I may ask?”

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

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

“Sure.”

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

The contract was then discussed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, Kirishima.”

“Oh, and y/n?”

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kirishima stood in the softly lit hallways of a sauna.

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

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

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

Well, everyone but Kirishima, that was.

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

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

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

A stressful month had passed into a friendlier one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-If that’s okay?”

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

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

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

“No, I’m okay,” you politely decline.

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

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

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

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

“So, what questions do you have?”

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A pause.

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

A nod.

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

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

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

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

What had happened?

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

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

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

“Was that um, Major—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t made of glass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

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

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

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

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

“PERVERT!”

“What?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, his dreams were never like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kirishima stepped back out to the hot spring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jenny, are you okay?” you called.

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

“We weren’t fucking you prude!”

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

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

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

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

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

What was he going to do now?

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

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

Bad, Kirishima, bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That sounds amazing, Kimiko!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whoever it was, pfft.

Kirishima was willing to bet on who it was already.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something.

Anything.

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

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

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

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

He was going to.

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready to move out?”

“We’re all clear.”

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

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

“Damn right I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Such a brat.”

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

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

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

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

T082-23.

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

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

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

You really came to life right now.

You were beautiful.

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

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

He was here.

Every warning bell sounded in Kirishima’s head.

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

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

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

Wait.

“What?! Family member?!”

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

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

There was no way you wouldn’t.

Was he wrong?

Who was it?

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

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

Oh fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

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

“...she’s drunk?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a reason why you were considered a legend.

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

You smile.

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

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

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

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

How were they related?

What connected them?

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

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

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

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

Kirishima panted as he looked before him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was he ready?

Actually ready?

Save her, his past whispered.

Save her, his nightmares screamed.

Save her, his heart yelled.

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

BANG!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you resisted and might have been harsher than needed.

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

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

But it was growing late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown.

“Where will you be sleeping then?”

“My couch is just fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I’ll be leaving—”

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

“Oh, sure!”

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

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

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

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

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

He was relaxed.

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

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

“Really?”

“One hundred percent.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” you grin against his mouth.

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

“No?” he repeats.

“No,” you confirm.

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

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

Menacing, promising, sending chilling shivers down your spine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does the princess want?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy fuck, he could quickly kill you with that.

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

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

And thankfully, Kirishima allows it.

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

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

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

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

It feels like fire.

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

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

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

Slap!

“Hey!”

Slap!

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

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

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

More, you plead.

And he delivers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who saved you?”

“E-Ei did,” you garble.

“Who’s fucking you?”

“E-Ei is!”

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

“Me! Fuck, me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t.

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

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

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

“I think we do.”

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

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mr-moose-man · 2 years

Text

I turned in a FNAF fic to my teacher. Wanna read it?

I swear to god if I don’t get an A+ on this I’m stealing their stapler

~~~

Title: Domestic

Summary: Michael Afton and Charlotte Emily were childhood friends. They seperated, but they met each other again in middle school, not in the way that they hoped

TW: Implied death, swearing, broken family, yelling

~~~

A group of boys sat at a lunch table, but none of them were eating. School lunch is notoriously nauseating but today, something was wrong about the milk.

“Why does it look like that?” One of the boys exclaimed as his friend pours a congealed liquid out of his 2% milk carton.

“That’s not milk,” Another states.

“That’s worse than the powdered stuff my mom gets-” A boy in a blue shirt adds, opening his own carton.

A blonde boy turns to Michael. “Is that the stuff you get in the kingdom?¨

Michael whips his head at him.¨I was born here you daft idiot!¨

¨Yea are you SCHTEWPID?¨ The boy in the blue shirt mocks.

Mike socks his friend in the shoulder. The boys laugh at the two of them, cheering.

Michael rolls his eyes and opens the milk carton in his hand. ¨How funny would it be if I chucked this across the room.¨

¨I’m sure it´ll be a jolly riot!¨ the blonde friend jeers.

¨Shut up and watch this¨ Michael sits up on the table to get a better view of the room. He spots a table of girls and figured that would create the biggest reaction. He pulls his arm back and throws his carton as hard as he can. Milk sprays almost instantly, causing a bunch of girls to start squealing and running away from the table. As screams and the laughter of middle schoolers fill the lunch room with chaos, a girl with long black hair and a green sweater vest approaches the group of boys with fire in her eyes and slime on her vest.

Upon seeing her, Michael’s friends go into hysterical laughter. Michael however, lowers himself from the table with a guilty look on his face.

¨Charlie, I´m sor-¨

Charlie picks some slime off of her sweater and flings it at Michael. He attempts to block it, but it hit him square in the face. ¨You wouldn't apologize if it wasn´t me.¨ She stomps away from the group, leaving the boys clamoring and yelling, entertained. Michael turns around, wipes his face, and hangs his head in embarrassment.

~~~

The front door opens, announcing Charlie’s arrival home. Henry jumps at the sound of her stomping to her room and slamming her door. “Charlie, are you home?” he calls from his office.

“Yea!” She responds.

Henry knocks on her bedroom door. “Is everything okay in there?”

“I’m fine dad!” she says, taking off her ruined sweater and throwing it into her hamper.

“Would you like me to leave you alone?”

“Yes dad!”

“Alright. You know where to find me when you need me.”

“Thanks!” Charlie falls on her pillow, holding a fox plush close to herself.

~~~

All but one of five chairs are filled at the dinner table. Michael’s parents and his brother sit around their round table eating the steak and potatoes that his mother made. His dad was merely poking at it, mostly tapping his fork against the plate. His mom breaks the silence. “Sweetie, what do you want for your birthday?” she asks his brother, Evan.

Evan face brightens. “I don’t want any presents! I want to go to Fredbears!”

Their father looks up from his plate, ceasing his tapping.

“Please dad!” Evan pleads. “That’s all I want! I just want to go to your pizzeria! I’ll even give up cake!” “

He just doesn’t think it’s safe right now. Especially since some kids ran away there.”

“I won’t run away! And I’ll be careful! I’ll be a big boy then!”

Michael looks over to his father who is looking away from the table, holding his face.

“Is there something else you’d like to do?” Their mom offers. “Have a play date? You can have cake and presents.”

“I just want to go to Fredbears mom! I thought I was supposed to get what I wanted on my birthday?”

William stands up. “I’m going to eat in my office.”

Their mom reaches her hand out to him. “Wil, please-”

“You make a great steak Bella.” He kisses her forehead, takes his plate, and escapes to the garage.

Evan sits back down in his seat. “I’m sorry mum…”

“It okay sweetie.” she apologizes. “He’s just having a rough time. We’ll brainstorm something else to do, okay?”

“Okay..”

Isabella leans her face in her hand and sighs. “So Michael, did anything happen at school today?”

Michael makes a circular motion with his finger by his cheek as he chews. He finally swallows and says, “Uh. I kinda ruined Charlotte’s sweater-”

“You what? Kinda? How?”

“It was an accident mom!”

“What did you do?”

“I threw a milk carton in the lunch room, I didn’t expect it to hit her!”

“Michael, you can’t keep getting into trouble like this. I’m gonna have to talk to your principal!”

“I was gonna apologize to her! But-”

“You didn’t apologize?!”

“She threw the milk back at my face!”

“Is that why your hair looks like crap?”

“Yes!”

“Why haven’t you taken a shower?”

“Cause I was doing homework!”

“It takes a few minutes! Go take a shower and finish your dinner.”

“Fine!” Michael stands up and slams the door.

“Don’t you don’t slam my doors Michael!”

Evan finishes his food, stands up and says. “Thank you for dinner, it was really good.”

“Thank you sweetheart.”

Evan leaves his dish on the table and leaves to his room. Isabella sits defeated at the table, all by herself.

~~~

Henry and Charlie sit at the dinner table, silently eating their food. Spoons clinking on the bowls.

“So, Charlotte, how was school?”

“It was good,” she mumbled

“Anything happen?”

“Nothing happened dad-”

Henry sips a spoonful of his soup. “What happened to your sweater?”

“It got dirty.”

“How did it get dirty?”

“I spilled milk spilled on it.”

“Did you put it in the wash?”

“I put it in the basket.”

“Milk gets really smelly you know.”

Charlie drops her spoon with wide eyes. She begins to run to her room.

“Charlie, sit down.”

She hesitantly sits back down at the table.

“What happened at school today?” he asks, putting his arms on the table.

“Michael threw slimy milk at me”

“He did? Do you want me to call his dad?”

“No.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to kick his butt.”

“Language!”

“It’s true! He ruined my favorite sweater! Plus he’s generally just a mean guy and he needs his ego checked.”

“Michael is a big man, I don’t think you’ll get anywhere by beating him up.”

Charlie crosses her arms and leans back into her chair.

“It’s okay to be angry at him, but staying angry isn’t healthy.”

“I know…”

Henry opens a small chest close to the table. “Would you like to do puppets?”

“Sure.” He hands her the fox puppet and puts a chicken puppet on his own hand.

“Remember, we’re just trying to understand him. Okay?”

“Okay. I’m Michael right?”

“Right. And I’m a friend”

“Am I allowed to swear?”

“Just because Michael swears, doesn’t mean you can.”

“Aw!” Charlie giggles as she puts on the hand puppet.

She puts on a masculine voice. “I can’t believe that she threw that milk back at me!”

“That’s messed up!” Henry agrees.

“Yea it is. I wasn’t aiming for her! She can’t be mad at me for that!”

“Why did you throw it anyway?”

“I thought it was funny! And it was!”

“I guess it is, but why?”

“I dunno, cause it’s gross?”

“But you did ruin your friend’s sweater for it.”

“But like I said, I didn’t mean it. Maybe I just wanted to laugh at something.”

“Do you not laugh a lot?”

“I do! I do all the time! It’s just, things have been really hard recently.”

“How so?” “My parents have been really busy. Which is good! I get to do more of what I want but…dad is working and I don’t get to talk to him very much. And my mom has been running around, looking for my sister.”

Charlotte’s face sinks. “I miss her”

~~~

Twangs of a basketball ring across the asphalt courtyard accompanied by stomping sneakers and delighted yells.

“Pass it! Pass it! I can shoot!” Michael calls from across the court.

His friend pass the ball to him and Michael shoots, but it bounces off the backboard and flings out of bounds. The three of the run after the ball, competing to see who can get it first, but Michael stands there, dejected. Nothing seems to be going right for him.

Charlie is standing by the basket, and Michael rushes over to her. “Charlie!”

“Hey Michael, I’m sorry for insulting you and throwing milk at your face.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the one apologizing?”

“You are.”

“I thought so-”

The two chuckle awkwardly.

“I’m sorry I ruined your sweater. I think it was your favorite yea?”

“Yea it was. But it’s okay. My dad washed it and it’s all good.”

“Oh thank god. I was going to buy you a new one.”

“I wouldn’t have let you done that anyway.”

“I might just buy you a new one anyway. Out of spite.”

“Is that your way of flirting lover boy?” The blond boy teased.

Michael throws a backwards peace sign at him. “Buzz off you lonely rat!”

“Still friends?” Charlie asks.

He shakes her hand and smiles. “Still friends.”

~~~

Thanks for reading! If this story feels like it’s incomplete, it’s because it is! This is an excerpt from a larger story I’m writing about the Bite of 83′ which focuses on how the Afton family falls apart. It will be a comic!

Tags: @super-nova5045 @my-original-au-blog @q-quadrum @just-a-wholesome-rabbit @littlemoondarling

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weeb-writor · 3 years

Text

MHA boys on take your kid to work day

Hello! New post with 3 of my loves! Just them reacting to your kids visting them at work Bakugou and Aizawa are fluff and just a hint sad while Izuku’s is fluff and crack! Reader is neutral.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bakugou Katsuki x Reader, Aizawa Shouta x Reader, Midoriya Izuku x Reader

They react to their kids coming to visit them on bring your kid to work day

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

When little Kaori said she wanted to go with Bakugou to bring your kid to work day, who she called Papa, you were a little hurt but decided hey you could use this as an excuse to hang out with him as well. A sort of family day at Bakugou's agency. Bakugou on the other hand was less than thrilled he did not want his baby girl anywhere near the dangerous agency or on the field with him. He also couldn't say no so, here you were with your daughter all dressed in his official costume merch, bouncing on your hip with joy.

“We at daddy work now?” She said as she glanced around.

“Little girl even if you ask every two minutes it won't make us get there faster.” You said with a smile.

“Otay!” She said with her cute slur. She didn't get the chance to ask the question again as you entered the building.

“Oh look who it is!” A voice boomed out to you both. You recognize it as Kirishima, Kaori's partner in crime. Next to him was Bakugou who was giving you a goofy smile.

“Uncle Eiji! Uncle Eiji!” The little girl roared as she ran to meet him, slipping from your arms. She dashed into his rams and giggled as he threw her into the air.

“Oi you little brat! What about papa, just forgot all about me? Im wounded.” Bakugou said in a playful tone. The little girl gasped and grabbed bakugou's leg when she was back on the ground.

“No papa don't be wounded! I didn't forgot you!” She said into his leg, bakugou picked her up with a chuckle and came to your side.

“Yeah don't worry she didn’t forget about her precious papa. You all she could talk about I didn’t think I would find someone who talks about you more than you do but then again she is your kid.” You said making yourself and Kirishima laugh.

“OUR kid! You talk about me just as much, i'm the best husband and dad and hero, of course she’s gonna brag about me to anyone with ears.” He said ruffling her hair as he placed her down next to him.

“Papa, c’mon we gotta do papa works!” The little girl said, bouncing around the lobby.

“Oh yeah! You wanna see papa and me kick some ass?! You gotta take all in so you can be a great hero too someday!” Kiri said, further riling the girl up.

“Yay! Gonna watch you and papa kick ass and take names!!” The girl said not watching how her parents' faces paled. Kirishima only laughed and told you he was gonna take Kaori on a tour of his office real quick.

“Stop being such a bad influence on my daughter shitty hair!” Your husband roared after the pair of giggling retreating figures.

“Him? Puppy eyed, soft, and cuddly Kirishima Eijirou, badly influencing Kaori? It's all you babe, the little girl is so in love with you she does everything you do, just a bit cuter.” You said as you pecked his check.

“She isn't like me, stop saying that.” He said seriously with a grunt.

“She is, you are her hero. She wants to be just like you, what's the problem with that? You’ve been pushing her away every since she said she wanted to come here.” You said glaring at him.’

“I have not.” He said looking away from you.

“Yes you have, Katsuki, just talk to me cause you're gonna break your daughters heart. Every night you used to tell her stories of your patrols. Buy her you and Eijirou’s hero merch, hell even deku’s. Kids arent dumb shes is going to notice you stopped doing those things.” You said grabbing his chin and making him meet your eyes.

“She shouldn't want to be like me, okay!! I never want her to be a Pro-hero! I never want her to have scars on every inch of her body’s and be insecure about how she looks! I never want her to have nightmares of screams or the people she couldn’t save. I don’t want to worry that one day she might not come home, okay. And all the shit I went through at UA!? No way.” He whisper shouted at you.

“You're getting way ahead of yourself baby. Kaori isn’t even in school yet and barely has bloomed into her quirk. She isn’t getting any battle scars just bumps and bruises. It’s easy to worry about the what if’s but it’s even easier to just focus on her laugh or her smile when she talks about you. Love your also forgetting you are more than a pro hero, your a good man who’s funny, brave, and little wild. That’s who Kaori wants to be like not Dynamight, she wants to be like her papa, Bakugou Katsuki.” You said caressing his cheeks. He considered your words with flushed cheeks, before he let out a sigh but before he could respond Kaori came crashing to him.

“Papa! Papa! Papa!” The girl said jumping up and down with her hands up. Bakugou laughed but picked her up nonetheless.

“C’mon papa! We gots to go do paperworks! Uncle kiri said we do that then we go kickass!” She said wigging with happiness in his arms, you laughed as he paled again.

“Sure baby girl but please don’t say that bad word, papa doesn’t like it.” He said as he walked towards his office.

“To bads! I wanna be just like you papa and you say it so I’m gonna say it too!” She said, pulling at his cheeks.

“You damn brat just listen to me! If you’re gonna try to be like me at least be a better version not a copy pasted person which means no cussing!” He yelled gently at her.

“Okay papa! Does this mean you’ll teach me how to be as great as papa! Wanna be just like you ‘member” she said with determination.

“Don’t say anymore no no words today and hell yeah I will! I’ll teach you how to be even better than Papa.” Bakugou said not looking at Kaori but looking at you. His look was saying what his mouth couldn’t, he was done thinking of what could happen years from now. Right now he just wanted to do whatever made his little girl smile whatever that means.

AIZAWA SHOUTA

“Tell me you did not.” Aizawa said to his blonde friend.

“I did, you can't be mad!” Hizashi said with a chuckle.

“I can be and I am. I told you I didn't want them here.” he said lowly.

“There are a bunch of pros here, security is super tight and they know not to call you or me by our government names or to say their full names and besides Y/n is gonna be here the whole time.” The blonde said, trying to calm down his friend.

“No matter how tight our security is, stuff seems to slip through the cracks and put the students in danger. I don't need any villains learning I have not one not two but three huge and very exploitable weaknesses.” He said as they neared his rooms where his students were waiting.

“They are wearing face masks and hoods. Any part of them that is distinguishable is being hidden, its gonna be fine. Don't act like you aren't excited to see them, its been 4 days i know you're itching to see them.” Hizashi said as his friend went into his classroom. He had only gotten about halfway through the class when the door opened and you were seen in the doorway.

“Dada!!” The little one year old said in your arms skirming for her dad. The whole class craned their necks to see you, your one year old, and your 4 year old.

“Hello Eraserhead!” You laughed as you went to sit at an open desk placing both of the kids on your lap. The class glanced from the kids to their teacher and back again.

“Sensei! You have kids! And you're married!” A blonde one yelled.

“Denki stop yelling you're gonna give me a headache. Yes I do, which I hope you can all keep them a secret.” He said with a sigh.

“You're such a grump I don't know how they tolerate you. Hello, I am Y/n, this little one is Kumiko, and this one is Shira.” You said as you waved at them, Kumiko copied you and gave the kids a lazy wave to which all the kids cooed at. Aizawa smiled and went back to explaining what the class would be doing for the rest of class period which was just some research on a few different kinds of hero agency.

“Hello my pretty girls.” Aizawa said taking the bouncing girl from you.

“Hi daddy! Can I help you with your work!” Shira said with a toothy smile, she had a sort of fascination with quirks.

“To be honest sweet thing they are learning big words right now, words too big for you but im sure they would love to talk to you and tell you about their quirks.” He said ruffling her hair. Then his quirk activated as he looked at his class.

“Say anything inappropriate, lose control of your quirk and hurt her and I'll expel you.” He said menacingly to which all the kids nodded in fear. That's all Shira needed to hear before she walked over to a group of students.

“She was so excited when I told her we were going to see you, I think she's going to be a teacher someday.” You said gazing up at Aizawa who was playing with Kumiko.

“Uh uh sweet talk like that isn't gonna work. I told you it is too dangerous for them to be here.” He said with a pout.

“I remember saying there isn't a safer place than with you!” You said with a small smile.

“Well have it your way as usual when Shira or Kumiko start acting like one of these brats you and Mic will be to blame.” He said with a sigh.

“Well Mr. Easerhead, I'll be prepared for punishment! I think i have nothing to fear though the smile on your face says everything you can't.” You said as he played with your daughter. The day went like this. You and Aizawa playing with Kumiko and Shira floating about the classroom, The day had almost went by without any event when Shira louds cries were heard. Aizawa handed Kumiko to you and was at her side in a second. She rushed into his torso and cried even more. The class all had their fingers pointed to 3 of the boys.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” He spoke to her softly. Her little fist rubbed at her eyes.

“I told then that you were the best hero and then green one was like ‘thats All might’ and then the blonde one was like ‘yeah he really great person’ then the red and white one was like ‘yeah he is number 1’ they dumb assholes anyway cus he not 1 anymore dats ‘devor! You're the best hero, aren't you daddy?” The girl said as she looked at her dad with stars in her eyes. You were just laughing as quietly as you could.

“Im anything you want me to be sweetheart but don't say asshole it's a naughty word for adults.” He said, wiping the drying tears from her cheeks.

“But the blonde one said it alot.” She said with a pout.

“Did he now? Well in that case I forgot you have a 3 mile run today, and it's a test. Be back before class is over which is roughly 30 no 27 minutes or you'll be put on cleaning duty for the whole school including the dorms.” He said and the class was off just like that. Your small family watched from the window as the students ran with Shira sometimes yelling out the window.

“And don't stop until you finished you lazy wannabe heroes!” She shouted with a happy smile.

“Did I say it right daddy?” She said wiggling in his arms.

“Yes you did sweetheart.” He said with a proud smile.

MIDORIYA IZUKU

You and the twins had been at Izuku’s agency for a while and he was going insane. The boys were 3 and nothing like their father. They were wild, loud and adventurous. They didn't and wouldn't stay still. The office loved it but Izuku was about to have a heart attack, Tatsuo was missing. He was only 3 and couldn't really open the door or operate an elevator so you, Bakugou, and Uraraka were not all that worried but poor Izuku was.

“Deku calm the fuck down. He’s been gone for like 2 minutes maybe he couldn't have got far.” Bakugou said to his stressing friend who was putting Toshi back into his leash backpack thing.

“It only takes 1 second to get hurt or die, Kacchan. I’ve failed as a parent.” He said, sounding too serious. You couldn't stop your laughter now.

“Honey, our kids are too predictable. Just get a bag of C-A-N-D-Y from their bag and shake, Tatsuo will come running.” You said with a small smile taking Toshi from him.

“Oh good thinking!” He said getting a bag and shaking like crazy. Soon little footsteps were heard and Tatsuo emerged from behind Izuku smiling like crazy.

“Daddy, can I have a candy, pretty please!” He said with his cute smile almost making his father forget he ran from then.

“Only if you promise to never wander off like that again!” Izuku said as sternly as he could, but it wasn't very stern at all. The boy nodded at him and stuck out his hand but when he did Izuku noticed blood all over his hand and fainted within seconds. You and Bakugou went to find bandages and a first aid-kit for Tatsou while Uraraka got water to wake up Izuku.

“Oh my gosh! Does he need stitches or something! We should take him to the hospital.” Izuku said as he shot awake. The people around all laughed at the green haired boy.

“No babe, he was just playing with a stapler and staple his hands…. A few times but he’s fine.” You said pointing to the two boys who were watching Bakugou make very small explosions.

“Tatsuo! Toshi! Don't get too close you could get hurt! We should go home babe, hey Uravity take over for me I’m going home!!” He yelled shakily. You weren't sure what you were gonna do with your worrywart husband, especially when the boys do or don't get quirks. He couldn't handle them now without needing an inhaler. He damn sure couldn't if they got quirks, you could picture it now. A funeral caused by your rambunctious kids for your husband. ‘Here lies a lovely but overbearing and worrywart father.’

#bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou fluff #bnha bakugou #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #bnha aizawa #aizawa shouta #midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku #deku x reader #bnha midoriya #mha fanfiction #mha deku #bnha x reader

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ravennm84 · 4 years

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Serafina II

Part 1 Part 3

The 2nd installment of the “Marinette’s Haunted Doll” series. I was seriously shocked by how much response I got from part one, so I hope this lives up to your expectations. Blood, gore, and death are coming, along with some mental freak-outs. You have been warned.

Part II

Despite wanting to stay with Marinette to comfort the girl after the tearful apologies by Mylene and Ivan, Serafina couldn’t return until her work was finished. There was still much to do and people to punish.

She arrived early with Mylene, which allowed her to observe the others that entered the classroom. Kim had returned to school that day in a wheelchair. The cast on his leg went up to his waist and the one on his arm went up to his bicep. His face and exposed skin were covered in bruises and his right eye looked like it had blood in it.

“How are you feeling, dude?” Nino asked him as he entered alongside Adrien.

“Really sore,” the boy admitted. “Doctors had to reset my leg at the knee and said that my arm was a three piece offset fracture, so they had to use screws to put it back in place. Other than that; had a concussion, a lot of bruises, and a couple cuts; but no internal bleeding or ruptured organs. They said after a few months and some physical therapy, I should be as good as new.”

Nino gave him a solemn nod. “Glad to hear you’re going to be okay, dude.”

Kim’s expression dropped a bit. “I heard about Alya, I’m really sorry, man.”

The boy lowered his head while Adrien patted his back. “I really… I can’t believe she’s gone because of some freak accident. It makes no sense!” Nino jumped to his feet and started pacing as more students filed in. “I mean, she wasn’t supposed to die like that! Getting caught up in an akuma battle, childhood disease, there would be a reason for that! But that was just pointless!”

Mme. Bustier did attempt to calm him down, but her kind words fell on deaf ears before he grabbed his bag and left the room. No one could blame him, and only Adrien followed to make sure he would be alright, and to make sure he wasn’t akumatized.

Lila came in not long after with a curious bag in her hands. Serafina watched the liar as she looked around the room. She had a feeling that the liar would try something after her last attempt to frame Marinette had failed. When the girl tried speaking to Mylene, the doll was proud to see the girl refuse to acknowledge her as she continued to speak with Rose and Juleka. When it was clear that she was being ignored, she tried speaking to Ivan, only for him to give her a harsh glare that had her shuffling backwards. With Max and Alix still at the hospital and Adrien not in the room, that left her with Sabrina. The redhead had been sitting alone at the front of the room since Chloe had transferred schools after the Miracle Queen incident.

“Hi Sabrina, how are you doing?”

The girl smiled up at the italian, glad to still have a friend. “I’m doing okay, at least a lot better than a lot of our class. I heard Max lost sight in his one eye from the chemicals and Alix might have to have cosmetic surgery to get her face back to normal. At least Kim might be back to normal in a few months after going through physical therapy. But Alya…”

Lila faked her tears at the mention of her lost follower. She was really more annoyed than sad, Alya was easily manipulated, went along with everything she said, and Lila had been able to use her blog to build up her popularity. And the girl had been a decent attack dog, just point her at someone and off she went. Now that she was dead, maybe she could turn Sabrina into her new lead follower, she was already partially trained and it wasn’t like the blonde bitch was around anymore.

“I know, it’s so terrible. She was my first friend when I moved here, it’ll be so hard without her,” she faked a few more tears. And just like that, Sabrina took her hand in comfort and said a bunch of soothing words while she continued to fake cry.

After a moment, Lila placed the bag she’d been holding on the desk and pushed it away from her, making sure the action caught Sabrina’s attention. “What’s that?”

Lila fake sobbed even harder, hiding her face in her hands. “Ma-Marinette, she-she said it was m-my fault that Alya’s dead. She practically threw that bag at me and said to use it,” she said before breaking down in more fake sobs.

Carefully opening the bag, she gasped when she saw it was full of razor blades and a couple of kitchen knives. Sure, she knew that Marinette didn’t get along with Lila, but to actually give this to her and tell her to ‘use it’? How could she be so cruel?

Serafina scowled as the red head hugged the liar and promised her that she would take care of it. Her anger erupted as Sabrina stood from her desk with the bag in hand, and began walking towards Mme. Bustier’s desk. The girl didn't take two steps before tripping over nothing and falling onto her side. Luckily, she did not land on the bag. Unluckily, she gripped it too tight and the impact forced the knives and razors through the bag and deep into her hands.

The girl screamed and cried as blood rushed out of the wounds and down into her sleeves. She begged Lila to help her, but the italian backed away from the girl in shock. Mme. Bustier gripped her head between her hands and began saying “not again, not again” before running out of the room. The only ones that helped her were Juleka, Rose and Ivan; the smaller girl sprinting off to alert the nurse and the principal, while Juleka and Ivan got Sabrina to her feet. Ivan kept the girl upright and moving out the door while Juleka held the girl’s hands above the level of her heart to keep her from bleeding too much.

Those left in the classroom were in shock as they stared at either the door or at the blood staining the floor. No one said anything for a long time, not even Lila. She hadn’t thought anyone would get hurt. She just thought she would get Marinette suspended and everyone would be on her side again. Adrien returned before the others, completely shocked when he saw the blood and Kim explained to him what had happened. The blonde sent a scathing look at Lila but said nothing.

It was a while later before Rose, Ivan, and Juleka returned to class, along with M. Rupere. He informed them that their classes were cancelled for today. “After everything that has occurred this week, I’ve decided that all of you will be meeting with the counselor today. He will decide if more sessions are necessary and for who, but his door and mine are open if you need to talk. M. Deveraux will come to speak with you one at a time. Kim Le Chien, he had requested to speak with you first. Mlle. Rossi,” he looked sternly at the girl, “would you please follow me, we need to talk about the incident with Sabrina Raincomprix.”

Serafina smiled as the liar trudged out of the room after the man. She was satisfied with Sabrina’s punishment and doubted if Mme. Bustier would last another day before having a total mental breakdown. She also knew that Lila would be in even more trouble after M. Rupere looked into the girl a bit more. But just to make sure, Serafina touched her on the way out. To most people, that would do nothing; but to someone like Lila, it would cause her to become more and more unhinged until she did something drastic. Very soon, Lila would be out of the picture and those deserving of punishment will have paid their debts.

~oOo~

It was more difficult sneaking home with Adrien than she had expected, especially with the tiny god of Chaos and Destruction in his bag. Plagg was his name, and he was very defensive of his kitten and had threatened to cataclysm her. Serafina told him that she would not purposefully harm his ‘kitten’, but there was something she had to take care of at the Agreste Mansion. The doll had long suspected that Gabriel Agreste is Hawkmoth and she was going to find out tonight if it was true. Plagg was reluctant to agree since it would hurt Adrien; but if it was true, they had to put an end to it.

After arriving at the mansion, Plagg easily convinced the boy to sneak out and check on Nino. After he left, Serafina sensed something on Adrien’s desk. Being an enchanted/haunted object, she could sense other objects like herself… such as Miraculous jewels. And right there on the desk was a pin shaped like a peacock, one of the jewels that had been missing and used by Mayura. If there had been any doubts before about who had been terrorizing Marinette, they were gone.

Tucking the pin into her small outfit, she began to search the building, starting with Gabriel’s office. She had expected the man to be present, but he was missing. And given that Hawkmoth was a very active user, she had no doubt that he kept his jewel on him at all times. So, she waited.

It was about an hour later that Gabriel Agrest entered the room, and not from the door Serafina had expected. The man had a secret entry in the floor in front of a portrait of a woman. He was muttering on knowing better than to use Bubbler again, but that the negative emotions had been too strong to ignore. She also saw the purple kwami hovering over his shoulder, but the creature stopped when it sensed her. Gabriel strode out of the room, barely noticing that Nooroo had stayed behind and flew over to the doll hiding behind the desk.

“What are you doing here? If the Master finds you, he will destroy you.” The kwami said with worry.

The doll conveyed that she knew that his master was Hawkmoth, just as her human was Ladybug. She was here to protect her and return the butterfly and peacock miraculous to their rightful place. Also knowing that Gabriel had become too corrupted for his miraculous.

“I’ve tried to tell him that the wish would be dangerous,” Nooroo told her with downcast eyes. “He wants to make a wish to revive his wife, but he doesn’t realize that the cost would be to put Adrien, someone he loves equally as much as Emilie, into the same state of death. She isn’t even truly alive anymore, her body only lives because of the machine she is in.”

An idea spawned in Serafina’s thoughts and she barely kept herself from smiling. She asked Nooroo to help her activate the secret passage so she could get to his wife, but the little kwami shook his head. “Even if I could get you down there, the motion sensors would trip and he would attack you.”

Smiling this time, Serafina promised the little god that Gabriel would not attack her. That she would make sure that Adrien would be safe and the two kwami’s would go to their rightful place. All he had to do was help her open the door. Although reluctant and slightly scared, the little god opened the door, hoping that the nightmare would finally end.

Down in the lair, the doll saw the mechanical coffin placed in the center of the room and went to it. The motion sensors caught her quickly, but she had been planning on moving fast anyway. Opening the coffin, she settled herself into the woman’s arms. Nooroo had been right, Serafina could sense that the woman’s soul had departed from her body a while ago and it was only the machine that was keeping her body alive. With no other soul to contend with, this would make what she was about to do next all the easier.

Nathalie had called to alert him the moment the alarms went off in the lair while she and Simone were out on an errand. He was moving faster than he could remember with Nooroo following close behind. Gabriel transformed on the way down, prepared to attack whoever had stumbled in, but his breath caught in his throat halfway down when he got a good view of the room.

The coffin was empty.

Rushing forward, he began frantically searching the room for his wife, calling her name. He turned to rush back upstairs and froze. Standing behind him, looking dazed, was his wife. Her eyes were unfocused and her arms were hugging her middle, but it was her. Dropping his transformation, Gabriel cautiously approached her and she flinched back from him. It took a few minutes and a lot of gentle coaxing before he was able to wrap an arm around her shoulders and lead her to the elevator. When they got to his office, he watched her carefully as she began walking around the room. He wanted her to sit down and rest, but he was still in shock that she was awake and standing in front of him.

Eventually, her green eyes met his. “Where’s Adrien?”

“I… I don’t know, he should be up in his room.”

Emilie’s head tilted slightly, her eyes searching his. “What have you done? Did you make the wish?”

“No, my love. I was going to when I got the jewels, but Ladybug and Chat Noir evaded me.”

Tears grew in her eyes as she continued to stare at him. “You tried to make the wish? Knowing that it would have cost our son’s life?”

Gabriel froze. He hadn’t known that wishing Emilie to come back would cost Adrien’s… but Nooroo had tried to tell him. He remembered the kwami trying to tell him about the cost and he had forced him to not speak. “I’m sorry, Emilie. I didn’t-”

“You knew,” she interrupted, her voice lacking any emotion as she continued to stare at him. “You knew from the beginning that what you were doing was wrong, evil. You chose to ignore what it would cost.”

“Emilie, my love, please don’t say such things,” Gabriel begged as he rushed forward to wrap his arms around her. “All I have wanted since the day I lost you, was to hold you in my arms again and hear your voice. I was lost without you and was willing to go to the ends of the earth to bring you back. Is that so wrong?”

He had just barely met her eyes when he felt the twin pains in his arms. Jumping back, he looked down to see both wrists had been cut deeply with a pair of his fabric cutting scissors. Blood was draining from the wounds at an alarming rate. His hands were shaking and he was already feeling light headed as he grabbed a handful for fabric from his work table in an attempt to slow the blood. He wanted to call out for help, but they were alone.

His eyes grew hazed as he looked to Emilie, surprised that she was staring at him with such contempt. “I know what you’ve been doing while I was in that coffin. Tormenting the city and people I love, isolating our son and treating him like a burden. If you had ever succeeded in getting the Cat and Ladybug miraculous, it would have destroyed Paris. But you didn’t care. As you said, all you cared about was hearing my voice and holding me in your arms. Congratulations, your wish came true, and you will be the one to pay the price. Not Adrien.”

His legs gave out from under him as the fabrics dripped from the excess blood. He couldn’t understand how this had happened, Emilie would have never done something like this… but was this really her? With his vision fading, he took a hard look at his wife, only now noticing the dullness of her eyes, the greying pallor of her skin, and the fact that she only seemed to breathe when she spoke… “Who are you?”

Her head tilted again, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly. “Serafina. Quite astute of you to figure that out in your state. Your wife’s soul passed on a long time ago, all you have been doing is preserving a corpse. And I was telling the truth; even if you had made the wish, it would have cost Adrien his life.” Her hand shot forward, removing the butterfly miraculous before he could stop her. “Your actions have hurt someone close to me and I could no longer stand back and allow it to happen.”

She stood, walking to his desk to pull out a piece of paper and writing something down before neatly folding it and leaving it on his desk.

“Wh… What…”

“You just wrote a letter to Adrien; admitting what happened to his mother, that you were Hawkmoth, and the reason why you did what you did.” She said calmly before looking back at him. “Whether he tells the rest of the world is up to him. As for the miraculous, I will give him a chance at redemption. Though if he should fail, you may be seeing him sooner rather than later. Either way, they will soon be back where they belong, with the guardian. And you, good sir, have just committed suicide after bringing your wife’s body upstairs, so you would be able to hold her in your arms as you died.”

Unable to sit upright anymore, Gabriel barely felt his body collapse to the floor. He was hardly aware of Emilie lifting one of his arms to tuck her body to his side. The last thing he was aware of was something that he swore would haunt him in the afterlife; a porcelain doll emerging from the folds of her clothes and standing beside them. It stood there on its own, watching him until he could no longer keep his eyes open and he took his final breath.

Taglist (even longer):

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#lila salt #lila gets exposed #lila karma #Marinette deserves better #gabrielagreste #hawkmoth #bustier salt #class salt

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dreamescapeswriting · 3 years

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Unfinished Business ~ Part Nine

WORD COUNT: 7.3K

WARNINGS: Mentions of mafia, strong language, murder, blood, torture

PAIRING: Bang Chan X Reader

DESCRIPTION: Part Nine of nine of my new Bang Chan series.

You’re taken hostage but one of Seoul’s leading mafia families Bang Chan but he doesn’t take you because he wants to fake a marriage or make you fall for him in 365 days no…He wants to use you for his own personal gain. To take over another family but when you try to escape things take a turn for the worst and you learn Chan isn’t one to be messed with.(Please I suck at describing stuff)

THEMES: Chan x Fem!Reader, Self insert

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS |

The day had finally arrived, the day you had been dreading for the last two weeks, you'd barely left Chan's office from the moment you got back. The only times you ever came out of the office was to go to sleep - in his bed - or when Jisung and Changbin forced you to eat something downstairs so you wouldn't have to feel so alone. But today was something you weren't going to be able to survive, something you'd have to get changed into real clothes for, for the first time in weeks instead of Chan's clothes you'd been wearing.

"The dress is in his bedroom," Changbin whispered, as he walked into the office to see you staring at the same set of photos you'd been staring at for the last few days. They were of Chan and his ex-wife, standing together and smiling.

"Y/n-" He went to repeat himself to make sure you heard him. You'd been so lost in your own world lately he just wanted to make sure you heard him correctly.

"I know, Changbin," Over the two weeks you'd gotten closer with him. He began trying to comfort you to make up for what had happened with Chan, never once telling you that it had been the plan to leave you there all along.

"I'll go and change now," You muttered, standing up from the leather chair and walking out into the hallway. Jisung, Felix and Minho were all standing there in matching black suits with their heads hanging low as you walked into the hall to join them. They'd been talking in hushed tones but stopped as soon as you came out,

"Who am I riding with?" You questioned, clearing your throat as you looked up at each of the boys who were avoiding your gaze. It's what all of them had been doing all week, it bothered you. They were treating you as though you were broken glass, tiptoeing around you and whispering about something you could never hear. You'd heard them whispering at night when they thought you were asleep - you would lay awake most nights. Staring at the same photos of Chan and his wife wondering if they were together now or if he was still around you all as a ghost.

"You'll be with me." Jisung cleared his throat, being the first one to break the silence and everyone walked away from you so you could be alone with him.

"Thanks, Jisung," He knew you were most confident with him. Knowing that if you had to cry, it would be better to do it around him than the others. Plus they all had places to be today and had to make sure they were on their best guard. Jisung had been the one to keep you comforted throughout Chan's death and the two weeks leading up to now. Mostly because he'd been the only one able to stay in the same room as you, as you cried out about it all.

"We're gathered here today to say goodbye to someone who was loved by many people," You were sitting in front of the coffin, holding a red rose that Jisung had given to you before you sat down. The rest of the boys were scattered around the graveyard looking around for something, you knew it was their job to pay attention to everything going on around them but none of them was crying. None of them had been crying since the day it had happened and it bothered you about how they were so cold about this,

"We believe a few people have chosen to speak so please stand up.” You watched as Felix walked up to the coffin first, clearing his throat into the microphone. He looked at you and then to Jisung beside you and nodded, as if they were having some kind of conversation.

"I knew Chan for four years, he took me under his wing when I first moved to Korea. Many people will tell you that he was a bad guy for what he did in the business but he was well respected and did everything by the books unless he had a real reason not to." You looked down at the floor not wanting to cry, memories of Mrs Lu came flooding back to you as you remembered the night that Chan had her killed.

"He never hurt anyone, he would put out fronts of hurting people but he never did. It was all part of his bigger plan." A hand was placed on top of yours, but it wasn't Jisung's like you expected it to be. You turned your head to the left side to see Mrs Lu smiling weakly, as she kept her head forward looking at Felix who was still going on with his speech. Your mind was filled with confusion and your mouth hung open as you stared at her. For a moment you'd thought you'd died and this was hell for you, being forced to go to the funeral of the man you loved.

"He took on many people, faked their deaths if they needed to get away from somebody bad. He'd help them start a brand new life, helping them out of their debts with other mafia families, mostly out of Namjoon's life; giving them that fresh new start they needed." There was some shuffling happening behind the chairs, people mumbling as someone pushed past them with a walking stick and you looked over your shoulder to see someone moving towards the coffin.

"J-Jisung who's that?" You whispered, leaning closer to him so no one else could hear you. A man dressed in a baseball cap was walking towards the front with a limp and a walking stick. A gunshot rang out causing you to scream in shock, Jisung dragged you onto the floor along with Mrs Lu. Everything was happening all at once, bringing flashbacks back to the night you lost Chan. The man who had been walking to the front was on the floor, the coffin knocked over with a mannequin on the floor where Chan should have been if he was inside of it.

"What the fuck?" You whispered, another gunshot rang out and you were covered in blood again. You gasped out, flinching as the shot sounded,

"JISUNG?!" You cried out, turning to see if he had been the one to get hurt. But he was holding you and smiling up at someone above you. You looked up to see Chan holding a gun that had been fired recently, covered in blood and aiming the gun down at the man who had knocked the coffin over.

"What. The. Fuck?" You struggled to get up from underneath Jisung. But once you were up, you stepped over the dead body in front of you not bothering to check who it was. Because it wasn't important to you right now, Chan smiled at you brightly expecting you to hug him or kiss him. But he was shocked when he got a slap across his cheek, before you ran away from him. He held his face watching you walking away, he guessed he deserved it for faking his own death.

"Y/n?!" He called out, but you ignored him sobbing into your hands as you rushed towards the car that Jisung had driven you to the funeral in. Jisung looked at Chan rushing over to you to get you home safely, since you were in no fit state to drive right now.

"Y/n," It was Jisung this time. You'd been back at the mansion for a couple of hours now and Chan had been trying to worm his way into the spare room, but you hadn't let him. You couldn't see him so you refused to, sitting in front of the door so he wouldn't bang it down.

"Food." He placed a plate on the table and you stared at him, wondering if he knew everything that was going to happen today.

"You knew he was alive didn't you?" You questioned. You were still dressed in the black dress you had been wearing to the funeral, which was pointless now that you looked at it. It had all been fake. His death, the funeral, all to get to Namjoon who was now dead and laying in a coffin of his own. There was no doubt in that after the bullet went right between his eyes. That was who you had stepped over to slap Chan round the face.

"I did, but-"

"Why didn't you tell me?! I cried over him for weeks! You let me suffer for nothing!" You yelled, but there was a knock at the door. Chan was standing there holding his side which was where he'd been shot, but you had no sympathy for him right now. As much as your heart was begging to go over to him, you couldn't. Jisung left the room as soon as Chan came inside and you scoffed,

"He had orders to keep his mouth shut you can't be mad at him-"

"I can be mad at whoever I want, you especially!" You yelled, pointing your finger in his face and pushing him back so he would stumble back hitting the wall. He shook his head at you, he knew you had to get your anger out somehow and if this was how you were going to do it, then so be it. You hit his chest with your fist, right before breaking down into tears and falling to your knees as he wrapped his arms around you.

"I had to do it, we had to draw him out...We knew he was after you that night...We had to do it, Y/n" You whimpered against his arms, wondering what he was talking about. You'd only mentioned him faking his death, but he was coming clean about everything.

"I have to be honest with you about everything, just listen to me please." You sobbed into his arms and he instantly felt bad for everything he'd put you through. He'd already gotten it in the neck from Changbin and Jisung about everything you had been through, even though most of what happened on your date night had been Changbin’s idea. Changbin and Jisung wanted to tell you from the start that he wasn't dead, but they had to use your sadness and pain as a way to make it look real to Namjoon. It was the only way he was ever going to come out and make sure that Chan was in fact dead. That he'd gotten away with killing one of the biggest mafia leaders in Seoul. Now he was gone there was no reason for Chan to be in hiding, Namjoon's shares would go straight to Chan who in return was letting a bunch of people off with their loans. But all you could hear was that he was using you to win something he wanted,

"W-Was I a pawn this whole time?" You questioned, remembering that very first time Chan had taken you and accused you of working for Namjoon. The very first time he'd hurt you and told you he was going to kill everyone you loved - when he, in fact, hadn't. Mrs Lu was very much alive and doing a lot better, she and her husband were living out of Seoul in some richer neighbourhood better off, with a new restaurant to run happily together. Has everyone been in on it? Laughing behind your back? While you mourned for someone who wasn't dead?

"No...At first, yes. But then I started to fall for you, it got harder to stay away from you and keep you at a distance. You were just supposed to help me lure Namjoon out and the boys would take him out no matter the costs. But I found myself falling for you Y/n, I didn't want to risk putting you in danger anymore so I wanted to stop, have it all over faster..." He took a deep breath looking at you,

"That night, when we went on our date, I was supposed to leave you in the gardens for a while but not long. Just long enough for Namjoon to come out so we could get him, but then when you told me you loved me, I freaked out. No one is supposed to love someone like me." He whispered, feeling suddenly pathetic in front of you for everything he'd done. He hadn’t thought of you when he left you there, he'd just left you in danger as he thought about saving himself from getting hurt by you.

"You used me, knowing that Namjoon would come to me because he did the same for your wife?" You pushed yourself away from Chan. Everything was too much all at once, all of the facts coming right at you, it was starting to make your head hurt. Had this all been some kind of sick revenge for Chan? Had he felt nothing? You tried to move away from him, but his arms stayed locked around you, not wanting to let you leave him there alone. He was done running from his feelings for you now.

"I will explain everything when you calm down..."

"Calm down?! You faked your death! I mourned for you for two weeks and all this time...While what? You've just been off partying?" You got up from the floor wiping your eyes.

"Healing from a gunshot wound actually," He grunted, still trying to make things light hearted. But you shook your head at him, not wanting to waste your tears on this, but you gave him no time to stop you from leaving him on the floor.

"You have to talk to him," Changbin said, when he walked into the garden that night. You were sitting by the firepit that they had, looking into the flames while drinking from a glass of hot chocolate. You didn't know if you could leave and even if you could, you had nowhere to go.

"No, I don't. I don't have to talk to any of you. I want to leave." You'd been thinking it over since you left Chan on your bedroom floor. There was no sense in staying when he'd faked his death and faked the killing of someone you held close to your heart. If he'd just been honest from the start, maybe things could have been different. But this was too big of a lie for him to come back from.

"Y/n, you don't mean that. You're just upset." You'd had enough of people telling you what you did and didn't mean and what you did and didn't feel. You threw the cup off at the pavement listening to it smash against the floor.

"Shut up! You don't know a damn thing about what I am feeling! I love him! It was that easy for him to just walk away and hurt me, as if it meant nothing to him! Leaving me alone, cold and out as bait!" You yelled to him, walking along the grass towards the giant mansion and making your way inside. Chan was standing there looking at you with sad eyes, he'd heard you yelling and wanting to come down and calm you down.

"Can we talk?" You walked away without answering him. Heading towards the stairs, but it was blocked off by Felix, he wasn't about to let you pass until you at least acknowledged that Chan had been speaking to you.

"What? If I don't talk you're just going to chain me up in the basement like old times?" That tore a hole in his chest, hearing you bring up the basement like that it was clear to Chan that you were upset over everything that was happening. But you didn't need to lash out on everyone else, so he wasn't going to take it to heart.

"I hurt you, I know-"

"No Chan! Hurting me was when you sprained my ankle by keeping me locked up like an animal! This! Making me fall in love with you and then ripping the world out from underneath me! That was fucking torture." You whimpered, finally giving in to the tears. You ran your hands through your hair, wanting to rip it out as you let out every emotion all at once. All of the hurt and anger you felt towards him had been building up and you'd finally hit your breaking point.

"Leaving me out there as fucking bait because Namjoon was worth it more than I ever was, wasn't he?" You wanted straight answers from him. It was going to be the only way to get them out of him, then so be it. You were going to be as nasty as you could possibly manage.

"Yes, but the plan was to come back right away, it was going to be safer than what it was that night I left-"

"Safer?! What was the plan!? I could have helped! But instead, I was chained up in some sicko's warehouse where he burnt me, spat at me and called me names I never even want to repeat! Cut me, threatened to shoot me and all for what?!" Your voice was hoarse because you were crying and yelling all at once,

"For your own selfish reasons?! For you to be able to say you took down one of the biggest leaders!?" He looked down at the floor, it had originally been the plan to get Namjoon to come out so the boys could take him down as revenge for his wife. The plan would be for him to see you and want you because they all knew Namjoon wanted what Chan had. He thought he could use you without getting attached and hurt, but it hadn't worked that way. You'd been too nice and kind to him for him to ever want that,

"Originally it was the plan." He wasn't going to waste his time lying to you anymore, he looked down at the floor.

"I thought you worked for him and if he saw you with me it would create some kind of war and he'd come after me and then you weren't working for him...So I was going to use you more, which was why he was everywhere we went...He had us followed the moment he first saw us together. But I never expected to fall for you!"

"Oh, so because you didn't expect to fall for me it makes it all okay?! It's fine! You were just going to throw me out once the plan was done, so what does it matter?" He groaned, running his hands through his black hair. He wasn't good at this sort of thing, but he knew Changbin was.

"Changbin, explain it to her please." But Changbin kept his mouth shut, knowing better than to get involved in other people's business, even if it was his plan. Even though he didn't like you very much back then, he wanted to go back to you at the gardens. But Chan wouldn't allow it, he was too busy locking himself away and breaking things in his office.

"Answer these questions, were you or were you not going to use me against Namjoon for your own good?"

"I was." He replied. You nodded, understanding him,

"Was the original plan to kill me once you killed Namjoon?" He froze in place before nodding his head,

"Do you love me?"

"Yes." He answered that quickly and you stared at him. There was a point where you'd kill to hear that from him. That first night when he left you in the gardens practically naked and alone, you'd have killed for him to stay beside you and admit he loved you too. The old lady in the nursing home was right, loving someone like that was dangerous. You'd fallen right into his open arms, sinking so far down you had no idea if you even wanted to get out of there.

"Y/n?" You stepped back as he stepped closer, shaking your head at him and moving away. Your back hit the wall as you thought about everything.

"Like you weren't doing the same to me...Pretending to like me-"

"Chan...There was a difference, you were keeping me prisoner here...Are you going to do the same now that I know everything?" He shook his head and you nodded.

"I need space." You whispered, staring at the floor instead of at him. If you looked at him, all of this would be over. You wouldn't be able to listen to your head, which was making good points. You would instead listen to your heart, that was telling you to leap into his arms and forget everything that had happened. But how could you after everything he had done and put you through in such a short time period? It was too much to be with him.

"I can give you space, you can stay upstairs-"

"I need space away from you." You spoke up this time, not daring to meet his gaze. Jisung stepped forward as you rushed towards the staircase, pushing past all of them this time. If you stayed in the house where you got to see him every day it would be too easy for you to give in to him and not see clearly enough.

"Take her somewhere she'll be safe, she's not to go back to the bad side of town...She'll need a guard," Chan swallowed the lump in his throat. He wasn't about to cry in front of the boys over this, but he started up the stairs as he heard you whimpering in your bedroom. He would wait until you were out of the house and he could release his anger onto something else.

"She'll need a place to stay. I'll wire her some money, Jisung will you stay with her or at least near her." He was being unusually calm about all of this, but the boys didn't say a word to him. Not wanting to poke the bear as it was, Changbin knew what was going to come when everyone went home or to different parts of the house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Two Months Later~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tea was steaming as you poured it into the ceramic cup, trying not to spill any of the hot liquid onto the table,

"Where is that boyfriend of yours?" Mrs Park asked, as you stepped away from her table to place the pot of tea onto the tray that was waiting behind you,

"Sooyoung! You can't ask such things." You softly laughed at the ladies in front of you who you were serving tea to, you'd begun working in the nursing home full time. They'd ask you this all of the time, hoping you'd change your mind about Chan. But it never happened, you just ignored their question and continued on with your job.

"Besides, he always comes by on Fridays to see her." You knew that. You'd seen him sitting out on the bench every Friday for the last two months with a bouquet of flowers, waiting for you to tell him to come inside, but you never had the strength to do it. You loved him. You knew that. But loving him and allowing him to be in your life was two separate things, just because you loved someone didn't mean you had to be with them. You wanted to be happy but being with Chan brought on a wave of emotions, not just happy...though that had been the main focus at one point for you.

"She has to see him at some point, they have unfinished business." Your grandfather mumbled from the other table, not looking away from his dominos in front of him. He still had no idea as to who you were, but he treated you with respect just like he did every worker there. Though he did treat you a little better than the rest, since you were closer with him than the other nurses. You did have unfinished business, but it wasn't anyone else's problem except your own and Chan’s.

"We don't have unfinished business." You told him, as you turned around to hear your phone vibrating from the trolley behind you. You groaned walking over to it and turning it over, yet another text from the doctor informing you about your late appointment that you had with them. You'd been avoiding it like the plague ever since that last one you had.

"It's not supposed to rain today, we were supposed to go to the botanical gardens!" Sooyoung cried out, as Nurses poured into the room to make sure everyone was okay. A sudden thunderstorm had come out of nowhere causing you to drop your phone, nurses were helping patients out of there quickly. Some of them were sensitive when it came to things like thunderstorms happening.

"You dropped this, dearie." Your grandfather said, holding up your phone for you to take. You took it and thanked him before helping the nurses out with patients.

It was a long drive to the hospital from the nursing home, even longer since you'd tried to get there in a thunderstorm. Chan hadn't been to the nursing home for a couple of weeks, which seemed like a good thing to you. You weren't going to have to face him until after this scan...You knew deep down it was wrong to keep this from him since it was his child, but he was who he was. You weren't sure if you could bring a child into his life, your mind was split once again.

If it wasn't for being pregnant, you would go back to Chan in a heartbeat, you'd spent months crying over everything that had happened. Overthinking every small detail that had happened that last time you saw him and you realised that no matter what, you still loved him hopelessly.

"I have an appointment," You stuttered out to the blonde receptionist who looked you up and down.

"Name?" Your eyes glanced over her. She looked like a nice girl, but was coming across mean.

"Y/n Y/l/n," She nodded and began typing it into the computer. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail and she was wearing scrubs, she looked like she might have been a nurse rather than a receptionist.

"You're on the fourth floor, take the elevator at the end of the hall and it'll bring you out on the correct ward," Taking the sheet of paper with your name and appointment on, you followed her orders and walked down the hallway. It was brightly lit and filled with people all doing their own business in the hospital, you glanced over your shoulder as you felt eyes on you. Since the charity event with Chan eyes had been on you a lot. Whenever you went to the store people would stare at you, expecting to see Chan somewhere behind you, but you were alone all of the time. "Miss? Are you coming inside?" An elderly woman questioned, you nodded and stepped into the elevator with her and a little girl who was holding her arm and crying. From the looks of it, it looked badly broken so she was probably in a lot of pain.

"Fourth floor," The robotic voice called out. You let the elderly woman and her granddaughter out first before following behind them towards the second receptionist. You handed her your piece of paper and she flashed her teeth at you,

"One moment please," Her long red nails were hitting the keyboard as she typed and you watched her as she smiled brightly at nothing,

"You can wait in the second waiting room," Nodding, you walked away from the desk and the crying girl. Heading over to one of the waiting rooms, it was completely empty so you took the first seat closest to you. Though you'd never been for one of these before you thought for sure that it would be a lot busier than this. The whole waiting room was empty, it made you feel uneasy, but you took a deep breath trying to calm yourself down. The thought of doing this all alone was terrifying, more terrifying to you than that night you'd been with Namjoon. Thoughts of you raising a baby alone in this world began to cloud your judgement, making you think of nothing but Chan.

To help the time pass by, you began reading through a magazine that was in the waiting room, but you wished you'd never picked it up. The page you'd flicked it open to was a photo of you and Chan leaving the Charity event when he'd picked you up. Your foreheads were resting against one another as you smiled, out of the corner of your eye someone entered the room.

"Did you have me followed?" You questioned as you shut the magazine. Placing it into your bag, you hoped Changbin didn't see the smile that was on your face while you were looking at the photos, but he'd seen it. How couldn't he have seen it? It was the first time you'd smiled properly in months and it lit up the entire room.

"Why would I have you followed? It's my job to watch over you," He reminded you, as he began to flick through a newspaper that he'd brought with him. You squinted to see the date, it was a recent newspaper.

"Give me the paper, there's nothing good here," You held out your hands. but he ignored you and continued pretending to read the newspaper that was in front of him.

"Changbin-"

"We came to an arrangement, remember? You pretend I'm not here and I don't talk to you...Would you like me to tell Chan where you are right now?" His eyebrows raised as he turned to look at you, your stomach sank and you looked away from him remembering the deal you'd made.

Jisung was supposed to be the one watching over you, but Changbin took his place since he felt so bad for all of this unfolding. He blamed himself for you leaving Chan, since it had been his plan in the first place. The deal was that Changbin could watch you without talking to you, you didn't want to know what Chan was doing. It would only make getting over him -- or trying to get over him -- harder and Changbin wouldn't tell Chan what was happening.

"You don't need to tell Chan where she is right now, he already knows." Chan's voice came out and you stood up instantly and stared at him. Your eyes were almost as wide as Changbin's as you stood staring at his boss.

"We'll talk later. Home." He had ordered Changbin, who scuttled out of the waiting area, knowing he was already in trouble enough without causing a fight here. Your back was pressed against the wall as you watched Chan calmly walk into the waiting area, sitting down on the chair where Changbin had been.

"You can sit," He mumbled to you, you sat back down in your seat and glanced at him. He hadn't changed, but there was something about him that was new, his head lifted and that was when you saw it. A scar going from the top of his brow to under his eye on the right side of his face, you filled with worry as you saw it.

"Chan? What happened?" He frowned. Then glanced at you as you pointed to his eye, his hand slowly raised to his fingers to his face and he nodded.

"Had an accident, it's nothing-" He froze as you were sitting next to him suddenly, running your fingers over the scar, he hadn't expected you to get this close to him. He was just here out of moral support for you.

"I-Is this why you stopped coming by?" He held back the smile that was threatening to escape. You'd missed him almost as much as he missed you, by the sounds of it. But he couldn't lie to you, so he wasn't going to try. From this point forward he was going to be as honest as he could with you without scaring you away.

"Yes." He answered plainly, not wanting to give too much to you.

"What- What happened? Did someone do this to you?" You panicked, thinking someone else was after him, but he shook his head. It had been an accident with the boys, he'd gotten into a fight with Changbin after you left the way you did.

"It doesn't matter," He mumbled, not wanting this to be about him. He lowered your hands away from his face whenever you tried to make him look at you. Since he got the scar he hadn't been able to look at himself in the mirror, it was one of the reasons he stopped coming by. He didn't want you to see him with this scar on his face, he was insecure about it, but it was nothing to you.

"It does matter! You've been hurt and I lo-"

"Y/n Y/l/n," A nurse interrupted you before you had a chance to finish what you were trying to say to him, you'd wished she hadn't. You wished you had more time to tell him what was happening, but he clearly knew you were probably pregnant.

"Coming." You stuttered out as you stood up from the chair and looked at Chan who was eyeing you up.

"I'll wait here if you want?" You nodded at him, before he even had time to finish his sentence. You wanted him to be there. There was a chance this wasn't even a pregnancy. You'd been in for a test for something else and the doctor at the GP told you that you'd come back positive for pregnant, but there was absolutely no way. The thought of being pregnant alone terrified you. But would you really be alone? You loved Chan...You could do this together. Couldn't you?

"Have you had an ultrasound before?" You nodded at her question and got up onto the bed, you'd had them before to scan your liver and kidneys when you got sick before.

"This will be a little cold, roll your t-shirt up for me," You did as she said and looked at the ceiling. She applied some cream onto your stomach and then applied the wand to scan your stomach. You were sure your lip would start bleeding the way you were biting down on it so hard, you weren't ready for a child, were you? The whole drive over here you'd been thinking about it. Trying to figure out if you were ready for this, but there was no way you could go to bring a child into this world knowing what you knew, but you'd always wanted to be a mother.

"Hmm," She pressed harder onto your stomach and you thought you were going to burst. They'd told you to come in with a full bladder to make it easier for them to see inside and every small push was pushing you closer to peeing yourself.

"Go and pee for me and come right back," Following her orders you walked out of the room and to the bathrooms to pee, Chan caught sight of you and sprung to his feet in a rush.

When you came back out you were face to face with Chan who looked worried, the panic was written across his face as he watched you coming closer to him. He had no idea what to say to you, what he could ask. He'd never been in this position before.

"What happened? What did she say?" You shook your head at him, as you began walking to the room again with him by your side.

"She didn't, she wanted me to pee first..." He watched as you hesitated about going back into the room, your whole body was frozen as you waited to go inside.

"I don't want to do this alone..." You admitted to yourself and to Chan while looking at the door handle instead of him. There was one thing you knew for sure: pregnant or not, you wanted Chan by your side throughout everything from now on. You wanted him there through every moment of your life.

"Do you want, Changbin?" He began, turning to reach his phone from his pocket. You placed your hand on his wrist and shook your head at Chan's question. Looking up at him while swallowing the lump that was forming in your throat,

"I-I want you to come in with me," You whispered, as you finally admitted it to him and yourself, he nodded and opened the door for you.

The screen lit up and you were left to stare at it for a second, while the nurse worked her way around your stomach with the machinery,

"Here," She whispered, clicking onto the screen with her free hand to point out what was happening. Chan's hand was holding yours when a sound began to play through some speakers, you didn't know what it was until she spoke to you.

"Strong and healthy heartbeat." She whispered calmly, as you let out a gasp listening to the thumping happening. Your eyes filled with tears as you glanced up to Chan, tears were rolling down his face.

"There you go, here's the little one." She zoomed the screen in to show you a baby moving around inside, it was hard to see with the screen being so black and white and 2D but there they were. Your child sitting happily on the screen while you and Chan stared at them.

"I'll get some photos for you," She whispered, as she began clicking away on the keyboard snapping multiple photographs of the baby.

"You look about two months so the little one is perfect. You'll be able to find out the gender around your four-month mark." If the nurse continued talking, you didn’t know. You and Chan had drowned her out as you watched the screen together, happily smiling as you stared at it.

"I'll give you both a moment while I go to get the photos." She clicked a button on the screen and the baby stayed on while she began to clean your stomach up.

"I'll be right back." She stated, as she walked out of the room.

The door to her office shut and you stared at Chan before you stared back at the screen, neither of you quite believing the fact that there was a baby on the screen. Your baby.

"A baby," You whispered to him, still in shock as you watched the screen. The one time you have sex, it would be your luck to end up pregnant.

"Our baby," He whispered back to you, as he sat down beside you on the nurse's bed in shock. When he followed Changbin to the hospital he thought there was something wrong at first, he never expected you to be carrying his child. You glanced up at him wondering what all of this meant now, what this meant between you and Chan.

"Chan-"

"Move back in with me," You spoke at the same time together, you stared at him for a couple of seconds while you weighed up the pros and cons of everything going on. Raising the child alone could never work and you could never take Chan away from his son or his daughter, that would be too spiteful on your part.

"You don't have to think about it right now, but I want you to think about it. Y/n, I can't eat or sleep without you. I feel sick whenever I think about you being alone and when I followed Changbin today, I thought you were sick or something worse-" He began to ramble on about how scared he was, but you cut him off by grabbing onto his hands again.

"I'll do it." You surprised yourself as you said the words to him, his eyes widened as he realised what you were agreeing to, agreeing to go back to him.

"Y-You'll move back in?" He stuttered over his words as he got excited at the prospect of you coming back. You shook your head at him again - it was starting to make you dizzy.

"I have conditions first." You weren't going to go back there with his life the way it was.

"Anything," The door opened and the nurse came in with paperwork and ultrasound photos. You and Chan began making your way out of the hospital and towards your car.

"No more secrets or schemes, no more guns in the house. If we're coming back I want- I want it to be a safe place." You stuttered a little as you realised what you were saying, then it hit Chan what you were saying.

"The guns have to stay in the office at least, for our own protection," He counter-offered, you nodded in agreement with him. The finer details could be sorted out later when you were in the comfort of his home. That was probably the better option for his lifestyle,

"That's your only condition?" You nodded along with him, it was the only thing that mattered to you. As long as the house was safe and ready for your baby you could do it.

"I want a safe space for us too...All three of us." You looked up at him and he looked at your car that was waiting for you to get inside of, he smiled at the thought of you keeping it. It was the car he'd ordered one of the boys to drop off to you, he didn't want you walking everywhere or catching a bus when he knew you didn't have to.

"Y/n?" You hummed, looking up at him again whilst unlocking the car.

"I love you." Your heart swelled as you heard him tell you he loved you first, instead of you saying it first like the first time.

"I love you too, Chan," You moved closer to him, before placing a small and gentle kiss on his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck and standing up on your tiptoes to reach him.

You weren't blind, you knew that there was going to be hard times coming for you and Chan with this baby and his lifestyle but right now you didn't care.

There were still things you had to talk about, but all you could focus on, all that was keeping you sane throughout all of this, was knowing how much you loved Chan. How much Chan truly loved you and how much your future with him and his child was going to mean to you both. Nothing would ever compare to your love for Chan and you couldn't wait to spend the rest of your life with him.

A/N: I've never ever finished a fic before so I hope this is okay! I had a completely different ending for this but i hated it and reworked it the last week before it was uploaded! So let me know what you guys think! [Lol I simp i could never kill him]

Tagline: @moonprincessdiviniation my editor I have put through hell, @taestannie @kneel-begyourpardon @calling-dips-on-j-hope @hugs4chan @ncitythoughts @inseonqt @cloudsgathering @atletino @mischiefmakerliesmith5 @freckledquokka @happygirl327 @seraplantery @km-98

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jamestrmtx · 3 years

Text

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Nineteen | Temmie Village (Part 1 of 2) [First] | [Previous] | [Next]

Song Referenced

Temmiefied Version

Alternate Chapter Title(s): Stand by Me (no duh) or The Corny One With A Song Title Reference, Part 1

• • •

The shopping district’s as busy as the roads you’ve just driven by; food courts are the most bustling with the hour your phone marks: ten minutes past noon. Contraire to her punctual self, Brenda’s running late, though you settle for waiting ten more before sending her a message. You sit by an empty booth and take the last chair available in the row to avoid disturbing those who’re already eating. Then, you pull your planner out and skip through a few pages until you find the right one. Aside from your usual schedule, you had her visiting again this Friday, a meeting with Toriel regarding some plans she wanted to discuss with you on Saturday, and another one with Sans on Sunday to arrange the second step towards homeschooling Frisk while you enrolled them somewhere else.

It’s still hard to read that last one, not for what it was, but for the fact that almost every school you’d tried to sign them up into declined having other guardians aside from you and Jerry to pick them up. They declined Toriel just as much as they declined Undyne, all due to the new rules and regulations set up in schools since the monsters’ arrival. What Toriel wanted to discuss with you was related to that, though you hadn’t been given too many details as to what it was, exactly. You glance back to your phone to see over ten minutes have passed by already, yet Brenda's nowhere to be seen. You start typing up a message, only to be interrupted by her call; the device almost slips off your hands with how abrupt it is.

“H- Hello?” you answer, catching your breath.

She screams an accusation at you, not an ill-minded one per se, but one questioning over why you’d kept information hidden from her.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re that close to him already?” she asks, words jarringly loud. You have to turn down the volume despite it not being set on speakerphone. “So he's going to help you with Frisk? That’s serious boyfriend material, honey!”

Thankfully, she sounds happy.

Still, a correction's deemed necessary.

“What do you mean, Brenda?”

“Auntie Brenda, mind you.”

You huff and bring a hand to the side of your neck, tension consuming it. “Alright, Auntie Brenda… Where are you right now? I don’t have much break time left anymore.”

“Just go ahead and eat, dear. I’ll drive over on the weekend.”

Right as you’re about to complain over her choices, she speaks up again, calmer than before.

“Or why not come over after you have lunch there?” she asks, words cooed. “You work close to him, don't you?”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll stay here.” You can’t help feeling a little sour over her suggestion and with the reminder you’ve waited almost half an hour for her at the mall. With the call, it’s now thirty-five minutes past noon, giving you barely sufficient time for you to eat -- let alone listen to her rambling over how she’d misinterpreted your relationship and how Sans was better than she expected him to be. “You didn’t bother him with questions about his job, right?" you add. "He’s-”

“Why would I? He’s working an office job just like you!"

“He, what?”

You can’t avoid blurting that question out; a blank canvas replaces the image of him working at a hot dog stand. You try to imagine him working an office job, but it's near impossible to. Even if he knew plenty on various subjects, the monotonous yet fast-paced ambience of a desk job didn’t quite fit with your view of who the monster was to you.

“He works an office job, honey. Don’t you know where your own boyfriend works?” You can almost hear her shaking her head, disappointment made known through the blatant change in her voice. “Shame on you!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and stand up, too vexed to sit still. “That’s not what I meant, Bre- ...Auntie Brenda,” you say, trailing off on your words. “I just… didn’t know he worked two jobs.”

“He does?!”

You lower the volume once more, Brenda's voice taking up a speakerphone quality to it again. Her tone then grows fainter as she questions the skeleton about the legitimacy of your statement. When her voice turns louder, you figure he’s given her an answer -- one you’ve no clue of. If he had two jobs, then you’re not so sure over how she'll be reacting. And if he didn’t, then you’d inadvertently put him on the spot by letting the truth known, something that didn’t really make sense if he was supposed to be working -- or at the very least, ending his lunch break right now.

Feeling it’s going to take a while, you stand in line at one of the fast-food establishments nearest to you; a growl from your stomach reminds you time’s running out. “So what did he say?” you speak up, knowing she’s getting distracted again.

“He does!” she exclaims, almost in a cheer. “Why didn’t you tell me he was that well-off, then? You should marry him now that you’ve got the chance to.”

“Weren’t you scolding me over the opposite barely a week ago?”

“Maybe so, but that was before I knew him better, dear!”

You roll your eyes and sigh, headache worsening. “Alright, I’m hanging up now. Don’t bother him too much, and stop interrupting his-”

“Wait,” she calls, excitement still there. “Have you ever thought of learning more about monsters? There’s a bunch of workshops going on right now… And I figured you could take one, since you’re dating one and all!”

Nearly the time for you to make your order, you let your tone become sterner, hoping to get your point across. “That… That sounds good and all, but I really need to go now. My lunch break’s almost over.”

Brenda huffs. “Fine.” Her voice comes out dragged, and it’s almost possible for you to hear her pouting. “But we need to talk all about this on Friday!”

“Sure. See you then.”

“Farewell, dear!”

You hang up, slip your phone back in your pocket, and turn to the register when you’re done, right on time to make your order.

• • •

Breathe in, breathe out.

You repeat that sentence along with those actions as you clock out of work, more than ready to relax, but less than capable of with how much you've left to resolve.

Before turning off the computer, you click on your boss's e-mail for a third time today and read it once more.

>> Come to my office as soon as you're done with your shift for the day. I'll be waiting. – Sent from my ayPhone <<

You huff and glance at the pills on your desk. Despite these being given to you by the doctor herself, you're trying not to take them as often as the instructions on the bottle tell you to. You don't want to grow dependent on them, yet -- at the same time -- it's nearly impossible for you to go by your usual routine without having the repercussions of not taking them delay your progress. The side-eyes and looks some of your co-workers offer you on occasion reveal they're not too thrilled by the idea of having someone in your state around, either. Dizziness takes over and your headache worsens; they're enough for your body to finally give in, causing you to stumble out of your desk chair and direct all gazes on you.

Breathe in, breathe out.

It's just as impossible trying to ignore everyone, and it's even more difficult trying to stand up without making a complete fool of yourself.

Breathe in, breathe-

A hand's offered out to you; you accept it, yet you refuse to look at the person until you're back to your feet.

When you do look up, you recognize who the person is in an instant. It's the same man Sans had taken a picture with the day you first met. His hair looks different, but his face and clothing style remain the same. His hand stays holding yours until you assure him you're capable of standing straight again, and even then he still has his doubts. A subtle frown shows on his visage, fueled by concern.

"Are you alright, or should I call someone?" he asks, forehead creasing. "That fall looked pretty serious."

"I'm alright," you reply, managing a smile. You're still dizzy, the headache has only grown worse, and having people still looking in your direction doesn't help much with any of that, either. Even so, having him by your side along with a few other, approachable co-workers helps with bringing you back down to earth and allows you to find some more stability before going to meet with your boss.

"Excuse me, (L/N), but…"

You turn to the voice to see a woman -- tall, pale-skinned, and dark-haired -- offering you your phone. It takes some time, but you're able to recognize her as one of the few co-workers you spent your lunch break with before Frisk went missing. She's as professional as ever, and her formality still shows subtly through speech, yet it doesn't erase how warm and genuine her tone sounds. "Your phone broke with the fall." She pulls her hand back as soon as you have the device in your hold; her body language reveals she has a hunch in terms of just how 'alright' you really are, and what a twice-broken phone in less than a year could do to your current, physical and mental state alike. "It seems like it still works though, since it was ringing just a minute ago."

"Thank you." You turn it on to view a cracked screen. The update Alphys gave it appears to have made it more durable, based on how minor the damages are compared to the first time it fell. You're capable of unlocking it and even checking your notifications to notice you've got a few unread messages from Brenda and Frisk's school, coupled with a missed call from Sans. That last one is harder to take in. He already knew what hour you clocked out, and he had enough common sense and decency not to call you unless it was an emergency -- unlike Brenda, who didn't really know how to read the room, and Frisk's school, which called only when it was absolutely necessary. "I, uh…" You're not sure on what to do first. Brenda could be easily set aside with what she did during your lunch break, but the same couldn't be said for everything else.

Breathe in, breathe out.

You flinch at the sudden sensation of needles on your forehead and a dizziness so strong and wild, it makes your stomach far too queasy for you to manage with. Still, you combat that feeling by grabbing some gum from your belongings, taking a few, and chewing them all at once. The sharp taste and scent of mint helps wash away nausea, yet the dizziness persists.

"Do you want us to take you home, (L/N)?" the man from earlier asks, sounding more concerned than before. Meanwhile, the woman approaches you with some water, one you accept and drink as quickly as it falls in your hands. They both help sit you down on a different desk chair -- one without wheels to prevent you from falling over again. Most have left, while some stay and try to offer more aid. Your boss stands by the exit, arms crossed, stance firm, and face hard to read with how bad your symptoms have turned. "Or maybe accompany you to the bus stop, at least? You shouldn't drive in these conditions."

"It's…"

Your eyes fall on your phone again, tempted to make a decision.

With your priorities now changed to the subject of your health, you set Frisk's school aside with the knowledge they're with Toriel at this hour and forget about the meeting with your boss, aware she's already seen you from a distance. Only his name remains; truthfully, you'd rather limit how much time you spent with him, knowing what the opposite did to your heart and mind alike. You hesitate and stare blankly for a short while before you click on his missed call. One tap and two rings is all that's needed for you to reach him. It takes a second for you to answer back at him, half as much as it takes for your hand to stop shaking and for your voice to gain a better semblance of strength. It's too late to hang up now -- and his call could likely be an emergency -- so you continue forward with it.

"You don't sound too great. Everythin' okay?"

"About that…"

You share some words with him and refuse to tell him of your situation until he gives you his own reason for calling you at this hour.

"...Why did you call me?"

"It's about Frisk, but it ain't an emergency or anythin' -- it's good news, actually."

"Then why did y-"

"Listen, I don't mean to be harsh or nosy, but you sound awful right now. I can give you all the answers you need later, but could ya tell me what's wrong?"

You heave a small breath and look at the time, along with the hour of his missed call. He made it around eleven minutes past the end of your shift, so it wasn't exactly interrupting your job, but you're not sure how to interpret his call and the fact it was his first occasion calling you so close to your work schedule. Even if you were overthinking it, you didn't want to overlook anything, either. And then again, the state you're in isn't really the best for you to be questioning every little thing about your relationship with him -- at the moment, of course. "I feel sick. Kind of similar to that day at the hospital." You decide to be earnest, regardless of how dry your throat feels and how fast your heart goes. "I, well…"

"Want me to pick you up?"

Your ears turn hot while your hands do the opposite. "Y- Yeah…" Your chest tightens and your words grow faint, until you continue with, "I need your help, teddy bear."

"Teddy bear?" he asks, chuckling.

"You're calling me puddin' now, aren't you? You're a teddy bear in my eyes, then."

"I wonder why."

You smile.

"...See you in a bit?"

"'Course. I should be there in ten minutes max."

"Thank you."

With that, you say your farewells and hang up.

Now left to wait, you put your phone away, pick up the rest of your belongings, and stay with the company of your two co-workers as you make it to the exit. Your boss is still waiting next to it, yet she steps aside as do other people standing nearby, providing you with space to pass by. She says nothing, so you stop for a second, only to have her nod for you to carry on walking.

"Come to my office as soon as you recover, (L/N)."

That's the only thing she says as the door closes, leaving you with one co-worker by your left and the other by your right, both waiting in case you were to fall over again.

Breathe in, breathe out.

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

• • •

Small but Important™ Q&A regarding healthcare and whether it's American-based or not

To clarify for everyone else possibly having that same doubt, based on a question made by a reader in terms of Chapter Six and Seven's events:

All healthcare/medical attention mentioned in this story is based off my country, meaning it's either free or at the very least, affordable enough that you don't have to choose between an Uber or an overpriced weewoo vehicle in case of a medical emergency.

For example: I pay only $10 for 4 different medicines I'm meant to take, 3 which are for a lifetime (example: thyroiditis), and the only thing my insurance doesn't cover is optometry, which is around $300 to $500 a year for a full exam and prescription!

Tl;dr: It isn't. There's no debt here so far, lol.

• • •

Tag List (Comment or message me if you want to be added to [or removed from] it!)

@the-simp-express

@nektotersh

@disastrous-l0vebug

@therealchickenjoe

@mintyflakes025

@pandaquick

@timelock97

@candle-creeps

@paperb9gs

@merak0

#sans x reader #undertale x reader #lgbt #lgbt themes #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #mother reader #father reader #parent reader #chubby reader #long fic #romcom #adventure #mystery #platonic relationships #slow burn

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heartbreakgrill · 4 years

Note

Omg can I have a part 2 to the Walmart thing about how their relationship develops from there? Pls I need it :(

a/n: there will be a part 3 because I wanna write about you performing on stage and also paris!! Send more requests for anything else, too! 💘

The weeks on tour seemed to pass much more quickly now that you were falling in love. With each day, a new butterfly would land on your stomach, flapping its painted wings with a giddy smile arising to your lips.

Having been friends with Calum prior to being “his girl,” you knew that he was affectionate in his relationships. You’d always admired how kind he was to any girl he ever dated: He’d hold open the door for them, be it to his car or the restaurant, showed them with gifts no matter the occassion, respectfully ask to kiss them no matter how long they’d been together, hold their waist or hand in public and to his chest in private.

However, none of his relationships had ever lasted past three months, and no one knew why. You knew it wasn’t him, no, how could the kindest boy with the softest smile and sweetest words be the cause for girls to cheat, yell, scream, and curse his name? He was never at fault.

It was always them.

Because what you also always noticed in his relationships was that they were one-sided. The girls wanted fame, eyelashes and lip injections to add to the collection. There was nothing wrong with prosthetics or makeup, but they used him to the point that he had stopped being so affectionate over the years.

They’d shrug off his hand in public, get argumentative when he’d ask for, “the third time today!” to kiss them, get chided for opening the door because she, “was perfectly capable of doing it myself, thank you very much.”

You had made it your mission to hold Calum’s heart in your hands as if you were holding the world by the strings of your fingers. Calum was an airplane, and you were the goddess in the sky, dangling him across oceans sheets and towers of gifts.

It was a month into your endeavors when you really got good at being affectionate with him. No one had failed to notice your relationship boom, but you weren’t trying to hide it. So, there was a tranquil balance for everyone.

It was the morning of their last day of European press before everyone got a week off in Paris. Then, you’d be flying back to the US to finish the tour, only to end up in Los Angeles. That would three months from now.

You were curled into Calum’s blankets, having moved from your bunk to his because it was unfairly larger. Your heating blanket was plugged into his wall, his roll of fabric abandoned in his drawer beneath you. You had been discussing with him for weeks that he should figure out how to make it into a proper blanket, but he said he didn’t feel like it because he was, “only good for playing the bass.”

Your boy, and his brothers, were inside an office building with press all day. The show would be shortly after. Crystal was outside with Moose, letting him run off much needed steam. Sierra was in the living room, watching a movie. You had plans for dinner, but that was still an hour and a half away.

You drug yourself out of bed, only slightly bored because you finished the books you had bought again. You pulled fresh clothes out of your suitcase, showered, changed, and plopped down beside Sierra on the couch.

“You smell really good,” she commented, turning down the television so you could hear one another.

“It’s a mixture of my perfume and Calum’s cologne because this is his hoodie,” you giggled lightly while your fingers pulled at the strings on his jacket.

Sierra tilted her head with a sweet smile, “You guys are so cute. I’m so glad you finally got together.”

You wriggled your shoulders happily, “Yeah...”

You sat back with her, chatting about Luke’s want to get his nails done and how attractive you thought Calum was when his nails were black all those years ago.

After a while, the movie ended and you agreed to get up to go to lunch. You grabbed your purse from Calum’s drawer when you noticed his roll of fabric. You had a good idea spring into a head and whipped around, the lightbulb above your head vanishing as you jogged out into the living room of the bus.

After telling your idea to Sierra, the two of you exited the bus and met the driver assigned for the boy’s in the near-end of the parking lot. You ate lunch at a local café before locating a fabric store down the street. You walked there, parusing the store fronts, but resisting the urge to buy too much.

You entered the fabric store and immediately approached the counter. Sierra started by the back corner, browsing through buttons and string. You were somewhere in Nothern Italy, and luckily, had went over a few phrases in the language in case you needed to use them. Because it was a small store, pretty much untouched by foreigners, you expected the cashier to not know English.

“Ciao! parlo inglese e ho bisogno di aiuto per creare una coperta da un rotolo di tessuto,” your eyes were flicked back in your head as if the words were written there, but you were able to recite them from memory.

“A blanket, tu dici?” The elder leader responded, grinning through her smile lines.

“Sì!”

After a few minutes of communicating through broke English and Italian, she was able to guide you to the proper sewing needle, string, and pattern for the blanket. She taught you an easy method to make the blanket.

After thanking her with a hug and a plenty of extra money tips, you and Sierra loaded up in the car and travelled back to the tour bus. For the rest of the day, you tucked yourself into the back room of the bus, random movies and show queued up on Netflix, a few snacks indulged in your system. You even missed the boys’ press day to finish the blanket, having Sierra tell them that you just felt a little sick.

Realistically, you were completing his blanket. Some of the seams were off, there were countless bloody pricks in your fingers, and you were sweating with frustration. But it was done by the time you heard the door of the tour bus open. You quickly shot up, shoved it in your own drawer, and closed yourself in the bathroom. With shaky hands from excitement and nerves, you bandaged two fingers on your left hand and three on your right. You washed the uncovered skin and dried your hands.

You heard a few voices move past the door, even heard Calum poking around in his and your bunk for, well, you. “Where is she?” Calum mumbled to Sierra, worry evident in his exhausted voice.

You popped out of the door, which led straight into the living room, and shuffled down the hallway. Sierra pointed behind his back with a soft smile before moving to the back room where everyone else probably was.

Calum spun on his heel, a grin growing on his face. “Hi, baby.”

You opened your arms for him, and he fell into your embrace, head shoveled into your neck and hands around your waist. You brushed the curls on his head, unbothered by the sweat laced through his hair. He hummed into your embrace, alight with adoration.

“Pardon me,” Ashton slyly passed by the two of you, breaking up your hug.

You pushed Ash away playfully, pulling a chuckle from his and Calum’s chests. “How was press?” You asked him, grabbing the tips of his fingers and leading him to the living room.

You sat beside him, legs tucked under you, knees practically in his lap. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, staring down at you with tired but smiley eyes. “Pretty decent. I felt all sad without you there, though.”

“Well, I guess Italy’s just not interested in me,” You pouted slightly.

“It’s okay, because I am,” he played with your fingers before he noticed the bandaids. “What happened? You okay?”

You noticed his eyes turn worried, pupils dilating wider. You shrugged, “Oh, fine. I’m fine. I was doing come arts and crafts. Oh! Actually. I made you something.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, “Wait, really? What?”

You got up from the couch to retrieve the blanket. It was wrapped up in the Walmart bag, so you dropped it in his lap and sat back down. Calum glanced around you suspiciously, “I know you’re talented at, like, a bunch of stuff. But, if you have that many bandages, I’m slightly concerned by what’s in here.”

You smacked his shoulder, “Just open it.”

He did so, but he was not at all disappointed. The widest grin took over his face when he pulled out the blanket. He set it beside him and wrapped you up in a huge so that you were nearly straddling his lap. He pressed a firm kiss to your cheek, gushing over and over how amazing it was.

“Oh, no big deal,” you laughed, leaning back to kiss him properly. “Just thought you could actually make use of it.”

“It’s awesome. Thank you so much,” he unraveled the blanket and draped it over both of you. “It’s so warm, too.”

“You’re also sweating, so that could just be it,” you laughed.

Calum scoffed and pushed you down into the couch. “Shut up!” He exclaimed, tickling your sides.

“Never,” you pushed back with your own fingers attacking his neck.

When you calmed down from your war, you decided to go to bed, with an early flight to Paris in the morning. It was just the beginning, but Calum already knew you were better than anything he could’ve ever imagined. He couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with you, let alone the next week in the most romantic city on Earth.

TAGLIST: @dinosaursandsocks @everydayimfangirling @truly-charmed @wallows-spring

#5sos fanfic #5sos fluff #calum hood #calum hood imagine #calum hood x reader #calum hood x y/n #calum hood x you #calum hood fluff #calum hood blurb

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crystalrose555 · 3 years

Text

Slap me, I dare you! pt. 1

“Come on, Marley~” A small voice begged.

“Nope, not gonna happen.”

“But you gotta finish your story!” Another voice demanded.

“Nope, the next part is too scary for little seals. I’ll finish the story when you’re older.”

“Liar!”

Marley stuck her tongue out as the sound of little feet followed her to the living room. It’s been around a month since she returned from her adventure in Devildom and the pups refused to let go of the enticing story she started. While she had stretched the truth and sugarcoated what she could, Marley couldn’t bring herself to talk about everything that happened, she barely could understand it herself. She sighed as she tossed herself on the couch next to her new pelt, giving it a gingered rub before grabbing a clean shirt from the laundry bin. However, she was smothered by the pups that invaded her personal space which caused her to release a large sigh.

“If you don’t tell us, we’ll just have to get the rest of the story from Nixie.” Gell, the oldest, claimed plainly.

“Good luck with that since I didn’t tell Nixie the ending either.” She snorted.

She soon found herself surrounded by the booing of various tones which started to grind against her nerves.

“Knock it off! If you’re not going to help with the laundry then go for a swim and cool your heads!” She commanded firmly pointing to the backdoor.

“Fine, but you’re gonna have to tell us the rest eventually.” Rem, the second oldest claimed while Gell herded the younglings from the room.

“Make sure the little ones don’t go too far from shore and keep an eye out for humans. I’m counting on you boys.”

“Yeah, yeah, what else is new?” Gell called out with a snort as he led the others to the back door.

Once she heard the back door close, Marley sighed heavily in relief.

“Finally, geez, they’re worse than seagulls.” She mumbled as she tried to fold laundry once more.

Suddenly, a hearty knock echoed from the front door, causing Marley to flatten on the couch with a huff, grabbing her pelt.

“Of course, because why not.” She groaned before peeling herself off the couch to answer the door.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Do you think she’ll ever tell us what happened to her?” Rem asked with a sigh as he dug his feet into the warm sand.

“I doubt it.” Gell answered while staring at the younglings playing in the waves.

“I mean, I know she makes up stories to tell us but do you really think she was kidnapped by demons?”

Gell just scoffed as his brother gave a snarky smirk in his direction. He then rested his head in the palm of his hand.

“Yeah right, she probably got caught by some poachers or drunk sailors and had to fight her way off the boat.”

Rem snorted out a laugh in response.

“Or she was fighting a Kraken while doing a deep dive.” He managed to chuckle out.

“Nah, if she did, we would still be eating calamari. On top of that, when was the last time she came home empty-handed?”

“But she didn’t, she got that new pelt, remember?”

Gell sighed before turning to his brother.

“Then where’s her old one? What happened to it? Have you ever heard about a selkie getting a new pelt before? Let alone one that looks that strange.”

Rem blinked in disbelief.

“Woah, you’ve been really thinking about this.”

Gell sighed as he scratched his head through his thick hair. Rem patted his brother on the shoulder and gave a light smile.

“Come on, don’t think too hard about it. Let’s just let Nixie handle it. It’s not like she’s crying for help or something.”

“Get your fucking hands off of me!”

The boys suddenly jumped from their seats as Marley’s loud protest penetrated the house’s walls. Wasting no time, Gell told his brother to wait with the others as he rushed into the house from the back door. In a huff, he scanned the living room and headed toward the front door to see Marley tossed over the shoulder of a blue cloaked figure, banging on his back furiously. Cursing at him to put her down, the stranger simply scoffed as he headed out the door. Gell stood frozen as Marley continued to curse at the black-haired stranger who looked back at her with crimson eyes. His knees nearly gave out from underneath him as he tried to charge forward to help his guardian but he lost his steam as a rush of black feathers blocked his vision. Once the torrent was over, nothing was left but a single black feather laying in the door frame. His knees buckled in as he dropped to the floor and reached for the large feather with a shaky hand.

“Gell, Gell! What’s going on?!” Rem yelled from the back door to his brother.

“Demons are real!!!” Gell answered back with a shrill wail.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Put me down already!” Marley screamed in Lucifer’s ear.

“Gladly.” Lucifer answered as he roughly dropped her on the chair in his office.

Marley rubbed her bottom gingerly while Lucifer crossed his arms and stared at her with steel-like eyes.

“What the hell, Lucifer!? Who stuffed a bee in your collar!?” She protested loudly.

Lucifer didn’t answer, instead, his form slowly shifted as his clothing turned black and his horns pierced his ebony hair. His demonic aura crept upon the floor and encased the ground beneath Marley’s chair in jet-black shadow. Looking down at her feet and taking in the warping surroundings, Marley returned her vision to the now winged demon in front of her. Reading the room, Marley crossed her legs and pulled down her oversized hoodie before addressing Lucifer.

“You seem upset.” She calmly pointed out.

“Upset doesn’t begin to describe how I felt in the past month. Livid is a better word to use.”

“Hmm, I see. Well, it must have been very stressful.”

“You can say that.”

Marley smoothly got up from her seat and took in a gentle breath.

“Well, it’s been wonderful to see you again, give your brothers my love and you can send me back now.”

“Not a chance, especially considering the stunt you’ve pulled upon your first departure.”

“Come on, I have laundry and I want to fold it while it’s still warm.” Marley whined as her shoulders slumped.

“Is that truly your main concern right now!?” Lucifer hissed as his aura grew darker.

“Yeah, considering that I was kidnapped from my home this time! Seriously, what’s with the kidnapping, what the fuck is wrong with a letter!?”

“Don’t change the subject!”

“I’m not changing the subject, I’m just getting to the subtext!”

At this point, Lucifer and Marley’s conversation devolved from yelling to inhuman noises that echoed in the office. Since neither refused to budge, their base instincts came to the surface in the form of demonic growling and seal barking. Unfortunately, the sound of conflict spilled out of the room and attracted unwanted attention as a group of demon brothers poured themselves into the room. Marley turned her gaze only to be engulfed in layers of arguing demons.

“Get off of me, I was here first!” Levi claimed as he tried to push Mammon and Asmo away.

“Like hell, nerd! I ain’t got a chance to hang out with her yet!” Mammon hissed as he pushed back.

Asmo just took the opportunity to hold her closer, kissing her cheeks over and over.

“Mochi, I missed you soooo much, I’ve been so lonely without you~” Asmo cooed between kisses.

“Oi, get your hands off of her, Asmo! Don’t think you can run off with her!” Mammon yelled.

“Yeah, besides I’m her first demon and I get first dibs!” Levi added.

Satan kept close to the door as he watched his brothers tugging the surprised selkie back and forth between them. Finally having enough, an annoyed Marley released a wave of cold that repelled Asmo and Mammon, leaving Levi grasping onto her stubbornly.

“S-See? I’m the w-winner!” Levi claimed through his chattering teeth at his pouting brothers.

“You too, Geek Boy.” Marley claimed flatly as she lowered the temperature again, causing Levi to pull away to warm himself up.

The trio stared at her with puppy eyes only to receive a cold stern glare in return.

“Don’t give me that look, I’ve already had to deal with enough of that today!” She barked at the pouting demons.

She turned her attention back to the eldest brother who remained unfazed from the sudden cold.

“Send me back now, Lucy, and if my bedsheets get wrinkled, I swear to God.” Marley threatened slowly.

Lucifer didn’t even get a chance to respond before his brothers forced their opinions out in the open.

“W-wait, you’re going back already?” Levi questioned with big eyes.

“But you just got back here and you were gone forever!” Mammon added.

“Yeah, there’s so much we need to talk about, Mochi~” Asmo whined.

Marley snapped her gaze back to the trio with a surprised expression.

“I’ve. Been. Gone. For a month! What have you all been doing since I left?”

“Waiting for you to get back...” The trio said in a united pout.

Marley rolled her eyes as she turned back to the waiting Lucifer. Eventually, the trio began to beg Lucifer to let her stay while finding themselves clinging to Marley’s body once more. As the volume continued to rise, Lucifer’s anger began to boil to the point where his dark aura finally overtook the room and grabbed everyone’s attention.

“Can we focus on the true matter of hand?” He claimed coldly.

“And that would be?” She asked.

“Your sudden departure message, the picture that you decided to post on Devilgram.” Lucifer growled.

Marley thought for a moment to remember the picture before a genuine look of surprise came across her face.

“That’s why you have your panties in a bunch? For a picture? On the internet!?”

“It wasn’t a normal picture and you know that.”

Marley snorted out air as she turned her gaze away from the angered demon.

“Ok, so what? I put my pic on Devilgram, big deal.”

“You posted it on Lord Diavolo’s Devilgram, it’s a very big deal!”

Marley just tossed her arms in the air and scoffed at the issue, showing more concern for her laundry than the prince’s profile. Reading her expression, Lucifer’s rage peaked only to break away to an eerie calm that washed over his being. Seeing this, Marley stood on guard of the demon who put away his blackened wings and horns and took out a cold smile.

“What’s with that smile on your face, Lucifer?”

“I’m just thinking about how much school work you have to catch up on.”

“Excuse me?”

“You left in the middle of the term, without notice, so you have to make up all of the missed assignments. And you better maintain those impressive grades you’ve earned while you were sliding around. So you’re not going anywhere until it’s all finished.”

“EXCUSE ME!!?” Marley repeated louder.

However, her concerns were drowned out by the excited shrieks of the clinging demons on her body, all excited by the fact she would be living with them once more.

“Aww, Mochi, you get to live with us again~” Asmo chimed with his brothers in agreement.

“We have so many anime and manga to catch up on, not to mention the behind-the-scenes and director’s cut!” Levi added.

“BUT MY FUCKING LAUNDRY!!!” She screamed.

#obey me shall we date #obey me shall we date?#obey me satan #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me asmodeus #obey me leviathan #obey me asmo #obey me levi #levi #asmo #satan #mammon #lucifer #obey me oc #obey me fanfic #mochi story fanfic #selkie #obey me mc

18 notes · View notes

timextoxhajima · 3 years

Text

Grounded: Level 6

Level 5 | Level 7

Member: Minho (Lee Know)

Genre: idol minho x idol trainee reader, angst cause is it a dana fic if there is no angst

Taglist: @jaehyvnsvalentine @licorice526 @lolwhatameme @felixn-recs @yunapixie

[J U N E 2 0 2 0]

“COOKIN’ LIKE A CHEF I’M A FIVE STAR 미슐랭 "미"의 정점을 찍고 눈에 보여 ILLUSION!”

“Jesus Christ!” Ju Rin screams at all of you, yelling at the top of your lungs as you follow the lyrics and fanchant of the song. “The Hell’s wrong with you people?!”

Minjung giggles until she’s sobbing and rolling on the floor, So Eun and Gahyun take turns singing the lines of the different members while you get to your feet and stretch.

You’re about to head out the studio to the bathroom when Ju Rin calls out to you, casually jogging over to you by the door.

“Before I forget, Bang PD said he wanted to see you in his office tonight.”

The new information strikes an uncomfortable chord in you.

“What? Why? Did I do something-”

“No,” Ju Rin quickly shakes her head, hand coming to rest on your lower arm. “It’s time to make a decision. A real one,” She looks behind her shoulder and at the bunch of girls who were all younger than the both of you before turning back to you. “One that would be forged in your signature and last for the next 7 years.”

Ju Rin’s eyes hold worlds of both caution and wander. This is no longer just a game of “let me see how long more I can train before I think I’m ready”. It has become a fact that the company believes you’re ready, and now they’ll be presenting you with an opportunity of a lifetime. Something that you wouldn’t be able to reverse once you’ve agreed to it.

“He said that if you can’t give him an answer tonight, he’ll understand, but you still need to make a decision after all... So,” She pauses and rubs your upper arms. “Think carefully, and make your decision wisely. I don’t want you to walk into something you’d want to walk out of.”

You’re in the pantry of the floor where it was quieter than normal - TXT had a schedule that day and wouldn’t be spending the day in the studio. The chance of a lifetime’s sitting in the heart of your palms now, all you have to do is to pick up a pen and write your name down before the next 7 years of your life would be planned out for you.

You weren’t sure if you needed someone’s motivation or encouragement to well your bravery for tonight, but you knew for sure you just needed to know someone would be there for you.

You: Hey, call me when you’re free? I just... thought I should tell you something.

Sucking in a deep breath, you hit send and drop the phone back into your pocket. The ceramic mugs by the coffee machine calls out to you, and you run one under the tap when you feel the vibration in your pocket. A smile stretches across your face, pleasantly surprised at the speed of reaction now.

“That was quick,” You flick the mug, water droplets hurling back into the sink.

“What is it? Better be worth it, IN-ie just brought back some fried chicken and any longer I’ll- YAH! DON’T TOUCH MY SHARE!”

A sharp ring echoes through your right ear canal as you pull the phone away from your ear, “My God-”

“Yes,” The man returns to the line. “What was it you needed to tell me about?”

“Are you sure this is a good time?” You place your mug under the coffee machine nozzle and press the cappucino button. “I can call you back later-”

“No, no, it’s fine. We’re having our lunch break anyway. What’s wrong? You sound stressed.”

The steady stream of water, then coffee and milk creates a layer of foam in your mug.

“Ah... Let me guess - It’s the contract.”

“Mm,” The hum might’ve been overwhelmed by the sudden cough and whir of the machine, but it goes back to it’s gentle chittering as the stream slows to a few droplets.

“What are you worried about? You’ve already spent so much time training, not to mention building that bond with your members... Are you the only one that has yet to sign the contract?”

“No, they’re going by position and age. Ju Rin’s the only person who’s signed it and the rest don’t know yet.”

“Strange that you guys didn’t have the signing together.”

“Knowing Ju Rin, she probably wouldn’t have wanted that,” A pause as you process the thought of her being your leader. There was nobody else better to be it than her. “She wouldn’t have wanted anybody to sign it under pressure, so she probably suggested the individual signing to Bang PD instead.”

“Fair,” He pauses. “So, what now?”

“I don’t know.”

“’I don’t know’ doesn’t sound like a great response at this point of time.”

“I know... I just... What if... What if I’m not good enough, you know? What if I mess up along the way and Ju Rin or BigHit’s gotta clean up my shit?”

“Everybody messes up at some point or another. You’re gonna be under constant scrutiny, possibly apologise for things you don’t have to apologise for, but that’s just a small cost you need to pay for pursuing your dreams. You don’t get to paradise without riding the worst storms.”

You wrap your fingers around the ceramic of the cup, carefully pulling a sip of the foam onto your tongue.

“I can hear you, you know.”

“Sorry,” Licking the foam off your upper lip, you snicker to yourself and turn to the door of the pantry, the metallic frame of the doors showing you a version of yourself that you wouldn’t have recognised four years ago.

“Anyway, we both know you’ve already made your decision when you decided to stay for so long, and meet all your members. You’re only hesitating now because you’re afraid of mistakes, so if it makes you feel any better - which I know probably won’t - you will mess up, but it will be okay.”

“Great pep-talk,” You sneer into the receiver end of the phone. Minho’s laughter echoes through the line, and you can already picture his eyes turning into thick, dark lines as he smiles.

“I always be here, alright? Nothing to fear.”

[N O V E M B E R 2 0 2 0]

“I’m not joking when I say I think Gahyun has a crush on Beom,” The drifting dried leaves on the floor crunch under your shoes as Minho turns to you, flicking a small twig out of your now blue-dyed hair. You just had your pre-debut photoshoot, and they were set to be released sometime in 2021.

“Should you be telling me this information?” Minho readjusts his beret, making it fit better on his head while he leads you around the corner and up the stairs to some secret back door.

“Repeating this information to a bunch of girls who already know this information gets boring. Don’t you guys have crushes on like - TWICE or ITZY or something?”

“Oh, that’s a deep grave to dig,” He pushes the door open without hesitation, the scent of grilled chicken and wine hitting you straight in the face.

“Aw, come on!” The whine is cut short when a waiter comes by to tend to you. It wasn’t a surprise when the waiter recognised him, even with all that disguise on. The restaurant was two floors worth, but only the first was open to the public. The second - specially reserved for idols.

Man, the things Dispatch would do to know this place exists and the people idols bring here.

“We’re serving the Christmas specials today because we know a lot of companies are letting idols go for an advanced holiday,” The waiter pulls out two menus from under the desk where you’ve stopped, turning around and gesturing for you to follow him. “I’ll be your waiter for today, so just call for me if you need me.”

“Alright, thank you.”

You offered the waiter a smile, forgetting that the mask was hiding it. The waiter bows and leaves the two of you alone in the corner of the room, allowing Minho to finally feel comfortable enough to remove his mask.

A gasp gets sucked through your throat when you remove your mask, eyes glued to the menu. “Tangerine grilled chicken and steak!”

Minho doesn’t bother to stifle the yawn that was coming out from his lungs, eyes halving into long lines.

“Are you allowed to drink?” You notice the drinks menu, nearly the entire page covered with some kind of beer, soju, wine or sake.

“I mean, I’m technically off work, and all those news sites don’t know this place exists so- as long as I’m not drunk, why not?”

“Very nice,” Scanning the list of alcohol, you decided Minho needed some outlet of release before he goes back to work - also known as being stressed 24/7.

Minho helped place your orders, and instead of the two glasses of wine you had initially wanted to order, he calls for an entire bottle of 1940 Chateau.

The waiter doesn’t seem at all bothered that the young idol was ordering a three-hundred-dollar bottle of alcohol, only focused on noting the food that was spewing off Minho’s tongue. The waiter then thanks the two of you, promising to return with the wine first before he leaves.

Leaning forwards across the table, your eyes frown at him. “Are you nuts? There’s no way we’re going to be able to finish that.”

Minho interlocks his fingers and rests his chin on them with his elbows perched on the surface of the table. “You underestimate me.”

An eyeroll finds you, snorting in exasperation before leaning back in your seat.

“I’m sorry for being busy recently. Pre-debut’s pretty tough.”

“I love how it took you three years before you understood that.”

You roll your eyes again.

“Anyway, how’s work? How are your members?”

“Ah- I bring you out for a nice meal and you repay me by asking me about how much money I earn? Eish-”

“Wha-” Hurling a pack of that alcohol wipes across the table, he snickered when it hits him and lands on the floor. “You’re really full of shit.”

Minho grins that gummy smile of his, pulling off his cap and ruffling his hair after picking up the pack of alcohol wipes. “Work’s fine. Mr Park Jin Young, however, suggested we do a 2PM cover during the SBS Gayo Daejeon festival at the end of the year.”

“2PM? Aren’t their concepts kinda... mature?” The utensils on the table garner your attention as Minho scans the message that popped up on his phone.

“Yeah, so guess what song we’re covering?”

You look up at the hint of pride in his voice, and his cheeks were cupped in his own hands, cutely staring at you.

A disgusted sneer finds your face and you pull one of his arms out from under him to stop the horrid sight. "Let me guess... Again and Again?"

"Wow, you're really good-"

"Aw, thanks-"

"At guessing the wrong answers.”

He flinches when you almost lunge forwards, fork in your grip.

"Why do I put up with you?"

"Because you love me too much to stop," His eyes are filled with playfulness, the kinds that you'd be able to recognise just by looking at his gaze.

"Ew," You don't take into consideration his choice of vocabulary, sitting back down in your seat when the bottle of wine comes. "Don't get too ahead of yourself."

Minho bites on his bottom lip to control the giggle that’s about to explode from his mouth, nodding subtly at the waiter so that he could get the bottle of wine open.

“Anyway, he suggested My House.”

Minho watched intently as your eyes double their original size, with the gentle gurgle of the wine being poured into the two glasses being the closest source of noise. He knows you’re about to burst out into some manic laughter, so he already has his lips tutted and and eyeroll ready to give himself a headache.

“My House?” You can feel your brows going so far up your forehead, it feels like you’re stretching the skin. “Park Jin Young wants a bunch of kids dancing to that song that’s about bringing a girl home and smashing? Ha!”

“Do you have nothing nice to say?”

“Says the one who just dissed me for giving wrong answers,” The waiter closes the wine bottle and places it into the ice bucket on the tray next to the table. Minho thanks the waiter, shaking his head as you take the glass and swirl the alcohol.

“I’ll let you win this one round,” He takes a sip from the wine. “So, I heard about the finalised line-up about your group.”

“Oh, that was a blast,” You offer a hearty laugh, memory unable to wipe away the visual of So Eun being crowned the ‘Centre’ of the group. Everyone had expected Gahyun, the Visual, to be the centre, and frankly, she hated it. So, it was all glitter and fireworks when it was announced Ga Eun be the center, essentially making her vice-Visual. You push your phone across the table, an unofficial and unpublished version of the BigHit website rolled up on the screen.

“Wang Ju Rin, Leader, Lead Vocalist, Sub-Rapper. l/n y/n, Main Dancer, Lead-Rapper, Sub-Vocalist. Choi Ga Hyun, Lead Vocalist, Lead Rapper, Lead Dancer, Visual,” He pauses. “Ga Hyun sounds like a Han Jisung.”

“I see he’s your favourite member today.”

Glaring at you, he takes his time to return to the screen. “Kang So Eun, Main Rapper, Lead Dancer, Sub-Vocalist, Center. Gwang Min Jung, Main Vocalist, Lead Rapper, maknae,” He slides the phone back to you. “Remind me how old the rest are again, besides you and Ju Rin?”

“Gahyun and So Eun are 2001 liners but Min Jung is a 2003 liner.”

“Lovely age gap,” He shakes his head. “Then again IN debuted when he was 16 so I guess...”

“Funny how I was 16 when I was scouted,” You place the fork down, suddenly pulling the atmosphere down with you.

“You talk about this as if you can erase that signature on that contract.”

“No, don’t get me wrong, I know I don’t regret it. I just-” A pause to collect your thoughts. “What else would I be doing other than this, you know? University? Working in some shoddy cafe?”

“What are you- writing a narrative for yourself now?”

“Jesus Christ, will you shut up for once in your life and let me finish my piece-”

[D E C E M B E R 2 0 2 0]

The manager for Stray Kids was busy sheltering you and a few other guests that the members themselves had chosen to be invited to the Gayo Daejeon Festival before the year ended.

TXT was already in the building rehearsing and your trainee-members would be coming later nearer to their performance.

Rain peltering against the black umbrella, the staff struggles to keep you and the other guests out of sight, though you've already been warned by the person who invited you to come in sunglasses and a mask. (Not that it was legal to walk around without one now anyway).

You've met the members’ siblings before, so the situation inside the vehicles were more than comfortable. The staff at SBS hands all of you visitor passes, with your name and the name of the person who invited you printed on the tag. The manager brings the group of you into the studio where the stage was set up, just in time to watch Stray Kids perform a practice round - this time, a cover of 2pm's My House.

"Wah!" Seungmin's sister exclaims and covers her mouth (as if her mask wasn't already doing the job), her free hand landing on your shoulder. "What is Lee Know even wearing?"

It hasn't even caught your attention, because you were so preoccupied with their voice checks. But you heed her advice and search for Minho on stage, eyes falling on someone back-facing you with a half-assed view of his back covered with a miserable layer of net.

"Someone’s stylist felt cheeky today," Laughing under your breath, Seungmin's sister gently nudges you as a response. Minho was fixing his earpiece when his eyes start wandering, and even in the bad lighting off the stage, he could still spot you.

He's waving like he hasn't seen you in months, though you just met him a few weeks ago when his CEO had given them an advanced Christmas weekend vacation.

“Okay, take a fifteen minute break! Can I get I*ZONE, THE BOYZ, Jessi to get ready?”

The members bow and thank the camera men and the director of the event, most of them waving to their guests standing around you. Minho looks to you and waves subtly, sweat sticking his brown hair to his forehead as his breathing calms.

Right now, Minho was doing nothing besides making snot-faces at the camera with that stupid inner-netting piece he’s got that exposes his back.

Sickening, but he knows it works in his favour.

“Everyone in places! We’re filming your fancams for this one too but keep your eyes on the main cameras!”

The members yell out scattered “yes”es and return to their positions, fingers fixing their fits and microphones. The music starts, and you decide you’ll probably never ever get sick of how the whole group is able to snap into professionalism. But of course, your eyes still naturally gravitate to Minho.

He told you over test that he had been given the chorus -- something that his CEO has never really considered. (Minho wasn’t a great vocal; he was more commendable in his dance techniques but he’ll never improve if he’s never given the chance, right?)

You suck your lips between your teeth when you notice his anxiety gets the better of him, and he messes up in the chorus choreography just as he sings “10분 뒤에 저 앞에서.”

He’s definitely going to get annoyed over this mistake later.

Changbin's sister cannot contain the scream that emits out from her when you are let into the Stray Kids’ dressing room. Jeongin rushes to his little brother, hoping to pull him into a headlock. One of the stylists was busy helping Minho remove his blazer belt when he notices you standing behind him in the mirror.

But before he can greet you, Seungmin rushes to your side along with his sister, who drags you away to look at some special edition Stray Kids merchandise sitting in the corner of the room. You shoot Minho a slightly apologetic look, allowing Seungmin's sister to pull you across the room to study the albums and photocards you would probably receive by the end of the year anyway.

Seungmin's sister gushes about the design of the albums, Christmas themed and all with a rather recent and unseen group photoshoot of the group. So it doesn't take long before she's completely occupied in staring at Chan's picture in the album, and Jisung takes the opportunity to strike up a conversation with you.

“Hey! I finally got to meet you properly, I’m sorry I couldn’t greet you well back when you visited with Yeonjun hyung.”

“Oh, no,” You place the album back to the table and turn to Jisung. “It’s fine. I hope the fruit basket was good.”

“It was great, actually. Chan made a fruit salad out of it,” Jisung shoves his hands into his pockets. Your eyes can’t help but glance around the room, and you catch Minho’s eyes flitting away from you and Jisung in the reflection of the mirror he’s staring at.

“So, how are the shots? Pretty cool, huh?”

Your eyes follow his hands that reach for the albums that are still sitting comfortably on the surface. “Yeah, of course. Was it shot in a pre-made studio or was the lounge already set up like that? Colors are pretty.”

“It was a lounge, actually. Downtown in Gimpo. They had a cafe nearby too, and the food’s great. I was wondering if you’d like to-”

"Yah," Throwing his arm around Jisung’s shoulders, Minho was now changed out into a loose, black tank top. Your eyes gravitate down to where his skin is usually covered, but Jisung's sly smirk at you forces you to roll your eyes away instead.

"Oh, yes, Lino hyung?" Jisung has the widest grin on his face as he happily pulls Minho into a hug, even resting his head on Minho's shoulder. It's a strange sight, seeing Jisung suck his lips between his teeth. Better yet, Minho had the most confused look on his face just seconds before he shoved Jisung off him.

“You’re an absolute disgrace,” Minho shakes his head and winces in disgust. “There are better ways to ask someone out, and the first step is to ask the right person out.”

#lee know #lee know scenarios #skz lee know scenarios #stray kids #stray kids lee know #skz lee know #skz lee minho #stray kids lee minho

21 notes · View notes

jar-of-ectoplasm · 4 years

Text

First Kiss Headcannons: All Characters!

(none of these pictures are mine)

i’m sorry these took so fucking long to finish-

Herbert West:

-This was most certainly not planned, and this was definitely Herbert’s first kiss. He had just made a pretty fucking important discovery regarding his little hobby and he just couldn’t contain his excitement. He bolted up the stairs and straight to you, giving you a quick kiss on the lips

-Herbert’s kisses are very sloppy at first, but he’ll get the hang of it eventually. He isn’t quite sure what to do with his hands so they’ll probably just be fluttering all over you. They go from cupping your cheeks, to holding your jaw, to around your shoulders, running down your arms and eventually ending up holding your waist

-After he pulled away from you Herbert will be talking a mile a minute about whatever he had found in the lab, up until he realized what he had just done. He’ll stop talking immediately, a dark shade of pink creeping up his neck and into his face. He’ll probably just walk away and back into the basement before coming up again and giving you a real kiss

Dan Cain:

-Dan thought that the cutest way to have your first kiss would be after a very special date. It was your one month anniversary and Dan was dropping you back off at your house. After walking you to your front door, he leaned in for a kiss

-Daniel wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s a very emotional man, and his kisses are very emotional as well. Whatever he is feeling, you can feel it in the kiss. Almost all of the kisses he gives you are full of unconditional love. They’re so sweet and every single time they leave you breathless

-When he finally pulls away, he gives you the same charming smile you fell in love with while he catches his breath. After giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, you ruffle his hair and walk into your home

Megan Halsey:

-Another day, another incident where Hill freaked the actual fuck out of Megan. It was yet another dumbass dinner that her dad invited Carl (ew) to, so she had nowhere else to go but your place to escape the scary old man. Understandably, your Meg arrived to your front door in tears (do i get unreasonably scared and teary eyed when old men objectify me? maybe. am i self projecting? also maybe.) Pulling her inside, you gave her a soft kiss to calm her down and hopefully get her in a better head-space

-Has the softest kisses of the bunch (except for maybe Crawford but still). Meg will lace her fingers together behind your neck and kiss the corners of your mouth before getting to your actual lips. Every single one of her kisses, no matter what kind of mood she’s in, is always filled with love (just like her)

-After Megan had calmed down and explained what had happened (you were understandably angry and disgusted with Hill) you set up the most comfortable spot on the couch and popped in a rom-com to cheer her up. The entire time, you two cuddled and exchanged small kisses until you fell asleep

Crawford Tillinghast:

-This event was either planned or it was completely by surprise. Maybe Crawford had set up a cute little romantic evening, all coming to a close with your first kiss with him or he just got way to excited about something and just went for it during the heat of the moment

-Crawford’s kisses are very slow and soft but very passionate. He’s not the best with words, so he relies on actions to speak for him. He’ll cup your jaw and keep a hand on your hip while you have your arms wrapped around his neck

-He’ll either smile the softest, most loving smile you have ever seen on a man’s face or he will start apologizing so much and so fast you can barely make out the words (you’ll have to shut him up with another kiss) depending on what prompted the smooching

Katherine McMichaels:

-Lovely, darling Katherine was overworking herself again and you were having absolutely none of it. She was too tired to hold a pen properly, so you had to guide her out of the in-house office and to your shared bedroom. After tucking her in Katherine pulled you down for a quick kiss, mumbling a goodnight before she passed out

-I headcannon Katherine as a very hard worker considering she’s a female doctor in the 80′s, so she’s almost always pretty busy keeping up with paperwork and such. Her kisses are usually in passing and pretty quick, but when she does finally get time to relax (or you make her take a break) she’ll savor each and every kiss being given (sweet babey 😌)

-While you two were eating breakfast the next morning, Katherine asked if you had actually kissed or if she was dreaming. After explaining that yes, Katherine, you really did kiss me she just pulled you in for another (much less sleepy) kiss :)

Bubba Brownlee:

-With being a police officer and all, Bubba’s job does come with some level of risk so when you got a call from the hospital that he had to stay for the night, you rushed over immediately. Apparently your darling boyfriend had gotten caught in a shoot out, thankfully only catching a bullet to the shoulder and his leg, but it still worried you immensely. As soon as you walked into his room, you pulled him in for a kiss

-Tall man has to lean down A LOT (or lean up a little bit for those of you taller than 6′5, i see you tall kings, queens, and other assorted royalty) so Bubba might just pick you right the fuck up when he is in need of smooches. His kisses are very smiley, every single time he kisses you it’s always broken by him smiling and laughing to himself. He’s just so happy with you, baby!!!

-As stated above, your unexpected smooching was broken by his (award winning) smile. He pulled you in for a careful hug and apologized for worrying you. The entire time Bubba was awake he was giving you little kisses all around your face, but he eventually fell asleep which caused you to stay the night in the hospital as well

Milton Dammers:

-Milton was resting his head on your shoulder like he always does and today he was feeling a little bit more confident than usual. He tilted his head up, meaning to give you a little kiss on the cheek, but he had caught your lips instead after your turned your head to look at him

-Milton’s kisses are very soft and VERY hesitant. No matter how far into the relationship you guys are, he’ll always handle you like you’re made of glass. He just loves you so much, he doesn’t want to hurt you (a soft man deserves some soft kisses god damn it)

-Oh god oh fuck what has he done. Immediately after realizing he missed your cheek, Milton would yell out an apology and basically run into the other room. He’d probably cry, not because the thought of kissing you was disgusting to him, but because he was afraid you’d hate him for it. Just approach him calmly and explain that everything was okay and that you didn’t hate him

Ash Williams:

-A deadite had broken through the backdoor while you were in the kitchen getting a snack and Ash was waiting on the couch watching a movie. Said movie was of the horror genre and the volume was cranked up pretty loud, so Ash didn’t really notice that your screaming was coming from the other room and not the TV. After killing the deadite and making sure you weren’t hurt, he just smashed his face onto yours

-Ash’s kisses really just depend on how he’s feeling. When he’s jealous, they’re rough and possessive and when he’s in a better mood, they’re still kinda rough but not nearly as possessive. But when’s he’s sad/upset? oh man, these are the rare times Ash doesn’t almost break your skull with the sheer force of his kisses, so cherish that while it lasts (which hopefully doesn’t last long, make your boy happy again god damn it-)

-When he pulled away from you, Ash held you to his chest (even though it was covered in blood) and started crying while rattling out apology after apology. When he finally lets you go, you’re probably gonna have to hold him as well ‘cause he’s still sobbing (you’re gonna be on a blood stained kitchen floor for a while man)

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maandags · 4 years

Text

sweetest kind of poison (Fred Weasley x reader)

*rises from the ashes of the denial that i’d never write hp fic*

-- -- --

Summary: Fred is failing Potions, and McGonagall has decided he needs a tutor.

Word count: 9.1K

Genre: fluff w a lilbitta angst

Notes: CW: blood - masterlist - i love ONE man and ONE MAN ONLY

-- -- --

Fred Weasley is frowning as he walks up to McGonagall's office, because usually when he gets called to McGonagall's office it isn't for biscuits and tea and a friendly little chat. And besides that, he thinks he has a pretty good idea of why he's called there today.

He knocks on the door and waits until the professor's voice tells him to come in. When he does, his frown deepens, because McGonagall is accompanied by who might just be his least favourite person in the school.

"Professor, Professor," he says, giving McGonagall a tight little smile and Snape a controlled glare.

"Sit down, Mr Weasley," McGonagall tells him, gesturing to the empty chair sat in front of her desk. Fred takes his seat and puts his hands in his lap, for once keeping his mouth shut and waiting.

McGonagall wastes no time with unnecessary pleasantries, in true McGonagall fashion. "Professor Snape informed me of some concerning news, Mr Weasley."

"Did he now?" The comment earns him a glare from both teachers, though McGonagall's is more of a warning and Snape's is more of an I'd-kill-you-if-I-had-the-chance glare.

"I'm afraid there's no way around it: you're failing Potions, Mr Weasley."

Fred nods with a blank stare. "Yes."

"You're uninterested in the subject," McGonagall continues. "On top of that, you are disruptive and have caused more than one critical situation. Your marks have simply hit rock bottom."

"Yes, I'm aware. Was that all?"

"Quiet," Snape cuts in. "Detention doesn't seem to suffice anymore. You don't show up to half the classes and when you do find it appropriate to attend I can barely continue my lesson. But, in case you didn't know, Mr Weasley, Potions is a required class for almost all further educations, including the seventh year of Hogwarts." He pauses. "Which means that I, sadly, can't expel you from my class until next year."

But Snape's little speech has left Fred impatient. He turns back to McGonagall, rolling his hand like So what?

"You're getting a tutor," she says. "Saturday mornings, from nine o'clock to lunchtime."

Fred's face falls. "But Professor, I have Quidditch practice–"

"I know that. You are suspended from the Gryffindor Quidditch team until you get your marks up to a steady level and we no longer have to worry about you failing this class. That is to say, at least a month."

At that, Fred's stomach drops. "Professor. You can't be serious."

"I am dead serious, Mr Weasley. You know I wouldn't take you off the team unless I saw no other choice."

Gritting his teeth, Fred says, "But the Tournament–"

"Your education is more important than Quidditch, boy. And until you show me that you can be responsible for once, you're prohibited from entering the pitch."

Behind her, Fred can tell that Snape is trying to stop himself from grinning. He wants to stand up and scream: he's sure Snape had something to do with this. Absolutely sure. But all right. Okay. He keeps a calm expression–or as calm as possible–and nods. "So, do I just pick someone to tutor me?"

McGonagall folds her hands in front of her. "Professor Snape and I already chose someone for you. They should be here any moment now."

Fred barely has time to consider the dangers of having Snape pick his tutor. All he manages to think before a soft knock on the door rings through the room is, Oh, that can't be good. McGonagall says Come in, the door opens, and inside the office steps... A Slytherin.

Your eyes flick from McGonagall's face to Snape's, no doubt seeking the reason as to why you were summoned to the office of the Head of Gryffindor. Fred bites back a sigh and sinks lower into his chair, putting on his most impressive scowl. You don't seem to have noticed him yet.

"Good evening, Y/N," McGonagall says sternly. You nod in return, then nod to Snape as well, and in return–Fred almost thinks he hallucinates it–Snape gives you a smile. A tight-lipped, slimy smile that doesn't reach his eyes, and the curl of his lips could just as well hide a snarl. "I expect Professor Snape must have informed you as to why you're here?"

"Um," you say slowly, only now seeming to realise Fred's presence as your eyes settle on his and narrow in cautious surprise, "not really. I received a note with a time and place, that was all."

McGonagall scowls, and for a second Fred thinks she might turn and scold Snape, but she doesn't. Only purses her lips in disdain and says, "Well, I'll do it for him, then. Could you remind me what mark you received for your O.W.L. in Potions?"

Your eyebrows raise, if only slightly. "An O, Professor."

"Y/N excels in my class, Minerva," Snape cuts in. "They might just be the best student I've had in years." Fred wants to gag.

McGonagall levels her cold gaze at him. "Yes, I trusted you to choose a fine student, Severus. Y/N, this is Fred Weasley," she adds, gesturing vaguely to Fred sitting at her desk. Recognition flashes then in your eyes. "And he's in need of a Potions tutor."

It's silent for a moment before you say, "Right. And I suppose I'm that tutor?"

"Indeed you are. Saturday mornings, nine o'clock till twelve until further notice. Do those hours pose any problem for you?"

"I suppose not."

"Fantastic. The Potions classroom and the supply closet will be entirely at your disposal, and you will receive extra credit for this, of course."

"Thank you, Professor."

And Fred can't help but cut in. "Professor, really. With all due respect–" very little in Snape's case– "I don't want to keep Y/N off their busy schedule. I can just ask someone from my class to help. You know, like Janice–Janice is good at Potions too!–or even Hermione–"

"Miss Granger isn't in your year, Mr Weasley, I won't have her take time out of her day to master new recipes for the sole purpose of teaching them to you. And Miss Hanstead has Divination on Saturday mornings."

"Then I can find someone else–"

"Y/N will tutor you, Mr Weasley–"

"Professor?" your voice chimes in. McGonagall snaps her mouth shut and gives you a stiff nod, permitting you to speak. "If he doesn't want me to tutor him, that's okay. I'm sure I wasn't the only one who passed my O.W.L. in Potions. I know a boy in Ravenclaw who I study with sometimes–"

"You'll do it," says Snape quietly, and immediately you purse your lips and look away.

"The two of you sound like children throwing a tantrum," McGonagall sniffs. "Mr Weasley, do try to attend these sessions. Remember that you won't be permitted back onto the Quidditch team until I say so." Fred resists the urge to roll his eyes. "And don't even try to switch places with your brother," she adds sharply, and Fred sighs, hard. "Professor Snape will personally question you for ten minutes after each Potions class you attend–and you will attend."

At this point, Fred is starting to feel like he's being scolded by his mother, but he nods. He shoots a look over to where you're stood, next to the door, your hands awkwardly bunched in your robes. You shoot him a look back, eyes flashing, lips pursed into a thin line, daring him to push his luck any further and protest again. But Fred knows he's teetering dangerously on the edge of an abyss (an abyss in the form of an additional three straight months of detention with both teachers), and he has a feeling that he can't afford to step another inch out of line lest he topples down and into it.

So he nods again. "Fine," he says for emphasis.

McGonagall smiles. "Good. Saturday mornings. Run along, now. Enjoy your evenings." And she plucks her quill up from its stand and pulls a stack of scrolls onto her desk. Within seconds her attention is completely on the work in front of her, and Fred takes that as his cue to leave.

He passes you as he slips out of the doorway. He casts you a glare, which you return with gusto, arms folded across your chest. Snape sails over to McGonagall's desk and mumbles something too quiet for Fred to hear, and frankly he doesn't even care what they might be talking about. His evening–his whole month–has been ruined, just like that. With a few words, McGonagall managed to make Fred's blood boil with anger.

And for what? Potions class? He could have handled Potions on his own. Granted, he knew he was setting himself up for failure by only turning up when he felt like it and wreaking havoc when he did, but also–it's Potions. It's following a recipe and chucking some shit into a cauldron and hoping it doesn't explode.

The Fat Lady sees him coming and straightens up, face breaking into a smile. But when she spots the pure, unfiltered rage painted across his face, her eyes widen and she mutters, "Oh, dear."

"Fire salamander," Fred growls.

The Fat Lady hesitates for a moment. Fred glares at her with all the force he can muster, and she swings open her portrait, all the while muttering things like, "...not good... usually such a nice lad..."

The first one to spot him climb through the opening is his friend Lee Jordan, who gives him a cheery wave, but Fred pretends not to notice as he stomps right up to the boy's dorms and slams his door shut behind him.

A moment later, the doorknob turns and George's head peeks through the opening. His brows are knotted in worry. "Uh... you alright, mate?"

Fred mumbles something indiscernible, debating whether it's worth it to set his bedsheets on fire.

After a moment's hesitation, George slips into the room and closes the door behind him, plopping down on his own bed. "What'd McGonagall want?"

Fred sniffs, poking his pillow with his wand. Where he touches the fabric, it starts to smolder dangerously. "She took me off the bleeding team."

"What?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I'll bet my every last Knut Snape suggested it."

"Snape?" George is starting to look more confused by the second. "What does Snape have to do with this?"

"Apparently," Fred sighs dramatically, "my marks in Potions are so bloody awful that I need a tutor. And those sessions just happen to collide with Quidditch practice."

Now George is starting get angry too. "She can't just do that." But he knows just as well as Fred does that she can absolutely do that.

"On top of that, my tutor's a bloody annoying know-it-all Slytherin," he finishes, letting himself fall back onto his mattress, tapping his wand on his stomach. "This day just can't get any worse."

"Did you ask to be tutored by someone else?"

"Yeah. Got shut down immediately."

"Pricks." George curses under his breath, and Fred knows he's just as upset about the turn of events as he is. "Will you be able to do the tournament, at least?"

Fred shrugs. He doesn't really want to think about the negative of the two situations. "I guess that depends on how much I up my grades, eh?"

The both of them are silent for a while. Fred still burns little holes in his curtains, his pillow, his sheets, only vaguely realising that he'll regret it later. George is chewing on the inside of his cheek, sat on his own mattress. Then he groans and drops his head into his hands, and Fred casts him an alarmed look.

"Mate," he says. He parts his fingers so that Fred can see his eyes: they're filled with a mix of pity and anticipation. "Oliver is going to gut you."

– – –

The first tutoring lesson approaches quicker than Fred would have liked–but then again, Fred would have liked the sessions to never happen at all. He gets chewed out by Oliver Wood, as was expected, and his fellow teammates Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet refused to talk to him for the rest of the day when he made his announcement, which Fred found quite unfair. Harry just seemed to pity him, which was almost worse.

He's scowling at breakfast, poking at his eggs and bacon a little more viciously than necessary. It's barely eight o'clock. He still has some time before he's supposed to meet you in the dungeons. The mere thought makes his skin crawl: the dungeons. Where everything just reeks of Snape and his Slytherins. George is ignoring his foul mood as well, and it's probably for the best.

"So," says Ron, trying to keep a straight face (his smug smirk is still somewhat showing. Fred kind of wants to punch his little brother in the face). "First tutoring session this morning, eh?"

"That's right." Fred narrows his eyes at him. "I think I'll ask Y/N if we can brew something like Veritaserum. Or Death Potion. Or Draught of the living Death. Something I can use on you if you keep sticking your nose in my business."

"Every single one of those potions you just named is illegal," Hermione chimes in. "And even Y/N can't be that stupid."

Fred chuckles. "You'll see. Two weeks in and McGonagall's gonna realise that these sessions are useless, because I know my potions. I'm gonna be back on the team in no time." He'll show them.

And he's got a little something in mind for you, specifically.

After breakfast, he rummages around in his trunk for a while, muttering a string of curses under his breath before he finds the little box he was looking for. He stuffs it in the pockets of his robes, grabs his bag and descends towards the dungeons, throwing George a wink and a mouthed "I'll tell you later" as he hops through the Fat Lady's portrait.

He strikes up a conversation with some portraits here and there (he's on first-name terms with most of them) as he makes his way down the many stairs of Hogwarts, popping through some of the secret passages and shortcuts when he sees fit. And he's strangely excited to get to the classroom, which is a feeling he never thought he would ever associate with Potions in any way.

Then again, it isn't really the tutoring session he's excited for. No, the grin on his face and the tingling sensation in his chest has nothing to do with the fact that he's about to brew a potion he's probably brewed a million times before, and everything to do with the little box hidden in his robes.

It's the same tingling he feels every time he's about to pull a massive prank he isn't even sure he'll get away with, but you don't know that.

You're standing in front of the classroom door, reading a thin and old-looking booklet with one hand, the other one balled to a fist and pressed against your lips, eyebrows knotted and eyes narrowed in utmost concentration. Fred almost stumbles–it's something he hadn't expected to see when he rounded the corner. Though, now that he thinks about it, he doesn't really know what he'd expected; some weird and evil blood ritual perhaps.

When you spot him, you clap your booklet closed and give him a stiff nod. He can just make out the title as he draws closer: Poisons, Venoms & their Magickal Uses. Isn't that cute.

"You're early," he drawls.

"I'm on time. You're late," you point out finely.

Fred shakes his head. "Time is relative. Some famous muggle scientist said that, I think. So, naturally, it must be true."

"Let's just get this over with."

You seem to know your way around the Potions classroom, is the first thing Fred notices. You glide around and between the tables with ease. Like a bat. Like an evil sorcerer.

Plopping a cauldron on a desk and lighting a small fire beneath it, you turn around and cross your arms, levelling your gaze at him. "So. We're gonna start with something simple. I'll let you do everything and watch, and when you're done I'll tell you what you've done wrong."

"That sounds like a rotten teaching method."

"Just take out your book, Weasley."

He does so, making sure to slam it onto the desk as hard as possible. "Well, Professor L/N, what are we brewing today?"

"You're making Pepperup," you say. "Page fifty-three."

Fred frowns. "I did that in class two years ago."

"Page fifty-three, Weasley."

"Merlin, you sound so much like Snape," he groans, flicking the book open to page fifty-three. "This is insulting."

"Oh yeah? How so?"

"This is such a simple potion. I don't have any problems with making them–"

"Then why are you here?"

"Because," he says, slamming his hands down on the desk and leaning forward, "your Head of House is a bloody git." Without one more word he spins on his heel and makes his way towards the supply closet, book in hand as he swiftly selects the ingredients.

"You can make multiple trips, you know," you say dryly when he sails back, his arms loaded with little bottles.

Fred narrows his eyes. "If you could shut up whilst I work, that'd be great."

So he sets to work, quickly cutting and grinding ingredients to a fine powder, only stopping every once in a while to quickly read the protocol's next few steps. The liquid in his cauldron starts to smoke softly, and you follow the smoke with your eyes, looking somewhat unimpressed. Fred bites his tongue to not lash out.

What was McGonagall thinking, putting a Slytherin and a Gryffindor in the same room for multiple hours a week? She must have known it could only end in disaster; the two students flying at each other's throats. The tension in the room is palpable. He's sure you can feel it too: your shoulders are drawn up and taut, like you're ready to attack or defend, depending on who makes the first move.

He watches your every movement out of the corner of his eye, ready for when you'll inevitably pull out your wand and try to hex him. But you only sit back and sigh, then fold your arms, then unfold them again. When you reach forward he tenses, but you only grab a leaf of peppermint and crush it in the palm of your hand. The pleasant, spicy smell wafts through the dungeons. Fred catches himself inhaling deeply.

"Eyes on the cauldron," you tell him, and his gaze snaps forward–he's just in time to fish out some colourless leaf-skeletons before they dissolve.

After quickly going over the entire recipe one last time to check if he didn't accidentally skip any steps, he puts down his stirring spoon and steps away from the cauldron. "Well?"

You peek into the swirling liquid, arms crossed over your chest. "It looks a little dark," you say finally. A little grudgingly. Fred internally gives himself a little pat on the back. "But it needs to simmer for a bit before we'll really be able to tell, anyway."

Yeah, yeah. Make yourself feel better, or whatever.

"In the meantime," you add, gesturing to Fred's workspace, "you can tell me what the hell's going on here."

Fred's eyes flick down. His cutting board is stained red, messily cut leaves and roots and fly's wings litter every inch of the desk surface around it. Lids are still screwed off jars, some of them even screwed on the wrong jars–there's potion splattering all around his cauldron and some–damn it–on his robes.

He puts on his most intimidating scowl. "Looks fine to me."

You don't seem fazed. "It's a mess. You're lucky I only got you to work with harmless ingredients. Had this potion been even a tad bit more complicated–had you needed to work with Acromantula venom or Scorpionfish stingers or Belladonna extract or something you could have seriously hurt yourself." You're glaring at him now, and Fred's a little taken aback by it.

"Well, thanks for the concern, but even I am not stupid enough to just leave poison or deadly stingers lying around," he assures you.

You briefly close your eyes and mutter something that sounds suspiciously like Someone hex me. Fred has to resist the urge to volunteer. "Clean it up," is all you say in the end before spinning around, marching to a shelf on the other side of the room, pulling out a heavy book and cracking it open on your knee.

"Clean it up," Fred repeats mockingly, mumbling a string of rather creative insults under his breath as he sweeps the floor and scrubs the table. The stains don't go away with water and soap, so he mutters a deep-clean spell and watches them disappear in the blink of an eye. When he's done, he quickly casts you a look, but you're still absorbed in your reading, and he isn't going to be the one to announce he's finished cleaning. He's not twelve.

So he plops back down on his stool, drops his chin in his hands and gazes out into the void, every once in a while casting a glance at the bubbling potion next to him. How long was that thing supposed to simmer for, anyway?

It's silent, and Fred isn't used to silence. He doesn't like it, but he guesses it's better than having you chirp your annoying comments in his ear every five seconds.

He's so worked up that he almost forgets about the little box he's been carrying with him since this morning.

He immediately perks up. "Y/N."

After a few moments, you look up from your book. "Yeah?"

Fred sails over to where you're sat, trying not to grin too much. "I just wanted to apologise for how I've been acting. Real immature, you know."

Something like suspicion sparks in your eyes, but it almost instantly dies down again. Your expression softens a fraction. "Ah. Well, thanks. Apology accepted."

"Right, but–I brought you something anyway." He takes out the box with a flourish and offers it to you. "A peace offering, if you will."

Slowly, you accept it, then pull off the lid gently as if you're expecting it to be a venomous snake or something. When you register the box's contents, you give a little sigh. "Sweets."

"I hope you like nougat."

"Well, thanks. That's nice of you." You seem to hesitate for only a second before selecting a small block of nougat and popping it in your mouth. "Let's take a look at that potion then, eh?"

Fred's almost skipping as you return to his cauldron. You stare pensively into the brew, but your eyes are unfocused. You give your head a little shake. "Um..."

Fred innocently clears his throat. "Yes?"

Then the first dribble of blood drips from your nose. And out of the other nostril. Your eyes widen and your hand comes up to brush the blood away, and Fred is giggling internally.

"Uh," he says dryly, "you're bleeding."

You shoot him a furious look, pinching your nose to prevent the blood from flowing. "Potion's too thick," you snap. "And way too dark. Useless. Probably poison." And at once, Fred's scowl is back.

But then blood starts to seep from your ears as well and you groan in pain, and that's when Fred realises he may have made a mistake.

Your face starts to go red. Tears well up in your eyes and you stumble, having to let go of your nose to grab hold of the tabletop so you don't fall. Blood gushes from your nose and into your mouth and you cough. Fred's heart skips a beat. That wasn't supposed to happen.

He reaches out, tries to grab hold of your arms, but you bat him away with surprising force. "Don't touch me," you choke out. And Fred can't even blame you.

You stumble from table to table as you try to make your way to the classroom door. Your hands leave bloody prints wherever they touch any surface, and a trail of blood follows you out of the classroom. Fred watches you go, alone in a classroom that looks like a Muggle crime scene.

"You did what?" George hisses, eyes wide and face pale, when Fred tells him about the prank-gone-wrong. His hair is windswept and his robes are dirty from Quidditch practice, and a sharp pang of longing bursts in Fred's chest.

"They weren't supposed to do that!" he hisses back, restlessly prodding at his food. You didn't show up at lunch today. He spent his whole lunch shooting nervous looks at the Slytherin tables, hoping to see you sit there amongst your classmates, but your usual bench stays empty. At one point, he meets the gaze of a boy he recognises as being one of your friends. The Slytherin guy holds up his middle finger, but not in a particularly vicious way–more a 'this is what we're supposed to be like' way.

"Those were prototypes, Fred. Prototypes. You had no right–"

Fred cuts him off with a warning look, then discreetly nods in Ron's direction, whose ears go red and who quickly turns around to Harry and Hermione's conversation about the Charms homework they'd been given.

"You had no right," George continues, voice lower this time, "to feed those sweets to someone–to someone who didn't even know what they were." He seems genuinely upset. "We don't harm people, Freddie. Not when they don't deserve it."

"How do you know Y/N didn't deserve it?" Fred mumbles, although he knows his brother is right.

George scoffs. "From what you've told me, Y/N didn't seem to have asked for this either. They take time out of their day to tutor you in a subject you're failing and the first thing you do is poison them?"

Fred winces: George is right. Of course he's right.

"Look, mate. I get that you're pissed off about this whole tutoring situation, I really do. But don't take it out on Y/N."

"You keep talking as if Y/N's completely innocent," Fred mutters. "Sounds like you're picking them over me."

George looks like he wants to kick him. "You're not serious. Fred. You cannot actually be serious–"

"Y/N's a Slytherin! How do you know they hadn't something similar planned for me, eh? I simply took matters into my own hands."

"By poisoning them?"

"You make it sound like they're dying. They're probably fine."

"You told me there was blood gushing from their nose and ears–"

"Yeah, but they also got to the hospital wing on their own. Besides, we tested those prototypes on ourselves too. They're not lethal."

"They work differently on everyone," George groans. "I thought we'd said we wouldn't use them on anyone until we were sure of the formula."

Fred folds his arms, casting yet another glance at the Slytherin table. You're still absent. "I won't do it again."

"You better not. I'm not covering for you if McGonagall finds out," George tells him before standing up. "Moron." He snatches up his gloves and walks over to the Great Hall entrance, where Angelina and Katie are waiting for him. Only Katie gives Fred a small wave.

Fred lowers his head into his hands and lets out a long, agonising sigh.

He's been jittery all morning, and he thought he could relieve his nerves by pranking you. But that prank went sideways, didn't it? You're probably in the hospital wing at this very moment, plotting your revenge.

There's another thing Fred doesn't understand. Surely, your friends went to look for you when you didn't show up for lunch, or they already knew what had happened to you. And surely, the first thing you would have told them was that it was Fred who was responsible. He didn't have a great reputation amongst Slytherins in the first place, so he had no doubt that as soon as they found out he'd gone after one of their own they would retaliate tenfold.

But nothing's happened yet, and it's making Fred nervous.

He'd caught a few Slytherin's eyes when he was having lunch. And sure, they all glared at him or made some obscene gesture, but that wasn't any different from usual. Malfoy was talking animatedly with his cronies on one end of the table, and the older students sat huddled together on the other. But none of them seemed particularly worried, or angry. Which Fred still finds eerie and strange.

Even as he stands up and walks out of the Great Hall–alone, a perfect target–nobody follows him. Nobody even so much as looks at him.

And so Fred can only really draw one conclusion: they don't know. They don't know that he was the one to poison you. Which in itself raises one big question: why wouldn't you have told them? It makes no sense.

He doesn't go back to the Gryffindor common room, instead veering off and out into the surrounding Castle grounds. Maybe he'll help Hagrid out for a while. He needs to clear his head.

As he hops down the steps two at a time, he can't help but cast a glance up in the direction of the hospital wing. He doesn't make out anything interesting or useful, of course; the windows are tiny and way too high up, but Fred wonders if you're alright anyway. He wonders if you're recovering well: the nougat may not have been lethal, but the effects certainly looked pretty nasty. He hopes the damage isn't permanent.

He just wanted to have fun. And even if you're a Slytherin, he grudgingly has to admit that this whole situation got way out of hand.

It's late and dark when Fred finally slips onto his seat at the Gryffindor table. Dinner's already in full swing, and McGonagall threw him a sharp look over pursed lips when he stalked through the Hall's entrance. He could almost hear her voice tell him You're late. Then, randomly, another voice joins the mix. I'm on time. You're late. He shakes his head with a frown, dispels the voices.

"Why are you wet?" Ron asks with his mouth full.

Fred shoots him an unimpressed look. "I was visiting the giant squid in her lake. We had tea and biscuits." He rolls his eyes. "It's raining outside, genius." He pulls out his wand and mutters a drying spell before reaching over Ron's plate. "Pass the potatoes."

"Why were you out so late?"

"Jeez, Ron, you sound like Mum. It's Saturday, can a bloke have some fun?" He knows he's being evasive, but in truth he went to see Hagrid for only a bit, then spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the school grounds, setting random fallen branches on fire and immediately extinguishing them. Just alone with his thoughts.

He quickly glances over to the Slytherin table: you're not there. He's pictured your face so often since this morning that he knows he would have spotted you at once if you were.

So you're still in the hospital wing. Still recovering from something that should have lasted barely two minutes. For the very first time, Fred's stomach twists with guilt.

– – –

Fred's socked feet are silent on the carpet as he gently swings open the Fat Lady's portrait, grimacing when the hinges creak. The noise seems to resonate around the hallway and he freezes, hoping the Fat Lady doesn't wake up: he knows he's in for a scolding when he comes back, but right now he prays silently that everyone stays asleep. They do, and he hops through the opening and quickly closes it.

He should have brought a jumper or something. The night air is freezing, and he finds himself rubbing up and down his arms as he makes his way to the hospital wing, ducking through as many secret passages as he can to avoid being caught by Filch: he really doesn't need more hours of detention on top of everything.

This isn't Fred's first late-night escapade, and the castle's layout is so familiar by now that he moves through the halls with a swiftness and speed that most students don't even have in the daytime. He glances out at the clear sky when he passes a window. The stars peek out and greet him in return.

The doors blocking the entrance to the hospital wing are enormous and heavy–and locked, so Fred pulls out his wand and taps the doorknob. "Alohomora." The lock clicks and he gently, carefully, presses down on the handle and opens the door–

As soon as he steps through, the tip of a wand presses against the side of his throat and Fred's eyes go wide as his fingers tighten around his own, and a wave of panic grips his chest–but then the wand is lowered, and a hoarse voice sighs and says, "It's you."

Fred whips around. You're standing behind him, hospital gown hanging limply around your frame. Goosebumps cover every inch of your exposed skin and your bare feet are planted firmly on the cold tiles. Now, you shove your wand back into your front pocket and cross your arms. "What are you doing here?"

And somehow, the first thing that comes out of Fred's mouth is, "You should be resting."

You scoff. "As if you care whether I'm resting. You're the reason I'm here in the first place, remember?" But you stalk back to your bed and drop onto the mattress, pulling the covers around your shoulders. Fred doesn't move, suddenly unsure of what to say. You glare at him. "If you're just here to stare at me, go away."

"No, no, I'm not," he says quickly. "That would be creepy."

You raise your eyebrows at him, as if to say, Well? Get on with it.

"I wanted to apologise."

You sniff, briefly touching a finger to your nose. "Like you wanted to apologise this morning?"

Fred winces. "No. I genuinely want to apologise this time." He clasps his hands in front of him. "I'm sorry for acting like a stupid git. And I'm sorry for poisoning you." Short but sweet.

You nod, lips pursed. "No gift this time?" you ask after a slightly uncomfortable pause.

"Uh..." he grins hesitantly. "Did you want a gift?"

"No. I'll never trust anything you give me ever again. But the gesture would have been appreciated." You softly punch your thigh, then look back up at him. "Thanks for apologising."

Fred allows himself a real grin this time. He drops down onto the far end of your bed. You still look at him with a weary sort of caution, and though it stings a bit he knows he deserves it. "I had a question."

Your fingers close around the handle of your wand and you start fiddling with it. It's a nervous habit Fred knows well. "Okay."

He nods. "Okay. Right. So." He presses the palms of his hands together, shoots you a careful look. "You're a Slytherin, yes?"

"That seems to be the case," you say dryly.

"Right. And, well, as you might know, there's been this rivalry going on between the Slytherin and Gryffindor Houses for ages."

You nod. "I'm aware."

Fred nods too, puckering his lips, wondering how best to phrase what he wants to say. "So, what I did to you–it would have been the perfect reason for a full-out war. Like, I know that if a Slytherin were to poison a Gryffindor I'd be the first one to retaliate in some way." Fred waits for a bit, but you're staring off into space and not answering, so he presses on. "I was alone all day and I didn't even see a single Slytherin. Why aren't they coming for me en masse?"

You're silent for a few moments. You refuse to meet Fred's eyes. "Because," you finally say, "as far as anyone but you and me are concerned, you didn't poison me. I poisoned myself."

Fred's eyebrows shoot up. "'Scuse me?"

"Yeah. I screwed up a potion and then, unknowingly, drank it."

A beat of silence passes. Fred's jaw drops. "They bought that?"

"They kept pressing on for a while, but I kept insisting, and, you know. Madam Pomfrey owes me because I brew, like, half of her basic medicine supply. So she doesn't ask too many questions. As long as I don't screw up any of her potions." You shrug. "It's fine."

Fred wants to grab your shoulders and shake you. "No–Y/N. It is absolutely not fine. Why would you do that?"

Again, you shrug, a little awkwardly. "Well. Like you said: Slytherin would never let such a personal attack go, and it just didn't seem worth it to me. Like, it would just get messy, and we would end up with nothing but more victims on both sides, and I don't want that." Your voice is tinged with bitterness. "The houses are divided enough as is."

Fred rubs the fabric of his night robes absent-mindedly. "That is..."

"Nice of me? It is. You better thank me for not signing your death sentence, Weasley."

"Alright, L/N, let's not get too ahead of ourselves," Fred says, but he's grinning again. "No, but really. I just always thought..."

"That because I'm a Slytherin I must be evil scum?"

For a moment, Fred is speechless. Just a moment. "Well–"

"Cunning, ambition, leadership and resourcefulness," you recite, eyes fiery. "Those are the traits that make me a Slytherin. Just because we have a loud little git like Malfoy in our house doesn't mean we're all like that."

"Right," Fred says, voice a little breathless. His heart skips a beat and he blinks in surprise. It's just–your eyes. Wow.

You've pulled your knees up to your chest, and you're looking out of the window right above your bare nightstand. "He has a big mouth, is all," you mutter. "A big mouth and the shittiest father in the history of fathers. I've tried to get him to come around, you know. But every time it looks like I'm making progress he'll get a letter from home and I'll be back to square one."

Fred frowns. "It's not up to you to educate ignorants like Malfoy."

You turn your eyes back on him. They glint fiercely, but there's also something like fatigue, brewing just beneath the surface. "Someone has to."

"Yeah, but it shouldn't be you," he insists.

With a sigh, you drop your chin in your hands, staring blankly at the wall. "I'm just tired of people assuming I'm like him just because we share a house."

"I don't think you're like Malfoy," Fred blurts before he can stop himself. "I mean–if it were Malfoy I'd poisoned on accident, I wouldn't feel bad about it for a second. Nor would I come check on them at two in the morning." As if on cue, you stifle a yawn.

"That's reassuring," you say dryly, but Fred notices the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

It's silent for a moment longer, then Fred remembers with a start that Hey, he should technically definitely not be here right now, and if he gets caught he will be in huge trouble. "You know what–Y/N–I'll be off. To, y'know. The tower."

You give him a smug smile, and Fred's heart does that weird somersault again. "Sounds like a great plan."

Fred spins on his heel–and at the last second whirls back around, because he just realised that he hadn't even asked the question he came here to ask in the first place. "Oh. Yes. One last thing."

"Yes?"

Fred bites his lip. "Are you okay? Like, physically? Does it still hurt?"

A giggle falls past your lips. Fred's fairly certain he's never heard a giggle quite so cute. "I'm fine. It kept bleeding for a while, so I have to take this–" you point to a red bottle on your nightstand Fred hadn't noticed before– "but Madam Pomfrey insisted I stay the night anyway. I barely feel anything anymore. I'm doing okay."

"Okay." Fred grins. "That's good. Yes." He makes a vague hand gesture. "So, I'll see you Saturday?"

You nod. "Saturday."

He's grinning the next day, and George shakes his head in confusion when his sole explanation for his good mood is a shrug. "You are so weird."

But the truth is that he's actually starting to look forward to the tutoring sessions he spends with you, now. The first few went a little stiffly, neither of you really able to incorporate every shocking thing that you'd told each other that night in the hospital wing into your daily lives. It still seemed a little surreal, like it all happened in a dream. So he isn't surprised when, the first few times you see each other after that, you're the tiniest bit apprehensive.

"You know," you tell him in the fourth session, "what hurts the most? It's that when people say Slytherin they could just as well mean evil. Or dark magic. Or–Death Eater, or something. We have to work extra hard to get recognised when we do something good."

Fred keeps quiet as he gently stirs his potion, counting the revolutions in his head. Seven clockwise, twelve counter-clockwise. Repeat five times.

"It's a little sad, I think. That the good is so easily overshadowed by the bad."

"I guess it's just–" Fred switches stirring hands– "we're so conditioned to think that Slytherin equals evil. Even our parents are guilty of it too: like, my entire family has been sorted into Gryffindor, you know. And I was so nervous that I wouldn't be. Like, getting sorted into Slytherin was eleven-year-old me's worst nightmare." He casts you an apologetic glance. "No offense."

"And I get where it comes from. You know, with You-Know-Who being a Slytherin and all... so I get it," you sniff. "But you know who else was a Slytherin? Merlin himself. And nobody talks about that."

Fred raises an eyebrow. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah. A few weeks after the sorting ceremony, and I understood that not everyone was too keen on Slytherins, I basically locked myself into the library and spent an entire day researching famous Slytherins. It's surprising, really, that so much of our history has just been thrown away for the sake of one evil bloke. I could name ten individual evil Gryffindors or Ravenclaws. But I guess that compared to You-Know-Who, they're not as evil."

Fred ducks his head down to try and hide the grin that formed on his face when hearing you refer to You-Know-Who as 'one evil bloke'. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm glad you told me."

You smile. "If I can change your mind about Slytherins, I can change anyone's mind, right?"

Fred grins back. "I guess so."

You meet his eyes, and almost subconsciously Fred holds his breath. The tension in the room grows thicker, but this time it isn't bad tension, isn't hostile tension. His cheeks heat up. Should he say something? He wants to say something, be it only to dispel the strange heaviness in the air.

Then your eyes flick down to the cauldron and you pull a face, almost bounding forward and grabbing his hand, stilling it. "Alright, that's enough stirring I think. Stay concentrated, would you?" But you're close, and your hand is still holding his, and he can smell the lemony scent of your hair, and his head is swimming.

"Sorry," he says sheepishly. "Did I ruin it?"

"No, it's fine, I don't think it's unsalvageable." You shoo him away and pluck the stirring spoon from his hand, muttering something unintelligible under your breath as you peer down the brown potion. "I've made this potion a billion times for Madam Pomfrey, I've had to fix worse than this."

Watching you work is almost mesmerising. The precision and speed with which you cut the tiniest of roots or leaves, the confidence that radiates from every pore of your being as you firmly chuck the fresh ingredients into the swirling draught, or gently and precisely pour a strange white powder into the mix of which Fred didn't even know the existence–he suddenly feels like an idiot for ever making fun of you. You're in your element. This is what you should be doing for the rest of your life.

"What's the hardest potion you've ever made?"

You look up at him, then quickly look back down at your work. You bite your lower lip, hesitating. "Well," you begin, "I did–I made Felix Felicis, once. Took me ages to get all the ingredients together, and I actually had to smuggle some of them in because most of them aren't even allowed in Hogwarts. And then it took me, like, four tries to get it right, and I had to fireproof my bed and trunk, and I almost blew a hole in the wall. So I'd probably say that's the hardest potion I've ever made."

Fred slowly begins to grin. "Isn't Felix Felicis illegal to make?"

You flash him a crooked smile. Fred's heart skips a beat. "It's illegal for non-certified students to make. I was in fourth year at the time, and I lost a bet, so."

"Did you use it?"

"Nah. I kept a little bottle for myself, then gave the rest away."

Fred blinks. "Why would you give away liquid luck?"

You shrug, adding a minuscule amount of what looks like sugar to the potion. Immediately it sizzles and turns a lighter shade of brown, and you sigh in contentment. "Finally." With a flick of your wand, two big glass bottles appear on the desk in front of you, and another flick later the potion is safely stored inside. "I don't know," you finally answer, hands clasped in front of you. "I just figured there were people who needed it more than me. Also, had Malfoy or one of his cronies found out I was storing liquid luck in my trunk... I don't even want to think about the consequences."

"Right." Fred's still trying to process everything you've told him. "And you said you lost a bet?"

"Well, yeah."

"What the hell was the bet?"

Again you show that lopsided smile. "My friend said that he could get away with bribing Peeves to barge into the Potions classroom when we were all taking a test to the point where we'd have to take it again. I said he couldn't."

Fred remembers that day with a shock. He had been taking the same test, and high-fived Peeves when he finally barreled out of the classroom. Snape had announced that the test would have to be postponed, to the great joy of every student. "That was you?"

"Well, my friend. But yeah, in a sense, that was also me."

"Jeez. Remind me to never get on your bad side." He says it jokingly, but the truth is that his heart has completely lost its mind, and he knows there's really no hope for him now.

The days go by as all days go by–except Fred tries to see you as often as possible, even outside of tutoring. He reconciles with his friends and teammates, George eventually figures out that he's starting to genuinely like you (and maybe feel something more than that) and Fred has to threaten him not tell anyone. You offer to walk him to class one day, and he feels like he might die on the spot–so, you know, regular days.

It's a Thursday evening when he's having dinner and he can't spot you sitting at your table. Immediately worry seizes his chest, because the last time you missed a meal was because you were in the hospital wing. So he throws little inconspicuous glances towards your bench every now and then whilst trying to keep a conversation going with Angelina and George, even though he knows the latter has noticed something's wrong.

He nervously bounces his leg, mentally going over all the possible reasons why you wouldn't be here and all the possible places where you might be. He's so lost in thought that he doesn't realise someone's behind him until you put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He whirls around, voice a little high-pitched when he says, "Y/N! Hi." George is looking down at his plate and trying to keep a straight face. Fred kicks him underneath the table.

"Hey," you smile. "Uh–is this a bad time? You look pale."

"Oh, no, no." He tries to discreetly wipe the nervous sweat off his palms, cursing internally. You reduce him to a blubbering mess, and there's nothing he can do about it. "No, it's fine. What's up?"

"Okay," you nod slowly, not looking entirely convinced; Fred can't even blame you. It's the first time you catch him so off-guard. "Well, I just came by to say that Saturday's session is off."

Fred deflates. He shouldn't; he should be happy about it, but these sessions are pretty much the only time he can really talk to you without distractions. "Oh. Why?"

An excited (and slightly smug) grin lights up your face. "Well, you know–the Quidditch match? It's Gryffindor against Slytherin. I talked to McGonagall and–well–she agreed to let you play it."

The words take a moment to process. When they do, it's like Fred inflates again and the expression on his face must be nothing short of comical, because you burst into laughter at the sight of it. "Seriously?!"

"Yeah. I told her what a wonderful student you'd been. A real pleasure to tutor, and everything. She looked at your marks and then said okay, so... Here we are."

"Yeah. Uh, right. Thank you," he mutters. He must be the shade of a tomato by now, he thinks off-handedly. Oh, George will never let him live this down.

You shrug, as if to say, Ah, it's nothing. But it isn't nothing, and when you pad over to the Slytherin table on the other side of the Hall Fred watches you go, completely speechless, before throwing up his hands and letting out a loud whoop.

"Well," Angelina sniffs, inspecting her nails, "I guess they're not too bad. For a Slytherin."

Dinner passes in a flurry of sound and movement. Fellow students pat him on the back and congratulate him when they pass. Oliver Wood exhales a heavy sigh of relief and says, "Thank fuck for that." Harry gives him a big thumbs up. Ron merely rolls his eyes but mutters, with his mouth full, Good for you, so Fred can't really be mad at him

But really, Fred can't wait until dinner is over, because there are some things he wants to say to you still.

And then he spots you leaving your table and sailing out of the Great Hall. He casts a semi-apologetic look at his brother, who rolls his eyes and practically kicks him off his bench. "Go on then, moron. Go get 'em." Fred holds up his middle finger in return, but can't hide the huge grin tugging at his lips.

"Y/N! Wait up!" You stop and let him catch up to you, arms folded and an eyebrow raised in amusement.

"Shouldn't you be zipping around on your broomstick by now?" you tease, picking up where you left off and making your way towards the library. Fred knows you're going to the library, because after dinner you almost always go to the library.

"Probably. I wanted to talk to you first. Properly thank you, and everything."

You laugh softly. "You don't have to."

"You want me to, though."

"Yeah, I do."

"Thank you."

You poke an elbow into his side. "You're welcome, Weasley."

Fred walks by your side, silent for a moment. "You're coming on Saturday, right?"

"Of course I am."

"Are you gonna be cheering for me?"

You make a pained tutting sound. "Sorry. House loyalty, you know."

"Can't you poison Malfoy so he can't play? That would really help us out."

"What is it with you and poisoning?" you laugh. "I don't think that's such a good idea. Besides, I don't think my house would be very happy with me if I did that. Even though he does deserve it."

"Come on. You know you want to."

"How would I even get close enough to administer it? How would I make sure he never knows it's me so he can't rat me out? Nah, I'd never get away with it."

"Not with that attitude. You could do it."

"Shut up," you groan, but your eyes are sparkling.

"I'm serious! Wanna bet?"

"Ha. You're not trapping me like that." You run your fingers along a windowsill, but your eyes are distant. Fred can tell there's something you want to say.

And then, very suddenly, "Einstein."

Fred blinks. "Excuse me?"

"You know, when you said 'Time is relative' and you said it was a muggle scientist who said it. Well, that muggle scientist's name was Einstein. He's actually pretty interesting–"

Fred can't help himself. He guesses it's a few months' worth of built-up tension that he can't bear anymore. The fluttering in his chest whenever he looks at you or hears your voice that he can't resist anymore. The little comment about Einstein that must have been playing over and over in your mind for weeks that you finally just let slip out and that is so completely you that he finally snaps.

Whatever it is, before he can properly consider himself he's cupped your chin with his hands and pressed his lips to yours. Your eyes widen and you stiffen in surprise for just a split second before completely melting against him, your fingers running up his neck and into his hair and Fred thinks that he just might be going crazy.

It's green and red finally colliding; two enemies deciding that they can do better. Fred wonders in the back of his mind if he should thank Snape.

There's something giddy about the kiss, he'll think later. Something that screams, Finally. Something that tells him that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

You're the first to pull away, breathing hard, pupils dilated. And then you press a hand against his chest with a grin, and Fred feels like he's going to explode.

"Your heart's pounding," you whisper, voice hoarse.

Fred winds his arms around your waist and pulls you closer, closer still, and kisses your smiling lips again.

"Does this mean you're going to cheer for me, Saturday?" he mutters against your lips, and you pull back with a giddy laugh.

"Watch it, Weasley." But you run your fingers through his hair and your eyes are filled with a softness that makes Fred weak in the knees.

He pulls away fully now, though every inch of his body longs to be near yours again. Lacing his fingers through yours, he nods towards the end of the corridor, behind which he knows is the library entrance. "C'mon. I'll walk you."

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #hp fred weasley #fred weasley fic #fred weasley imagine #fred x reader #hp fred x reader #fred weasley hp

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tabbyrp · 3 years

Note

🎤 for a trope filled drabble

[x] [x] [x]

“Hey. Hey.” Persistence earned Tabby a single glance of acknowledgement. “My nose itches. I don’t suppose you could, like, untie me for two minutes so I can scratch it.”

Despite unleashing all of her charms, with big sad eyes in the mix, their captors remained unmoved. Sighing, Tabby slumped back against the wall.

“Which trick was that?” From a similar position beside her, with hands bound at the back by a thick white zip tie, Corinne merely sounded curious. Not afraid or quivering, as any normal person might be during an armed robbery gone sour. “Was that the ‘annoy the bad guys so they leave’ tactic, or ‘humanize their victims’.”

“Option three. My nose is really itchy.” Several years of hopping from one tropical island to the next had darkened the freckles upon Tabby’s face, and the marks bunched in as her nose wrinkled for emphasis. “Besides. Today is already enough of an epic fail. I’m not going to pretend to be a big damn hero. I am going to sit here and wait until these dudes and their showdown with the local law enforcement comes to its natural conclusion.”

To call the past few hours eventful was an understatement. The plan had been for a quick layover, swapping of boats, and on to the next destination. Easy. Something they’d done time and again. Except today the boat seller suddenly decided he didn’t want local currency. He wanted US dollars, forcing Corinne and Tabby to detour to the local bank. Barely two seconds after joining the queue for the sole open teller, the men with guns had come bursting in.

“Do you think we got set up?” Amid the panicked screams from the other customers, Tabby hissed the question in Cory’s ear. Her friend merely gave a resigned sigh.

“Honestly, Tabs, I can’t even tell anymore if it’s bad guys out to get us, or just bad luck.”

Maybe the robbers were having a rough time too. If the whole bank heist was designed around stealing the sizable lump sum Tabby had been hoisting around in a duffel bag, the criminal masterminds had neglected to dole out appropriate bribes. The police had come squealing up right as the bank teller withdrew the last note from the till, her hands shaking so hard the money resembled the blur of a humming bird’s wings.

Half an hour in, nerves had settled into stillness. From the ceiling, three-blade fans kept their slow rotation, filling the silence with a steady hum, if doing little to actually keep the air circulating. Beads of sweat dripped down exposed skin. Corinne’s loose cotton shirt clung where damp patches grew, and Tabby fared no better. She regretted wearing white, even with an old bikini beneath. Their captors wore masks, the cheap plastic Halloween type with elastic over the ears. Lion was the leader. Dog paced around nervously and then there was Devil. When that flame red visage turned towards Tabby and Cory, her gut twisted into knots. It was a relief each time he rotated out of the main room, sweeping over the rear with his assault rifle cocked from the hip.

More time ticked by. Lion took a phone call from the negotiator, ending with the handset being slammed down, causing a few nervous jumps. Dog and Devil swapped their positions, leaving Tabby’s favorite Devil looming over where the hostages sat in a messy row. Of the several people unfortunate enough to have been in the bank at the portent hour, Tabby and Cory stood out as the obvious tourists. Maybe that was enough to draw Devil’s attention. Maybe he was restless. Or maybe their lack of fear provoked him.

Devil breached the distance his compatriots had maintained. Empty eyes locked onto the two women, daring them to respond when he dragged the tip of his rifle over the hems of their shorts. Their silence proved insufficient, and he dug into Tabby’s thigh, metal pushing through denim, speaking for the first time as he detailed with French’s usually luscious vocabulary what played through his imagination.

Even while Tabby’s stomach rolled violently, she simply lifted her chin in defiance. “Je t'emmerde, connard.”

Devil pulled back his gun, flipping the direction. Tabby tracked the shift in muscles and angles, knowing he intended to smack the butt of the rifle right in her face, and there was nowhere to dodge.

Except, Corinne was faster. The thugs had only bound their hands and Cory’s heel shot out, getting Devil right in the knee cap. “Stay away from her.” Even through the language barrier, the woman’s fire burned bright, the yell echoing from wall to wall. Devil stumbled back a step before recovering, taking Corinne by the collar and hoisting her upright, just to slam her back into the unforgiving concrete of the wall. It must have hurt her friend, and she hated it, but Tabby still took her chance to aim for the man’s shins, getting in one good, distracting blow. The commotion forced Lion to leave his post at the counter before mayhem could complately break out. Rapid French passed back and forth between the men, too colloquial for Tabby to completely follow. Dog returned from the rear, head cocked as if trying to catch up on what he missed.

Devil was gesturing wildly, furious, with the Lion trying to pacify him. The subordinate angrily shook off his leader’s grip, making what sounded like a suggestion to take the two women to another room, when Dog lifted his rifle. Bang. Bang. Two shots and both Devil and Lion slumped motionless to the ground.

One of the hostages began to scream. Then another. Cory merely turned to give Dog the space to slash a knife through her restraints. The blade swapped hands while Tabby clambered to her feet, Corinne freeing her friend of the ziptie while Dog hustled over to where the robbers had piled the money. He stayed low and moved fast, grabbing the duffle bag that Tabby had originally carried into the bank, then nodding for the women to follow him.

Corinne paused only long enough to tell the other hostages to stay down, to wait for the police to come bursting in, with better French than Tabby possessed. Tabby herself was already making a move, following Dog out the door to the back corridor. Inside, the original Dog lay sprawled across the floor, his naked body pointed towards the ceiling, his chest unmoving.

“C’mon. This way.” Dog – or rather, Aaron Cross, - gestured down another corridor into an office designed for some level of management. Whoever it was felt they deserved air conditioning, even if the main rooms did not, and a vent hatch to the pipes hung open. Without needing a prompt, Tabby let Aaron hoist her up, her small fingers finding the ladder he had prepared so they could all get the hell out of there.

Once outside, Aaron dropped the canine mask onto the dusty road, leaving it to rot while they walked back towards the boats, shucking a layer of the original Dog’s clothing along the way. “Did you know I was already inside when you began to cause that ruckus?” As the two women exchanged glances, he let out a sigh. “I guess not.”

“Hey, before you give a lecture. One, they were assholes and deserved it. And two….” Tabby waggled a finger before quickening her pace, giving Corinne some privacy to thank Aaron in her own way. “I knew our own personal big-damn-hero would come to save the day.”

#corinnebaileyrp #thanks Cory #set in the immortal verse of #when the lights went out #meme reply

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arigatouiris · 4 years

Text

hushed feelings // kuroo tetsuroo x reader

Author’s Note: Alright, normally I’d write something flirty for my favorite boi Tetsu but I’ve been feeling down lately and I really craved for some Soulmate AU so here we have it. Hope ya’ll like this~

Word count: 4376

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuroo x Depressed! Reader [Soulmate AU]

Warnings: depressive themes, angst, mentions of drugs, abusive households, wow this is dark (fluffy end?)

Ever since Kuroo Tetsuro could remember walking, he had been certain that he had no soulmate.

It wasn’t because he didn’t believe in them, or because he didn’t like the idea of them, Kuroo never really held any malice toward the idea or principle of soulmates—it’s just that unlike the rest of the population, he just couldn’t feel them.

It is said that soulmates can feel each other’s deepest feelings—especially when it got extreme. For instance, extreme joy or sorrow, or anger or jealousy, could be instantly recognized by the other—and it is only when the soulmates touch skin-to-skin for the first time does this ‘stop’ or in other words, sync together. It was perhaps the universe’s way of saying ‘you’re not alone’ or a mockery from the universe saying, ‘you’re not alone, but you’re never going to find them’.

However, for Kuroo, things were different. People usually start feeling their better half’s emotions by the time they’re 10 or 11 years old. Sometimes, it can take up to when a person reaches 15 or 16. Kuroo was currently 17 years old. And not once in his entire life did he feel someone else’s emotions. He wondered if the person had some kind of mental disorder where they can’t process or feel extreme emotions; he wondered if the other person could feel his own emotions—feelings of joy or anger, because he was certain that he had moments when he couldn’t contain himself.

On most days, Kuroo felt absolutely alone—wondering if he was one of the several sad folk that’s born without a soulmate, because he was just meant to dig through the earth by himself.

However, he wasn’t the sort to feel unhappy over something like this. At least, not externally. He’d notice when Yaku would walk into the gym feeling rather obliviously happy or when Kenma just felt lower than usual—and he’d think of how each of these people have someone waiting for them, to meet one day. On most days, he just felt anger—over everything, wondering if this entire soulmate fiasco was unfair; not allowing people to meet whoever they wanted, fall in love with no strings attached. The complications of the universe angered him, but the helplessness made it worse.

Walking into practice one evening, he noticed his team huddled over the corner—around something. There were a bunch of girls and a crying Yamamoto, standing in the distance. Kuroo blinked before walking over there, curious as to what had occurred.

He saw you, laying there, unconscious.

“What—” Kuroo’s face contorted into that of extreme panic, then turning to Yamamoto, he waited, “—happened?

“I swear! I didn’t see her! It was as if she wasn’t even there! I would never spike on a girl on purpose!”

That much is true, Kuroo thought before looking at you, peacefully out of it, before sighing and picking you up. As captain, and even if this had never happened before, he had to take you to the nurse. What were you doing in the gym all alone? And why hadn’t anyone noticed you?

Shooting Kenma a look, the dyed haired boy nodded once before ushering Yamamoto out of the way. Kuroo now focused entirely on you, and rushed to the nurse. You were breathing (and you looked like you were asleep, strange as it was). Kuroo reached the nurse’s office rather quickly, since it was after school hours. Upon taking a mere glance at you, the nurse cringed before slapping her own forehead.

Kuroo blinked.

“Does she come here often?” He asked, smirking.

“You won’t believe it,” the nurse pointed to the lone bed and Kuroo followed, “It’s like she lives here.”

Kuroo chuckled before noticing you slowly waking up, wanting to sit this down and ask what you were doing in the gym in the first place. Apart from giving Yamamoto a scare for his life, Kuroo thought, unaware of the smirk sitting on his face.

“The face you’re making is creepy, senpai.”

Kuroo blinked before noticing you, staring at him, practically emotionlessly. Smirking, Kuroo leaned forward before blinking at you, filtering the questions in his head.

“What were you doing in the gym, kouhai-chan? Yamamoto’s never going to live down hitting you with the ball—”

“I followed a cat, is all.”

It was strange, Kuroo thought, of how casual your words were. It was as if you made no effort to communicate, your eyes were fixed at him and he was sure that he had your attention, but it wasn’t in any other way apart from when you’re reading a book or crossing the road. Kuroo noticed the lack of movement on your eyebrows, of how... emotionless you presented yourself as. It was honestly...

...really creepy.

“Uh,” He had to get back to practice. “I’ll make sure that the cat is fine.”

“I’m sorry for disrupting practice,” Kuroo paused before looking at you again, “I might not look it, but I mean it.”

You were right, you did not look like you meant it. But you were looking straight into his eyes that he couldn’t look away and his heart was screaming that you meant what you said. Shooting you a grin, Kuroo raised a thumb up to you, to which you merely just blinked—and walked out of the room.

A second later, he felt it; Kuroo paused, his eyes widening a tad bit slowly and his pace slowed accordingly. A sadness that crept into his system, almost as if it was too shy to come to him entirely. It was the sort of sadness that you knew you were going to feel eventually, but chose not to be entirely ready for its arrival. It felt as if he was out of breath at that second, feeling for the first time what his soulmate was feeling, a sadness that was scared to let him know that they were there. A hand shot to his chest, where the emotions felt concentrated most, and he stood there, confused the whole time.

“What the...”

Why now after so many years? And why did it feel like it wasn’t the first time? Why did Kuroo feel like he had felt what this person was feeling for years, but had not recognized it? Why did it feel so familiar yet alien?

You walked out of the nurse’s room and saw him there, frozen. You bit your lower lip before rushing out, trying to suppress whatever it was that you were feeling at least until you got home.

“I felt my soulmate’s emotions for the first time today!” Kuroo said, grinning hopelessly before noticing Yaku roll his eyes.

“Oh! I thought you didn’t have a soulmate?” Lev asked, genuinely surprised.

“Shut it.” Kuroo snapped, grimly.

“What were they feeling?” Kenma was the one to ask, knocking Kuroo out of his stupor.

“It was the weirdest sort of sadness I’ve ever felt in my life. As if she saw a dress she couldn’t buy and was crying for it from outside the window.”

“That actually sounds cute.” Yaku mused, blinking.

Scoffing, the scheming captain had had enough of the soulmate talk—he was certain that if he started to feel them now, then it was only about time before he got to actually feel more of what they were feeling; continuing with practice, the entire team couldn’t even tell if Kuroo was distracted, yet he was. All he could think about was how familiar it felt to have felt this person’s emotions for the first time. It was unnatural.

While leaving, Kenma and Kuroo waved goodbye to the rest of the team. Kuroo suggested they go get something to eat first, but Kenma had other things to do—which made the taller male roll his eyes at the mere thought.

“Ah,” Kuroo said, his hand flying to where his heart was located, “There it is again, Kenma.”

“There what is?”

“That weird sadness,” Kuroo mused, “It’s like she’s calling out to me! I mean, after all these years of not feeling anything, I’ve been feeling latently sad all evening today. Maybe she just wants a hug.”

“You don’t know who this person is, Kuroo. Give it a break.”

Kuroo wanted to scoff at his friend but paused when he actually felt the feeling intensify. He felt nauseous suddenly, and the intense need to cry—scream, if it would help. It was as if someone was stepping on his heart and all he wanted to do was cry—he could only wonder what his soulmate was actually feeling at that second. Shaking his heart, he attempted to cover it up for there was nothing he could do but ponder over what could have caused this sudden burst of sadness, yet, there was a part of him that began to think of why now—and not before?

A moment later, Kuroo noticed you a bit ahead, and decided to speak to you to take his mind off the growing ache in his chest. Kenma wanted no part of Kuroo’s plan, so he stuck to playing his game as Kuroo rushed over and approached you. Running over to you, (who was considerably shorter when compared to his giant stature), Kuroo tapped your shoulder and had you turn around only to have his breath stuck in his throat as tears poured out of your eyes like dew drops off a fresh leaf.

“S-Senpai?”

He paused, feeling the pain in his chest grow. Kuroo knew that he could tell with one glance, one look, one simple instant. It was your eyes. Despite the tears streaming down your face, they were still dark-rimmed, haunted, and sad. Most of all though, they were familiar. The fact that you had been a stranger up until that point changed nothing at all. He'd spent summers and winters picturing those same eyes—happy, angry, scared, lost, confused—staring back at him. He would have known them anywhere.

“It’s you.”

You quickly wiped your tears away and tried to bolt out of there, but Kuroo grabbed your wrist and halted you to the ground. Kenma noticed what was happening a few feet ahead but paused in his steps, seeing the stern look on his friend’s face. The girl beside him was crying, and something told him that it had a lot to do with how Kuroo had been feeling all evening.

“I know it’s you—”

“Let go of me, you don’t know what you’re—”

“Hey,”

He didn’t know why he was pleading. He had felt her existence just that day, it felt too unreal to even fight for. But, seeing her cry turned his insides around. There was something strange going on, and he really, really wanted to know what it was.

“Why does this... Why does this feel—”

“I don’t want any part of this, senpai. I don’t—”

Kuroo raised his eyebrows, “Wait, you don’t want a soulmate?”

You looked up at the black haired male before frowning, “No. No, I don’t want a soulmate. I’ve never wanted a soulmate! That’s why I’ve been taking these suppressants to—”

Your eyes widened and you slapped your mouth shut. Kuroo’s grip on your arm loosened.

“Did you... Did you know it was me?”

You sniffed before looking away from him. Nodding once, you hoped to all hell that he would drop it.

“How long?”

“Why does it matter—”

“For how long have you known, kouhai-chan?”

You’ve never heard him speak so callously before, but he had lost the amount of patience he had within him.

You could now feel his anger. The void in his chest was beginning to fill with anger. Quiet, defeated anger that guaranteed him the right to his hurt, that believed no one could possibly understand that hurt—no one, except you—who was giving it to him. You felt another burst of sorrow hit the back of your throat, but you were sure as hell not going to lose it in front of him.

“I...” You were afraid of doing a great many things but, “I knew since a few days.”

What you were most afraid of was lying. And here you had told the biggest lie that could potentially destroy something before it even began. With that, Kuroo let go of your hand and walked away, you were unsure if he was ignoring you or if he was hurt, but you could feel what he was feeling—and it wasn’t pleasant. You wanted to stop him and explain, but you knew that there was no point to it. Biting your lower lip, you walked home, uninterrupted.

“What did she say?” Kenma asked, staring at his friend’s face.

Kuroo wasn’t sullen, he was angry. And Kenma noticed it right away. Kuroo’s anger wasn’t loud, it was quiet, seething and potentially could destroy his mental health more than any other emotion. Kuroo’s anger was liquid fire, soothing to look at yet scorching hot.

“It’s nothing.”

Kenma knew it wasn’t nothing, but there was no way he’d get his friend to talk about it right away. This was the sort of thing that would take time, yet he wondered what you had done that could have driven him to the edge like this.

When you reached home, there was no one there. No one would be, your parents were always out—it was unusual if they were home. Your elder brother was in college in the States, and here you were—alone, paranoid and heartbroken. Your mother had been entirely against the idea of soulmates, calling it primitive and restricting, and while you could see her point, it was always a matter of personal interest for you. You always wondered who your soulmate was, you always wondered what it would be like to meet your significant other, someone you could reach so emotionally.

Your mother had not met her soulmate. Your parents were not soulmates to begin with, yet there you were. A ‘happy’ family, or so you’d like to call it. Your mother had been giving you suppressants ever since you were young, so as to avoid letting your soulmate feel whatever it was that you were feeling; however, like the doctor had warned, the pills had an adverse effect on your mental wellbeing. On most days, you felt absolutely nothing. On most days, you realized that you had to carry this feeling around, pocketing it with you because normal life went on—regardless of how broken you felt. The pills were slowly eating away your mind yet because you couldn’t say a word in edgewise with your mother, you strove along, like a puppet, doing as she demands because it was the same case with your brother but he luckily got away.

At heart, you have always been a coper; or that’s what you called yourself secretly. You've mostly been able to walk around with your wounds safely hidden, and you've always stored up your deep depressive episodes for the weeks off when there was time to have an abbreviated version of a complete breakdown. But in the end, you'd be able to get up and on with it, could always do what little must be done to scratch by.

It was not until a few months ago did things start to change.

You’d always feel what your soulmate was feeling. Episodes of absolute elation and frustration sometimes—this person had their shit together. You felt it for the first time when you were 9 years old, a foreboding sorrow that you could relate to losing a parent or a pet; you wondered if this person lost someone special to them at such a young age, or if they were young at all—you’d never know. After that, you mostly felt hesitance and the need to feel happy again directed from them; you slowly felt this person begin to heal, and feel joy, learn how to deal with their own emotions and you wondered if they ever thought of the possibility of you somewhere.

You kept your soulmate’s emotions to yourself because they were special to you. Despite what your mother said, despite what you were asked to believe, your heart yearned for someone to hold you, tell you that it was okay, to give you space to be yourself—yet, nowadays, it felt like you were asking for too much.

A few months ago, you saw Kuroo Tetsuroo for the first time. He was laughing at his friend in the corridor and the joy you felt was in sync with his—there was no doubt about it. He was your soulmate.

You didn’t want to be a stalker, yet you couldn’t avoid trying to see what he was doing, trying to learn what he was like, what his hobbies were—and when you discovered that he was the captain of the Volleyball team in your school, also the best friend of one of your classmates, you were even more curious.

You wondered if he ever felt your absence; and if he could ever feel your yearning, he wondered if it could mean anything.

That day, you were at the gym not because you followed a cat. It was simply because you wanted to see him. It was no crush, you weren’t that type of schoolgirl, you merely wanted to see what he played like—having been afraid all along to witness him in action. However, you weren’t noticed by anyone and perhaps that wasn’t a good thing at all since the ball hit you in the back of your head and sent you to the ground.

That was how you met your soulmate. And singlehandedly destroyed any prospect of being with him or learning more about him.

As days passed, you felt Kuroo’s rage and confusion—the simple minded betrayal that anyone would feel after an episode like that had occurred. You wouldn’t stop taking the supplements, and your heart was too scared to take a risk to go against what your mother had ordered you to do. Yet, feeling his emotions day in and day were was starting to exhaust you, and the growing guilt left you breathless everyday.

You turned to the side in the corridor, bumping into someone. You always hid when trying to take the supplements, but this was unexpected. In front of you was your classmate, Kenma, who was also Kuroo’s best friend. Your eyes widened and you knew he saw the pills in your hand.

“Are those supplements?”

You were quiet, hands shaking, unable to say a word.

“Why are you doing that?”

I can’t not, you thought, but you knew you couldn’t say.

“You’re hurting him.”

Tears filled your eyes, and you nodded because you knew. You knew how much you were hurting him, you didn’t need someone to come and tell you to your face that what you were doing was wrong.

“I know...” You said, whispering. Kenma blinked.

“I know I’m hurting him, but I can’t not do this.”

“What do you mean? Of course you can. Just...” Kenma placed a hand at the back of his neck, “Just pretend that you’re taking them if someone’s making you.”

The thought of lying to your mother did cross your mind, but you weren’t sure. You were scared that she would catch you, you were scared that she would find out and punish you. You were technically scared of all the hypotheticals because the idea scared you to your very core.

“You can’t be scared all the time,” His voice was soft, like a lullaby, “If you really want this, you should take it.”

You gasped, but biting your lip and clutching the box of pills harder. You looked at Kenma once and nodded, before walking away briskly. As you passed the dry waste bin, you threw the box of pills inside and headed to class.

Kuroo woke up with tears in his eyes.

His eyes then widened before he wiped them away, scrunching his eyebrows as he tried to think of whether he had a nightmare. He instantly thought of you, because there was no other explanation. Did she forget to take her pills? He thought, but his heart was wrenching at the thought of what you were feeling right then.

Is this why you were taking the pills? Because if you didn’t, all you felt was sadness.

He headed to school with Kenma, quiet the entire way. It was very much unlike him, Kuroo wasn’t used to being so out of character. The feeling of heaviness grew in his chest, but he felt bits and of other emotions as well. Panic, anxiety, and fear—what the hell was going on with your mind?

“Oi, Kenma,” Kuroo called out just as they reached school. “Is she in your class?”

Kenma nodded. “Name’s (l/n) (y/n).”

What the hell are you feeling? Kuroo almost blacked out with how heavy your emotions were.

“Is it too much?”

Kuroo didn’t know how to answer that question. He stayed quiet, only intended to meet with you during lunch, force you to talk—because this was driving him insane. He only wondered how the hell you were living all these years, by yourself, bottling all of this deep-rooted heaviness inside. He felt angry for not being called in on this, because even if he wasn’t sure if he could have helped, Kuroo was angry because he was not given a chance.

During lunch, he noticed you walk out of class but he didn’t give you a second to explain as he guided you up to the roof. There were others there, but Kuroo always knew to find a spot that no one else could see.

You stared at him with wide eyes and he felt the growing anxiety bottle in your chest. He sighed.

“(l/n)-chan,” He said, rubbing the back of his neck, “What’s going on? You didn’t take those—”

“I stopped.”

He blinked, “How come?”

“I... I'm living under water, senpai. Everything seems slow and far away. I know there's a world up there, a sunlit quick world where time runs like dry sand through an hourglass, but down here, where I am, air and sound and time and feeling are thick and dense,”

He didn’t understand you. You then showed him the pills and continued,

“My parents are not soulmates. My mother started giving me these pills ever since I felt the first emotion from your end. Ever since I knew you were there, living and breathing and existing. I... If it weren’t for your friend, I...”

“That’s why I barely felt anything from you. You were... Damn, that’s...” He didn’t know what to say.

Leaning down to your stature, Kuroo’s face was inches away from yours. You were staring at him with wide eyes, as you watched him smirk slowly, or maybe that was how he smiled—whatever it was, it was making you feel warm inside.

“Let’s try to get better, then, yeah?”

“What?”

He hummed before leaning back and standing straight again, “From the looks of it, you’re feeling this way because you’ve lived your whole life unable to feel at all. Come to a few of my games, my team’s gonna show you an array of colorful emotions. Pick whatever you want.”

You didn’t know if he was joking, “Kuroo-senpai—”

“I’m not joking, (l/n)-chan. Yeah, I get that we’re soulmates, but I want to get to know you. And to do that, we need to take this away—” He pressed your nose and chuckled, “—and get to know me while we do this.”

“I... I don’t—”

“And someday, we’ll be what we have to be. It’s sad about your parents, but if they’re happy, then it’s great. I won’t say what your mother did was right or wrong, but you have to decide what you want to do.”

You took a deep breath.

“Kuroo-san,” He looked at you, earnestly, yet there was a hint of mischief in those eyes, “Someday, we’ll run into each other again, I know it. Maybe I’ll be older and smarter and just plain better. If that happens, that’s when I’ll deserve you. But now, at this moment, you can’t hook your boat to mine, because I’m liable to sink us both.”

Kuroo gave you a soft smile before nodding. Inching forward, he kissed you squarely on the forehead and ruffled your hair.

“Remember, I’ll feel what you feel, (l/n)-chan!”

You smiled softly to yourself.

Kuroo woke up that morning, feeling nothing but pure satisfaction. A smile streaked across his lips when he thought of you—having been years since he had seen you, and noticed how well you were doing. He appreciated your strong desire to not keep in touch, and that left him wondering what you were doing and if you were still in Tokyo. Yawning, Kuroo stepped out of his house, fully intending to take out the trash that one Sunday morning.

Kuroo had texted him saying he had plans—he had met his soulmate last winter, and apparently the two of them were going to some gaming thing.

Kuroo was happy, generally speaking. Sure, he missed the touch of a person on odd days, unable to find it in him to see anyone romantically, knowing you existed. He didn’t blame you—he wished well for you, wanting to give the universe a chance to scheme something this time around. As he was putting the trash in the bin, scratching the back of his bed head, Kuroo felt a sudden jolt of... what was this feeling? The feeling you get when you’re in a rollercoaster?

Is she in a theme park somewhere? He thought before turning around, and freezing.

There you were, standing in front of him, in the cold winter air of Tokyo, wrapped up in a thousand sweaters. Your face was a tad bit red, and your smile was a tad bit long. Kuroo felt warmth wash over his features. Not a word. No word.

“Kuroo-senpai—”

He rushed toward you, feeling nothing but joy. Wrapping his arms around you, Kuroo breathed into your scent. Your hair tickled his chin and he felt your hands crawl to his back.

“I don’t normally hug strangers,” Kuroo teased, “But I’ll make an exception for you.”

“I’m sorry I took so long.”

He chuckled. “I barely felt the time go by—”

“I felt your longing for me, please don’t lie, senpai.”

He definitely couldn’t wait to get to know you.

#kuroo tetsuroo #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuroo x reader #reader insert #haikyuu!!#nekoma #nekoma x reader #kenma koizume #tetsuro kuro #kuroo fluff #kuroo tetsuro headcanons #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro imagine #haikyuu x reader #yamamoto taketora #yaku

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