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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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dulafer · 3 years

Text

TWIN REVENGE

This is an old one, just thought I’d share..... Its of my shortest stories. Any feedback appreciated - [email protected]

REUNION

I’ve always been the odd twin out. Will and I were both named William C. Witt with the only difference being our middle names – Charles and Conner. I’ve never liked being called ‘Willy’ while William preferred ‘Will’. Growing up, our parents couldn’t tell us apart - we even have the same birthmark on our chins.

I’ve always been jealous of Will for being the favorite. Many times, I’d answer to my brother’s name on purpose or force Will to swap places with me. The first time I was Will was when he was failing algebra in 9th grade and didn’t want our parents to find out. We swapped places so I could take his tests. My condition was that I stay as him for the day – soaking up my parent’s adoration and love. Will was definitely our parent’s favorite which pissed me off the older I got, often lashing out for attention. In high school I started impersonating my brother to get him in trouble. Sometimes, I would get caught because my brother would have an alibi with friends backing him up, or I’d would slip up wearing my hair differently or some other little detail.

By our junior year, I started hanging with another group of friends and dealing drugs. My reputation for trouble followed me as my ‘business’ grew. Will knew what I was up to because people would mistake him for their dealer. Weeks before graduation, the principal caught me selling drugs red handed, thanks to a tip from Will. Since Witts are a powerful family, Dad worked a deal to allow me to graduate on the condition that I spend the summer in rehab. The deal was made and the day after graduation, Dad drove me to the rehab center. I lasted a week before escaping and never being seen again.

My drug pals smuggled me out of Los Angeles to northern California. San Francisco was the perfect spot for me. With my college age looks, I blend in on local high school and college campuses where my business grew exponentially. I wear the college gear that fit the campuses I was working daily. I’ve always been thrifty with my earnings and always a light user myself so I saved my money for a future free of drugs. When I can, I sit in on college classes, mostly political science since my father was always drilling politics into Will and I.

Will on the other hand, was the perfect son. He attended college for political science, becoming a staunch conservative. But Will wasn’t always perfect. After two years in college, he dropped out and was hired at Prager U as a campus correspondent to interview students and follow trends. Will quickly picked up a fan base nationally and within months was buying a condo and new car – with the help of a proud rich father. Will travels the country giving speeches, interviewing people and blogging.

Mom and dad have all but forgotten about me. I faked my own death and changed my name when I heard my family was looking for me. It was convincing enough that the Witts even had a funeral for me.

CAMPUS LIFE

I’m at Stanford University working my regular ‘route’, supporting my boys with product. A few girls spot me, come running over and one screams. “Oh my god, Will! I’m your biggest fan.”

I wonder why they’re calling me Will and fawning over me? “Hi, thank you so much.”

“We can’t wait to hear you speak. You going to do a ‘man on the street’?” the other one squeals.

“Sure am.” Not knowing what that is even. I see one of my boys coming over for his weekly stash. “Excuse me ladies, I’m meeting an old friend.”

Tyler comes over with his usual swagger carrying his backpack. “Do I have competition bro?”

“No, not at all! You know you’re my main man.” We do his frat’s handshake. Anyone watching us would see us both in Stanford gear and just assume we’re students. We take a seat on a nearby bench, talk business, two minutes later, he’s leaving with my backpack full of drugs.

I walk around campus, wondering about those two girls calling me Will. When I get to the campus hub, I see my face plastered all over the board. The flyers reads ‘Will Witt, Prager University, Topic: Campus Diversity’. I pull one off the board, fold it up and place it in my backpack pocket. I’ll be damned, my little brother in town. I have to see this for myself.

I get home and study the flyer, find the Prager U site and start watching my brother’s videos. We’re so alike with our political beliefs – neither of us have fallen far from our father’s tree. We both have the same attitudes and beliefs as good old dad. He even sounds like dad did, around the dinner table our entire life. I then log into his Instagram account, using Will’s password he’s been using for a decade. I’m getting envious of my brother’s life – he’s still the golden boy and I’m sure dad is super proud of him. He’s traveling all over the world thanks to this Prager gig. On top of that, he’s become famous on Fox and other mediums for being very articulate and full of energy.

As I watch him, I’m getting very envious of Will. I’m as smart and talented as my brother. I could have been the favorite son, the celebrity. ‘Should be, could be, will be.’ I think to myself. That should be my life.

The next day, I head to a theater supply store and buy a fake belly, beard/mustache and some make up. I’ve got to see my brother in action today. Will is scheduled to do a ‘man on the street’ interview on campus this afternoon, then the speech later tonight.

I show up for his man on the street interview but hang way back, out of sight of Will. With my disguise, I’ve gained 50lbs, a full beard, sunglasses and wearing a tie dyed hoodie. I watch and listen as Will, his producer and camera man set up everything. I record everything with a shotgun microphone - hearing the back and forth banter between Will, his cameraman Gavi and Mike, his producer. That evening, I attend the lecture in another disguise just to be safe. I’ve haven’t seen Will in over two years but he’s still the same arrogant Will in private. In public he’s very friendly and charming. As I’m listening to Will speak, a plan starts to formulate in the back of my mind. Willy is already dead to the world, so why not become Will. It’s not like I’m inexperienced in doing it. It would always piss Will off when I would steal his identity and fool his girlfriends. While he was taking a shower, I would get dressed first, take his clothes, phone, car and pick up his girlfriend who was clueless. Will would be pissed but I would apologize and he would forgive me. One time Will called his girlfriend while I was impersonating him and couldn’t convince her that he was actually Will – I was that good.

I start tracking my brother via his emails, calendar and social media. Will is flying from Los Angeles to Washington for a week, with Turning Point USA to promote Prager U and himself. Our parents will also be gone on vacation to Europe for months, with plans to hook up with Will in London for lunch and a show in a month.

MOVING TO LOS ANGELES

I need to formulate a detailed plan. Will has lived the good life long enough, it’s my turn now. I start with cleaning up my life here – telling my friends that I need to disappear again. They buy it easily as it has happened before. I clean out my bank account – about $1m, and drive to Hollywood where Will lives.

I rent a furnished apartment across the street from Will’s condo. It’s perfect – from my living room and bedroom, I can see his entrance and garage. I keep my fake beard and baseball cap on all the time, and only use the back entrance to go anywhere. On his departure day, I watch him being picked up by an airport service and confirm his flight took off on schedule. I head to my bathroom and remove my beard and hide my longer hair under a baseball cap. The condo manager gladly provides ‘Will’ with a spare key when I tell him I lost mine.

Will’s condo is very nice with an open floorplan. There’s 3 bedrooms and 3.5 baths. The lower level is a 2 car garage, lots of storage, a large video recording studio and utility room. His silver Porsche 911 Cabrio is parked next to a motorcycle. On the wall is some leather gear, boots and helmet. The 2nd floor has a large living room with exposed brick walls, huge flat screen, fireplace, bar, gourmet kitchen with top end stainless steel appliances and a personal office. The 3rd floor is all bedrooms with a huge master suite with large bathroom and large walk in closet. The one spare bedroom is sparsely decorated with just a bed, dresser and chair. The other bedroom is mostly empty. It’s a great ‘crib’ but I’m certain daddy helped pay for most of it.

I get to work quickly with my plans. I try to check out his studio’s computer but its password protected and I can’t get it to unlock. This isn’t a problem after I plug in a thumb drive with keystroke tracker and some other tricks. In a minute, I gain access to all his computers and social media accounts. The password was his usual password but backwards.

His iMac Pro is a wealth of information – full of his unedited videos, speeches and even a digital diary. I thought he stopped doing a diary in 11th grade but apparently not. He updated it just this morning before leaving. I’m sitting there for hours reviewing his life since I left. His comments about my death and funeral are cruel to say the least. He blames me for fucking up life with my death, how mom & dad are glad it’s over and they’re all better off. Even my father agreed with him. That’s fine by me, they won’t miss Will at all when I take his place.

I decide to spend the night here and continue my studying. In his basement studio there is a green screen, professional video cameras and teleprompters set up in one corner which he uses to make his cutesy videos. I turn on the equipment, click on a file and up pops the words to his last blog on the teleprompter. On another display in front of the green screen pops up the empty stool where he sits. On the stool is a remote I believe is for controlling everything. I plop my ass down, face the camera, and see myself, or Will on the display in front of me. I fuss with my hair to give me Will’s prominent cowlick, press ‘record’ and the words start moving for me to perform. “What’s up guys, Will Witt for Prager U” I repeat his performance, then delete file before passing out at 2am, after seeing his posts on landing in Washington DC.

LOOKING THE PART

My brother prides himself on his hair, especially the huge cowlick that he’s proud of. According to his calendar, he had a haircut a few days before leaving for Washington. I make myself at home taking a shower, and pulling on some of his clothes – dark gray skinny jeans, t-shirt, jacket and his black high top converse sneakers. I’m missing his clunky watch and ring he wears all the time, and also his rope crystal necklace he’s been wearing since he was 15. The one time I was with one of his girlfriends, not having that necklace on, gave away my identity. I jump in Will’s Porsche and find a salon with a great google rating. I ask for my usual and show her pics from two days ago. They’re very close up and detailed. In half an hour, I’m smiling at Will in the mirror, running my hand through his cowlick.

Back home, I pull in to the garage and before I can close the door, some pretty little thing is running over to me.

“Will! Hey there, I’m glad I caught you.”

“Oh hey, you caught me.” I smile and act surprise.

“Tammy and I are having a party tonight.” She hands me a flyer ‘Jen and Tam’s Big Party’.

“That sounds like a blast, ‘Jen’.” Hoping she’s the ‘Jen’ on the flyer.

“I was just going to slip it in your mailbox. Thought you were going to Washington or someplace exotic again.”

“My DC trip was postponed, so I’m here.” I give her a typical Will smile.

“Washington’s lost is our gain. You have to come. Besides you can crawl home if you get drunk like unlike last time.”

“I’ll try my best but super busy here.” I chuckle with her, not sure what she’s referring to but Will’s diary will probably help me remember some of it. I’d love to go but there’ll be lots of iPhones around and plenty of pics/videos posted on social media.

A friend sent me a lot of WiFi HD fiberoptic video cameras and microphones to bug my brother’s place. I place a few in each room then sync them to my iPad. Walking from room to room I test them all for activation. It takes all day to hide them properly. Later on, Will’s latest VLOGs and antics from Washington start appearing on his desktop.

His video reminds me how different our styles are. Will was always conservative dresser while I went for the grunge look. His videos confirm his tastes haven’t changed at all except becoming more expensive. I’m making myself at home – it’s going to be my future home soon anyway. With my new haircut, it only takes a little of his gel to look exactly like him.

It was always fun turning myself into Will when we were younger, it’s still a turn on now. I print out some pics from his PC files, showing various outfit he’s worn. I’ve got to nail his ‘look’ perfectly for my future life. There’s one of him in a sharp black suit, white shirt and black tie playing a piano, with a red lapel thingy at a Prager U gala a month ago. We both took piano lesson but I was always a little better.

It’s easy finding the outfit in his very organized closet. He took it off, left the lapel pin in and probably hasn’t worn it since. There’s a video of the gala in his files that I watch, providing me glimpses of his shoes and watch. I strip out of his jeans, and into the outfit. I couldn’t find his watch – it’s probably in Washington on him but I slip on his pinky ring and a different watch from his jewelry box. Back in the studio, I start a new file – Prager Gala, pretending that I’m Will being interviewed about the night’s events. I sit on the stool, hit record and adlib the event starting with Will’s signature “What’s up Guys” intro, including flashing his two fingers. Being Will is all very natural for me. I’m up half the night learning the equipment, checking out his videos and closet. I just need a few weeks of studying him before I replace him.

To access his cell phone, a friend puts me in contact with a local guy who clones Will’s iPhone. It costs $2000 but I now see his text messages, calendar and listen to his voicemails. I can also listen in on his calls while he’s talking to people. I can’t speak to them, and they can’t hear me but it’s perfect timing. With him in Washington, his entire life is going through his cell phone, providing me with up to the minute information. He’s working on his schedule for the next few months. With access to all this, I’m learning who his coworkers are, listening to work conference calls, what they’re working on and what Will’s job entails as Prager’s ‘social media influencer’.

Will has a spare set of keys for our parent’s place so I visit just to see what changes have been made while I’ve been gone. The most obvious change is the lack of pictures of me. Their mantel has no pics of Will and I together. It almost looks like they have only one son – that I never existed. Everything else is pretty much how it was three years ago. As I was leaving, Mrs. Tarantolo, their neighbor sees “Will” and comes running over to say hello. She thought it was sweet I was keeping an eye on their place while they were away “Such a good son.” She claims to be my biggest fan and hasn’t missed any of my videos. She’s clueless about me, as she should – when even our parents couldn’t tell the difference, I’m not worried about anyone.

My week consists of listening, watching and reading everything he’s up to. I take his Porsche out to grab lunch or dinner to remote places so I’m not seen by anyone that could know him. A few times, fans mistake me for Will and I sign autographs using “What’s Up Guys”. They’re thrilled and its harmless fun for me.

The week flies by and I return to my apartment across the road. I return the spare condo key to the manager after making a duplicate of it. On schedule, Will returns via LAX shuttle service. My surveillance system works perfectly as he moves around his condo. I see him taking a shower, changing into sweats and working in his studio. His buddy Mike arrives later with pizza and they brainstorm in the studio about their next VLOG and ‘man in the street’ topics. Listening to their banter helps me learn the lingo and their personal relationship.

Will has not changed a bit since I left Los Angeles – same old anal retentive asshole. It’s fun watching and learning about him. He’s still an avid runner, and like clockwork, he does five miles around a nearby park most mornings. Prager U is just a few miles away and he’s there daily unless he’s traveling. He has a new girlfriend he casually hooks up with but it’s not serious, so that’ll be easy. He writes about meeting her in his diary. He’s got his work schedule planned for the next few months and I know enough to handle it. After a few weeks, my gut is telling me I’m ready to be Will Witt.

Will’s next major trip is to London for a scheduled Turning Point USA promotion/MOTS and speech at Oxford University – same as he did at Stanford. My plan is to replace him when he arrives home. This gives me another 10 days to get up to speed with his life. I watch him pack, see LAX shuttle service pick him up and confirm his plane took off as scheduled. I make myself at home but keep a low profile, rarely going out.

Between his phone and computer, I’m kept busy 24 hours/day just keeping up with his life. He’s definitely a video freak, not only recording content for Prager but also everything else like his hotel room, what he had for breakfast, his shopping excursions. I can’t wait to wear his new $7000 bespoke suit he purchased during his shopping expedition on Saville Row. I listen in on his phone calls with our parents, his friends and girlfriend Lisa. This helps me get up to speed with what’s going on in his life. Mom & Dad meet Will for lunch at his hotel, then go to see Hamilton. There’s plenty of selfies and videos to make his life mine. He’s spending a fortune on food, wine, clothes, cigars and trinkets.

A few hours before he returns, I’m armed with chloroform, truth serum and various knock out drugs. I hide in his bedroom, ready to pounce with a heavily soaked rag of chloroform. It’s almost enough to knock me out just holding it.

HONEY I’M HOME

The door lock jiggles and Will enters, plopping his luggage inside the door. He makes a beeline to kitchen and opens the refrigerator. He’s there quite a while before I hear him dragging his very large suitcases up the stairs. I’m crotched in the corner, behind the door as he struggles to get both bags through. The perfect moment happens when one of the bags get stuck in the door jam and I hear him say ‘fuck’. In a split second, I pounce and have the chloroform soaked rag over his nose and mouth. A split second after that, he almost falls to the floor as I catch him. I drag him out into the hallway, and finish putting his bags in the bedroom.

“Welcome home Will, have a good trip?” I look down at him passed out and ask.

“Awesome trip man, had fun with the TP USA team, saw Hamilton with the parents, and hit up lots of pubs and cigars. I’ll have to show you all the pics I took.” I respond to myself in Will’s typical enthusiastic lingo.

I drag Will to the empty bedroom and start stripping him. Of course, he’s in a sport coat and tie to travel. It’s so ‘Will’ I think as I carefully remove everything from him, amazed at how alike we still are. I strip off my old sweat pants and t-shirt and put them on him. I pull him up into a metal chair I anchored to the floor, then handcuff his hands and feet so he can’t move an inch. I kneel down next to him, grab his face, then rotate it side to side to check his appearance close up. My sideburns are about a quarter inch too long so I head to my bathroom and trim them to match exactly.

I carry ‘my’ clothes back to my new bedroom and slowly start my transformation into Will. I love pulling on the outfit he’s been wearing all day—his sweat and scents mixing with mine. Everything is still warm as I put on his black briefs and socks. His charcoal dress pants fit perfectly as I pull them up. His shirt has gunmetal gray cufflinks and is monogrammed on the sleeve with our initials ‘WCW’. I pulled the black lace up shoes off his feet without untying them. I wiggle into them, tuck in my shirt and fasten my belt. In the bathroom mirror I put on his tie using the same technique dad taught both of us. I pull on his cool black sport coat with large dark gray plaid patterns. There’s a video of him wearing this outfit for red carpet Oscar interviews. I check his breast pockets, locating his iPhone, keys and wallet. Tucked inside an outside pocket are his glasses. Slipping on his ring, leather wrist band and watch completes my transformation into Will Witt. I adjust my hair using his Cremo hair cream—Will is always fussing with his hair. Staring in the mirror, I only see Will Witt, just as he was traveling first class earlier. I grin at myself as I adjust my shirt cuffs and admire my looks. I do his usual MOTS intro flawlessly – “What’s Up Guys”. From this moment on, I’m Will Witt and no one will have a clue I’m not.

My iPhone buzzes in my suit pocket, it’s Will’s girlfriend, Lisa calling.

“Hey Lisa, I just got in the door babe.” I answer watching myself in the mirror, smiling and playing Will flawlessly.

“I thought you would be, I’ve missed you so much Will.” She whispers seductively.

“Same, may I take you out for dinner?” I ask as charmingly as Will does, remembering their conversation from a day ago, and Will promising dinner and a surprise.

“I would love that.”

“Great, I’ll pick you up at 7, Let’s dress up and go someplace nice. I’ll wear a suit and tie.” This gives me the afternoon to get settled into my new life.

“Okay Will, can’t wait.”

“Bye Babe.” Will’s cutesy name he uses for all his girlfriends.

‘It’s show time’ I think to myself. I head back to my brother who’s finally starting to stir from the chloroform. I start slapping his face and he becomes more aware.

“Wake up Willy, Willy wake up.” I say playfully.

He looks confused, slowly recognizing me, his eyes bug out, then starts to struggle. “But you’re dead?”

“Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. Don’t struggle bro, you’ll only hurt yourself.” I laugh at him.

“What’s going on Willy? Why are you in my clothes?”

“From now on, please call me Will and they’re now my clothes. I just got back from London and I’m really jet lagged.” I stand proudly, straighten my tie then reach into my breast pocket for my new wallet.

“Asshole, what do you think you’re doing?” he yells and gets pissed as he’s now fully awake.

“Well, remember when you planted drugs in my locker, turned me into the school principle and ruined my life?”

“Yeah, that was a good one! They all bought it too. Got rid of you for good.” He laughs.

“Well, laugh all you want. I’m borrowing your life.”

“You’ll never get away with this. Whatever you are planning, won’t work.” He predicts.

“Well I’m taking Lisa out to dinner tonight to celebrate my return. In other words, I need pussy but Will doesn’t talk like that. Let me rephrase it – I’m taking my girlfriend out for dinner and hopefully make love to her. Better?” I leaf through my wallet checking it out, pulling out the debit card. “Bro, is your PIN still 8991? I may need some cash for my date. You only have a $40 in here.”

By the look on his face, I know he never changed is PIN. “Thanks bro, just needed to confirm that.”

“She’ll know you’re not me, don’t even try it.”

“Bro, you’re talking to the guy who fooled all your girlfriends in high school. You’ve been dating her for what? About 6 weeks after meeting her at Jen’s last party where you got wasted and don’t remember getting home.”

“You’ve been reading my private diary?”

“Well, you could say it’s my diary. So, I was just reviewing my life for the past few years.” I laugh at him. “Which brings me to a new issue – where should I take her for dinner, and do afterwards?”

“Fuck yourself.” He yells.

“Bro, I’m hoping to fuck her, not myself. You don’t want me to do something brash, ‘unWill like’ and ruin your relationship do you? I bet she doesn’t even know you have a twin brother, am I right?” I laugh at him.

“Willy, what are you doing? Just untie me and I’ll forget this ever happened. I promise.” Trying to soften me up.

“Let’s get this straight, for the time being, I’m Will Witt, you’re nothing, don’t call me that again.” I yell at him. “Now, you’re going to help me be you or I’m going to really fuck up your life. You know I can do it. If you lie to me, there will be repercussions. Do not test me.”

“Okay.” He responds defeated.

“Okay, what?” I demand.

“Okay Will. Lisa loves Italian and there’s this little family owned restaurant called ‘Papa Joe’s’ near her house. She loves it and so do I. That’s where I was planning on taking her tonight. I always get the ‘Lombardo’ dish with an ice tea of course.” He answers defeated.

“That’s good information bro, I really appreciate that.” I watch his face and have always been able to tell when he was lying. “What after that? What are her limits? I need everything to be you with her. Give me the full history.”

He proceeds to tell me everything I need to know about Lisa – at least I hope so.

“Now I need details about my job. I know where you work, and what you do but more details about the people, office layout, where your office is and how I get in?” He gives me looks that could kill. “What’s up guys?” I mock him with his catch phrase.

“My work ID badge gives me complete access anytime. It’s in the front pocket of my backpack. I have an office on the second floor, just left as you get out of the elevator. My name is on the door. You can’t miss it.”

“What do you do when you first get there, in the morning? Routine? Pals? Coffee? conference room? Where do you go for lunch? I need it all Willy. You don’t want me to mess up your perfect little life, do you?” I subtly threaten him.

Once I pump him for everything, I grab the bag from the corner, pull out a needle and inject him. He screams at me for about two minutes then become docile. I walk him to the bathroom and order him to relieve himself. Once secured back in his chair, I give him dose of Midazolam that will keep him out for 12 hours and put a ball gag in his mouth. I shut and lock the bedroom door, head back to my master bedroom finishing my unpacking.

I slip easily into Will’s routine. My shirts and suits will go to my cleaner per the receipts in the Porsche, the rest go into the washer. Carefully tucked inside his luggage is his new Saville Row Huntsman, a few new dress shirts and the Big Ben charm I bought Lisa in London. I can’t help but try on the new suit, admiring the fit and material. I head downstairs and see Will’s work backpack he has with him all the time. I take it down to the studio office and start going through the content…. A few cameras, my passport, iPad and MacBook Pro. There’s a printout of my next Prager assignments and hand notes he made in the margins. I find his work ID, clip it to my suit, repack his backpack and head to the office.

A DAY IN THE LIFE

I’ve followed Will to Prager U but have never stepped foot inside. I pull into an empty parking lot, and park in his assigned spot. Will says no one is ever there but he sometimes goes in to get a jump on Monday. My ID badge opens the main door. I easily find his office and make myself at home. On the wall I notice the signed photograph of Reagan that dad treasures and wonder how Will has it. I plop my backpack on the chair next to my desk and start exploring. I open my MacBook and it starts syncing with the LAN. I easily log in and upload my videos as Will does after all his events, according to his logs.

I explore the entire building and everything is as he described – Boss’ office, video production, media center, studio, executive conference room etc. I confidently walk around taking in the names of my coworkers. In the men’s room, I smile at Will in the mirror and clean out my coffee mug.

Back in the office, I settle into my desk and go thru my drawers, check my work email and respond to some. I hear someone coming up the stairs, calling my new name, approaching my office. I recognize it immediately as Will’s producer and friend – Mike.

“In here.” I yell out to him.

He pops his head around the corner. “Welcome back, how was your flight?”

“Uneventful, good to be home but jet lag.” I casually answer.

“My flight yesterday was delayed an hour from Chicago but not too bad.”

I heard their last conversation before Will took off this am, and continued it. “I’m good with the final edits from MOTS, just uploaded it so Alexander can add the graphics.”

I pull up the video, knowing Will made a few cuts on the flight over, and show it to him.

“You’ve been busy man, looks great. You want to grab lunch?”

“Sure, you drive and pick.” I can’t resist the thought of testing my ‘Will skills’.

Mike takes me to ‘In & Out’ for burgers. He doesn’t suspect a thing, readily accepting me as his friend and coworker. We talk about the trip, work and future trips. I feel as if I was actually there. He drops me off and I head back to my office and continue to familiarize myself with everything for a few more hours.

My big test will be ‘my’ girlfriend Lisa. I stay in Will’s slick outfit, donning his favorite Ray-Bans for the drive. She’s waiting for me outside and jumps into my car. Her unexpected full tongue kiss surprises me but I quickly adjust and give her full tongue back. We make out for a minute then I take her to Papa Joe’s. Will was telling the truth, Lisa lights up as I pull in front and valet the Porsche. I use my brother’s pics, diary, blogs and text messages to talk about my London trip. When desert comes, I spring the Big Ben charm on her. She leans in tenderly, kisses me deeply and invites me to spend the night.

At her place, we strip and jump right into bed. In minutes, she’s moaning as I work her pussy, slowly penetrating it with the tip of my head. She starts moaning softly ‘oh Will, oohhh Will’ making me harder, pushing deeper into her as she climaxes. I explode in her, then collapse onto my back as she curls up under my arm and we fall to sleep. She wakes me up with a blow job and homemade pancakes – Will’s favorite she notes. I’m not a big pancake fan but eat them eagerly as Will would. I’ve replaced Will completely and now have his sexy girlfriend.

DAY TWO

I check on Willy when I get home and he’s starting to stir. My schedule today calls for video editing at Prager U with Gavi and Mike. I take a quick shower put on an outfit that screams ‘preppy conservative’ – which isn’t difficult as that’s all Will has in his closet, making my job easy.

I pop my head in to the bedroom and see that he’s wide awake.

“Morning sunshine.” I cheerfully say.

“Let me the fuck out of these straps now!” he mumbles as I remove the ballgag.

“Sure thing, but first a little shot so you can take a dump and eat a little something. Hungry?”

“No, don’t drug me, it’s a fucking weird feeling.” He pleas.

“Sorry man, I can’t chance you getting free and having a fake Will running around.”

“You’re the fake Will, ass wipe.” He screams.

“Hmmm Lisa and Mike didn’t think so. I ran into Mike in the office yesterday while uploading my latest VLOG and MOTS video, then had lunch with him. He’s a good friend of mine. Oh, and Lisa… Damn did I hit her sweet spot last night as she moaned my name softly in my ears. She really loved the Big Ben charm I got her and the ‘Big Will’ I gave her. I think I’m in love bro.” I grab my crotch so he knows what I’m talking about.

“You fucking bastard!! Fucking asshole!! You’ll be caught. You can’t slip into my life that easily.” He screams.

“Now, now, Willy. Guess you didn’t notice the video and audio bugs I installed throughout my new condo or the keystroke tracker on your computers. I’ve been catching up with you since Stanford. Your condo manager was gracious enough to give me a key after you lost it.” I run and grab my iPad and play some of the videos for him, then I show him the cloned phone and play his last conversation with Mike.

“Guess I don’t need this cloned phone any longer. I have to admit, you’re quite the busy person. Your phone never stops ringing and beeping but don’t worry, I’m keeping up.”

“Fuck you Willy! When I get free, you’re going to jail or worst.”

“If you get free, which I doubt. If you haven’t noticed, you’re bolted to the floor. Oh, don’t worry, I’ll have new carpet installed at some point. Nice thing bro – between my bank account and yours, I’m quite wealthy with a lot of future potential. In fact, after this gig, I’m thinking of running for office. Dad would love it and back me financially.”

He mutters. “Fucker.”

“Hey bro, don’t worry, I’m taking good care of your life. Enjoying it immensely, especially Lisa. She really knows how to wake me up but I’m not big on the pancakes.”

He thrashes back and forth in the chair screaming more obscenities at me.

“Bro, seriously, how do I look? Do you approve my work outfit? I’ve noticed this sport coat is one of your favorites. Oh, and my new suit from London fits great and feels incredible. I just had to try it on.” I taunt him while adjusting my shirt sleeves and checking my watch.

“What are you doing here?” he quietly demands.

“Well the drug career pays quite well but is extremely dangerous. After seeing you at Stanford, I decided a career change was necessary. Don’t you agree it’s a good career move?”

“You’ll never fool them for long. There are things only I could know. You’ll tripped up. What about mom and dad?”

“Are you serious?” I laugh out loud. “Mom and dad could never tell us apart, you know that. I did visit the house while you were in London and from the pictures displayed, it looks like I, Will, am an only child. They’re the least of my worries.”

“Oh, they’ll know you’re not me.”

“Why would they? Just look at me bro. I was always a better you than you, when I wanted to be. I do have to get fully up to speed with my new life, friends and girlfriend but that’s what all my new drugs are for. I kind of like your style so I’ll only wear what you already have in your closet. I’m enjoying your preppy style. I think I’m rocking the Will look, you have to admit it.” I tug on my sleeves not interested in his rants.

“What about work?” He counters.

“Oh bro, that’ll be easy too. I’ve watched all your videos – the work and personal, edited and unedited. I taught myself iMovie to edit my MOTSs for uploading. I’ve seen you brainstorm with Mike on MOTS topics and question. It’s amazing how we even think alike politically. I’m ahead of schedule for today. Like the anal person you are, I was in the office all afternoon while you were sleeping. I cleaned out my scummy coffee mug, organized my desk and left a note for Alexander on the graphics I’d like to see before the end of today. I can’t wait to meet the boss, have been a fan of his for years.”

“You can’t be me!” He slumps his shoulder in deeper defeat.

“I am you, no one will have a clue I’m not.”

I inject him with truth serum and a powerful muscle relaxer. By the time I come back with breakfast, he’s docile and defeated. A few protein bars, quick trip to bathroom and he’s safely secured again. The truth serum is remarkable. I have a totally different discussion with him.

“Hey bro, how do I look? You like?” I spin around to model my outfit.

“I’ve worn that exact outfit before I think.”

“Thank you, now see, it wasn’t too hard to be nice, now was it?”

He spills his guts to me about all his coworkers, and what he thinks of them. While he’s drugged, I hit him up on family issues and his feelings towards me. He basically threatens to kill me and will since I’m already dead. It’s been on his mind since he woke up chained to the chair. I snicker to myself, knowing he’s the one who’s days are numbered. It’s almost time for work today, so I knock him out for another 12 hours.

My first day of work is a breeze. I visit Alexander and review the graphics I want. Mike and I review the schedule and brainstorm future MOTSs and VLOGs. Will has the easy part and probably makes the most money. Prager’s staff writes his MOTS questions and helps him with upcoming speeches. He provides the topic, they handle it from there. Will was good enough to do my outline for his University of Texas speech next week. I turn them in and talk to Marissa, our content producer. I have the best gig – I just need to be the hip preppy conservative face of Prager U and get to travel all around the world.

When I’m leaving Marrisa’s office, I run into Dennis Prager, the president of Prager University. He puts his arm around me and leads me back to his office.

“Will, good to see you, how was London? I just saw your rough video and it’s great”

“Thank you, Mr. Prager. London was great.” I respond and his face immediately looks puzzled.

“Since when am I Mr. Prager?”

“Dennis, sorry it just came out. I’m still out of sorts with jet lag and the British are so formal.” I try to recover.

“I understand boy, plus you probably had too much wine and cigars I’m sure.”

“I sure did. I brought a few Charatan Robustos back with me” I chuckle knowing their conversations about them and using them to solidify my identity.

“And you’re not sharing? Will, Will, Will, how could you?”

“I’ll bring them in tomorrow.”

“Let’s grab lunch son.”

I can’t believe I’m having lunch with Dennis Prager. He’s thrilled with ‘my’ work, wants me to do more TV appearances like Fox & Friends but also liberal networks. My ratings are through the roof. I talk about my London trip, showing him pics of my parents and selfies I took. We talk politics, going back and forth on issues. We get back to the office and I easily fit in and learn the ropes. By the end of the day, I’m very pleased with my new life. I pass on happy hour claiming I’m still of out sorts due to jet lag.

CHECKING IN

Back home I check Willy. He’s awake but groggy.

“What’s up guy? How was your day?” I ask cockily as I strut in.

“How do you think, you sick fuck.”

“So sorry to hear that. My day was awesome. My latest VLOG and MOTS are killing it. I had lunch with my friend Dennis and he wants me to do more TV spots. It was probably the best day of your life, I mean my life.”

“My life! You fucker, my life.” He screams with pure rage.

“Wow bro, you smell. We’ll have to get you a shower but first I need to change. Be right back.”

I run to my closet and throw on a pair of running shorts and a Prager t-shirt. I keep my cell phone on me as it’s been going off all day. When I get back to Willy, he starts yelling at me.

“What are you up to? Did you get me fired? The truth, you owe me that at least.”

I laugh. “Now why would I mess up my career bro?”

“It’s my life and career. You’re going to pay for this you fucking asshole.” He continues to rant.

“I’ve had enough of you already.” I grab the ball gag, shove it in his mouth and he starts thrashing again. My phone rings, it’s Mike calling.

“Hey Mike, What’s up?” Willy’s eye light up watching me.

“No, I’m fine, it was just jetlag and you know me…I tried all the beers and cigars in the pubs…Yeah buddy…thanks for your concern.” I hang up and look at Willy. “Hey that Jetlag excuse will be good for another few days till I get the groove completely.”

He starts mumbling again but the phone rings again with Lisa calling.

“Hey babe, how was your day?” I sincerely ask. Willy starts squirming and getting louder.

“Hey babe, hang on, I’ve got my producer calling.” I put her on hold, walk over to Willy and gut punch him with all my force. I impale him and he shuts up.

“Sorry babe, did I thank you for last night?...Oh yeah, I’d love to but I’ve got a lot to catch up with…My parents are coming back Wednesday from their European vacation and we’re suppose to do dinner Thursday? Would love for you to meet them….Okay… love ya.”

“Bro, see how easy this gig is for me? I still need you for some additional information like the combination to the safe in your office.” He stares at me but is keeping quiet. I grab my little box of drugs and mellow Willy out. A quick shower, shit and change of clothes and he’s back in his chair. I feed him a sub and water that he quickly inhales.

“Now Willy, what’s the number to my safe?”

“Go fuck yourself.” he mumbles.

“Willy, you know I could give you some truth serum or beat it out of you.”

“17858” he spits out as in disgust.

I head down to his safe and open it up. Inside is a gun, his birth certificate, social security card, and a stack of other seemingly important papers. I grab it all and take head up to review with Willy.

“Nice Glock Willy, let’s review what’s in my safe and why it’s there. Some quality bonding time. Most of this I know but the rest?” I ask nicely.

“My contract with Prager U, noncompete, mom & dad’s will, my will, some stocks dad gave me.”

I leaf through it, reading it all and ignoring Willy. In between docs, I feed him some granola bars from the kitchen. I play with the unloaded gun in front of him, on purpose. I’ll have a use for it soon.

“Ok brother, more work questions. There’s ‘PR shots’ on calendar for tomorrow afternoon. What’s with that?”

“Joel, our CMO set them up. It’s just ‘glamour’ pics for his new marketing campaign.”

“Oh, so that’s what my new suit is for I’m guessing. The email to Joel saying you’re all set after you bought it?”

“Yeah, please don’t fuck things up for me Willy. I’ve worked hard this past year.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m Will.” I gut punch him again.

“I’m sorry Will.” He cries in pain.

“That’s better Willy. So, tell me what to expect.”

“Easy, take suit to work, some of my shirts, ties and jewelry. Collette in our makeup will take care of the rest. Just smile and do what they tell you in front of the camera.” he answers, still in pain.

“Shoes?”

“The black derbies I had on yesterday, I bought for shoot specifically, wanted them broken in. Doesn’t matter though – they only shoot from waist up.”

“Now that’s more like it. Don’t fight me, help me so I don’t fuck up your life.” as if he’s ever getting it back, I think to myself.

“Yes Will.”

HANGING WITH FRIENDS

“Now, my friend Tommy wants to go out tonight, grab dinner. What would ‘Will’ do?”

“He wants to do 71Above – it’s the highest restaurant west of the Mississippi. Tricia, his friend is host there and can get us in. Very high end, suit and tie required.”

“That sounds great.”

“Yeah, he’s picking me up, I’m paying.”

“I’m paying!” I correct him. “What were you going to wear?”

“There’s a black Tom Ford suit with a red lapel pin on it, I’ve only worn it once for a few hours. White shirt and any tie.”

“Oh yes, my outfit from the Prager gala where I played ‘blue moon’ on the piano. What tie, what shirt?” I demand.

He looks at me shocked. “There’s a new gold paisley tie, white spread collar shirt with cufflinks.”

“Why thank you brother. I better go and get ready.” I shove another granola bar in his mouth.

I easily assemble the outfit he was going to wear. After all my spying, I’m sure I would have selected something as tasteful. I skip the gold paisley and decide on a ‘men in black’ look, almost exactly as he had on at the gala. A quick shower, 20 minutes with my hair and another 20 to dress and I’m still 36 minutes early for Tommy.

“How do I look Willy? Now be honest.” I ask walking into the bedroom.

He checks me out head to toe. “You look good Will. You’re wearing my good watch?”

“My good watch brother, remember? You wore your smaller ring at the gala but I stuck with what I had on coming back from London. I think I looks great. Went with the gold black onyx cufflinks. And dude I even had my name embossed inside the suit, sweet!” I open up my jacket.

“You’ve been watching my videos.” He realizes.

“Of course, and reading your diary, all the way back to when dad drove me to ‘New Starts’ and abandoned me. I’m good Willy, been watching you for a month.”

Just then my phone rings in breast pocket. I pull it out and see it’s Tommy.

“Now keep quiet Willy or you know what’ll happen.” I warn him as I answer. “What’s up Tommy? On your way…yeah early is good, I’m ready… Okay, that sounds good, see you soon.”

“Please don’t drug me bro, I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

“Sorry Willy, can’t take any chances. Besides, Tommy mentioned about having a drink when he gets here. Sounds like it’s routine for you guys. What does he drink?”

“Rum and Coke, lots in the fridge just for him.”

I grab the knock out needle and give him a dose. He doesn’t fight me at all.

“Why thank you bro. I’ll see you later tonight maybe, if you’re awake.” I laugh as I leave and lock the door.

Tommy walks in without knocking, making his way to my bar as I make my way down the stairs. He sees me and lifts the glasses.

“The usual?”

“Sure, sounds good to me.” he’s right at home, grabbing the rum and coke.

“Cheers!” he hands me one, we clink glasses and swig.

I follow Tommy’s lead the entire evening but I know enough about Will to discuss his trip, girlfriend and work. Tommy talks about his auditions for a few movies and a commercial. Sadly for him, I’m a bigger celebrity than he is, as a few people ask for my autograph while waiting to be seated. Tricia has seats for us right next to the window with the best view of LA. It a fun night as a few of Tricia’s friends join us. It’s easy playing Will and his friends. I have everything put on my tab. Thank god he has an early audition for a new Marvel movie, so we leave and I’m home by midnight.

MORE WORK

I’m up early but Willy is out cold still. He looks like death, probably from all the injections and being upright on the chair for days. Not that I really care as it gives me more ‘Will Time’. To keep in character, I put on some of his work out gear, grab my iPod and do my usual run around the park. I work up quite the sweat but it probably helps with all the alcohol Tommy and I consumed. I check on Willy and he’s now awake and not happy. A quick injection allows me to get him relieved and toss him in the shower. He’s not putting up any resistance so I give him breakfast, leave him in the tub but making sure to securely handcuff him to a grip bar. I take my morning shower in the same shower so I can keep an eye on him.

Willy is so beaten that he’s stopped resisting completely and is cooperative even. Believing that by helping me, I’ll get what I want from him and leave him to his old life. What he’s doing is sealing his fate faster. Once I no longer need him, we’ll head up to my parent’s cabin in the mountains and he’ll be fertilizer.

After I towel off, I sit on the toilet seat next to Willy.

“How you feeling Willy?” I ask trying to sound concerned.

“Please Will, can I stay here in the tub all day? I promise I’ll be good.”

“I think I can do that but you have to be knocked out. But sure thing. Tommy is a fun guy bro. He sure loves his rum & cokes. We had a blast. I think he was hurt that women were coming up to me for my autograph but not him.”

“Yeah, that’s happened before when we’re out.” He looks really down.

“What is it bro? you look sad.”

“What do you think? I’m chained up and I can’t believe people are falling for your act.” he gets a little feisty.

“Come on bro, how could they not think I was anybody but Will Witt? Don’t worry, no one suspects a thing, so we’re good but I need your help with today’s schedule – sorta of ‘what would Will do’ session just to make sure I don’t fuck anything up for you. Okay?”

“Sure Will, it’s what I live for.” he responds sarcastically.

“How do you come up with the topics for your MOTSs?”

“Who do you think? Dad, you know how opinionated he is. When we had dinner in London, he rattled off six topics for me to cover and things he’d ask these snowflakes.”

“Ah I thought you sounded a lot like dad when interviewing people. That explains the notes on your iPad. By the way, I’m having dinner with the rents Friday night, having them meet Lisa.” I just smile at him. “Now about today’s pics, what should I wear? ‘What would Will wear’?”

“We’ve been through this – my new bespoke suit.”

“Exactly what you’d wear today – into the office and for the shoot. I’m just trying to help you Willy.”

“Dennis is always pushing for me in more suits and ties, to be taken more seriously outside the campus forum. Keep it simple – black button down shirt, my charcoal brooks brothers suit. For the shoot, the bespoke of course and take all my new dress shirts and ties, many pairs of cufflinks. I love my gold paisley tie, the one you wore last night. Hopefully you didn’t ruin it.”

“No, I went with a black tie, so the paisley is fine.”

“There’s a large suit bag in the back of my closet that can hold everything you’ll need.’

“I have to tell you bro, I’m gaining a real appreciation for your closet. My tastes have really matured in the past months. What’s with the glasses though?”

“They’re for eye strain bro, giving my eyes a break now from the contact lenses. I also wear them for important interviews or meetings where I want to look more mature and smarter.”

“Well your glasses and contacts work great for me too. My eyes have been changing but I never had them checked. Now, what about the shoot? Who’s going to be there? How does it work? What does Will do?” I press him.

“It’s a larger version of my down stair studio. Someone will come get me when it’s my turn, take me to changing room, then make up, then to the set – green screen. It’s easy really. There’ll be people in and out all day long.”

“People like who?”

“Candace, Charlie Kirk, Dave Rubin, Guy Benson and many others. It’ll be a few days of craziness.”

“Nice! Do I have any nicknames or personal things with any of them? Like, how do you address Candace? or Charlie?” He stutters and hesitates. “Spill it or more drugs. Besides, you don’t want me to fuck up anything with your friends now do you?”

“Candace is ‘Candy’ jokingly, she’s getting married in a few weeks.” He continues with the others. I’ll use the information but it sounds childish – something a more mature, evolving Will would never use. I’ll phase that nonsense out.

“Good to know. Thanks. I’ve got to get ready for work.” I grin at him.

Dennis Prager alluded to my evolving image during lunch and that I should be wearing more conservative outfits. I agree completely with the boss and love the image. With that in mind, I ignore Willy’s suggestion and go ultra conservative. I remember a beautiful light blue shirt with white contrasting collar and cuffs that ‘I’ve’ worn a few times. It would be ultra conservative with my gray Brooks.

In Will fashion, I lay out my work outfit on the bed, adding all the details. When I’m satisfied, I pull it on my underwear and socks, pull on my pants. After I add the belt, I pull on the Brooks shirt. To keep with the Brooks theme, as Will likes to do, I select the Brooks tie that he wore previously. The whole image screams ultra conservative and looks great. I add white gold cufflinks, his smaller ring and gold watch. I pull on the jacket and stare at myself in the mirror. I put some gel in my hair then fix it exactly as in the pic I found in an old MOTS video. Oh, almost forgot my tie clip. He’s famous on Instagram for his tie clips? I clip one on and it completes my image. I flash a Will smile and fingers. “What’s Up Guys?”.

I must have nailed the look because when I entered the toilet, Willy’s mouth dropped. In the bathroom mirror, I admire myself, tug on my cuffs and adjust my tie. I don’t say a word.

“Well aren’t you Will Witt.” He comments snidely but I ignore him for a few more minutes as I run my hand thru my hair.

“Who else would I be?” I turn around to face him. “What’s Up Guys, Will Witt for Prager U.” flash my peace sign to him, pretending I’m holding a microphone.

“Probably a better choice for today. No pocket square Will?”

“Oh shit, totally didn’t notice.”

“In drawer under jewelry box.” He answers me without even asking. I run to his closet, find a nice silk white one neatly folded in a square. I tuck it in my suit pocket and check myself out in the mirror quickly.

“Better?” He’s silent.

I pull out his preppy glasses and put on and off. “Glasses, no glasses?” I look at him.

“I don’t care, up to you.”

“Know what, think I’ll have pics taken both ways. I think they make me look older, which would kill my ‘frat boy’ image on college campuses but might help me with the older generation.” I turn to look at his expression but he looks broken. “I love this suit bro, it fits me great. I made sure the knot was right by noting the length of the tie, and location of stripes. Not used to wearing one, almost forgot the tie clip – my fans would have blown up over such a faux pas.”

“True, they watch everything I post.”

“Ok bro, I need to get to work, busy day ahead. I’ll probably be late tonight because Mike wants to do Furley’s for happy hour. I’ll let you in the bathtub so you’re comfortable but how about something to help you sleep?”

“No don’t do that please, I’ll be good.” He begs.

I ignore him, grab the needle and knock him out for the day.

I jump in my 911 and head in for another day in the life of Will Witt. The suit bag weighs about 30lbs and takes up the entire seat of my 911. Everyone accepts me and I keep learning more and more. The lingo is coming naturally to me. The routine of emails, small talk and understanding my role is easy.

I hang my suit bag and jacket on the back of my office door, grab my coffee mug and ease into the day. Just before lunch, Nicki, one of the film staff comes for me – it’s my turn. I’m seated in in one of the dressing rooms, in a makeup chair, in front of the mirror. Collette comes in all smiles.

“Will, you’re looking great.”

“You too, so let’s get started. I’ve got a lot to do today on top of these pics.”

“There’s something we’d like to do different this time.”

“Oh yeah? That sounds ominous.”

“Well, how about we cut your hair some?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that Collette, it’s my signature, my “conservative with the best hair”.” Sounding uncertain for effect.

“Well, I was talking to Dennis and Joel, and we feel you should be the focus, not your hair. We’re not talking about shaving your head, just toning down the cowlick some. If you don’t like, it’ll be back in a few months.”

I think about it for a minute, running my hand through my cowlick, looking at Will in the mirror. I’ve seen videos where the wind destroys his giant flop, part of his gig but in the end, I nod in approval and let Prager U redo my image.

The ‘Will’ PR shoot was so simple, but time consuming. They brought in some famous stylist from West Hollywood to cut my hair – it took an hour! They went through my suit bag and laid out a number of outfits but didn’t question my taste. They took multiple pics of me in 5 different outfits including what I wore in this morning. I was there for hours. At the end of the day, we head to Furley’s as planned for happy hour. I left on my new suit and last outfit I was photographed in. What a happy hour – hanging with Charlie Kirk, Ben Shapiro and other famous conservatives was incredible. Thanks to Will’s unedited interview videos, I knew exactly what small talk he had with a number of these conservative celebrities and played them perfectly.

When I get home, my first stop is to taunt Willy still tied up in bathtub.

“Hey bro, this suit is simply amazing. You were right, the shoot was really easy, except for having to change every 20 minutes. Like my haircut?” I tease

“What did you do to my hair?”

“Willy, remember, it’s my hair. It’s a shorter, more mature, conservative cut. Everyone loves it. I still have the best hair of any conservative. I texted it to mom and she loves it too.” I open up the iPhone and scroll thru pics from the shoot, then laugh and leave to change into sweats. Following the same routine, I inject Willy, help him to bathroom, feed him and put him to bed. In just a few days, he’s totally changed from being in control to being dependent. He’s definitely a shadow of himself but I’m now casting his shadow.

Every day as Will gets easier as I seamlessly take over his life. I’m sure I’ve slipped up a few times but since no one knows Will has a twin, who would suspect me? Wednesday at work was incredible. I helped with the rest of the PR shoot, chatted with all of my new conservative friends. I especially liked talking to Dave Rubin and Candace Owens. I had dinner with everyone that evening and it went really late. By the time I got home, Willy had wetted himself. I was so pissed that I shoved a hot pocket in his mouth, hosed him off and drugged him heavily.

On Thursday Gavi and I do a man on the street, at Santa Monica Pier. I nailed it – quickly picking up Will’s attitude and methods. It was easy after watching all his videos from the past year. Back in the office I sit down with Gavi, edit his video and work with Alexander to add the graphics.

Willy is awake when I get home. His eyes scan me from top to bottom then he starts yelling through the ball gag.

“Hang on Willy.” I pop out the ball gag.

“I hate you Willy and I’m done playing your game.” He spits and hits me on my shorts.

I gut punch him with all my force, then inject him to keep him docile. “Now Willy, we’ll get you on the potty and fed quickly. I don’t have a lot of time, Lisa and I are going to dinner at mom and dad’s. I really like her.”

I get Willy settled, take a quick shower and head out to pick up Lisa. Dinner is a breeze as Lisa is the center of attention. There’s no discussion of Willy at all – just about me and how proud they are of everything I’m doing. As I expected, they were totally clueless I wasn’t their precious little Will. I have to admit, it felt great being home. I showed Lisa my old bedroom and got a BJ on Will’s bed. It was like old times, like his other girlfriends I fooled. Mom and dad announced they’re heading to Hawaii to celebrate their 30th wedding anniversary and ask me to watch the house while they’re gone. More time to get reacquainted with my new life as their loving son Will. I spend the night at Lisa’s but get up early to take care of things at home, then work.

Willy is awake and pissed more when I check in on him.

“Morning Willy.” I cheerfully announce.

“You’re Willy asswipe.” He yells back.

I gut punch him with all my force. “Don’t make me repeat myself Willy, now who am I?”

“You’re Will, Will Witt.” He’s barely able to speak, I hit him so hard.

“Now that’s much better Willy. Let’s get you to the bathroom and fed.” I inject him and continue talking while it takes effect.

“So, mom and dad love Lisa bro. I think she’s really falling for me. She gave me a BJ in my old bedroom. Sadly, your old bedroom is now a workout room with no trace of you at all. I showed Lisa my swimming and track trophies, tried on my old letterman jacket and gave her the whole Will Witt history. Can you believe mom and dad are celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary? I can’t!” I lay it on thick as the caring son that Will is.

“Fuck off.” The mumbles.

“Oh Willy, don’t make me hurt you more.” I warn him. I can see the drugs have kicked in, and start untying him. Just as I loosen the last night, Willy tries a fast one on me, trying to tackle me to the floor. I’ve wrestled him too many times and know his ‘plays’ and another gut punch and I’m dragging him into the bathroom. A quick shower, shit and breakfast bar and he’s good for another 12 hours.

Once he’s secured, I jump in shower and prep for another day in the office. Fridays are so routine with a team strategy meeting for upcoming projects/videos/content. This is followed by lunch and office time till happy hour at Furley’s. After happy hour, I meet Lisa and a bunch of her friends out for more drinks and dancing, then back to her place.

END OF THE ROAD

I’m up early and skip out of Lisa’s, telling her I have some chores to do for my parents and I’ll be tied up all weekend. Willy is awake and thrashing about trying to get loose. I enter the bedroom smiling, and clap my hands.

“Willy, good news! Road trip bro! We’re going to the cabin to take care of some things for Dad. I thought you’d enjoy it.”

He stares at me, blood shot eyes, a week of facial hair, looking like crap. “Good, could I sleep in one of the bunk beds?”

“Sure thing bro, then we’ll talk about next steps here.” He calms down, feeling better, probably thinking he’s getting his life back. He’s not.

I drug him, give him a shower, get him dressed and fed. The next morning, I get him ready for 4 hour trip to the cabin. The dosage I gave him should keep him out for most of the trip. I pack some clothes and fishing gear in case I get the urge. We leave at 5am to avoid any traffic.

He sleeps the entire journey and I don’t stop once. I’m careful to drive the speed limit to not attract any attention from state police. I pull up to the cabin before 9am. There’s no one around, no one on the lake even – all peaceful and quiet. With Willy securely tied up in the car, I walk around the cabin inspecting the place, reminiscing about our family outings and fishing trips. In the rear about 500 feet from the house is an old well that’s been dry for years. Dad has been talking about filling it in for safety for years, but never did. It’s the perfect place to hide a body.

When I get back to the car, Willy is stirring. I help him out of the car and walk him inside the cabin.

“Will, untie me please. My arms and wrists are killing me.” He pleas.

“Sure thing.” Knowing he’s drugged still and couldn’t run anywhere or harm me.

We walk out to the back porch and I hand him a coke and sandwich. He sits on the step eating and enjoying the partial view of the lake. I laced the coke with enough fentanyl to kill him – he’ll just pass out and die peacefully.

“So what’s the plan Will? I guessing this is it for me. Am I right.” As he takes a large chug of the coke.

“Yeah that’s about it Willy. You won’t feel a thing though, you’ll just fall asleep. Hope you enjoyed the coke, no after taste?”

“Nah, it tasted fine. You know I need a few cokes a day to keep the energy up.”

“Yeah, it’s a habit I’ve had to adopt. You know Willy, I’ve always been a better you and this life is perfect for me. Don’t worry, I love my new life and have seamlessly integrated into it. I’ll take good care of it.”

He’s in a daze now, the drug is kicking in. I help him up and over to an Adirondack chair near the fire pit. He puts his head back and starts breathe erratically. Within minutes he stops breathing. I waste no time stripping and dumping him in the well. I grab a shovel and start shoveling dirt into the well until I can’t see any evidence. For good measure I add another foot of dirt on top of that.

I’m exhausted after that, take a shower and dress in clean clothes. In town I grab a bite at Palmer’s diner – a dive with good food. As I’m sitting there finishing up with a piece of Apple pie, Rob Decker, an old friend of me and Will come up to me. He’s a local who owns a few small businesses, most inherited from his father.

“Will! How are you man? Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?” He grabs my hand and shakes it hard.

“Rob, good to see you! Dad asked me to check on the cabin and I needed a break from LA. I’m heading back to tomorrow.”

“Dude, got your gear?”

“Of course, was going to try the old creek before heading home.”

“I’ll join you, heck, even Tommy will go. He’ll be thrilled to see you. He was talking about your videos on Facebook.”

“Sound great Rob, stop by tomorrow morning whenever.”

Back at the cabin, I start a campfire and relax. Once it’s burning good, I grab Willy’s clothes and toss it all in. I have an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and freedom now. I have a few beers and watch the fire slowly burn out. Sunday morning Rob and Tommy show up at 6am. They don’t even mention my brother Willy even though we were all friends growing up. We have a blast and they want to come to the big city and party with me soon.

I fly back late Sunday afternoon and clean up my condo – unmounting the chair, smoothing over the holes in my carpet, cleaning the bathroom and tossing out the rest of Willy’s clothes. I call Lisa and invite her to my place tomorrow night for dinner and love making.

Monday morning I’m in full Will Witt mode. I wake up and take my run, shower and fuss with my hair for 20 minutes. In keeping with Dennis’ wishes, I up my conservative appearance to match my new haircut. My new bespoke Saville Row suit anchors my identity as the only Will Witt. It’s teamed with my favorite blue Brooks Brothers shirt with white contrasting cuffs and collars. I pair it with my new shoes and favorite tie I’ve worn a few times. Joel loves my new attitude and appearance. At lunch, I pull a typical Will move – I escape to a nearby restaurant, hang out and work on my schedule as is habit.

Life is great now. I have tons of friends and fans. Prager U is very lucrative and I’m in demand across the US and world for speaking appearances. No one suspects I’m not Will. I love the notoriety and acceptance. I even love my preppy wardrobe and new style. It’s grown on me and I’ll maintain it.

#twin #imposter #transformation #revenge #straight sex #stolen identity #evil twin #twin swap

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xastrofrogx · 3 years

Text

DIGITAL BLACKOUT

PART ONE

clays pov

"bro i just can't do this shit anymore there's so much going on with youtube, podcasts and streaming it's all too much" i lean back into the barstool as nick glances over at me " woah" nick says dropping the chicken wing from his hands "what" i react too fast sounding rude but shake it off "nothing we just don't talk about our feelings like this that's all" nick says getting out of his chair walking over to the sink to clean his plate "maybe you should do a cleanse like i don't know a digital blackout that might be good for you being away from everything for a bit" i grunt picking up patches placing her into my lap "yea you think?" i ask petting patches head nick nods walking out of the kitchen "what do you think princess..?" patches purrs

i grunt flopping down onto my bed grabbing my phone from the side table holding it above my face not turning it on just looking... "should i?" i ask myself flipping my phone over to the other side looking at my green phone case i flip it back over and turn it on heading to twitter

@dreamwastaken

hello :)

!please take time to read this it's extremely important!

i've taken some time and i'm going to take a break i don't know for how long but just until i can figure things out in my personal life... this isn't forever i'll definitely be back i love you all so much!!!!

-dream

❤️589,000 ♻️100,689 💬 236,000

i close my eyes ugh i grunt getting out of bed and sitting in my office chair turning it so it starts spinning "come in" i say after hearing a knock on the door, i see nicks figure in the hallway "you actually did it" he says phone in hand "yea i felt like i needed some time like you said a digital blackout" "yea" he says turning around and leaving the door slightly ajar. i get out of my chair and head back down stairs grabbing my keys and my wallet slipping on my black converse a fan sent me... i got into my car sitting back into the seat turning it on the ac blowing i'm my warm face making my wavy hair move in different directions i grab the aux and plug my phone in turning on some random one direction song and pulled out of my driveway

ugh i grunted getting out of the compact car stepping into the store parking lot i walked forward placing my mask on my face happy that i don't have to fake a smile for the random strangers at a best buy. i opened the door ding the bell above my head went off all the employees looking my way then turning back to their daily boring tasks. i wanted to get a few things a old camera preferably a one shot film camera and a flip phone for safety reasons... "how may i help you" a guy said sending me out of my trance "oh uhhh do you have any flip phones or old one shot film cameras?" i ask "digital blackout huh?" he asks making me huff a laugh "yea it's for the best" i say following him to the phone area "we don't have any one shot cameras we haven't had those in years but i heard from a friend that they just got a new stock of them at the thrift store across the road" i turn my head to see a good will "oh okay" "now here's a Alcatel myflip pretty good option and super cheap and i've heard pretty good things" "uhm how many gigs?" i ask picking up the fake model on display placing it in my hand its small really small but it'll do i guess "2-4" he said turning his head as another costumer enters the store "yea i'll get this one"

we start walking over to the registers i look back down at my feet after placing the phone box onto the counter " that will be $20" he says i pull out a $50 and grab the phone box from the counter "uhh keep the change" "wait sir you sure that's a lot" "yea" i say looking back "i have enough the spare" his eye brows go up and back down at the money... if only he knew who i was he would understand. i walk back out to the parking lot heading over to the good will across the road passing my car and others as well.

i open the door to a ring again a single old lady most likely in her 60s turns her head to look at me "welcome" she says with a smile behind the cash register i smile noticing the she can't see it though the mask i nod my head and wave "do you have old cameras by any chance" i ask spiking her interest "oh yes follow me to the back" i follow her back into an old corner of the goodwill to see 3 old cameras "make your pick i don't know much about them but i hear this one is the best" she said walking away and back to the register to help a mom and her son. i look back at the one she pointed to i saw canon written on the top right coroner i grab it and head over the the shirt isle might as well i mean i'm already here i think to myself what will my other friends think like i haven't talked to george about this yet and tommy...

shit shit shit "oh my god i'm so sorry" i say quickly squatting down to the floor picking up a pair of blue levi jeans and a grandpa looking sweater assuming i ran into an old man i looked up seeing a young woman most likely around my age she had brown wavy long hair and blue eyes she was wearing a flowey white dress and a pair of sage green converse "i'm so sorry" i said handing her stuff back to her "you're totally fine it's my fault i wasn't paying attention to where i was going" she turns her head to walk off

"clay" i said grabbing her attention "i'm clay" i hold out my hand "i'm mae" she says grabbing my hand and shaking it "again i'm sorry" i say not knowing what else to say "you're good so you live here?" she asks "or just visiting?" " oh i live here with my friend nick" fuck clay you're over sharing to a stranger "nice i live here with my friend as well" she says with a calming voice making me relax "you maybe want my number?" she asks " i don't really do things like this but i don't know today i wanna take a chance" i give her my phone... my flip phone "sorry it's not normally like that i'm on a digital blackout trying to get away from social media you know" i say as she types the last number in my phone "yea i get it i did one a while back it helped me a lot" i think she's smiling "well i'm going to go check out but i'll text you" i say "okay" now i definitely know she's smiling

i walk up to the register completely forgetting about wanting to look in the shirt isle "you find what you need just fine dear?" the older lady said ringing up the canon camera "yea thank you" i say giving her a $20 dollar bill "keep the change" i say walking back out of the store and to my car i opened the car and sat back down in the chair leaning back placing the key in the socket and turing the screen blasting in my hair again

*DOES IT EVER DRIVE YOU CRAZY JUST HOW FAST THE NIGHT CHANGESSSSSS*

pounds from the speakers "fuck" i say turning the the radio off.

i did that i just made friends with a complete stranger.

#dream #dream smp imagine #dreamwastaken imagine #dream x you #dream team x reader #dreamwastaken fanfic #dreamwastaken x you #dream smp x reader

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lovinmullen · 4 years

Text

the pacific: part one, live blog because i said so

he looked so pissed when he has to make the sign of the cross to mary..... I KNOW ITS BECAUSE HES FALLING AWAY FROM HIS RELIGION but all i can think is undercover protestant????? i hate that i find myself funny stfu tom like he’s some angsty protestant like ‘this is fucking bullshit why the fuck DO THEY PRAY TO MARY’ which..... is a huge missconsperion but i’m not gonna get into that right now but hey if anyone needs an rs teacher? i got you

are you telling me i could have heard the most BEAUTIFUL monologue about the saint mary’s church and her plans for the day as well as being able to see that sweet sweet smile on vera’s face for longer but it was cut short because bobo went ‘i joined the marines’ GOOD FOR YOU BUT.....

rOBERT...... you really gonna give her THAT look...... IN GODS HOUSE is this allowed? is THIS ALLOWED???? if you don’t say it in the voice of the vine we can not be fteejssn sorry i don’t make the rules

#BOB: i wanna catholic girl that go to church AND READ HER BIBLE (is that even right??? omg i can only remember the jewish one *in the voice of ryan reynolds severely slowed down* FUUUUUCCCKKK)

on a real note this man saw her at church ONCE and his ass went finna wife up like........ take her out to dinner first. OR AT LEAST ASK HER HOW SHE IS IN THE LETTERS like we get it you’re emo, the aussie won’t shag you anymore and you keep pissing your pants. i understand it’s a hard not life or how ever that song in annie goes but bro.........(this is obviously a joke i am dumb of ass please ignore me i love you m8 and i’m sorry you’re gonna embarrass yourself in front of everyone but chuckler shifts to momma mode so you good)

can we please acknowledge jon’s acting..... sir? PHENOMENAL he’s not even saying anything??? he’s just looking at the lt yet i’m near tears

gentle reminder i love the basilones🥺🥺🥺 the way they are so supportive even though they don’t understand and they are scared for him but they accept and respect that john wants more, needs more and they’re putting their own fears aside so he can spread his wings for no better turn of phrase.

‘just get the job done, and come home to us’ the way his head falls and he has to stop his voice from breaking. i’m s fucking bitter

THE HAND HOLD MY GOD

leckie:((( look hes a bastard and he pisses me off but no matter how much i bully him i do love him a lot and the complete disregard and uncaring nature from his dad breaks my heart. a handshake then gone just like that? HIS FACE BEFORE ‘there’s a war on everybodies got to make sacrifices’ he looks so hurt and broken baby

GENE MY SWEET SWEET BABY GOD THIS SO SAD ALEXA PLAY DESPACITO. my baby just wants to do his part :( CUT THE CAMERAS DEAD ASS I WILL CRY BABY PLEASE DON’T CRY JUST WAIT A FEW MORE EPS my heart really do be looking like: <eugene3

‘gene, supper’s ready’ ma’am i’m sorry but he does not give a shit

SIDNEY MY SWEET SWEET BOY get in a pram if you’re going to be so baby. look while i love him so much and i know he didn’t mean it to be !!!!! he’s just small of brain !!! but when he says “i wish we where going together” that lowkey rubs it in man......... like he’s already heartbroken PLEASE STOP but the “yeah well you take care of yourself greaser” - “you don’t have to worry about me” IM SOFT🥺

“wOWoWOoOOO COME ON GUYS I WORKED HARD FOR THESE ORANGES”

“guadal...kenel...guadal BLEEHHH” didn’t realise hoos was recreating the audience of my english speaking exam. LOOK I REALISE NOW TALKING ABOUT STOICISM TO A BUNCH OF 15 YEAR OLDS WHO DON’T CARE WAS A BAD IDEA BUT I GOT A DESTINCTION SO FUCK YOU TO THAT ONE KID

chuckler baby..... i’m in love with a dumbass. also the hit across the head. i’m soft (lads lets take a shot every time i say i’m soft in this liveblog ITS GONNA BE A FUN NIGHT jk drink responsibly and all that jazz or be dick winters that’s cool too!! heck do a babe heffron and get yourself a caprisun you deserve it)

“professor leckie” please don’t fuel his ego HE DOES NOT NEED IT

HOLD UP I NEED TO SWITCH FROM THE TV TO MY LAPTOP TO SCREEN CAP THIS SHIT LEW MY SON HAVE YOU BEEN BITING INTO AN ORANGE LIKE IT IS AN APPLE??? I WOULD BE MAD BUT HE LOOKS SO CUTE on a real note though can you eat the skin???? will he be okay?????

okay two hoos things: 1.) he looks SO DONE and i’m living for it 2.) can we talk about jacobs nose..... IM DYING TO TALK ABOUT JACOBS NOSE

okay the boats scene give me saving private ryan flashbacks i came out here to have a good time AND I AM NOT HAVING A GOOD TIME oh wait never mind runner just went ‘i could really use a stiff one right now’ i hate that but he saved the day with his dumbassery so thank you good sir i love you with all my heart

fun fact my how co ranking goes chuckler, runner, hoos, leckie

OH FUCK I FORGOT SID SJAKSJSJ y’know for someone who talks about how much they love sid i forget about him a lot. thank you for blessing my screen with your pretty face it helped me remember you exist LMAO guys my memory is not okay i’m actually concerned...... but more importantly i’d put him between hoos and leckie in the ranking :,)

call it what it is. babyism. y’all better stop before i cuddle you LOOK AT THIS SHIT THEY’RE ADORABLE

runner is the only bitch i respect in this house he’s so fucking funny

‘they’ve? poisoned? a? billion?! coconuts?’ that poor son of a bitch BLESS HIM don’t shoot the messenger okay? he seems like a sweet bean

that shot of hoos, leckie and chuckler looking down at the camera into the bunker? my sexuality. my left brain: tomas stop thirsting it’s an intense and serious show. my righ brain: but?? they’re pretty?? me nodding smugly and in agreement: BUT THEY’RE PRETTY.

THIS MAN AND HIS GUM I CAN’T why is that me. i am the gum man at my school that sounds so weird ajsksjsj i just always have gum. ALSO spearmint is superior to normal mint. NORMAL MINT BURNS LIKE ITS SPICY BRO. bubblemint is superior superior but that’s more expensive rip😭😭😭😭😭😭

‘it’s like the fourth of july’ nice to my boy sufjan getting some rep he is king of the gays after all mr i can’t explain the state that i’m in the state of my heart he was my best friend. we all owe him EVERY parallel on this goddamn app. jk there’s one other king of the gays and that is demon! shane (bfu). no this is not up for debate

the shot of the ships is phenomenal. that’s one thing i do have to credit hbo on. the special effects and cinematography are beautiful and so fucking impressive like???

‘we’re killing them’ - ‘where’s the navy?’ / ‘gone we lost four cruisers’ GOD I HAVE SUCH A LOVE HATE RELATIONSHIP FOR FORSHADOWING LIKE SOMETIMES ITS SO SEXY AND OTHER TIMES IM LIKE PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GO AWAY

WHY DOES SID LOOK OVER HIS SHOLDER BEFORE TAKING THE WINE SIR NO ONE IS GONNA TELL YOU OFF AT WAR FOR DRINKING UNDERAGE like???? i don’t think an 18 year old having a swig is their biggest problem bless his heart

‘can’t fight em drunk don’t fight em at all’

bill if you are reading this i’m free on thursday night and would like to hang out. please respond to this and then hang out with me on thursday night, when i am free😌😘🥰😳🥺👉👈😤💘💓🙄🥴

FUCK I FORGOT HOW LOUD THE GUN SHOTS WHERE THINK I JUST WOKE THE WHOLE NEIGHBOURHOOD JC

‘skipper? skipper are you okay?? goddamnit he’s lost it come on’ :(((((

god the shots in this show really are phenomenal. i know it’s very gory and very hard to watch at times but it definitely has the best shots of the three en mi opinion. i’m a slut for the close up of dick screaming ‘move out’ with rounds flying. like who’s ever call that was? outstanding but like that’s just one? the pacific has so many emotive and excellently shot scenes.

JOG ON. STOP. IM SO SOFT IM GOING TO CRY THIS IS NOT OKAY. MOMMA CHUCKLER I CAN’T🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

how seemlessly the scenes flow one after the other despite being opposite ends of the spectrum i DID NOT GIVE TP ENOUGH CREDIT like yeah it makes me sad as fuck but from a production point of view the writing? the acting? the cinematography? DAMN

how visibly torn and pissed off hoosier looks over the other marines tormenting the japanese soldier, stringing out his death when he’s obviously in a lot of mental as well as physical pain? the only bitch i respect in this house.

okay so like? while the shot is scarring both for him and the audience to see that kind of effortless murder it was the right thing to do? it’s better then have him be tormented and it will help leckie in the long run? how broken he looks though? like the distance is his eye and the way he swollows....... WHO IS CUTTING ONIONS HUH???? brilliant james BRILLIANT

the way i just said ‘if biology would have permitted it i would be asking you to have my babies’ at the sight of a man shoving smokes up his nose....... now ladies theyzies and gents, a prime reason to show why you should do your work. this is tom. tom didn’t do his work. with nothing to do all day tom became bat shit..... don’t be like tom. okay like it is cute though COME ON

HOW PROUD AND SMUG AND HAPPY HE LOOKS AT HIS PREMOTION ‘yes ma’am i am a corporal’ HE IS SO BABY AND FOR WHAT. oops sorry lads looks like i dropped this:

the shot of leckie swimming in the water fading off to the shot of the dead bodies mirroring his movement but obviously a life less version OOOH IMMA SUE

god love me some men with black lungs LECKIE DO BE LOOKING GOOD LIGHTING THAT CIG DAMN

“i have a girlfriend lucky me” HOOS IS LIKE MY GAY ASS YOU SURE????

“you guys step aside the real marines are here now” “AND I’VE BEEN HERE FOR SOME TIME” that shuts iconic even i said wahayyyy

also runner..... i am looking RESPECTFULLY👁👁

you’re not special leckie we all want hoosier

sister👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

baby gene :,( YOU GINGER LIL BEBE I LOVE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH

can you really call yourself a hbo war an if you don’t sing along at the end... ITS A TUNE also hoos’ voice...... its about the drawl.......

#god ive missed these idiots #im so glad i rewatched #im a bit scared for the rollercoaster that is the rest of the series however asjsksjks #enjoy me being an idiot #thank you to the beauties that told me how to do the keep reading thing you da best xxxx #the pacific #hbo war #eugene sledge #bill hoosier smith #lew chuckler juergens #robert leckie #sidney phillips #wilbur runner conley #john basilone

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wanderingthroughwonder · 4 years

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Miranda’s Fic Recs

I’ve been wanting to do this for a while because I just have a lot of fics in different fandoms that I truly enjoy. These are mostly long fics because that’s what I read the most. Fandoms included: Teen Wolf, Harry Potter, MCU, Star Trek, Kingsman, and Avatar: The Last Airbender. Find them below! (Some fanfic spoilers ahead)

So I’m starting with completed fics and then I have a few not completed fics at the end that I’m just really liking.

Embers by Vathara

Rating: Not Rated, Word Count: 704,200 Fandom: A:TLA

Dragon’s fire is not so easily extinguished; when Zuko rediscovers a lost firebending technique, shifting flames can shift the world....

This is an Avatar: The Last Airbender rewrite. It’s Zuko centric and it splits off while Zuko and Uncle Iroh are on the run and Zuko learns of healing firebending. The world building is so good and interesting and the whole fic does a great job of reimagining the A:TLA world. You meet a lot of new characters that are super well written and fit the world nicely.

The Debt of Time by ShayaLonnie

Rating: E, Word Count: 715,940, Fandom: Harry Potter, Ship: Hermione/Sirius

When Hermione finds a way to bring Sirius back from the veil, her actions change the rest of the war. Little does she know her spell restoring him to life provokes magic she doesn’t understand and sets her on a path that ends with a Time-Turner.

This fic is so good and I’ve reread it before. I love Hermione centric fics and this is definitely one. When she goes back in time she goes through school again with the Marauders and it’s so good you guys. I think the fic does such a good job of showing her grow with these new people. The relationships in this fic are so intense and I love them.

Hook, Yarn, Sinker by pprfaith

Rating: Not Rated, Word Count: 65,675, Fandom: Teen Wolf, Ship: Stiles/Peter

Stiles is happy with his store, his hobbies, his friends. Peter’s just trying to figure out how to raise his nieces and nephews without fucking them up too badly.

Paths cross.

This is the first in a series of fics. It’s a Human AU with aged up Stiles and friends but with little kids Derek, Laura, and Cora. This fic is a good time and sweet and honestly low stakes which is so nice to have these days. I think a lot of Steter fics are more intense and I enjoy them but this is such a nice change of pace where you really get to know the characters in these fairly different circumstances. The whole series word count is 161,859.

A Sequence That You Never Learned by AnnaTaylor

Rating: E, Word Count: 64,624, Fandom: Star Trek: AOS, Ship: James T. Kirk/Spock

“Spock,” Jim breathes out, completely overwhelmed by the gesture—not quite believing that Spock knows him so well, that he’s already started researching, that he trusts Jim with a member of his own endangered species.

When Jim gets it in his head to adopt an eight-year-old Vulcan, Spock presents a logical solution to the issue of Jim’s of humanity: marriage to a Vulcan citizen.

This was one of my first Spirk fics and I honestly love kid fics. Vulcan kids are so different from Jim, but I love the idea that Vulcans still love him anyway. This is such a great Fake Marriage fic.

If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out by mia6363

Rating: E, Word Count: 13,232, Fandom: Teen Wolf, Ship: Stiles centric but technically Stiles/Peter

Commander Stilinski looks like he fell out of a propaganda video, his armor still smoking as he pulled off his helmet and handed it off to First Officer Argent. He had a few bruises down his neck but his smile was bright.

“Glad to see you safe and sound, Mr. Hale. I’d hate for Derek to lose a member of his family.”

“I told you,” Derek snapped at his superior, “he’s not worth this, Commander.”

This is the shortest fic on my list but I love this take. It’s got a Star Trek vibe and I LOVE how everyone is made into these different aliens. Stiles being human here is so interesting and it reminds me of those “humans are the craziest of the aliens” posts. It’s got multiple POVs and I think they’re written really well and do a great job of coming together.

Where Thou Art, That is Home by ShanaStoryteller

Rating: Various, Word Count: 94,108, Fandom: Teen Wolf, Ship: Stiles/Derek

Stiles is 10 when he saves the Hales from their burning home and Derek from a wolfsbane bullet, and this establishes a pattern that seems to continue indefinitely.

“Then he’s facing a burning home, and he wraps the hood of his sweatshirt around his mouth before he pushes the door open and steps inside. There’s Mr. Hale asleep - he hope asleep - on the couch, next to - Stiles thinks that’s his brother but there are so many Hales, who can keep track. He rushes over and starts shaking him, can see the rise and fall of the man’s chest so he knows he’s alive, but he’s not waking up. He shoves away his hood so he can shout, “Mr. Hale! You have to get up, there’s a fire! Mr. Hale, get up!” Nothing, he’s not even twitching, both of them taking in deep even breathes like they’re having the most peaceful of rest, and Stiles is going to cry. “Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

There’s a moment where all Stiles can here is the blood rushing in his ears and not the roar of the flames or the creak of wood, then with a violent, silent pop it’s all back and both men are gasping awake, eyes open and jumping to their feet.”

This is another series! It creates a Hales Survive AU and it’s got BAMF!Stiles. The Hales in this fic are so interesting and it’s an expanded family from what we see in canon. Magic!Stiles is written so well in this fic and things get intense but it’s so good.

Counterpart by sara_holmes

Rating: M, Word Count: 217,400, Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Ship: Steve/Tony

coun•ter•part [koun-ter-pahrt] [noun] 1. a person or thing closely resembling another, especially in function. 2. a copy; duplicate. 3. one of two parts that fit, complete, or complement one another.

Just because Hydra used the DNA of a Captain America from another dimension to create a lab-grown, six-year-old super-soldier, it doesn't mean that said six-year old super-soldier is biologically Steve's, right?

(Where Steve wants to ban Clint from bringing things home from alternative dimensions, until he doesn't.)

This is an amazing kid fic. Things are so messed up because of how the kids was raised up to the point they find him.I love Tony so much in this fic but also you sympathize a bit with Steve. The kid whose name I will leave out is my absolute favorite. This is also a series!

Fallout by Whisper91 kingsman

Rating: E, Word Count: 164,971, Fandom: Kingsman, Ship: Eggsy/Harry/Merlin

As far as the rest of the world is concerned, Gary 'Eggsy' Unwin is a registered Dominant. It's on his driver's licence. It's on his National Insurance card. Hell, it's even on his bloomin' GCSE certificates. And the fact that it's all a load of bollocks is a secret Eggsy had intended to take to his grave.

Course, he hadn't been expectin' a bloody sub-drop to sweep in and knock him on his arse in the wake of the Valentine Massacre. Turns out grief and adrenaline ain't a good combination.

I really enjoy the dynamics between the three of them. D/s fics are always so amazingly well built and I love fics like this where they’re hiding their dynamic. I think this fic does a great job of going further with the D/S world and giving it more biologically. I just reread this fic recently because I love how it’s done.

It’s Insanity But... by rosepetals42

Rating: M, Word Count: 71,477, Fandom: Teen Wolf, Ship: Stiles/Derek

The doorbell interrupts what had turned out to be quite the epic shoe hunt but, really, he’s grateful for the break. Or at least, he is until he heads down the stairs to grab the door, trips over a stuffed animal of some kind, bashes his head on the wall and barely manages to catch himself from falling down the entire flight of stairs. As with all things, Stiles would like to state, for the record, that this is Scott’s fault.

Or: Scott and Stiles are raising seven children. Derek is the entertainer they hire for a birthday party (not a clown though, he’s very specific on that fact.)

This fic is such a good time! I love two bro’s raising kids together. It’s a hilarious setup and also just so good for the Stiles and Scott dynamic. Each chapter is like a slice of life. Some chapters are more about the kids and some are about Stiles and Derek. It’s just a fun fic and I love that it’s still got werewolves because I think a lot of fics that focus more on regular stuff go full on human AU. Keeping werewolves is much more fun and it’s so well handled here!

So Wise We Grow by Deastar

Rating: M, Word Count: 81,248, Fandom: Star Trek, Ship: James T. Kirk/Spock

”Commander Spock, we have located your son,” the Vulcan lady on the screen says, which would be great, except Jim can tell by the look on Spock’s face that he’s never heard of this kid before in his life. “If it is expedient, the child will be sent to join you on the Enterprise within the week.”

This fic is two long chapters. Again, I love kid fic and this one does such a great job. We’ve got pining and hurt/comfort and all kinds of good feels here. There’s one line about t’hy’la that is just *chefs kiss* so good and hits you hard.

Play It Again by metisket

Rating: T, Word Count: 63,206, Fandom: Teen Wolf, Ship: Stiles/Derek

In which Stiles goes along with one of Derek’s plans and ends up in an alternate universe as a result. He should’ve known better. He did know better, actually, and that means he has no one to blame but himself. “Laura wants to lure the kid in with food and kindness and make a pet of him, like a feral cat. Derek wants to have him arrested for stalking. They’re at an impasse. (And the rest of the family is staying emphatically out of it in a way that suggest bets have been placed.)”

This is fairly Stiles centric. It really looks into the emotions of jumping universes. The alive Hale family is so good and it’s magic!Stiles which is always interesting. What I think makes it extra good is that in a lot of universe jump or time travel fics it’s more about adjusting to how things will be now. But this fic does that while also having the new universe with its own problems. It’s just fun to see Stiles deal with all these things.

Happy Lights by LadyShadowDrake

Rating: E, Word Count: 108,237, Fandom: MCU, Ship: Mixed

An interdimensional portal opens over New York and drops a tentacled alien in the middle of Central Park. The Avengers are called out to investigate, and hopefully return the visitor home. Steve has been brushing up on his diplomacy, but he never expected to be a liaison to an alien in such an intimate capacity, or that the alien would be so friendly, and the unusual visit turns into the world's best team-building exercise.

This is a series that is so much fun. The alien (aka the colony) is so interesting and sweet in the long run. I love seeing the team grow and as you go through the series you really get to see more of them coming together. This is just a playful fic that you can have a good time reading.

Magpie by waldorph

Rating: E, Word Count: 57,648, Fandom: Star Trek: AOS, Ship: James T. Kirk/Spock

Spock met Jim when he was 7 and Jim was 6. It has since been generally agreed that this was a mistake (or: the one where they grew up together and things are simultaneously better and worse for it).

This is such a deep dive of both Spock and Jim. It’s them growing up together and it splits off some as far as events that happen in canon. It ends before they become Starfleet. I think this fic creates such an interesting bond between Spock and Jim. I also really love where it goes as far as Spock not having grown up alone on Vulcan.

These are the unfinished fics. The first two are in progress and the last one seems to be abandoned.

Survival is a Talent by ShanaStoryteller

Rating: T, Word Count: 353,015, Fandom: Harry Potter, Ship: Harry/Draco

In the middle of their second year, Draco and Harry discover they're soulmates and do their best to keep it a secret from everyone.

Their best isn't perfect.

“Are you trying to get killed, Potter?” Malfoy drawls, stalking forward. Quick as a serpent himself, he reaches out and grabs the snake just below the head. It thrashes in his grip, but is no longer able to bite anyone. “This is a poisonous snake, and I doubt anyone brought a bezoar with them.”

Harry glares. He opens his mouth, and feels the beginning the snake’s language pass his lips, and this isn’t what he wants, what’s the point of insulting Malfoy if he can’t understand him –

Malfoy’s eyes widen. He slaps his hand over Harry’s mouth, “Potter, what the hell–”

This fic is in progress updated within 2020. It’s a rewrite of the Harry Potter series where Harry and Draco are soulmates. As you can imagine, that changes some things. I love this so much, I’ve read it like 3 or 4 times now. The characterization is amazing and I love the differences we see. Harry is Indian in this fic and the way it ties in is so good. You really get to see the difference in culture as well between muggleborns and blood traitor families and the purebloods.

You great unfinished symphony (you sent for me) by ketchupcrisp

Rating: E, Word Count: 227,792, Fandom: MCU, Ship: Steve/Tony and also the whole Team

The last thing Steve Rogers ever expected to see on a Wednesday afternoon was his (their) dead submissive tumbling out of a portal and practically into Phil’s lap, very much alive and frantic about Soul Stones and timelines and some other version of the team.

This is an AU but like literally. Tony comes from the universe we know into a D/S universe. The worldbuilding here - again like I think a lot of D/s fics excel at - is so good. It starts with everything a mess and things are intense. There’s multiple POVs which I think is really helpful in a fic like this where the relationships are so tangled.

Born From the Earth by venusm

Rating: E, Word Count: 277,602, Fandom: MCU, Ship: Tony Centric, Steve/Tony

Tony Stark's born an omega in a world where that means he's supposed to follow certain social rules. He becomes Iron Man anyway: Fuck biology.

If only his biology (and the world) would quit fucking him back.

To start off, some warnings: this fic gets a bit messed up. It’s an Omega verse in the worst possible way at certain points. It’s not a fluffy fic. It also doesn’t get that far into the Stony stuff because it’s unfinished. Honestly I’m worried this writer has died and I’ve gone through the comments and looked for them online to see if they’re out there and just not writing but I haven’t found any proof of that. BUT ANYWAYS. This fic is intense but it’s such an interesting take on Omega fics. It gets pretty dark but that darkness is pre-Steve and I’m hopeful that one day it might get finished so I can see where it was going to go.

#written #fic recs #harry potter #teen wolf #spirk #marvel mcu #atla #kingsman #shayalonnie #wordsformurder #mia6363 #shanastoryteller #captn-sara-holmes #whisper91 #petals42 #metisket #lightshadowverisimilitude #waldorph #ketchupcrisp

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finn-2187 · 4 years

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alright here it is, the basics of my au plus art.... under the cut so you dont have to see it if you dont want to

k so first off this au take place during like the end of rebels through a few years post ROTJ. also a everybody lives au so its more happy.

ok so basically the oc i made for the au is this boy right here:

he is the son of kallus and zeb ok. hes half human half lasat and he is a himbo and he likes to pick people up when he hugs them. he loves his dads and his friends.

well thats him as an adult, but for most of this au he is going to be in this little group here as a child:

left to right: ben solo (13), poe dameron (14), my oc who doesnt have a name yet if anyone wants to help out w that (14), finn skywalker (12), rey skywalker(9).yes i changed all thier birth years basically and no i do not give a shit. also poe has bleached tips because my little brother whos the same age does too and if theres a latine character i will project my family onto them and thats that on that.

so basically wedge antilles and luke skywalker got married becasue idk if you have noticed but wedgeluke is my favorite ship and so it has to be in every au.... so theyre married and they adopt 2 kids and those kids are rey and finn they rescue both of them from stormtrooper recruiting ppl so yeah. ben is emo, but he is an alright kid. r*ylo is non existent bc they're cousins. finnpoe will happen when they get a bit older like in their early 20s. poe has his old backstory with his awesome x wing mom back so luke and wedge are his godparents. here take some art of wedge and luke w rey in modern clothes. why? becasue i wanted to draw it:

they all grow up togetehr in the end of the rebellion and the emergence of the new republic and they all live together becasue i mean i dont think anyone wants to just fuck off onto whatever planet and be alone w/o thier friends after all this, with the exception of a few things like zeb and kallus went to lira san but came back to raise thier son with a bunch of other kids around his age bc i mean its probably better for him and zeb reads parenting books so he is concerned with that type of thing. and ben will go to lukes school but yeah. anyways the rebels crew and the OT crew and ya know what the R1 crew too are friends and try to give advice to the kids and stuff. me and my friend talked abt teen!finnpoe and like poe and my oc going around asking the adults how they got together and the couples are like. han/leia, wedge/luke, hera/kanan, zeb/kallus, sabine/my friends lady mandalorian oc, ezra/tristan...... like none of these couples knew how to flirt or anything they were all disasters so no one has any advice ad force ghost anakin is like have you tried floating a pear but poe doesnt have the force so like uncle lando drops in to give advice but its not age appropriate so the other adults r like bro stop. anyways. this au im gonna make connect to my other idea which was that instead of worsipping darth vader, ben looks up to anakin and sees how even after going to the dark side he was able to redeem himself and be good so even tho he is being pulled to the dark he looks to anakin for support so he can try to be like him, hes still gonna turn evil but he will turn good again in the end but that happens later so all thats importnant for this little au here is that ben likes to listen to my chemical romance. finn and rey are the best siblings and rey looks up to her older brother sm and he is always trying to look out for her. theyre both force sensitive so theyre both training to be jedi too. ok that might be everything so far but if i think of more ill reblog this post and add on. if you read this i love you omg and i hope you like my oc and my au even tho its purely self indulgent and i changed basically everything just to have this sappy cutesy au

#sw rebels #star wars rebels #star wars original trilogy #sw oc #kalluzeb #wedgeluke #sw au #i drew this uwu #star wars sequel trilogy

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starspatter · 4 years

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Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 13

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 2,260 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

Also on ff.net and AO3. In which Tim isn’t Jason.

A long long time ago, in a tragedy If ever comes a day that I go away In a forest deep, you'll sink like a stone From that moment on, you'll go alone

For we are two of a kind; when we walk, we are one The sound of lies being told disappear like the sun And now we both bow our heads; only a single shadow Didn't you know that I'm also going alone?

-Fullkawa Honpo, "Alice"

————————–

Now.

Alfred had been in the midst of pouring himself a calming cup of tea in the parlor when he heard the doorbell ring, followed by loud banging on the outside. He set the pot down and strode with as much steady grace as he could muster to the portentous sound coming from the porte. Opening it, he came face to face with his former young charge, now grown older and grimmer in appearance compared to the foregone past. …That seemed like only yesterday, yet at the same time so long ago. When he’d wear a wide grin as he dashed straight into the manor upon coming home from school, eager to tell all about his day over a plate of snacks that would already be laid out and waiting for him; tossing coat and bag carelessly to the side, where Alfred would quietly pick them up and hang them in proper order. He’d shake his head, but smile and say nothing in light of the boy’s brimming energy and excitement as he waved to the butler in thanks, before charging up to cheerfully greet an ever expectant Bruce, vaulting heedlessly over any furniture on the way in vaunting display.

“Why, Master Timothy, what a… pleasant surprise. How good to see you.”

“Sorry, Alfred,” Tim interjected briskly. “I don’t have time to chat. …They’re down there, aren’t they?”

“‘They’, sir?”

Tim’s eyes darkened dangerously.

“Cut the act, Alfred. You know who I’m talking about.”

Alfred sighed, standing aside to let the young man in.

“Master Bruce arrived back shortly ago with a young lady through the… ‘other entrance’. They are at present where you’d suspect.”

Tim immediately brushed by without another word, breezing brazenly through the halls in a burning haste towards the study, where he stopped before an old grandfather clock. He hesitated a moment as his hand tremblingly reached out, taking a deep breath before pulling on the pendulum to slide the access open, shouting an angry warning into its depths. Foreboding darkness and blue cavern walls stretched before him as he descended down the familiar staircase for the first time in forever, feeling the sudden drop in temperature from subterranean chill. When he reached the bottom, he arrested at the sight of his (second) worst nightmare come to life, freezing another few degrees. …He was too late.

Seething, rage flooded his face as he flew at the culprit in fury, and for a second all he saw was pulsing red and bursts of black – erupting flashbacks – as he heatedly yelled at what was once his must trusted companion. How could he? The sheer nerve. He had given everything for him, and now he had betrayed his secrets – taken whatever little independence – or semblance of it – he had left. Destroyed any remaining faith in his “father” by proving himself a fake and a liar, exposing sins of the “son” without even so much as consulting said subject. Insulting his pride and privacy in the worst way imaginable.

It took Steph’s worried voice and shaking to snap him out of it, and his mortification magnified as he wondered what she must think of him now. He couldn’t even stand to look her in the eye, afraid to confront the same expression one would surely exhibit at a freak show. Stabilizing, he stalled by requesting her to wait for him above ground. …Whether she actually would was a different story, but he didn’t really want to consider that possibility right now.

As he observed her cloaked backside heading up the steps, his vision traveled to the row of costumes beside, locked away in clear cases like inmates in their cells at Arkham. He approached the smallest one in scarlet and put his palm on the mirrored glass, mimicking the exact same motion he made so many years ago the first time he laid shining, hopeful eyes on it, now staring dully at his own tired reflection. In front of the mask instead of behind.

“So this is what you did with it,” he muttered, somehow unsurprised. “You should’ve just burned it. Like those tapes.” Bitterness wedged in his tone as he glimpsed down the aisle at Batgirl’s and Nightwing’s dead, shed skins as well. “…Or is that all we ever were to you? More trophies to add to your collection?”

Batman simply stated:

“It’s there as a reminder.”

Tim nodded. Deep down, he had known the answer already, but still he just wanted to make sure. He needed to hear it said – out loud.

Rotating slowly back, he returned his gaze to his ex-guardian’s own guise, studying the apparent lack of revealing emotion.

“Bruce. Take that off. I want you to look at me.”

Batman remained unmoving for a beat, but acquiesced.

As the façade fell away, Tim could see the old man looked even older than he remembered, wrinkles and peppered gray starting to show. Maybe far older than he should be. …Than either of them should.

He fixed those cold, steel blue irises with a firm deadlock.

“Promise me you’ll never take on another Robin.”

“That I can assure.”

Tim surveyed the seriousness in the other’s countenance, accepting agreement on that front at least. He revolved to regard the rest of the room, a place filled with so many overwhelming memories he didn’t even know where to start. (Though he deliberately avoided looking at the giant Joker card hanging directly above; why Bruce still bothered to keep that up was beyond him.)

“The last time I was down here… was the night you brought me back from Arkham.” He swallowed, recollecting little about that time other than brief spots of awareness to his surroundings, and dimly hearing echoes of concerned voices that weren’t the Joker’s laugh or Harley’s high-pitched shrill, as his body was still in shock after everything. …Or maybe he had just blocked it all out. (Perhaps just as well, if he could’ve seen the pale looks of pure, panicked horror on their hovering visages, that very nearly matched his own.) “It hasn’t changed much, has it? New tech, new trophies… But still the same dreary atmosphere.”

He ran his hand along a railing as he moved over towards the training equipment, recalling how he used to spend so much time balancing on it, performing handstands to help keep blood and thoughts flowing (and limbs from getting bored stiff) while they casually discussed more difficult cases – with Batgirl and Nightwing as well when he stopped by to assist in cracking particularly tough ones (or just to hang out and spar a bit with his lil bro) – brainstorming together as a team by combining their collective detective skills. Barbara tended to pace as she pondered, while Dick would smirk and lean back in his chair with muscles lax behind his neck and feet propped up on the terminal, teasing that she looked like a lumbering red gorilla when she does that, and she’d snap back that he was being no help (and besides what was he even doing there didn’t he have his own place now maybe he should go fight crime with Catwoman if he’s so smart), and Bruce would irritably bark at them all over the two’s bickering (and Tim’s smothered snickering) to stay focused on task, only to be interrupted by Alfred as he came down to serve some food, insisting they all stay vitalized if they hope to make any progress.

Tim crossed over to the target range – past the medical bay, where Batman had interrogated him once after he’d been caught sneaking around (and stealing from) upstairs right after their initial meeting, whereupon he learned of Bruce Wayne’s secret identity.

“So what? I know how to keep a secret. You can trust me.”

He picked up a Batarang from the table. It looked like a newer model than the ones he was used to; lighter, sleeker, circular, with bits of red on the edges of the winged blades. He took careful aim at a stalactite, attempting to adjust to its weight, but the persistent tremors and twitches in his fingers wouldn’t cease, no matter how hard he endeavored to suppress. Gritting his teeth, he shut one eye and let the wild projectile fly, but it only veered far off course, bouncing harmlessly off the back wall to drop down into the river below with a weak splash. Shoving hands shamefully in his pockets and peering down into the chasm, Tim reflected on how he had stood here once, lifting his arms in breathtaking glory as he basked in his ultimate childhood fantasy, beholding the bedrock and bats, wistfully absorbing the beauty of it all.

“If you knew how many times I’d dreamed about this place.”

He kicked a stone into the ravine.

Bruce was watching him the whole time in silence. Tim turned back and addressed gloomily.

“You know, I was always doing dumb stuff to try and impress you. Draw your attention, get you to notice me. Make you proud. All I ever wanted was to be just like you when I grew up.” He paused, taking in the pathetic, penitent image of his prior idol – now weary and weathered, clearly worn down by age and the endlessly waging war he still kept stubbornly fighting on his own, come hell or high water. “I used to think you were the greatest man alive. …You’re still the greatest man I ever met, Bruce. But this-” he gestured vaguely at the empty expanse, “-what you do – what you had us do – it can’t be called ‘living’. …I realize that now.”

The other only grunted, questioning gruffly:

“What’s your point?”

Tim gave him an almost-pitying glance.

“Bruce, I forgive you – for not saving me. But when are you – for once – going to try and save yourself?”

Bruce blinked back at him, blankly. Tim bit his lip as he tried to explain.

“I didn’t leave – just because I couldn’t be Robin anymore. I was mad at first, that you would take all of that away from me. …But I understood why. The real reason I left – is because I couldn’t stand the way you looked at me afterwards. Like I was your greatest failure, as if you regretted ever picking me up off the streets and taking me into your home in the first place. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

He inhaled.

“Even then, I would’ve stayed – if you’d only asked me to. Admitted – for once in your sorry life – that you still need someone in it.”

His fists balled in frustration.

“But you never could admit that, could you? I get it: Ever since your parents died, you’ve had trouble expressing yourself. You blame yourself for what happened, every single bad thing that’s come your way since then. That’s why you keep all this old junk around, just like their pictures everywhere upstairs. So you won’t forget that it’s all your fault, that you’ve hurt everyone you’ve ever come in contact with, isn’t that right?”

Bruce said nothing, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

“So you end up pushing people away, until you’re finally all by yourself. Because you believe it’s for the best. You think you deserve to be alone, when it…” He gulped, sensing the hypocritical stab in his own gut. “…Isn’t true.”

Tim took a tentative step forward, trying to close some distance, bridge the extensive gap between them – that almost seemed like an eternity at this point – but simultaneously struggling to find words and will for it.

“Bruce, I’d like us – to still be friends. …But if this is how it’s going to be between us – if I can’t even trust you to keep my secret, not to ruin the one good thing I’ve had since then – then I can’t be around you anymore.”

He cast one last nostalgic look around at what he used to call “home”, etching the sentimental scene into his brain. His safe “haven”, where he could always count on his “family” being there for him. …Not a sanctuary, he recognized fully now, but a prison. Built for one solitary soul, never meant to share in the first place. A private “Plan” others weren’t originally supposed to be part of, no matter how much the architect desired it deep down. Who broke that vow more than once in an effort to better someone else’s life, only to be burned so badly (and vice-versa) that both parties feared forming close connections again as a result. To care that much for someone, only to eventually receive bitter disappointment in the end – if not the other way around.

Yet, despite all odds, Tim had found a flicker of hope in another’s company. Comfort. Courage. And he- wanted to keep striving towards it. He didn’t want to end up like him. Like this. So lonely and isolated from the entire world. Even through all the hate and hurt, he didn’t wish for this kind of bleak future, a mere hollow existence – for either of them. …But this was as far as he could confess it. He couldn’t keep coaxing, chasing constantly after remote coattails and infinite comets, straining so desperately to catch and ride on them anymore; he needed to be met halfway. It was up to the opposite side, ball in the other’s court now.

“When you’re ready to come out of the cave and be a person again, let me know. I’ll be waiting.”

With that, he walked past the mute shadow to the stairs and up the ascent, never looking back. Denying darkness for the light.

“Goodbye, Bruce.”

————————–

And I am one of a kind; when I walk, I am alone I've grown weary of lying to the bone Now I bow my head in this golden room I was here with you, and now, it's gone too soon

In a forest deep, I sank and I knew I'm a charred and dirty, forsaken fruit And that is the end - there's nothing more to recount From this moment on, you'll go alone

#TimSteph #Tim Drake #Timmy Todd #Stephanie Brown #Bruce Wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #Batman the Animated Series #Batman Beyond #DCAU #Return of the Joker #fanfiction #starstories #Tim still wants his daddy's love #he just wants Bruce to be able to say it #P.S. For purposes of this story the new BTAS comic series will likely not be considered canon/in the same continuity #also hope everyone's staying safe right now #I guess this is where Bruce's 'self isolation' policy actually works for once #*shot*

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munofsilver · 5 years

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One Night Chapter 2

Summary: Nathaniel and Chloe tell Nathaniel's family about the upcoming baby. While Chloe wonders if they're making a mistake. You can read it here.

The two decided to tell their parents about the unexpected news before any plans to move. The question is who’s parents should they tell first? Chloe’s mom is who knows where. She only comes to Paris to visit once in a while and it usually just for a day maybe two. Audrey last visit was two years ago and only for some fashion TV show. She was a guest judge for an episode.

The only thing she did with her family has had a quick twenty-minute lunch. Chloe wants to tell her mom, but calling looks like the only way to do it. They decided to tell Nathaniel’s parents first.

Chloe is brushing her hair before she puts up in her trademark high ponytail. Looking at herself in the full-length mirror on the wall, Chloe looks at her belly area as she places her hands there. Then she takes a pillow from the couch the shoved under the dress she’s wearing. Wanting to get an idea of what a pregnant Chloe would look like. So far she doesn’t look happy.

Chloe not sure if she even wants to keep the baby. She never thought of this until she returned home from Nathaniel’s place a week ago. Since they took the subway, she had plenty of time to think. Without a job, she would have to rely on Nathaniel and her father for money. Can she really raise a child without being able to support it?

Maybe she could get a job, but would someone hire a pregnant woman? She takes the pillow out and straightens her dress. “If I’m having doubts about this, I should definitely tell Nathaniel.”

A soft knock on the door told Chloe that Nathaniel was here. Checking herself in the mirror one last time to make sure everything’s in place. She opens the door, sure enough, Nathaniel was there with her butler. “A Mr.Nathaniel Kurtzberg here to see you, Madam,” he stated.

“I can see that, Jean,” Chloe calls back.

Everyone who works at the Le Grand Paris is used to Chloe’s bossy, loudness. All are unaffected by it. Unless they’re new. She heads out by was stopped by Jean. “ You’re not taking your purse with you, Madam?”

Chloe somehow never noticed that she didn’t grab her purse. It’s still sitting on the little table by the door. With a grunt, she grabs her purse. Trying to head once again out, only this time Nathaniel stops her. “What’s with the pillow?” He asked pointing to the pillow in Chloe’s hand.

Not knowing she still had it, with a sigh Chloe puts the pillow back on the couch. Before anything else stops her, Chloe rushes out of the room and slams the door shut. Stomping all the way to the elevator. “Good luck,” Jean whispers as Nathaniel stares at him.

Nathaniel runs down the hall to catch up with Chloe. He got there just as the elevator doors were opening. Alone in the elevator, while it takes a trip down to the lobby, Nathaniel tries to think of something to say. He knows something is wrong with Chloe. It could be she’s just nervous about telling his mother and little sister the news. To be honest, so is Nathaniel.

“Um Nathaniel, I’ve been thinking about you know, and well I feel like I should tell you that I’m starting to have. What I want to say is.” Chloe stops when the doors open, and some lady gets on.

Chloe scoots away from the person. Ending up in the corner by herself, with Nathaniel in the other corner. He can tell Chloe really wanted to talk to him. They do have some time until dinner with his family. Once on the last floor that guest can go the doors open and they let the other lady off first.

Chloe leaves after the lady and Nathaniel stay close behind her. “Chloe wait,” he calls out.

She quickly turns around to face him. “I know we’re taking the subway again. I won’t complain about it this time. I promise,” Chloe turns back around. “Besides it wasn’t that bad.”

“No, not that. I wanted to know what you were trying to say before,” Nathaniel turns her around.

“How do you feel about us having this baby?” Chloe asked taking a step back.

“Chloe you know this. I told you the first time you asked, remember what I said?” Nathaniel smiles.

Chloe does remember, In fact, she’s not sure why she asked him again. Maybe she just wanted to see if he was sure like she isn’t. Perhaps she just needs some sign or something. Chloe is unsure about many things right now, it’s driving her crazy. “Yes, I remember. I want to know if you’re sure. Like 100% sure.”

Nathaniel takes a step closer, still smiling. “If there something on your mind, please tell me,” Nathaniel grabs her hands and holds them.

“I’m not sure if I want the baby. I have nothing. No money, job, or a place of my own. How can I know how to be a mother, when mine was never around? I don’t think my mom even loves me,” Chloe’s about a cry again.

Everyone noticed that Chloe is showing tears and crying a lot more. What they don’t know is she been like this for the past three months. Nathaniel was shocked about what Chloe said. He pulls her into a tight hug. “Calm down. You don’t need to worry. Your mother has nothing to do with who you are or how you will be as a mother. Don’t worry about money or anything. Right now just focus on the baby. We’ll talk more about this when I move in,” without thinking Nathaniel kisses the top of her head.

Once they realize what he did Nathaniel drops his arms, as Chloe pushes him away from her. “What do you think you are doing mister?!”

“Sorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me. Anyways we should get going. I told them we’ll be there at seven,” Nathaniel now blushing hurries out the door.

Chloe follows him. They took a cab instead of the subway. Nathaniel had a feeling Chloe was going to dress up even though she doesn’t need to. They only have a small dinner nothing fancy at his mother's house. He's not even dressed up. Nathaniel is wearing an old t-shirt one of the few without paint, and his usual purple jeans. He never stops wearing purple jeans since he started wearing them in college.

His long hair it tight into a ponytail. He’s dressed like he does almost every day. “Are we going to tell them we’re dating or that the baby is the result of a drunken one night stand?” Chloe asked checking her lipstick in her hand mirror.

“I think we should stay away with how the child was conceived. I’m not sure if we should tell them about us dating or not. We should also not talk about me moving in with you. Not yet anyway. Let’s for see how they handle hearing about the baby first,” Nathaniel answers.

“No dating news or moving in. Got it,” Chloe puts her hand mirror and lipstick in her purse.

They arrive at their destination. Nathaniel pays the taxi and opens the door for Chloe. She does one last check up on herself before she looks at the house in front of her. Chloe was expecting a small very tiny house with maybe two bedrooms. Not a big house with a fence. The fence only went up to her waist but still. It has two floors by the looks of it even a basement. 'Does he have a big family?' Chloe wonders. ‘Nathaniel is Jewish so maybe. Is that racist of me to say?’

Chloe shakes her head. Nathaniel leads her to the door before he knocks he looks at her. “We’ll tell them after dinner before dessert. If things go bad we can leave right after we eat,” Nathaniel whispers to hear.

“Why are you whispering?” Chloe speaks in her usual loud voice.

As soon as she spoked the door open and a young teenager jumps out and hugs Nathaniel. “About time you got her big bro!” She shouted.

“This is why I was whispering,” Nathaniel sighs. “Hello, Natalie.”

Chloe takes a step back, as Nathaniel and Natalie break their hug. Everyone enters the house. In the dining room, the table was set with some of the food on and ready. Another female this one looks very older than Nathaniel. She comes out of the kitchen carrying a tray with a fresh out of the oven turkey on it. Placing it on the table. Nathaniel takes off Chloe’s wrap and hangs it up. On the table, Chloe only noticed four places set on the table.

“Is your father coming?” Chloe whispers to Nathaniel.

He’s standing behind her and moves to her side. “My father died when I was fifteen,” he whispers back. “Don’t bring him up to my family. If you don’t mind,” still whispering.

Chloe makes a mental note on that. The older one comes towards them. “Hello, Nathaniel who’s your friend here?” She smiles and hugs her son.

“Mother this is Chloe,” Nathaniel points to Chloe with his hand. “Chloe this is my mother.”

Chloe moves to shake her hand. “You can call me Ava,” Nathaniel’s mother smiles as she shakes Chloe’s hand.

“Nice to meet you Ava,” Chloe half smiles.

“Dinner is ready, so let's eat,” Natalie calls out.

And they do. During dinner everyone talks but Chloe. She only speaks someone asks her something. When everyone was done eating Natalie and Ava clear off the table. Nathaniel offered to help, but they told him to stay. Nathaniel and Chloe took this time to talk some more. “Your mom is a good cook. Your sister is nice,” Chloe is staring at the door that leads into the kitchen.

“Yes, they are. I think they both like you. As soon as mom brings out dessert, we should tell her,” Nathaniel suggested more than anything.

“What makes you think there will be dessert? Maybe she didn’t make any,” Chloe is starting to get nervous.

“I know my mom. She always makes dessert. No matter what,” Nathaniel laughs.

Sure enough a minute later Natalie and Ava come out carrying four pieces of cake. Nathaniel smiles he know his mother spends most of the day yesterday making that cake, or this morning. Before anyone could enjoy the cake, Nathaniel speaks up, “Mom, Natalie we have some news.” Nathaniel places his hand on Chloe’s.

Chloe is not ready for this. Without knowing she squeezes Nathaniel’s hand for support. All attention is now on Nathaniel. That doesn’t stop Natalie from taking a bite of her cake. Now Nathaniel is starting to get nervous. Now that he’s about to tell his family the big news it hits him on how much this will change things.

“Chloe is pregnant with my child. She’s three months in,” he shakingly says.

Natalie drops her fork as she stares at Chloe like a deer in headlights. Ava, on the other hand, was unexpectedly delighted. “Congratulations. I didn’t know you two were dating. That’s such great news,” Ava cheered.

‘Great mom thinks we’re dating.’ Nathaniel mind speaks to himself. “Are you both living together?” Natalie is finally able to talk again.

“No. I do plan on moving in with Chloe,” Nathaniel answered.

His family took the news very well. It seems like Nathaniel had nothing to worry about, that is until he has to tell them that Chloe and him aren’t dating. That is something he’s concerned about. They all ate a nice piece of carrot cake, Nathaniel’s favorite. Once the table was cleared after dessert, they all sat in the living room with some freshly made tea.

“When are you moving in with her?” Ava asked.

“As soon as possible,” Chloe answered before Nathaniel could.

After about an hour the two left Nathaniel’s mom’s place. “When should we tell your parents?” Nathaniel asked as they enter the cab.

“That might be hard since I don’t know when my mom will be Paris again,” Chloe sighs. “If I call mom, she might answer right away,” Chloe shrugs.

“Can you find out when she will be in Paris next?” Nathaniel is starting to think that telling Chloe’s parents will be the hardest.

“Daddy might know. I’ll call him in the morning,” Chloe once again sighs. “Pull over!”

The cab pulls over as Chloe vomits out the open car door. Nathaniel rubs her back as she does. He looks up at the driver, who is looking back confused. “Is she alright?” the driver asked.

Nathaniel just nods and whispers, “She’s pregnant.”

Chloe now done closes the door, and the cab moves again. “Sorry about that,” she whispers, talking to no one.

“No need to apologize,” the driver stated.

How did the driver hear? No one really knows. Both were dropped off at the Le Grand Paris. Chloe was thinking Nathaniel was just opening the door her she keeps on walking inside. She didn’t stop until she hears Nathaniel calling her name. Turning around she sees the redhead running towards her. “Aren’t you going home?”

“I will don’t worry. I think we still have something to talk about telling your parents.”

Chloe is getting tired and doesn’t really want to deal with this now. It looks like Nathaniel does. Chloe rubs her temples, “I won’t know anything about my mother until I talk with daddy. I told you I’ll do that in the morning.”

“I know that, and I also understand. How do you want to tell them? Over dinner like with mine or something else. If by phone is the only way to talk to your mom, will you be okay with that?”

Nathaniel is putting more thought into this than Chloe. Almost like he planned on having kids someday. Not like this Chloe is sure of. Right now Chloe as other things on her mind. “Can I call you in the morning after I talk with daddy?”

Nathaniel checks his schedule on his phone. “I have to work in the afternoon until evening. If you call before one, then that will be fine. I would like to talk about this before work,” he puts his phone away.

Chloe agrees to call him before one. Then he was off heading home. Chloe sighs. “I will admit he is cute. With a nice tighter butt then what he had back in college. What am I saying? That hot body got me into this mess. I wouldn’t mind seeing it with a sober eye. What is wrong with me?”

She headed right up to her penthouse and took a long cold shower. Then she brushed her teeth and went to bed. Still thinking about what she said. The thought of her thinking Nathaniel is cute makes her blush. In the morning she has to remember to talk to her father about her mother. Hopefully, she will be coming to Paris soon.

#One Night #Chloe Bougeois #Nathaniel Kurtzberg #chloenath #Honeytomato #FanFic #ML #ML Fanfic #Aged Up #natalie kurtzberg

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khadij-al-kubra · 6 years

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Can I Bar-row Your Attend-tion (Bar & Grill AU)

Pairing: Roman/Patton

Characters: Roman, Patton, Logan, Virgil, Thomas, Joan, Talyn, Deceit (Dio)

Summary: Roman and Patton are two bartenders at a local bar & grill with some serious chemistry. However, the only people who don’t realize it are each other, and one of them is in a relationship…on the rocks.

Author’s Note: Hey friends! So here’s the next chapter finally in my Bar & Grill AU. I wanted to get it out sooner after seeing all the kind and positive feedback, but you know how it is when you have to adult. Not so conducive for writing time. Anywho, here it is, and apologies for the length. (i really need to keep a more strict word count) If you’d like to be in the tag list for future chapters let me know. And as always feel free to leave a comment in the messages or reply if you have any notes or constructive critiques. I’m always open to writing advice. Disclaimer: Puns ahead. Many. (muahaha)

<--PREVIOUS

Chapter 2: One Roman Coke, Hold the Crush

(POV- Patton)

Patton knew he should feel grateful, happy even, to have a boyfriend like Dio. After all, they’d been going steady for six months now and there was still a lot to like about him. But he’s not Roman, Patton thought guiltily as his boyfriend drove him to work. They just had a brunch date this morning and Dio offered to give Patton a ride. Even as they sat there eating chocolate chip pancakes (Patton’s favorite), he’d been thinking about his co-worker. What kind of a boyfriend was he?

“Thanks again for the ride sweetie,” said Patton as they pulled up to the curb. “And for brunch. I had a nice time.”

Actually, Patton had spent most of the time trying to tell a funny story while Dio either scrolled on his phone or half-heartedly listened while nodding his head. Patton wasn’t as naïve as people thought he was. He could tell when people weren’t really interested in what he was saying. Roman would have been interested.

“It’s no trouble kitten,” said Dio. “I had time before work anyways, so I’ll probably head to the park and perform for a while before clocking in.”

“Sounds fun. Hope you get lots of tips. People always like watching you dance.”

He sure did. Watching the unusual yet beautiful way the man could move his body was what had drawn him to Dio in the first place.

“I know,” he said.

Dio reached over to unlock the door for him, his lean muscles flexing and the sunlight brinigng out the golden yellow in his snake tattoo. Patton stayed in the passenger seat, waiting (hoping) for some parting sign of affection form the other.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked, tapping his lips with a finger.

“Oh of course,” said Dio, his voice silky. “How could I forget?”

Dio leaned in the kiss Patton, his lips tasting faintly like that matcha tea he liked to drink. He even gave another peck on the spot beneath his ear where Patton liked, but the gesture had been tainted by the tone of voice. Sometimes Patton couldn’t tell if he really meant what he said or not. Patton smiled, said goodbye and stepped out of the car. He watched Dio drive away before walking up the block, the taste of his lips still lingering. I wonder what Roman’s lips might taste like?

He stepped through the doors and felt the day’s bad feelings wash away with the familiarity of his workplace. Sanders’ really was such a cozy little establishment. With its seat cushioned chairs and redbrick walls, the sunlight streaming in during the day and warm hanging light bulbs at night. The modern acoustic covers that played in the background loudly enough to enjoy but not so much you had to shout over. Logan had asked Joan to help put together the bars playlist, and good thing too. Otherwise they’d be listening to Mozart or Beethoven all day. Classical music wasn’t exactly Bach in style.

The old place opened at 3pm, so there were only a handful of familiar faces so far. People either came here for a late lunch or were waiting for the bar to open. Patton smiled and said hi to every one of them, and they smiled back. He’d always been a people person, and why not? His motto was, strangers are just friends you haven’t made yet.

“Hey Patton,” said Joan. The waiter was setting fresh napkins and silverware.

“Heya kiddo!” said Patton. “Oh! How’s Talyn doing? I hope they’re feeling better after last night.”

Speak of the pastel angel, Talyn popped out from behind him. Their arms were loaded with menus, probably fresh with a list of today’s specials.

“Feeling a lot better thanks,” said Talyn.

“I’m so glad!” Patton said, giving the tiny waiter a big hug. They really were like a colorful little kitten, which made Patton love them even more. “Now make sure you drink plenty of water during your breaks and don’t strain yourself too much.”

“I’ll do my best Pat.”

“Great! Welp, my shift’s about to start so I’d better get to work. I wouldn’t want to bar-row your attend-tion for too long.”

Patton grinned as the duo gave a simultaneous eeyyy, then he hopped behind the bar. He got the earlier shift from 4:30-11:30pm and Roman had the later shift from 5:30pm-12:30am; a half hour before Logan closed up shop. So his charismatic co-worker wouldn’t be here for another hour. Oh well. They still got to have six swell hours together, and Patton enjoyed every minute. Heck, seeing Roman’s smiling face every night was honestly Patton’s favorite part of his job.

Customers rolled in and out of the bar. Talyn and Joan went from table to table with orders, Thomas occasionally popped out from the kitchen with food or to chat, and Logan seated incoming customers. Meanwhile Patton made drinks for the small batch of happy hour customers. Patton thought it was a fitting name for that time of day, because so many of his customers at the bar seemed just that- happy.

So far his shift was filled with regulars he knew and a few new faces. Most of them were ladies tipsy with laughter after a few drinks like Valerie, Jasmine and Calypso. Others were men or non-binary folks like Sean and Nellie who shout-swapped stories after a few shots. Once in a while a customer would spill their woes as Patton served them drinks, and he would do his best to either offer advice or just a sympathetic ear. If anyone came in looking like gloomy goobers, Patton did his best to turn that around while he built their drinks behind the bar.

“I juss dunno padre. Maybe after all this time she’s finally *hic * bored or me,” said the near-weeping man in front of him, nursing his fifth Manhattan. “Maybe I should juss let her go. Save her the trouble.”

“Now that’s no way to go about things Mateo,” said Patton. “I’m sure she doesn’t think that at all. Besides, you clearly still love her and I’m sure she feels the same. Maybe it’s all just a miss-communication.”

Mateo looked at him with watery eyes and sniffled. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely kiddo! I think what you need to do is talk to her. Tell her how much you still care and want to work things out. But you also have to be a good listener and hear how she feels. It’s all about honest communication. Once you’ve got that, I’m sure you two can work it out.”

Mateo smiled and finished his drink. Then he handed Patton his credit card to pay with, letting the bartender know he was done.

“Thanks Patton. I really appreciate it,” said Mateo. To Patton’s delight, he also dropped a whole five dollars into his glass tip jar.

“Glad I could help kiddo, and thanks for the nice tip yourself!”

“How much’ve you got for *hic * vet school saving coming along?”

“Aaahh it’s…coming.”

Truth be told, Patton still had a long way to go. Bar attending kept the lights on and food on the table fine, but it wasn’t exactly a scholarship. He would know, given how many he’s tried applying for after Logan has typed him up a list of ones to try.

“Nice guy like you’s sure to get it,” said Mateo, waving goodbye.

Patton had to smile. Despite feeling a bit discouraged about Veterinary School, moments like that make it all a little bit better. Sure this wasn’t his dream job but he still got to help people in some small way and do a little bit of goodness in the world. Until he was finally a Vet, why couldn’t he do that as a bartender?

Dio had chuckled the one time Patton told him so. It wasn’t the nice kind of laugh either. That was the first time his boyfriend had made him feel…wilted inside. Patton couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t felt wilted with Dio.

A sudden vibrating in his apron pocket pulled Patton out of his thoughts. He took out his cellphone to see who texted him.

Dark Strange Step-Bro: Hey Pat. Out on a parkour run. Can I stop by for a take-out order? Gonna be a long night.

Patton smiled at the message from Virgil. His street artist brother had been doing those parkour runs for the past year and a half now, and it seemed to have been a big help with his anxiety. Sometimes Patton worried about his brother getting hurt from those speedy stunts, but if the positive adrenaline outlet made Virgil happy and mentally healthier than who was Patton to stop him?

Dad-Bro: No problem kiddo! I’ll have Thomas whip up your favorite.

Dark Strange Step-Bro: Cool. See you in a few.

Dad-Bro: Kk. Love you Virge <3

Dark Strange Step-Bro: Love you too Pat >//<

When Patton was in high school, his widowed father had fallen in love with and re-married a kind woman named Beatrice Alighieri. Along with a new step-mom he also gained a new younger (by two years) brother in Virgil. Sure he’d come off as dark, edgy, and a bit prickly at first. But with time and some good doses of love on Patton’s part, Virgil slowly opened up. Sure he was still dark and edgy, but now they were super close and protective of each other. Patton loved the anxious artist like a son, even if they were brothers.

Patton put away his cell phone. He made sure his customers were all taken care of before stepping out from the bar. He knocked on the kitchen windowsill.

“Hey Thomas,” Patton called into the kitchen.

“What up Patton?” said Thomas.

“Virgil’s coming by. Mind making him some mozzarella sticks to go?”

“No problem Pat.” The cook turned to the kitchen and shouted, “I NEED AN ORDER OF CHEESE STICKS IN A DOGGY BAG, BLOOD ON THE SIDE!”

Patton knew that was code for ketchup but still, ew. Being a pacifist, or a Pat-cifist as he liked to say, he didn’t do so well with blood. Logan once asked him how he was going to deal with that later on as a Veterinarian, aaaand he had yet to figure that little detail out. Ah well. He’ll figure it out.

About fifteen minutes later Virgil popped into the bar and grill. He was in his usual ripped black jeans, high tops, eye shadow and his favorite purple-patched hoodie. His satchel filled with spray paint cans hung across his shoulder and Virgil removed his large headphones with loud music blaring as he walked in. In most places Virgil went into what Patton liked to call ‘turtle mode.’ But at Sanders his brother actually relaxed a bit. Another reason Patton liked working there.

“Salutations Virgil,” said Logan, excusing himself from the customers he had seated.

“’Sup Logan. I see the gang’s all here,” said Virgil. “Except for old Romano.”

“Roman had another audition for his professional make believe last night but has assured me he will be at work today. Speaking of work, did you receive my email about employing you to create artistic content for the bar’s Facebook page?”

“The one to ‘get more youths’ in here?” Virgil air-quoted. “Yeah I got it. Web design isn’t exactly my medium but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Excellent. We can discuss commissioning and creative content at a more convenient date.”

Virgil and Logan came over to where they all were and Patton greeted his brother in the usual fashion. With a big bear hug.

“Hey kiddo! Good to see you,” he said.

“He Pat,” he said, one arm hugging him back. Patton was the only person Virgil let hug him. “You really need to stop calling me ‘kiddo’ in public. My order ready yet Thomas?”

“Should be five more minutes. Lucky we just dunked some mozzarella sticks in the grease fryer,” said Thomas.

“Patton kindly retrieve some more olives and maraschino cherries from the back storage,” Logan said to Patton. “You seem to be running low on them. Then promptly return to your duties.”

Patton turned back to the bar and, yes, he was low. Woops! Guess he’d let himself be too distracted. Logan was a really fair and nice boss (and their friend, although he’d never admit it), but he didn’t like them slacking off. It was easier to stay on top of everything when Roman was there working with him. They made up for each other’s weaker areas, which is why they made such a good team.

Take last night when that big intimidating customer got a little too drunk and started disrespecting those ladies. Patton was no good at confrontation but Roman swooped in like the chivalrous man he was as stopped him. Heck, Patton had slipped up and called him his hero out loud. So embarrassing! Not that someone as perfect as Roman would ever be attracted to plain pudgy tummied Patton. He really was a Disney Prince come to life. Bad Patton! Stop it with those thoughts. You’re taken.

“No problem boss!” said Patton, smiling through his troubled thoughts. “I’m berry happy to do so because I love olive my customers and want them taken care of. It’ll be the cherry on top of my day.”

While Thomas and the nearby patrons laughed or, in Virgil’s case, snickered at his top-notch dad jokes, Logan just groaned. He didn’t quite appreciate the fine art of puns, but Patton had made it his personal mission to make his boss laugh at one.

So far, no luck, but he was persistent.

“That’ll do Patton,” said Logan, breathing audibly through his nose.

“I hate to stem off topic,” said Joan, walking up to them, “but we need more bread baskets for tables 4 and 12.”

“They’re right,” Talyn said joining in. “We’ve gotta make sure the customers stay happy and our tips fruitful.”

Logan squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Good Lord, please—stop. I can barely tolerate the word play from one of you.”

“Well that a-pear-ant,” Thomas said, popping out from the kitchen door to join in.

“Thomas, that’s not even the same fruit!”

“Guess it doesn’t a-peel to the boss man,” shouted one of the other cooks Enrique from inside the kitchen.

“Guys come on. Lay off the poor guy,” said Virgil, serious at first but then he smirked devilishly. “We wouldn’t want him to get a pit in his stomach.”

“GrrAAAGHHH!” Logan marched away from them to his office, flames practically steaming off the side of his face.

They all burst into rib splitting laughter. Sure they all worked together but really everyone at Sanders’ Bar & Grill was like a big, happy, sometimes silly family. He could tell that their customers sensed it too and that’s why they kept coming back here. He just knew it.

After calming down and checking on his customers, Patton went to the supplies room for those cherries and olives. He really did need to stay on top of the bar until Roman got here. Finding himself alone in the semi-cramped room, surrounded only by supplies, pantry goods, and two spare chairs, Patton couldn’t help thinking even more about Roman. Specifically how different his co-worker was from his boyfriend.

Dio was a great dancer, but Roman was a talented actor with a voice like caramel. Dio was charismatic but Roman was charming. Dio was cool and mysterious but Roman cheerful and passionate. Dio was attractive but Roman was downright handsome. What with his red leather jacket and black work t-shirt that hugged his strong protective arms just right, his chestnut hair, chocolate brown eyes, dashing smile and perfect soft looking lips…

No! Stop thinking about another mans lips. You’re happily taken. Was he really happy though? He hardly ever laughed with his boyfriend anymore. Sometimes Dio even seemed to laugh at Patton only to convince him otherwise. Plus they hadn’t exactly been intimate in a long time. Only cuddles during the rare movie night at best, and even them they felt halfhearted. Sure they were both busy with work, but Patton at least tried. It was like Dio wasn’t even really there with him half the time...but he was still a loyal partner. Dio never looked at another man besides him. Surely that meant he still cared and found Patton attractive. Maybe it’s just a bump in the road. We’ll get over it. This was the longest relationship Patton had ever been in, his first serious boyfriend, and that was worth staying for, right?

…So then why did he still dream about being with the creative, cheerful, and romantic Roman Prince?

Patton vigorously shook his head. He reached into his apron pocket for his half open bag of mini chocolate chip cookies. He always kept some in there in case he or anyone else at the bar & grill needed cheering up. He treated himself to two cookies; the sweets already perking him back up. Then he grabbed the jars he needed and went back outside, only to find Roman now talking with Virgil. He must have arrived while Patton was in the back. He couldn’t help the flutter in his tummy at seeing the handsome actor/bartender. Couldn’t stop the smile that climbed up the corners of his cheeks like grapevines reaching for the sunshine. Patton was so enchanted by and happy to see Roman that, as he rushed over to greet him, he tripped on a chair.

“Woah!” Ohnothejars! The face-plant crash and shattering of glass never came. Roman had dashed over and caught him beforehand. Being heroic really was second nature to him, wasn’t it?

“Careful there Patton,” said Roman, his face concerned. “I know you get excited but I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

“Whew! Thanks Roman. I guess you just caught me off guard.” The toothy smile Roman gave him was enough to turn Patton’s insides into goo.

“Ehh you didn’t miss much Patton. Sir sing-a-lot here just burst into the bar like his usual dramatic self practically shouting that—

“Oh no you don’t emo-nightmare! Only I get to tell Patton my good news.”

“What news?” he asked, setting down the jars. “Does it have to do with your audition last night? How’d it go?”

“Well as general guy-liner here just heard—

“Along with everyone else in Florida—

“I GOT CAST AS TOM COLLINS!”

Patton gasped with glee, unable to stop himself from attack hugging him. “CONGRADUALTIONS! Roman I’m so proud of you! I just knew you’d get cast.”

Patton savored the sensation of Roman hugging him back, strong arms wrapped around his waist. When Roman let go, he was more disappointed at the loss of touch than he probably should have been. Roman was scratching the back of his neck, and if Patton didn’t know any better, he’d say the other man almost seemed bashful.

“Thanks Patton. That really means a lot to me,” said Roman.

“Guess you’ll be busy talking off your cast’s ears from now on Prince Underarm Stink,” Virgil grimaced.

Roman turned to him serious faced. “Don’t feel too sad, Brad Pit-iful. I’m sure you’ll find someone else to spread your snarky doom and gloom to.”

The two glared at each other for a few seconds, but then laughter spilled out from smirks. Patton smiled at his brother and co-worker. The two had definitely come far from when they first met a year ago. They’d started out as quite the prickly pair, which wasn’t surprising since they were so different. The big icebreaker happened when learned their shared love of Disney. After that they put away their claws, warmed up to each other, and became thick as thieves. It made Patton happy to see them get along. Plus Virgil now had someone who shared the same sarcastic humor that he did.

Just then Thomas popped his head out the kitchen window. He was carrying a brown paper to-go bag. “Order up Virg. Mozzarella sticks with a side of ketchup.”

“Thanks Thomas,” said Virgil, taking the food. The cook then disappeared back to the kitchen.

“Now kiddo, I really wish you would order one of our salads from time to time,” he said, crossing his arms. “You can’t live off of just mozzarella sticks for long.”

“That’s the plan Pat. A quick and cheesy death.” Patton knew his stepbrother was joking, but he didn’t find it funny. His face must have said as much. “Kidding! I promise. Anywho, I gotta split. This mural isn’t going to finish itself.”

“I’ll be invited to the grand reveal I hope?” Roman asked carefully.

Virgil fidgeted with the zipper on his hoodie but said, “Uh…sure Princy. So long as I get good seats to your show.”

“Done and done! Thanks Virge.”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously.” He reached into the bag, grabbed a streaming mozzarella stick and stuck it between his teeth. “Later.”

As soon as he was out the door the anxious artist slipped his headphones back on and broke into a run. Patton watched through the glass of the windows as Virgil flipped over the sidewalk bench. Hardcore parkour.

“I’m so excited for you about the play Roman,” said Patton as they both returned to the back of the bar.

“Yes, I am truly excited to start rehearsals, although it will take time out of my bartending schedule,” said Roman, tying on his apron. “I might have to cut back on my shifts, especially when the tech week and show dates get closer.”

“Oh…” That meant he wouldn’t see Roman as much. The thought made Patton too sad for words.

“It would only be for a couple months,” Roman said quickly. “And I’ll only have rehearsals two or three nights a week until then. So I’ll still be here with you the rest of our shifts.”

‘Here with you’. Patton liked the sound of that. “Great. I’m really glad about that.”

“I’ve already spoken to Logan when I came in. He’s going to have his cousin to fill in for my shifts on the nights I’m rehearsing. So you won’t be left hanging.” Roman placed a strong yet gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’d never do that to you Patton.”

The touch sent a warm shiver through Patton’s body, reawakening the butterflies in his tummy. Here Roman was, taking on a new responsibility on his journey towards his dreams of stardom, and he was worried about Patton. It made him feel so special. He placed his hand over Roman’s.

“I know you wouldn’t Roman. After all we’re…work partners,” he said, trying to smile more happily than he felt.

“Right. Of course.” They broke contact. “Well, let’s get to it…partner. We’ve got thirsty customers to attend to.”

“Hi-ho, it’s off to work we go.”

Roman smiled at him. Then they got back to taking orders and building drinks for their loyal customers. At he poured drinks and shook the shaker, Patton stole glances at Roman. Even though it wasn’t the work he wanted to be doing, Roman still threw himself into the task with flair and fervor. Just like how he did with every task he was faced with. It was something that Patton admired most about the man. Dio was equally creative in a different way, but he couldn’t hold a candle to Roman’s passion for just about everything!

…But he was loyal. Very. And he never did or said a bad thing to him ever. Patton couldn’t betray that by have feelings for someone else. It would be like cheating on him, even if just emotionally. Besides, even if Patton didn’t have a boyfriend, Roman was way out of his league! He was strong, charming, sweet, talented, and super-duper handsome. He could have any guy he wanted. As for Patton, well, at best he got called ‘cute’. Every guy, girl, and non-binary person he’d every had a crush on said so. It was a miracle that Dio had even given him two looks. To hope that Roman ever would see him as more than that, to feel more for him, was just fantasy.

Patton reached into his pocket for another cookie and took a nibble.

Oh Roman…What would a handsome prince like you ever see in a plain old pop-er like me?

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