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endlich-allein · 3 years

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Interview with Till about his life: he fought with his father, killed his beloved dog, swam on a wild river and worked on suffering. How Till Lindemann's mind works

"I will finish you off" and why you fought for the German army.

Werner Lindemann wanders around the room, interrupting the silence with strange questions, writing something down. His motive is to get to know his son and make him a friend. But it's complicated. Generational conflict.

"My island of tranquility is shaken every day. The day before yesterday, a guy pulled on my socks because his were torn. Yesterday he didn't put out a single lamp in the house. Now, with voluptuous delight, he spits cherry pits into the cat's fur. Is this grown boy really an adult?"

The apprenticeship in Rostock, where you have to do window production after graduation, is the limit of boredom. Till Lindemann moved to his father in the countryside so that he could forget about the hustle and bustle of the city and not fall under the article for anti-social attitudes. He thought of a new life, in which there was no pointless work, and arranged an attic in his father's house.

In the mornings over coffee, he scolded life that everything went according to schedule. And listened very loudly to music - electronics and metal. My father didn't understand and grumbled: “I matured late. Naturally, I wanted to listen to the music I liked, but I could not get my hands on these records. For example, my father did not understand when I bought the Alice Cooper record for a month's salary.

Werner Lindemann was a children's writer who went through the war.

At the height of his career he disappeared for weeks on literary tours - his fame spread to teachers and librarians across the country. His father pecked at Lindemann for refusing to work and promised to turn him in:

"My willful child. What doesn't fit his standards is rejected as nonsense or crap." So he took a job as a carpenter, where he made shovel cuttings and cart wheels. The head foreman constantly drank vodka during the day, didn't want to be annoyed with questions and addressed the long-haired Lindemann with the nickname: "Mozart!" This suited him.

Werner Lindemann talked about war, hard existence and limitations. For example, about a grenade splinter that remained in his body. Lindemann did not believe in all these stories - but categorically did not accept service, war and murder:

“After that I objected: “I would hide, I would not go to war. Why did you even let yourself be dragged into this? You could have hidden."

And he said: “It didn't work out. They searched for it and it took away."

Then I said: “I would rather go under arrest. Never in my life, I would go to the front line to shoot people. It's against my nature. It would be better if I went to jail."

Much of the time father and son were simply silent, even while watching television.

"He regularly made me feel guilty, to say the least, he placed himself on a pedestal towards me: I shouldn't complain. At your age, I ran barefoot through the stubble, and in my stomach - a potato in a uniform."

The only acceptance is Mike Oldfield's music: "One day my father came to grumble again. At that moment I was listening to Mike Oldfield, and he sat down and said: "That sounds interesting."

For me it was like a quantum leap: my father sits in my room, listens to my music and thinks it was good. Probably because of melancholy. He was sitting in a rocking chair that I made myself - at the time I was working as a carpenter on a farm. I, too, always sat in an armchair, immersed myself in music and smoked hand-rolled cigarettes."

The conflict was intensified by a fight. Lindemann bought a Trabant car, installed speakers in it and tested the sound - loud as usual. “Then my father came and I had to turn off this fucking music. It was kind of loud for him. He was then fiddling around his cases of flowers, and then suddenly the situation escalated. I think he slapped me while I was still in the car.

He leaned toward me and hit me with the back of his hand. I made some bullshit remarks like, "Leave me alone," something like that. That was a provocation to him, and he said: "If you do that again, I'll hit you for real." And I said, "Then you'll get it back. Because you're crazy. Don't you dare to hit me anymore."

And then he hit me with his palm again. He wasn't controlling himself.

He was exalting himself. Instantly he introduced himself as a boxer - he had boxed in the Hitler Youth - and I just... I thought I didn't hit him, I just pushed him away. And then he stood in front of me again, "Come on, I'll finish you, you haven't got a chance!" Somehow. After that, he went up to the attic and threw all my stuff out the window.

It happened over the weekend, my sister was there, a lot of screaming, serious drama. Then I packed my things, put them in the car, went to a friend's house and never went into his house again. At first I lived with this friend, and a week later I bought myself a house in the village."

His father's book is about his son, which the son will only open up after the death of the father.

Lindemann is a late child. He was born when his father was 36. The gap in their relationship was felt in everyday life and perception of the world. Werner Lindemann woke up early in the morning, worked with the circular saw under the windows and did not understand when his son slept until noon after a working week.

Lindemann's parents then lived separately, but kept in touch. Mom worked as a journalist and discussed her texts with his father. "She still lived in Rostock and always came to see him only on weekends. Mostly on Sundays she came back quite early, because she couldn't stand the stress of being with him, either."

In 1988, the book “Mike Oldfield im Schaukelstuhl Notizen eines Vaters" In this book, Lindemann Senior describes the relationship with his son (whom he calls Timm in the book), who settled with him at the age of 18. The book was written in the 80s and laid on the table until the German Democratic Republic and the Federal Republic of Germany were reunited.

Werner Lindemann wanted his son to take up writing too. But this only amused him, although as a child he wrote poetry. At the age of 13, little Till Lindemann and his father were returning home along the bumpy road to Mecklenburg. They talked about career self-determination:

"You should already have thoughts about what you want to become, boy." My answer: "I don't know yet, maybe a fisherman on the high seas."

But immediately, no matter what I said, objections arose: “But then you have to get a certificate of maturity. But then you will be away all the time. But then you won't be able to start a relationship."

There was always a “but”.

At some point it got on my nerves, as usual. And I said: "Worst case scenario, I'll just become a writer.

I still remember how alienated his face became. "And what do you think then, what do I do! It's a very hard job! In fact, it's not even a job, it's a passion. And it's a job that's supposed to be enjoyable."

I said, "I don't know anybody who works with pleasure."

"Yeah, that's the problem. You have to look for a job that gives you pleasure." Then I say again, "But some people never get to choose..." This gigantic discussion happened because I didn't take his profession seriously. At the same time, he was completely lost, funny!"

Lindemann thoughtfully read his father's book, in which he comprehends their relationship, after his death. Faked for hidden anger and indecision. For example, in a situation where their dog Kurt was bitten by a fox. The father was frightened because of rabies: “At the same time, we did not even know whether he was bitten by a fox or not. The father immediately called the huntsman. But I said: no one will enter this courtyard and shoot the dog. I'll do it myself if I really need it. At some point I really had to kill the dog."

Lindemann is not a monster. The animals he fiddled with are an important attribute of childhood. He had an aquarium and hamsters, brought mice and rats home, and was friends with dogs. “Like many children of new buildings, he felt the need for someone alive, in need of love,” said Werner Lindemann. Sometimes the appearance of an animal in the house was surprising:

“This guy will never say what he's up to. He appears on the doorstep at the same time as me. He gets out from his vehicle, throws his coat open and puts a young black shepherd in my hands. "Your Christmas present!"

Till's father is speechless. My son stands before me like the sun's little brother. Touchingly concerned, he directs me into the house, working out a plan for the animal husbandry, accommodation and diet of our new pet housemate.

With confusion, a question flies from my lips, "Wheredid you get the dog from?" "Timm" is gibbering, "Imagine, the mason in the barnyard wanted to hang him, simply wanted to strangle him with a rope, said he was a worthless eater..."

Werner Lindemann died of stomach cancer in 1993, when his son was 30. They didn't finally reconcile, but Till visited him in his last days and was there for him with his mother: "They couldn't be without each other, even though they lived apart. Unreal, but my mother never had another man afterwards. To this day she can't let go of him."

- Not going to the Olympics in Moscow and ending up in the German ghetto

Lindemann had the knowledge and the potential to be a swimmer. And a shyness that pounded harder three days before the competition than concerts in front of crowds of thousands. "I know how difficult it is to develop willpower and stamina and instill those attributes. In the GDR this was instilled in us by coaches and so-called functionaries."

Lindemann came to swimming at the age of eight and devoted his entire youth to the sport. He would get up for training at five in the morning and pass out in the evening. His grandmother watched him from the stands. At a competition in Leipzig she shouted at the coach, who told Lindemann off for a poor result. The grandmother took the coach by the ear and said: "How do you talk to my grandson?"

Sports tightened up his upbringing and developed self-discipline. “Drilling - probably the boy has already received this experience as a swimmer,” Lindemann's father wrote. - Once he had to take second place in a competition, but by no means first place. Of course, he got carried away, forgot about it, became the first, thanks to which he received a shouting for indiscipline. And whenever he lost in the future, his coach would torture him at practice for a long time and yelled at him: "Even if you win, you're not a winner yet!"

Lindemann swam the 1.5 km freestyle and could have gone to the 1980 Olympics in Moscow. Everything was ruined when he left the hotel without permission during a competition in Florence: "I didn't want to run, but just wanted to look at the city. Cars, bikes, girls. I was caught and kicked out of the team, but then I didn't give the required results either."

Lindemann competed at the European Junior Championships, but did not go any higher. After the story in Florence, his career in sport slipped away. Perhaps an abdominal injury influenced his departure. Lindemann is gone, but he doesn't yearn: "I was relatively young. There were no good [memories] left. I was glad it was over."

"The hardest part was getting back to normal. I fell into a real hole. My home was no longer a sports school, but a ghetto in Rostock. Now I stood out through drinking and fighting. I used to be surrounded only by beautiful ladies who were interested in swimming. Now I had fierce women standing in front of me asking, "How come you don't drink?" When I was shy about approaching a girl, it was interpreted as: "Are you gay?"

Lindemann now works with a coach and swims a few kilometers before his tours to get in shape: "When I exercise, I feel a certain lightness - not only physically, but also mentally. I just feel better. The main problem is staying in shape. That's where self-discipline comes into play. Teeth grinding is important."

- Three weeks in the wild and loneliness as a creative tool

Emotionally, concerts = sports:

"How do I go on tour? Hungry. And happy. It is good to compare concerts with sport. You don't want to do both at first. You don't want to go on stage. You don't want to go to the pool. You don't want to go to the boxing ring. It all happens with reluctance. It has to be accepted somehow, that's life: spring, summer, fall, winter.

When it's done, winter's gone, the blooming begins, greenery appears, it gets bright, and you start to get a taste for it. When it's over, you feel happy. Then the body produces a sea of chemistry, a lot of happiness hormones. I think the body rewards itself."

The stage, like sports, is an embarrassment, but a necessity. Lindemann wore dark glasses in order to collect fewer views from the audience. Therefore, a couple of steps before the water, he looked at the pool with a shiver. You need to cope with yourself in order to open up to new emotions.

Lindemann's gut requires solitude and moderate solitude. This is the point:

“Loneliness is always good for a creative push - you drink a glass of wine and you feel even shitier. Art is not complete without suffering; art exists to compensate for suffering."

With his friend Joey Kelly, Lindemann spent three weeks on the Yukon River. They paddled through the wilderness in a kayak for eight to 10 hours each and lived in a tent. Lindemann didn't take a tape recorder with him, so he transferred the lyrics wandering in his head on paper.

They were catching inspiration and atmosphere:

"There were times when we wouldn't say a word for hours, but then: look there, look there! It was breathtakingly beautiful. These relatively fast-changing panoramas and skies, layers of clouds, the colors.

Except for a few bears and wolves, it's hard to see anyone else out there, it's exhilarating. Along the way we saw two hunters setting traps. No one else.

I grew up in the countryside, and I have a very strong connection to nature. I love fishing, hunting. It's an archaic experience that I like to revisit over and over again. When I'm in the city for too long, I start to miss it."

To recreate situations in the Yukon, Lindemann and Kelly trained for nine months on the Rhine river in Germany because of its liveliness.

"We went down the Rhine to where the transport ships create huge bow waves. If we hadn't had a coach with us, we probably would have been sunk by the side wave impact already during our first attempt," Lindemann said.

Together with Kelly, he had four sessions with two coaches and swam from Cologne to Koblenz [more than 100 kilometers by car]. Lindemann trained separately each week on the lakes in Mecklenburg. It's both physically challenging and savage identical to being natural.

In 2015, Till started his solo project Lindemann. On the album Skills In Pills, the song Yukon was released, in which the lyrics appeared first, and then the music.

- "My lyrics come from pain rather than desire."

The country boy is big and not much of a talker. That's how the Rammstein members saw him at the start, when they were hanging out at home. "He looked cool, like a big peasant talking one sentence an hour," keyboard player Christian "Flake" Lorenz recalled. - He always had food and vodka. He'd just steal a couple of ducks somewhere and cook them on a tray. And then, frozen like in Sleeping Beauty, there were people lying in corners and on trunks in his house."

Lindemann loves and appreciates home gatherings. This came from my father, who always had guests. “In my opinion, this is the little bit that I inherited from him. Throwing parties and gathering people. Throwing parties and getting people together. He just enjoyed being a good host. The house was always full of guests from Leipzig, from Rostock, foreign guests, even from Kazakhstan.

It was always exciting for him. He stood at the stove, cooked, bought an abundance of wine, and there was always a fire in the garden. At some point he stopped drinking, then he left the party at 21:00 and the whole company continued to feast. And in the morning he got up at four, cleaned and tidied up."

Till Lindemann is about self-digging, overcoming and childish shyness, which is covered by a pumped-up figure of a swimmer. This is how Lindemann decrypts himself:

• “And I really am like a big child - ill-mannered, but harmless. People think that I am always strong, explosive. This is not true. I am sensitive and easily hurt, but in love I am romantic and passionate."

• “At the very beginning, you sit somewhere in a dark room, open a bottle of wine and figure out how to make the lyrics popular with the music. At first you only have a vague idea of what it could be.

And when, three years after recording, mixing, and more mixing, developing the artwork, all this nonsense, then you stand on stage, and what you came up with then really works, when you manage to get 20 thousand people to raise their hands, then you experience incredible sensations."

• “Art is a kind of therapy.

When I feel that something is arising inside me, domineering and is most often dark, I need to give it a way out, otherwise it will simply crush me. So destruction and self-destruction are the two pillars on which my creativity is based.

But everyone chooses this for himself.

• “My lyrics arise from feelings and dreams, but still more from pain than by desire. I often have nightmares, and I wake up at night sweating, as I see terrible bloody scenes in my dreams. My lyrics are a kind of valve for the lava of feelings in my soul.

We are all struggling to hide behind good manners and outward decency, but in fact we are governed by instincts and feelings: hunger, thirst, horror, hatred, the desire for power and sex. Of course, there is also additional energy in us - this is love. Without it, all human feelings would fade away."

- "When you're constantly living someone else's life, it's very hard to get back into your own skin. I like that in principle, but sometimes you start to get confused - are you out of a role or not yet. You're already Till, or you're still a homicidal maniac."

- "I hate the noise. I hate the chatter. I expose myself to it, which is pure masochism. And then I have to protect myself from it. Noise makes you crazy. You die in it."

• “I think there is no God. And if he is and actually allows all the misfortunes on this earth, then he must punish me along with other sufferings. I will not pray to such a god."

This is how the members of Rammstein see Till - flexible and with a split personality:

Guitarist Paul Landers: "Till is so good that when you let him know that his lyrics should go in a different direction, the very next day he brings a new version of the song."

Guitarist Richard Kruspe: “He's a hell of an extreme man. He dives very deeply into situations where I cannot follow him. Everything he does is very extreme; I don't know anyone who does it. "

Drummer Christoph Schneider: "I would not want to be in Till's shoes: his soul is tormented by doubts and contradictions, he is equally a moralist and a monster."

June 1, 2021 - Translate by Lindemann Belgium

#very interesting #till's life #till is love 🖤#till lindemann #till 2021 #werner lindemann #flake lorenz #paul landers #christoph schneider #richard kruspe #oliver riedel #joey kelly #rammstein #t.lindemann #t.lindemann 2021

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cherry-lipbalm · 3 years

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a son of a bitch in a camper van. spencer reid.

3.9k words.

masterlist

the gif’s a bit blurry yet he’s still endearing x

in which things happen just like that.

Local law enforcement, accompanied by the BAU, have been sitting in a besieging of this goddamn camper van for so long now that the majority of them were highly considering setting up a tent. If it hadn't been already, it sure as hell was scraping up to be a long night.

Spencer couldn't feel his feet, and he had given up on aiming his gun at the RV a long time ago. The sheriffs had been handing out fold-up chairs for those who were observing any potential activity and hadn't resorted to lounging in their cars.

Morgan had offered his to Spencer, who took it gratefully after he got up from falling on his ass when Derek pulled it out from under him. Spencer was only just about to jump on him when they spotted Hotch's glare from over his shoulder. This is a crime scene they could practically hear him say, so Spencer settled for a harsh shove on his colleague's arm and they left it at that.

And that was probably the most exciting thing to have happened over the course of this man-watch; and that was... three hours ago, now? Time, at this point, had become unsubstantial.

"Are we sure he's even still in there?" Morgan asked, gesturing to the derelict camper van a few yards away from them. He had retrieved another chair, and was sat behind the barricade of police cars, but nonetheless held tightly onto the gun resting in his lap.

"I think so," Spencer squinted over the red and blues, assessing the vehicle. If you could even call it that; the thing was basically crumbling to pieces. As much as he believed it, he couldn't comprehend how someone was actually in there, and for so long. It looked uninhabitable.

"The whole thing’s surrounded," a new voice interjected into the conversation, "he went in, and hasn't come out. Detectives say they can see him walking about now and then."

Morgan and Reid both turned in their chairs. If the dire situation surrounding them wasn't so obvious, one could have easily believed they were on a fishing trip of some sorts, except one should know that Morgan had already taken Spencer fishing once, and the result was... eventful, to say the least. A trip to the ER and five stitches later, Reid vowed to never do anything with Morgan ever again.

"Hey, sugar. How you holdin' up?" Morgan greeted, relaxing back into his not-so-relaxing chair.

Y/N sighed, a guttural groan emitting from the exudation of her breath. She looked up to the sky, and was thankful that at least they had a pretty night to look at, because this guy was not moving any time soon.

Reid and Morgan both assessed her as she stepped out from behind their set-up, coming out of the shadows almost menacingly, into the light of police sirens and the distant lamp beaming from inside the camper van.

"I'd be holding up a lot better if this bastard did something," she said. Her feet crunched the soil as she grabbed a spare chair and planted it next to Spencer. He tried to resist the urge to pull back her chair. Emphasis on the word tried.

When Y/N's bum didn't connect with the seat, the realisation hit her too late and all she could do was let out a yell while she headed straight for the ground.

"Oh, you dick!" She cried when she plummeted into the grass. Looking at her mud-ridden hands in disgust, she didn't hesitate to wipe it on Spencer's beloved dress shirt, making sure to taint his sweater vest too.

"Hey! Hey!" He retracted frantically, shoving himself into the side of his chair to get away from Y/N and her hands that could deposit any more Earth onto him. All the while, Morgan laughed his head off, almost facing the same fate as Y/N when his chair leaned back from his laughing fit.

"Children," Hotch called, reprimanding them over Y/N's grimaces and the boys' amusement, which quickly ended when they saw the Unit Chief striding over.

"Did you see that, Hotch? That's harassment in the workplace!"

"Can I please remind you that we are on a crime scene. We are the FBI, and no doubt are going to make a lasting impression on local law enforcement, is this really how you want to be remembered?"

The three fell into sullen expressions, bowing their heads ashamedly as to not make eye contact with him. But Morgan was still snickering subtly behind his hand, and Spencer was biting down on his lip to avoid a sudden burst of laughter that he knew would be more than inevitable while they were being scolded due to the pseudobulbar effect; he'd explain it to them when they were no longer being rebuked.

Eventually Hotch did walk away, leaving them with a castigating glare Y/N knew she wouldn't be able to shake. In response, she took the subsequent silence as an opportunity to slap Spencer on the arm, hard.

"Ow!" He hushed, immediately rubbing his bicep where he was sure a bruise would be forming. If he wasn't aching he would be impressed that she managed to inflict so much pain from so low down.

"Nice one, you got me in trouble with Hotch!" She hissed. Derek had resumed laughing.

"Sorry, teacher's pet," Spencer called her. Then, whispered here we go to himself at what he had just unavoidably instigated.

"Coming from you?" Morgan and Y/L/N said simultaneously, a snark tone to their words. He pursed his lips and looked to them blankly, rolling his eyes at their unified laughter.

They all eased a bit after that, despite the wake of Hotch's wrath. Spencer pulled Y/N up from the ground, and then began to aid her in wiping the soil from her trousers, prompting an awkward encounter when he realised his hand was right on her ass. She gave him a glare, and he raised his muddy hands in surrender while he sat back down, leaving her to do it herself.

When she was somewhat clean, she dragged her chair back and sat in it, pointing a warning finger in Spencer's face as she did so to let him know not to try anything sneaky.

When she relaxed, Y/N thought the scenery was quite nice; get rid of the police cars, black SUVs and the serial killer less than ten metres away from them and it could make for an ideal holiday destination. All they needed was a couple of beers and a bonfire.

Ah, fire. Warmth! Y/N was beginning to forget what it felt like. She wrapped herself further into the complimentary FBI jacket she'd been given upon her arrival to the team. It made for cool recognition, and got her into a lot of places, but, god, did it do fuck all for practical thermal purposes.

"You're cold?" Spencer queried when he noticed her enveloping her arms around herself.

"Freezing," she replied.

"You should go in the car. Emily put the heating on in there earlier, it'll be warm now."

"What? And leave all the fun for you guys? Over my dead body," she turned her head to shoot him a smirk. He inhaled deeply, faltering a smile in her direction and let a comfortable silence fall between them. Y/N even painted on a genuine grin for him, and let the blush she felt warm her up from the cold.

The next few minutes after this go very quickly, but from what Y/N can barely grasp, it goes like this: the camper van's door is thrown open, and out comes this beast of a man who, if he had them, would have had guns blazing. This is evident from his demeanour; the word beast did not originate from his physique, no, he is a fragile, small boy, but the way he is yelling and screaming is nothing of the juvenile sort. And so, he is doing his yelling and screaming and, frankly, taking no prisoners.

All he has on him is a revolver, but it's enough for every police officer and agent to swing into action. Spencer and Morgan's chairs both fall to the ground upon the abruptness of how they suddenly stand, guns drawn. Y/N is already one step ahead of them, and fails to shield herself from their unsub behind any car door like everyone else had the sense to; even if he were without weapons, they were facing the human embodiment of the word danger.

Spencer shouts at Y/N to defend herself, but she pretends she doesn't hear because this bastard made her wait four hours in the freezing cold, the least she could do was have an eye on him, so Spencer takes her cover.

Which turns out to be the fault in this story, because Spencer loves Y/N. And anyone with a pair of eyes can see it and, unfortunately for them, their unsub happened to have a pair of eyes.

He sees the way this pipe cleaner of a man is aiming his gun at him so determinedly, and how his gaze is switching between him and this girl in a frivolous FBI jacket. And he's already blissfully aware that there's no way he is getting out of here alive, but if he is going down then he's sure as hell taking someone with him. He only has one bullet and figures it's a 2 for 1 deal judging by the way pipe-cleaner man is so obviously in love with shitty-jacket girl. And then next thing anyone knows is Y/N is on the ground again but this time a bullet has buried itself in her chest.

Spencer takes the shot, and then a few more even though their unsub has fallen to the ground. And as much as he wants to rush over to Y/N he knows he doesn't have the emotional capacity to see what state she is in, but what he does have is rage, and a whole lot of it, so he just keeps on shooting. He's already dead but that doesn't matter. He keeps shooting until his barrel is empty and Hotch is pulling him away.

A detective approaches the unsub, even though his fate is more than assured, while a flurry of people surround Y/N, falling to her side, but she's only asking for one.

"Spencer," she utters. It hurts for her to talk or even breathe but she knows the pain will only continue so she pays the small price of adding to it in order to make sure Spencer is by her side for the remainder of it all.

Morgan grabs the boy, shakes him from his trance and then pushes him through the crowd so he can kneel beside Y/N. The squelching noise of his trousers drenching in her blood almost makes him vomit, but he swallows it down for Y/N's sake. He already covered her in mud, he knows better than to be sick on her too.

"Y/N," his voice trembles, but the way he turns to shout at the people around him is so full of strength and fury that people jump immediately into action. He yells for an ambulance, even though there's already one on scene and it's just behind them, but what else can he do?

"I'm fine," Y/N manages, "I'm fine."

She was not, indeed, fine.

She tries to scramble to her feet, but finds she can't even attempt sitting up without a pain searing throughout her whole body, ripping her nerves apart like resolute Velcro.

"It's alright," Spencer says, panicked as he tries to keep her from hurting herself. He brushes the blood-stained hair from her face but regrets it when he sees how it's contorted in pain. Thankfully, she soon relaxes, until he realises that's not a good thing at all.

"No, no, Y/N, stay with me alright? Can you do that? Listen to me!"

So he's yelling at the girl he loves, which is no use because she can't hear him and her eyes are already closed. He's so desperate that he pushes her eyelids open himself, but what lies underneath is unresponsive. He holds his hand tightly over what pulse she has left.

Y/N is dying in Spencer's arms. And she can't help but think that if she was to go, she wouldn't mind it to be here and now. But, with what lingering conscious remains, she realises it wouldn't be her who would have to face the repercussions of her death, it would be her friends. Her family. Spencer.

Spencer who had done nothing but love her ferociously ever since they had met; silently and from afar, but passionately nonetheless. She loved him too correspondingly and too much to kill him with the grief.

So she takes a breath.

But he doesn't even have a chance to say goodbye, never mind ask to go in the back of the ambulance with her when she is ripped from his grasp and placed onto the gurney. The ambulance doors slam close and he forgets what it feels like to move. Morgan's hand on his shoulder feels foreign, and when he does eventually move, it's a surge of chaos.

Their unsub isn't receiving any medical attention, because Reid sorted that out irrefutably, so there's really not that many people around and Morgan isn't even fully aware to stop him when Spencer steals his gun from his holster and marches to the corpse lying in the grass. Surrounded by the greenery, the son of a bitch looks almost peaceful so, when Spencer is unloading the bullets on him, he makes sure to add a few in his face for good measure.

This time, no one stops him.

———

"How is she?" JJ asks, who's only just arrived at the hospital in a hurry after receiving the call. She's pretty tenacious considering the situation, especially when you compare her to the ball of pink and panic standing next to her.

"Is she alright? Oh, God, please let her be alright," Garcia utters. She's straight in Derek's arms, who's been crying but to no one's acknowledgement because they all decided they need to be strong, for Y/N's sake. Still, it doesn't stop JJ shedding a few tears from moment to moment.

"She's in surgery," is all Hotch says, because it's all he knows. One minute he was scolding her to get off the ground and the next he was begging her to.

JJ takes a seat immediately next to Emily, and they unanimously clutch onto each other's hands. Opposite them, Morgan and Garcia do the same. It is here that JJ realises the person who should probably be in the company of his friends the most, isn't.

"Where's Spence?"

"Bathroom," Morgan tells her. "He's been in there a while. Won't talk to anyone."

So when Spencer does come out, almost on cue a few seconds later, everyone stands up attentively and tries to decide whether they will ignore his red eyes. They do, and Spencer sits down in a chair next to Morgan. He virtually collapses into his side.

Morgan is reminded of their fishing trip turned ER trip a few months prior. From the way Spencer is resting dependently on his shoulder, the days are identical, except this time Spencer's pain isn't physical and can't be fixed with five stitches.

Everyone looks at Spencer with evident pity, so he burrows himself further into Morgan's t-shirt. When Derek feels the wet indication of tears, he stands up with an arm wrapped around his shoulders and says "let's take a walk".

Spencer doesn't want to, but he's already reached the grieving stage and his body and mind are no longer connected. The only way in which they are associated is that Spencer's mind is mush and his limbs are moving so similarly sluggishly that Morgan is verging on dragging him along the hallways.

Just when Spencer is thinking that Morgan has really just brought him to aimlessly wander the corridors, his friend stops him and holds onto his shoulders. He notices how he has to look away for a moment because he never really managed to register just how bloodshot his eyes were.

"Listen here, pretty boy. You got a girl in there who is fighting for her life. She is, without a doubt, scared, okay? So you need to be strong for her and for yourself, alright? And when she pulls through, because she will, you've gotta take that strength, and you've gotta use it," Morgan said. He was prodding a finger to Spencer's chest to try and get his message across, but he had no idea what that message entailed.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you gotta get your girl, man," his shoulders dropped.

Spencer's face portrays a small smile like he always does when he's hopeless, and his mutterings are almost drowned out by the incessant beeping of hospital machinery, but Morgan catches them.

"What if I don't get a chance to?"

They're interrupted then, much to Morgan's gratitude, because he really didn't know how he was going to respond to that.

Hotch is at the end of the hallway, his chest rising quickly in a pant. Spencer fears the worst.

"She's out."

And suddenly, nothing else matters. Not to Spencer, at least. He shoots off down the hallway like a rock in a catapult; so quickly that Morgan doesn't even ascertain his disappearance until the news has sunk in and he's chasing after him too.

He keeps thinking that. Nothing else matters, nothing else matters. He repeats the mantra in his head while he meanders frantically through the halls; he lost sight of Hotch a while ago when he raced past him and now he's realised he doesn't even know where Y/N is. Nothing else matters he justifies when he bumps into a nurse during his frenzy and doesn't have the time nor consideration to apologise.

When he reaches a small empty square, with four hallways sprouting from it, he cradles his hands behind his head and tries to control his breathing; something he's forgotten how to do correctly. He steps forward, hoping his feet will just know where to go.

Somehow, they do.

He's only taken one step, but when he advances into the hallway to his right, he hears someone breathe his name; it's weak, and feeble, but he'd know her voice anywhere.

His mouth is already agape when he looks over. The door is wide open, just like his eyes with a mixture of hope and fear-stricken astonishment. Inside the room the team is crowded around the bed, looking down on the fragile agent.

Just like before, he forgets what it feels like to move. His feet are stuck in place and even though his mind is racing there is no telling his limbs to do... anything. So, for now, he just peers into the room. Y/N's eyes are begging him to enter but he can't bring himself to do it. If he walks in that means it's real. The heart monitor, the bandages, the dried blood coating her neck that the nurses missed in their clean up: it's all real.

"Reid, trust me. This is a hell of a better ending, okay? This is the one you want," Morgan clasps his hand down on Spencer's shoulder, hissing to him to try and spark some kind of unlikely reaction, but to no avail. Spencer didn't even realise Morgan and Hotch had caught up to him.

He enviously watches them enter the room with such ease. They kiss Y/N's cheek and hug her close. Morgan leans his hands on the end of the hospital bed and tries to talk to her, but she's only looking at Spencer with betrayal in her eyes.

Before Spencer can whisper a futile apology and rush out of the hospital, his brain almost goes into override, suddenly providing him with all the reasons he should do anything but that.

He sees Y/N's face, the way she smiled at him before. The way she's always smiled at him. He hears her laughter, feels her touch. He feels the warmth he experiences whenever she is near. And suddenly, again, nothing else matters.

Nothing but you.

Hotch instinctively lets a hand hover over his holster due to the precipitous manner Spencer barges into the room with. The sole of his shoes squeak against the floor in his hurry and Y/N would grimace if she had the space to because next thing she knows Spencer's lips are on hers and his hands are encasing her face in a way that doesn't make her feel claustrophobic like she always thought it would.

She can't help but think how embarrassing it is that her coworkers are watching this scene unfold —her boss too, and she knows he'll probably be obliged to give them some talk about appropriate behaviour between colleagues, but she doesn't care. Nothing else matters but Spencer.

He doesn't stop there, Spencer wants to kiss her more and Y/N is more than happy to allow it. Her fingers can only fondle the wrinkle of his shirt because it hurts to much to raise her arms, but Spencer is practically lying on top of her and she can get a good feel of his torso through the clothing. His warmth radiates onto her and she hums happily against his lips. When he begins to pull away, she grabs onto his tie and doesn't let him.

She thinks a few of the team have turned around, because it's eerily silent except for a few sniggers from —who she assumed— Morgan, and excited squeals from —who she knew was— Garcia.

When Spencer pulled away, successfully this time, he let out a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," he croaked.

"For what?"

"I should have covered you."

"Shut up. From what I've heard you covered me pretty well," she said, and Spencer knew she had been told about his vengeful face-shooting incident. He bowed his head, and smiled weakly when Y/N pulled him back up from his tie. It became less weak when she pecked his lips.

"I'm okay," she whispered to him, like they were the only ones in the room, "we're okay. He's gonna rot for it."

Spencer nodded, and what he couldn't say in words he made up for in affection: his kisses were short, but none lacked the passion that was necessary to tell her how he felt. She felt every one of his kisses throughout her body. Where her chest ached with the pain of being shot now burned with a feverish love for Spencer.

"I, uh, I am going to have to hold a seminar on fraternisation next week," Hotch leaned forward to interject, which worked a treat in eliciting the laughter needed to brighten the mood.

Those that had turned swirled back on their heels and beamed at the new couple. Spencer sat on the edge of Y/N's bed, his hands encased around hers and resting on his lap. They exchanged assuring glances momentarily within the soft conversations of the team.

When Y/N looked up to Spencer again she smiled, and he knew she was thinking the same thing as himself: these people matter, and you, you matter the most.

fin.

#spencer reid gifset #spencer reid #dr Spencer reid #dr reid #Spencer Walter reid #dr Spencer Walter reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds one shot #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #Spencer reid fanfic #Spencer reid fanfiction #Spencer reid x reader #Spencer reid imagines #Spencer reid imagine #Spencer reid one shot

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zuffer-weird-girl · 4 years

Text

The past

He didn't liked to fight with you, really... bjt sometimes he forgot how... far away he can be with his emotions.

He was more stuck on his thoughts than he was used to... even Overhaul, his childhood friend, called him out for it. Mimic had to slap the back of his head to make him go back to concentrate on the meeting, even the big boss was getting worried at this point.

The worst part of the day was when you tried to help him with something and he lashed on you.

"Just-!" He breathed in and out with a hand on his head before letting out a chuff and giving your back to you "Just leave me alone. I dont need another headache."

"... fine then Kurono." You hissed his sur name and he winced at the sound of it "I was only trying to help my boyfriend you jerk."

"Whatever. As if I needed some." He waved you off as he heard your scoff, heart cleansing when he just knew you were going to get angry at him, cry because of him.

Fucking idiot...

The man laughed in glory as he stared at the target all pierced with the amount of shots that was hit.

"Ya saw how maany scores your dad did Tiger?!" The man laughed louder as a tony giggle escaped his mouth at enthusiasm of the man.

"Now now..." a femine and more calm voice called from the balcony "We dont want to cause problems to the neighbors now do we? Hajime?"

"Nah!" The man waved with a bark of laughter "If anything I just 'WOSH!" he grabbed him and threw in the air as he catched.

"Dad!" He clinged on his arms but pet put a nervous laughter.

"No using of quirks Hajime..." the woman sighed but soon it looked like she felt a bit dizzy and the man was fast enough to catch her even with him on his arms.

"Ayumi.." the older man spoke on a less happy tone, brows furrowed as he checked the woman's temperature.

"I'm fine Hajime." Despite the pain and fatigue, she still could smile a bit and pinch his cheek "How is my teddy bear doing huh?"

"Mom... are you getting sick?" He mumbled as his father put him on the ground and helped his mother to get up.

"Is just a flu baby. Nothing to worry about." The woman said gently as the man furrowed his eyebrows and looked away.

"When you're going to get better?"

"Soon, Hari. Mommy is going to get better soon."

He sighed, hand resting on the balcony as he stared at the city... the sky was with a beautiful shade of orange, indicating that soon night time he was going to take some rest at least.

He took off his gun out of his pocket to inspect...but his mind was in other place as he furrowed his eyebrows at it.

"This is a very well gift of your old man to ya tiger, I need you to take care of it." The man gave the gun, unloaded, to the boy as he furrowed his eyebrows at it.

"When you're going to get back?" The boy mumbled as the man sighed, patted his shoulder and got his suitcase and a hat, smirking sadly at the boy on the entrance.

"See ya soon... Hari."

His father never called him Hari.... it was always a nickname ... something wasted right... and before he could reach the door to tell him to wait the door was closed on his face.

"Hari..." he heard the call of his mother and he immediatly dropped the gun, grabbing the tray where it contained a plate of food, a cup of water and inumerous pills he didn't know for what.

"I am here." He mumbled, entering the room as the sickly woman giggled, her usually bright with life now it seemed drained out of energy and... everything.

"You sound like All Might there baby.." he frowned as he took a seat besides the woman.

"You won't eat?"

"Dont have energies to do it hun... I actually called you here for other thing... " the woman got up slowly on her elbows just to drink the water and the pills.

He could see her bones... it wasn't normal... none of that was. His father leaving without a explanation, his mom didn't ever got better from thsi flu... what the hell was even happening?!

"Hari..." she carresed his cheek, knowing already of his quirk "You are such a beautiful and little gentleman you know that?"

He pursed his lips... he didn't liked where this story was going.

"Despite having my character and appearance you still got daddy's eyes and quirk that I love so so much." She mused before quickly grabbing a napkin and having a fit of coughing.

"Mom..?" He said and widened his eyes in horror at seing a bit of red on the white napkin...

"Sweety... remember that talk me and your daddy had? About a beautiful place where nana went?" He nodded as she gave him a hearted yet sad smile "Mommy is soon going to met nana once again!"

"Can I come too?" He asked while fisting the sheets as the woman shaked her head before cupping his cheek.

"I'm afraid not honey.. you still have so many years here."

"You too!" He exclaimed as the woman brought him to a hug, he could feel her ribcage and her shoulder blade yet he hugged her trembling.

"No honey... mommy has to go met nana." She said with a sad smile while carresing his back "baby, you would like to live with your uncles?"

"No!" He exclaimed, fist clenching on her clothing as he cried "I want to stay like it was before! You and daddy!"

"... daddy is not coming back sweety..." she said painfully as he widened his eyes "That's why I want you to stay with your uncles.."

"But-!" She shushed him quietly and weakly.

"Please... be good to your uncles... promise me?" She lifted up her bony arm with her pinky out as he sniffled and wiped his face with the back of his hoodie and interlocked his pinky with her.

"Okay..."

"That's my brave boy..." she cupped his face "You're such a good boy Hari..."

The punching bag was almost disfigured from how much he had used so far.

"Angry today buddy?" Rappa asked while rolling his arms to strech some bones of his shoulder.

"Could say that." He mumbled with a nonchantly look before hearing Overhaul voice calling for him.

"Go on. Overjerk is calling for you man."

Nodding towards Rappa, he grabbed his coat and got out from the hide out and met with Chisaki leaning on the door frame with a nonchantly look.

"Listen, I knew that I fuck up." He lifted his hands up as Chisaki only arched a eyebrow but soon mentioned with his gaze at the door of his dorm. "... ah."

"Not even me get my past get the best of me blockhead." He muttered nonchantly before turning his back to him and waving "I dont want to see that partner of yours crying their eyes out, it makes me sick."

"Oh fuck off, what doesn't make you sick dude?" He muttered before gulping at the death glare he received.

Cursed hearing of his...

He sighed before knocking, seing your face before you quickly turned it away from him and layed down.

"...(Y/n)... Can we talk for a bit?"

"You forgot to clean that place." His uncle muttered while couting some bills as he glared at the bloody wall.

"Why I am the one to clean this?"

"Because you are living with us? Maybe?" His aunt spoke while putting on a necklace of pearls on her neck as he furrowed his eyebrows.

"... You two live well. Why couldn't you help my mom? Or my dad?"

The woman laughed as the man sighed, grabbing harshly on his shoulder and making him turn his front to him.

"Your father was a mere thief that couldn't even provide for my sister. And was her fault to get sick this way, if she hadn't turned out to be such a bitch, agreed to her arrangment marriage and hadn't stormed off with that Kurono guy she would be out of those fucking problems."

His eyes narrowed while clenching his jaw, grabbing the gun his father gave to him before leaving and pointing at the male.

"You can say whatever you want about my dad but NOT about my mom!" He growled as the woman shriek in fear at seing a child with a gun as the man raised his hands up before smirking.

"You dont even know how to use this thing brat."

He quickly took the ammunition he had stolen from his uncle's office and with enormous accuracy he shot it an inch away from his head. The woman letting out a scream again as the male widened his eyes at him.

"My dad at least did a good thing on teaching me how to use a gun at the age of three." He said with anger as he lowered a bit his gun before a bunch of man, wearing suits invaded the house and pinned both his uncle and aunt on the ground as he in fear got hidden behind the kitchen counter.

"You both think is funny taking advantege and being in debt with the yakusa huh?" A much older voice spoked up as he peaked one eye to see a man with white hair glaring at both of his uncle and aunt.

"P-Please sir we were going to pay-"

"Liars." A man lowered one pocketknife onto his uncle shoulder as he put his hands over his eyes as he flinched at the shout of pain it came after "you even went to the cops to tell about our plan in order to some money... and I lost a bunch of capable man and it will cost a millions of yen to get every single one of them out of jail."

"Boss!" He shriek when a man found him "We have anothe-" without thinking a strand of his arrow hair shot and cutted the man's cheek, the poor guy being immobilized and falling onto the floor.

A bunch of guns and males with attacking quirks aimed at him as he trembling picked the gun again and pointed at least of one of them.

"Don't shoot you idiots! Is a kid!"

"Yeah but he is got a gun!"

The man glared at them and in one motion all the guns were lowered, yet he didn't lowered his one still.

"Hey, kid... no one is going to hurt you, relax." He soon directed his gaze at the couple on the floor "Whose is this? I thought neither of you wanted a child."

"Is my sister's son with a thief rat." The man growled as his wife helped him with his missing fingers "That little shit died and gave him to us."

"I asked for his name imbecile." The man growled as his uncle yelped and bowed to him.

"K-Kurono Hari master!"

"... Kurono, huh?" The man looked at him as he still had a firm grasp on his gun "Say kid... you know how to deal with those I see, those these two treat you well?" His gaze fell on his uncles before he shaked his head.

"... How about an offer then?"

"So this makes kinda you and Overhaul brothers huh?" You giggled at the glare he gave to you before he flipped your head.

"You're the worst. I tell you this all shit and-" he stopped talking and gasped when you hugged him tightly, grazing your nails into his back much like his own mother would do.

"I get it Hari, and I'm not mad at you..." you kissed his neck and sighed "Just rely on me more often okay? Instead of being a dick."

"... yeah. I will." He hugged you back as he smirked, at least he knew he had a home of his own. You. You were his home.

(A/n): this was shitty, I know. But it was what came to my mind. Forgive me. I didn't do justice for arrow haired man... ;-;

#kurono hari x reader #hari kurono x reader #chrono x reader #bnha villains x reader #bnha villains #chrono #kurono hari #bnha fanfiction #bnha fics #zuffer writings

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etlunainmorte · 4 years

Text

Perfect. Everything was going smoothly and according to plan.

Later after the party, Christopher would pay Salvador a huge sum of money for doing his job. Well, he should admit that, at first, it seemed so difficult. The victim, himself, didn't look that intimidating, sure, but, his pets sure did. What were they again? Ah! A glowing panther and an extremely talkative blue parrot.

Who is this V person, anyway?! An exotic pet smuggler?!

Eh, it doesn't matter now! Thought Salvador as he glanced at V's house from his own car. Stealing those vintage clothing and that necklace was a,...

"Piece of cake!" The man exclaimed as he adjusted the rear view mirror. Taking a comb from the pocket of his black leather jacket, he began fixing his already slick - looking hair. Giving his own reflection the gun fingers, he sang along to the music in his car speakers, "We're talking away, I don't know what I'm to say I'll say it, anyway. Today's another day to find you shying away. I'll be coming for your love, okay? Take on me,... TAKE ON ME - !

"WHOA!"

Not a moment too soon, Salvador found himself stumbling on the ground next to two pairs of feet. Somehow, the car door ( which was locked ) was forced open and he felt strong hands dragging him out. He looked up and saw two very irate - looking strangers. The woman had her arms crossed and the man was tapping his booted foot on the ground.

"WHO ARE YOU, PEOPLE?!" Salvador screamed as he tried to scramble away from the two strangers. However, his escape was unsuccessful when the man grabbed his jacket and yanked him off the ground. "H - HAVE MERCY ON ME, PLEASE!"

"Is this the one, Nico?" The man asked the woman, who just lit up a cigarette and began smoking.

Pointing two fingers at Salvador, the woman called Nico spoke. "That's the one. Or, unless I'm wrong and he's not the one spying on V here for almost a week!"

"Y - Y - YOU GOT THE WRONG PERSON!" Salvador pleaded, already feeling his sweat run cold and his bones weaken. He tried to pry himself loose from the man's grip but, he was just too strong! "I - I - I DON'T KNOW W - WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!"

All of a sudden, they heard an awful noise coming from the car, and a few moments later, that same talkative blue bird came into view.

"HE'S GOT IT!" The noisy bird squawked as it pointed at something with its wing. They all turned towards the direction it's pointing at and noticed that same glowing panther, the pieces of the ripped vintage clothing in its mouth, standing just next to the car.

Which means,...

The awful noise that Salvador heard earlier was the sound of his car trunk breaking!

"YOU,... FUCKING ZOO MASCOTS!" Salvador howled in anger.

It happened in a matter of seconds. Poor Salvador was about to fight back when he felt his body go numb all of a sudden. It's as if an incredible jolt of electricity ran through his system to the numerous ends of his nerves at the speed of light, making him fall to the ground, helpless and unmoving.

As a matter of fact, he really felt he should've been dead with that unprecedented attack but, miraculously, he's not.

"I can't find the necklace anywhere!" He heard another woman say. Where did that come from?!

"Let's check again!" Answered the other female, the one who smoked.

It's,... no use,... Salvador thought, his face still lying flat on the ground where he fell. B - boss,... has the w - wretched thing!

"It's not,... fucking here!" The aggravated male swore a few moments later after all that ruckus in the car.

"We should let him know." The woman who smoked said. "He's the one who originally owns it."

"I agree with you on that, Nico."

He? Salvador thought helplessly. Who the heck - ?! What now?!

Fly me to the moon,

Let me play among the stars.

Let me see what spring is like on

A - Jupiter and Mars.

In other words, hold my hand.

In other words, baby, kiss me.

Fill my heart with song and let me sing for ever more.

You are all I long for,

All I worship and adore.

In other words, please be true.

In other words, I love you.

The voice of the Frank Sinatra wannabe on the stage soared high above the romantic place as the couples, all dressed in their best vintage, danced to the hypnotic, timeless tune.

And as you danced the dreamy Foxtrot with your tall, green - eyed partner, your mind couldn't help but go over, and over again through the events that led right to this moment.

"Oh, for I can't help falling in love with you,..." V's low and gentle voice mesmerized you. There simply was this special something in his voice. Something very warm and familiar. You've noticed it the first time during Avery's wedding where you've met him but, you didn't pay it too much attention. At least, not too much. However, during that night when he visited you and read to you that lovely story about Cupid and his beloved muse, you could no longer deny that fact. You can't actually pinpoint what it was but, it certainly lured you in closer to him.

Yes, there's no use denying that now.

You feel something for V, that you're definitely sure of.

You just kept wondering, is he really the one? Were your feelings even mutual? And what if the same thing happens to you? That thing that Christopher did to you?

Many doubtful things about V plagued your mind since that night but, now that he's here, right before you, you're very sure. Very sure, indeed.

You almost did not hear his shy, and yet bashful voice above the overwhelming applause and cheers he received from the other guests as he spoke to you after his heartwarming ( and cheesy ) song. His warm smile, pleading eyes, and gentle touch as he took your hand and planted a kiss on it made you feel like you were the most enchanting woman in the whole wide world.

The one and only enchantingly beautiful woman in V's whole world,...

"Pardon my delay." He told you, the guests still cheering wildly for the both of you. "I was,... catching up on some - "

You cut him off, placing a single finger over those supple lips of his. With wide green eyes, he saw you lean closer to him. And with a wildly racing heart, he heard you whisper sweetly to his ear, "I know. It's alright." Then, giving him an equally warm, and sweet, smile that flung his heart beat off its normal rhythm, you added, "You came. That's all that matters."

"Well, well! If it isn't Mr. Domestic guy!" An obnoxious voice boomed all of a sudden, destroying the sweet and tender mood and killing your moment with V. "How rude of you to keep your lady waiting!"

That,... mother - !

Earning disgusted looks from the people standing closest to you ( especially Trish and Lady ), Christopher went on with his self - primping. And bullying. "And what,... old clothes you wear!"

There, he said it. He emphasized the words, old clothes.

He knew what's going on! You thought as you threw the man a scornful, disgusted look.

Showing your,... true colors! V thought at the same time as he held you closer to him and shielded you from the overbearing guy. I see,...

I will make you pay,... Christopher thought as he gave V a very awful and challenging look. You two,... will pay!

"The better," You answered, your brave voice soaring high above the noise of Fleminger's ball room. " ... to spend this beautiful vintage evening with."

"So, we're talking about spending nights with someone else now, huh?" Christopher, like the rude man that he was, bit the bait, a very visible tint of red coloring his face. You knew that look. He was getting really riled up. "Let's see,... hmm,... how about," He uttered in a sickly sing - song voice as he pointed an accusing finger at both you and V. This made you stand instinctively in front of V, reversing your positions from before, and protecting the poor poet from your evil ex. And this made Christopher even angrier. " ... a challenge, perhaps? Whoever grabs the title of King and Queen this year,... wins! How about that?"

"We have no intention of - " V began but, you cut him off once more. You,... just couldn't stand Christopher's bullying anymore.

This has to stop! Here and now! And you will not stand by idle, and do nothing! You will fight this! And win the war! No matter what it takes!

"How do we do that?" You questioned, feeling your blood boil for the evil doctor.

"Eh, it's obvious, isn't it?" Christopher gestured with his thumb, pointing at the middle of the room where Dante began doing his Michael Jackson routine once more. "We go by Fleminger's rules. We rule the dancefloor. If you win, I'll leave you two lovebirds alone. If not,... well! We'll see! How's that, Little Miss Domestic?"

Leaving V for a while, you stepped closer towards Christopher and looked at him straight in the eye, dead set on bringing the evil man down.

"You're on," You answered, and with a hint of sass in your voice from being bullied, as well, you added, "Mr. Narcist."

"Now, I wonder who the Damsel In Distress really is here." A male voice interrupted. Turning your eyes to the source of this new voice, you found the robust ( and bald ) host of the party. Smiling at you and bowing theatrically, he spoke. "Pardon my,... intrusion. As you may have already known, I'm called Flanagan Allen Fleminger. But, you can simply call me,... Fleminger."

"Sir Fleminger!" Christopher greeted in an overly exaggerated way. "How wonderful it is to finally meet you. I' am - "

"Did I hear a challenge just now?" Fleminger asked with a very curious smile. "Because I do love challenges!"

You and V gave each other a worried glance, both pondering whether you should take this Fleminger man's intervention as an opportunity or as a warning. The man looked suspicious enough! Really suspicious,...

"Well! My spacious ball room is more than ready,... and equipped,... for any,... chivalrous challenges,... in the name of love. And honor! If I may add." Fleminger exclaimed as he excitedly clasped his hands and glided towards V. How does anyone simply glide like that? "I hope you find it,... challenging enough for your taste,... My Lord." He said and walked away with that mischievous smile on his face.

Fill my heart with song and let me sing for ever more.

You are all I long for,

All I worship and adore.

In other words, please be true.

In other words, I love you.

The music wound to a close, and as you and V took your bow, you heard the audience's excited cheers as they called for Christopher and Lady's name above all other couples who were dancing along with you. It's very difficult to deny it but, that Lancaster guy do have a way with ballroom dances.

And he clearly looked like he's winning the game,...

You felt V's grip on your hands tighten as you noticed him looking with such distress at the horrible enemy. You couldn't really blame him. Three dances in and people just couldn't help but be entranced by Christopher and Lady's moves. It's as if their perfectly choreographed moves has the ability to put anyone under a spell, and that alone spells trouble for both you and V.

What would happen to the two of you if Lancaster wins this?! What would happen if he and Lady becomes King and Queen of The Night? He probably would never stop bullying you and V for the rest of your life!

"Heads up!" You heard Trish tell you with a pat on your arm, making you turn your attention to her and her dance partner, Dante.

"Hey! Rockin' the dance floor?" The Devil Hunter greeted you with an overly confident smile that said I'll nab the title of King! all over despite Christopher's undeniable popularity. And this made Trish roll her eyes.

"Popularity polls don't matter!" Trish went on. With a sly glance at Fleminger, who was watching the dances at one of the upper boxes, she added, "It's him who decides the winner." And with a reassuring smile on her face, she said, "You're doing just fine."

"Yeah, right. Thanks" You answered as you watched the woman regally walk away with Dante. How could any woman stay perfectly poised and fresh after rounds of Waltz, Quick Step, and Foxtrot?!

"(Y/N)," All of a sudden, you heard your partner speak, his low voice slightly making you worry. " ... I should not have dragged the both of us in this hopeless situation. Forgive me,... "

What? "Hey, it's not your fault! I was the one who accepted that man's challenge." You reminded him as the rest of the couples took their five - minute break before the next dance. "It's not your fault, V."

"But, I was the one who invited you here,... " And it was the truth. V wanted you to have a memorable and fun night with him. He planned this event through and through in his head and he honestly thought that everything would go smoothly and perfectly. In his eagerness to fulfill your last wish, he was not able to predict one tiny setback.

And that setback happened to be the biggest, most annoying throat choke that ever lived on the planet. One that just wouldn’t go down in defeat even with more than eight glasses of water and a few cat scratches on the neck. Or, in V’s case, one that refused to stay in the Underworld after being kicked there.

Why didn't he just stay in Hell for good?! That damned Christopher Lancaster?!

"Oh, my!"

V's eyes widened and his protective instincts kicked in as he saw Lady just bump into you. On the other hand, you didn't even notice it when the woman who looked like Audrey Hepburn suddenly, and out of the blue, appeared just like that, and you totally blamed it on your lack of focus.

"Oh, how silly of me!" Lady apologized with a smile as she helped you on your feet.

"It's alright. I wasn't paying attention. I - "

V's eyebrows knitted in confusion as he saw Lady whisper something to you as soon as you got up. He was even tempted to barge in but, when she left a few moments later, he noticed that there was something in her different - colored eyes. A knowing glint,... that apparently only you and her understand.

"My dear, are you alright?" V began asking when he noticed your facial expression changing to a more,... challenging look?

"Yes, I'm,... super!" You answered as you thoughtfully drummed your chin with your fingers. Looking up at him, you touched his arm and said, "I'm just gonna,... fix something."

"P - pardon? Is everything alright?"

"I'll be right back, I promise."

V helplessly watched you as you made your way towards the powder room, and it was definitely not helping with the situation, at all! With Nico, Nero, and his familiars all gone on an errand, he felt his focus vanishing and slipping off his fingers! And being left alone on that unfamiliar dance floor made him feel like he was standing, in the middle of the vast ocean, with about a hundred, hungry sharks swimming about, on a thin sheet of ice that was threatening to break beneath his cold feet!

And he never felt that tensed in his miserable life!

V's eagle sight noticed the musicians as they went back to their pedestal for another round of dance music, and he became all the more nervous for what will occur!

But, he must remain calm! And focused! And -

***

🌸 Okay, this one literally took almost an hour to upload. But, all of a sudden, I developed a strong urge to put V and his beloved into this cheesy 80's music video. It's now 5am, and I'm still singing TAKE ON ME! Oh, rip! Oh, rip, indeed! 😅😅😅 🌸

🌸 @la-vita , @dreaming-gamer , @birdgirl69 , @v-vic , and @hanniskywalker . 🌸

***

"Told you I'll be right back." V heard your sweet and playful voice once more, and when he turned around with vast relief to see you, he was more than shocked!

Your skirt,...

Your beautiful and elegant white skirt,...

YOU RIPPED YOUR SKIRT!

But,... WHY?!

"(Y/N), dear, I don't think that's - !" V stuttered in distress, wanting to blurt out the word inappropriate as gently as he could, as his sight wandered over your bare legs. But, he just could not find any word to replace it. What’s more, he was even beginning to notice the audience taking notice of your sudden change!

"Trust me, V." You reassured him as you smiled confidently at him. Yes, you don't quite trust Lady. But, her words earlier,...

There was no way in hell that she would lie to you! No fricking way!

You looked up at the upper boxes and noticed Fleminger excitedly leaning in closer to his seat the moment the musicians picked up their instruments. A tall guy, followed by two ladies ( probably back up singers ), stepped on the musician's platform and grabbed their own microphones.

Then, the music started.

Oh, Lady was definitely right!

You spread your arms confidently wide in a seemingly familiar pose, waiting for V to take the lead.

A few moments later, V realized,...

The next dance was,... !

***

🌸 Three Wishes 🌸

***

XIII

***

🌸🌸🌸

***

#vitale sparda #devil may cry 5 #three wishes #v x reader #v x you #chapter 13 #dance with me tonight

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starbabytae · 5 years

Text

Teach Me — talk dirty to me

↳ jungkook × reader

↳ jungkook sending a suggestive photo, dirty talk (obviously), slight dom!jk, some teasing, biting, dry humping?, petting, men have nipples too, tiny amount of angst (if u squint)

↳1.7k

↳ links are broken // read more doesn't work

“You're fucking Jungkook?”

“To be honest,” You paused in favor of taking a sip of the caramel macchiato in front of you, savoring the sickening sweet taste before looking back at the male. “It sounds worse when you say it out loud.”

“How did that even happen?” Hoseok had always been one to know everything, and if he didn't, then he'd do anything to know. Even Yoongi seemed interested in the story, leaning in next to you with his chin on the back of his hand.

“He asked me to show him stuff. And really, he used the excuse that me,” Pointing your finger at yourself before directing it over at the ravenette, “and Yoongi had sex before and are still friends.”

“Yeah, but you don't have a crush on me.”

“I don't have one on him either.” At least that was what you were telling yourself. You knew getting involved with Jungkook sexually would bring your feelings back, to some extent, which was why you were still somewhat against the idea. But when he looked at you with those stupid doe-eyes of him, what were you gonna do, say no?

[from jk] 2:36pm

y/n

[from jk] 2:36pm

jimin-hyung's not home. you need to come over and help me with smth

[from jk] 2:39pm

yah, don't leave me on read!!

A small sigh slips past your lips when you scroll through the few messages Jungkook had left you an hour ago. Two missed calls as well, all purposely ignored.

[to jk] 3:53pm

what do you need?

It didn't even take ten minutes for him to respond again, leaving you gawking at his message.

[from jk] 4:01pm

[image.jpg] some girls in class were talking about dirty talk. pls help :((

Really, it could've been worse. The white button up made you think that he was still wearing his school uniform, though his first message had been sent an hour ago, so really, when did he take that picture.

[to jk] 4:05pm

have you been hard for an hour, or what?

Is jimin still gone?

[from jk] 4:06pm

I tried taking care of it myself!

But I keep thinking about how it would feel much better if you'd help me.

Hyung's coming back in two hours, y/n pls!

You couldn't say the picture didn't had an effect on you, because damn, it definitely did. With a sigh, you typed your next response, grabbing your coat with your free hand before stepping out of your apartment.

[to jk] 4:08pm

omw, be there in 15 minutes

You stood in front of his door for not even thirty seconds before it was practically ripped open, fingers wrapping around your arm to pull you inside and close the door again. There wasn't even a simple greeting before your back met the wooden surface, lips meeting yours harshly but sloppily, without any precise movements and simply out of impulse.

“Jungkook!” Even though it was meant as a protest it sounded more like a mother scolding her child than anything serious. Your hands were firmly planted against his chest, pushing him away for at least a few inches of distance to breathe. “How about you let me come in before you try shoving your tongue down my throat.”

“Sorry.” The male grinned sheepishly at your words, obviously anything but sorry. “It just hurts so bad, y/n..” His whiny voice almost made you forgive him right there, though when he moved to press his hips against yours again you could feel his hard-on clearly, and all you wanted to do was to whack him over the head.

“Again, why didn't you try taking care of it yourself?” The male only shakes his head at your words, already tugging you to his room — you having to stop him mid drag to get out of your shoes — and locking the door behind him.

“Why do girls like dirty talk so much?”

“Probably because it gets most girls wet. If it's done right.” You only shrugged, watching as he pulled the button up from his pants and over his head hastily.

“Can we try?” You couldn't help but let your eyes wander over his toned chest, remembering how shameless girls would stare when the two of you went to the beach or a pool.

“You're a baby, Jungkook. Just look shit up or something.” You wouldn't even know what to tell him, usually it was the guy initiating dirty talk, and he'd probably be better off using google or something else.

“I'm not a baby.” You were always surprised how his voice managed to drop an octave deeper when he was talking, but damn it was hot. He stalked forward slowly, and you allowed him to wrap his arms around your waist before pulling you on to his lap after he moved to sit down on his bed.

“Just because you're more experienced than me doesn't mean I can't make you scream my name,” he spoke lowly, pulling you closer until your chest was squished against his and his lips came dangerously close to your neck. His breath was hot over your skin, cold fingers brushing beneath your clothes making you shiver slightly at his touch.

“See, you don't even need my help.” Your voice sounded strained, probably because of the way his lips worked against your neck which would have you whining for him if it wasn't for the situation you were in.

“So I just tell them how good I'm going to fuck them?” Even with the little experience he had, he could tell you were holding back, and he felt challenged in a way where he wanted to know just how loud you could get for him. “How good they're gonna feel and how I'll have them screaming for me? That I'll make them cum so hard they'll forget their own name?”

“Yeah.. just like that.” He was teasing you, he knew he exactly what he had to say to get you weak. You could feel his erection straining against the material of his pants, and you were too slow to conceal the whimper that fell from your lips when he pulled you down to grind against him harshly.

“Jungkook..” Had you always sounded so fucking hot calling his name? He wasn't sure. But he wanted to hear it again, he wanted to make you cry for him and he wanted to make you cum again just like last time.

“I'm not gonna fuck you. I want you to ruin your pretty panties for me, you'll do as I say, right?” It wasn't a question, you knew that when he moved your hips again and his tongue skimmed your neck, that you were in for a night.

When he didn't get an answer, neither a yes or a direct no, he lost a bit of his confidence, but when you didn't push him away either he was sure you were okay with this. Because if he knew one thing, then it was that you would instantly kick his ass if he did something you didn't want.

He pressed his lips against your neck a little harder, pulling your skin between his teeth carefully, because really, he's never given a hickey before but the breathless whimper that came at his actions made him believe he was at least doing something right.

His hands slipped down to cup your ass in his palms, guiding your movements over his crotch, an action that had him groaning instantly at the pressure and he wouldn't be surprised if he'd cum in his pants like a horny teenager — which he was after all.

“Tell me how good this feels, baby. I know it does, you're trying to hide these cute moans but I can hear them.” As if to prove his point, his teeth drag over your sweet spot, sucking the soft skin between his lips and eliciting what had to be the cutest yet sexiest noise he had ever heard.

“F—feels so good, Jungkook, fuck..” Honestly all thoughts telling you that this was wrong and that you really shouldn't grind down on your best friend's clothed cock were pushed to the back of your mind, pleasure invading your space and having you completely bewitched and mind deluded.

You couldn't help the way he made you feel, forcing you to ground your hips against his and littering your skin with hickeys, his big hands on your ass and the occasional groan that was rumbling in his chest when your hands slipped under his shirt to flick at his nipples.

“Shit, I think I'm actually g—gonna cum in my pants like this.” His words were followed by an airy chuckle, his lips now down to the curvature of your collarbones after having pulled your shirt down further.

This seemed to snap you out of your daze, hand clasping around his biceps to slow the movements he was forcing on your hips and having him stare up at you almost instantly. There seemed to be a bit of an awkward silence now, Jungkook wondering if he had said anything to offend you and you wondering if you should go that far with him, again.

In the end, it wasn't you brain that made the decision and neither your heart. And it made you realize that men weren't the only ones thinking with their genitals sometimes.

“Make me cum, Jungkook. Didn't you want me to ruin my panties for you?” You can see his eyes darken right away as he leans in to press his lips against yours, forcing his tongue past to greet your own. The hand at your shirt moves to open your jeans, his fingers wiggling past the fabric to cup your heat over your panties.

When he pulled back for air, his eyes glaze over with lust as he catches sight of your expression. Finally, he thinks, your lips are swollen and parted in a soft whimper, cheeks rosy and eyes screwed shut, letting the pleasure take over.

His fingers work against your core, noting with amusement that you've already soaked your panties. His lips attach to your neck again, sucking one last hickey into your skin and bringing your hips down on him one last time before he can feel you shivering at his touch, crying out his name through broken sobs.

Everything else after that is a blur to him, but there is something he hears clearly, even if he might have imagined it after all.

“I love you.”

#bts #bts fiction #btssmutclub #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook smut #f; teach me

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