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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

Note

Hi! If you're still taking requests I'd love request a drabble about the moment when Konig and Reader first noticed each other and what they thought/felt during that moment based on your "Just Friends" fic.

Btw I love your work and oh my god, it's perfection, absolutely amazing. Super excited to read chapter 3&4 (no rush take your time!!)

Thabj you!!!

Even Demons are Lonely

Wordcount: 3.8 k

Summary: König sees reader for the first time. Soon, the promise to never touch someone as lovely as her turns into a vow to never leave her side.

Tags/warnings: F!Reader, König POV, Just Friends universe. Angst, twisted & fluffy feelings, pining, obsessive behavior, stalking, panty stealing, mentions of past trauma, abuse and patricide, yandere!König falling in love (=being delusional). Mild sexual and violent themes.

A/N: I did take my time with this one... 🩷 And it's only König POV, but I hope you enjoy! 💋

"Abashed the Devil stood, and felt how awful goodness is, and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely – saw, and pined His loss..."

– John Milton, Paradise Lost

Purgatory.

That's the word that stuck to him when he was learning English at school, simply because it was an accurate definition of how he felt.

Adults used to say there is heaven and hell, and then this world, the world of humans, somewhere in between. They said he would go to heaven after he died and that bad people would go to hell.

They were all liars because hell already existed here on Earth. He had lived there ever since he was born.

The first memories of the cutting are shallow and pale, like they happened to some other boy. With every hit and cut and every cry, the sounds turned muddy until he was mute too, until all he could hear was mother's crying and Papa's roaring. The old man always got more mad when people cried and cowered.

That's when he knew he would someday do something about bad people, that crying and cowering and begging wasn't going to help. It was the birth hour of hope and heaven. He dreamed of killing his father, killing his "friends", killing everyone who looked at him like he was a freak.

He soon learned that this was not what people associated with heaven at all. He learned that there was a word for people like him, for phantoms who were morbidly interested in death and decay.

Ghoul.

A grave robber and a corpse feaster he was not, but neither was he going to pretend that some people didn't deserve to be gutted. If being normal meant he should just play along and pretend that there was justice in this world, then he was happy to be morbid. A little ghoul boy who grew up in hell, who dreamed of heaven, who slipped behind the thin veil between the worlds when he was four, who learned how to make the knives dance while everyone around him suffered.

He learned to cry and beg before he learned to speak, but when the words finally started to make sense to him, he had no use for them. No one wanted to talk to him, so he settled to observe. Life was a film reel running by, and words were useless when all he wanted to do was roar. There was a growing, gaping maw inside him, shrieking and spitting blood while he was without a voice.

It took a while to make Papa cry and beg. But he begged, eventually. In his last words, he tried to hide behind a woman’s skirt.

"Don't do this to your mother," was a plea that didn't ignite mercy: it drove him off the ledge. Looking at the horrible excuse for a man squirming at his feet made him realize he should've released his mother from this demon years ago. He was too weak, and he vowed to himself, to the whole world, that he would never be weak again.

………………

Sometimes, a glimpse of true heaven can be seen on a clear summer's day when the sun shines, when bees are buzzing and a beautiful voice sings a love song on the radio. Beautiful, peaceful things only add to his suffering. They are simply evidence gathered – examples of everything he will never have.

The air clots inside his mask with a brew of old sweat and acrid gunpowder. It's usually enriched by a hot desert wind or the stench of dust and emissions, a city's rotten core. It would feel odd to be met with a fresh breeze or the smell of rust and smoke than have them dampened by the baggy mask. He's certain that it would only be painful to feel the full brunt of the world on his naked face again. His enemies can't see him when he kills them, so they can't haunt him either.

He is the only ghoul here. He is the one who haunts.

He's learned to let love and peace go. He came here to reap; that's his job. Ghouls cannot love or be loved. They are supposed to get rid of the plague, do what normal people can't do, what good people deem hideous and wrong.

People have always been alien to him: they both know something he cannot seem to decode and are unaware of the constant presence of the Maw. He has to feed it in order to not be swallowed by it himself. It helps with the constant yelling for a while.

His father was the first demon to be punished, but he has learned that all demons are liars when they beg. They don't know what real hell is like. That's why he didn't give mercy to his father, and that's why he doesn't give mercy to them, either. It's not hell, it's not heaven, so he must be in a limbo state in between.

That's why he calls this place purgatory.

………………

He sees a woman under the sun one day.

The sheer sight of her sitting there on her little blanket spread over the grass, dressed in a pure white dress is like a torturing dream from above. It stops him in his tracks like there is suddenly an invisible wall in front of him, forcing him to halt.

His heart is pounding, but that's not new. His heart is always tight and racing, and that's why it's better to have a heavy gun in his hands than hold onto nothing at all; it's better to do something than do nothing at all. The only thing that calms the endless roil inside him is work; when there's no work, it helps to go outdoors, somewhere between the shadows between thick trees.

Trees are better than people...

But they're not better than a woman like her.

He knows his mind plays tricks sometimes with females. That is why at first he thinks that the creature before him is not from this world either. How could someone like her even end up here? There are few ladies in the base, and none of them have picnics; none of them look like angels.

She looks up at the sky, at the single cloud drifting across the cerulean blue that hurts his eyes. Sun shines on her exposed throat, her stare is dreamy as she basks in the warmth and raises an apple to her lips.

He stops breathing as she takes a bite, fearing it might stain the beautiful white dress from how juicy it is. The runaway apple juice drips down her chin, but she catches it with her finger, then sweeps the sweet taste of it back into her mouth.

Her lips hug the finger gently as she savors the treat, and his breath returns to him, heavy and with a pang, like someone just punched him between the lungs.

She can't be human...

He wonders if she's even real.

He's hungry, but the need to devour this woman turns into a need to worship her before he can even decipher what is happening to him. He would grovel at her feet if that's what it took to get her to feed him some of that fruit. His mind goes numb from the need to march there and hug her. Just hold her, so close that he forgets what it is to breathe.

He knows she would only scream, and it's good he's been walking in the shade. It's good that she can't see him unless she turns her head. Because she must be an angel, and angels have no business with ghouls.

He should go and leave her be... Mortals he can want, humans he can torture, but a celestial being he could never touch. The wind carries a whiff of apple juice to his nose; it overrides the stench of sweat and gun oil and smoke.

And then the angel turns her head.

It's Judgment Day, but she doesn't condemn him. She blinks a few times, lashes fluttering like he's another sun, the dreaded black sun, and she can't bear to look directly at him. But there's no disgust, no uneasiness, there's no fear. There's only shyness and the smallest smile.

The pain inside his gut turns into a brutal stab, pure suffering. He hasn't hoped for anything for a long, long time. Now hope bleeds into his stomach with golden tingles, like those rays of sun that caress her skin.

He thought good things would feel… well, good, but to his horror, they feel painful too. She's painfully sweet. Even the demon inside him falls silent, the only demon he cannot destroy. It's finally quiet, as it should be. Everything in him bows to this greater power of Her.

But she can't be real... His mind is sick and has finally conjured up the most beautiful thing he can never, ever have. He's been called a freak, he's been called a dumb ugly giant, he's been called so many things, but he's not stupid enough to think that the creature hugged by the golden aura of light is meant for him.

So he squares his shoulders and pushes through the invisible wall, back behind the veil, back to where he belongs, and leaves the heavenly apparition in the sun.

………………

The next time he sees her is after a mission and inside the base.

He brings mud and blood inside after a few rainy days spent in the mountains. He's so soaked that not even the 3-hour flight managed to dry all the dirt. She's waiting for him, or that's how it feels like when she gives him a small, relieved smile and starts to clean the mess he and every other operator leave behind.

His angel is not only a celestial visage but a cleaner.

She keeps the building that houses people who destroy life, clean. She scrubs the filth killers like him bring inside the cold, dead compound built on what used to be a forest full of birds, life, and wind through the trees.

No one thanks this girl as she humbly dusts a table or mops the floor. No one understands that she's a saint for coming to the purgatory and making it a more decent place for the demons and ghouls to live. And she's relieved every time he comes back unharmed. She's happy to see he's alive. There's someone waiting for him. And not just someone, not just anyone, but an angel.

It's unbelievable how no one has claimed her yet. She has no one to keep her safe, and it makes his hands twitch. If he was her protector, she would never have to work again.

She's not like the rest of them: she doesn't turn her gaze away when he flicks a knife out. She likes to watch him make them dance. It's a ritual that makes him invincible on the battlefield. He used to do it every morning before school to stay safe – there were no angels back then to keep him alive.

He almost stops the first time he sees her watching how he goes through the rite.

No, look away, little angel... You're not supposed to see this; this is a death dance, it's filthy, demonic magic.

But she's not afraid of his blades or the way he weaves his spell of protection. The girl follows his moves entranced. Her eyes shine, and he nearly drops the blade – he hasn't dropped a knife since he was ten – because there's hunger in her stare. Not as fathomless as his, but deep enough for him to recognize it.

His angel is lonely and trapped too.

He completes the dance, returns the knife to his pocket, and looks back, straight back.

She doesn't look away. She doesn't wince or lean back, no: she leans forward, and he can see it, the way her pulse flutters on her neck, the way her mouth opens even more, how a tiny pink tongue sweeps across her lips as she looks back into the jaws of damnation. It takes him a while to realize his angel must be wet, just from seeing how good he is with a knife. The notion doesn't only make his cock jolt; it throws him headfirst into the abyss.

You'll never get rid of me now, the demon growls before he can choke him silent.

Her wet eyes, her wet, promising lips belong in a realm of madness. She's not filthy; his angel could never be filthy. But she's seducing him, which means she might seduce other men too.

Has someone claimed her already…?

What if she has a lover? Do they make her legs shake, do they make her mew?

Who does he have to kill?

………………

He breaks into her room that night.

He only meant to stand watch and see if someone creeps to her in the cover of darkness. He thinks about different ways to kill her lover as he waits near her door. Should he just strangle them when they enter her room? Make her an offering, let her know she could have a far more powerful male if she wants?

No, he must use a knife... She will get wet if he uses a knife.

But no one appears: he is the only shadow in the dark hall, and after midnight, he decides to take a look at his innocent, sleeping angel. Just one look.

Her domain is full of softness, and he has to take a few deep breaths before he continues. Her world is so different from his that he nearly turns back and closes the door to paradise. But then her breathing calls to him, causing him to take a few steps. She sleeps with her window open, likes to listen to the sound of night birds before she falls asleep – just like he does…

The demon is awake in an instant and grabs him by the throat.

No.

Don’t look. If you look, she will steal your soul.

He freezes before he reaches her bed. His gaze sweeps her room instead, and the demon pants at the sight. Her dresses are laid out on a clothing rack: they salute him like a row of colorful flowers. Flowing and singing like a river, they hit him with a breeze made of life and all things good.

She has a little armchair filled with cushions, and there's more softness and beauty everywhere he looks; he can see it even in the darkness of the night. Her delicate perfume that follows him as he follows her around the base lingers in the air and mixes with the distant birdsong and moonlight that shift the curtains in her room.

There's art on her walls, lively houseplants on the window sill, she has collected a cavalcade of cute little things on top of her drawer: nail polish and sea shells and beeswax candles and a piece of driftwood, a bottle of that perfume she uses, decorative lights above it all, placed around a small mirror.

He wants all of that.

He wants light and living things and greenery – he never had plants at home – he wants softness and cute little items, he wants to listen if the seashell still roars with the crashing waves were he to bring it to his ear. His mama always told him seashells remember the ocean because it used to be their home…

He wants her to light a honeyed candle and give him a bite of that apple, catch the juice as it runs down his scarred chin, or better yet, kiss it away before it falls. He wants to taste what's between her thighs. She must taste like honey and heaven.

One of the drawers is open, and from it, a torrent of cute little underthings is spilling out; they almost cascade on the floor. In different colors, too, and his hand reaches out and takes one before he can even think. He steals it like it's candy, then turns around with a stiff back and shoulders heavy from the sin he just committed.

He's about to go to the door, but her soft breathing calls him back. He tries to calm the demon - the girl can't steal anything: there's nothing left to steal. He has no soul, so he doesn't have to fear her either.

Taking a few steps, he takes the peek he shouldn't take because it will only prolong his sentence in purgatory. Little does the demon know that he would suffer eternally for one little glimpse…

She's not cocooned inside her blanket as he thought she would be. He thought he would find her coiled into a fetal position, curled into safety, but instead, she's sleeping on her back, arms spread next to her face, looking like she just fell from heaven and is feeling a little dizzy from the fall. She's calm and innocent as the moonlight brushes her cheek, her face free from all worry.

Why is she so cute, why is she so sweet?

She has no right. She should be up in heaven.

He almost crawls on top of her right then and there, because blinding want is nothing compared to this. He wants to breathe her, breathe with her, hold her gently, and have her smile at him when she wakes up. He doesn't want to ruin her… He just wants a taste, see if an angel would like to have a demon worship her. If his worship would mean anything, if it had any power to persuade her to like him...

He would never kneel before anyone, but he would kneel before her. In spirit, he is on his knees, and the only thing that makes him suffer is the fear that she might not want him, a ruined temple haunted by old, hateful spirits.

The madness was right. Apparently, there was a soul to steal, a tiny broken mosaic piece left, for the angel has it now. She owns what's left of him, the haunted temple is hers if she would ever want to come visit. He would restrain all those monsters so that she can walk freely and explore all the things buried under the rubble.

Her underwear burns his palm like a flower on fire. He only then realizes that there are no actual flowers in her room. He wonders if she would give him a kiss if he were to bring her one. Or two. Or an entire bouquet…

The demon inside cuts him with a searing blade – stupid idiot – she doesn't want to kiss your mauled face or love your ghouls. There's no treasure hidden inside that filthy rubble, there's only shit and blood and festering vomit. Better to just take her right now, see how tight she is, how wide her eyes go when a proper man comes to assert his will and authority. The demon tells him to at least ruin that cute thing in his hand and throw it on the table. Imagine her shocked little face when she wakes up…

Tears brim, and the maw of hell laughs with a roar of raging fire. He forces both down with a swallow and a wrench that shuts his heart.

There's no way she would ever let a man like him inside her. He's a sickness; no, he's an entire plague. He could try to make love to her, and she would only cry and bleed to death.

The smooth place between her brows gains a wrinkle as if she can hear his thoughts but doesn't agree with them. A little whimper escapes her nose, her head nods on the pillow; it looks like an attempt to hide while you're tied and cannot move.

Pretty angel is having a nightmare, and it's no wonder. Of course she can sense she's being visited by a monster.

He turns to leave, and notices another colorful thing on the floor: her underwear, and not clean. She's slipped out of it before bed: his angel is naked under that blanket. His angel sleeps naked…

He wonders if she has touched herself before sleep. Not with feverish, stern hands, like he does, but softly, under that blanket, with her features melting into pleasure as she comes with sighs and a series of desperate little whimpers.

His blood turns to hellfire as he drops the underwear he's holding. It falls right next to the intoxicating thing he picks up instead. Taking a deep inhale, he can finally smell her. Not just her perfume, but her. She smells of an angel and a woman, raw, perfect woman, and he knows he's lost. This is worse than any dream or demon; this is worse than anything ever before. There's no going back now.

Her scent calls to him, those hands frame her face in a gesture of surrender. She smiled at him on that day under the sun, and she smiled at him today.

What if he's spent enough time in hell? What if it's possible to have a taste of heaven?

He can't help but wonder if his angel wants this too...

“Engel,” he whispers into the night.

It takes only a second before she whimpers again. It's an answer, it's a yes, and his heart is full of tiny needles; they pinch him with terrible love and hope. The wrinkle has smoothed out, and his angel is smiling very, very softly.

She's calling for him. How could he refuse?

His angel is full of light as he makes his decision. He whispers his apology, only in his mind and only in German, trusting that angels must know every language in the world. He asks for her forgiveness for all the things he's about to do to her. Then he promises he will come for her, that she doesn't need to worry: she has a guardian now and always will. She will be forever safe with him by her side. He will drive even her nightmares away.

Then he returns to his room so different from hers, returns to the realm of death and worships the thing he just stole, spraying it with hot, white love - the only thing inside him that can be called pure, the color of angels. It's only a matter of time before he gets to worship her in the flesh, unite with her, the soul who forgave his sins and slipped him the key to heaven.

#könig x reader #könig x you #könig fanfiction #yandere könig #soft yandere #male yandere #obsessive love #cw: stalking #cw: dark content

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morguevampire · 2 years

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(Un) Fortunate Encounters -Chapter 2

Chapter One

Masterlist for this fic

summary: After being questioned by the FBI about an accidental interaction with a wanted criminal you thought your life would go back to being as mundane as it has always been. How wrong you were to think you could just go back to normal when come the next day you would find yourself being bound to a chair in a fucking warehouse.

warnings/tags: fluff, smut, angst, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of torture, drinking, mild alcoholism, dark themes, slow build romance, not really Stockholm syndrome but that’s up for interpretation

chapter: 2/?

word count: 2.938k

pairings: Helmut Zemo x fem!Reader

author’s note: Right folks - time for chapter two!

Note that this will be a very slow build at the beginning, meaning actual interaction with Helmut Zemo will probably only start in chapter four. (I do hope you will find it worth it) Currently already working on chapter three as well - so please be patient.

My personal disclaimer as always is that I am not an englisch native and will therefore most likely make some mistakes. Please don't hesitate to contact me should I have messed up.

Anyhow, I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think so far! Kudos and comments are always appreciated.

Muchos besos, mis amores <3

You can also find this work on https://archiveofourown.org/works/43158162/chapters/108466263

The second time you wake up that morning (or is it midday..., perhaps even afternoon?) you’re not in your apartment anymore. Instead you find yourself tied to a chair in a dark room in some kind of warehouse. It’s quiet, aside from the pounding inside your head. An eerie feeling is settling over you, becoming more intense as your mind tries to grasp what happened, how you ended up here. Your first instinct is to scream but there’s duct tape covering your mouth. You shut your eyes again, wishing for this to be a terrible nightmare. You try to wiggle out of your bounds, unsuccessfully. Whoever dragged you here knows stuff about bondage and you’re too much of a weakling to get them off anyways. Panic starts settling in and it all only becomes worse once you hear footsteps echoing from afar. It must be him. Zemo probably discovered the FBI were onto him and now needs to get rid of the woman who made the mistake of running into him. But why not just kill you immediately? Why drag you to a dodgy warehouse? He seems to not care about the loss of innocent lives anyways, considering the attack on the UN building. Your thoughts are interrupted by two man coming out of the shadows. Both of them most definitely not being Zemo but perhaps associates? They look quite scary – that’s for sure. Tall, bulky and extremely angry looking. You begin to squirm in your chair once again. Not quite sure what to hope for, even if you ran, there would be no guaranty that you could get out alive.

“So, the bitch finally woke up.” One of the men, the slightly shorter one with the dirty blond hair huffed.

The other man steps up towards you, his finger already on the left end of the duct tape covering your mouth.

“Listen now, it’s of no use to anybody if you scream once I remove this. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Nobody’s going to hear you and we simply want to ask you a few questions. Understood?”

You can’t bear looking into his eyes, your whole body is shaking while you slightly nod. Tears already burning in your eyes. You wanted to throw up, or pee your pants or whatever the fuck people do when they are scared shitless.

Ripping off the duct tape is painful but if only you knew how much more painful this whole “questioning” would become.

“Alright. If you want this to be over quickly, be a good girl and answer me this simple question:” The taller one inquires while scooting another chair in front of you. The other man is off somewhere out of the corner of your eye, the only thing you can make out is water running into a bucket and the air becoming even more humid than before.

“Where is Helmut Zemo?”

Your eyes widen. Not understanding this situation at all. Were they not here in duty of the Baron? Were they FBI as well? The bad cops? The really bad, desperate ruthless ones? You shake your head no. Frantically trying to explain that you had no idea where he was. That you were just a normal, boring person who had a 9 to 5 and never did anything illegal in her life, besides maybe underage drinking in high school. You simply ran into Helmut Zemo without even knowing and you already got questioned by the FBI. You knew about the man as much as the media would report on him and you had zero ties to the avengers or anybody associated with him.

You could tell the man opposite of you was annoyed. Shaking his head and shushing you.

“See, we know the FBI already questioned you and we don’t work like the FBI. We don’t need those rules. And you won’t be able to pull off your I-know-nothing bullshit with us. You either tell us his whereabouts or this is going to be a looooong night, darling.”

That’s when the other man appeared again. Carrying a huge bucket with water. You gulped as he untied your legs from the chair, forcing you to your knees, which sent a wave of pain through your body as they made contact with the cold, hard concrete floor. You’ve read about water torture and all you wanted to do - in prospect of what you feared was about to happen - was scream and cry for your mum.

“I swear. Please I swear that I do not have any connection to Zemo. I don’t know him, I haven’t even talked to him. I bumped into him on accident. Plea...”

You begged but to no avail as suddenly a sharp pain shot through your already aching head as you were pulled by your hair and forcefully dipped underwater. You didn’t have any time to get air into your lungs, so water got into every available opening in your face, burning up your nose and your windpipes. At least the desperation to breath distracted you from how cold the water was. After too long but probably about only half a minute your head was pulled out again and immediately the questions shot out of the man again, while you were desperately trying to breath and at the same time not suffocate on the water you swallowed. Water in your ears made everything sound dull but you could still clearly tell the questions were still about Helmut Zemo. Only this time you didn’t even manage to properly reply in the negative before your head was underwater again.

This continued on for quite a while. Everything hurt and burnt and every time your head was out of the water you could feel hot tears on your face while sobs and violent coughs were wrecking through your body. This was worse than anything you had ever experienced in your life. You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t have any information. If you did you would give it away immediately. You just wanted the pain and suffering to go away. You wanted it to stop. To go home and hide forever and never set a foot out of your apartment again.

You could tell the two men were becoming more and more frustrated with you as well. Throwing around vile curse words and yanking you even more forcefully in and out of the bucket. You stopped counting how many times you got dunked but at one point the taller man must have had enough of your lack of knowledge about Zemo, so that he decided punching you right in the face might help bring your memories back. You felt blood running down your cheek and dripping into the bucket, giving the water a light pink taint.

If your head hadn’t exploded just yet, you figured now might just be a good time. You honestly just wanted to die. What did it matter anyways? You didn’t know shit about Zemo and you certainly wouldn’t recover from the trauma, if you ever made it out alive from this shithole.

At least after the forceful punch to your left eye the water torture stopped and the hand pulling up your head dropped. Like a sack of potatoes, you slumped on your side, silently wailing in a fetus position while the two men whispered to each other.

Some time passed until a kick in your rips forced you out of your pain induced delusion.

“Right darling. We’ll give you one more chance. You tell us where the fuck Helmut Zemo is hiding and we’ll let you go.”

He knelt down in front of you, snarling into your face while forcefully holding your chin in his hands, twisting your head into an uncomfortable position. “But…, if you don’t speak up now, we really do have no other option but to use other, more painful measures.” The hand grabbing your chin was replaced by the barrel of a gun.

You completely froze. You knew this was it. Perhaps making something up would work but they’d find you anyways, knowing you bullshitted them and death seemed like a sweet release at this point. You wondered when the phenomena of “the light at the end of the tunnel / your life flashing behind your eyes in seconds” would set in but just as you were about to mumble that you really did not know anything and maybe plead one last time to let you go, a gunshot rang through the building.

It seemed like everything stopped for a milli-second until there was a scream from the shorter man and suddenly another gunshot.

It got unpleasantly quiet. You shut your eyes, no thoughts ran through your head except that death didn’t feel any different. The pain was still there, you still felt the cold floor under your body and you could smell the blood dripping from your face. In a way you were disappointed, you thought dying would relieve you of everything. You were never a religious person, but you did believe that death felt like floating. A numb floating, no negative feelings, yet also no positive ones. Just aimless floating.

When you once again heard steps coming towards you, you realized that perhaps you weren’t even dead. You opened your eyes just to come face to face with your kidnapper, his lifeless eyes staring right at you. He must have been shot and has fallen right in front of you. Blood was still oozing out of his body and you could slowly feel it running towards your lying form, soaking the thin cloth of your pajamas.

The footsteps were definitely descending from somewhere now, getting closer. You decided to shut your eyes again, too afraid to see who else decided to have their way with you. You’ve already kind of made peace with the fact that you were going to die and you made the decision to simply not look into your murderer’s eyes once it happens.

The louder the footsteps became the more panic rushed through your body. It surprised you that only then an anxiety attack would overtake you. It suddenly felt hard to breath and a wave of ugly sobs rushed through your aching ribcage. You felt almost pathetic, silently stuttering “please, please, please…” over and over again. Your ears were ringing, still abused from all the water but you picked up the sound of the new intruder dragging the dead man’s body away from you, most likely to get a better shot at you.

Your shaking from barely registered the gentle touch of a hand running over your shoulder. “Shhh, hey…”

You opened your eyes abruptly, recognizing the deep, raspy voice with the accent even though you’ve only heard it once in your life. It was him. Definitely. In a long grey trench coat with a fur collar framing his masked face. He took off the purple disguise before continuing.

“It’s alright. You’re ok. You’re safe now.”

Helmut Zemo was kneeling in front of you, a golden gun right next to his knee. Looking down with furrowed, worried brows on your miserable, hurt form.

Your mind was still trying to make sense of it all but you came to no conclusion as you slowly drifted out of consciousness once again.

#Helmut Zemo #Zemo #Helmut Zemo x Reader #Helmut Zemo & Reader #Helmut Zemo fanction #Zemo fanfiction #MCU #Helmut Zemo x you #Helmut Zemo/Reader #Baron Zemo x reader #TFAWS

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wrestlersownmyheart · 3 years

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A Heartslayer's Christmas (Seth Rollins One-Shot)

Pairing: Seth Rollins X Reader Summary: After Y/N's brother—none other than Dean Ambrose—attacks his best friend and the man she secretly loves—Seth Rollins—she falls into a depression and distances herself from everyone. Even Seth.

Especially Seth.

That is until Christmas time arrives and she is badgered into attending a holiday party at which most of the WWE roster would be attending—including the Kingslayer himself.

Seth feels hurt that one of his closest friends seemingly abandoned him at a crucial time in his life. But he gets it. Dean is her brother. She has to remain loyal to her own blood.

However, due to an unlikely source, Seth comes to realize that it wasn't loyalty to her brother that kept her away from him and their friends. It was shame and humiliation.

Well, forget that.

The Kingslayer wants some answers. And Y/N isn't going anywhere till he gets them.

Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with WWE. I own only the original characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination. Story Content & Trigger Warnings: Angst and Fluff

A Heartslayer's Christmas

October 22, 2018

I fought the urge to nibble on my fingernail as I watched a sweaty, red-faced Dolph Ziggler head toward me at the timekeeper's area. I instantly became a bit nervous that he was going to grab me or something so he could distract my brother, Dean, and our friend, Seth during their match for the WWE Tag Team Championships.

Being a ring announcer has its perks—it really does. For example, I get the best seat in the house.

But like any job, it can also suck sometimes.

Especially, when you are related to one of the wrestlers. You automatically become potential collateral damage.

My breath left me with a shaky sigh, but nonetheless, I tried to keep a calm demeanor. Seeing a big muscled wrestler stomping toward you with an angry look on his face isn't exactly a cozy picture, after all.

Luckily, I wasn't the target. Dolph stalked up to the timekeeper and I realized he had something else up his sleeve. My mild relief was short-lived when Dolph yanked a tag title from the man's hands. I figured he was going to head up the ramp and get counted out—resulting in Drew and he keeping the titles despite the loss. But no. He moved to the ring, plopping the belt onto the apron before he climbed back in himself.

I saw my brother dazedly rising to his feet. He'd been slammed into the barricade moments before by Drew. I knew he couldn't be feeling too great, but Seth was about to be in even worse shape.

“Dean! Dolph's got a belt—he's gonna use it on Seth!”

This seemed to revive Dean fully and he darted to the apron, grabbing hold of the title just as Dolph did the same. There was a brief instant of tug-o-war before Dean yanked the belt from his enemy's grip. Dolph's momentum sent him stumbling back right into a fierce kick from Seth which sent him straight to his knees, and right where Seth wanted him.

A curb stomp ensued.

And in the next few seconds, the match was over.

We had new WWE Tag Team Champions—my brother, and the man I was in love with. The crowd was deafening. They were as ecstatic as I was, it seemed. I didn't hear a single “boo”. Of course, that wasn't a big surprise. Nobody disliked the Shield. Roman as a singles competitor was a different story, of course. I was always confused by this. The crowd would sometimes cheer him as long as he was part of the Shield, but as soon as he moved on to do his own thing he became the most hated wrestler since John Cena.

Tears burned my eyes, and I smiled through them as Seth sat in an exhausted heap—taking in the fact they'd won, that all three Shield members held titles. I couldn't have been any prouder.

Seth stood slowly and latched onto Dean in a huge bro hug. My brother seemed a bit stiff, or uncomfortable, which I chalked up to him not being a very demonstrative person. But otherwise he looked content and fulfilled.

But slowly, I began to realize something was wrong.

I could feel my smile fade as I saw Dean release Seth from the hug and then tossed his newly won WWE Tag Team Championship belt to the ring's canvas.

That's odd, I thought. My body slowly grew tense with unease. I've never seen anyone celebrate a title win by dropping their belts to the canvas- My thoughts halted sharply as I watched Dean issue Seth a sudden, hard kick to the gut immediately followed by Dirty Deeds. The audience seemed to all scream “NO!” in unison.

My brain wouldn't compute. I couldn't quite understand what I was seeing. And before I could fully digest what just went down, it only got worse.

Much worse.

Dean stalked over to Seth and kicked him in the head, then began pummeling him, over and over. It seemed like forever before Dean seemed to grow bored and tossed him out of the ring.

On shaky legs, I stood and craned my neck to see Seth. He'd landed with a hard thud in the floor and then rolled back against the barricade. He looked out cold. His eyes were open, but he looked unconscious despite the fact.

My hands went to my face; covered my mouth in my shock. I'd never seen this side of my brother. At least, not toward his loved ones.

I must've blanked out or something because the next thing I knew, Seth was being flung into the barricade right in front of me and the timekeeper.

“DEAN, THAT'S ENOUGH!” My shriek surprised even me. Tears were streaming down my face and Dean stared at me for a moment with a confused look on his face, like he couldn't believe I was trying to defend Seth. “What is wrong with you,” I demanded, stepping outside of the timekeeper's box. “Leave him alone!”

To my shock, Dean hauled me over his shoulder and walked a little ways toward the ramp. I had a brief moment of terror; worrying that maybe Dean was going to flip out on me, and hurt me as well. I was faintly aware of Seth's weakened voice calling out for Dean to put me down as I struggled in his hold.

“Get backstage, Kiddo,” Dean growled at me under his breath and finally set me on my feet. “There is no more announcing to do, so your job here is done for the night. You don't need to see any more of this.”

“Dean... I'm not kidding. Do not hurt him any more.” I couldn't stop my voice from cracking as I begged him. “Please.”

Dean looked as though he'd soften and relent for just a moment. Then his blue eyes went cold in the next instant. “He's had this coming for a long time, Y/N. And you know it. Get outta here.”

“No, Dean! You can't do this! You have to forgive him! I did! Even Ro did!” A sob burst out of me and I shoved at his shoulders. “Why can't you??”

A hand snagged my wrist—tugging me backward, and startled, I whirled around to see Roman. “Meli, come on back,” he said softly. I glanced back at Dean and saw that he was already heading back to Seth.

“Please, tell me you aren't part of this, Roman,” I whispered. “Please.”

“I'm not,” he said, gently wiping at the tears on my face with his thumbs. “I'm going to take care of it, but I need to know that you are out of harm's way first.”

“Fine. O-okay,” I quickly agreed. Anything to get Seth some help in a hurry. “Just please, put a stop to this.” I turned and headed backstage, but stayed at the gorilla position keeping my eyes glued to one of the monitors.

The horror only escalated.

Roman hurried down to the flurry of movement that was my brother's flailing fists, and gently but firmly took hold of Dean's shoulder. In the next instant, Roman was sprawled on the floor looking quite dazed from a punch to the face.

By this time, the camera men had apparently received word to stop recording and RAW ended with Dean beating on our friends. Not caring that I was breaking kayfabe or entering myself into what the crowd most likely believed to be an “angle”, I rushed back out to talk some sense into Dean. As I neared the three men, I was horrified to see that Dean had grabbed up my chair to use on them.

“NO!”

My scream did no good at all as Dean had already blasted the steel chair across Seth's back and then spun around and did the same to Roman.

“DEAN, STOP IT,” I screamed, grabbing hold of the chair as he brought it back once more.

In a flash of temper, he swung the chair hard through the air to get me to release my grip on it.

And it worked.

The next thing I knew, I was on the floor. As I'd lost my grip on the chair, I was propelled through the air and landed hard on my butt. A sharp pain radiated up my back.

My tailbone.

“Ya son of a-” Seth bit out at the same time I heard Roman's soft, “What are you doing, Uce?”

“God, Y/N...” Dean said softly, dropping the chair, letting it clatter to the floor. “I'm sorry.” He reached down to help me up.

“Don't touch me!” I slapped his hand away, and gingerly stood to my feet, swiping at fresh tears as I rose. “Just stay away from me—from them!”

His temper returned with a vengeance and he instantly bent down picking the chair up again.

“Dean, no...” I stepped in front of my two beaten-down friends and stood my ground; terrified. Because I didn't know at this point what my brother would do. “If you are going to hurt them more, you'll have to hurt me to get to them.”

The chair was drawn back and I gasped. He's really going to do it. I was vaguely aware that the audience was now hushed. You could hear a pin drop.

The only thing left I could think to do was spin around, drop to my knees and drape myself over Seth and Roman the best I could, considering how huge they were compared to me. I braced myself for excruciating pain. I was prepared for it, and I was going to take it—for my friends.

I heard the clatter of the chair hitting the floor again. I dared to shift my head and look behind me. Dean was ripping off his black, sleeveless shirt he always wore when the Shield was together and was heading for the ramp. A sob burst out of me because I realized what that symbolic gesture meant.

Dean was through with the Shield.

And I was through with him.

Quickly, I turned back to Seth and Roman. They were still lying on the floor and looked really out of it.

“I'm so sorry, you guys,” I sobbed, reaching out to inspect a lump on Seth's forehead. “I can't b-believe he- I'm so sorry.”

Roman was able to raise up finally and spoke softly, “It wasn't your fault, baby girl.”

“I didn't know he was going to- I promise, I would have warned you.” I was brushing hair back from Seth's forehead when he jerked away from me. Stunned, I looked at him, wide-eyed. “Seth...?”

“Just get out of here, Y/N,” he nearly growled. “We're fine.”

Security and referees and trainers were all around us then asking us all how we felt.

How do you think we feel?

I felt like I'd be sick. Seth had never spoken to me in such a way before. Not ever. But I managed a shaky nod. “O-okay. I'm just so... I'm really s-sorry...” I stood to my feet then and turned to leave. They were in good hands, there was nothing I could do for them. So, I headed toward the ramp. A trainer followed me for a little ways to make sure I was okay.

“That was a nasty fall you took—are you sure you don't need-?”

“I'm fine,” I said, not even looking at him. “I just want to leave.”

Once I got backstage, Dean had the gall to be there waiting for me.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay, Kiddo,” he said softly.

I glared at him for an instant before launching my fist straight into his face. He surprisingly took the hit without any retaliation despite the blood that came gushing from his nose. “I hope it freaking hurts,” I screamed at him. “I hope I broke it!”

“You probably did,” he admitted softly, trying to staunch the flow of blood. “You're gonna side with them, over your own brother?”

“What did Roman EVER do to you, except be there for you,” I demanded, finally finding the words that wouldn't come to me earlier. “And Seth...” I went on, ranting at this point. “Sure he screwed you over AGES ago, but he's more than earned your forgiveness. He offered you a chance to attack him with a chair—with no retaliation. He knew he deserved it! He took chair shots for you—literally shielding your body with his! He protected you even when he knew it was bringing damage to himself! What you've done is SO MUCH worse than anything he's ever done to you! I hate you!”

I knew I may regret those words later, but at that moment in time I felt they were justified.

I turned and walked further backstage only to be intercepted by Stephanie McMahon.

“Y/N, I want you to know that I'm really sorry about what happened out there,” she said. “But... You got involved in a situation that you had no business getting into. You assaulted your brother back here, for God's sake. I'm sorry but I have to suspend you. Sixty days. You can return for the Christmas Eve show. Use the time to clear your head, okay?”

Numb at this point, I just nodded. Then I went to my dressing room and began packing up my things.

}i{}i{}i{}i{

The two months passed by slowly. Which was okay. Because I felt completely lost. I'd lost my brother. I'd lost two of my best friends—one of which I was so far head over heels for it was pathetic. Especially since he now hated me.

I couldn't get the sight of Seth jerking away from my touch out of my head. He'd looked so appalled by me.

And Roman had said it wasn't my fault, but... He still had this look on his face—like he didn't trust me anymore.

It hurt.

Of course, many of the superstars had texted me and even tried calling me. But I couldn't answer them. Because I hated myself for what happened. Dean was my brother. I should have known what was coming. He'd been acting weird up to the point he cracked. Why didn't I see it? I could have done something.

Now, because of my negligence, nothing mattered anymore.

I couldn't even watch RAW, because every time I did, Dean was taking cheap shots on Seth and Roman and giving them a beat down. He'd taken everything from me. My friends, my job, my enjoyment of wrestling in general, even himself—my brother.

Christmas Eve was coming up in a couple of days and I'd be returning to work. Normally, I would've been excited. But instead, I had this thick ball of tension in my stomach and I didn't foresee it going anywhere for a long time.

My phone dinged with a text. Rolling my eyes, because I just knew it was Bayley—again—pestering me to attend a Christmas party after RAW on Christmas Eve.

Since everyone was having to work that night, they had all chipped in and rented a venue and were flying their families to Sacramento so they could have one big Christmas bash together. And several of the women's division had contacted me many times to invite me to said party. I just couldn't. I couldn't answer them. I knew I must look incredibly rude, but I couldn't help it. Dean truly had ruined everything. I often wondered if I'd ever be able to forgive him.

I looked down at my phone and saw it was indeed a text from Bayley.

You are totally coming to the party, Y/N. I'm not taking no for an answer. Me, Sasha and Finn will kidnap you if we have to. ;-)

Sighing in defeat, I tossed my phone beside me on the bed.

}i{}i{}i{}i{

Two nights later, I was in Sacramento headed into the Golden 1 Center, hoping to avoid everyone as much as possible. I just wanted to get my job done for the night and prepare for the next show.

And with that thought, I grew angry.

I used to freaking LOVE my job. I never wanted a show to end, and now here I was wishing I didn't even have to be there.

I left my dressing room and walked down the hall toward makeup and hair when Dean caught up with me and attempted a talk.

“It's... It's good to have ya back, Kid-”

“Shut-up, Dean,” I said. I didn't have any malice in my tone. Nothing was in my tone, except maybe for exhaustion.

“You're still angry with me.”

It wasn't a question, but simply a statement. He sounded tired too, but I didn't care.

“Angry,” I scoffed at him and stopped walking so I could look up at him. “You don't get it, Dean. I am so much more than angry. You have no clue what you did to me that night. I was shattered. And now I'm tired. I'm sad. I'm scared. I'm lonely. And because of you, and the fact you're my brother, I'm sure that nobody can—or will—trust me now. And I don't even remotely blame them. I meant what I said that night, Dean. I hate you. You didn't just lose two best friends, and your sister. You made me lose two best friends and my brother.” The words tumbled out of me. I couldn't stop them if I tried.

“I don't even enjoy coming into work now. I have a rock in my stomach and I felt like throwing up at just the thought of walking into this arena because I can only imagine what everyone thinks of me. I miss them—I miss my friends. I can't even watch any of them wrestle on RAW anymore because I have to see you beating on Seth and Roman every chance you get. You've ruined my entire life for me. All because you are an overgrown, spoiled little brat.”

With that, I turned away from him and continued on my way to hair and makeup, giving him no chance to speak.

}i{}i{}i{}i{

A few hours later, I was watching Seth beat on Baron. Okay, so I was actually ogling Seth while he beat on Baron.

He was beautiful to watch, what can I say?

I missed him. So much.

I missed everyone.

Suddenly, Seth kicked Baron in the face, then quickly followed up with a curb stomp.

And I was catapulted back to that night. Seth was curb stomping Dolph. He and Dean were holding the Tag Titles and hugging. Dean kicking him then nailing him with Dirty Deeds. Roman going to help Seth and getting beaten down also.

“Hey! Y/N! Seth won. You gonna announce it before 2019 arrives?”

Graves barked at me through my ear piece.

“Geez, give her a break, Graves!” Renee spoke up. “She's been through a lot.”

Grateful for my sister-in-law speaking up for me, and missing her like crazy, I stood to my feet lifting the mic to my lips. “And your winner... Seth Rrrrrrrollins!”

As RAW went off the air, Seth hopped out of the ring and turned in my direction—staring at me. His dark eyes flashed, and a look of determination crossed his handsome face. Then he headed straight for me.

And I panicked.

I can't face him. Not yet. He'll want to talk about what happened. Maybe even go off on me about it.

Avoiding his eyes, I stepped around him to make a getaway. But his hand shot out; his fingers wrapping around my arm and gently tugging me back toward him.

“S-Seth...” I stammered pathetically. I could barely glance up at his face. “I-I have to go. Backstage.” I pointed to my ear piece. “They're asking for me.”

It was a lame lie. The show was over. There was no reason for me to be called backstage. And Seth knew it was a lie. I could see the way his face flashed with frustration, then hurt. He quickly covered it though and gave me a nod.

Not giving him the chance to change his mind and try to keep me there, I darted off and ran all the way past the gorilla position, and I didn't stop running—not even when I heard my name being called by various different voices—until I reached my dressing room and flung the door shut.

Panting for air, I slumped against the wall trying to get myself pulled together. I still had the party to go to. I shook my head in exasperation. Partying was the very last thing I wanted or felt like doing. But I knew that Bayley would not have it any other way.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror on the other side of the room and froze. My skin had paled, I was visibly having difficulty breathing, my eyes were dull and I just looked overall drained.

I have to quit, I realized. I can't do this anymore. All the stress and worry—it's taking the life out of me. I can't enjoy work anymore.

There was a knock at my door then. Wishing I could just pretend I wasn't here, but realizing that too many people saw me actually enter the room, I had no choice. I reached out and opened the door cautiously, not really knowing who, or what, to expect.

“Kiddo, look... I need to talk, and you need to listen to me.”

Dean barged his way in without even taking the time to take in my condition. I rolled my eyes. Figures.

“Maybe I was-” And that's when he finally looked at me. Saw the true extent of what he'd done to me. He looked as though the air just whooshed out of him. “Jesus, Y/N... Are you okay? Are you sick? Should I get you a doc-”

I busted out laughing. “Do I freaking look okay, Dean? No, I don't need a doctor. I'm fine. That's what you want to hear, right? That I'm fine with you turning your back on Seth and Roman—beating them to a pulp? I'm fine with you not giving a rip how all of this would affect me? I'm fine with losing my friends—my brother? I'm fine having to give up my job and start from scratch somewhere else? I'm fine-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean cut me off and held up his hands in what I'm sure he meant to be a calming gesture. It simply made me want to slug him in the face again. “What are you talking about—giving up your job? Why? You love your job.”

“I used to,” I replied with a sigh. “But now... I feel like... People are being nice to me simply because they feel like they have to. I feel like they are secretly afraid of me—because I'm your-” Realizing I was actually confiding in him, I grew angry with myself. I shook my head to clear it. “Just forget it, Dean. It doesn't matter anyway. I'm sure I can get a job at TNA, or ROH. Maybe I could even go to Japan—work at NJPW.”

“Kiddo... I can't let you-”

“It isn't up to you, Dean. It isn't your decision. You may be older than me, but I am a grown woman now.” I sighed again, growing more tired by the minute. “Please, just leave.”

Bayley chose that moment to pop her head in the door. “Ready to party?” Her eyes shifted over to Dean then and her bubbly exterior faltered a bit.

“Yes,” I said immediately. “I'm assuming there'll be alcohol?” I may not be in the mindset to party, but at least I can drown my sorrows.

Both Bayley's and Dean's heads whipped back in my direction. I could only imagine their shock because I very, very rarely ever drank.

“Y-Yeah,” Bayley nodded. “Of course!”

“Great! Let me change into my dress and we can go,” I exclaimed with a cheerfulness I was far from feeling. I turned my attention to my brother then, “You can leave now, Dean.”

Stunned and speechless, Dean turned around and left, closing the door behind him.

I shifted my attention back to Bayley. “The dress I brought has a zipper in the back. Can you zip me up?”

She nodded again, “Sure thing!”

}i{}i{}i{}i{

Dean paced several steps one way, then whirled around and paced in the other direction. He'd been doing this for several minutes, apprehension on his face. He stopped suddenly, and looked up at the door he'd been pacing in front of.

SETH ROLLINS

A sigh huffed from his chest, and he rolled his head around on his shoulders, trying to alleviate the tension that was building up in his neck.

“Baby, just...do it,” he heard Renee say from behind him. “Knock. Talk to him.”

He turned and looked at her. “I'm not apologizing.”

“Fine,” she relented, stroking up his arm to his shoulder in a soothing gesture. “But make peace. You need it. So does Seth and Roman. So does Y/N.”

“That's why I'm here,” Dean replied, looking back at the door. “For Y/N.” He slumped against the wall and rubbed at his eyes. “I think I...” He shook his head. “I think I ruined her life. She's not the same. At all. She's talking about leaving the WWE—maybe working in Japan.”

“Dean, this has gone too far.” Renee's voice took on a scolding tone. “Way too far. You have to fix it because you are the one who put everyone in this position. I was against this from the start. I love Roman and Seth. They are my brothers the same as they are to Y/N. Although, I'm pretty sure she doesn't look at Seth in a brotherly way...” Her face stained a slight shade of pink at realizing she let too much information out.

“What's that supposed to mean,” Dean demanded, his blue eyes flashing.

“Oh, Dean, if you haven't realized by now how crazy she is about Seth, you're completely blind.”

His head fell back against the wall as his eyes clenched shut. “So that's why she's taken this so hard.” He bit out a curse.

“Partly, yes. But you alienated her, Dean. I can only imagine how she feels, but if I were in her shoes, I'd feel like a traitor to them just by being related to you.”

“Ouch.”

“I'm not trying to be mean or hurt you, babe,” Renee said, taking hold of his arm again. “I just want you to see this situation through her eyes. She probably thinks they hate her. She may even feel like we all hate her.”

“She does. She said something like that earlier. She thinks no one will trust her anymore because of me.”

Renee reached up and turned Dean's face to hers, making him look at her. “I love you, so much. And that will never change. But I am very disappointed in your actions. You were thinking of no one but yourself.”

Dean nodded. “I know.”

“So, get to fixing it.”

With no warning, Renee reached over and knocked on Seth's dressing room door and then hurried away, leaving her husband to repair the damage he'd caused.

Accepting his punishment, Dean turned back to the door just as it opened. Seth stood in the doorway, his arms crossed across his chest and his eyes dark and emotionless. “What do you want?”

“I'm not here to apologize,” Dean started.

“Good. Because I wouldn't care if you were.”

“I'm here because of Y/N.”

“What do you mean,” Seth instantly uncrossed his arms and stood up straighter; tension appearing in his muscled frame. Roman appeared beside him, concern etching his features. “What's wrong with her?” Seth continued his barrage of questions. “Is she okay? She wasn't acting like herself after my match.”

“She's not okay,” Dean replied. “What I did... It hurt her more than I realized it would. I thought she'd get past it, but she's-”

“Ambrose, I swear if you are using her to mess with my head... You'll be opening a can of worms you'll wish you'd left alone. You've hurt her enough.”

“I know,” Dean shot back. “I can see that now.” He swallowed hard and wouldn't meet Seth's or Roman's eyes. “I just...”

“What do you need us to do,” Roman asked, sensing that Dean was wanting to ask for their help.

“I don't know if she'll ever forgive me,” Dean said softly. “She's been talking about leaving WWE and working somewhere else—Japan.” He saw Seth tense up even more and continued. “I'm going to see about getting moved to SmackDown. So...” He finally made eye contact with Seth, then Roman and then his gaze shifted back to Seth. “I need you guys to look out for her.”

“Of course,” Roman replied with no hesitation.

“I'd never turn my back on her,” Seth said heatedly, obviously angry that Dean would even think he would. “And there's no way she's leaving for Japan. She's not getting away from us that easily.”

Dean nodded, a certain amount of relief showing on his face. “She's going to the Christmas party tonight. I... I think she's planning on getting drunk.”

“What?” Roman couldn't have hid his surprise if his life depended on it.

Seth however was already grabbing up his bag and rental keys and shoving past Dean into the hallway. “Let's get going, Rome.”

}i{}i{}i{}i{

The roster had decided to rent the banquet hall at our hotel so we could all get back to our rooms without worrying about designated drivers and ubers.

I'd ridden over with Finn, Bayley, and Sasha and was eager to get inside, get some drinking done and then hurry back up to my room to sleep it off. I cared nothing about the party, I just wanted to get drunk and forget everything if only for a night.

We stepped into the huge party hall and I cringed at the fairly loud Christmas music. This was going to be anything but relaxing. Still, the decorations were pretty. White Christmas lights were strung up through the huge room. A huge tree in one corner was bombarded with red and green and gold and silver ornaments. A bar was set up with a bartender, and wasting no time, I headed straight to it while everyone else began socializing and hitting the dance floor.

“A shot of tequila, please,” I requested, as the bartender slid a cocktail napkin over to me. A few seconds later the drink was placed in front of me and I eagerly took it down in one gulp.

Oh, my God...

The liquid burned my throat and scorched my empty stomach. “Again, please,” I choked out.

“Wow, she actually had the nerve to show up here.”

The snarky comment rang in my ears as I turned around to see who'd said it.

Ruby, I thought, grimacing inwardly. And where there's Ruby...

“We oughtta toss her out of here,” Liv snickered.

There's Liv and Sarah.

They weren't even trying to hide the fact that they were talking about me and looking right at me while they did it.

I turned back around and took down my next shot of tequila then ordered a third and downed it just as quickly, wishing it would hurry up and kick into my system.

But when it finally did, I was regretting it. Badly. Everything became exacerbated. The music. The talking. The giggling.

Suddenly, it seemed as if everyone was talking about me. Whether that was true or not, I didn't know for sure—the alcohol was screwing with my head royally.

All around me, swirling through the air I kept hearing gossipy whispers.

"She's here..."

"...She showed up?..."

"Everyone watch your backs..."

I looked around frantically, trying to find the source of the whispers and gossip and mean-spirited words. But I couldn't figure out who was uttering them. Or if anyone was even saying them at all. Maybe the alcohol was affecting me—causing me to imagine things. But imagined or not, it was upsetting me to no end.

My breathing quickened at the feeling of being stared at and talked about. Especially in a negative light. And of course, having not eaten all day, the alcohol was sitting like lead in my stomach and making me feel a bit dizzy. I think I was only buzzing, but I quickly decided that getting drunk was not a good option if this was any indication of how I was going to feel.

I stumbled through the crowd of people—my friends and co-workers and their families—to the banquet hall's entryway. My legs trembled as I walked. I needed to get to my room. Completely in a fog, I don't remember how I got down the hallway, let alone making it to the bank of elevators. I had just pushed the call button to head up to my floor when I heard:

"Y/N!"

Oh, no, I thought, turning around slowly.

Seth. He was headed straight for me.

My heart skipped a beat and then escalated in its rhythm.

I can't breathe...

My hand came up to my chest, and panting for air, I stepped backward to lean against the wall.

Which was a mistake.

I promptly lost my balance and, with a lot of help from my heels and the dizziness clouding my head, went sailing for the floor. Thankfully, strong arms closed around me before I could connect with the cold tiling.

"Geez, Y/N," Seth growled softly in my ear. He didn't sound angry though—more worried than anything else. He held me for a moment and then gently set me on my feet, keeping his arms around me for support. The elevator doors opened and he helped me inside.

"You're shaking," he commented, holding me tighter and closer to his tall frame. "Are you okay?"

I shook my head as the elevator door slid shut. "C-can't breathe..." I latched onto the lapel of his black suit jacket, curling my fingers into it, desperately trying to stay upright. "I-I heard people... talking about me...Ruby and Liv. And some others I couldn't identify."

"Ruby and Liv, sure—I wouldn't doubt in the least. But who cares what they think? I doubt anyone else was saying anything though," he said. "I haven't heard one bad word said about you through this whole ordeal. You were drinking, right? The booze is probably messing with your head, baby. Let's get you taken care of."

"Help me to my room," I asked softly, still clutching at his jacket and fighting for air. "I'll be fine after some sleep."

"No." Came his reply. "You're gonna stay with me. I'm pretty sure you're having a panic attack—probably brought on by the alcohol. You aren't going to be alone." The elevator dinged and the door slid open. Without a word, Seth stooped and lifted me up and cradled me against his chest as he exited the lift. I was too tired and freaked out to protest. What is wrong with me, I wondered, laying my head against his sturdy shoulder.

“How much did you drink?"

"Just th-three," I stammered. I settled my face into his neck and inhaled slightly. The light clean smell of his cologne, for whatever reason, calmed me a little. My breathing became more regular.

"Three what?"

"Shots..."

I heard a low, frustrated sigh whoosh within his chest. "Three shots of what, sweetie?"

"T'quila."

I was feeling a little more fuzzy as each minute passed, but I could have sworn I heard him whisper another curse. Then his tone went to scolding me lightly. "So, you're telling me you took down three shots of tequila in the last fifteen or so minutes?"

I swallowed hard, fighting down some nausea. "No. Less than fifteen minutes. Drank them one after the other."

There was a long pause, and then: "I doubt it because of the way you look, but please tell me you at least had some food on your stomach."

I shook my head and instantly regretted it. "I didn't eat today."

“Geez, woman.” He was angry now. "You're not gonna make this a habit, are you, baby?"

"No," I whispered. "I just..."

"What?" He prompted, as we reached his room. "Can you hang on to my neck while I unlock the door?"

Stiffly, I shifted my arms to band around his neck. A second later his door opened and he replaced his arm around my back as he carried me inside.

"I needed to forget,” I replied in answer to his previous question. A pesky tear that had been burning my eye spilled over and ran down my cheek. “Everything. Just for one night. But I only feel worse.”

Seth strode across the room to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, settling me in his lap. The comforting feeling of his arms around me made my heart hurt. A sob exploded from me and I immediately despised myself for it. "Please, don't hate me, Seth. I didn't know what Dean was going to do, I promise."

Seth pulled back a little ways to look at my face. "Whoa, sweetheart. I don't hate you. At all." He brushed the tear off my cheek with the pad of his thumb and held me tighter.

"But... You..." I swallowed hard and dared to meet his gaze. I attempted to speak again but Seth gently placed his finger across my lips.

"Lets not do this tonight, baby. We do obviously have a lot to talk about, but you are in major need of some sleep." He brushed his hand over my hair. "Lets get ready for bed, and we can talk in the morning over some breakfast, okay?" He pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, something he'd never done before. "In the meantime, just know this, Y/N... I could never hate you."

He stood then and sat me on the edge of the bed. "Let me find you a shirt to sleep in." He gestured to your dress then. "Would you like for me- Uh... Do you need me to unzip your dress—so you can change?"

If I didn't know any better, Seth looked as if he were blushing slightly. I nodded, my own face burning as well. Yes, I needed his help to get out of the dress, but... The notion of him undoing the zipper down my back was... like a dream.

"You look beautiful, by the way," Seth said softly as he turned me around by my shoulders. I felt a little bit of pressure next as he tugged the zipper down on the flirty, emerald green dress. Then I felt the warmth of his fingers brushing over the bared skin of my back—down, and then slowly back up to my shoulder blades. "So soft." His whispered words sent goosebumps prickling at my skin.

My breathing hitched, and while I was enjoying his touch, I didn't know how to handle it at that moment. I stepped out of his reach. "Th-thank you. For helping me."

"Of course, sweetheart." He reached into one of his bags and handed me one of his t-shirts. "This okay for you to sleep in?"

I nodded, afraid to speak.

"Remember. We're going to talk in the morning. I'll answer any of your questions, but you're gonna answer mine too. Like why you ignored all my calls and texts, and why you ran from me after my match tonight."

I nodded again, and started for the bathroom to change.

"There's soap at the sink if you want to wash your makeup off, and there's also an extra toothbrush. I'll text Roman and let him know you're okay while you get ready for bed."

"Thank you, Seth. Really." I managed a small smile and then I disappeared into the bathroom.

}i{}i{}i{}i{

I awoke abruptly. I didn't remember exactly what I was dreaming, except I recalled that it had to do with Dean, Seth and Roman. When I opened my eyes, tears were streaming down my face, and Seth was holding me tightly against his chest.

"Shh-shh..." He shushed me softly, running one of his hands up and down my back in a soothing gesture. "It's okay, baby. I've got ya. Nothing's gonna hurt you, I promise."

"I'm so sorry for what he did." I sobbed the words and draped one of my arms over his waist in the best hug I could accomplish given that we were laying on our sides. "I know you said you and Ro don't hate me, but I'm still so, so sorry. For everything. I stayed away from you and everyone else because I was so ashamed. It wasn't because I wanted to, believe me."

He shushed me again, kissed the top of my head, and mumbled something about being right back. He left the bed and a few seconds later I heard the lavatory faucet turn on in the bathroom. Then he was laying beside me again and ever so gently dabbing at my cheeks and eyes with a wet washcloth.

"Let's go ahead and have that talk, okay?”

At my nod, he continued. “First of all, you have nothing to apologize for. Dean did this all on his own. I know you had nothing to do with it." He puffed out a sigh. "I may be able to forgive Dean one day—for what he did to me and Roman. But I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive him for what he did to you."

"But... I'm confused."

"About?"

"You jerked away from me that night—yanked your arm away from me. You looked disgusted by me. And Ro... He looked like he'd never trust me again."

Seth sighed again, discarding the washcloth to the night table, and then pulled me against his chest again. "I was disgusted. But not by you. I was disgusted because Dean put you in such a horrible position. I jerked my arm away from you because I was angry that you were seeing me in such a weak condition. And I was angry that Dean tossed you around like a rag doll—even though I know he didn't mean to. I was also upset that you used your body to shield ours. But, trust me, honey, Roman and I have no problem trusting you.” Seth brushed a few strands of hair off my forehead, and stared into my eyes.

Dawn was nearing because there was just the tiniest hint of daylight in the room. Enough that I could see his chocolate-colored eyes holding mine captive in his gaze.

"I've missed you so much," he whispered, brushing the back of his hand down my cheek.

"I missed you too." My voice wavered slightly. I didn't think I could trust myself to say anything more.

But I did.

In fact, at the exact same moment, Seth and I spoke the exact same words:

"I love you."

I gasped.

Seth's face lit up and he rolled me beneath him, keeping some of his weight off me by bracing himself with his arms on either side of me. His voice went gravelly, and beyond sexy, when he spoke next.

"Gonna have to kiss you now, sweetheart."

Then his mouth was on mine.

And I was home.

A calm, euphoric haze filled my senses as Seth kissed me. His tongue slid past my lips and a growl rumbled in his throat as he tasted my mouth. I let my hands coast up his forearms, relishing in the cords of muscles bunched within them, and continued up to his broad shoulders where I let my fingers settle. I moaned softly as his tongue brushed over mine and I shifted one of my hands to the back of his head, curling my fingers into the soft waves of his hair.

He broke the kiss, and smiled down at me. "I love you," he whispered the words again.

I returned the smile, feeling whole for the first time in a very long time. "I love you, too."

"I plan on showing you how much I love you," Seth added teasingly, kissing the tip of my nose. "But, I want it to be when you are clear-headed and with no alcohol in your system."

I nodded. "I agree. I can hardly wait, but I agree."

Daylight began fully making itself known throughout the room, and Seth grinned. "Hey, it's morning. Merry Christmas, honey."

"Merry Christmas, Seth."

He kissed me once more, and my heart surged with happiness, and a new-found hope.

Hope that we could all move past the tragedy that Dean forced on us—forgive Dean. Hope that maybe, just maybe, one day we would all be family once again.

Until then, I was going to live my life—be happy with Seth, and stop punishing myself for the sins of