#i leave for a few hours and the entire fandom is exploding

[joontroverted]

siren sweet, swim with me

pairing : nanami kento x reader

fandom : jujutsu kaisen

tags : pop idol reader, cfo nanami, fluff, angst, smut (later on), more tags to be added as the fic progresses

status : ongoing

summary :

after all, computers crash, people die, relationships fall apart. the best we can do is breathe and -

carrie bradshaw did not know what the fuck she was talking about. because when your international sensation girl group STARDUST collapses in on itself, everything you've ever known is hanging on by a thread.

disgruntled and exhausted, nanami kento, cfo, knows everything there is to know about his life. the books, the cash flow- the world he had built for himself made sense. until now. as the irrational nagging sense of uncertainty leads to a random moment of circumstance, the two of your lives are entangled.

ie. it's entirely up to you as to whether you'll shine in the spotlight, or explode and fade into obscurity like a supernova. it's also up to you as to whether you want to fall for the disgustingly handsome office worker.

author's note : first nanami long fic! can you tell i'm scared? anyways, this is an idea i've hadd since summer. summer! i'm glad i've gotten started finally 🥲 this is just the first chapter so it's just the set up. hope you have fun!

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index -

chapter 1 (ao3)

yuki's staring at you in a way that makes you want to reach across the table and swing your fist across her face.

you would've, if yuki wasn't very very important to you, and wasn't still built like a wrestler.

“it's fine,” you mutter. “i'm fine,” you repeat, more clearly this time. your phone buzzes in your bag.

yuki blinks, breaking herself out of her dead stare for a moment. “you're not, but that's fine. no one would be, at the moment, and that's all right!”

pushing her chair back, she gets up and makes her way to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. her blonde bangs tickle your face as she leans in closer, and her ginormous tits cover your arm from both sides as if hugging you to comfort you. if your mind wasn't running a million miles an hour and constantly hitting dead ends, you'd probably feel a little more comforted and a little less... crushed.

she waves a hand in front of you, as if gesturing to a marvellous new life. “we just need some time to rebrand you! some new girls, a fresh new concept, dye your hair some color we haven't done before and you're ready to hit the stage again!”

your eyes widen at that. “no.”

yuki straightens. “what do you mean, no?”

“i'm not joining a new group!”

“well you wouldn't be joining a group, you'd be the centre of a new group. the new group would be formed for you!”

“well i don't want that. i wanna be a solo artist now.”

there. you've said it. you've put the dreaded words out there, and now it's real. and judging by the way yuki's face falls, it's a reality that's not gonna come to fruition smoothly.

she straightens, her warmth leaving you. “oh.”

you bite your lip and look into her eyes. “just say it. tell me how terrible of an idea you think it is.”

“it's a terrible idea.”

she can probably see how your face falls, because yuki does something that yuki rarely does. she backtracks.

“or, what about a hiatus? you can go on a vacation! you can make a whole trip out of it, show how travel has healed you, you could even attend a few events with some international artists, and that could bring in a whole new crowd, huh?”

you put your face in your hands and shake your head, as you feel your phone buzzing away in your bag again. “yumi's already done the healing journey thing, and it's actually authentic to her.”

“yumi was never cut out for this life, don't compare yourself to her,” says yuki, her tone sharp. “of course she'd love frolicking in fields,” she grumbles.

you grin, despite her words. “yumi's doing great, by the way.”

“i know,” says yuki, folding her arms, “we've been in touch. you're attending the lauch party aren't you?”

“launch gathering,” you correct. “she's living a simple life now.”

“she can die."

“yuki!” you giggle.

“it's not the fact that she left -you know i'm all about ethical work, it's why i made a whole agency- it's that she did it so suddenly! we had had so many discussions where she swore up and down on her own volition that she'd renew the contract and all it took was a week for her to tear down this... this empire that we've built!”

“she's a simple girl.”

“a real simple person would know that they want a simple life from the beginning. which so called simple person auditions five times and then trains for years and then debuts to become the biggest girl group of the generation? and then just dips?”

“she just needed a taste of the high life to know what she really needed. like buddha.”

“people live and die for this life. people live and die for what she has. had,” she grumbles, “and what about all that talent? is she truly going to be satisfied doing the dishes in her little down to earth cafe?”

“she was more than content doing the dishes back when we were poor. she'll hardly be doing the dishes in her cafe, she's a milliona-”

“a simple millionaire.” you both say at the same time, and then burst into laughter.

“we are getting wildly off topic,” says yuki, after a beat.

you stare at your shoes. “i know.”

“any chance you're gonna wanna take back what you just said?” she asks, looking slightly like she pities you.

“no,” you reply, feeling and looking a lot more pitiful.

she sighs and takes the chair next to you. the two of you are silent for a moment, and that gives you some time to take in her office. when yuki had begun as a manager no one took her seriously. no matter how successful and glamourous her career as a wrestler was, she was still a newbie in the entertainment industry and had neither weight nor connections to her name. she used what little connections she had and started off as an assisstant in one of the entertainment giants and worked her way up to manager. what she lacked in her network, she made up for greatly with her charisma and eagerness to learn about the industry. and then she met you.

her golden duck that lay gold eggs, is what she called you.

you were sure you were just an ugly duckling that blossomed into a swan under her care, but whatever.

she got sick and tired of being controlled by people who barely cared for the craft and cared even lesser about humans they managed, so she broke off from the company to start her own. and through a leap of faith, you followed her.

and the rest is history.

her last championship's belt that sits right above her chair glints at you, pink and white, sparkling away in the sunlight. the office is so yuki. gaudy, but neat and professional. rhinestone embedded decor sits on shelves, reminiscent of the 2000s with the nice fur carpet and the literal disco ball that hangs from the ceiling. framed pictures of all the other groups and artists under Star City Entertainment decorate the walls, but your group is the highlight, with multiple pictures, much bigger than the others.

STARDUST, the group that made the company sky rocket.

yuki wheels the chair around to face you.

“why?”

“it just seems... correct.”

she purses her lips together. “i'd rather you not make me say it, but it's my duty as your manager to be frank with you. you don't really have what it takes to be a solo artist.”

“well, we can work on that, there are so many- ”

she holds a hand up. “especially after being a part of such a prominent group for so long. the general public love you but the fans already know that you neither write nor make the music. being involved in the behind the scenes is way more important to fans than before and it defines an artist a lot more these days. it gives them cause and meaning, some attachment to the craft that they're selling themselves with. you had yumi and seika to distract the fans from that before, but now it's just you. how long can you hold on to star power? and how far will that alone take you?”

the best thing about yuki is that she's brutally honest and always looks out for you. the worst thing about yuki is that she's brutally honest and always looks out for you.

it's as if her words have opened a chest of secrets that you had locked and chained deep inside you. your flaws were not flaws when you were in the group. they were just... things that you didn't need to do.

seika was good at producing and song writing, tasks that she was more than happy to have her hand in. yumi was musically talented beyond words. to date there hadn't been an instrument that she didn't excel in, and her voice seemingly knew no bounds, considering she had professional training to be an opera singer before this.

and you did everything else.

main dancer, the looks, the socializing, the personality... the star power, was all yours. if there was one thing that you had, it was what it took to be the it girl of the group, of the generation, and that combination of skills among the three propelled STARDUST and subsequently, Star City Entertainment to massive success that only grew as the years passed.

it was an open secret that this was the division among all of you. but everyone was okay with that. everyone was happy to perform their role, do what they excelled at and what was expected out of them. you all dabbled in each other's work, as you naturally would after these many years together, but the recipe to your success was the three of you, exactly as you were. and now it's just you. without them, there's nothing for you to stand on. there's nothing to add your special touch, your sparkle on to.

anyone could tell that.

the reality of the situation grips you like an ice cold fist and the hollowness that you felt ever since the decision was made public expands like a vast cavern beneath your feet. you are all out of tears, but your face still threatens to scrunch up with dry sobs as your lip wobbles.

“why don't you want to be a part of a group?” asks yuki.

“as if what we had can be replicated,” you mutter. “i really don't have it in me to start afresh with new girls who would definitely be younger than me and definitely have some buried animosity for me right from the beginning. oh, and the people. they already scrutinize us from the ends of our hair to the nails of our toes, i can already hear all the people talking about how i peaked with STARDUST and it's not gonna happen again. and what about GALAXY? they're not gonna take me being in another group lightly! i wouldn't even be ble to call them GALAXY anymore!”

“we don't necessarily have to have a three member group. maybe a five member group this time? that would lessen the direct focus on you and give the four other girls a chance to shine!”

“or it could give four other girls a chance to hate me more for stealing their spotlight if we do well, or for being dead weight if we don't.”

“we could scout some girls from other big groups that just disbanded! that girl from CROWN seems to be popular and jobless at the moment. what about her?”

“i just don't see it! don't you think the public knows that we'd just be trying to recreate STARDUST? also neither yumi nor seika are continuing in a group because both of them know that it was a one time thing. it's the exact same chemistry, or nothing! it'd be such a mess.”

“and even that is a safer option than you as a soloist.”

“wow,” you breathe, laughing, leaning back. “wow.”

“i never mean to hurt you.”

“wouldn't it be so funny if i went home and committed suicide after all this? then we wouldn't have to worry about what i'm gonna do next. my name will be remembered forever, i'm gonna go out with a bang- literally!”

“okay!” says yuki, throwing her hands up. "you're going on a hiatus! go on a vacation! find a new hobby, do whatever you want, i don't care- " she narrows her eyes and points a sharp finger at you, "and no, you cannot commit suicide!"

"geez, can't a girl joke?" you roll your eyes. "and i don't think it'd be wise for me to go on hiatus right now. i'd lose momentum and i'd lose my mind."

"finally, you're saying things that make sense. we haven't yet released any news of this, so you're safe. the public still thinks that STARDUST is on hiatus after the last tour so we have time. GALAXY has, however noticed that there's a lack of posts on seika's twitter and instagram, which we will be dealing with. you and yumi have been posting regularly and innocently enough, which is good. all in all, you'll be fine! the tour was enormous, so it would definitely make sense that you guys are on the dl now doing your own thing..."

she goes on about how doing nothing is okay, and your mind wanders to how it all began.

yumi had been sobbing almost every day ever since the last concert in the last venue. it had all started from there. she couldn't keep up with being an idol, and you couldn't blame her. yumi was never really the type. she was from an upper middle class family, and a musical genius. a sweet girl, who started off with posting covers on youtube and then began to look into joining a group, because she too knew that a group helps make up for what she lacked, which was everything else. and now, richer and more than satisfied with the taste she got of the idol life, she said she'd be happier in the food industry and going back to posting covers as and when she felt like it.

yumi's waning passion had set off seika too, frustratingly enough. seika was the opposite of yumi. she had joined the company as a producing intern which somehow led to her becoming a trainee, and when she always seemed to get the sound and the music for the concepts just right and picked up dance quick enough, there she was. she took it all in stride because everything seemed to work out just well, but even she knew that yumi leaving would finally give her an opportunity to come back to her origins and true passion.

your lip wobbles again, and you tune back to yuki just in time to hear her listing out things that you could do during hiatus.

" -of them are so fucking stupid, but i'm sure we can find someone sexy. a fun fling with an actor, how 'bout that? when was the last time you had a cute little scandal, huh? or you could study something, oh! you could do some volunteer work with animals, you used to be a horse girl, right? i think we could really- “

the door slams open, and the two of you jump at the sound. utahime iori stands at the doorway, mouth screwed up.

“are you incapable of picking up your phone?”

“hime!” you say, surprised.

“and what are you doing here?” asks yuki.

utahime ignores her. instead she makes her way to you, throwing her arms around you in a hug. she pulls back and looks into your eyes. “you're gonna be okay. so what if STARDUST disbands? you'll be the main girl of a new group!”

“see, even she thinks it'll be a great idea to be in a new group.”

“i wanna be a soloist,” you say dully staring at utahime's chest which is in eye level.

“exactly, and you're gonna be the greatest soloist ever!”

“oh please, not this again, i just talked her out of it!” yuki groans. “and how did you know about this? did you tell her?”

“no she didn't, have some faith in her. i put two and two together. seika's been more or less sleeping over in the studio with all the free time, yumi's gallivanting around the world, happier than ever and this one's been completely MIA other than the mandatory appearances at events. if they were gearing up for another comeback they would've been discussing concepts by now. also, i find it really insulting that you didn't tell me, ya know?” she concludes, looking down to you.

utahime iori, former trainee, part time choreographer/back up dancer but full time makeup artist to STARDUST. also, your closest friend. it's kinda sad that all your friends are more or less your co workers. yumi and seika, yuki and hime. now everyone's camaraderie is to test considering you're not really working together anymore. suddenly you realize that you don't even have a job anymore.

“she's doing her job. i'm doing my job. and what exactly are you doing?” asks yuki, now standing up.

“i'm doing my job!” says utahime.

yuki cocks her eyebrow.

“my jooob,” she falters, looking away for a second, “of being her best friend. yeah. someone needs to look out for her and care for her, as a person- ”

“and that's what you do, looking out for and taking care of people, huh?”

oh for fuck's sake. you're sitting between the two women who are standing over you, and in any other moment, you would've enjoyed being seated between two gorgeous arguing women, who most definitely need to fuck each other instead. you and utahime had been friends ever since she was a trainee in Star City, but yuki and utahime only really met when she was assigned as one of the official makeup artists for the group. nearly everyone had been victim of their terrible... flirtationship, as seika called it.

these fools are not flirting. not on purpose at least. they've been so enamoured and amazed by each other's existence that they just have to do something about it but that sinething never meant dating or kissing or fucking, it meant quarreling and irritating everyone till the end of time. they can't seem to fathom the idea of dating each other, or at least utahime can't. you do believe that yuki is warming up to the idea of it considering there's been less push from her side and more of her allowing utahime to speak over her. as much as one can speak over yuki that is.

“are you guys done flirting,” you say flatly, eyes closed.

“we're not flirting!” they both declare.

“good, because i wanna leave.”

“oh?” says utahime. you open your eyes and you see her glance towards yuki for half a second before determinedly looking back at you and nodding. “yes! let's go! we're leaving!”

it's sweet that she stands by you although she would definitely like to f̶l̶i̶r̶t̶ argue with yuki more.

“let's go!” she loops her arm around yours and pulls you up. you turn around to look at a slightly disappointed yuki.

“bye yu,” you mutter, giving her a half hearted hug.

she in turn wraps her arms around you and squeezes tight, almost lifting you off of the ground. “don't worry kiddo! it'll all work out. just... hang in there, okay? think about what i said!" she finishes, looking kind of awkward.

kiddo. she's really feeling terrible.

you feel bad, but not really. you're glad you managed to upset her this much, considering how she and well, everyone, had no qualms in upsetting you.

except utahime, that is.

you nod and give in to utahime's tugging and follow her.

"do you want me to stick my tongue out at her? or pull a face? i can pull really ugly faces, you know, right?" she whispers to you.

"have at it!" you snort, exiting the room as you watch utahime turn and pull a face at yuki which is quite the feat, considering how pretty she is.

the door shuts behind you and you make your way out the building with her, arm in arm in silence. utahime hums as the two of you go to the parking lot and get into one of the company cars, with a driver waiting for you.

the moment you shut the door and the car is moving out the building from one of the back exits, you thank god for tinted windows as you immediately lay down, your head in utahime's lap, sniffling.

“oh!” she gasps.

watanabe is nice enough to have raised the partition the moment he started the car. you stare blearily out the window as you pass buildings as utahime gently strokes and twiddles with your hair.

“i'm sorry,” she says softly. “i really am.”

“i'm sorry. you don't have a job anymore.”

“mm, makeup artists always have a job. i just need to talk to some people and get the ball rolling. i'm always down for collabs and teaching classes. i'll be fine. although i've heard that the NDA Star City is sending around would require for us to be quiet about our unemployment till you release an official statement.”

you nod, wondering about the near hundred people employed both directly and indirectly due STARDUST, and whether they have it all sorted, or if they're scrambling. like you.

you pull up the group chat and send a quick text telling the girls that you'd like to send a confidential broadcast to everyone that they could reach out if they had issues finding a job. neither of them have even received the message. obviously. you toss the phone back into your bag and curl into utahime's stomach.

“what am i gonna dooo?” you groan, inhaling her sweet perfume.

“have you considered going home? spending some time with your family?"

"that's just escapism." your parents are worlds apart from yours. two middle middle class engineers, and no siblings. they're very important to you, but unless they give you a solution to this... this mess, you don't want to go to one of your few safe spaces and ruin it with your hopelessness. you need something concrete. something real.

"you could also..." you look up to see hime's face scrunched up the way it usually does when she's gonna say something so fuck ass. "you know your unemployment is not the same as anyone else's unemployment, right? you're a millionaire! you coud drop off the face of the earth and live off of royalty and stocks alone. and then when you're bored you could start an exclusive luxury clothing line and enter the industry again! loads of people have done it!"

you stare at her.

"i'm sorry."

"you should be."

"do you want some ice cream?"

"yes. get some for watanabe san too. you're buying though, i'm unemployed now."

she flicks your nose before she asks watanabe to stop the car near an ice cream truck. utahime's popular, but only in the industry. regardless, she snaps on a face mask and heads out to the truck.

what if you became a host. like for a show like too hot to handle or single's inferno. what if you joined a show. you could enter like a special contestant in the middle and topple the social heirarchy that was established there. the analysis videos would be come aplenty with that one, oh and so would the downfall of the generation's it girl video essays. you don't watch or consume news/media about yourself but you do watch a lot of video essays so what would you do if one of your favourite youtubers made one about you? you could hang yourself and give them more to talk about. no, that's way too serious, even for you. what if you got a regular--

"-- and here we have roasted almond for my baby! and plain ol' vanilla for watanabe san, no, put your wallet down! we insist!"

you bristle, getting up from still being curled up on the backseat. leaning back, you lick the side of the cone that has ice cream threatening to dribble down your hand and wonder if this really is the end of it all.

"it is."

“um, should i perhaps inform gojo san of the time? i don't think it's healthy to-- "

"ijichi."

"i'm sorry! just give me five minutes, i will be back!"

kento watches as ijichi scurries away round the corner. he sighs. he never means to be short with ijichi but anything that doesn't directly contribute to solving an issue at hand doesn't require more than a simple conversation, let alone an entire back and forth.

it's even more insulting that ijichi thinks that satoru has any say over how long he's working. satoru wouldn't care less if he worked from his office or if he worked from a rager in aruba. he thinks he'd even prefer it.

speaking of satoru, he hasn't seen him the entire day. they hadn't had any meetings that required more than a phone call and one he had meeting with suguru, but suguru had been happy to come over to his office to talk. just the thought of the two of them makes his eyes immediately unwillingly flit over to the other side of the floor. to the wide office far opposite to him, past the darkness of the empty cublicle space, he can see the yellow light from one of satoru's newer lamps on and the blinds shut. a wave of irritation passes through him before he forcibly dismisses the thought, aching for the bitter taste of the coffee he's awaiting.

he has work to do.

he slides his spectacles back down to his nose bridge from where they were perched on his forehead and cringes with the initial burn from staring at the screen. has his power increased? he should get it checked and changed, he notes down mentally.

“nanamin!”

oh he is going to gut ijichi alive.

he looks up and it seems that ijichi seems to value his life because he's made himself scarce. instead at his office door, bouncing from one foot to the other, swaying from side to side, clearly not caring for the well being of the coffee in his hand is gojo satoru.

“and where is ijichi?” asks kento, motioning for his coffee.

satoru takes that as an invitation to enter and sprawl his upper half over kento's desk, smiling face staring down at him, coffee still in his hand. kento snatches it back carefully. clearly he's going to need it now more than ever.

“ijichi came cowering to my office saying that my cute kouhai's on his eighth coffee of the day! made it seem like i'm some terrorizing dictator making his precious nanami san work overtime. that's hardly the truth now, is it?” he says, pulling a sad face, expectantly looking at kento.

kento sips his coffee. “ijichi did not make this.”

“and he never could! i sent him home. i made the coffee myself, you're welcome. one could call me a humble man.”

kento grunts. one never would. however both of them knew that while ijichi's coffee is what he expected, satoru made his taste... unfortunately nice.

“i'm nearly done. i'll just finish looking over this bit and then i'm packing. you can go back to your office.” he waves to satoru, eyes back on the screen. placebo effect or not, the caffeine makes sifting through all the numbers a little less of a task this time.

there's silence as kento makes his way down the document, making sure that it was up to expectations, the only sound being the squeak of his chair as he leans forward at times to see something more clearly.

“are you done yet? because i finished reading that almost a minute ago and it's all good.”

satoru's made his way to behind kento and is leaning over his shoulder, speaking directly into his ear.

kento exits out of the document with a smash of keys. “what do you want?” he bellows.

satoru reaches out to his computer, shutting it down over kento's head, literally, and then spins kento to face him. if kento ground his teeth anymore, he'd have a mouth full of powder.

“i need you.”

“you have three seconds, maximum.”

“okey dokey. i'm inviting superstar it girl of our generation, the only icon more iconic than me, celestial beauty siren to the party.”

kento nods, getting up to leave. “amazing. i'll try to contain my excitement."

“it will not be easy,” says satoru, pushing kento down. he scoots his ass onto his table, chin in hand. “it won't be easy at all.”

kento rolls his eyes. “and why is that,” he says, flatly.

that actually makes satoru fully direct his attention to him, a grin spreading across his face. “boy, do i have some gossip for you!” he cackles. “but you need cross your heart and hope to die pwomise not to tell anyone what i'm just about to tell you!”

kento crosses his heart with one finger, head in hand.

“okay so initially i wanted to invite the whole damn group because duh, that's how the magic happens, but imagine the resistance i got from the company like damn not a single bitch in that building is available to speak to? i almost pulled a do you know who you're talking to? so i dug deep. or rather i bullied megumi to dig deep until i had to enter the field and take matters into my own hands. pull up a few contacts, ask a few favors- ”

“why is this one band so important to you?”

“group. girl group. anyways guess what i found!” satoru doesn't leave kento any time to answer, not that he had any answers. he leans forward conspiringly, his eyes a mix of mischief and malice. “STARDUST... is no more.”

“they died?” kento starts, taken aback. satoru's gossip was neither worth sharing nor listening, but for once he had delivered some quality news. a girl group that big? japan would be in shambles. nobara would be in shamles, he realizes.

“this is worse. they broke up!”

“and how is that worse?” he stands up, tired of this conversation. he straightens himself and begins to pack for home, putting things in place in record speed. there's yesterday's leftovers waiting for him, along with a new bottle of wine he would definitely need after the day that he had had. satoru follows him, and before kento can react he snatches his briefcase away from him, holding it hostage.

“it's terrible! i cannot fathom a reason why! what they have is... is once in a lifetime stuff, and they're throwing that away for what? the industry loves them, and GALAXY...” he sniffles, “and the girls...” he mumbles, looking at his feet, head downcast, pouting.

“i'm sure you'll be fine. within days there will be a new group of 20 somethings singing and dancing and -”

“don't you see how much pressure there is on me now?” exclaims satoru, now hugging the briefcase, his lips twisted into a frown. “i promised the girls that they're gonna get a surprise! i can't just turn up with only one 'em!”

“who?”

“nanako and mimiko!" he whispers. "don't tell suguru!"

oh. oh god. the gloom that's been in him grows and kento almost loosens his tie to breathe.

kento purses his lips, moving to snatch his briefcase and satoru dodges out the way. "give it to me!" he hisses, "unlike you, i don't have time to waste over silly whims of children."

satoru scoffs. "you would move heaven and earth for yuuji, even nobara! silly whims of children, my ass! you spoil them rotten!"

"i spoil them a reasonable amount, none of which is your business. invite them all, invite none, i don't care. just today i went through mountains of reports. i've been buried in these numbers all day, trying to forecast next quarter's revenue and-"

"kento please." satoru's looking at him with a wrinkle between his brows, and he can't help but take in how ridiculous he looks. hair mussed from running his fingers through them and his glasses are nowhere to be seen. he's blinking more than usual because of it too. the ceo of the infinity hotels, gojo satoru hassled over the breakup of a girl group seems laughable, but kento begrudgingly suspects what this means for him. the ticket to the nice big happy-

“you've never cared for those girls before. what changed now?”

“i've cared for those girls!” he squaks. “i care about all children.”

kento just looks at him.

satoru doubles down. “i care about megumi, and yuuji and even young kugisaki, even though she barely acknowledges my presence. i care about your kids, so,” he shrugs. “it's only natural that i care about my partner's kids! all my partner's kids,” he adds.

satoru is an amazing liar. kento knows what satoru looks like when he lies well. and kento knows that satoru's lying right now, and he's so lov- lost that he doesn't even realize how badly he's lying. he almost gags.

"i'm asking you this as a friend," continues satoru. "i know..." he looks away, his eyes bouncing about the room. "i know things have been... rocky recently, i've been too busy with work, and patching things up with suguru, and the girls because i think" his voice softens, “i think it'll work out this time. infinity's been doing great, all the time and money's finally paid off, suguru's parents have finally- it's nearly been a fucking decade- come around and let me off the handle for making... um, influencing suguru to drop out, and the girls are old enough to let suguru at least entertain the thought of dating. i just... need to win them over a little!”

the question hangs in the air between them, and kento knows that satoru wishes he won't reach out and address. regarding any otehr issue relation to satoru, kento gladly wouldn't. however-

“but why?”

“it's... it's suguru!” is all satoru says, faltering. “he's my best friend, and he's your friend too. i want to do something nice for him, and you know he loves his daughters!” satoru pumps his arm with a guffaw that sounds all too full of fake enthusiam. or rather real enthusiasm, but something else.

the weary look on satoru's face turns something in kento. he has almost never in the last thirteen years of knowing satoru ever seen him so... genuinely concerned for anything. not when they made this company, not when their first hotel launched, hell not even when his parents nearly cut him off for all the risks. only one man made him quiver so, and he'd do anything for him. the rest of the men and materials around him were just collateral damage.

he swallows. fixes his tie and looks away. “what do you want from me?” he grits out.

satoru lights up like a christmas tree. he pulls out his phone and wow- there's an entire spreadsheet's worth of information he has compiled.

“okay, so from what i've gathered, mirage is on a complete hiatus from everything and melody is either out of the country or has left the industry entirely... or both. i'd still like you too check- ” he glances up at kento and takes in his lost look. he rolls his eyes.

“okay grandpa. mirage,” he says slowly, “is the stage name of seika. this one,” he points at a girl with a halo of curls and loads of freckles. “and melody is the stage name of yumi, who is this.” he is now looking at a rather plain but sweet looking girl.

he pulls his glasses on and looks closer. “i think i've seen them before.”

“yeah no shit you've seen them before, they're literally japan's pride,” mutters satoru. “anyways. this, is siren. also known as the celestial beauty siren, her actual...” he goes on, his eyes lighting up as he talks about this siren.

kento looks at the picture. and well. he knew next to nothing about your singing capabilities but looks wise, they weren't joking around when they named you siren. and to make it even more accurate the public called you celestial beauty siren. the picture is of you smiling up at him, like you knew exactly what you were.

“so what exactly do you want me to do?” he asks, giving the phone back.

“i need all of them here, so you'll have to make some phone calls. at the moment, melody and mirage are allegedly MIA but i need you to be a hundred percent sure first. best case scenario we're getting all three. worst case scenario we're getting just one and in this case it's siren. we- ”

“wouldn't the worst case scenario be that we're getting none? and if they're broken up i doubt some company's launch party will be on their list of things to care about.”

“well!” satoru claps, “good thing we're not just some company! we're infinity hotels! we're limitless, and if you work hard enough- ”

“we work hard enough”

“you work hard enough, there isn't a chance that we're getting none of 'em! come on kento, you can do it!”

“why is this suddenly no longer a group project?”

“oh it is a group project, yes yes,” satoru nods sagely. “between you and megumi that is.”

kento tsks and steps back, looking up and down at satoru and his audacity that seems to have grown ten feet taller than him. at least he has the decency to look embarassed.

“i am the cfo of this company. so why, pray tell, would i be tasked to snoop around the well concealed affairs of some pop girl group with your assistant who's barely out of university?”

satoru wrings his hands. “i'm too busy, and there's no way to do all this without them finding out! it's not the same as inviting any regular celebrity especially considering all the strings i pulled to get confidential information! if it's not a meeting with ten boring senior citizens that fret over the same bullshit, it's date nights with- date nights, or my family being on my ass about something or the other, or trying and failing to bond with the girls- ”

“you just had to open your stupid mouth and ask if they could be returned to the kennel the moment you met them, didn't you?”

“how the fuck could i have known that they were forced to live in a literal cage?”

“oh imagine that. how bizarre it is that every child on this planet wasn't born with a silver spoon in their mouth and five maid servants to run around after them.”

“exactly, and now they're getting to wear miu miu and party with the closest things we have to magical girls in real life. they'll think i'm amazing, we all win.”

kento rubs his temple, feeling the beginning of a dull headache.

“fine. which ones are their favourite,” he sighs, hoping to reach the end of this conversation. he's going to be having the leftovers and ordering in tonight, he assures himself .

“i got nothing,” shrugs satoru.

“they're just three girls, which one do they talk about the least?”

“ehhh,” he says, tilting his head to the side, pulling a face. “they kinda stop talking whenever i'm around and just glare at me till i leave.”

“okay, then ask megumi to ask them.”

“he's blocked on every platform.”

“then ask suguru!”

“and how would that come up naturally in a conversation? and i don't want him to have the slightest clue about all this, i can't just ask suguru!”

“ask me what?”

the two men whip their heads to the sound of the deep yet silky voice coming from the doorway. geto suguru stands, leaning against the frame. his eyes move from satoru to kento to satoru again. he's in the usual work attire, except his hair is down, and the necklaces he usually keeps tucked into his shirt hangs out in front. he purses his lips and folds his arms. he clears his throat. “ask me what?” he repeats, sounding less... breathy this time.

“nothing,” chokes out satoru.

it's amazing how much he's effected. even the greatest liars seem to fall short at their game.

suguru turns to kento instead. “kento?”

“if you were willing to review some of the reports with me. the workload's been piling up recently, and i thought it would be more effecient if we had an extra pair of eyes to clarify some things.”

suguru's eyes widen. “of course! just send them over tomorrow morning. and satoruuu...” he drags out his name, eyes sliding to the other man, who's been standing in silence. “why couldn't you ask me, huh?”

satoru straightens immediately, pulling an easy grin. “wouldn't wanna bother you, late night and all. that would be unprofessional.”

“it's hardly unprofessional to come ask me for help. especially when kento here is burning the midnight oil too, isn't he? come talk to me next time, yeah? both of you,” he adds at the end, to kento too.

kento would rather they beat him to death with a bat than drag him into whatever perverse flirtation this is.

“all right then. i'll send over the reports tomorrow morning. now if that's all, i'm going to head out.” satoru's hands still clutching kento's briefcase are limp enough for him to snatch it away from him. he gives satoru a sharp nod.

“good night kento!" wishes suguru warmly as he passes him at the doorway.

a “good night” sits at the tip of his tongue. he turns to face suguru and pulls on a smile. "you've put on satoru's blazer instead, by the way. good night."

the quick blink of suguru's otherwise relaxed purple eyes is a small win. he leaves before he hears whatever suguru has to say.

[sunbun-fnaf]

What if we kissed in the fear gas chamber and we were both boys? -William to Henry probably

[missr3n3]

Augusnippets Day 31

snowed in/secret alien/twitter arguments

prompt generator used fandoms: all of them CW: surprising amount of major character death, minimal proofreading word count: 850 (i'm so sorry) @augusnippets

On a cold night in Hoelbrak, Hazel accompanied Willow’s quest to find more stray cats, because the ten that already roamed the Grove were obviously not enough. During their journey, they found a cave beneath a waterfall. Venturing into the cave, they found two humans, one scared shitless, and the other taking a nap.

The awake human introduced herself as Sophie, and her unconscious companion as Ben. They somehow ended up in the alcove after something called a “cruise ship" crashed into it. As Hazel asked Sophie a million questions about what a cruise ship was and how it worked, Willow left to continue her search for a cat. She found what she was looking for out in the forest: a small, gray tabby.  But when Willow attempted to coax the “cat" her way, a wormhole opened up and the cat jumped through.

The “cat" was not a cat at all, but an ageless interdimensional being. He grew tired of roaming Tyria and sought a different land to explore: one he visited before. He crept from under his minion, Peter's, bed.

“There you are!” The man with a missing eye cooed as he spotted the furry critter. “I've been looking all over for you, Mittens!”

Mittens quickly gathered why Peter was eager to find him, and why Sarah was staying with her former abuser. She originally intended to simply visit him, see how he was recovering from the Easter Incident. Then a huge blizzard hit Ohio and they all got stuck inside.

Just great, more cold.

Meanwhile in Detroit, another ill-tempered group was snowed in: not in a rickety farmhouse, but an elaborate mansion.

“Norman was supposed to be back with firewood half an hour ago,” Officer Wong grumbled through chattering teeth.

“Well, you know how traffic around here is on a good day,” Steve countered.

“I knew we should've found a better way to dispose of the bodies,” Isabelle whined. “I don't think Kenny or Manny would burn all that well, but it'd at least be something!”

Just as Manny's name left Isabelle's mouth, five bolts of lightning struck the mansion at once, killing everyone inside and leaving Norman, who was waiting in line at Whole Foods the entire time, homeless.

Many years later, paranormal enthusiasts Aaron, Joshua, and Selena were investigating the burnt remnants of the Murder Mansion. They needed to do something to unwind – especially Selena, who had to singlehandedly kick Azrael and Melani's monster asses.

As Aaron entered the remains of what he guessed was the living room, a loud crackling boom echoed right behind him

Oh God, what’s Selena doing this time!?

To Aaron's surprise, Selena was not fighting more monsters behind him. He'd never seen the two people standing behind him in his life. One was an older man with reddish-brown hair and scars around his eye. The other was a microscopic little guy dressed in black denim with bandaged hands.

“Well shit, this isn't the void,” Mark noted.

“See, I told you that wouldn't work,” he chided the kinda sorta saint.

With another boom, the two soft grunge boys vanished.

A few months later, Cain was down a Wikipedia rabbit hole. He was researching the case of the Vanishing Duo while he had Llywelyn's laptop precariously perched on the side of the bathtub.

Just as he was about to see if anyone else was talking about the case on MySpace. Llywelyn was thrown through the bathroom window by the Fisherman, who was still salty about him taunting the dumbness of trying to waterboard a fish. Jumping from sheer shock, Cain dropped the laptop into the bathtub, which started an electrical fire that blew up the whole house.

Years later, YouTuber Elijah Hardy made a video about the Exploding Fish Boy Incident, which got him cancelled on Twitter for the fifth time in a row. His sixth cancellation, however, was the one that finally stuck. It was cause by him making his first True Crime Video – covering the case of Roderick, Kevin, Sam, Jeremy, and Rachel mere hours after it went down. The Red Dragon Productions crew – Leah, Joshua, and Isaac – also got cancelled for defending Elijah. They didn't know about the plot of “pull your hands away!” by missr3n3 yet. Madeline also got cancelled for defending RDP.

This feud drew Cairyx's attention to Twitter. He figured out he could get into people's houses through their Twitter accounts, told all of his electric spider alien buddies about this, and they all banded together to murder every Twitter user.

This basically caused an apocalypse, with only a few people who didn't have Twitter accounts surviving. One was Jessie Simmons, who never made a social media profile beyond her Facebook. This same strategy is what saved Ida and Proto. Arthur was too young to be allowed on the internet unsupervised. Wes exclusively used Pinterest. Brandon's abusive parents wouldn't let him go on the internet period, lest he figure out they were also involved in the Peace Cult. And the incredibly lucky Dr. North deleted her account a week before the world ended.

[anna-hawk]

Happy Birthday, Chelsea!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader Fandom: Daredevil Rating: T (just birthday fluff)

For @chelseasdagger 🧡

My sweet Chelsea, I'm dedicating my very first Matt x Reader ficlet to you. Thank you for your kindness, gentleness and huge heart. Getting to know you has been simply incredible. I know that you sometimes have a hard time with your emotions, but they're the ones that make you as special as you are. Your empathy and sweet nature are beautiful to watch, and I'm forever touched by your thoughtfulness.

You shine brighter than any fireworks on the 4th of July!

🎂 HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEETHEART 🥳

“Hey, you're okay?”

You jumped a bit at the sound of your best friend's voice coming from just next to you.

“What? Yeah, sure, of course,” you grinned at her, although by the slightly dubious look she gave you, you didn't manage to fool her entirely. “Just… Y'know… long day.”

Your friend nodded with an understanding sigh. Being born on July 4th was always sure to make your birthday celebrations more… complicated to organize. Not like you minded, really. As long as you had your closest friends and, or family around, you didn't care when exactly you celebrated. The party your friend had thrown for you was amazing, too, but something was missing. Well… Someone was missing.

Taking the glass your friend was handing you, you smiled gratefully and stared over the railing of the rooftop terrace the party was taking place on. She'd gone all out to make the night special for you by selecting this place, the decorations, and food. The view was incredible as you would be able to easily see the fireworks when they'd be starting in a few minutes, but right now, you just took in the twinkling lights of the city below you as you drank.

“There we go,” another of your friends suddenly called out as he pointed to the sky where the first firework exploded into beautiful sparks of color.

The rest of the small party assembled at the railing to watch the show, and you soon found yourself smiling and laughing with everyone as they pointed out this or that detail.

Several minutes in, something caught your attention in your peripherals. Your head turned to the source, but there was nothing there. Frowning, you shook your head and returned your attention to the fireworks.

Once it was over, you all slowly began returning to the bar and food tables, chatting and laughing. You looked back to the railing briefly, but then joined your friends for some well-deserved birthday cake, making a show of blowing out the candles.

A good two hours later, most people had started to head home, giving you a last hug and birthday wishes, leaving only your best friend by the end.

“I'll just hit the restroom before I get the keys, so we can close up and go home,” she announced, while you were packing your presents into different bags.

“'kay.” You nodded and walked to the railing, remembering that you'd left a present on one of the tables there.

You jumped about a foot in the air and yelped in surprise when a dark figure suddenly landed right next to you from the small overhang of the rooftop.

“Sorry,” a low voice said sheepishly, making you utter a loud breath of relief when you recognized the form and voice.

“Oh my Gosh, Matt!”

Your heart began racing for entirely different reasons as soon as you saw Matt's soft smile while he uncovered the top of his face that had been hidden behind a dark scarf. Your face moved into a happy smile at the sight of his brown eyes and apologetic expression.

“Wish I could've been here sooner, but-”

“It's fine, Matt. You know it is. What you do is more important than a stupid birthday party.”

Matt's mouth twisted unhappily before he sighed exasperatedly. He cupped your face and put his forehead to yours, making your bodies align properly and letting you get a whiff of him. Your whole body went lax at his touch and scent, your eyes falling closed as your arms loosely circled his waist.

“You're important to me,” he whispered fiercely, making your smile wobbly with emotions and unable to speak.

It didn't matter, since Matt tilted your head until his lips pressed over yours for a long kiss.

“Happy birthday, Love.”

[dragonbornphoenix]

A little birthday present for my lovely and amazing friend Andithiel who also happens to be one of the best HP fandom writers.

Thank you for your friendship and for everything else, Andi! YOU are the true gift! 💖

Cake-a-licious!

Draco watched Harry try to assemble the cake. His right eyebrow had gone to meet his hairline and looked ready to abandon his face and run away. “What, in Merlin’s name, are you doing?” 

“What does it look like I’m doing, smarty pants?”

“Looks like you are murdering an innocent cake right in front of my eyes.”

“Ha ha, you’re such a comedian, Draco! You should do stand-up comedy!” 

“I am standing up, aren’t I? And that poor cake is being tortured within an inch of its life.”

“The cake is fine. It’s you who’s torturing my ears. Go away and let me work in peace.”

“I don’t see any peace here, only savagery and barbarism. Let. Me. Help. You!”

“I was cooking and baking while others chewed your food before they fed it to you; I don’t need any help.”

“And I am a seven-Michelin-starred chef, so whatever point you are trying to make is ridiculous. What you are doing is an affront to the natural order. You should at least have chosen a simpler cake.”

“Andithiel deserves the best birthday cake, and I am going to give it to her!”

“Not from where I’m standing.”

“So go stand somewhere else!”

Draco looked at Harry. He was dishevelled, sweaty, labouring with fogged-up glasses, the tip of his tongue sticking out of his mouth, covered in unidentified substances, and bits of cake all over his clothes. The stubborn berk!

But Draco was just as obstinate as Harry. Andithiel did indeed deserve the most wonderful cake, and if he stood by and let Harry commit crimes against baking and cakes everywhere, what she would get would be a Frankencake begging to be put out of its misery. 

He stepped over and, with a light touch, shoved Harry away to take his place in front of the bench. 

“Hey! What are you doing?”

“Staging a coup and taking over. Damage control. Stopping an assassination. Saving us the embarrassment. Pick one. Or pick the bunch; they’re all accurate.”

Harry fumed. “Oh no, you’re not!”

“Oh yes, I am!”

Harry shoved Draco sideways, trying to gain his previous position. Draco held fast and shoved back. 

“I can do it on my own; I don’t need help!”

“That’s right, you need an intervention!”

“I’ll show you an intervention!”

What happened next was sudden and unexpected; while they shoved each other and traded barbs, the cake exploded, covering both of them from head to toe!

“What…” Draco said. 

“How…” Harry said. 

They locked eyes, gaping at the empty space where the cake sat. Shock hit them like a sledgehammer, leaving them speechless. A few seconds later Draco erupted into laughter, throwing his head back, his entire body shaking with amusement.

“It killed itself!” he wheezed. “It couldn’t take it any more!”

Harry joined him, shaking his head. He reached out and scooped a small chunk from Draco’s cheek. He sucked his finger, and an obscene moan came tumbling out. 

Draco took half a step to close the distance. “You have a bit of filling here,” he said before leaning in and kissing Harry on the lips. “Delicious!” he breathed, looking into Harry’s eyes. “The cake is alright too.” 

Harry threw his arms around Draco’s neck and kissed him like his life depended on it. It was filthy, sensual, and glorious. 

“What am I going to do with you?” Draco whispered. 

“Not divorce me, I hope.” Harry replied and leaned his forehead against Draco’s.

“If that was your pathetic attempt at getting rid of me, do I have news for you. You’re stuck with me. For life.”

“In that case, what you are going to do is take me to the shower and help me wash away all the mess. For the next two hours.”

"Including the one we'll make?"

"I said all, didn't I?"

“With pleasure. But first, I’m going to lick every little bit of cake off your skin.”

And so Andithiel’s cake was forgotten in a haze of lust, love, and dirty sweet talk. But she didn’t mind one bit. After all, cakes are temporary, but love lasts forever.

 

[quietwings-fics]

my love, my heart, don't cry

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Fandom: Supernatural Ship: Gen (Jack & Lucifer) Additional Tags: Protective Lucifer (Supernatural), Lucifer is Jack Kline's Parent, Alternate Universe, Jack Kline Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, Minor Character Death, Violence, Crying, Blood and Injury, Psychic Bond Wordcount: 1911 Summary:

Even leaving Jack alone for a few hours is dangerous when the whole world wants him dead.

Notes:

For day 24’s prompt: “I thought they were with you.”

Lucifer turns the milk bottle over in his hand. It’s identical to all the others in the row behind it, but the bottle cap is a different color than the ones beside it and the label says skim milk where the other says whole milk, and he has no idea what the difference is. Is there one? He casts about in Nick’s memories, but the milk his vessel’s lost child drank came from an entirely different source than a grocery store, one that Lucifer and Jack… don’t have. 

He’s not even sure if Jack needs milk. He’s only a month old, yes, but he dogs at Lucifer’s heels around their well-warded cabin on growing legs he hasn’t gotten used to yet and is constantly asking questions. Nick’s baby didn’t do that. Most human babies, Lucifer’s figured out, actually stay babies for longer than a few days.

Most babies do not spend the first week of their life being hunted, hurt, nearly stolen away from Lucifer. 

Lucifer takes the bottle. If it isn’t right, than he’ll come back and get another one. It isn’t like money is a problem. He doesn’t plan on paying for anything. He places the milk down in the bag he’s carrying, next to the medicine he swept off the shelf without reading what any of them were really for and the squishy rubber toy turtle he found right past the mountain of different dog foods. Jack always needs more toys. 

He can feel his son’s grace no matter how far away he is. Their connection never wavers. It hasn’t since the first time Lucifer picked him up and held him, when Jack was still small and crying. He’d been almost as scared of the world he’d been born into as Lucifer was of hurting him. Nowadays, that fear has faded a little. He’s proven to himself that he can take care of Jack, and more importantly, that Jack knows Lucifer loves him. 

It leaves room for a much worse fear to take root: that one day, Jack will be taken away from him and there will be nothing Lucifer can do. That’s why he only ever leaves Jack alone for a few hours at most to get him the necessities his human half needs, whether that’s food for dinner or tissues when he gets sniffly. He keeps a careful watch over Jack’s grace in the back of his mind, but today, he’s been happy and calm, responding to any of Lucifer’s calls with bright chirps. 

Lucifer moves down the next aisle. His bag is heavier than usual. He might have taken too much medicine, but last night, he couldn’t stop thinking about whether or not Jack could get sick. His human half is full of unanswerable questions that terrify Lucifer, and looking down the barrel of a flu he doesn’t know how to handle, he’d rather have half a dozen pills all claiming to lessen fever than nothing on his side at all.

He stares down cereal mascots, trying to decide which one Jack would like best. There’s a little green man that Lucifer finds suspicious and something that claims to be a honeybee that’s gaze makes him uncomfortable enough that he turns the box around before he continues perusing. He taps a cardboard tiger. Jack might like that one. 

He’s standing in the cereal aisle with the box in hand when he feels Jack’s grace spike in fear. He doesn’t have time to react before he feels pain vividly tear through him. The box Lucifer is holding explodes from being squeezed too hard, scattering cereal all over the floor. The lights in each aisle pop and shatter, making other patrons yelp as Lucifer tries to breathe. He raises his wings without a care to the attention he’s attracting and with one powerful sweep, he’s gone.

Lucifer can’t land inside his and Jack’s cabin. He warded it against angelic flight to keep his son safe, but now he knows he’s going to rip up that sigil with his bare hands. Jack needs him now, and every moment’s delay sends more of his pain racing down their connection. He’s screaming for Lucifer so loud that Lucifer’s scared other angels might hear him, too. Unless that’s who’s hurting him. 

Lucifer doesn’t want to kill his siblings, but for laying a finger on his son, he will break them down to their atoms. 

He breaks the door down. He’s still holding his bag of groceries as he steps inside, a white-knuckled grip around the straps. The shadows of his wings rise to cover the room as he burns with fury. 

They are not angels. They’re humans. Hunters, with guns loaded with the mangled blades of his dead brothers, bullets that are so broken that they can only whisper syllables of the names of angels they once belonged to. Someone taught these men how to kill angels, and now there’s a bullet lodged in Lucifer’s son, and he has never been as dangerous as he is right now.

They shoot him, too. An archangel glanced by the bullet of a melted blade? It hurts, but Lucifer pulls it out with bloody fingers and throws it to the ground. It clinks against the wooden floor as Lucifer advances.

“Jack,” he says, so gently, as his son cries, “close your eyes for me. Cover your ears, little angel.” Jack does, squeezing his eyes shut and raising his hands to block his ears. There are tears streaked down his face. Blood reflects the glow of his grace where the bullet is buried in him. Lucifer makes sure he won’t see what’s about to happen.

It only takes three minutes for there to be no more hunters in Lucifer’s home. The cabin will smell strongly of blood for a week. Jack will find an ear under the couch when he’s looking for a toy in a few days, half chewed-on by a hungry mouse.

When he’s done, Lucifer cleans himself up and kneels down next to Jack. Jack’s eyes start to open, but Lucifer covers them with his palm. “Not yet,” he says, and when he removes it, Jack’s keeping them shut tight again. He whimpers when Lucifer goes to pick him up. “Shh. Shhh. I’m going to fix it.” There’s only one bedroom, Jack’s. Lucifer doesn’t need to sleep, and when Jack has nightmares, Lucifer comes to comfort him rather than Jack seeking him out. Lucifer has last count of how many times Jack has fallen asleep on top of him. 

Now, they’re getting Jack’s blood all over the sheets. Lucifer soothes him as best he can, but until he gets the bullet out, the pain isn’t going to stop. Jack hiccups, clinging to Lucifer. He’s so much older than Lucifer wishes he felt like he needed to be and still so small, still and always Lucifer’s baby. Lucifer kisses his forehead. “This is going to hurt. I’ll try to be quick.” 

“Just make it stop,” Jack wails. He buries his face in Lucifer’s shoulder, shaking. “Make it stop, make it stop!” Lucifer can feel Jack’s pain like its his own. He wishes he could put Jack to sleep until this was over, let the merciful embrace of unconsciousness wash over him while Lucifer patched him up, but Jack will fight him without meaning to if he tries and make things worse. 

Lucifer lifts Jack’s bloody shirt away from his stomach. There’s a nasty gash where the bullet tore through. Lucifer has to resist the urge to heal it up. What if Jack needs all that blood? What if he’ll die without it even if Lucifer can get the bullet out? But his grace needs Lucifer’s attention as much as his human body. The bullet has to go. 

Jack screams when Lucifer touches his wound. “I’m sorry,” Lucifer tells him as his son shakes and Lucifer has to hold him tight against his shoulder to keep him from wriggling away from the pain. Jack’s muffled sobs hurt the most. “I’m sorry, I know, I know.” Lucifer tries to be quick, but when he finds the bullet broken inside of Jack, he has to keep digging around inside his son to get each shard out. Jack goes limp, the pain too much for him to handle. Lucifer exhales shakily and turns his head to press his face into his son’s hair. Even that smells like blood. “I’m so sorry,” Lucifer whispers. Jack doesn’t struggle. He only shivers weakly and cries.

Lucifer’s hand is coated beyond the wrist in blood and clinging fat and other things he never wanted to see. The bullet lies in pieces across the floor, but it’s out. It’s out. Lucifer works his grace through Jack, mending the damage he had to make worse to retrieve the shards. He kisses the side of Jack’s head, apologizing more as he knits up torn muscles and skin and repairs punctured organs. His anger has burned out to ash, leaving only paralyzing fear as he begs, “you’re okay. You’re okay, Jack. I’m here. Please be okay.” 

He holds Jack as he crawls back up the bed, cuddling him close and wrapping his wings around his baby. He never should have left him alone. There’s a whole world out there that wants Lucifer dead, and maybe he deserves it, but Jack is trapped in the crossfire of that. Lucifer pets his hair as Jack’s shivering slowly stops.

“How did they break in?” Lucifer asks. He’s not expecting an answer. He just has to say something to feel like he can prevent this from happening again. He’d thought he’d covered their tracks well enough. At best, he’d considered that maybe Sam and Dean might find them. They always managed to be frustratingly persistent. But other humans, other hunters? Where did he go wrong? Where was he not careful enough?

“They didn’t break in,” Jack whispers. His voice is scratchy from crying, and he doesn’t move away from Lucifer to speak, leaving his words muffled into Lucifer tear-soaked shoulder. “I- I thought-“

“Jack?” Lucifer felt cold all of a sudden.

“They knew who you were and who I was, and I thought they were your friends. They said you told them where to find me. That I should let them in so that-“ Jack sucks in a breath. “And they shot me, and I thought I was going to die, and you weren’t here.” Jack sobs. “I just wanted you here to make them stop.” 

“I came,” Lucifer says. “I heard you, Jack. I can always hear you.” 

“It hurt so much.”

“I know.” Lucifer’s gaze drifts across his own scarred wings. He wraps them more tightly around Jack. “They can’t hurt you anymore. No one will.” And though Lucifer means it with every fiber of his being, he doesn’t know if that’s a promise he can keep. Jack going through this kind of pain, or worse, ever again is a nightmare, but all of Lucifer’s life has been one long bad dream. Jack has been the only bright spot.

No matter what Lucifer has to do to keep him safe, he won’t hesitate. If he has to burn the world down to build one that Jack can live in without fear, he will. Nothing else matters.

“I love you,” Lucifer says. Jack sniffs. There are mangled corpses rotting a floor below them to keep him safe. 

“I love you too, Mama,” Jack says. Lucifer kisses his temple. 

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

[thisfairytalegonebad]

Vehicular Accident - Whumptober day 22

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Character: Ignis Scientia (mostly), Prompto Argentum (to a lesser degree) Rating: Teen and up Warnings: Car accidents, obviously. Also some description of a broken bone, but it's brief and not too detailed.

Read below the cut or on AO3 here.

Prompto is trying very hard to stay awake. They’ve been up for almost two days at this point and it’s getting increasingly hard to keep his eyes open. In the backseat, Noct’s been asleep for almost as long as they’ve been driving, and Gladio nodded off too a while ago.

It’s very, very tempting to lean his head against the window and do the same, he doesn’t remember the last time he’s been so tired.

He can’t just go to sleep, though, not if it leaves Iggy awake all alone while he’s driving. That’s like, rule number one, right? Someone’s gotta stay awake to make sure the driver doesn’t fall asleep.

That said, Prompto is starting to think driving to a hotel isn’t worth it. Yeah, it’s raining, and they’d probably freeze their asses off in the tent tonight, but it’s not really fair to make Ignis drive all the way to the hotel just because they want to sleep in soft, warm beds.

“Hey, Iggy?” he starts carefully. “Y’know, I think it’d be fine if you just stopped by the next haven, get at least a few hours of rest. Then we can hole up at a hotel for like two days. Ooor we can even just stop in a parking area and sleep in the car?”

“I will not be sleeping in a car,” Ignis replies indignantly. His hand reaches for the can of Ebony again - it’s barely been five minutes since he’s asked Prompto to open it for him, but it's already starting to sound empty.

“Okay, but-”

“Prompto, I’m fine,” Ignis interrupts him, though not unkindly. “I appreciate your concern, but I’d rather prefer sleeping in a real bed tonight. But you needn’t stay awake for my sake, you can go to sleep if you wish.”

Prompto shakes his head and reaches for the radio to turn it up a little more, even if it might disturb the other two in the backseat. “Nah, I’ll stay up with you.”

Ignis smiles, drains the rest of his Ebony, then asks for another one.

Prompto hands it to him, leans his head back against the seat and watches the streetlights speed by as Ignis drives steadily through the night, eyes firmly trained on the road, hands perfectly placed on the steering wheel.

----

He’s not sure when he drifted off, but he’s rudely awakened by a deafening crash and a jolt that sends his entire body flying forward, ribs bruising against the seatbelt. His ears are ringing from the exploding noise of the airbag, and he’s vaguely aware of shouting in the backseat.

“Holy shit, did we just crash?!” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

The windshield is broken in a spiderweb pattern and there’s steam coming from the engine, and shit, isn’t there a non-zero chance of a car blowing up after a crash?

They’re also sideways on the road, so Prompto locates the button for the hazard lights and pushes it before he starts fumbling with his seatbelt.

His right shoulder twinges as he twists to do so, but he doesn’t pay much attention to it, too fueled by adrenaline.

In the backseat, Gladio’s checking on Noct who responds a few seconds later. Gladio’s voice sounds weird, nasal as if he has a cold, but from the bits Prompto catches, they’re both relatively uninjured.

Prompto himself feels mostly fine too, so that leaves…

“Iggy?”

There’s no response, and when Prompto looks over to the driver seat, his heart sinks.

Ignis is slumped over the steering wheel, arms hanging limply at his side. Prompto calls his name again, voice rising with panic, and that gets Ignis to stir, thank the gods.

Finally, Prompto gets the seatbelt to release and immediately tears open the door. He stumbles outside and around the car, fumbling with the handle before he manages to open the driver’s door.

“Ignis, hey, you okay?”

“P-prompto?” Ignis’ eyes are wide and he blinks at Prompto like he’s not comprehending what he’s seeing.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me, I think we crashed, uh, are you hurt anywhere?”

“Hurt?” Ignis repeats. He seems confused, and Prompto fervently hopes he doesn’t have a head injury, and gods, Prompto is not equipped to deal with this, at all, he’s barely paid attention in his mandatory first aid class!

So he does the first sensible thing that comes to his mind and cries, “Gladio! You gotta come check on Iggy!”

Ignis starts moving like he wants to get out of the car so Prompto quickly puts his hands on his shoulders to keep him in place. He’s torn between wanting to get him out of the car in case it blows up and keeping him put in case he’s hurt his spine or something, and he can’t remember the correct thing to do.

He nearly cries with relief when Gladio appears and takes his place, curtly asking Ignis a few questions then pulling him out of the car and depositing him gently on the ground.

Gladio’s nose is kinda crooked and bleeding. It looks broken, and that explains why his voice sounds so weird, but he seems to be otherwise uninjured.

In the meantime, Noct has stumbled out of the car as well and comes to stand next to Prompto, paling when he sees Ignis on the ground.

“There… there was an anak, I think, I tried to avoid it but it ran into the car, I couldn’t- couldn’t brake in time, it came out of nowhere,” Ignis rambles, and Gladio gently pushes him back to the ground when he tries to sit up.

“Shh, we’ll talk about that later, okay? Right now, you gotta tell us if you’re hurt.”

Ignis stares at him with wide eyes and it takes him a few seconds to comprehend the question. “I don’t- I don’t know, I can’t tell-”

“Okay, that’s fine, let me check your pupils first, and then we’ll see about the rest,” Gladio quickly reassures him. He gets a flashlight from the Armiger and shines it into Ignis’ eyes, but ultimately declares that he probably doesn’t have a head injury.

Then, he starts prodding at Ignis in various spots. Ignis hisses when he pokes at his ribs, likely bruised or broken from the steering wheel.

Gladio continues the examination and then pauses. “Oh, Iggy, your wrist is broken.”

He gently picks up Ignis’ right arm, but he doesn’t need to prod at it to see what’s wrong with it. It’s bent at an impossible angle and it’s already starting to swell.

Prompto, who hasn’t managed to contribute anything useful so far, frowns when he remembers the way Ignis kept both his hands firmly on the steering wheel at all times. If one of his wrists is injured from the impact, then chances are…

Unsteadily, he drops to his knees on Ignis’ left side and runs his hand over Ignis’ wrist, putting a little pressure on it just to see if there’s a reaction, and sure enough, Ignis yelps and tries to pull his arm away.

“Both wrists, I think,” Prompto says shakily.

The left one doesn’t look as bad as the other one, from the outside, you can’t tell it’s broken. But the other one is almost definitely going to have to be set, and Prompto’s stomach turns in sympathy at the idea.

Ignis is starting to shake now, trembling so hard his teeth are chattering, and while Prompto doesn’t remember a whole lot of his first aid classes, he does remember that in situations like these, shock can set in.

“Need to get him off the road,” Gladio says grimly. “Prompto, help me get him up.”

Prompto moves to help prop Ignis up, but the moment he tries to push him upright with his right arm, pain explodes in his shoulder and he cries out, white spots littering his vision.

“Prompto?” Noct’s alarmed voice appears next to him, and when the pain dies down to a more tolerable level, he becomes aware of gentle hands steadying him.

“Fine, fine, just, I think something’s wrong with my shoulder,” Prompto gasps. He tries to move his arm a little and the pain flares up again, though not as bad as before.

“Check his collarbone,” Gladio commands from where he’s still holding Ignis.

Noct gently runs his hand across Prompto’s collarbone until his fingers come across a small bump, and when he relays that information to Gladio, he nods like he’s already expected as much.

“Broken clavicle, happens a lot in car accidents. It’s from the seatbelt. Think you can hold on a little longer, kid? I’ll check you over once we’ve dealt with Iggy.”

“Sure,” Prompto says quickly. It doesn’t even hurt as long as he doesn’t move his arm, and Iggy’s starting to get really, really pale so he’ll wait as long as he has to.

With Prompto out of commission, Noct takes his place instead, helping prop Ignis up and then summoning a blanket from the Armiger which he drapes across Ignis’ shoulders.

Ignis lets himself be manhandled without complaint, doesn’t make a sound as Gladio puts his wrists into makeshift splints although Prompto can see from the way he’s gritting his teeth that he’s in a lot of pain.

“So what do we do now?” Prompto asks hesitantly. “Call Cindy?”

It’s still raining so making camp is out of the question with how soaked they all are, Ignis needs medical attention - in fact, all of them should probably get checked over by a professional sooner rather than later - and the rain isn’t doing Ignis any favours either with how much he’s already shaking.

Gladio sighs. “Think we have to, yeah. We’re close enough to Hammerhead and I don’t see any alternative.”

They can’t just stay put, though, so they drag themselves a short distance to a small shelter by the roadside to wait for Cindy.

----

By the time she shows up, they’re all freezing, Prompto’s shoulder is twinging a fair bit even without moving it, and Ignis is barely lucid. Gladio has him tucked against his side to try and keep him warm, and they all keep talking to him to keep him awake, but it’s clear that he needs to be somewhere that isn’t the side of the road in the rain.

Cindy takes one look at them and ushers them into her truck, telling them in no uncertain terms that the car is going to have to wait until the next morning, and there’s enough sense in that that no one tries to argue with her.

In Hammerhead, Cindy lets them have the caravan free of charge, leaving them to get settled while she goes to fetch the doctor from the Prairie Outpost.

They put Ignis into the bed and pile blankets on top of him to stop his shaking, and Gladio, true to his word, comes over to check Prompto’s injury, but there’s not much he can do except help him put his arm into a makeshift sling and tell him not to move it.

Prompto curls up with Noct on the other bed as much as he’s able to with his injury, and despite his best efforts, he falls asleep before the doctor arrives.

----

Read all of my Whumptober prompt fills here.

[everthewip]

Prompt: 1. "It's not too late, let's go."

Fanfiction 

Fandom: Shadows of Doubt (video game)

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of death and murder

Notes: You don't need to have played or know anything about this game for this to (hopefully) be understandable. Also no, this is not edited or beta read.

Banner by @fictober-event

Wednesday, Jan. 4th 6:20AM

I wake to the apartment building shaking again. Entire damn city feels like it's going to collapse into the toxic water any day now. Don't really have time to care about that, though.

Breakfast is leftover lo mein and a can of Kola. I sip the bubbly drink, ignore the way its sugary sweetness irritates my teeth, and study the case board on my kitchen wall.

Omarr Jack. Slashed to death in a bloody mess two days ago. Different colored strings and pins link his picture to photographs of the crime scene, some to sticky notes with vague details. Black string leads to the time of death, between 9:00 and 10:00am. Yellow links to his workplace address, a scrap of paper with his hours written down, a list of colleagues to question later. Green is more personal, linking to a note about his girlfriend not being home during time of murder. Red focuses on the crime scene, a picture of the body, the bloodied carpet, the business card left behind with no traceable fingerprints and only a cryptic message: Didn't have what it takes.

There isn't much else to go on; the murderer covered their tracks too well.

One more sip of the Kola and I grimace, already feeling like my teeth are going to rot out any second. Wonder how much it'd cost to buy my own fresh water dispenser and keep it filled. Only ever seen them in the office buildings around here. Probably costs a fuckload of Crows and Social Credit to keep those full.

I set the can aside and reach up, fingers poised on the pin keeping poor Mr. Jack stabbed to the board. His expression is solemn, professional some might say. He stares out with a gaze as dead as he is now.

“Sorry buddy,” I mutter. “Don't think I can handle your case.”

But something keeps me from pulling the pin and clearing the board. Maybe it's the folders sitting in my filing cabinet, the ones that whisper in the night and keep me awake, the cases still unsolved. Maybe it's a bitterness at Starch, our megacorp president that replaced me and the rest of City 46's police force with their incompetent Enforcers. Maybe it's the notice taped to my fridge, reminding me that rent is well overdue and repossession is imminent.

I leave the picture pinned, the center of a chaotic web that may never get unwound.

7:04AM

“More coffee, detective?”

Blake stands with one hand on her hip, the other holding an old coffee pot full of fresh, steaming brew. The scent is mesmerizing, almost overshadowing the greasy aromas ever-present in the Phat Model Diner. Shitty name for a shitty place with shitty food. Only good thing about this shithole is Blake.

“Hope you're ready to take credit if my heart explodes.”

I push my empty mug closer to her, smiling a little as she chuckles and fills it about three-fourths full; just enough to still add creamer, exactly how I like it.

“Maybe I should stop servin' you, then.” She places a few extra sugar packets on the table, gives me a wink, and then steps away to offer coffee to the few other diners. There aren't many this morning, but even if this place was packed, Blake would still serve me first. Never asked her to, but she always does.

I lift my coffee, take the first blissful sip, and watch her drift along the row of booths. She's a big woman, Blake is. Broad and muscular from years working as a security guard for a gambling den in her old city. She can hardly move through the diner without bumping into tables, but when you're that imposing, who the fuck is gonna call you out on it? I'd watched her toss a man out the door with one arm once. She'd just started to wear glasses and the idiot thought, “Hey, Four Eyes” was a smart way to call her over to his table.

She's finished her rounds now and I'm quick to look down before she sees me staring.

There's a newspaper someone left on the table, so I scan over the front page.

Omarr Jack's face almost makes me choke on my coffee.

“Heard it was brutal.”

Blake's returned, squeezing herself between the booth and table across from me. I almost don't register what she's said, I'm too busy noticing her arms as she crosses them, rests them on the table.

“Yeah, it was.”

“You saw it then?” She leans forward, voice lowered. The table wobbles a bit, but she doesn't notice.

“Yep, investigated what I could.” I lift my drink to take another sip and shrug. “Think this is another case for the cold filing cabinet, though.”

Blake's frown deepens as she studies me, and I have to look away so I don't blush like an idiot. If anything, maybe she'd think the coffee is what warms my cheeks. This isn't even the time to be crushing over the hot butch waitress, not when a dead man's murder stares up at me from the damned paper.

“It's not too late, Rory,” Blake says, her voice softer than the steam rising from my coffee mug. I look up, lips parted, and try to find the right words to say.

But then my old police scanner is going off in my bag.

There's been another murder.

Before I realize it, I'm already getting my shit together to leave. Blake's eyes are on me and when I look up she's got this half-grin on her face that makes the breath catch in my throat.

“Let's go, detective,” she says. “Solve the case.”

She winks again.

I can only nod.

And then I'm through the diner door and out into the rainy morning of City 46.

[burnedbyshoto]

through the looking glass

“Please don’t kill me!” you begged from the floor, your hands raised, trying to get this psycho to leave you alone. “I-I-I don’t think I taste that good? I’ve tried my blood before, and it’s disgusting, true fact! Mosquitos don’t even like me that much!” “I don’t eat humans, I—” the psycho samurai man tried to speak, but you were far from done pleading for your life.

— Or in which you cross paths with Shinazugawa Sanemi and nothing is ever the same again.

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pairing: shinazugawa sanemi x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, nsfw, fluff, cursing, an instance of demon slaying, mirror sex, vaginal fingering, blowjob, slight breeding kink, unprotected sex, cursing, praise kink, this is my first time writing for this fandom oh no

word count: 8,420

a/n: I fell asleep while editing this, good reminder to maybe not lay in a comfy blanket when trying to get shit out on time????? i love sanemi sm tho, please enjoy!

kinktober day 15 main kink: mirror sex | kinktober masterlist

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The sky was always prettier at night.

It wasn’t anything against the sky during the day! As a matter of fact, you also loved the light blue sky just at noon. You loved it wholly! You loved the way the sweet smell of crops of the earthy dewy scent traveled in the morning, and you loved how every creature in existence seemed to hum with life. The morning sky and earth were always busy.

But, you always found the deep dark blue-purple, nearly black night sky to be ethereal.

If you closed your eyes and listened closely, the nighttime, silent with white noise hanging through every quiet move of wind, felt like another world. Out near the countryside, not quite the city and not quite the farmlands, you were able to live a life where you felt safe, felt normal. You and your friends were always screaming and chasing each other through the streets following the setting sun. Your curfew hours pushed back for the night, letting you relax.

You loved to sit just at the edge of the farmed roads, right where the light from the town just disappeared into blackness. You would sit there, eyes bright, fingers pointed at the sky as you took in the irreplicable night sky. At sixteen years, you had decided to venture out on your own; your friends said that they wouldn’t be able to join you because of their own busy schedule and insisted that you don’t go on account of the few vanishing people the past few nights.

But, you were never one to pay mind to others’ opinions; your own mind set on seeing the supposed asteroid shower that night in tandem with the full blue moon was to be a sight you couldn’t miss. So, you laughed, scratching the back of your neck as you sigh. 

“Fine, I won’t go,” you lied to them, and they smiled in gratefulness.

But, like the liar that you are, you found yourself rushing out of your home, your fingers clutching at your kimono as you run. The sun had already set, and if you were to make sure that you would make the sighting, you were going to need to get there now.

Eventually, you made it to that pathed dirt road, your eyes scanning the darkened sky with intense focus as you began to search for the asteroid shower you were promised. With the bright, beautiful moon in the sky, your feet stamping onto the road with your impatience and excitement, you listened to the whistling wind and chirping bugs as you waited.

Nothing abnormal or out of the ordinary.

It was tranquil, quiet, calm.

And finally, when the backdrop of the night sky served as the background to the beautiful shower of asteroids, a single sound that you’ve never heard before echoed from before you and immediately made your stomach sicken. 

Someone was eating in the fields right before you, the sound of a person, maybe an animal, eating something as if it was starving. Slowly, the air filled with fickle laughter, a noise that had your heart racing as you stood up. Your attention no longer focused on the beautiful night sky, but instead, two pairs of yellow and red eyes staring at you.

“Oh? Would you look at that! Two humans already, and it's only three hours into the night!” a voice cackled, and even with the shroud of darkness brought by the hours of the night, you recognized what the not humans were eating.

It was a person.

Unable to scream due to fear, the horror burned through your veins as you tried to scramble to your feet and run away, only to find that you couldn’t even move. You began to cry instead. Fat tears welling down your cheeks as they stalked toward you at a speed you couldn’t start to believe was human or animal, and you curled into yourself, eyes unable to gaze up at the sky one last time.

“So this is where you shithead demons have been fucking hiding?!” a voice practically roared behind you, and it was then you shrieked when a burst of wind exploded over you and a man dressed in a weird black uniform with a white haori with the kanji for ‘kill’ printed on it. 

What the fuck was fucking going on?!

You pinched your skin, wondering if, by chance, the gods had cursed you at the very moment and forced you to hallucinate some strange reality. 

“T-That’s a Hashira,” one of the not-human humans gasped, arm tugging at his friend. “We don’t stand a chance!”

What the fuck was a Hashira?!

“Like hell, we don’t!” the other snarled in defensive anger. You managed to push yourself onto your forearms, your knees still too weak to carry your standing weight. “Look at all his scars, gotta be hanging by a damn thread. He’s not even looking at us!”

You were taken back by that statement. Why wasn’t the third lunatic looking at them?! You snapped your attention from the non-human humans to look at the white-haired man who was staring at you. Your jaw dropped in your shock and slight embarrassment at the way his scarred face took you off-guard for a moment. Why was he looking at you and not the non-human humans?!

And in horror, you watched the psycho scarred man in front of you unsheathed a katana.

A katana.

The ringing of metal loud in your ear as you scrambled to your feet, this man was genuinely insane. Who still carried such weapons in this time period?! The samurai were no longer around, and he was dressed in something that looked weaker than your own kimono!

“Ni no kata: Sousou-Shina to Kaze,” the psycho samurai man spat, and if you hadn’t already believed you weren’t hallucinating already, you definitely did now. Jagged, solid apparitions of claw marks appeared from the air as the psycho man shot forward, the glinting menace of his katana tearing through the necks of both the non-human humans with such horrifying ease. You screamed. 

The terrified scream didn’t stop afterward, only seems to increase in horror when you watched the bodies crumble into smoke and ash, their voices still muttering last words, bitter and abhorrently angry at being murdered. The psycho samurai had beheaded these non-human humans at such power and strength he had destroyed their living bodies! 

Was this because you hadn’t thanked your aunties for adding that one extra meat bun when you noticed after going home?! No, it had to have been for breaking that perverted boy's nose the other day, and this was the curse he placed on you. Physical violence was never the answer; you vehemently prayed to your gods as you begged for forgiveness. Please spare your pathetic life.

Your jaw dropped as you watched the psycho samurai man, with what seemed like proficient knowledge and experience, flick his blade. Blood splattered off the blade, onto the floor, disintegrating too. And well, fuck the gods.

Spinning on your heel, you ran as fast as you possibly could, your chest heaving and nerves entirely shot because if you were hallucinating this badly, you needed to get home. Maybe that candy you ate earlier today from the snot-nosed brat was some weird drug. City kids could never be trusted.

“Are you okay?” a voice gruffed by your ear, and you shrieked, seeing the psycho man seemingly appear beside you. His footsteps were silent as he so obviously ran to catch up to you, and through your frightening horror, you found yourself tripping and falling onto your ass. Staring up at the wholly scarred man in front of you. 

You had initially thought it was just his face that was scarred, but no, it was obviously more. There were jagged, ugly cuts lining his pectorals, abdomen, and if you weren’t making it up, you noticed some on his arms. Every piece of exposed flesh was lined with intense scars.

“Please don’t kill me!” you begged from the floor, your hands raised, trying to get this psycho to leave you alone. “I-I-I don’t think I taste that good? I’ve tried my blood before, and it’s disgusting, true fact! Mosquitos don’t even like me that much!”

“I don’t eat humans, I—” the psycho samurai man tried to speak, but you were far from done pleading for your life.

“My mom says I have a thick neck! Called me an ox or something! I’m sure you don’t want to cleave off my head like you did the others?! Oh my god, am I gonna die?!” you squeaked, your fingers digging crescent shaped wounds into your arms as you began to cry. “I don’t wanna die!” you wailed, and then just the slightest bit pathetically: “I just wanted to see the asteroid shower.”

The psycho man seemed to grow irritated, his lips pulling back into a small snarl before he rolled his eyes. With tears in your eyes, you watched as the man threw his katana to the side, much too far away from him to use on you, and in the dim lights of the town behind you, you watched the shadows grow on his face as he sat down before you.

Not close enough to make you panic, but not far enough you were squinting to see him.

“My name is Shinazugawa Sanemi,” the psycho samurai man explained, and your eyes narrowed.

“That’s not a god or demon I’m aware of,” you muttered under your breath, but it seemed he heard it by the sour glare he gave you. You stilled under his weighted ton glare, your face warming as you averted your gaze. 

“I’m not a god,” he spoke firmly, his arms folding underneath his chest. There was the chance he was a demon, you couldn’t help but think. “Nor am I demon.” You wilted.

“Rabid mountain boy?” you guessed, your nerves and adrenaline are still pounding way too heavy for you to filter your words.

He huffed, “No.”

“Well then—”

“Just let me explain,” he stressed, an eyebrow raised at you, and you stilled. It took a bit, but eventually, you nodded. “My name is Shinazugawa Sanemi, and I am a part of an organization called the Kisatsutai.”

Kisatsutai, the Demon Slayer Corps.

It rang an old bell in your memories, something distant, aged. Maybe a tall tale your grandparents had told you.

“It’s exactly as you think it to be,” he spoke, and you found your gaze rising to meet his. You realized even with the dull, yellowing light of the faraway lanterns, his eyes were a clouded purple. “Those two shitheads that tried to attack you are — were — demons. Yes, demons still exist,” he followed immediately as if knowing what stupid question you were going to ask next. Your mouth closed, and a chill ran down your spine knowing that non-human demon creatures that ate humans actually existed in this world. How had you been so unaware? “I’m a Hashira though, the wind Hashira to be exact. You’re living in my section of the territory I’m assigned to keep safe, so don’t worry. Demons don’t come out during the day; the sun kills them, so keep indoors at night, and you won’t have any issues.”

You remained silent, your mind twisting and turning as you tried to digest his words that seemed to rip apart your life. Sure, there was always a chance of being murdered in life; you weren’t that naive of an idiot to think so. But you never would have guessed that the potential murder you would have was a demon. It just seemed childish.

“T-That’s why they disintegrated?” you eventually babbled, your mind and consciousness entirely overloaded. “Are you some sun blooded person? How did you kill them?”

Sanemi stared at you but grunted. He rose to his feet and offered you a hand, “Top secret, can’t tell you.”

That wasn’t a good enough answer, and your mouth opened, ready to retaliate. 

“I’m not trying to be a jerk,” Sanemi spoke, his hand tensing yet again in apparent effort to get you to grab it. “I’ll explain to you the bullshits of the reality of life later, but fortunately, this wasn’t the only area with demons nearby. So, unless you want me leaving you out here alone.”

A frown curled on your face, but with an unspoken level of trust, you grabbed his hand. You tried not to show how shocked and just awed you were at the calloused, entirely strong palms he had. You had no doubt in mind that he was a master swordsman, that title of Hashira seemed to be a big thing too, and the strength and power and callousness of his palm proved it.

“I’ll walk you home, pipsqueak; let’s get a move on it.”

Nodding your head quickly, you tore your hand from his and walked.

The walk was silent, and you could feel his presence lingering behind you like a hot coal in your pocket. You looked behind to see if he was still there several times, and each time he was staring straight ahead, eyes focused on something far away.

“You’ll be back tomorrow, Shinazugawa-san?” you ask as you made your way to the entrance of your home. You weren’t moving to go in, trying to figure out what he meant by explaining it all later.

“Tomorrow evening before I work,” Sanemi confirms, arms folding again.

You nod, “How old are you, Shinazugawa-san?”

He narrows his eyes but eventually rolls them, “Eighteen.”

Only two years older than you were, yet his hands felt like those of a war-veteran elder. It almost seemed like you and he grew up in entirely different worlds. You nod some more, absorbing his words and skills with better clarity as you finally begin to retreat past the gates. “Well, thank you for saving my life, Shinazugawa-san. I’ll leave—”

“You can watch it tomorrow night,” he said, face void of emotions.

You blink, “What?”

Sanemi rolls his eyes, looking entirely unimpressed. “The asteroid shower? The one you were watching or wanted to watch? Tomorrow night, another one will be happening.”

“O-Oh,” you felt warm, a smile spreading across your face as you nodded. “Thank you for letting me know!”

He nods too, a sharp inhale whistling through the air before his shoulders relax, the tension leaving his body altogether. “Well, until tomorrow evening.”

“Goodnight, Shinazugawa-san,” you politely bow. “Stay safe tonight.”

“...you too.”

And when you pull up from the bow, he’s gone. 

The next evening, Sanemi shows up again. The sun is still in the sky, barely on its decline, and the summer day's warmth is slowly cooling down. As promised, Sanemi answers all of your questions, or well, tries to answer it. Some questions you have, he roughly snarks that those are stupid questions that shouldn’t ever be asked again (i.e., you asking if he was a child of the sun and that's why the demons had died, you asking if he had grown up in the woods and that’s why he was so scarred, you asking if it was only him in this supposed corps). He makes it pretty clear and unmistakable right away that all demons are evil. That he has the power to kill most demons as he is now and is continuing to train himself daily to ensure that he will one day help eradicate the strongest demon. That had turned into a slight argument on how you seriously doubted an eighteen-year-old possessed the power to murder a thousand-year-old demon who has yet to be killed despite the numbers who have tried.

But Sanemi, for all that was worth speaking of, was strangely enticing. Whenever your family or friends peeked their nosy heads in to try and hear your conversations with the psychotic looking stranger, his rather brash and abrasive tone of talking melded away into one of perfect formality and intelligence you quickly forgot he had. It was almost devious of him to have charmed your mother as soon as he did despite his rather inappropriate getup — he refused to cover up.

Faster than you would have liked, the setting sun began to turn scarlet red and royal purple against the sky, and you watched one of the nine apparent Hashira walking away, his body disappearing in the crowds of people that were moving about in the town. But, he was taller than most of them, and with that head of white hair, you watched him leave until you could no longer. 

“Come back again, please, Shinazugawa-san?” you had asked right before he left, your heart hammering in your chest.

He looked at you, unsure, a million emotions flashing through his clouded eyes. Ignoring the way your family and friends were watching you through the obvious crack in the door, you looked at Sanemi, who rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll see.”

That was good enough for you.

Better yet, the asteroid shower returned that night, and as you took it in with a star dazed smile, you thanked Sanemi, wherever he was.

It seemed to become some sort of ritual for both of you.

Sanemi showing up, both of you talking in the courtyard of your home for a few minutes. Some days he showed up with enough time to eat dinner with your family, who were intrigued to know who he was. Some days your friends refused to leave your side, so Sanemi would as calmly as he could interact with them. Turns out a few of them reminded him of his own friends, and a sense of kinship formed between them all.

But as the sunset and you wished him well and luck, you always asked for him to return.

Sanemi would always respond with uncertainty. But the next day, he was there.

Some days he had more bandages on his body; some days, he looked straight up sick. There were scary days where he wouldn’t appear at all, and he’d be back in two days apologizing. He had come across a few Lower Moons and was hospitalized then had a meeting, he would explain. There were some days he’d let you grab his hand as he explained that he wouldn’t be back for a few days; there was a meeting in Headquarters, and it took a day to get to and a day to return from. Three days have gone from his usual postings, so he would have to spend an additional four days heavily working to make up for his disappearance. 

“Fuckers aren’t as strong as they should be anymore,” Sanemi gruffed as you rested your head against his shoulder, his softly resting against yours. “Idiot trainers letting them take the test without their breathing techniques being strong.”

You laughed your finger, raising and pressing against his proud scar on his chest. It had been a year since you had first met him at that point, and now at seventeen, you knew he was proud of his scars, showing them off like the farmers showed off their prized crops, how senseis and masters showed off their awards. 

“They can’t even fucking use the Water Breathing techniques correctly,” he spoke angrily, almost bitterly. “That’s the easiest breathing to learn! They had no fucking skill; they don’t use the breathes they should be using!”

“Mm,” you agreed, not really invested in their strengths or if the trainers were blind fucking bats, and your hand rested on his chest. His heartbeat under your fingertips, and you looked at his dark purple eyes. Despite the weird angle, his eyes were beating with the slightest bit of anger. “They sound like the worst.”

You had never known Sanemi to freeze up or startle, but you saw the way his eyes dropped to your lips, the way they drank them in, but he pulled away. His heartbeat suddenly frantic as he stood. 

“It’s getting late; I gotta go if I’m going to make the town thirteen kilometers from here,” he grumbled, strapping his katana to his waist and standing up. You quietly followed after Sanemi, listening to him talk about how there was a case this morning but that the supposed demon was an actual cannibal.

As the two of you passed to the front gate, the warm smell of cracked dirt and sweet weeds filled the air. The sun was still high in the sky, just enough for your practically superpowered friend, not a friend, to make it to his suspected town just as the sunset.

He turned to you, falling quiet, obviously waiting for your typical farewell. But, you were trying something new tonight, and maybe from here on out. Sanemi watched with wide eyes as you stepped before him, your lips pressing sweetly against his battle-hardened skin, just kissing the corner of his mouth.

“Stay safe,” you grinned, pulling away, finding the pink in his cheeks and ears as a sign of victory. And as you made your way back into the doors of your home, Sanemi’s hands grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you near once again.

“I didn’t know you were a fucking Water User,” he snaps, and before you could smoothly input, you were not a Breathe user on account of your very serious childhood asthma, his lips pressed against yours, and it suddenly made sense.

The sky during the day was, for the most part, repetitive and boring. But when Sanemi pulled away from you, your lips humming with electricity and pumping blood from your excitement, the backdrop of the sky on the man who held your heart could outmatch even the asteroid shower you had seen. 

“Come back again, please, Sanemi?” you slowly spoke, the smile on your face ear-splitting and pure.

“Fuck off!” Sanemi flushed bright red, and he turned on his heel and stormed away.

He listened to your bell-like laughter as he rounded the corner. Well, until he seemingly reappeared before you again, his hands pressing to your cheeks and kissing the laughter from your throat before he pulled away. His voice was gruff, and his body language screamed he was doing everything not to look away from you right now, “I’ll see.”

And it was good, so very, very good.

By the time you were eighteen, you had moved in with Sanemi.

Despite the lack of a formal proposal, how both of you agreed not to marry yet, your parents allowed you to move in with Sanemi. They knew the reason why both of you had decided not to wed and accepted it as long as Sanemi took all responsibility for what would happen to him should anything happen to you. 

You still remember Sanemi showing up in the only kimono he owned. It was a bit — okay, try way — too tight against his arms and chest. His katana or usual uniform nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t that you hadn’t been expecting this to happen; the two of you had discussed this future together plentifully. But seeing him on his knees, a bow that was so low, respectful, and formal, had sent your skin simmering with blazing heat as Sanemi asked to officially court you and if he could also bring you home with him.

Tears welled in your eyes at his beautifully spoken request, and your parents, who may or may not have interrupted a handful of too many gentle, sweet, full kisses between you and Sanemi in the gardens of your home, had expected it. 

That sunset, you had watched Sanemi pull his katana and uniform from underneath a tatami mat in your room, and you screeched about how he had hidden it there. He didn’t bother responding as he changed into his needed uniform, and you had politely looked away while he changed. You may or may not have caught sight of his muscled, toned, and scarred legs, though, and you may or may not have thought about it for every second after he had left.

He kissed you wholly before he left that night, his thumb rubbing your cheekbone just softly enough to make you putty in his hands.

“I’ll be back in the morning to help you move in,” he promised, and you nodded your head impatiently, your lips seeking his again. 

As promised, Sanemi showed up the following morning, and with the help of the wagon your parents owned, all of your items were carefully exported to Sanemi’s home. A home that was way more than you had imagined. Your fiancé, not quite a fiancé, was always clean, he never showed up covered in dirt or blood, so while you weren’t necessarily expecting him to live in a crate at the side of the road, you were also expecting that from him.

It was a large home with a large courtyard, garden, and training spaces. Sanemi had easily carried your trunks into your (Sanemi and your’s) room, and you had hugged your parents tightly before they left. Their smiles drowned out into the bright sunlight as they went.

The adjustment to living with Sanemi wasn’t as hard as you thought it was going to be. For sure, the most challenging thing was getting your body accustomed to being awake during the night so that you could sleep with him and then spend his waking hours with him. It was perfect, blissful, and wonderful. You’d spend sundown to sunrise doing chores and doing drills with a wooden sword and dummy — Sanemi was teaching you how to handle a katana in case he wasn’t around. You’d write down lists of what you would need when he came home. Thirty minutes after sunrise, nearly without fail, Sanemi would stumble into the house, calling out his greeting.

You helped him bathe the night's blood and grime away, and with gentle hands and coaxing words, dragged him to sleep. At three in the afternoon, both of you would wake, and the day would begin with a sweet kiss good morning. Both of you would go and finish the day's errands, the vendors soon becoming familiar with your face and person. It was a great community, and everyone seemed to hold Sanemi in high regard.

But your relationship changed yet again when Sanemi slammed through the doors one day after sunrise. His eyes were wide, faint pink, already healed over scars risen on his skin as you came to the front door to see your husband, not a husband, discarding his shoes on the floor. 

“What’s going on?!” you asked, partially because you were scared and partly because you were slightly exhausted and ready to drag him into bed with you. But it seemed that Sanemi had that same exact mindset, but with a whole other meaning.

The kiss he pressed on your lips was blistering hot; you arched against the intensity of his kiss, your fingers touching the dirt of his face and feeling the heat of his skin.

“I need you,” he simply stated, over and over, his words coiling and festering under your skin until you could do nothing but let out a shaking moan. Exhaustion had burned out of your bloodstream, and a gentle, building warmth sank through your loins as slowly you agreed.

I need you,” you repeat as the sliding doors close behind your shifting bodies, the both of you losing yourselves to the heat and the passions of the early morning lust.

.

..

.

It had been approximately a year since you and Sanemi began to indulge in your shared sexual desires. Your relationship was deep, it was full, and as everything human, had its flaws. There were mornings where he would come home and needed to sleep in a separate room, evenings when he would leave, and his words would be cold and haunting. His life up until now had been a hard one, and you were no fool to believe that your presence would make him forget that. 

But in spite of it all, you were always happy when Sanemi would pull off of you, the streams of golden morning light whisping into the room, your body aching with the intensive pleasurable waves as the both of you would ease into sleep. It was perfect, you thought so, at least.

Sanemi, however, always claimed that you were a sight to be seen when he was bottomed out in you. His words were sweet in your ears as his lips brushed your skin, his praises were endless, but even when the drunken hue of the passions of the early morning faded, he swore you were a sight to be taken in at its full glory. Through every praise, every small moment where he would kiss you afterward as the smell of sex and dewy grass wafted into the room, Sanemi wanted you to see how beautiful you were when he fucked you.

You had no idea how that was to work; there was nothing that gave off a good enough reflection. But one late spring day, your eyes at the table you were using, carefully shuffling the funds Sanemi had acquired and placed them out accordingly, the front door was thrown open. 

“I’m home,” Sanemi grunted from the first room in the home, and you strained your ears, not hearing the door shut behind him.

“Welcome home!” eventually came your response, your body pressing up from the floor, fingers smoothing down your purple kimono before walking to where Sanemi stood. 

By the time you entered the room, Sanemi had already closed the door. But you were less focused on the time interval it took him to enter the home and more interested in the large, covered, and almost ominous rectangular object resting on the wall. 

“Whatcha got there?” you asked, head tilting in your curiosity, eyes focused on the large rectangle.

“The obaa-san gave me free smoked salmon because she heard that apparently, we’re trying for a kid. She said eating salmon before having sex will guarantee a strong male heir. So I figured we could make some nigiri,” Sanemi stated, purposefully ignoring your question if the way his lips pulled into a sardonic smile had anything to say about it.

“You’re an asshole,” you laugh, your hand smacking his shoulder only for him to thread his fingers in yours and pull you in for a sweet kiss. You hummed against his soft lips, your fingers running through his hair until the entire sentence he just told you sparked back into your memory. You tugged the ends of his hair just sharp enough for him to grunt in the back of his throat. “Idiot, don’t let them think we’re trying for a kid just yet.”

Sanemi snorts, pulling away from the kiss, “Maybe you should stop talking about your cravings in public — especially with that gossiping vendor.”

“Period cravings are a thing!”

“Yah yah,” Sanemi grunted, his hand waving you off as he gathered his rectangle thing and started making his way off with it. It was enormous though, you noticed as he carried it. It was longer than both of your heights, and if you were to stand at his shoulder, it seemed like it could still be wider than the both of you. “Stop breathing down my neck, weirdo.”

“You’re the one not telling me what that is!” you complain, following Sanemi with enough distance that you weren’t stepping on his heels. “Come on, ‘nemi, tell me what it is?”

“What do you think it is?”

“I hope it isn’t Mitsuri-chan’s present from Iguro-san,” you grumbled, knowing that last Christmas, you had to keep Mitsuri’s present hidden from the lovely Love Breathe wielder. “I can’t handle him showing up in the middle of the day, demanding to see it again. Why didn’t his own home work?”

“Kanroji shows up occasionally, and he only brings her into the best rooms depending on the day,” Sanemi grunted, resting the rectangle onto the wall by your tatami mats. “He won’t confess; she’s dumber than a rock, it’s all annoying. But he’s still… a friend.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re finally admitting to being friends with your fellow Hashira!” you chirped, your arms circling his neck, your grin complete and authentic as Sanemi looked at you unimpressed, his lips in a pout, not a pout, but a pout. You had the privilege of meeting all the Hashira Christmas morning, and they were all lovely people you got along with quite well. “Now, are you and Tomi—”

“That water bastard can choke on my foot and die!” Sanemi snapped, his face fuming, eyebrows narrowing, but his warm arms remaining relaxed and warm around your waist. “I’ll kill him and his stupid ‘I’m-better-than-you’ personality.”

“And you don’t get along with someone like that?” you feign surprise, utterly delighted with the way his eyes sparkled dangerously at you. And well, you didn’t ever hesitate to take a bite out of Sanemi. “Guess there’s only enough room for an ‘I’m-better-than-you’ personality even in the Hashira, and if it isn’t you… oops.”

Sanemi choked, and you laughed loudly, face nuzzling into his stiff neck as he attempted to escape from your stubborn hold. 

“You’re a real jerk,” Sanemi said as monotonously, allowing his much stronger body to be bent down as your lips peppered against his skin and eventually on his relaxed lips that didn’t bother returning your kisses.

“Kiss me back,” you whined, your lips pressing with a more significant, more profound fervor against his mouth.

“No.”

“I’m sorry!” you giggled with no actual apologies in your tone, enjoying the way that Sanemi’s lips slowly began to press back against yours. “Tomioka-san is obviously not the holder of the ‘I’m-better-than-you’ personality title!”

“You damn brat,” Sanemi growled, his fingers pinching and pulling at your cheeks, paying no mind to your cries of mercy. “To think that I bought this for you too!”

“You haven’t even shown it to me yet!” you complain, unable to pout on account to his fingers, still pulling your cheeks apart. “You left me in the dark!”

Sanemi grunted, letting go of your cheeks, his purple eyes darkening and narrowing as he slammed a hand over your eyes and twisted you around in a swift movement. You resisted the small gasp hanging at the tip of your tongue when you felt his broad chest pressing into your back, and he moved forward, commanding you to move without a word. 

“Is this when you confess you’ve been a demon this entire time and trap my soul into Hell with all your other sexy wives?”

“Would you shut up?!”

Sanemi’s hand tore away from your eyes, and even though you were ready to argue with him just to hear the flaring annoyance on his tongue, you stilled when you saw your reflection perfectly. This had to be a mirror, an invention made in the west a few years ago, and finally, it was here. You weren’t oblivious to the fact that you were smaller than Sanemi, but the mirror made that difference alarmingly apparent. 

“I told you I wanted you to be able to look at yourself as I fucked you,” Sanemi whispered against your neck, breaking your attention away from its transfixion on the precise observation you finally had on yourself. “Turns out Tokyo got some imported, and I had to go get one myself.”

“Sanemi,” you whimpered, the canines of his teeth dragging against the tender flesh of your neck that was exposed from your kimono. Your eyes took in the sight of how his eyes stared at your face through the mirror's reflection, they were dark, murkier like this, and when his teeth slowly sank into your flesh, a ripple of pleasure and pain bubbling against your skin, you moaned. 

“Look at yourself,” Sanemi purred, his arms circling around your waist, and you felt him slowly beginning to undo the fastenings and fabrics of your kimono. “I need you to understand just how crazy you make me feel when I touch you, when I fuck you.”

The words were hot cinders in your lower stomach, festering and twisting in its warmth as his words buzzed in your ears. Your eyes dragged over to your reflection, and you could feel the beginning steam come out of your ears at the sight of yourself. Your eyes were lidded, perfectly hooded to give off the obvious desire that was growing in your body, your lips swelling with how your teeth tore into them, stopping the small moans that went unheard, and the flush that radiated off your features and glowed in your eyes.

It was a sight that you had never expected to see, and the pure unadulterated lust radiating off your features embarrassed you. The embarrassment only seemed to grow more as the kimono slipped from your shoulder, exposing more of your tender flesh for Sanemi’s mouth and teeth to mark, and your head dipped backward at the lewd scene.

“Look at you, angel,” Sanemi smirked against your skin, his eyes glinting dangerously even though the reflection as you weakly, just barely managed to return your gaze onto your review. You looked even more wrecked as the kimono dropped to the floor, the white undergarments you wore making you look saintly in the reflection and warm light of the streaming sun. “So beautiful, so perfect, and all mine.”

Your fingers fisted into the pants of his uniform. Your knees feeling weak with the possessiveness that came with his words. Unsure as to what to do, all the embarrassment and shamelessness in the world dancing like falling leaves as you pondered what you could do. Usually, you would move with him against him. You didn’t exactly fall into a pillow princess category, but feeling the intensity of his gaze through a mirror, and the way that your body behaved exactly as he had always claimed it had, made your head spin.

You gasped loudly when his hips rutted slowly against your ass, his scarred hands continuing to undress you more, each fabric of clothing that separated your naked body from the mirror disappearing until you were completely nude. And you mewled.

“Look at yourself, angel,” Sanemi laughed against the shell of your ear, his head now against yours, keeping you from even attempting to look away. His large, rough hands glided across your much softer skinned body, watching as his fingers rolled your nipples between his fingers, massaging your tender flesh in his hands. 

You saw the way your head dipped backward as you moaned, your eyes fluttering as you did so. Undoubtedly, both of you painted an erotic scene, but it was something you hadn’t ever expected to be confirmed. “You look so beautiful moaning against my touch; I wonder if you’ll like the way your face scrunches up when I fuck your pretty little pussy, or even when I touch it.”

Slight fear shot through your nerves as suddenly, Sanemi dropped to the floor, taking you with him. No pain went through your body as he made impact with the floor. You figured out why immediately, your ass was against his hard crotch, his clothed outer thighs pressing against your naked inner thighs, and you made sight with the mirror and keened at the picture of your spread slick pussy. 

Sanemi shifted behind you, and although you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away from how your cunt glistened in the light, you shook when you saw his bare arms, felt his bare chest against your back. 

“You drive me utterly fucking insane,” Sanemi growled hotly against your ear, crotch grinding up into your ass, and you pathetically looked at your flushed face as you ground back downwards onto him in return. A slow groaned out moan resonated from his mouth, and you shivered and gasped at the noise, your cunt clenching at nothing as Sanemi positioned your arms as he wanted them to be. Clutched into his hair, absolutely revealing your naked body to the mirror, denying you no salacious angle of your body. “I want you to watch me make you feel good, angel. Don’t look away, promise?”

“I p-promise,” you stammer, the slight glint of his eye that you can still see, making your toes curl.

And he began.

Sanemi’s finger slowly traced down your knees, the heat from his flesh nearly burning as you tremble in his hold. Your instincts fight whether to look at him from the mirror or normally. 

You keep your eyes onto the mirror. “Good job, you’re doing such a good job,” Sanemi voices, his fingers becoming feather-soft strokes against the inside of your legs that make you arch against his chest. a sharp inhale was what he was rewarded with as his fingers make small circles centimeters from where you crave him most. “I haven’t seen you react this intensely in so long. Is it because you’re watching your pretty face enjoy the praise?”

Unsure what to say, your head nods rapidly, your tongue falling dead in your mouth when his left-hand drags up your abdomen, scratching the underneath of your breasts until you can shake no more. “SANEMI!” you shriek, unable to take the teasing touches and watching your embarrassingly turned on face anymore. “SOMETHING! DO SOMETHING! ANYTHING, PLEASE!”

“Aw, you cracked so fast,” he chuckles against your ear, and you melt into a euphoric victory when his thick, rough fingers plunge into your cunt.

Immediately, your hips snap up to greet him, your body shifting in quick, fast snaps as you watch your soaked cunt fuck against his fingers, desperately, greedily taking him in more and more. The sight of his fingers disappearing into your cunt through the mirror, the way your teeth tore into your lips to keep your singing praises at a minimum, and how you could feel and swear you could see the heat pounding from your body take shape through the mirror.

You had never felt this tight yet undone. Your lust hazed eyes shifting from your almost too lewd facial expressions to the way Sanemi jaw flexed with his growled endless praises, to how your cunt greedily sucked him in, further and further until the pounding of your heart couldn’t even drown out the wet, squelching of your cunt.

“Fuck!” Sanemi cursed, his hips grinding further, harder into your ass, and you keened at the massive hard length that poked into your back. “Look at you, you’re so fucking hot, angel. So needy, so fucking greedy for everything that I’m giving you.”

“I want m-more!” you sob, your body hyper-aware of how fast his curled fingers were pounding into you. You craved the way his battle-scarred fingers dragged against your puffy inner walls, hips bucking so his fingers would drag against the spongy divots, sending your mind spiraling and your jaw falling in your wordless beg for more. You understood why Sanemi craved you like this, why he insisted you needed to see the way you looked when he fucked you because as the hand that was kneading and pulling on your breasts and nipples shot down to make sure your trembling thighs didn’t smash together in your building climax. How he continued to press sloppy, wet, hot, and bitten kisses against your neck, you were a perverts fantasy. “M-More ‘nemi, please give me more!” you practically wailed.

“You gonna cum around my fingers, angel?”

“I needa cum, I wanna cum!”

“I want you to cum around my fingers, look at yourself for me when you do,” Sanemi commanded, and you, in your lust-driven mindset, agreed. Your eyes were looking on your lewd face, and everything crumbled when the growing clenches of your cunt became a tight vice grip.

But the heated pressure between your legs had been festering for too long, the included visuals that sent your brain into putty had you cumming around his fingers, your hips bucking wildly, barbarically against his still conquesting fingers. “Yes, yes yesyesyeysyes, that was so good… your fingers are so good,” you babbled, your eyes crossing, unable to look at yourself anymore. The elation of the orgasm flooding your mind and muscles. But you hadn’t been fucking the man who could pound you for multiple rounds without tiring without picking up a thing or two. 

Twisting around your lips that were swollen from your biting and smooth with your saliva crashed against his. Sanemi didn’t resist your kiss, his lips crashing and moving without any hesitation against yours. You moaned when his fingers left your heat, and you slipped your tongue into his mouth as you ground your ass against his still throbbing hard-on. “I want your cock still, ‘nemi. I want you to fuck me with your cock, please fuck me.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, okay!” Sanemi snarled, and his thighs slammed shut. 

You crawled off his lap, watching as the slick stained spot on his uniform glistened in the light. Frowning, not wanting to disturb him, you couldn't help but lick against the wet area, voice moaning deeply at the musky, sweet scent of your slick against the fabric.

“Y/n!” Sanemi weakly got out, his hips instinctively bucking towards your lapping tongue. 

You worked with him to get his uniform off his hips, your body not waiting for him to undress entirely before your mouth enveloped his thick veiny cock. The salty pre-cum invaded your senses, your tongue lapping up the underside of his cock before your mouth took in his swollen red head. You hollowed out your cheeks as you sucked his cockhead, your tongue swiping and moving at his leaking slit as Sanemi cursed the heavens for you, his hands grabbing onto your head and pulling you off him right when that shivering twitch of his cock pressed to your tongue.

Gasping, you looked at Sanemi’s nearly black eyes, disappointment heavy on your features.

“‘Nemi—” you pout, but Sanemi doesn’t let you finish.

You’re back almost straddling his waist, your back flush against his chest. He holds a strong, sturdy hand against your waist, keeping your waiting, wet cunt from lowering onto his hard cock. Your feet on the mats feel weak as you try to hold your weight above him, but when his teeth sink into the back of your neck, a spot that makes your body collapse without reason, you garble a scream when his cock sheathes completely within you.

Heavy, hot pants escape both of your mouths as you’re completely seated on his cock, the nearly inhumane girth of his cock making you dizzy at the surprise entrance. But you were much, much more fascinated with the way your pretty little pussy was stretched out so wide for his cock. He was buried in you, and even though it didn’t hurt to have him in you. The reflection showed how your lips pulled and stretched to fit him in, the small bulge of his cock in you was seen, and you cried in ecstasy.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” you begged, hips long gone from obeying any command Sanemi could try to give you as you fucked yourself against his length. “God, your cock is so good, ‘nemi! You look so good filling out my pretty fucking pussy!”

That is what makes Sanemi lose it, his hands that rest on your hips tightening with a bruising grip as he begins slamming into you. The wet noises of his cock entering and exiting of your sloppy, wet cunt at an even faster speed in which you were fucking him make your nails dig into his thighs, your eyes crossing, breathes hot and heavy. 

Twisting, curling pleasure thrums deep within your womb, tightening and warming with each successive thrust that sends Sanemi’s cock rubbing against your inner velvet walls. You cry his name, eyes dazed and dripping with want and need as you watch the slicked shine of his cock pounding into your without mercy. 

“You’re so fucking tight like this, angel, so fucking hot. You like the way you look like when I fuck you, huh, look at how godly you appear,” he snaps, his arms hugging your hips, his thrusting becoming short, deep, fierce snaps. 

You can’t look at yourself anymore, the heat of the sex and the electric pleasure that rides with every lick of his cock against your cervix, sending your hot, wet lips in search of his. Sanemi meets you halfway, open mouth moans and groans being exchanged between your open mouths as your tongues intermixed and pressed sinfully against each other. The noises that leave your wet sexes only fuel the raging fire in your cunt that has reignited to a hire flame than before.

“Cum in me,” you find yourself begging against his lips. “Please cum in me, don’t pull out, ‘nemi, please don’t pull out.”

“Fuck, fuck, you sure?” Sanemi grunted, his body heaving you both forward so that you were on your knees, and he was absolutely wrecking you from behind.

“Yes!” you affirm over and over again. your mind high off of him and how you looked in the mirror. “I want you in me, all of you in me!”

He let out a guttural whine, a sound that had you shaking beneath him and screaming when the coil in your cunt finally snapped.

Another orgasm crashed through you, and your spinning high echoed in your ears and curled your toes as you whimpered Sanemi’s name. With the sound of his hips slapping against your ass, and with his teeth burying into the nape of your neck, you felt the hot, liquid ropes burst from his cock, filling you up. The both of you remained there, panting as your sweat and slick covered bodies collapsed to the floor. 

“So…” he gasped, collapsing onto the mat beside you, pulling you into his chest so that you could rest against his scarred chest. “Did you like the mirror?”

“...I guess,” you antagonize, grinning when he frowns. “It was hot; you make me look hot.”

Sanemi snorted, his lips pressing to your sweat-covered forehead.

“I don’t do shit; that’s how you are.”

You chuckled, warm grogginess settling under your skin as you merely hum in agreement.

“The Hashira meeting is tomorrow, so I’ll be gone for two days,” Sanemi murmurs, reminding you of the dreaded two days alone. It wasn’t as if you had forgotten; you never do.

“Think anything interesting will happen?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, hopefully.”

You giggle, snuggling in closer to his chest. Yeah, hopefully.

[papa-poutine]

I have FINALLY watched all the AOS movies and I have some Thots under the cut.

The entire three movies I had a very pervasive sense of “this doesn’t feel like Star Trek” and I didn’t know why until I watched Beyond tonight. I think the issue is that in AOS (I’ve seen TOS, a few of the OG movies and some of TNG for reference) they mostly cause their own problems and subsequently have to fix them. Which I don’t think is bad writing! But it’s not Star Trek, for me. 

Maybe as someone so new to this fandom I shouldn’t be talking about what “is” and “isn’t” Star Trek, but in my experience, the characters stumble onto a problem and fix it, rather than causing the problem themselves and then cleaning up after themselves. Again, I don’t think it’s bad writing, but the message of Star Trek to me has always been something along the lines of “leave the universe a better place than you found it,” and in AOS that message seems a bit lost. 

I think the first of the AOS movies (hereafter referred to as “09″) could have benefitted from a lot more time spent on Jim’s backstory. It felt very rushed in my opinion, and if I didn’t have the background of watching TOS, I would be very unsure why I should be invested in this character. I also think (and I think I saw this on Tumblr, but I don’t remember the original poster) that the choice to make Spock’s strong emotions anger rather than caring was . . . a choice. It comes across as really toxically masculine in a way that TOS Spock never came across for me, and I know these are different characters with different upbringings, but in 09 Spock felt extremely different to me. 

In 09 I also got literally no hint that Spock and Uhura were a thing. It was very much as though the writers knew how popular K/S is, and were like “Okay, well, we can’t have gay people in this movie, so we need Spock to be with someone.” It’s a rule of writing romance that if the characters have to kiss for the audience to know they’re in love, you’re not writing effective romance, and I wouldn’t have known Spock had any feelings for Uhura beyond “coworker” had they not kissed in some of the least passionate, most sexless kiss scenes I’ve ever seen in my life. The whole thing felt very fake to me, and almost like comphet on Spock’s part, as though he’d heard dating a woman was the “right” thing to do and so he did it to appear more human - but that’s a meta for another post. 

Into Darkness actually held my attention much more than 09 and Beyond did, and I think that’s because the plot was a weird mashup of TWOK and Space Seed. I truly hated watching B*nedict C*mberbatch for two hours, and I really wished they’d talked more about the fact that Khan is a eugenicist and mass murderer. The way they chose to portray Khan in Into Darkness felt very much to me like someone watched 2012 Avengers, saw how Loki exploded into popularity, and thought “we can do that” but failed to realize that Loki is an actually likeable character because he’s not a eugenicist and mass murderer. (At least, not to the scale that Khan is.) Into Darkness also felt, to me, like Spock and Uhura’s relationship was starting to break down because he was falling for Kirk. 

I know, I know, shipping goggles are a real thing, but a lot of Spock’s actions in Into Darkness were . . . not the actions of a friend. Into Darkness was probably the most enjoyable for me of the three, both because I found the plot to be the strongest and the characters to be the most enjoyable. I thought Spock in particular had a lot of development behind the scenes between 09 and Into Darkness, because Into Darkness Spock felt a lot more like the Spock I’m used to seeing in TOS. He was bitchy, and he wasn’t afraid to make his opinion known, and he was embracing his humanity, and he was willing to be friends with people. He felt like a much more three-dimensional character as opposed to in 09. 

In Beyond, the same problem arises for me that 09 had - why did this need to be a Star Trek movie? Both films for me felt as though it could have been any other sci-fi IP and the story wouldn’t have suffered. Beyond, in particular, felt very Star Wars to me. Again, Star Wars movies aren’t bad, and I actually really like them! But I came here for Star Trek, I’d like to see Star Trek. I also found my mind wandering a lot in Beyond, which isn’t what you want in a movie. 

I will say in Beyond I could have actually believed, for the first time, that Spock had feelings for Uhura beyond coworker. Was it romance? No, but I would have bought it as pre-romance. If they’d used that dynamic in 09 I would have been much more willing to believe Spock liked Uhura even the slightest bit romantically. 

I unexpectedly really liked Jaylah and Scotty’s dynamic in Beyond. My first impression of Jaylah was definitely “hot girl who’s good at fighting” in the way that women in men’s movies are often portrayed, but she actually had some depth to her (albiet not much) and I very much appreciated how they didn’t go for a romance between her and Scotty, but rather a siblings-type or maybe mentor-mentee relationship. I’m still not pleased that they gave her high heels, though, lmao. In TOS it wasn’t so much of a problem because everyone was in high heels, but it’s very noticeable if it’s only the women! 

I think throughout the movies Karl Urban gave a delightful performance as Bones. I really enjoyed him - I love a sarcastic bitch character, and I really like Bones and Spock’s dynamic in TOS, and I appreciated seeing them banter again. AOS Bones is probably the character that I think is the most faithful to TOS Bones, although, again, I know they’re technically different people who just happen to have the same name. 

I also really liked Simon Pegg as Scotty. I really like Simon Pegg as an actor in general, and I think AOS Scotty suffers a bit from one-liner syndrome, where he has to have a cool one-liner for every situation (*coughmarvelcough*) but generally I really enjoyed his performance. And I loved his little friend! I don’t remember his name, but I’ll admit I’m a sucker for a CGI character. 

Ultimately, I don’t know if I’ll watch these movies again. They felt a little “normie” for lack of a better word, a little gimmicky especially in terms of the dialogue, and it didn’t have the charm and goofiness I’ve come to expect from Star Trek. With the exceptions of socially-acceptable one-liners and quips, there was very little humour outside of Bones and Spock’s interactions, and I think the fact that these movies took themselves too seriously didn’t do them any favours. I also think Beyond could have had about half an hour or twenty minutes shaved off its runtime and no one would have missed it. But I’m glad I watched them, if only so now I can participate in discussions with other fans of the universe. 

[dontcallmecarrie]

Hey, I vicariously live in my imagination to escape from the reality.

So, I have been wondering about the Rogues reaction to Tony defeating thanos, the IronSmaug, taking over the world etc...

Have a go at it, if you are interested.

It's also fine if you dont.

thanks, I really, really needed the distraction. it's been. an interesting week. not in a good way.

.

tbh, the whole 'what does Team Cap think about this mess?' thing in TWiFFON is...something I had originally been torn about, and everything that's been happening ever since means I keep finding myself going "do I have the energy to tackle this? lol no".

For some context, because you probably know my stance on this sort of thing but I prefer redundancy just to make sure we're on the same page: once upon a time, I honestly, genuinely did like the Avengers. All of them, and yes, that included Wanda [...for less than an hour, but still].

Back when I still had faith in the writers, I was constantly going "...okay, so when are these guys going to stop acting so OOC? Where tf are they planning on taking these character arcs?" and just being disappointed at each turn— but I stuck around because I liked the potential. Steve "what do you mean punching fascists isn't cool anymore?" Rogers, Natasha "my past is a tire fire and I'll just leave it at that" Romanov, Clint "where's Loki? Let me at him!" Barton and the rest of the group had their good points, and I gave myself a headache trying to figure out wtf was their thought process when the time came for them to do their thing in TWiFFON.

It wasn't fun, I only did it because it was absolutely necessary... and I still ended up receiving complaints.

Look: for me, character bashing is exhausting. I have enough going down in my life that I don't have any interest in writing it, and over the past few years I've seen more than one of the fandoms I follow/lurk in become salt mines that have me going "...okay, if you hate it so much, why are you even here?"

When I write, I try my best to emphasize the 'actions have consequences' thing I learned long before I hit puberty; but that doesn't mean I'm up for anything beyond that. Again, I used to like these characters, so seeing the levels of suffering canon— and some writers— put them through just has me stepping back for a moment.

But TWiFFON attracted a lot of people who were pretty far out there in terms of what they wanted, some of whom got very very pissy when it wasn't the story I wanted to write, which is...probably like 99% of the reason I'm still burned out on that AU. Apart from the recent personal life bs that means I am Not Up To Dealing With any hypothetical rando that shows up in my inbox, because normally I could not care less about what people think but my energy levels are. Um. Not great atm. Not sure I wouldn't bite anyone's head off if they wanted to start something right now, tbh, or just ragequit writing for a while because I have way better things to do with my time than deal with random internet assholes.

...apologies for the tangent, but now you know why that situation is one I'm normally kinda reluctant on tackling.

As for what I'd originally headcanoned:

Back before things hit the fan, I'd originally planned to have some little interlude snippets of what Team Cap's been dealing with. Mostly, it would've forced them to acknowledge that for all none of them liked or trusted Tony, he was basically just the personification of what the rest of the world thought of them.

Nobody respects them, anymore, or trusts them; Clint'd be in very hot water and sleeping on the couch for a while, and Hank Pym would never let Scott hear the end of his involvement in this whole thing because Hank hates the Stark name and the English language cannot concisely articulate just how pissed off he was that he had to publicly thank Tony.

Team Cap overall would also start to fall apart at the seams as more and more stuff came out and ey, turns out the leader they'd trusted and broken international laws for had lied to them.

By omission, sure, but honestly— do you think that'd go down well? The "oh yeah, I've known my brainwashed friend killed his parents since DC but I am not going to tell him unless I'm forced to" thing?

I don't know about you, but I for one highly doubt Sam Wilson would be okay with that. Or Clint, for that matter, and the list goes on because the more time passes, the more stuff keeps coming out of the woodwork and for the first time in years, they're forced to deal with it.

One of the things I planned to include in the sidefic can basically be summed up as "the curious case of Bucky Barnes": that is to say, what'd happen after he's taken into custody, and poke lightly at the clusterfuck we're unpacking here. Tony, feeling bad for losing control in the bunker, would basically go "shit I fucked up but I also never want to see him again but he's an even bigger mess than I am, that's a whole lot to unpack so you know what? I'm just throwing out the suitcase entirely here, have all the resources for support and help and if I ever see you again, it'll be too soon".

...to sum up, it's messy af. SI Legal would feature heavily because his particular case means he needs a team of lawyers, what with the 'former POW who's trying to recover from All The Trauma' thing, and the 'so I literally was just trying to buy some damn groceries when you guys dragged me into this', and Tony basically went "hey, so if anyone wants to help him, uh, I kinda have some interest in this one. Fair warning, dude probably killed Kennedy while mind-controlled, with our luck".

And along the way, there'd also be some of that one subplot I'd cut due to pacing issues: specifically, the one dealing with prosthetics.

Remember how Miriam Sharpe said her son would never walk again? Yeah, we'd be revisiting that: her family'd get a letter or something inviting them for clinical trials, and meet Rhodey in passing as he's using his own leg braces to get around because he's still healing. Bucky would get a few design offers for a free replacement for his arm, and it'd probably end up being a collab with Wakanda because T'Challa feels bad for his role in that mess as well.

So Team Cap would be seeing this, seeing how everyone's acting and reacting, and the way one of their own is getting all the help and support Stark Industries has to offer and realizing that yeah, they messed up. Big time.

...depending on my salt levels and how close we're sticking to canon, I was thinking this'd go one of two ways.

Either they'd double down and just go "ugh, Tony is a supervillain and we can't do anything about it!" while TWiFFON marches on and then later go "...you mean he did it by accident?!", or...

Well, canon's proven character development and continuity isn't really in their writers' vocabulary. So my original idea of 'they're forced to deal with the reality of the situation, acknowledge they messed up and slowly move on with their lives' would've been very unrealistic.

Again, most of this is intentionally vague, I had not been keen to tackle that mess in TWiFFON in the first place and the way things exploded on me means I really, really don't have the energy to do so now. Not when there's far better things I could do with my time, like mess around with AUs where people actually get along, or knit, or— well, the list goes on.

[krreader]

BTS scenario → you being upset about them not spending time with you on your days off due to a comeback.

pairing: bts x reader fandom: bts warnings: language  genre: angst ; hints of fluff word count: 1.6k+

a/n: hmmmm this one was kinda tricky for me to be honest. not sure if one can be angry at them for having to work when they do, but at the same time, being in a relationship, I know that sometimes these arguments just happen out of frustration, so I guess it’s fine lol. hope you lke it though ♥

kim seokjin

Jin knew that you only had a limited amount of days off during the year and so these days were extremely precious to you. He wanted to spend them with you, so that you two could make the most out of the time that you had to yourselves, he had told you so himself.

But when it was time for it, he was nowhere to be seen. Why? Because they had a comeback in a week.

And so here you were, waking up in the middle of the night when your boyfriend finally came home from.. whatever he was doing to prepare for this comeback.

“Sorry I'm so late,” he whispered when he realized you were awake. But when he wanted to kiss your cheek, you pulled the blanket over your head. Jin let out a heavy sigh, “Okay.. you're upset. I understand that and I respect that,” he laid down behind you, leaving only little space between you, but not enough so that he'd touch you.

He didn't say anything else after that, waited if you would eventually.

You didn't.

And so he accepted that and gave you the space that you needed, with hopes of you understanding him in this situation eventually.

min yoongi

“It's... it's just dinner, Yoongi,” you tried to argue, already holding the bag of takeaway in your hand.

Since he hadn't come home at all today and you wanted to at least see him on your day off, you had decided to come to him instead.

But the first thing he does when you walk in, is ask you to leave again.

“I don't have time right now,” he was obviously stressed. And in the way that he was already beginning to get angry with you.

Yet, it wasn't him that should be angry here. Because being stressed was one thing, but letting that out on the woman that came all the way here to see her boyfriend and spend a little time with him, that wasn’t okay.

“Forget it then,” you dropped the bag on his desk, “I'll sleep at my friend's house tonight. Just in case you were thinking of ever showing up at home.”

He didn't realize this at first, only when he indeed showed up at the apartment at some point in the middle of the night, only to find the bed completely empty.

He had a lot of making up to do once this comeback was over.

jung hoseok

If Hoseok hated one thing the most, it was to see you sad. And to see you this sad, with tears shining in your eyes.. that truly broke his heart. 

He simply had no time that he could spend with you right now, not even when it was your week off. He wished it was different, but there was nothing he could do.

“Hey,” he wanted to touch your cheek, but you shoved it away before he could.

“Why is it always the band? Why is it never me, Hoseok?”

“What.. what do you mean?”

“It doesn't matter when or where, the band is always what comes first. Never me,” you sobbed, “Is that going to be our future? Is it always going to be me being second?”

Hoseok didn't know what would happen to BTS in the future. He didn't know whether the band would exist for another two, three or ten years. So he couldn't give you an answer to this question... or at least, not one that you'd want to hear.

But not giving you an answer was the same as giving you an answer that would hurt you.

“I see,” you said in a broken voice as you turned around to leave.

Hoseok couldn’t even follow.. because if he did and said something, he’d have to lie to you and he didn’t want that either.

kim namjoon

With your job, you had designated days off. Namjoon knew about these beforehand. Months. You didn't expect him to switch his entire schedule around for you, but you at least expected him to squeeze you in for a few hours, since you didn't have a lot of time in the first place.

“I thought we had the day off, babe, I really did,” he tried to explain himself over the phone, “I'll try to make it in time for a late dinner, okay?”

At this point, it felt like you just wanted another reason to be mad at him and he served it to you on a silver plate.

“Forget it, I'll just eat on my own.”

“Hey, stop being like that..”

“Like what, Namjoon? Pissed that I, yet again, will be spending the entire time that I have off from work on my own because your comeback was scheduled at the same time? You want me to remind you that this is the second time it happened this year?” he was quiet for a moment, so you added: “Don't tell me what I can and can't be upset about.”

But you were an independent woman and didn't need him to enjoy yourself.

So instead of being with you, Namjoon had to watch you have fun on your own through your Instagram story. Genuine fun, not the one that you pretended to have just to make him mad. He could tell when your smile was fake after three years of dating.

park jimin

“Where are you going?” you sat up in bed, pulling the blanket higher to cover your exposed chest as you watched Jimin put his clothes back on.

“I told you.. we have a meeting today and then after that I want to practice the choreography some more.”

Yes, he did tell you that. But you trusted that he would simply skip that for one freaking day. He had already cancelled all your other plans for this date day and when was the moment he decided to show up? When he knew you were down for some sex. Sex, that you haven't had in weeks because of him always being so busy.

“God, I'm such a fucking idiot,” you let out a snort and shook your head, “You know what, Jimin? Don't bother coming back anytime soon. Just.. be with your precious band.”

“Hey, woha.. calm down,” he turned around, his expression both confused and angry, “You know what kind of job I have, why are you angry at me for that now?”

“Because you knew that the only three days I got off in ages were today and the two days after. You only stopped by to fuck me today and the next two days you already cancelled all of our plans because of interviews and what not. Sex was important enough apparently, but I’m not.”

“(Y/N), that's not..-”

“Again, don't bother,” you got out of bed and walked into the bathroom, “Just leave, Jimin.”

Not like he had any other choice. After all, he had that stupid meeting that he now wished he had cancelled.

kim taehyung

You hated having this argument in front of his band members, but once it started, you couldn't stop it anymore.

You had gone to BigHit to go and pick him up for dinner, but then he gave you the same excuse as the last three days in a row.

“I'm sorry, but we're not done practicing yet. I'll just see you later, okay?”

You had taken this week off months before, and obviously hadn't known that he was having his comeback in a few weeks time. So now, you were finally off work and he was loaded with it.

It was probably really unfair of you to hold that against him, but after the third time of him canceling your plans on you, you just exploded.

“You always do this, put everything else before me,” you said, crossing your arms in front of your chest. The two of you had left the practice room and were now standing outside of it, arguing in the hallway, “Why am I never your priority, Taehyung?”

“You are my priority, just not when there's a comeback.”

It was the truth, as much as it hurt your feelings. Didn't mean that you appreciated hearing it in that moment. He could have said something else than the truth, but he opted to hurt your feelings ten times more than he already had.

And so you left without another word and Taehyung had no other choice but to go back inside, knowing that all of them were waiting on him.

He sat down next to Hoseok, who asked: “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” he said in a quiet voice, but the tears glistening in his eyes told a different story.

jeon jeongguk

You had been so excited for this, had spent all year planning all the cool things that you two could do once you were finally on your trip.

You had taken two weeks off, months before the trip and it was only two days before you thought you were to take the flight, that Jeongguk dropped the bomb.

“I tried, believe me, I really did. But there is just no way that I can squeeze this trip into my schedule right now.”

“What?” you asked, more sad than angry at first. That only made it ten times worse, though.

“To take so much time off before a comeback... they just won't allow it. I'm really sorry, (Y/N).”

But sadness quickly turned into anger. Because if he had known about this beforehand, why did he only tell you now? Now, when you had actually already started packing which only got you more excited. When you made all those lists of places and restaurants to visit? Why was this apparently only important to you?

“Alright.. fine.. I’ll go on my own, then.”

“What?” he furrowed his eyebrows, “No, you.. you can't!”

“Watch me. Seriously.”

And you did exactly that. You went on that trip on your own because fuck him for that move.

[angrylizardjacket]

fit by my side {Machine Gun Kelly}

@bitchylittleredhead said: Okay I hear your MGK x pastel!reader and I raise you MGK x Mother Nature!reader. Hella plants, strong love for animals, heckin soft, v kind, mom friend, sunshine child. (I just really really love soft paired with him, it’s so damn cute) also I love you I hope you are well 🧡 

Also This Concept

A/N: 3177 words. Gender Neutral Reader (they/them) ! im worried kells is OOC. also there’s no smut but it does get M rated, but there’s no genitals specified. gets quite sappy at times. also @url-under-construction i hope u like it and i hope its good.

----

When you meet Colson, he’s famous, but he’s not, you know, famous famous. You meet on the set of The Dirt; he’s one of the stars, you’re a production assistant and stand-in when they need it, and you don’t think for a second that he’ll even remember your name when this is all over. 

But he does; in rehearsals, you’re the one reading the lines for the characters they haven’t cast yet, and the first time the four main cast members see you, in your floaty, floral top, and your gentle aura, and then to hear you say, with absolute sincerity, ‘your mom’s a cunt’, it has them bursting out laughing. You smile, sweet and kind, and you step gently through the blocking that has the character you’re currently standing in for, stabbing Tommy - Colson - with a pen. 

Maybe the juxtaposition of you taking part in this whole production is what intrigues him.

When filming starts, you’re still around, and something about seeing you, amid this performance of debauchery, and yet you’re still sincere and gentle, your choice of attire making you stick out like a sore thumb amid the leather and grime. At first, he tries to play it off, that you look somewhat out of place and it’s eye-catching, but you bring the cast food and water and whatever they need, you go on coffee runs, and take a genuine interest in each of them, and by the time he realises that his mood lifts every time he walks on set and sees you there, he knows he can’t play it off as you catching his eye for completely platonic reasons.

He asks you out the week after Casie leaves from visiting set, having seen you interact with her, entertain her while Colson was in hair, treating her with just as much kindness and respect as you did everyone else on the production. It convinces him that your intentions are true, and he knows that he can’t finish this production without shooting his shot.

By the time the wrap party comes around, you’re calling him your boyfriend, at first tentative, looking to him for confirmation, but then you see the way he beams at how the words sound when you say them, and you grow more confident each time you say it.

It’s met with... confusion.

Really? 

It seems no-one saw that coming - if anyone, I would have expected Douglas - you hear, and frown. 

“What does that mean?” You ask; a frown is rare to see on your face, but you’re wearing it anyhow, and the woman your speaking to splutters her way around a sentence as she’s trying to backpeddle.

“I just- I mean, well, Kells - Colson - he’s so... Doulgas just seems more... refined? Not that Colson not, you know- you’re just -”

“I’m just what?” You ask, not accusing, more curious than anything else, and the woman’s voice dies in her throat as she looks you over; pale blue jeans and a pastel, patterned button-down that would have looked right at home in the eighties. 

“I’m just concerned for you,” she eventually says, laying her hand on yours like she’s trying to do you a favour, “Colson’s intense, I’m just worried you’ll get hurt.” You see what she’s trying to say, but her tone is so painfully condescending. 

“I’m an adult,” you tell her, tone understanding but firm, “and I appreciate your concern, but I promise I can take care of myself.”

The moment you can get out of the conversation, you find Colson, talking animatedly to one of the makeup artists, and you slot yourself into the space by his side. Automatically, without even stopping the conversation, he wraps his arm around you and pulls you close, and you gratefully take the moment to press your face against him, wrapping your arms around him without saying a word. It’s both strangely intimate and familiar, his thumb rubbing small circles against your side.

As he stops talking, there’s a lull, and you don’t have to look up to know the makeup artist is giving you both a strange look.

“Ignore me,” your voice is muffled against him, using one hand as if to waive off any last bits of hesitation. 

“They’re fine,” Colson assured, tapping you on the hip. He’s still oozing casual confidence

You’ve been together for almost half of filming, which isn’t exactly a short amount of time, but usually you try and keep things professional on set, so it’s nice to be able to be close to him in public. 

The rest of the cast know, of course, you’ve been out with them on several occasions, and they all have come to adore you just as much as you adore them. Something about hearing Daniel drunkenly assure you that if Colson ever hurts you, that there’d be a line of people ready to slap some sense into him. You try to brush him off, endeared by his drunken affection, but he turns suddenly to the rest of the cast.

“Hey, hey, hey - who’d throw down for Y/N?” He asks; without hesitation, Douglas, Iwan, and Colson raise their hands, eyes wide and alert, as if the offer needed to be acted upon immediately. The show of support has your heart swelling in your chest.

You find yourself fitting into his life back in LA easily; while beginning work as an assistant on a Netflix original series, you call into his house in the Hollywood Hills, delighted to be privy to demos and snippets from his next album. 

And you meet his friends, shake their hands and smile and chatter with them. They’re not sure what to make of you at first, no-one really is when you present yourself in conjunction with Colson, but soon they start to see what he sees in you. It’s endearingly genuine and thoughtful and honest and enthusiastic and -

“They’re like sunshine,” it’s Rook’s Instagram live, almost six months into your relationship with Colson, that really cements it to the public. Rook is smoking in Colson’s living room in the middle of the afternoon between recording sessions, and someone asked what your deal was. 

“I’m so sick of - and I know Kells is, and Y/N too, not that they’d ever say anything. ‘ve never heard them say a bad word ‘bout anyone, you know,” Rook hits the blunt again, his face scrunching up, “but everyone ‘round here’s so fuckin’ sick of people talkin’ shit ‘bout ‘em. For real, Y/N is sunshine, nicer than all of you motherfuckers put together,” and he laughs, but it’s clear he isn’t entirely joking, “- you know what?” He asked, eyes lighting up and standing abruptly, grabbing the phone.

“Baze, man, you seen Y/N?” He calls, and Baze responds from somewhere off-camera that you’re outside. The comments are going off, but he pays them no mind, heading out to the backyard, only to see you by the back fence, peering over into the trees, on your tip toes, one hand straining over the fence, in shorts and a singlet in sunshine yellow.

Rook calls your name.

You shush him loudly, and then, without looking at him, slowly wave him over.

As he approaches, he can hear the telltale sound of a bird chirping, and as soon as he gets close, he hears you whisper -

“I think they’re bluebirds,” you murmur, and finally look back at him, lowering yourself, surprised to see his phone held aloft. He tells you he’s live streaming, you wave awkwardly, which is when he sees the slice of banana you’re holding, “I’m not sure what they eat; do bluebirds eat banana?” You ask, a little helpless, looking at Rook, and then to his phone. 

After a moment, you step aside, and gesture for Rook to take a look over the fence, and sure enough there’s a nest with a single, rather sad looking bluebird with it’s wing bent at a strange angle, calling out pathetically, obscuring a few eggs, just out of arm’s reach. While he’s looking over the fence, also trying to reach them, and also trying to get the phone close enough to see if anyone watching the livestream could identify the bird or offer any suggestion, he hears your footsteps retreating.

“Stay there, I’m going to get Kells,” you call out to him, voice bright, “he’s got long arms!” And Rook bursts out laughing; you weren’t wrong. 

While waiting, he sits against the fence and answers a few more questions, until he looks up and sees you, expression concerned, and Colson uncharacteristically fond as he lets you lead him by the hand.

You show him the nest and ask for him to get it, worried the bird was hurt, and he obligingly reaches over the back fence to gently collect the bird nest, trying his best not to jostle the bird. The bird’s wing appeared to be broken, and Rook ends the live when you mention that you’re going to take the bird to the vet.

Already, the fandom is exploding from what had transpired. 

People are making suggestions as to what the birds should be named, people are claiming your caring and sweet personality is completely fake, people in the live managed to screenshot Colson’s expression as you’d lead him to the birds, how smitten he was with his hand in yours, and have started posting ‘get u a man who looks at u like kells looks at y/n’ all over twitter and tumblr.

“Bird update!” Several hours later, Colson posts a series of videos to his instagram story, “for those of y’all who don’t know, Y/N found a bird with a broken wing in a tree out the back of my place, we rescued it and it’s eggs, and took it to the vet,” and with that he flips the camera around, from a close up on his face, to show a large, cardboard box in the corner of the room. 

Peep Davidson was written in large, black letters on the side of the box.

The rest of the videos are outlining what the vet had told you all, and that the bird should only take about seven days to heal before you could put them all back into the wilderness. 

At that, he pauses.

“You worried about putting the birds back when you saw that cat the other day?” And he angles the camera to reveal you, laying with your head in his lap.

“The orange one?” You ask, voice heavy, as if he’d disturbed you when you’d been right about to fall asleep. You yawn, and he confirms, you give a little, lazy shrug and smile, “not sure where that cat is.”

“Fuckin’ hell, babe,” Colson laughs, “you gotta stop finding random animals in my backyard.”

“They find me,” you counter, and shift so you can press your face against his belly, humming contentedly as his free hand begins stroking your back. 

“Snow White-Cinderella-Pied Piper motherfucker,” how that is somehow the softest, most gentle words to ever leave his lips, is utterly baffling, but there’s so much love and adoration but you turn enough for the camera to catch your delighted little smile, “you’re-” he starts, “who’s that dude from that, that My Hero shit we were watching the other night?”

“Koji Koda, you weeb,” you tease him fondly, knowing exactly who he’s referring to, and that’s where the video ends.

That’s the day it’s confirmed for the rest of the world. There’s countless paparazzi photos, and hints, and speculation, but this is the first time he’d called you anything but your name, and they’d all seen you snuggling up to him, your head in his lap.

This also is the day the trend begins on his Instagram story of a photo of you, usually in his backyard, with whatever animal had decided to befriend you that day.

My partner. My backyard. No fucking idea who’s animal that is.

And he still goes out and gets fucked up, and sometimes you’re there, and sometimes you’re not. When you’re out together, it still doesn’t quite make sense; he’s hard partying and over the top, and it seems like it wouldn’t be your scene at all.

But then there’s photos of Colson and a few of his friends standing on the edge of a roof, announcing that they’re Kings, and you’re by his side, smiling and waving at the person taking the photograph. He manages to get himself injured pulling a stunt at a friend’s house party, but you’re in the back of some influencer’s vlog, straddling his lap with tissues in your hand, him holding you secure as you clean up the scrape on his forehead; it’s kind of sickening how in love he looks, as he watches the way you concentrate. When you notice his expression, your own softens, and you lean in to give him a kiss. 

And so you start to make sense, but people still ask why.

So when asked, you tell people that you support each other, and challenge each other, and yeah, that’s absolutely why you’re together, but it’s not the whole reason as to why you make sense.

Because no-one sees the way you hook your finger into his belt loop at the back of his pants at the house party, and you press a kiss between his shoulder blades, and he knows exactly what that means. He’s quick to make some flimsy excuse to leave as you step into place by his side, which everyone he’s speaking to immediately sees through. You play at being flustered, tucking your embarrassed expression against him as he slings his arm around your shoulders, and calls an Uber.

The drive back to his place has you both on edge with anticipation, his hands all over you in the back of the car while you try to hold a civil conversation with the driver. It’s killing you not to give in, but you know it’s worth it. 

“You’re such an idiot!” You announced, grinning from ear to ear the moment you get into the house, before the door’s even closed, and he slams it shut to press you against it. Kissing him feels like a cathartic release, but after a moment you shove him back, loudly admonishing him for taking part of a stunt that got him hurt.

“You could have been seriously hurt!” You keep poking him in the chest to punctuate your words, and he steps back each time, expression alight, pupils blown wide. He keeps reaching out, as if to touch you, to snag your clothes, like it’s a game when you smack his hand back every time. 

“Got a gnarly cut though,” he pointed out, as his ass hits the kitchen island. His legs open, making space for you, and you step into it.

“Gnarly cut,” you murmur, tone surprisingly derisive, and you reach up to push his hair back from his forehead. His head tips back, leaning into your touch, the look on his face almost dreamy even as you’ve got a hand on his hips, pushing him back on the counter. 

Then you’re in his lap on the counter, hand fisted in his hair, lips on his neck, leaving bruises and bite marks. He’s trying to get you naked, efficient and desperate, but the moment he gets your shirt off, you push the fruit bowl behind him onto the floor, and push him back against the granite countertop. 

“You were worried about me,” he smirks up at you, admiring you with your hands planted either side of his head. 

“Because you don’t worry about your damn self!”

“Ooh, breaking out damn tonight? Must be serious,” he teased, deliberately riling you up; he loved this side of you just as much as the sweetness. Instead of responding, you reach up under his shirt and rake your nails harshly down his chest and stomach, delighting in the way he arched up at the sudden sensation, eyes falling closed. 

With one hand still flat against his belly, the other comes up to cup his jaw, gentle at first, before your fingers move to caress his throat, and you press yourself against him. 

“If you get yourself killed, I’ll kick your ass,” you whisper, lips inches from his as you press firmer against his throat. He grins, and sighs, the sound content and syrupy and so fucking into it, leaning up, to meet your lips with his, to feel the pressure on his neck just a little more.

And you bite, and you scratch, and you ride him on the kitchen island. The location is new, but the situation isn’t; once he’d discovered the righteous, sexual fury you’d been bottling up, he’d been more than happy to let you unleash it on him. Not to say that he didn’t give as good as he got; there’s been several times he’s had you swearing a blue streak, seeing stars, desperate and blissed out in equal measure.

But then there’s your dominant moments, the mean streak, and the teasing, the sting of your nails and your teeth and the way you push him around, into the mattress, against the wall without hesitation, and that he covets. No-one else is allowed to see you like that. To be tied up or blindfolded or or punished or pushed around, at your mercy, it’s as close to Heaven as he’s ever felt on Earth, because he knows without a shadow of a doubt that your heart is kind, that you’d never really hurt him in a way he wouldn’t like.

You make him feel safe.

And it’s not just the sex, you’re never dismissive of ideas or suggestions, seemingly always ready to help if he ever needs it, rather than judgmental. It makes him want to be there for you too. 

He wants to be better for you.

Which is kind of terrifying to consider.

“I love you,” he tells you in the shower, in the afterglow, soft, pausing where he had been washing your back where you couldn’t reach. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but he felt like he needed you to hear them.

“Love you too,” you say around a yawn, though the words are as genuine as they’d always been coming from you, and you lean back against him, leaning your head against his cheek in a moment of quiet intimacy. You try to kiss him like this, but turns your face directly into the shower, and end up spluttering and breaking the moment.

Colson chuckles softly, stepping back and pulling you with him, out of the stream of water and into his arms so he could kiss you properly. You’re still giggling as you’re wiping the water from your eyes, looking at him with fond adoration. When you settle your arms around him, you quiet down and bask in the moment, his forehead coming to rest against yours, warm and safe in his embrace, sensing that, in that moment, he felt the exact same way.

[whumperscorner]

Ahh your "Strapped to a bomb" fic was so good, thank you for using my request! Would it be alright if I request another? I really enjoy your writing, it really hits the whumpy spot hehe! If it's okay can I request "Rope Burns" with Prompto and dad Cor and/or PromptoxNoctis.

aaah thank you anon! I'm so glad you enjoyed :D Now, I don't actually have "Rope Burns" on my bingo card, maybe it's possible you've looked at a different card before requesting? That's no biggie though, and I do love the prompt, so I've decided to try to combine it a bit with whumptober :3

Hope this one's still enjoyable <3

Whumptober 2021 day 1.- Bound

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV

Characters: Prompto Argentum, Noctis Lucis Caelum

Whumpee: Prompto Argentum

Word count: 2444

Warnings: restraints and manhandling, slight descriptions of injury

Prompto doesn't really mind working late shifts. Sure, it can be a bit spooky sometimes, especially closing up alone like today. The gas station he works at isn't exactly in the city's most reputable neighbourhood, so the late shifts always bring with them their fair share of 'eccentric' customers. On the other hand, they're also never as busy as the day shifts, and Prompto has never experienced anything actually threatening or dangerous in his time working here. So really, the biggest problem with the closing shifts is the effect they have on his sleep schedule.

This evening's shift goes about as usual. There are a few regular customers early in the evening who Prompto chats with for a bit, then he restocks some shelves and does some cleaning up in the back. At one point there's an odd-looking man in the store who doesn't end up buying anything, just walks around the between the shelves and mutters to himself. Prompto leaves it be, he knows better than to ask or intervene unless he has to. The night rolls by with few notable occurrences, and with just over an hour left before closing time now Prompto doesn't have a lot to do. He texts back and forth with Noctis in the downtime, and the two makes plans to meet up after Prom's shift is done and hang out. It's Friday after all, and Noct has gotten a welcome break from his duties as Prince, so they deserve to have some fun now. Prompto smiles at his screen, having just sent a thumb's up to Noct's suggestion to go watch a late night showing of a movie, when the sound of the door opening and closing catches his attention. He quickly puts the phone away and begins talking entirely from habit as he looks up to meet the customer.

"Welcome, what can I-" then he stops. What meets him when he looks towards the entrance, only a few feet away, is the barrel of a gun trained directly at him. Prompto's words get stuck in his throat, and he makes a small, choked gasp instead as his eyes widen. The first thing he notices is the gun and it takes him a second to take in the men standing there too. There are two of them, the one holding the gun and one other, both wearing masks and both carrying big duffel bags. Prompto's eyes flicker between the men for one terrifying moment where nothing happens, then it's as if his body is on autopilot. He rushes to the side of the counter where he knows the emergency button is located, no thoughts in his head except that he needs to alert someone. A gunshot rings out, and Prompto feels something whizz by in front of him. One of the shelves on the wall behind the counter crumbles, sending various snacks flying everywhere. Prompto stops dead in his tracks. The adrenaline previously coursing through him is gone now.

"Do as I say if you want to live." says the man holding the gun. His voice is somewhat muffled by the mask, but it still sends shivers run down Prompto's spine. He manages a slight nod and stands as still as he can as the two men approach. "Step out here." is the next order, accompanied by a quick gesture with the gun. "Hands up. No sudden movements."

Prompto obeys. What other choice does he have? His hands are trembling when he brings them up, and he has to force himself to move out from behind the counter and closer to the men. It's like his body doesn't want to move and blood rushes in his ears, making the whole situation feel surreal. When he finally stops the man with the gun nods quickly towards his accomplice, who rushes forward and closes the remaining distance between Prompto and the assailants. He throws the duffel bag onto the ground, where it lands with a heavy *thud*. Prompto gets no time to wonder what's in it though, as the man quickly grabs one of his wrists in an iron hold and wrestles him down to the floor. Prompto groans at the rough handling, and desperately tries to squirm into a more comfortable position. However, that only results in the man grabbing his hair harshly and tugging his head back.

"Stay fucking quiet." He hisses through Prompto's pained cry. Prompto whimpers out a weak apology, and when the man lets go of his hair he doesn't struggle anymore. Not even when the masked assailant reaches for the duffel bag and begins rummaging in it, pinning Prom down with a knee uncomfortably placed between his shoulder blades. It would be easier to wriggle free now, but one look up at the other man and then gun still trained on him makes Prompto quickly abandon that thought. The man holding him seems to have found what he's looking for in the bag and before Prompto can even begin to wonder about it he feels his hands being tugged in place behind his back and coarse rope tied around them. Prompto yelps at the feeling but doesn't dare struggle too much. There's laughter from behind him, though he can't tell which of the men it's from, possibly both. In any case he can feel the bindings on his hands being tightened maybe just a little too much, and he winces. This time it's definitely the one holding him the laughter comes from.

"Oh, did that hurt doll? Sorry, I'll make it better." He says, in a sort of mocking polite tone. Another strip of the rope is added just above the one already around his wrists and this one, to Prompto's horror, is tightened even harder. It forces Prompto's shoulders into a slightly weird position and comes dangerously close to cutting off circulation in his hands. Then the man turns him over, so he lies on his back on the floor instead of on his stomach. Prompto can't hold back the pained noises when the new position pulls on his bound hands.

"Don't overdo it now." says the other man, but he too chuckles at Prompto's hopeless expression. He turns back to what he was doing before, which Prompto now sees is seemingly emptying the cash register of anything and everything in it. Prompto's heart sinks, and he's just beginning to think this evening has reached it's all time low when the man pauses. "But gag him too, just to be sure." He adds, and Prompto can almost hear the wicked smile behind the mask.

He sends the man sitting over him a pleading look, though he knows it will be futile. And soon enough a filthy rag from the duffel bag has been balled up and forced into his mouth. The smell from it alone makes Prompto want to gag. He tries a couple times to spit it out, only for that to earn him a harsh slap and an order not to do that. Then the man stands up, leaving Prompto bound on the floor as he himself joins the other man in looting whatever items of even marginal value may be in the store. Prompto stays still in his uncomfortable position as they move about around him, not daring to move. All through this some small part of Prompto has been hoping that someone would appear to intervene, or would notice the disturbance and call for help, but now the reality of the situation is settling in. And the uncomfortable reality is that if no one has come running at this point then it's likely no one will. Gunshots in this area aren't a rarity, and Prompto is beginning to suspect that even if he had reached the emergency button the police wouldn't have come. The hopelessness of it all settles heavily in his stomach.

Prompto doesn't know how long he lays still there, but eventually the pull on his shoulders and the rope digging into the skin around his wrists gets too bad. With considerable effort he begins turning himself over on the side, to a position that is hopefully less straining. The movement catches the attention of one of the men though, the one carrying the gun, and he strides over. Prompto can see a dangerous twinkle in his eyes through the holes in the mask. Correctly guessing that that cannot mean anything good, Prompto keeps squirming and kicks his feet on the floor in an attempt to scurry away. He wants as much distance between himself and the man as possible. The man cackles at this and crouches down on the floor, where he quickly grabs hold of one of Prompto's flailing legs and drags him back. His tightly bound hands scraping against the tile floor makes pain flare up beneath Prompto, and he whines desperately into the gag.

When Prompto is deemed to be close enough the man lets go of his legs, and before he gets the chance to try anything again the man leans over him and tightens a strong hand around his chin. Prompto's eyes are wide and fearful now when the man's fingers are digging into his face with bruising force. "Didn't I tell you not to move around?" He all but spits in Prompto's face. Prompto makes no motion in reply. He only shuts his eyes tightly in pain when the man suddenly yanks his head up uncomfortably, only to slam it back down into the floor. Pain explodes from the back of Prompto's head, and he cries out into the gag. The man yanks him back up again, this time by his shirt, and Prompto follows limply. Just then, as Prompto sits half upright in the man's grip waiting for the inevitable pain, the unmistakeable sound of the door opening and closing stops everyone in their tracks.

There, by the door, is Noctis. The realization hits Prompto that his shift must've ended. Noct has come here for him, and relief fills his chest to the brim. At the sight that meets him Noct has also stopped dead in his tracks. With wide eyes he looks from Prompto on the floor to the man holding him and then back again. Then Prompto yells into the gag and wrenches himself out of the man's grip, and it's like the standstill in the room is broken. In the ensuing chaos Prompto just barely has time to see sparks beginning to fly around Noct's hand as he's about to pull something out of the armiger. The man then quickly grabs hold of Prompto again and jams the butt of the gun hard into the side of his head. He's then harshly shoved to the side as the man springs into action, and lands painfully on the hard floor. Black spots dance around the edges of his vision from the pistol-whip and though he tries he doesn't have the strength to sit up again.

He can't see clearly what's going on, only blurred bodies and sparks. Then a gunshot rings out, and another one, and then an enraged yell from one of the men. Worry seeps into Prompto's confused mind, and the longer the scuffle goes on the more it grows. He wants Noctis to be okay, he wants them both to get out of here. By the time the noise comes to an end Prompto is blinking rapidly to try to stop the tears threatening to spill. They're not helping his vision one bit, so when a silhouette hurries towards him fear spikes in him for a short moment. But this one doesn't have a mask, and two larger silhouettes are left behind it.

"N-Noct." He whimpers when the gag is carefully removed and tossed to the side. Above him there's some soft cursing, and then Noctis gently grabs his aching shoulders and helps Prompto sit up straight.

"I- yeah- shit, I'm here Prom." Noct says, fumbling a little with his words as he takes in the state Prom is in, and his brows crease in worry. "What was that?" he asks, nodding hastily towards the men on the ground some ways behind him. They seem to be unconscious now, and Prompto swallows hard before he answers.

"Robbery?" he offers weakly, accompanied by an attempted smile that doesn't quite translate on his tired face. Noctis looks at his with wide, worried eyes. Then it seems he realizes, or remembers maybe, that Prompto's hands are still bound. Again, sparks fly in the air as Noctis summons one of his daggers to cut Prompto free. The ropes are so tight it's difficult to do without accidentally nicking Prom's skin in the process but eventually it works, and Prompto can finally move his arms properly. Almost immediately his shoulders sag in relief, but Prompto's breath hitches when he brings his hands in front of himself again and sees the state they're in. Noctis obviously has a similar reaction and lets slip a small gasp.

The skin around Prompto's wrists and a bit further up the arm is rubbed red and raw by the coarse rope, bruises are already forming where the first rope was tied, and multiple other places blood has been drawn. Most of which cannot possibly be from Noctis' careful cutting. Prompto doesn't say anything, he doesn't know what to say. He only stares at his own trembling hands for a while, seeming almost scared to move them. It's only when Noct extends his own hands and carefully grabs hold of them that Prompto looks up. Noct manages to send Prom a reassuring smile, though a somewhat shaky one still. He begins rubbing his thumbs in soft circles on Prompto's hands, careful to avoid the most severe bruises and cuts, and Prompto lets out a long, wobbly sigh.

"Thank you." Prompto says finally.

"Of course," is Noct's answer, low and genuine. "do you think you can stand?"

Prompto isn't quite sure, but they try regardless. Turns out he can both stand and walk on shaky legs, provided it's with support from Noct. Support he readily gives. They make their way out of the gas station store, and Noctis can't resist giving one of the men an extra kick as they pass them. Then Noct calls Gladio to come pick them up and notifies him of the incident, even if local police likely wouldn't do much Noctis isn't going to let this go so easily. As they sit and wait, leaning their backs against the wall, Prompto nearly dozes off. His head resting on Noct's shoulder. And all the while, Noct never lets go of Prompto's hands and keeps rubbing small calming circles across his skin.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Diary found in K---D--- : Part 2

So, here's the next little part of this :D

Imagine by @lathalea is indented!

Enjoy <3

Taglist: @shrimpsthings, @mulasawala (so you see where I'm going with this lol)

(Yes, there will be MORE artwork coming, stay posted...)

Fandom: Hobbit

Characters: Ori x OC

Rating & Warning: Fluff and silliness

His name was Ori and he was a scribe in Erebor. It turned out he visited the forest often to sketch the animals and plants. You spent the rest of the day together. In the evening, you exchanged campfire stories, sharing a meal. At one point, he shyly asked about where you came from. Blushing, he admitted, almost whispering, he never saw a person with such beautiful hair before.

You told him that you came from another world, from a region called East Asia, where many people looked similarly to you. He was very curious about your homeland, your culture and your world. You spent hours telling him everything about it and he listened to you in awe.

“Ori.” He replied, his lips quirking a tiny bit as if he was not used to speaking his own name. “I’m a scribe. In Erebor. The Mountain.” He pointed to a tree beyond the clearing.

Thankfully, I was familiar with the Lonely Mountain and did not think that he didn’t know the difference between a living organism and a pile of minerals.

“I have never seen you, neither here nor in that Mountain.” I replied, for I went into the halls sometimes to translate for travellers, but for the most part, I let the king be his grumpy, glorious self.

“I come here often, to sketch, but I seem to have lost my way.” He admitted with a tiny frown. Ah, a real dwarf. They only knew up and down seemingly and if there was no way into a hill, they’d stubbornly trek up until they tumbled off the other side again.

As if to prove to me that he was not lying – dear reader, he had a face that was utterly devoid of malice or dissimulation – he showed me rather good sketches of the fauna and flora of the dense forest surrounding us. “That is really good, Ori, the scribe, from under the Mountain.” I commented which made him blush with a fierce and, apparently, unexpected pleasure.

In an expression of indescribable cuteness, he literally wiped his face with his sleeve as if he could clean away the rosy hue like a stubborn ink stain from under his skin.

“What are you here for?” He then asked, pushing out his chest heroically. As a reminder, he was the one who had lost his way, but apparently, he wanted to defend either the forest from me or the other way around.

“I am here to think…in silence.” I replied; he retreated a few steps. “Oh? I’ll leave you to it then, I guess. It was great to make your acquaintance…”

I gave him my name, after all, he had given me his, and he chewed on it for a few moments before his face split into a smile that was like the sunlight breaking through the cloudy afternoon sky: tentative, warm, and strikingly beautiful.

“Stay. I like your face.” I heard myself saying. Maybe, it was my teasing, mischievous streak acting up, but I had liked his embarrassment so much that I couldn’t help wanting to coax more of these blushes out of him.

“My…face?” In that weird dance he had been engaged in for the last few minutes, Ori stepped closer again, shuffling his feet in the heavy boots dwarrows insisted on wearing.

No, your ass, I thought, but bit my tongue; Ori the dwarf looked like someone who would die on the spot if I said anything even remotely inappropriate…as I was wont to do when nervous.

My sarcastic thought spurred my own interest though and I examined him a little closer: he was indeed swaddled like a babe, beads of sweat pearling down his temples on account of the steep climb and the stubborn blush powdering his nose and cheeks with pink blotches.

“Sit down, you’ll get a heat stroke.” I invited him and pointed to a patch of moss beside me while rummaging in my pack for the flask of ale I had brought.

“Thank you ever so much.” He plopped down in a cascade of earthen-coloured wool and awkward limbs. He did smell warm, I noticed, a blend of cinnamon and comfort.

Also, he had one of those faces that only became better when seen up-close, I admit freely; there were golden stars dancing in the depth of his dark eyes and he had the most adorable freckles as if some outlandish fairy had sprinkled gold dust over that heart-wrenchingly handsome face.

“Are you thirsty, Mistress?” He asked, nodding at the flask in my hand.

Handing it to him rather abruptly, I realised that I had spent the last moments intently staring at his face as if I had never seen a male dwarf before in my life.

“I have work to do.” I snapped, feeling immediately guilty for taking my own embarrassment out on him, but he merely nodded and pulled his sketching supplies into his lap.

Strangely enough, Ori did not disturb me. If anything, the silence felt fuller, richer, deeper with him by my side. As I translated a letter, as a spinster I had to support my family and my insufferable sisters as best as I could, I felt like the chirping of the birds and the vibrancy of the colours around me were even more enjoyable now that I shared them with someone else.

…

The sun crept along its never-changing arc slowly and yet, much too fast.

As I looked up, I wished I was a better painter myself, for this dwarrow was made for sunsets.

The way the last golden hurrah of a perfect day exploded in a halo of warmth around his figure, the way all the greys and the blues seemed to bleed out of the world to leave nothing but warm tones behind, and the way his smile was the perfect expression of this mellow, unhurried mood…it struck me deeper and more violently than a thunderstorm in all its booming rage would have.

“Will you join me for dinner, Ori?” I asked gently, “I shall escort you back down.”

“It would be my honour.” He nodded, tearing out a page of his notebook and handing it over.

“It was an invitation; I do not demand payment.” I said seriously, for the sketch of the doe was so good, it might have been worth actual money. “Oh…” His nose crinkled at little at that.

“I wanted you to…have something beautiful. I have seen you work very hard.”

Of course, he was a scribe as well, he would consider the scribbling work, I thought and gave him a thankful smile. “You’re beauty enough for one day.” I shrugged.

He gasped, bringing his notebook up to his face as if to shield himself from my words.

“You’re having me on, aren’t you? Dori has warned me that girls do that sometimes.” He sounded utterly dejected. “I am not having you on. Has nobody ever told you that you’re handsome?” It was my turn to be wide-eyed with shock.

“And who is Dori?” I followed-up when he didn’t really reply to my question even though I thought I had seen his braids move like strings of pearls in a draft. The minutest of shakes of the head, a quiet admission of inadequacy that sunk ugly, ragged claws into my soft heart.

“He’s my brother. I have two of them. Dori…and Nori. They’re…” – “Older than you.” I completed. “Protective.” He supplied.

He was still holding his drawing out to me, and, after a moment, I took it gingerly and put it between the pages of my own writing supplies. I would hang it in my room and look at it daily.

Nowadays, there were but very few gifts for me; all the money went to my two younger sisters who were still nubile and would, if Mahal willed it so, be able to make a good match.

Busying my hands with making a fire, I asked him to tell me about his brothers.

“Oh, Nori is…agile. He’s…funny and brave and resourceful.” Ori started, his voice warm with affection and admiration. He sounded like a proper rogue to me, and as it turned out, he was, but he also deserved every single ounce of the deep-felt care Ori held for him.

“Dori is…fussy. He’s polite, he’s very caring, and he’s exceedingly proper.” Ori went on as I waved a hand for him not to stop. I enjoyed hearing about the life of other families than my own.

“So, is he the one who raised you to be this…warmly clad and gentle?” I asked, turning to place the foodstuffs I had brought up and stored in the cool lake water on spits to roast over the fire.

“Warm? Oh yes…I was a sickly pebble and he’s been worried ever since. I hope I have behaved in a way that would not make him disappointed in me.” Again, he worried his lip.

“Let’s see, you’ve startled a bird and an unsuspecting dwarrowdam.” I listed with a wicked gleam in my eyes; his face fell, and he looked properly guilty.

“Then, you’ve kept me company, and the best company I’ve ever had, it has been, on my grandmother’s grave, I swear.” I went on and that treacherous blush was back with a vengeance.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He then said in a low voice. “Great beauty is always startling.”

“I am hardly Thorin Oakenshield.” He laughed. Readers, you cannot imagine that sound just by reading my words. If flowers blossoming had melody, if the sun setting on the eternal sea had a song, if autumn leaves dancing on a gale had a tune, they would have sounded like nails on scree, like cats having their tails trampled, and like kettles going unheeded compared to Ori’s laughter.

“There’s beauty in the doe as much as in the wolf.” I replied gently.

“May I…can I ask where you’re from? I don’t seek to be rude, but I’ve never seen anyone quite like you; your hair looks like those fabrics the Elves weave. It…seems so soft, so liquid, so smooth.” He blushed a darker shade yet.

This might well have been the first time that someone had asked me about my origins without making it sound like an accusation; there was honest fascination in his demeanour.

“My family and I have come from the Far East. I have travelled a lot, Ori, I have seen landscapes entirely made up of rock and sand, I have walked forests so stiflingly hot and moist it felt like being underwater, and now, I am here in the land of tall trees and taller mountains.”

I said, surprised by my own frankness.

“That sounds amazing.” He took the food I offered readily enough, and I told him about the people I’ve left behind to be stranded at the other end of the world.

“This is good, is that a recipe of your homeland?” He asked, looking down on the piece of meat I had seasoned with herbs I had grown myself in our small backyard.

“It actually is. I’m glad you like it. I had not planned to have company, otherwise I’d have brought something more palatable to the local tongue.” I apologised quickly.

“No, I like it. You should definitely trade some recipes with Dori…and Bombur…oh, and if any of your delicious herbs are medicinal, Óin.” He laughed again when he saw my dumbfounded expression.

“I make a good honeycake, if I can interest you in that? Maybe…” He fell back into silence.

…

A look at the sky told me that it was too late to go down in the inky darkness.

“We’ll have to stay here for the night.” I mumbled, slightly uncomfortable at the idea of spending the night with a dwarrow who had not lost a single word about a wife.

“Are you married, Mistress? Will that endanger your wedlock?” He asked shyly.

“No, I am not and I have no name to lose…It’s a long story.” I didn’t feel like blurting out my disgrace, lest it give him strange ideas after all, especially as he would easily have been able to overpower me if he so chose.

“Neither am I. I don’t know about my name…Doesn’t look like I’m going to be married either. There’s not enough dwarrowdams as it is, and I think the royal line has a prerogative there.” There was no resentment in his tone; he seemed to accept this as a fact.

How could someone that sweet not be married, I wondered. He was courteous, he was cute, and he would have made the fortune and happiness of someone.

“Well, in that case, I think we can risk our reputation rather than our necks.” I grinned, rolling out a blanket I kept tied to my pack for emergencies and stretched out next to the fire on the moss.

“Erm, yes…Good night…” He mumbled, fidgeting around with his different layers of clothing. Apparently, he was deciding which one he needed least on his body to use it as a bedroll or blanket.

I eyed the proceedings with interest and a good deal of amusement.

“I can offer you my cloak to lie upon…the ground will grow very cold and wet soon.” He said in a low voice, not sure if I had already fallen asleep or not.

“Alright, I can offer you a spot under the blanket then?” I extended my own graciousness.

“With you?” No, with the red bird, I thought, rolling my eyes internally.

“Yes, Ori the scribe, with me. I will not eat you, as you have witnessed, I have had dinner.” Not that he did not look good enough to devour, standing there with his cloak in his hands and his face all crunched up in embarrassment.

“Hmmm…I guess.” He muttered doubtfully, spreading out the cloak and sitting down on it carefully. Impatiently, I scooted over and spread my lousy blanket over the both of us with a flourish.

“Sleep!” I commanded as I turned around only to find him staring wide-eyed at the spot where the back of my head had been only a second ago. Now that he was presented with my face, only inches away from his, his eyes grew even rounder and bigger in wordless distress.

“Friend…Have you never lain with a woman? And I literally mean, lying next to one?” I laughed for there had been friends and cousins aplenty in my own life and the feeling of having another body so close to mine was not a new experience for me.

“Well, I fell down on the battlefield once, next to a foe…I’m pretty sure that was a Lady-Orc. She was dead. There was a…” He gestured, indicating a spear or a lance sticking out of his chest and brushing against my own with the back of his hand. Dear reader, he flinched back as if I was a tiny Durin’s bane wreathed in flames.

“A Lady-Orc, indeed…” I mused; no doubt, he could hear the smile I hid in my voice for his face crunched up in embarrassment.

“I am sorry.” He sighed, rolling his eyes, and thinking – there was not a shadow of a doubt about that much – of his brothers who would have mocked him mercilessly for his stammering.

“There’s no need to be sorry” I tried to reassure him, but I admit now that there were things that I did not tell him right away then. We had only just met, and he was blessedly unaware of my shameful past.

How could I have made him understand – without hurting his feelings – how much I enjoyed that air of purity about him that I had squandered myself on an undeserving fiend? As a daughter amongst others, I had been used to dwarrows coming to court or to seduce, their eyes ablaze with greed and their hands wandering.

He would not have comprehended how much the absence of that voracious hunger that had plagued my youth and had ended up destroying my promising future meant to me.

“Sleep.” I repeated, unable to put into words how miraculous and precious the things he seemed to be most ashamed of were to me.

“Good night, Mistress.” He breathed with a soft smile that was nowhere near the wolfish baring of fangs I was used to and so, it was easy to return it.

You who may or may not have stumbled upon this ludicrous account of the most important story in an otherwise unimportant life, you shall hear another confession I did not make at the time.

I was fiercely aware that – had I but leant forward a little – I might have pressed my lips upon his; I was young still at that time and, despite what had happened, parts of me, that should have withered and died in the aftermath of my botched engagement, were much alive.

He smelled like our dinner and warmth, and the gentle reticence of the curve of his smile was more inviting than any flashing grin I had ever seen before.

Yes, in that very moment, on this very first evening, I had already been conscious of the shrewd attraction this self-effacing dwarrow held for me…and it scared me half to death.

…

Part 3

[ashxketchum]

Writer’s Month - 2

Wow, not me writing something for two days in a row? This one is a stand-alone oneshot for now, but I think there is a lot of potential for a sequel, I even have some part of it clearly planned out so if time allows me to sit down with my laptop sooner than later, I’ll work on that! 

Fandom/Pairing: Digimon/Mimato (friendship, yes I am capable of writing something other than romance between these two hahahaaa) 

Prompt: Coffee shop setting, cold (Yamato is very cold here, it’s actually kinda angsty) 

Setting: Post Tri but pre Kizuna. Yamato is in his first year of college and Mimi is in her last year of high school. The basis for this fic is solely the dialogue in To Sora, I wanted to explore the idea of Mimi and Yamato growing closer and having important conversations with each other, but it had to have a rocky start and this is that rocky start! 

~

“I’ll have a venti matcha berry frappe, nonfat, refrigerated chilled milk, absolutely no ice, extra whipped cream, which, make sure, is layered perfectly, with three pumps of caramel syrup and two of vanilla.”

He could feel his manager’s eyes boring into his back, so Yamato did what any other good employee in his place would, he kept a straight face and diligently noted down the customer’s request before moving on to ringing it up without once bothering to look at the girl standing behind the counter or ask for her name. He wondered if his manager would find it strange, that he hadn’t taken the customer’s name, but seeing as Yamato was already putting all his effort into concentrating well on his job and not explode on the brunette who seemed to take some pleasure out of his misery, he decided that he was allowed this one slip and he’d deal with his manager later, since the bigger problem was in front of him, eyeing him with a teasing glint in her caramel eyes as he picked up the paper cup and moved over to the work station to begin working on her order. He did however, kept a track of what his manager was doing from the corner of his eye, and the minute the older man was out of sight, Yamato breathed a sigh of relief and spun on his feet.

“Please Mimi, by all means, go ahead and make my job more difficult.” Yamato seethed, managing to keep his voice low so as to not attract any attention to them.

“Well, if you’re going to ask that nicely.” Mimi smirked, as always she had the upper hand in the conversation due to the safety guaranteed by being a customer at the shop.

“Just take the drink and go, let me work in peace.” Yamato attempted to maintain a superior tone as he begged her to leave, turning again to add the finishing touches to her order as quickly as he could, before his superior caught whiff of his not so welcoming attitude towards their customers.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Mimi beamed at him, as she accepted the finished product from his hand, her fingers brushed against his for a brief moment, suddenly making Yamato hyper aware of the spot at the back of his hand.

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Entrance exams to worry about?” He asked exasperatedly, she seemed too carefree for someone who was in the last year of their high school, remembering his own experience of it from the previous year.

Mimi scoffed in reply, waving a hand in the air to brush aside his concern for her education, instead of turning to make her way out of the store now that she had received her order, she settled on the empty bar stool on the other side of the pick-up counter, resting one elbow on the counter top as she took careful sips of her drink from the other hand. He watched her like a hawk, Yamato wouldn’t put it past the brunette to make fake claims about the taste of the drink just to get him into trouble. 

This had been going on for a few months now, every time he had a shift during her after school hours, Mimi would make it her life’s purpose to show up and annoy him to no extent. He’d attempted to explain to her, that he really needed to keep this job to maintain his life expenses, but apparently the pleasure she took from watching him stumble around while making coffee seemed to take precedent over his livelihood.

Of course, Mimi wasn’t the only one to blame here, if only his roommate at the college dorm wasn’t a bigger pain in the ass, Yamato would never had have to take up this part-time job in the first place. When he had complained to his father about not being able to get along well with his roomie, instead of agreeing to raise his monthly allowance so that Yamato could move out and rent a place of his own, his father had promptly told him that as an adult, he should learn to solve his own problems from now on. Yamato had half a mind to remind his father that him and his friends had not only solved the Digital World’s problems on multiple occasions, but also saved their own world by doing so, but he had stayed quiet and accepted his fate. On Takeru’s recommendation he had taken up a part-time job at this popular coffee joint, the pay was decent and the hours weren’t too bad and well Yamato always had had a knack for being good in the kitchen, so it had been suiting his purposes of saving up to move out of the college dorm as soon as possible just well.

Until Mimi happened to walk in one day and decided to take matters into her own hands.

She had been surprised to see him behind the counter, and at first she had just been curious, about what he was doing here or what he had been up to since the graduation ceremony. Yamato had to admit, that ever since he had graduated high school, he’d finally understood what Jou had been struggling with for the longest time, it wasn’t easy to maintain friendships when one was thrust with the responsibility of taking care of every single aspect of their lives and somehow pursue studies on which one’s future life depended at the same time. He considered himself lucky, if he was able to have a phone conversation with Takeru that lasted more than 5 minutes in a day. So he hadn’t been wary of Mimi popping up every now and them, updating him about her and Koushiro’s school life, and sometimes Jou’s and Sora’s too. It gave him a way to stay connected with everyone without having to make time for them, and while he did feel guilty about this on multiple occasions, he was grateful for it too.

That was before Mimi got bored with just talking about their lives, and decided to spice up their encounters by getting him to light trouble with his manager. It was usually just silly little things like claiming he got her order wrong or giving extremely complicated and hard to follow requests, and she had never pulled something huge that would seriously get Yamato in trouble, but it was still frustrating and it ruined his mojo for the rest of his shift.

There was also the question of why Mimi had suddenly taken such a liking to spending time with him, of all people, since they had never been close enough for a relationship like this. They’d spent time together before sure, and they’d had their fair share of agreements and disagreements when it came to matters related to the Digital World, but apart from that Yamato could barely remember any interactions with her that didn’t circle back to the Digital World or their Digimon Partners. So the thought always nagged at him, at the back of his head, when she would appear with a skip in her step and fix him with one of the brightest smiles he knew.

But then she would go on to do something diabolical, and he’d be reminded of how similar she was to his little brother, which led to him missing Takeru and left him irritated and wishing for her to leave.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Yamato turned his attention towards the brunette sitting in front of him, she had set down the drink on the counter top and was currently surveying the store with her bright eyes, the mischievous glint in them indicating that she was just looking for something that could serve as prop of the day in interfering with his work. Relieved that he had caught her while she was still in her planning phase, Yamato decided to take control of the situation before his manager returned and reprimanded him for being rude to their customers.

“You really don’t have anything better to do?” Yamato began icily, making Mimi turn her gaze towards him, the challenging look on her face seemed to put the last nail to his patience’s coffin as he snapped at her, “Don’t you have any friends?”

He regretted it the minute those words left his mouth, biting his tongue in an attempt to stop himself from groaning outwardly.

The effect on Mimi was immediate, all colour drained from her face and her eyes shone with a blanket of tears just waiting to fall, but with a single blink she managed to keep them at bay and faced him with a hardened look as she replied quietly, “I thought that’s what we were.”

And before Yamato could make any attempts to take back his statements or even begin to apologize for his behaviour, Mimi was out of the door, leaving behind her drink on the counter and without sparing a single glance in his direction.

Yamato allowed himself to groan out loud when he picked up her cup to clear the counter and found that it was still heavy, she had barely begun to drink it. He couldn’t help but chide himself internally, for missing on something that was so obvious, for even deliberating on an answer that was right in front of his eyes this entire time.

Yamato couldn’t believe that he, of all people, had missed out on the signs of their budding friendship, had pushed it aside as nothing but an occasional nuisance within his routine. 

His optimistic side hoped that he would just explain himself to her when she’d show up tomorrow, even offer her her favourite drink for free as a token of his apology, but a tiny voice at the back of his head reminded him, that there was no way Mimi would come back to spend time with him after this.

Unfortunately, it was the tiny voice that prevailed in its prediction, as Mimi didn’t show the next day or the one after that, or after that.

At first Yamato consoled himself by devoting himself to the tasks at hand, happy to finally be able concentrate on his work, he managed to win praises from his manager on multiple occasions which pushed Mimi’s absence from his surroundings out of his head, and for a while it worked.

But then there were slow days, when he didn’t have much to do but stand behind the counter and look at all the people sitting around in groups of twos and threes, laughing and chatting loudly as they sipped their coffees and munched on their food. The sight would tug on an invisible string in his heart, make him long for Mimi’s teasing smile as she rattled off with an order comprising of the most incompatible ingredients, laughing loudly at the look of horror that would take over his face as he wrote down her instructions. There were days when the shop would be eerily silent, and he’d hear her voice in his head, telling him about something that had happened at school. There were days when someone would walk by with a pet, cuddling it and showering it with affection, making him miss Gabumon’s soft fur and he’d instinctively turn towards the pick-up counter, hoping to tell Mimi about it but was met with emptiness instead.

He hadn’t realised, just how much he had managed to share with her during their encounters, and how he had begun to depend on her company to get him through his mundane work life. And in true Yamato fashion, he had gone ahead and messed it all up by thinking about things from only his perspective.

His father’s words echoed in his mind once again, he had to learn to solve his own problems, and what better time to start than now?