#im sorry cor but im not lying

[milliesfishes]

i know it’s been forever (a day) bc i’ve been busy being my own sugar mommy (working my summer job) but i have all the thoughts

like ttpd (the song) is giving best-friends-but-maybe-something-more reader + coryo until the games and then he’s being all cozy with lucy gray

and readers over here like i know everything about you and who you want to be, i’ve been here for you all along, if u really think that any other girl will be even half the partner i’d be then good luck babe

(who else decodes you? / who’s gonna hold you? / sometimes i wonder if you’re gonna screw this up with me? / i laughed in your face and said)

im sorry in advance for all the world vomit lmao

౨ৎ꣑ৎWho Else Decodes You?౨ৎ꣑ৎ

[fem reader] contains: injury, jealousy pairing: coriolanus snow x fem reader summary: you know coriolanus like the back of your hand, and yet he runs to another girl the first chance he gets author’s note: so sorry this took forever! I needed very specific vibes for this and I hope it's good! Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Your sheets were silken, soft to the touch, but they felt better when he was lying next to you.

Opening your eyes just a hint, you reveled in the glow of the morning sun filtering through the curtains. Coriolanus was sprawled out next to you, remaining deep in the throes of sleep. His curls were a messy halo across his forehead just as they were every morning, and you delighted in the sight of him, knowing he'd smooth his hair as soon as he awoke.

The broad plane of his bare chest was vastly uncovered by the comforter, and you traced your finger down the bump of his ribs. The heat of his skin exuded from his body like a fire in the hearth, warming you right up just by being next to him.

Resting your chin on his shoulder, you let your hair fall to the side as you studied him like a book. If your Coryo was a genre he'd be a classic- renowned and readable if one took the time. Not many people did.

His lashes fluttered like butterfly's wings, and you shut your eyes. No need for him to know you'd been staring at him.

Shifting under you, Coriolanus made a quiet noise as he emerged from his dreams, one of his big palms rising to rest at the crown of your head. The intimate gesture was a spark in your quiet heart.

Thumb raking through your strands, his other hand settled by yours on his stomach, clasping your limp fingers in a delightful knot. At that, you allowed yourself to unfold your eyes, looking up at him in an innocent way.

Coriolanus had never been one to smile easily. His face was hardened all too often, by the survivalist ways of his life in the cutthroat world of the Capitol. But now the corners of his lips were lifting just barely upwards as his cerulean eyes drowned yours in the best possible way.

"Morning," he whispered, voice slightly raspy with the cobwebs of sleep. Coriolanus rubbed your arm and dug his nose into your hair, inhaling softly.

The mornings with him were sacred, locked away in a vault for your darkest hours. At your insistence, he stayed the night often. His trust was not an easy thing to come by, and yet you were in possession of it. You knew of his living conditions, of the Snow's maintenance of their surname's image. It was a gift how at ease he was with you. So much so that he was able to slip smoothly into unconsciousness with you right there in his arms.

Friends. Best friends. That was your title and yet you were tangled in the sheets of your bed like lovers. And you couldn't ignore the familiar flutter in your heart when he peered down at you, usually icy eyes softened.

"Can we stay here all day?" you questioned in dulcet tones, tracing a patch of his skin. "It's so cozy."

"We've got to get to the school," Coriolanus shifted, sitting up in the bed and bringing his hand to his forehead. "The Reaping-"

"Yes," you murmured, rubbing his side. Your satin-like hair was a waterfall over your shoulder as you propped yourself up on an elbow. All Coriolanus had been able to talk about was the Reaping in the past few weeks. Ever since he'd been selected as a Mentor.

It was a high honor, although it came with a heavy price. To groom a child for death as a spectacle was no easy thing. You had opted out of the selection of students poised to be mentors, personal fear and heartache for the soon-to-be victims eating at your psyche.

You were privileged in that way, you knew. Coriolanus didn't have a choice if he wanted any hope of attending the University. He was proud, your boy, refusing to accept even a penny from your family's expansive funds. Through your late father's investments, you could have paid to keep the both of you comfortable in a penthouse in the city, tuition and food the furthest of worries.

Watching him now, donning his dress pants and shirt, lacing up his too-small shoes, you wished he would let you help. The white shirt was exquisite, clandestine work by Tigris- his fashion-centric cousin. Coriolanus had a talent for making anything he wore appear regal- a byproduct of his last name no doubt.

Rising, you disappeared into the closet to find a dress appropriate for the event. Though you were not a mentor, all students at the Academy were invited to the celebration. You would have begged your way in anyways, eager to watch your best friend receive his tribute.

Rifling through the selection, you decided on a black number with thin straps, hugging your figure and flaring out subtly toward the bottom. Removing your nightdress, you tossed it over a chair and stepped into the other garment, zipping it up as high as you could.

When your fingers were unable to stretch any further, you poked your head out, calling, "Coryo? Would you help me?"

His shoes clicked on the wooden floor as he approached, one hand steadying you on your waist while you drew your sheet of hair over your shoulder. The zipper crawled up your spine as he closed the gap between fabric, reaching over to brush your hair back behind you when he finished.

The mirror positioned in the corner of the room painted a picture that passerby couldn't possibly guess the context on. Coriolanus and you cut a striking pair, making your foolish heart leap at the idea.

Squeezing your shoulder, Coriolanus left you to ponder at your reflection, digging through his school bag for something. It had been a miracle you'd been able to convince him to spend the night at all with how meticulous he was. But your honeyed musings about how he needed a good dinner and night's rest before the ceremony had won him over. Before you'd known it he'd been passed out under your blankets with a belly full of roast, lulled by the motions of your nails scratching his head.

Inside and out, you knew him, had memorized him better than any textbook passage, could unravel his tangled secrets quicker than any detective. He took your heart by storm.

Slipping your feet into your shoes, you picked up your purse and checked your recently finished makeup one last time, casting a glance at Coriolanus, who was fiddling with his curls again. You capped your lipstick with a snap, dropping the tube into your bag and turning to him. "Ready?"

When he looked at you, his oceanic eyes held a promise of storms. You reached your hand out and took his, offering the tiniest smile. "It's going to be okay."

Closing his eyes briefly, he inhaled once and gave a single nod. If you'd put your hand to his chest, the stampede of his heart under it likely would have worried you. The tendrils of hope crept between you as you tried to will your words into him.

Sticking his hand into his bag, Coriolanus withdrew twin flowers you recognized as his grandmother's precious roses- the special rooftop ones reserved for special occasions. Snapping the stems, he fixed one behind your ear, thumb featherlike. The gesture swelled your chest and warmed you from the inside out. "For me?"

"The Grandma'am insisted." There it was- that almost smile that told you the flower was coming from him too. Coriolanus steadied it in your hair, the petals brushing you like a kiss.

"Thank you," you whispered, touching your lips to his cheek. A slight flush brightened his face, and he looked away as your hands came to the one of his holding his own rose. Gently easing it out of his grip, you fastened it to his vest, taking care not to scratch his white shirt with the pin. Ironing out invisible creases with your hands, your eyes found his once again.

Friends. And yet it didn't feel like it. Not one bit. Electricity seemed to crackle in the line connecting your gazes, and you swore something flashed across his irises. The rose didn't mean nothing.

Half-dazed, you tentatively unearthed the feeling stored in a drawer stuffed to the brim with secrets. One more passionate and powerful than you were used to stood tall above the rest.

Though it was strong, it revealed itself in memories; quiet, simple things so delicate they could be gone in a blink. This feeling was rain pattering against the roof, it was flowers blooming between the cracks in the sidewalk. It was blue eyes and golden curls and a try-not-to-smile that arranged itself in a way that bloomed through the walls of your heart.

Somehow you had known what it was all along. And yet now its foretelling had come to pass.

What if he loved you too?

The Reaping was a lilted event highlighted by the revelation of Coriolanus' tribute.

District Twelve. You could have strangled the Dean lost in the throes of his beloved drug for what he'd so obviously done: set Coriolanus up for failure. From where you were sitting you could see the resignation on his face as he watched the Lucy Gray Baird in her rainbow dress part the raggedy crowd like the Red Sea.

Then she slipped a wriggling snake hidden by her hand down a girl's dress, and your attention was piqued. Bold. Maybe there was optimism yet. Coriolanus stood sharply; eyes glued to the screen as he watched his tribute dragged up the stage by stone-faced Peacekeepers. The mayor's hand struck her face, and she fell to the ground graceful as a ballerina, hair hanging over her cheeks.

And then she began to sing. Lilted as a bird's song, clear as a bell, her voice rang over the crowd, rich enough without background music. Lucy Gray's chorus needed no accompaniment.

The entire hall was entranced. Your eyes tore from the sight, instead watching Coriolanus. Even from where you were sitting you could see what you'd tried to instill in him only hours ago.

Hope.

The time following was a film reel of interconnected pictures. In later days you would recall them and only be able to see brief flashes of memory.

Coriolanus behind the bars of the Capitol Zoo's cage. Lucy Gray Baird standing tall and proud despite her forced surroundings, her rainbow dress a bright contrast to the rest of the setting. He had told you his plan to greet his tribute, but you'd had no idea of his exertions until you saw him on the evening news. Even if his Academy uniform hadn't been such a bright red, you would have known those curls anywhere.

She was stunningly lovely standing beside him- a flower of adversity if there ever was one. A flower with a song. Speaking of flowers, one of his was tucked behind her ear just as it had been with yours the morning of the Reaping.

A pang echoed in your chest at the sight of him, holding hands with her and greeting the citizens of the Capitol who'd come to gawk at the forced participants of a cruel game.

You had turned off the television at that, bringing your knees to your chest. He was just helping her. That was his job. He only wanted her to trust him in order to reach his end goal. Was it manipulative? Maybe. But it wouldn't matter if she won. It would be good for the both of them.

Coriolanus kneeling beside Lucy Gray, sharing a sandwich with her. You hung back behind the crowd, having accompanied him but not wanting to scare her away. He spoke in hushed tones to her, and you watched with a sinking heart as a smile split his face like a sunrise at something she said. A full smile.

After that, you saw him rarely. He was either at the zoo with her or at home writing things up both for the games and for school. Coriolanus used to do all his work with you by his side.

The media outlets were fond of showing him and Lucy Gray, reporting on the Snow boy and the songbird. You had tried to ask him about his affiliation with Lucy Gray, but he assured you it was pure strategy. He didn't know you loved him, though.

Coriolanus hadn't spent the night since the Reaping. The side he usually slept on grew cold. It still smelled like him, and that was a haunting thing. Whenever you asked him over he cast a net of excuses, claiming he needed to go see Lucy Gray in the morning or that the mentors had a strategy meeting.

As you stared up at him, with his eyebrows drawn taut, mouth no longer offering even a half-smile, a feeling of dread awoke in your heart.

Avoidance was your friend in the next week. The buzz of the games was impossible to ignore, and your feelings became matted in a bloody tangle. Tidying your room, you found little things he'd left behind. A pen, a spare shirt, a notebook. Opening the cover of the latter, you saw his neatly scribbled notes. For a moment you pretended it was a love letter.

It all came to a heading after the attack in the arena.

Everything was a blur after you received the news. Your feet were moving before you knew it, stumbling down the stairs. The driver on the way had to have been breaking every speeding law, but it still wasn't fast enough for you.

You didn't have any idea how you made it up to him. There was no recollection of asking someone where he was, or even a room number. But somehow you were at his side, taking his clammy hand in yours and collapsing to your knees beside his bed.

Tigris told you in a hushed way of how rebels had somehow bombed the arena, how there was a fire and rubble, and Lucy Gray had pulled him out of it. His leg had been in worse shape earlier, but it would heal soon.

A surge of gratitude shot through you. Thank heavens for Lucy Gray. Coriolanus was stirring now, his hand gripping yours as his lids revealed those oceans you'd missed so badly. And now his half-smile was back. He murmured your name and you could have burst into tears.

"You're okay," you murmured, other hand coming up to smooth curls back from his face. The way you knew he liked it.

"What happened...Lucy Gray..." he muttered, sitting up. A cold feeling of disheartenment washed over your heart. You opened your mouth to respond when the sound of music echoed from the hospital television on the wall.

There she was. The answer to his question. Lucy Gray's voice poured from the scratchy speaker, singing about a tale of lost love, paired with her guitar.

Coriolanus swung his legs over the side of the bed, getting to his feet nearly in a trance. His lips were parted, eyes fixed on her. Donations were pouring in, likely the most of any other tribute. The look on his face was of pure awe. It was as if he'd watched an angel descending.

Your heart sunk below your feet. Tears pricked your eyes as the chilling fingers of want gripped your arms, pulling you back into the shadows. He was falling for her.

It hit you like a punch to the gut, and you wanted to curl up on the floor beneath you until the ground opened and swallowed you up. Your love was a disease now that you didn't want to cure anyways. Even if you did, there wasn't one in sight.

The program ended, and Tigris excused herself, telling you both she was going to find something to eat. You sat at the chair beside Coriolanus' bed where he'd resumed his spot, despondent in the chasm of your thoughts.

She didn't know him like you did. Every hidden desire and pain of his fit into the palm of your hand, and you protected them just as he did. Time had slipped through the cracks and buried you, every shred of history with him flashing through your mind.

Walking to school together. Him coming from a particularly hard class to where you were sitting and resting his head in your lap. At your family's dinner table, trying not to overindulge. Asleep beside you, whispering that he felt safe.

You had been in front of him this entire time, holding him and loving him beyond everything. And yet here he was, running to a girl he knew so little of. Sabotaging everything you wanted to give him.

Even through all this, you couldn't find it in yourself to hate her. Lucy Gray was in the business of making it out alive. Whatever means she used to attempt a win were out of survival.

It was as if you'd pricked your finger on one of his rose's thorns. As you looked at him, you had the thought that he was drawing out of reach. Your Coryo was nearly lost to you and there was hardly anything to do.

He looked up at you, reaching for your hand. Letting him take it, you kept your eyes on his face, thoughts distant as he spoke.

"I think she has a chance," he said, voice bordering on excitement. "I think she can win. It'll all work out."

Bittersweet, you nodded, eyes falling to the floor. "You make a good pair." Every word was soft, and you avoided his eyes.

"Hey..." Coriolanus squeezed your hand, and you raised your gaze back to him. His features were drawn in a sincere way, and your demeanor lightened just slightly at the sight. "I want to get the prize. Go to the university with you. That's what this is all for."

"You look at her differently than that." Pursing your lips, you stood and let go of his hand.

Coriolanus frowned, throwing aside the covers and standing. "She might be the answer to all of this."

"That's fine," you said, turning away. "If you want her-"

"What are you talking about?" he asked, taking your elbow and forcing you to turn and face him. "I leave my things in your room. I gave you one of the roses...you're special to me, you have to know..."

"Then why have you abandoned me?" you questioned quietly, the tension between you thicker than a rope. "You're letting go."

"I'm doing all this for you," he emphasized, and your eyes widened slightly. "You..." he swallowed; mouth pulled tight. "I need you. If you ever left...I don't know what would happen."

Usually you had to comb through the depths of him eyes to find what he was feeling, but now it was right at the surface. Brimming and calling you. What he felt wasn't nothing.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Coriolanus demanded, holding you by both arms now. His words were not aggressive, but worried.

A thousand things stemmed from your core and climbed your being like vines on a stone wall in a secret garden. Fabled to act, more likely to yearn, your feelings bubbled and churned in your ocean of secret lives. Maybe once you would have poured your soul out to him, but the words were withered from lack of use.

"You weren't mine," you said weakly, leaving it at that. "Not mine to have or to lose."

Something changed in his face. He loosened the bands of his hands on your elbows, instead taking one of your hands and putting it to his heart. It beat a steady rhythm against your palm, that quiet assurance that he lived. Searching your eyes, Coriolanus breathed, "I think I've always been yours."

A myriad of scars and knotted emotions emerged in you. All these hours, all of what had seemed like tricks. And there had been something there the entire time.

You felt it right then- the connection. He was a tongue you spoke fluently, and now you were grateful for it. It sparked a fire in your soul that encased a promise echoed in his eyes.

He loved you too.

[itspikamefan]

Made a Doc that I THINK has all the necessary evidence needed cor the Upcoming Trial but anyways Ive fallen way too hard for Tetro Pink so here’s my theory on the killer!

Link to said Doc btw:

With that out of tbe way here’s my suspect list:

Watari, Tamba, Masa, and Hiroaki: Its probably rather presumptuous to say anyone isn’t the culprit, but IDRC because Im like 99% certain none of these fuckers are the culprit. (Okazaki is also part of this group but I have a theory on her for later). Watari and Tamba gave a rock solid Alibi for the night, Masa was one of the people to discover the body, and Hiroaki just doesn’t feel like it would. Between him taking charge of the group, being too much of an asshole, and just generally being scared of blood, I don’t think he did it. He also has an alibi it’s just not as solid…

Tsuno, Kamimura, and Wada: I don’t think any of these guys are the culprit, but unlike the former 4 (Or 5 Rather) I could potentially see them. However, I do think they all have solid defenses. Tsuno was taking care of Wada while he healed. Wada was… well… unconscious … And Kamimura claimed to have been in his room all night with Hasegawa (Not to mention helped a bunch with the case). And also just as the Ultimate Crime Scene Cleaner him leaving THAT much blood just doesn’t make sense.

Hanagi and Hayashi: The only Woman who I think would be most likely to do this + The man who is an obviously pretty decent suspect. They aren’t my personal top suspects but I can definitely say they have reason to kill or accidentally kill Chiba. Im not going to say for certain but either one of them does have that possibility.

Ojima and Hasegawa: Both are definitely suspicious as fuck. Ojima sleeping in Hiroaki’s room and SUDDENLY a bloodstain is on the Bottom of Hiroaki’s mattress?! Nuh uh, I don’t buy it. Not to mention him spacing out the whole investigation. Then again that sort of his disability so I can’t really call him sus for that but still… Suspicious.

And as for Hasegawa, Originally It hought he was safe due Kamimura’s Alibi, however late testimony unveiled that Harada saw him put in the hallway. Now is it possible Harada is lying? Definitely. Is it also possible Hasegawa accidentally murdered Chiba and Kamimura is just covering for him? Strong possibility.

And before we get to our Obvious Prime Suspect…

Okazaki: Y’all cannot tell me this masked bitch is not suspect as fuck. However, her alibi clearly means that she was not the killer. So what’s her deal then? Simple. She tampered with the crime scene. My guess is the Real Killer moved Chiba’s body to the Medbay to try and save her but failed and left her there, and the Okazaki, to make the murder more “Interesting”, pulled the Byakuya Togami ass move and hung her body from the ceiling, including putting her Pajamas on her to hide her injuries (With her assuming no one would be able to get her without the ladder, which she probably also disassembled). So yeah, Okazami villainous as fuck. I fucking know it.

And finally… That leads to our Prime Suspect and most likely Culprit…

Harada

Yeah I��m sorry y’all, but you can’t tell me it doesn’t make sense. His alibi is… rather lackluster, his only verifiable witness being Hasegawa (Which we can’t even confirm). Him being on the search for his motive item, his past, his connection to Chiba, and all the other potential unknowns, I can’t not suspect Harada. I will say that y’all can feel free to clown on me if he isn’t the culprit, but I’m like 90% sure we’re losing Animal Boy Next week. Sorry y’all :(

Anyways that’s just my piece but let me know your thoughts!!!

[falseneun]

Cor Leonis in Cool Sunsets for my lovely friend @fluoxetinehcl ! Hope you like it!

Super rare smile bcs we need more smiling Cor hhh.

Send to my inbox a character and a palette!!! (It’s totally okay if you want the same character or palette I’ve already posted 🥰)

[ellay-gee]

The Important Things

Ayy check it out, I’m figuring Tumblr out.  What a way to spend a sick day.  It was weirdly ominous that i got very ill the night I posted a sickfic. o.O

also, apologies to mobile readers, as the ‘keep reading’ thing apparently does not transfer over, and I just don’t have the energy to mess with it at this time.  damn fever.

Prompto should probably not be left on his own ever, but especially not when he's running a fever and can barely form coherent speech.

Ignis sighed in frustration as he pinched the bridge of his nose, nudging his glasses up a little as he did.  “Prompto, ginger ale is not medication.”

The voice on the other end of the line was closer to gravel than sunshine, and Ignis winced in sympathy for how painful it must’ve been for the blond to speak.  “Sure id is, Ig.  S’tha cure-all fer what ails you.”

Ignis tapped his foot on the marble floor as he checked his watch. It was difficult to tell if Prompto was just laying it on thick, or if he’d actually somehow gotten worse in the two hours since Ignis left that morning.  “I’ll be home in about six hours.  Do you think you’ll be alright till then?  I can probably send Gladio or Iris over—“

A harsh cough interrupted him before his boyfriend’s voice came back, weaker and a little wheezier.  “Dodo, s’ok.  I probbiss. I got…gidger ale. Add oj with the pulp, so, y’dow…healthy.  And that coddedsed soup; also healthy. I’m juss gonda sleep, Ig.  Just.  I’ll be ok, kay?”

“Condensed soup.” Ignis scoffed, but couldn’t keep the soft smile from his voice. “How you ever made it to nineteen is a mystery.”

“I’b tellig you, s’tha gidger ale. Goddds, Iggy. Feels like I’b swallowig glass.  This is not gonda be good for our sex life.”

Ignis clucked his tongue affectionately. “As if I’d touch you in your current state.”

Prompto let out something between a hack and a laugh.  “Y’dow you cad’t resist me. Lubb you, hab a good daaaay.”

Ignis returned the sentiment and hung up.  He had a feeling that he’d have his work cut out for him when he got home.

Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to mind.

When Ignis next found himself with an extra moment, it was two hours and eleven texts later.

Prompto →  hey wheres canpoter?

Prompto →  canopner*

Prompto →  the thing that opens cans

Prompto →  im hungry and everything is working abaingst me.

Prompto →  nm its a poptop

Prompto →  stove hates me. Everything hates me. All but you ig. U r bust.

Prompto →  best*

Prompto →  fuck it going back to bed.

Prompto →  shit ur at ur meetings. Sorry.  Gods hope ur shit is on slient.

Prompto →  forvige me?

Prompto →  fuuuck. FORGIVE* me???

Me  → Always

Me  → Please do get some rest.  I will be home as soon as I am able

Me  → And the can opener is in the drawer to the left of the sink

Me  → Where it always is

Noctis groaned next to him, rolling his eyes as he read the messages over his adviser’s shoulder.  “Prom’s sick, huh? He’s the living worst when he’s sick.”

Ignis frowned down his charge. “Yes, he can be a bit much.”

Noctis laughed at that, “Yeah, that’s how you know he’s really ok.  It’s when he starts lying and getting quiet that you have to be worried.

“One time he got the flu and refused to admit he was feeling bad. Kept himself going with energy drinks and cough syrup.  He was loopy as hell and fucking bit it on the track during gym; completely blacked out while running pretty fast and basically ended up with road-rash and a concussion.”

Ignis winced in sympathy. “Hmm, yes. I thought I was successfully keeping him under wraps, but yesterday he slipped out before I woke and went to training.  Cor had to call me to come collect him from the men’s room floor.  Apparently he didn’t make formation and the marshal found him ‘vomiting up everything he’d ever eaten’.  He’s been mewling in bed ever since.”

Noctis gave Ignis a sympathetic expression.  “Poor dude.  Just make sure you don’t get it and give it to me.”

“Of course, Highness.  I wouldn’t dream of getting you ill.  You’re a thousand times worse than Prompto.”

The adviser chuckled as the prince seemed to consider this, finally nodding in agreement. “You’re right. I’m definitely worse.”

The second time Ignis was able to pull away from the meeting long enough to glance at his phone, another hour had gone by. In that time, Prompto had managed to send him seven links to songs he’d apparently listened to and wished to share, a rambling text about how much he ‘lurvd’ the adviser, and an article about how ginger ale could, in fact, settle one’s stomach.

Rolling his eyes, Ignis sent off a sweet text, wishing his boyfriend well and promising he’d be home as soon as possible. With real medicine.

By the time Ignis was finally able to go home, it was three hours and zero texts later.  This was a little disconcerting, so he placed a call to Prompto’s phone as he headed for the garage.  Receiving no answer, he waited for the cheery greeting to end and left a message.

“Darling, I am on my way home.  I need to stop by the pharmacy to collect your medications.  I’ll be there soon, though.  Love you.”

He slipped his phone back in his pocket and hurried his step. He didn’t like being away from Prompto for this long when the freckled youth was sick or otherwise incapacitated.  Ignis learned early on in their relationship that Prompto never wanted to ‘be a bother’, and would instead try to soldier on as if nothing were wrong. He could have a high fever and a sprained ankle, and he’d still insist on going on his morning run and completing his chores around their small house.

Ignis loved him endlessly, but there were times in which he would like to throttle the boy. Prompto’s self-deprecating/self-destructive streak could be rather irksome at times.

He stopped at the usual pharmacy and picked up cold medicine and a few other necessities, doing his best not to tap his foot impatiently as he stood in line. It would still be at least thirty minutes before he’d actually get home.

Though he’d been the one to insist that they get a place near the outskirts of the city, he did find himself regretting it from time to time, if only in instances such as this. But, he’d wanted to give Prompto something beautiful. The boy had been raised in the city, and though they could not move outside the Wall due to Ignis’ duties, the adviser could give him new scenery to explore. So, he’d found a small rental property situated on its own acre of land, nestled in among the rolling hills near the wall. Sure, it was a longer commute, but they spent it together most days which made it bearable.

He enjoyed their late afternoons in their little home; Prompto would wander the hills and the thicket of woods at the back of the property, taking photos while Ignis prepared dinner. They were even considering getting a dog, though Ignis himself would prefer a cat.

He was not going for Prompto’s ‘compromise’ of getting both.

As he turned onto the three mile stretch of gravel road that led to their little home, Ignis pressed the button on his dash to connect the Bluetooth, hoping Prompto would pick up this time. He had several bags and was hoping the other man could unlock the door for him.

He breathed a quiet relieved sigh when the phone was answered.  Prompto sounded awful, not even able to make intelligible sounds on his end.

“I’m almost home, darling.” He said when Prompto gave up talking in favor of hacking up a lung.  “I know you’re not feeling well, but could you—“

Prompto gasped into the phone, his voice ragged. “Iggy.  Ig. S’hot.  I dunno—“

Ignis swallowed hard. It sounded like Prompto had only gotten worse in their hours apart. “I know, darling, I know. It’s probably just because of your fever—“’

Prompto hissed through the line, whining little when he couldn’t stop another string of coughs.  “Nooo Iggyyy.  S’hot. I���the sto..the soup…” he trailed off as he wheezed desperately. “S..ss..smoke.”

With that last sibilant word, Ignis pressed his foot firmly on the gas pedal, his tires spinning in the gravel before gaining purchase, spitting rocks as he sped down the road. “Are you saying there’s a fire, Prompto?  Prom? Can you get out of the house?”

But there’s only coughing and a small thump quickly followed by a larger one from the other end, and Ignis’ stomach tightens considerably.  He brakes only slightly when their driveway comes into sight, the end of his town car fishtailing as he swerved into it. He shut the engine off and snatched the keys from the ignition before stumbling from the car and bounding up the porch stairs.

Smoke was indeed beginning to rise from the small building, and his hands shook as he shoved his key into the door, unlocking it and rushing inside.

Luckily for him, the living room was mostly clear of smoke, though it was heavy in the hall leading to the kitchen. Ignis called Prompto’s name before covering his mouth with his shirt and plunging into the haze.

He tried calling Prompto’s name, but quickly gave up as the smoke penetrated his lungs. His first stop was the kitchen, where he could barely make out the fire was licking up the cabinets above the stove and across the counter for all the smoke. Luckily he was able to spot a flash of Prompto’s bright blue pajama pants on the floor behind the dining table before he moved on in his search.  

Of course he would be as close to the fire as he could possibly get. He would not be Prompto, otherwise.

Ignis shoved this thought aside as he lept into action, kicking a flaming chair out of his way as he rushed towards Prompto. He crouched down, gripped Prompto under his arms and dragged him from the room.

Once far enough from the flames, Ignis scooped the boy up in his trembling arms and strode back out into the early evening air.  He laid Prompto in the grass and crouched down again, this time checking his breathing and pulse.

Thankfully, both were there and at near-normal levels, all things considered. He quickly checked the blond over for more injuries, finding some small burns on his arms and hands and a growing lump on his head where it had presumably struck the floor when he fell. The adviser fished his phone from his pocket and quickly dialed for emergency services before planting himself down on the ground next to his lover, pulling the other’s small frame into his lap.

His throat tightened as he gazed up at their perfect little house while it spat flames into the darkening sky. Ignis swallowed down his panic as he pressed gentle kisses to Prompto’s slack brow, running his free hand in circles on the smaller man’s chest as he rocked them both.

“Just stay out of the kitchen, Prompto.” Ignis said from the doorway as the freckled youth headed inside.  It had been three days since the fire, and they were just now being allowed to come back in and collect anything that may be salvageable.

“I know, I know.” Prompto’s voice was still rough; not only from the cold, but also from the smoke inhalation. He stepped lightly through the living room, heading for the hall.

Ignis followed, taking the same path; both men giving the kitchen a wide berth. Prompto was heading towards their bedroom, finding it mostly intact; just light soot stains covering everything. The adviser pulled out a notebook and began making a list of everything they would need to have packed up and delivered to their storage unit while Prompto began gathering the things they needed right then.

It was a short trip; they collected a few bags of clothing and some of Ignis’ important files. Most of the trunk was filled with Prompto’s camera equipment and various other electronics. While the blond carried the last of their things out to the car, Ignis found himself wandering towards the kitchen, though he was careful to remain outside the room.

He couldn’t help the sadness that swept over him. They’d spent so many mornings in this room, talking softly over breakfast. This was actually the first room they’d made love in when they had moved in. Now, the room was riddled with half-burnt debris and there was a clear spot outlined in soot where Prompto had been laying while fire raged all around him.

What remained of the interior was mostly black, but great chunks of the outside wall were missing and daylight shone through in cheerful juxtaposition to the destruction it illuminated. The fire had began due to a faulty light on the stove; it had not come on to indicate that it was heating when Prompto had put the soup on, and in his sickly stupor, he simply gave up--leaving it on as he went back to bed, believing the stove to be broken. After a few hours, the soup had cooked down and began to burn; the inspector reasoned that the curtains above the stove had probably been the first thing to actually catch fire and it had quickly spread from there.

He supposed he’d been lost in his melancholy longer than necessary, for he was startled out of his thoughts by a hesitant arm encircling his waist.

He wrapped his own arm around Prompto’s shoulders, pulling him closer, smiling a little at the warmth that rose in his chest when the smaller man leaned bodily into him.  

“I’m so sorry, Iggy.” Prompto ground out, rubbing his face into Ignis’ side. “Looks like all your stuff is ruined. Kinda unfair that my stuff’s ok, but you couldn’t save anything of yours.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Ignis squeezed Prompto’s shoulder and dropped a kiss into his hair.  “I saved you, didn’t I? You’re all the ‘stuff’ I need.”

Prompto chuckled, poking Ignis in the side playfully. “The only kind of ‘stuff’ I am is hot stuff.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at the adviser, who groaned and rolled his eyes in response.

“I love you dearly, but please save the puns for me.” He laughed a little louder, a little more freely, as Prompto pulled him towards the door.

“Nuh-uh, you don’t own puns, Igs.” Prompto quelled any further argument by pulling Ignis down into a passionate kiss.

It was a cheap way to win the impending playful exchange, but Ignis couldn’t bring himself to mind.