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aritsukemo · 3 days

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I don’t know if your requests are open, but I simply love your writing! May I have a Zhongli/Venti/Xiao Prompt with a reader who’s secretly a god from another world?

Finding out you're secretly a god | Genshin Impact

( @scar8o )

Summary: After your powers are revealed in a heat of the moment decision, you and your partner have a much needed conversation..

Characters: Xiao, Zhongli, and Venti

Warnings: Nothing much. Mentions of reader facing discrimination in Xiao's and slight tears towards the end of Xiao's as well.

A/N: AGHHHH this took months to finally write, but I'm glad I finally got the push I needed to finish this! I'm sorry you had to wait so long and I hope you enjoy this little collection of drabbles I put together! :D

A yellowish-orange shade was cast over Teyvat just like it would any other evening. Nothing had changed; the wind was still blowing, wildlife was as and as wild as ever, and the grass was still the same old greenish tinge.

Well, today, Xiao supposes that something has changed. For the first time in years, there was complete silence between you two. Being the chatterbox that you were, it was never like this since you're always rambling on about whatever popped into your head—whether that'd be how your day went, what you should do tommorow, or even the most trivial things like which colored cloth you should use to wipe off your weapons.

But that particular evening, you didn't utter a word. You simply sat there, knees to your chest as you gazed at the sun slowly setting upon the horizon. It felt odd for Xiao—awkward if he were to be so mundane. At the same time, he had no way of relieving this odd, awkward tension from the air. He had so many question stirring in his head that could at least fill the air with something of substance, and yet, he felt hesitant to voice any of them.

But he has to say something. If he doesn't, he fears that he'll never get his questions answered. So, without looking your way, he asks, "Who..are you really?"

You don't answer immediately and for a moment, Xiao thought you didn't hear him at all. Before he can repeat himself, however, he hears your voice, low and uncharacteristically sullen as you tell him, "Someone who doesn't belong here.."

He doesn't realize it, but upon hearing your response and looking over at you, his eyes softened—and just like the snow he used to munch down to prevent himself from starving to death, his golden hues glistened in the light of the setting sun. He didn't know what to say to that. Or rather, he couldn't think of anything to say that would be comforting to your ears.

That's one the things about you that he's fond of, but is also envious of. You always knew the right thing to say even when he thought you didn't. It's one of his favorite things about you..

"Look, I'm sorry for lying to you for so long.." You said before heaving a long, tired sigh. One that sounded as if you've been holding it for ages, "In my own world, people despised me and this power so much so that they tried everything they could to make my life miserable.."

"Adults, kids, girls, boys, women, and men.. Even when they were more different than the glaxies above, the one thing that was always the same was the way they looked at me.. That deep swirl of hatred in their eyes as they stared at me..like I was some kind of monster.. No matter what I did for them, it never changed," Xiao chooses to ignore the way your voice cracks midway through your sentence—the signal that the glass dam inside you was beginning to crack..

"When I got here, I saw this as my brethren relieving me of that pain..like a fresh start. I was so happy..and so, so scared. I was terrified of the past happening again so I swore to do everything in my power to keep that part of me hidden for as long as I was able.."

At this point, he could see those crystal tears rolling down your face, the translucent trail they left glimmering in the sun's glow. He's never seen them before. You never allowed him to and now, he's grateful that you never did because the sight of you crying made his chest feel heavy and empty, causing it to ache. The sight was painful. It felt wrong associating this feeling with something so..human, but it's the only thing to describe this black hole forming where his heart's supposed to be..

And in attempt to fill that feeling, he finally asks, "Do you think this power of yours will bring harm to the people of Liyue?" You finally glance at him, confusion written all over that tear-stricken face of yours. He merely looks at you with expectancy, so you eventually croak out a small, "No.."

"Do you ever think that you'll try to take over Liyue and force it's people under your thumb?" He threw another question at you, and this time, you answered quickly, blurting out an offended sounding, "Of course not! Do you think I would?"

"No," He answered immediately, "But as the protector of this land, I had to make sure we were on the same page before I said anything else," And he gets up. Your crystalized eyes follow after him, confusion beginning to swirl along with a headache—the result caused by your near-breakdown just now.

"Wha.." You begin, but your voice dies in your throat as he offers you a hand and looks you in the eyes like he would any other day—as if everything was normal.

"You said before that after all of this was over, you'd drag me off somewhere to 'wind down', didn't you? Well, I'm allowing you this once to do so without having any resistance on my end," He clarifies, and that's when it finally clicks in your mind; nothing has changed. The world is still spinning, the once clear, orange sky has turned blue and starry. Xiao is still willing to reach out to you, still willing to stare at you with adoration and love, and be around you. He still sees you as simply Y/n.

And you find yourself brought to tears all over again. Yet this time, it's due to sheer relief instead of anxiety and agony. It's because of the happiness you feel as you reach out your hand and let yourself be helped up like some damsel..

..And it's all becase of Xiao, who's kind enough to see you as something other than a monster. Something lesser than a divine god or goddess, but as simply another person of the land who he should protect.

"So when did you figure it out?" You asked to the man who sat across from you at the table—although to others it seemed as though you were talking to your tea from how your eyes were trained on it the entire time you spoke, pupils following every ripple it made with every slight of your hand.

The man across from you—who you've called many endearments over the years of knowing him—simply hummed at your question, taking the time to grab his own tea cup before answering just as casually, "Some time ago. I've had some theories of my own for a while now, but..outside assistance helped to point me in the right direction."

"So the traveler told you," You stated, your tone leaving no room for him to lie or say otherwise—a silent testament that it was futile to try and deny something you already seen as a fact, but he attempted anyways.

"Not exactly," He said, "It was a slip of the tongue on Paimon's part, a small one at that, I barely noticed it myself." And this time, you hum, closing your eyes as you at last take a sip of your tea—which has long since gotten cold since it arrived at your table.

You take a long, slow sip, as if you were buying time, or maybe, simply trying to collect all the thoughts swirling in your head and condense them in a coherent, civil sentence. Whatever it is, Zhongli allows you that time and patiently waits for you to finally set your cup down again..

"So? What do you plan to do with me now that you know?" The question comes off blunt—slightly threatening to the unintelligent ears, but it doesn't phase Zhongli. After all, he knows that you weren't threatening him, but more rather felt threatened. Similar to a cornered bunny who's only defense weapons are its fluffy, dull nubs.

"Nothing at all," He says, and at last your eyes cross the table to look him in the eyes. He does the same, granting you the same favor.

There's a moment of silence between you two in that moment. You silently demand an answer to his previous answer and the light thrumming of your fingers against the smooth, expensive wood gave away your impatience, your growing anxiety, and most importantly your fear. It's a discomforting sight to see of his usually calm lover, and so, he's quicker to respond to you in hopes of relieving your tension.

"You hold me in such high regard, dear. And while I'm flatter, may I remind you that I'm simply a consultant. I have no power to do anything other than grant you a comfortable resting place to lay your head when you pass," He closes his eyes, breaking eye contact with you to bless you with a small, polite smile, "A question like that would be more fit for the Tianquan, would it not?"

"In my humble opinion, though, I think it best if you didn't stir a pot that has already settled. Going to Lady Ningguang over something she knows nothing about is not needed, don't you agree?"

He opens his eyes again to look at you, only having the luxury to catch the tail end of your reaction to him deciding to sweep this under the rug before your expression smoothens out and a smile eases onto your face and your fingers move to lace around your cup once again..

"I suppose you're right. Forget I said anything then."

"Who knew my windblume could be even more extraordinary than I once thought?" He told you under that massive oak tree—The Symbol of Mondstadt's Hero—after sneaking away with you, who was just praised the entire evening for your heroic deeds.

"You flatter me," You said before letting out a chuckle. Venti chose not to comment on how it sounded drier than how the fruits up in Celestia look, "Really, I don't deserve such praise.."

"On the contrary! You were Mondstadt's savior today! Not to mention mines!" He said cheerily, "If it weren't for you, Mondstadt would've been robbed of this bard's melodious melodies!"

You found yourself huffing at the absurdity of his words before you can stop yourself. Making up for the slip-up with a half-hearted, agreeing hum.

"You're a fool.. Having a dangerous being such as myself leisurely lay on you like this.." You whisper into his thigh as you turn on your side, your voice muffling due to half of your face being smothered by the puff of his shorts. Your comment was heard nonetheless and earned a chuckle from the bard.

"Love makes one do foolish things," He simply replies, before you feel something cold and smooth against your cheek. Your eyes flutter open and out of the corner of your eyes you see the familar red hue that you would only see plastered on one of the delicious treats the Cuihua Trees so graciously gift Teyvat.

You take the apple from his grasp, once again laying flat on your back as you hold the apple above you as if to tantalize yourself.

"I'm serious. You shouldn't be this nice to me anymore, Barbatos," Another slip of the tongue—one promptly ignored and immediately pushed to back of both of your minds, "I'm nothing but a weapon of destruction."

"That you may have been in the past, but as of now, you're simply a bartender at Angel's Share who's fallen head over heels for a skillful bard; me," He replies after swallowing the chewed, sweet chunks in his mouth that came from his apple—which has already been half-eaten at this point.

And you find yourself huffing again. This time at the realization that he was right—at least the part about being hopelessly in love with him anyways..

"You had a long day, so why not you rest after you eat? I'll strum you a gentle tune that'll carry you away to pleasant dreams, ehehe~!" He suddenly suggest—an obvious attempt at deading the conversation where it stands before you say something too depressing to brush off easily. You pretend to not notice, deciding to accept your defeat for now, as you nod, finally bringing the apple down to your lips and taking a bite, being careful to chew the bite thoroughly before swallowing..

"That sounds nice.. Maybe resting my eyes wouldn't be so bad."

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

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cannibalspicnic · 3 days

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I've been wanting to organize my thoughts and theories about the trial, so I'm gonna try writing through them here. Honestly, one of my favorite things about this show so far is the endless potential for speculation so, here it goes....

I think the trial itself was mostly Santiago's idea, and it was the perfect power grab for him.

Lestat's presence at the trial, however, I think is pretty much entirely Armand's doing and the main reason Armand involved himself as deeply as he did.

Santiago didn't know Lestat, didn't seem to particularly appreciate Lestat's presence at the trial, and moreover, didn't need Lestat at the trial. As Claudia pointed out, it was never really a trial. It was a stoning. Execution was the foregone conclusion, and the trial was just a piece of theater. All he really needed were Claudia's diaries and maybe Sam's more poetic extrapolations. The "jury" had no idea what was happening anyway and were just doing call and response.

But Armand's got this whole love/hate obsession with Lestat, and I think the hate and resentment part of that obsession gives cause for Armand to want Lestat to be forced to witness in person the execution of his family. As far as the love part of the obsession, I think Armand hopes that once Lestat is left alone, he'll have no choice but to stay with Armand. Possibly there's a part of Armand that genuinely wants Lestat to see him as his avenger.

I do not believe Lestat was there willingly. I think, like in the books, he was imprisoned and starved to keep him weak, but he wasn't as completely incapacitated as he was in the books. Lestat agreed to read the lines and rehearse etc. because if he hadn't, they wouldn't have let him participate in the trial at all, and the trial was Lestat's only chance to even SEE Louis and Claudia, much less try to save either of them.

And once the trial starts, Lestat repeatedly tries to undermine it, but he's still walking a fine line because if he fucks with the coven too much, he might be removed and lose any chance he has to affect the outcome. I think we also might find out that he tried and failed a few other ways to save Louis AND Claudia.

Which brings me to the question of Lestat and Claudia. I do not believe Lestat ever wanted Claudia dead, though it's understandable to believe differently from what we've seen in the show so far. I do think we're going to find out that Lestat made one last ditch effort to save Claudia after Louis was dragged offstage, even if it was only to plead with Armand for her life. Armand's being the only version of that moment feels too juicy to not come back to it. That being said, it wouldn't surprise me to learn that Lestat prioritized saving Louis first, and that's one of the things that continues to haunt him after the trial about Claudia's death. Especially after all she says about it never being about her.

What I find really interesting is that when Louis is recounting the trial, he repeatedly insists that Lestat was there for revenge and that he believes Lestat helped orchestrate it. But in the flashbacks from Louis' memories, we also see Lestat is not having a good time and is somehow weakened, that something is not quite right with him.

It's one of my favorite examples of Louis reaching for the truth he knows is inside of him, inside his memories. That's why the revelation that Armand had directed the play and Lestat had saved him made such a huge impact. Those were the missing pieces of the puzzle, and they are what led him to recontextualize everything he already knew. Namely, if Lestat had saved him, he was never there for revenge. And his genuine contrition about the drop, his attempt to take some of the responsibility for Claudia's making, his unsteady and unhappy demeanor...they make sense because Louis realizes that Lestat was a prisoner during the trial, not Armand. I don't think Louis would have ever gone to find Lestat if he truly still believed that he organized Claudia's death or even agreed to it.

So back to Armand. I do actually think that Armand loved Louis. I've said before, when it comes to Armand, it's best to let go of reason and embrace the gremlin to understand his actions. I do think some of Armand's initial interest in Louis is specifically because he is Lestat's fledgling, but he did come to love Louis himself. And I think Louis came to love him. I know this is not a popular opinion, but hear me out.

First of all, I think Armand never let go of the idea that he was going to have to kill Louis. I think he always kinda saw his time with Louis as delaying the inevitable. But he did want Louis for himself, and so he kept buying more and more time. So when the coven confronted Armand, it didn't even feel to him like he was betraying Louis, so much as he'd run out of time to keep Louis alive. I think in Armand's mind, he genuinely didn't feel like he could prevent it.

As far as how Louis feels about Armand. I know I've seen people mention that the reason he can tell Armand, "I love you," is that he doesn't mean it. And I agree. I do not think Louis loves Armand during the events of "I Want You More Than Anything in the World." But season 2 takes place over several years, and I think Louis was able to find love for Armand.

However, because I love it when things are really fucked up, I think Louis only really started to let himself feel love for Armand after Armand left the coven for him after Louis turned Madeleine. Which is unfortunate because Armand was obviously lying his ass off about that.

But when we see them at the café, and Madeleine says she can feel Louis' love for Armand, we see a different reaction from Louis than in 2x04. He is more uncomfortable with the idea of it. I don't believe that Madeleine was misreading Louis or actually feeling his love for Lestat. I think Louis is uncomfortable because it is true.

I also think it's the first time Armand actually believes that Louis loves him. And because of that, I think that moment just before the coven descends on the café is the first time he even realizes that he had a choice in all of it. That he could have tried to save Louis.

If I'm right, UGH, so fucked up. I hope I'm right.

Anyway, I've rambled so fucking much. I don't even have a tl;dr because even *I* don't wanna have to read all that to summarize it properly. And I probably forgot some stuff, but let's all just be grateful for that.

Just to reiterate, this is all speculation. I could be very wrong, and I know there's stuff the cast has said that might indicate that I am, but I take stuff like that with a grain of salt, especially in this show.

#i don't even know if this is coherent #iwtv #interview with the vampire #iwtv speculation #iwtv meta #louis du pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt #armand iwtv #claudia eparvier #claudia iwtv #i could not prevent it #amc iwtv #iwtv s2 #armand de gremlin #the vampire chronicles

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signanothername · 1 day

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Saw a post of yours talking about how if Nightmare died, Dream would turn to the Guardian of ALL Feelings. Would there be even the slightest chance Nightmare would become that if Dream died? And what would be his reaction? I can imagine him so confused, and it's a bit funny tbh

Ok, so if one of the twins die, the other becomes responsible for the balance of positivity and negativity by default, so if Dream dies, Nightmare is the guardian of all emotions by default and Nightmare knows this

But here’s the twist, being a guardian is a choice, a choice neither twins really had the opportunity to make for themselves since they were born, and while one decided that it suited him and that he’d embrace it and consider himself a guardian (Dream), the other rejected it and saw it as beneath him and that he deserves a proper title such as king (Nightmare)

So would Nightmare deem himself guardian after Dream’s death? No, he wouldn’t, he hasn’t deemed himself one since his corruption, he no longer sees himself as a guardian, but as a king

He’d be the king of all emotions, and a crule king at that, he wouldn’t really care enough about the balance to keep positivity around, he’d spread negativity as much as possible to become as powerful as possible, and any sort of positivity left, would be in far places in the multiverse that no one can reach easily

I view positivity and negativity as constructs, one can never truly and genuinely extinguish positivity completely, Nightmare can’t truly and genuinely extinguish it fully, but he can corrupt it, as Nightmare’s glee at the misery of others is in of itself a form of positivity, it’s a toxic one, but still positivity nonetheless

And another thing about positivity and negativity, is that I love to believe they aren’t only something that can be found in just living beings, but it also connects to time and space itself, an entire Au could be a negative universe in of itself even if the people inside are happy and filled with positivity

Idk how to explain it, but know how history leaves its marks for so long it enegraves itself into a specific time period or a place? Pretty much that but with positivity and negativity

To give you an example, let’s talk about Dreamtale, it’s an universe that’s tragic in nature, regardless of the fact the twins were happy for a period of time or the fact it was a peaceful universe at first, the universe had dealt with a lot of bullshit for it to be a “positive Au”

Same thing with Something New, or Dusttale, or Horrortale, these universes are negative ones in their very essence, they’re way too scarred to be considered “positive” even when Something New returned back to its original roots and everyone is alive and well

My point is that universes can be positive , negative, or a balanced mix of both

That means Nightmare can’t really do anything about the positivity that’s engraved into of those positive or mixed universes, but he can tip the scale by spreading negativity inside the universes themselves

Which is what Nightmare’s been doing and will continue to do after Dream’s death, Nightmare’s no guardian, he’s a ruler of all emotions

#anothers ask #nightmare sans

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lotuseye · 2 days

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better call higuruma!

he left her his number for emergencies. getting arrested was an emergency, right?

word count: 8,534.

genre: one-shot.

characters: hiromi higuruma & paralegal assistant.

notes: this is it, the most voted request from the poll. higuruma gets called by his sweet assistant in three in the morning from a police station. pwp. kind of an age gap, considering higuruma is in his late thirties and the reader is in mid twenties. smut smut smut. hiromi is a sweetheart. long fic. office spice. if you liked it please let me know in the replies, likes and reblogs are always welcome <3

good lord, it had to have been a crime, to be that goddamn electric.

the man, the myth, the legend. the empty office next to his has been the precious prize that decorated the ambitious dreams of all the seniors, all the fresh graduates - not because it had the reputation of being the most humane working conditions alongside the fattest paycheck in the midst of the firms who even refused to pay at all ( paying with experience unfortunately didn't cover anybodies rent, these days ) but because hiromi higuruma was all their aspirations and their dreams combined. standing for justice, standing for what was fair and right, standing for the wrongfully convicted, he was a breath of fresh air to the small group in the law school that really came for ideals bigger than an overflowing wallet or wearing sharp suits to pretend they are harvey specter.

all that, and also he was so fucking hot, there wasn't a single person that would manage to sit on that desk without daydreaming about being bent over it.

“ girl, that boss of yours, i'm telling you - if i was you i'd suck that man dry. ”

“ honestly, what are you even doing in that office? go drop a pencil in front of him or something! this is embarrassing. you are embarrassing. ”

“ shut up, ” she grumbles, managing to hit both of her friends with the same pillow as her face burns red. she had been muttering the same thirsty, unhinged comments with them under her breath a month ago but she wasn't his assistant back then and there had been no reality to it whatsoever. now, the depth of the water had risen. the stakes were simply not the same. “ it's easy for you to talk, you don't look him in the eye all day. ” she reminds them, to which they reply with a series of groans and rolled eyes, disappointment and disbelief clear on beautiful features. “ besides, ” she continues. “ i'm not stupid enough to fuck my boss and lose the best assistant paycheck in town. do you know how much electricity costs? water? heating? ”

“ fine, fine. don't fuck him then. ” one of them relents eventually, to lay on her stomach on the bed with a devilish grin, hands tucked under her chin. “ head don't count, though... ”

“ girl! ”

****

she only wishes she was blessed with enough fortitude to keep her thoughts on the same track, because as higuruma tries to explain the concept of an appeal to an agitated client of his, all she can do is watch him from her desk with her cheek rested atop her palm, every single task of the day flees from her, but how could it be her fault when he was standing with his hip rested against the edge of his oak desk, sleeves of his expensive shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing toned forearms. so unabashed, she feels like a victorian man seeing the ankles of a woman for the first time and nearing comatose for it.

“ hey, ” like he heard her thoughts, he calls, head tilting to catch the glimpse of the poor new grad that sits idle in her desk, who almost jumps in the office chair with how caught off guard she is, immediately fixing her posture. currently not paying any attention to the way she stumbles on her response, he makes the gesture of a pen and paper as he continues nod alongside to whatever the client is saying at the other end of the line. “ mhm, i see. the thing is, an appeal does not guarantee the withdrawal of the verdict... ”

she grabs the first pen she could get her hands on on her desk, half running to his office across the narrow hallway that separates them with open doors, thin heels clicking sharply against white polished marble. he presses the receiver of the phone to his shoulder when as she delivers the pen, offering a small smile & mouthing a thank you as he quickly returns to noting whatever he was trying to explain to the client. she attempts to return to her own working quarters, but he stops her with the simple motion of raising a hand, then gesturing kindly to the leather chair in front of his desk. she fixes the hem of her pencil skirt, clearing her throat as she sits down. higuruma remains on the phone, and she quietly glances around his office.

she's been here very briefly a few times, but as she started around a month ago she still hadn't found the chance to get familiar with her work space. this seemed like a good opportunity, a pastime as she waited for him to finish up. his office was neater than the rest of the spaces she's seen so far, paperwork kept neatly tucked in folders that had tags on them, books cleaned and tasteful desk spotless. it was old-school, everything about it, from the rust color of the walls to the choice of chairs & coffee table, but it had a certain vibe to it.

“ sorry about that, ” she doesn't realize that he hangs up until he speaks, snapping her gaze back to find him settling back on his cream colored chair with a kind smile plastered on his face. “ i just wanted to check in with you for the next week. have i told you that i won't be here yet? i'm entrusting you with the office, you don't gotta cover everything - just delay clients till' my return and keep at your daily tasks, alright? ”

he won't be here the next week, and she's blinking, slightly panicking over the fact that she is in the stage of her new job where she relies on him to teach her the way he operates. “ of course, sir, " she says still, unwilling to be a monument of failure in front of the only man she so desperately wishes to impress, so desperately admires. “ i'll make sure it all runs smoothly. ”

“ you'll do great, sweetheart. fix the long face. ” he says with a bantering gleam in his storm of eyes, and she nods, attempting not to sigh like she wants to every time he calls her one of the things he seems to like to call her - sweetheart or doll, mostly, and she knows he doesn't have an ounce of ill intention behind it, he is just trying to be polite to her and ease her anxieties like a good boss would but her stupid crush on him makes her ironically think that she would be less stressed out if he was a bully, or an asshole. at least she wouldn't be blushing like an idiot, unable to string a coherent sentence together. he reaches over his desk, grab one of the small note cards and scrabble something on it with the pen that she's brought him minutes ago. “ this is my personal number. call me if there is a situation you can't get out of or if you get confused, okay? ”

the card is carefully folded in her palm, and she manages a “ thank you, sir. ” before she slowly stands up again, thinking they are done. “ is there anything else i should know about? ”

“ yes, there is one thing. ” he says, and she watches his smile get a bit bigger, a bit softer. “ you don't need to call me sir. just call me hiromi. we're a team, now. i don't do the hierarchy thing. ”

hiromi. she shifts her weight from one foot to another without even realizing, unaware of the way her own lips curl in the corners with how sweet she finds the whole sentiment, dimples on her smile lines deepening. “ okay... hiromi. " she gives it a shot, hesitant, but she knows she's hit jackpot when he breaks out into a full grin, pleased and proud. “ atta' girl. ”

****

a situation she could not get out of.

he probably did not fucking meant being stuck in the police station with a bloody gauze wrapped around her hand.

“ i swear to god, i'm going to kill you one of these days, ” she murmurs to her roommate who indirectly was the culprit of the fact that they had been sitting in plastic chairs, with the not so kind implication that they could not leave because the guy she had broken a vase on the head of was hell-bent on pressing charges and she couldn't even bring herself to think about the terror of what happened, too engulfed in the embarrassment of being here and the fear of losing her job stuck in her throat like a lump that wouldn't go away. higuruma was so, so firing her on the spot.

but still, there isn't anyone else she can think about calling when they call her that she has a one phone call right, the wrinkled paper he wrote his number on still bunched in her palm as she stares at it endlessly. “ isn't your boss a big shot lawyer? ” her roommate tries to help but she doesn't, the sound of her voice only providing further frustration. “ please call him, please - i don't know how else to get you out of here. ”

“ maybe i wouldn't be here when you didn't bring a fucking thief home straight from the street, ” she nearly spits out with anger, still angry, even if she doesn't meant to be. her roommate is probably even more scared, thinking she brought a thief home who pretended to be there for a one night stand, waking up in the middle of the night to half her jewelry gone and the guy trying to sneak away. she doesn't know how she rolled out of bed with the scream, how she gathered the strength to grab the vase that sat idle in the dresser in the dark and swung it with such precision a head was split open. the guy needed eight stitches, they told her. “ don't you ever think? ”

“ you'll have all the time in the world to scold me, ” her roommate pleads, pulling the phone out of its box and handing it over with begging eyes. “ just call him first, please. ”

she almost secretly hopes that he doesn't pick up, but she's not that lucky.

“ hello? who am i speaking to? ” voice hoarse, drowsy, but still having answered his phone, she loses every single syllable she's ever learned before she manages to utter out a meek greeting and her name. “ i need your help. ”

“ what's wrong? ” now not so drowsy, his tone sharpens with worry, considering it is two in the morning. she hears a shuffle of the sheets, and the most embarrassing part of it all - this guy was her boss. not a friend, not someone she was close enough to call in a situation like this, not even someone she wanted to make a witness of this god-awful situation. this truly was not her best night. “ i'm so sorry, ” she apologizes profoundly, shaking her head, rubbing her temple. “ i- i shouldn't have called this late, i'm so sorry... ”

“ tell me what's wrong, ” he repeats, cutting her apologies in half. “ where are you? ”

teeth sinking into her cheek, she tugs on a loose string of her sweatshirt. “ in a police station, ” she confesses. “ my... my roommate brought home someone, the guy tried to rob us and i hit him with a vase and now they won't let me go. ” how idiotic the entire thing sounds. how she's ruined it all even before it's begun. an assault charge on her background, what a pretty look. it wouldn't matter, that he was a thief or who was right or wrong - she had more to lose. “ i don't know what to do, ” she exhales harsh, gaze rapidly growing blurrier by the second. “ would it burn my career, if the charges came through? ”

“ are you okay? are you hurt? " he rarely answers any of her questions, too calm in the face of her panic but not nonchalant. still, she is not in the head-space to find the words, trying her best not to burst into tears. “ 'm talking to you, doll. take a deep breath, okay? let's try again. are you hurt? ”

“ no, ” she manages to mutter out, but even that sounds like a lie with the way her hand keeps throbbing with a shrill pain. “ i don't know, my hand hurts, but it's not bleeding anymore. ”

“ good fucking lord, ” he exhales harshly, then she hears the sound of a door shutting close in the background, the beep of car keys. “ i just got out of the house, alright? tell me which station you're in, i'll be there in fifteen. don't panic, you're not staying there. i'm coming to get you. ”

it's not until she sees him that she lets go, honestly. the serenity his words brought her was beyond comforting, but the way his presence brought her such relief was inexplicable. hiromi walks inside the station with a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt he's barely managed to put on and she is lingering on the edge of losing it all. he is explaining to an officer that he is her lawyer when his gaze finds her, closing the distance with a few steps. “ ssh, it's okay, sweetheart - you're okay. lemme' see your hand, ” he gently grasps her bloody hand makes her wince with pain, but watching his heavenly visage contort with anguish is not any better. “ let me deal with this, then we'll take care of this. ” he glances over her, gaze searching for the same officer. “ wait here. ” he mumbles for her to sit again on the chair, and disappears from her line of sight.

he returns around half an hour later, her roommate having left to go back home and see what was taken and what could be mended for the report. “ come on, we're leaving. ” he holds her coat in his hands, waiting patiently to put it on. she glances between him and the officer he came back with, her head pounding with a migraine caused by the stress and the florescent lights that killed every last one of her braincells. “ wait, how, he said he was going to press charges- ”

“ he's not pressing shit, ” hiromi exhales, clearly frustrated with the whole thing and she immediately feels the guilt swallow her whole. ” come on, let's take you to a hospital. your hand is not looking good and i'm not letting you go home like this. ”

so she finds herself in the passenger seat of his audi, as guilty and shameful as a human being possibly could be as they sit in the parking lot of the hospital after a quick rush into the ER. they had taken a look at the heel of her palm and stated that it wasn't as deep as to require stitches, but still to be cautious they had properly dressed it and bandaged it with the advice that she should change it every few days to avoid infections. it was a lucky call, really, that she managed to get away with something as small as a cut. things could have been a lot worse.

“ i'm sorry, ” she apologizes again, glancing over at hiromi hesitantly, her fear having petrified in her face. they are settled in the car in silence, just taking a moment to register it all before he eventually starts the engine. somehow, he manages to look worse than she does with the dark bags under his eyes and that stern expression. she has a terrible habit of assuming she is the one to blame for whatever unfortunate incident. “ i didn't mean to stress you or frustrate you, i panicked and didn't know who else to call. ”

“ oh, doll, who else would you call? ” he glances back, to meet her gaze, and the tenderness in it feels like the very proof of her ruination, trying real fucking hard not to burst into tears. she hasn't shed a single tear yet, which had been eerie on its own. “ i wish you'd call earlier, i wouldn't have even let them take you in the first place. you haven't done anything wrong, okay? what you've been through is terrifying. and even if it doesn't feel like that right now, you were really brave. ” he reaches to collect the tear at the corner of her lash with his thumb. “ you've got nothing to apologize for. you were brave. ”

yeah, that does it. a blink later, she is sobbing her lungs out in a car that probably cost more than an entire year's rent of hers, shoulders trembling next to a man that simply has no business being as caring as he is with her. “ c’mere, it’s okay. ” the toned arms she had been busy admiring a few days ago now wrap her in an embrace that warms her inside out, her face pressing flush against his sternum, tears soaking through the navy blue cotton. his palm cradling the nape of her neck, his chin tucked atop the crown of her head as he just hushes her gracefully. it soothes her, the steady beat of his heart, the scent of his cologne in her nostrils, the slight vibrations that echo through his ribs, the soft rub of his fingertips against the pressure points in the columns of her throat. “ i know you feel guilty, ” he murmurs, half muffled against her hair. “ but there is no need to be. did your best, yeah? i’m proud of you. ”

is it really necessary, for him to be like that when she’s like this? scared of how truly comfortable she is in his arms, she withdraws slowly, but lacks the strength to detach from him completely - her forehead falls on his shoulder and he keeps her like that, still cradled against his chest, still safe & secure. her stomach is churning. he was the sweetest man she’d ever known, trying to be caring at the expense of himself, and she spent most of her time daydreaming about him. it feels vile, it feels misleading. “ i think you should just fire me. please just fire me. ” she confesses eventually with a plead, hiccuping once, uninjured hand coming up to rub at her face, tears wetting the entirety of her cheeks now.

“ what are you talking about? ” hiromi asks, confused, sliding a knuckle underneath her chin to tilt her head up so he can see the flushed cheeks and the avoidant gaze. she doesn’t like the frown on his face, more concerned than offended. “ fire you for what, honey? for getting robbed? for almost getting hurt? ” he shakes his head, rubbing her chin with a tsk tsk sound. “ don’t be ridiculous. when i said to call me for an emergency, i meant it. fix the long face, now, i hate seeing you like this. ”

she doesn’t mean it.

when he stares at her for a second too long and he consumes every single sense from her sight to her hearing, invading her lungs & her veins, her nails already pressing into his biceps through the thick material of his sweatshirt. she doesn’t mean it, when he holds her chin and looks at her with those heavy lidded rust brown eyes, burdened with the beautiful curse of thick lashes and she is tilting her head alright - until her mouth brushes against his, and every single cell in her body explodes with the trembling anticipation of the taste of him, of what it feels like to be held by him.

the worst part is that it’s not her, that pushes all the ethics out the door- it's him that kisses her like he wants to devour her - with a sigh so heavy it forces her to gasp alongside, eyes fluttering shut and entirety of her easing like a ragdoll in his hands. the adrenaline of the night pumps still strong in her veins, senses dialed up to eleven for a newfound breath as she relishes with the taste of him on her tongue, lingering of coffee. he pushes his tongue inside her mouth, demanding the same access he has given her, and her hands dive into the short raven strands, groaning into his mouth, and it truly is so fucking shameful how she’s imagining the strong hands that keep her close to slide down to her hips, yank her atop his thighs -

“ oh my god, ” instead he withdraws, wide-eyed.

“ i’m so sorry, fuck, ” he gasps, one hand reaching to wipe the saliva that had wet his chin from how sloppy the kiss was, lips red-kissed and swollen as she stares at him like a deer caught in the headlights. he’s never looked so baffled and terrified before, and her stomach is churning with the way he trips over his own words, now completely pulling away from her, reaching over her without ever meeting her gaze to grab the seatbelt and buckle her in, indirectly making sure she would remain away from him. is this happening? she can’t tell, everything registering too late as she just blinks, watching him with unfocused eyes as he starts the engine. “ i shouldn’t - i shouldn’t have done that, i’m so sorry. i’ll drop you home. ” then the engine roars, and she remains in the large seat unable to think of a single thing except for wondering how it was possible for her to feel even worse after everything. hiromi is dead silent, with eyes not leaving the road once, and she feels her world slowly collapse around her.

what the fuck was that?

****

he was not seeing the pearly gates.

what kind of a sick, twisted man would be fisting himself beyond the locked doors of his office with the imagination of his assistant between his parted legs, looking up at him with those doe eyes of hers as she bobbed her head up & down, choking on the thick girth until her eyes watered-

“ oh, god, ” he gasps hard, empty hand flying to tuck the knuckle of his index fingers between his teeth, eyes rolling to the back of his skull as the warmth of even the imagination of her spreads through his limbs, shifting in the chair to ease his hips, slowly easing onto the comfortable leather. his head falling against the back of the chair, eyes fluttering shut with heavy breaths he is trying so, so hard to keep steady, beads of sweat trickling down the corner of his thick brow, the thousand dollar dress pants unzipped and loose around his waist. he can almost imagine her there, feel the soft strands of her hair sliding between his fingers, hear the sweet moans. what a cliche, what an overused trope - the man that wants to fuck his assistant stupid on his desk, it feels like a cheap porn, it feels humiliating.

but it’s the truth, and he knows it in the marrow of his bones. was it the final succumb to the teasings of his colleagues, when they kept teasing him endlessly about the sweet girl with arms filled with the folders he’s asked for and cute little heels clicking against his tiles? how endearingly she called him sir and how he loved the dimples that indented the corner of her smile lines? how he looked forward to heading out to the office every day, how he longed to hear her chime a good morning to him as soon as he walked through the doors. no, he didn’t just want to fuck her-

he was so smitten with her, he was beyond saving.

“ ‘m sorry, ” he gasps, both to the memory of her and himself, how unable he is to stop his fingers from tightening around his cock, angry red tip swollen and leaking on his lap with how fucking close he is. “ ‘m sorry, baby, i can’t- i can’t help it, ” he is whispering apology after apology, like she’d hear it, like he’d be forgiven for being so wanton, for being absolutely irredeemable. she had no idea, just across the hall, probably reading the files he’s given her this morning without being able to look her in the eye- it was horrid, to see how much the newfound tension and awkwardness between them hurt her but how could he maintain the same closeness, when he didn’t trust himself not to push her on the armchairs in front of his desk and bury his face in her sweet cunt until she couldn’t remember anything but his name-

that does it, the pure imagination of her arching beneath him into his nose & his mouth, desperately tugging on his hair as she called his name over and over again - hiromi, hiromi, hiromi! he’s spilling in his own lap without being ready to take care of it, breath getting knocked out of his lungs with a toe-curling tsunami cascading down on him. he cums for what feels like minutes, fisting himself through it, seizing on the chair in euphoria, as stiff as a rock before he rides it out eventually, a soft warmth embracing him inside out as it renders him limbless in his seat. he doesn’t want to look down at the mess he’s made, his shirt & pants beyond saving, his cum dripping from his fingers and palm. “ fuck, ” he breathes out, lips pressing into a thin line of shame as he grabs the box of tissues from his desk, sighing as he cleans himself up, face still flushed red and skin slick with sweat.

he needs to figure this out, one way or another.

****

she’s so fired, she doesn’t even have the inkling of hope in her as she silently awaits for him to hand her the resignation papers for her to sign for a clean break. she’d sign them without word, even having prepared a small apology talk in her head about how he was a wonderful man and a brilliant lawyer that deserved every good thing that were to come his way- and she was just an idiot who blew it all up by not being the first dumbass who returned a favor with a kiss but by being the first moron that lost the best job opportunity they could have ever found. this is why she couldn’t have good things- because she was simply incapable of not ruining it by blowing it to pieces.

it didn’t help that he barely even looked at her after that night. the quick banters and the shared chuckles in the safety of their offices and hallway were reduced to avoided eye contact and simple, short sentences regarding the work they had to do. she had arrived to the work the morning after the incident fully prepared to be called into his room and demanded a conversation about what happened, but instead, hiromi conveniently said his polite good morning to her and passed her office like he didn’t back out of a kiss he devoured her with. without an ounce of acknowledgement, he moves forward like the night had never taken place and it rattles her to the point of paranoia. days chase days, a day or two become a full month that’s passed with waking to every morning asking herself if today is the day. it burdens her nerves, her smile growing more & more strained with each hour, each day. the dream job of dozens now her arch nemesis, dragging her feet each day like an ostrich that wants to bury her head in the sand.

until she grows reckless and restless with it, until the strain on her sanity reaches to its brink and forces her to knock on his door with delirium ( yeah, they were closing doors and all, now) and yanks on the handle without waiting for a response, too agitated & frustrated.

“ hello? ” hiromi asks, half confused and half demanding an explanation for the sudden intrusion, his hands on the file he had been reading, his glasses tucked neatly on the bridge of his nose. “ what can i do for you? ” he asks, lacking every bit of warmth, and the cold it leaves her with is unbearable. the roof of her mouth aches with the taste of him, not having slept one night in rest since she knew what it was like to be in his arms. her sigh is exasperated, shifting her weight from one foot to another as she near damn slams the piece of paper she had brought with herself on his desk, atop his work. “ what is this? ” hiromi asks, an eyebrow arched as he reads the header- letter of resignation.

“ you won’t fire me, fine, but i can’t do this. ” she explains, standing in front of his desk, chewing on the inside of her cheek. there is no fear, having abandoned all her hesitations by the door as she walked in, knowing she wouldn’t be in this room again. it had been a nice opportunity to have, but dragging the dead weight of something that didn’t belong to her didn’t feel right. didn’t feel good or fair, and she couldn’t keep fighting the feeling that she was somewhere she wasn’t wanted in. “ i am so, so deeply sorry i kissed you- i shouldn’t have done that, it was insane, ” she shakes her head vigorously, stammering as her hands raise in surrender. “ i was truly going through it and i lost it for a second. it was horrible of me, and i can never regret it enough. but i can’t keep working here when you refuse to talk to me or even look me in the eye. so…” she breathes out, shoulders trembling. “ please just sign my resignation and free us both. i think we both suffered enough. ”

he stares at her, expressionless, blinking between his assistant and the paper that had been presented to him. it feels like the silence stretches for minutes, before he slowly leans back. he finds her gaze, thoughtful. “ do you, really? ” he asks, curious more than anything. “ regret it, i mean. ”

he just knows where to hit, which bone to twist to get the most visceral reaction out of her. she thinks back on it, the way he gripped the nape of her neck, how he pushed his tongue into her mouth and let his teeth graze her lower lip, sloppy & desperate. he is sitting in front of with the same dark pupils, with the same poker face, and she can’t lie. “ no. ” she corrects her lie, figuring she owed him that much. “ not really. i’m sorry i lost this all and i’m sorry i made you uncomfortable, but i don’t regret what… what that felt like. ” the roots of her hair is burning, and he nods slowly, like there is anything to consider at all with her confession.

“ and what did it feel like? ” he pries further, and she groans in protest, nearly squirming in her place with the pressure that overwhelms her. “ you’re being impossible, ” she tells him, now taking her frustration out on him, not knowing any better, not knowing how to handle the situation at all. “ why are you trying to humiliate me, like i’m not embarrassed enough? is it funny to you? ”

“ no, sweetheart. ” he rises out of his desk, reaching to his full height, and even the mere gesture is enough to have her jaw close right back up, shutting up immediately. he travels around his desk, nearing her but not quite closing the distance. “ do you think it was funny for me, to be locking that door and fucking my hand here thinking of you on your knees? do you think it was funny for me to not being able to look you in the eye without thinking of kissing the breath out of your lungs? ”

was she truly hallucinating now, or was this a fever dream? because there was no way it was true. she blinks once, twice, trying to register what she hears. hiromi takes a slow step, reaching to cup his chin between his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger, and the memories keep flooding back. a beautiful dejavu that ended in such heartbreak, but her she’s already feeling how her knees are failing her, forgetting how to breathe when he stares her down without an ounce of reservation. it was all abandoned now, abandoned the moment she kissed him and he kissed her back. “ do you understand how fucked up is that? ” he asks, no louder than a hoarse murmuring, gaze trailing her features. “ i’ve never laid a hand on anyone in this office before, let alone my assistant. let alone a girl like you. do you understand the position you’ve put me in? do you understand how wrong this whole thing is? ”

she’s dizzy, and there is nowhere to go from his hold, except to tilt her head up, wide-eyed and breathless. her mouth feels so, so dry, her tongue heavy in her mouth. “ i won’t tell anyone. ” is so pathetic if she could see herself from an outside perspective she would be jumping straight out the window with the second hand embarrassment. that’s how much she wants this man, enough to mutter a pathetic plea just to be the girl who got railed by her boss in his office, just to be the girl she had nightmares becoming. she will have to forgive herself, sometime in the future, because this is not something she can resist- hiromi is an obsession she wouldn’t be able to satiate herself with if she’d tried, especially when he stands chest to chest with her, when his thumb brushes her lower lip. he stares at her mouth endlessly, but this time she knows better than to kiss him first, this time she knows better than to come on too strong and terrify him away.

coming on too strong she fears, but it is his hands that slide underneath the back of her plush thighs to turn her and push her flush against the edge of his desk, forcing her on top of the polished wood. “ hiromi, ” she gasps, but it’s futile- he kisses her so fast the world tilts on its axis, whining with the last remaining braincell that her pencil skirt is too stubborn to let him settle between her legs, to which hiromi responds by sliding his rough palms across her thighs and hike up, until it is bunched around her waist. ever the problem solver, ever the crisis manager- he’s barely even touched her and she is already a puddle of limbs in his arms, wide-eyed and overwhelmed and confused. “ hiromi, ” she pleads again, unsure what she’s asking for, man’s mouth having trailed down her jugular, teeth grazing against the column of her throat.

“ ssh, ” he is so tender with the hush, she can’t even be frustrated at how inherently mean it is. her hands travel the broad, sinewy shoulders of his, trying to hold on without collapsing, not trusting herself to carry her own weight but hiromi doesn’t even allow her that, reaching to grasp her hands and pin them on the desk behind her. “ i’mma need you to hold out for me, yeah? ” he’s moving downward before she can even register the request, barely being able to plant her hands back and arch for support, gaining a groan from hiromi who is already on his knees, skilled fingers impatiently tugging on the buttons of her slim fit indigo dress shirt. “ so fucking beautiful, ” he murmurs but there is no telling if he’s talking to her or to himself, nuzzling his face into her navel when he reveals the creamy soft skin. “ you’re so fucking beautiful, sweetheart, god, you have no idea what you’re doing to me, ” he teeths at her hipbone, drags his tongue across her abdomen, leaving a cold trail in its wake, still sloppy. veiny hands grasp her thighs to move them over his shoulders, fingers carefully bunching the linen fabric at her waist, revealing the blue pair of underwear she’s already soaked through.

she wants to say something, do something, but there is no focusing when he stares at her clothed wetness as intently as he does, instinctively trying to shut her legs to which he replies with a “ uh-uh, keep ‘em open, ” he mumbles, pressing an experimental thumb right to her clit, drawing a groan and a jolt out of her. bingo. “ oh, baby… ” he murmurs, dazzled and mesmerized as she squirms on his desk, breathless and whimpering with hands grasping the edge of his desk, hips rutting into his hand desperately as he starts to draw tight circles, making her shudder. “ hiromi, ” she repeats his name for the thousandth time, chest heaving. “ please, please. ”

“ i know, i know, ” he trails, nosing at her through her underwear, then hooking his middle finger to the side of her panties to pull them aside, reveal the glistening folds & throbbing clit, moaning with the bare sight of it. “ oh, sweetheart, you’re drenched, ” he stares truly enamored, and she’s speechless, face scrunched up in overwhelm. he forces her to tilt her hips, manhandling without shame as his mouth hovers over her quivering cunt, warm breath tingling without ever closing the distance. she’s about to beg once more, beg him to do something, anything, but he’s too good for that- when his admiration is done, her leans over to spread her open with two fingers & lap at her like a man starved and she forgets every thought she’s ever had, breath knocked out of her chest, seizing on the desk. hiromi couldn’t care less, so goddamn happy to be between her soft thighs, pressing his tongue flat against her swollen bud and rub the pulsating hole with his thumb, eyes closed shut, moaning on cloud nine and letting each sound vibrate in her stomach. he is eating to his heart’s content, downright messy, and there is nothing to do but for her to take. “ taste so good, ” he mumbles against her, worrying her clit between his teeth, changing his thumb for a middle finger as she trembles on top of him. one hand flying to grasp onto his hair, raven strands bunched in her fist as she grinds shamelessly onto his mouth, onto his nose. “ oh my god, ” he whimpers, tongue licking at her dry lips, trying to protect her sanity. “ oh my god! ”

“ there you go, jus’ like that. fuck my face, baby. ” he encourages her to grind, using the opportunity to slide his finger inside her and feel it get swallowed whole by the gummy walls, exhaling so hard with the feeling she suddenly remembers that they are in his office and the door is unlocked. “ the door! ” she whisper-screams, eye-widened as she tries to fight inescapable surrendering to how good his finger feels nestled inside her, how well it stretches her out. “ the door, hir- oof, ” there is no finishing her sentence, because he’s curling it against the soft spongy spot inside her and her eyes are rolling back to the back of her head, almost drooling on her shirt. “ don’ care, ” he grumbles with the focus and effort it takes him not to pound her on the spot, worrying another finger inside her instead, sucking on her clit lazily. “ you’re not getting off this desk until you’ve cum on my fingers, ” so unabashed, he grips her hips even tighter as if to prove that he means his point. “ scared people will see you like this, doll? ” he kisses her clit lovingly, and at the same time curls and bullies that one spot inside her she’s clenching around the thick fingers on the spot, shaking violently. “ then you better cum. ”

she doesn’t need to tell him, he can probably tell by the way she squeezes onto his fingers like a vice, seizing on top of him as her hips violently rut into his face, cumming endlessly as he moans alongside her, still pumping his fingers inside her leisurely to help her ride it out but having released her clit to leave wet kisses on the inside of her thighs. “ there it is, good girl, such a good girl, well done, honey. ” he keeps uttering nonsense, but fuck if they don’t feel good, leaving her as a sweaty mess on top of his desk with mascara on her cheeks & flushed cheeks. it takes her a moment, laying on top of the desk, eyes fluttering shut as she tries to catch her breath. holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck. she doesn’t remember the last time she came that hard, doesn’t remember the last time someone made her feel that good. hiromi sounds pleased, humming contently as he slowly withdraws his fingers out of her and she barely catches the way he places them atop his tongue, licking them clean.

“ you’re trying to kill me, ” she concludes, dead serious, and he offers her the sweetest smile known to mankind before he disappears out of her vision, then she hears the sound of a key turning in its lock, as promised. “ i can’t have people seeing my baby like this, no? ” he hums, sultry as his fingertips trace her thighs, lodging himself between her legs once more, staring at her through half lidded eyes, pleased with what he sees. and all she’s thinking about is that he’s called her his baby. his. “ you left me alone, ” she doesn’t know where it comes from, the choked out confession, with the bottled emotions spilling between them, his fingers coated in her release. “ you didn’t- you didn’t speak to me for weeks…”

his expression changes, lips pursing into a thin line. “ i thought… ” he breathes out, unsure how to word anything at all. “ i thought it was the best thing to do. it’s not fair, doll, you don’t understand- i’m your boss. ” he sighs with exasperation, that excuse having long left the office by now. “ you would have hated me, you would have thought i was a creep, you would have… ” he shrugs, not wanting to talk about it any further. “ i can’t abuse my power. not ever, and especially not with you. you’re fucking brilliant, do you hear me? ” he tilts her chin to himself. “ you’re brilliant, you are the best that i’ve ever seen at your job- and you are not going to lose it or feel like you didn’t earn it because i can’t keep my hands off of you, alright? ”

oh. oh. rendered speechless, she just stares at him, vision blurring with a single blink. he had been trying to save her from him the entire time she thought that he was leaving her behind. “ i love you, ” she confesses, and it sounds wrong the moment it leaves her mouth- like it’s something she said in the heat of the moment, or something she said randomly without emotion, but the world hadn’t heard something truer than that. “ i think i’m in love with you, hiromi. i know ‘t sounds stupid and i know you don’t believe me, but i really do. ”

now it’s his time to be left devoid of words, frozen in his place, and as she thinks she’s said the wrong thing again, he leans down to gather her up in his arms. “ c’mere, ” she goes as she pleads, letting him pull her flush against his chest and lift her off the desk, to settle on the comfortable armchair with her spread out on his lap. he shifts them, until he slides further down, in a position where he can comfortably roll her hips up into hers without strain, his face nuzzled in the crook of her neck. “ want to hold you just like this, ” he murmurs, large hands kneading her ass to force her into a languid movement alongside him, leaving her wide-eyed on top of him, with the way he sits so, so heavy & hard between her legs, the button of his dress pants catching at her sensitive bud with each movement and making her jolt. “ hiromi! ” she keens, nails digging into his shoulders through the thin shirt. “ i know, baby, i know, ” he coos in her ear, muffled against her collarbone, skin slick with sweat. “ ‘t feels good, lemme have this for a second, i promise i’ll make it up to you. ”

it’s way too much, and he is way too merciless, she is gushing all over his pants, expensive black linen soaked underneath her, hiding her embarrassment by forcing her face against his neck, hiding there with lazy moans spilling out of her with each roll of his hips. “ you’re making a mess, doll, ” he murmurs, kissing the shell of her ear, holding her still by the large palm on her ass, cock strained against her through layers & layers. “ does it feel that good? you wanna cum again? ” her nod is so pathetic, it’s an abomination at that point, clenching and convulsing around nothing. it feels so good, the slight burn and the way that her rubs against her clit in the best angle possible. “ can you cum like this, baby? can you do that f’ me? i know you can do it, ” he encourages her. “ make me proud, atta’ girl. ”

make him proud she does, her hips stuttering and jerking on top of him, eyes rolling as she whimpers, hiromi thrusting slowly underneath her. “ look at you, so perfect, so perfect f’ me, ” he praises, and it goes to where all the precious things go in her heart, mewling with exhaustion on top of him. her face is peppered with endless kisses, his hand cradling her head and brushing through her now mess of a hair. her arms go around his neck, nuzzling into him tiredly, still riding out the aftershocks of her second orgasm. “ oh, i’ll never get enough of you, ” he confesses to himself. “ i’ll never get enough of this, how are you even real? how is this even real? ”

“ you promised, ” she whines, grinding into him once, and he breathes out an airy chuckle. “ i did, haven’t i? ” his sly hands reaches between them, unbuckling his belt in one swift motion, pulling himself out of his pants and he barely even needs to pull before he springs out, rock hard, leaking. she is unaware that she’s been staring, dazed at how mouth-watering it looks, how much she wants to get on her knees and get a taste of it until she hears hiromi sing for her. he’d look beautiful, with his head tipped back, face contorted with pleasure. but the man has different plans, it seems, because it takes him less than a second to grasp the base of his cock, drag it alongside her soaked folds leisurely before he lets his tip catch at the throbbing entrance. “ i’ll do all the work, okay? ” he speaks, tired but content, holding her steady. “ you just relax against me and let me take care of you, yeah? you’ve been so good to me, let me care for you, honey. ”

and who is she to say no to that? laying herself on his chest, she shifts her hips, and that same second hiromi gives it an experimental push, both of them groaning at the same time when he pops inside her with a quick suction, walls clenching around him, unsure if they want to suck the pressure in or push it all out. she gives out a low cry on top of him, hiromi swearing underneath his breath, giving it a few more inches, feeling the way she envelopes him. “ oh my god, ” he gasps out, hands on her hips, and she can feel him trembling with how much he tries not to bury himself to the hilt inside her, how much he’s trying to keep himself in check. “ oh, what the fuck, t’s so good, t’s too good, ” he slurs his words, head tipping back as he slowly pulls out to push right back in, her keeling on his chest. “ hiromi, fuck, ” she cries out, trying to adjust to the size of him but it feels impossible- not when he holds her the way he does, when he fucks her the way he does, slow and steady, without ever truly bottoming out, still considering her first.

“ you feel amazing, ” he says in disbelief, feeding her poor cunt one more inch every time he thrusts back inside, and she’s trying to keep herself from passing out on his lap, arms around his neck, holding on for dear life as he splits her open without a care in the world. “ wanna’- need to go faster, sweetheart, ” he frantically whispers in her ear, hips stuttering. “ i can’t like this, need more, can you take it? ” can she take it? “ yes, yes, yes, ” she’s babbling with a high-pitched whimper and before she knows it he pries her hands from his neck, grasping both her wrists in one hand and bounding them behind her back as she uses them as leverage before he-

oh, so this is what he meant- hips shift and the very next thrust buries him balls deep inside her and she chokes on her air, near damn screaming his name, especially with the way he starts to fuck her with reckless abandon, his empty hand flying to press his palm over her mouth to keep her quiet. her cries are muffled in the soft, sweaty skin, eyes rolling back and sopping cunt clenching each time he hits that spot inside her that makes her see stars, a constant mewling as she turns limbless in his lap as he praises her without end, a plethora of “ you’re being so good f’ me, ” and “ good girl, you’re so beautiful, ” ringing in her ear as he makes sure that no one will ever make her feel the way he does. she’s crying his name by the time she’s spasming around him, her third orgasm ripping through her like a bullet train as hiromi keeps pounding her without pause. “ keep cumming on my cock, jus’ like that, doll, don’t stop cumming, ” and she can’t, not when he doesn’t let her, doomed to take it all without a single complaint.

then he starts falling out of rhythm, as well, letting go of her mouth but not of her hands . “ oh, i’m so close, ” he grunts against her hair, thrusts getting more erratic, hips jerking. “ i’ll figure it out, ” is the first thing she says when she gets her ability to speak again, damp strands of hair stuck in the sides of her face, a total mess on top of him, gaze half-lidded. he glances up at her, searching for the truth in her eyes, to make sure she isn’t saying something she’ll regret in a second, asking if she’s sure. she responds with a meek “ please, ” and that’s all it takes for hiromi to slam his hips into her ass one more time, spilling inside her and letting them both moan with the feeling of it. it feels warm, it feels wet. she is viscerally shaking on top of him, collapsing with weak knees, and hiromi catches her in his arms, already having released her hands. “ good god, ” he exhales, head rested against the back of his chair.

they stay like that, nestled against each other, as a pile of dead limbs and long inhales, him still twitching inside her. her head remains rested against his chest, comfortable in his lap, comfortable not having to look at him in the face, knowing she wouldn’t be able to take the weight of his gaze at the moment. he’s everything to her, he’s so vital to her, it aches.

but he does something even harder, even more difficult. arms wrapped around her shoulders, tenderly rubbing her back, he rests his mouth against the shell of her ear and whispers an “ i love you, too. ” she stops dead in her tracks. his breath hitches in his throat, but he doesn’t back down. “ i do. there’s no helping it. i’ve tried. ” he lets all the air out of his lungs, fingertips tracing her spine. “ there’s no getting over you. there’s no one else like you. ‘m sorry i was an ass to you. you just really had me whipped, didn’ know what to do with it. ” she chuckles heartily at the confession that gets a bit adorable at the end, and when she pulls back just enough to see his face, she sees the smile she’s adored for the first time in weeks. it feels like seeing the sun after a hurricane, seeing a rainbow. “ there you go, ” she whispers, pleased, tracing his mouth with her fingertips. “ i’ve missed this smile. ”

“ are you ripping that resignation, or should i set it on fire? ” hiromi murmurs, grinning lazily at her, taking the sight of her in, seemingly pleased with his masterpiece. she drapes herself on his chest. “ dunno’. are you doing the honors of explaining this to the HR or should i? ”

he loses the grin so fast, exchanging it for a roll of his eyes and a groan instead. “ too soon to go back to all that, ” he murmurs, placing a loving kiss on the crook of her neck, holding her close. “ lemme’ go a second round, then we’ll consider. ”

“ hiromi! ”

#✧.* writings.#𖤓 hiromi higuruma.#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen angst #hiromi higuruma smut #hiromi higuruma fluff #hiromi higuruma angst #hiromi higuruma x you #hiromi higuruma x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader

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sweetestcaptainhughes · 16 hours

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#32 with Jack after reading the previous one you wrote 🤭🤭

ooo of course I love to talk about DadJack! here. Honestly out of all of the Hughes brothers Jack seems the best with kids naturally and I can't even explain my logic.

Drabble Masterlist.

"Why did we have to have kids?"

It was a Saturday and Jack had a rare Saturday off in the middle of the season. A few years ago you both wouldn't of even left your beds. Now you both are waking up at 5 am to your babygirl waking you up wanting a bottle. Which then wakes your three year old son who decides he is now wide awake. It's like a butterfly affect because now your dog wants his breakfast and morning walk and the sun isn't even up yet.

Usually this was an everyday occurance and neither you or Jack ever once complained. But today, both of you just wanted to sleep in but your daughter has a strong set of lungs and woke you both up at 4:49 AM today, Jack's first Saturday off in months. Both of you moaned of exchuastion as you heard your daughter.

"ahh remind me why dud we have kids?" Jack mumbles rubbing his closed eyes as you sat up.

"honestly at moments like this I don't know." you mumbled a response as your dog started barking stratching at the door as your son walked into your room.

"mama I'm hungry." he spoke softly walking into the room with his baby blanket dragging on the floor.

"okay baby." you answer as you swing your legs over the side of your bed and get up. Before you could even ask Jack was already mumbling something about how he was going to the nursey to get your daughter.

"mama up." your son asked as he reached up to you.

"course" you mumble bending down and getting your son giving him a morning kiss as you carry him down the stairs.

As your making your son some chocolate chip pancakes his request. He wanted to help you so he's sitting in his PJ's still sitting on the counter. He helped you mix the batter and pour the chocolate chips in. Now he is still sitting on the counter watching you as you make the pancakes on the stovetop as Jack walks in carrying your babygirl.

Jack walks over to you and kisses you good morning still having your daughter on his hip as your son screeches "eww daddy."

"what? you don't like me giving morning kisses anymore?" Jack playfully asks your son as he puts your daughter in her highchair.

"no." he giggles as Jack playfully runs across the kitchen, grabbing your son and attacking him with kisses as he squels at Jack.

"daddy st- stop" he giggles as he attempts to push Jack's face away. Jack leaves one more gentle kiss on your son's cheek and then does pull away.

"morning lil' man." Jack greets his son. "whatcha making with mama?" he asks his son even though he can see it's pancakes.

"pancakes with chocolate chips." your son smiles at him.

"ooo. who did put the chocolate in?" Still holding your son on Jack's hip, looking at his son like he's holding on to top secret information. "did you?" Jack whispers.

Your son nods at Jack, and smiles wide as Jack looks suprised. All you could do watching this interaction as you finished cooking was smile, reminding yourself how much you loved watching Jack interact with both of your children.

After eating a very early breakfast a 5:15 in the morning all four of you climbed into your and Jack's bed turning on your son's current favorite Disney movie cars. By the time Lightening McQueen fell out of his trailer, your son and daughter were already back asleep. Neither you or Jack were really watching the movie instead both lost fixated watching your kids cuddled and asleep together.

"sometimes I can't believe we made them." Jack whispered throwing a protective arm around the kids.

"yeah I'm glad we had kids Jacky." you whisper suddenly feeling tired.

"me too baby." stretching his hand a little further squeezing your hip.

#jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fluff #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x you #hughes imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #new jersey devils fanfic #schwritingsjh86

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syoddeye · 9 hours

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just imagining,,, going to a bar with soap, and getting really drunk and rushing back home to have the sloppiest messiest most indulgent and intimate sex ever that lasts all night even through to the next morning after many naps and cuddling in between

oof, yeah. i, uh, took a slight left into feelings town. 🧍 i hope you like this anyway. soap x f!reader. 700 words. lightly edited.

after he tucks two fingers into you on the ride home and eats your cunt for a midnight snack in the kitchen, soap helps you to bed and leaves a trail of clothes spanning the length of your home.

chin wet with your slick, he licks into your mouth as he pushes into you, groaning against your lips. his cock stretches you just right, a familiar and welcomed burn. he grinds for a bit, indulgent-like, yammering away about how good you feel, how this is what he wanted all night. guides a thumb over your offered tongue and molars, then drags it down to your swollen clit.

soap rubs quick, concentrated circles at first. they lose their finesse as his hips gain momentum but still conjure the tense, coiling heat that makes your legs shake and pussy tighten on each thrust.

and you're so far gone, absolutely lost in the sauce, that you let i love you slip out of your mouth as you melt into your third orgasm of the night.

he's stunned, pace faltering into near-failure. he can't get the words out, can't formulate a response before you're pulling him down and kissing him even more stupid. it takes a measure of his strength to break it, big hands cupping your face, brushing your cheeks.

do ye mean it?

he doesn't believe you when you repeat yourself, especially when you tell him to pull out. it's a new experience for him—thoughts sluggish like they're swimming in syrup, body following suit. you sit him up and position yourself astride his lap, legs spread wide, bent to drape over him just right for leverage.

the feel of you sinking down onto him, taking him back in one go, cuts through the haze and draws his hands to your hips, drunkenly pawing at your ass and hips. despite all your maneuvering, you're not much more coordinated than him at the moment, so you take it slow. lifting and grinding back down onto his cock slowly, one hand reaching over his shoulder for the headboard and the other resting on his neck, thumb stroking his windpipe.

his head tilts forward, eyes fluttering shut. he mouths blindly at your tits, overwhelmed by it all—your heat, your skin gliding over his, those fucking words. the revelation strikes him more profoundly than he thought possible. he sucks a nipple into his mouth and tugs it with his teeth as you rock atop him, distracting you from the sting by slipping a hand between your bodies.

soap finds you still drenched from your orgasm and grunts, feeling you squeeze his cock when he slides his fingers over your swollen clit. he spoils it, rubbing it in tandem with your pace, giving it a few pats when your legs quiver and strain.

when you whine, he knows you're losing strength, so he rolls his hips more, flexing to drive up and deeper, meeting you on the descent. the hand on the headboard detaches and cards through his hair to the root, tugging. his head lifts in a moan, mouth colliding with yours in a sloppy, toothy kiss. you deepen it, licking into his mouth, panting again.

i love you. i love you. you believe me, don't you, johnny?

a heartbeat passes before he comes, spilling into you, hips and lips stuttering alike. this time though, as he jerks, pumping the last of his cum into you, he coaxes the words out of his mouth. doesn't let them get stuck this time.

aye. i love ye.

in the morning, he wakes you up with a tongue in your navel. you giggle, almost deliriously, and watch through the cobwebs of sleep as he heads further south. he makes you come on his mouth and fingers, gets you messy and pliant, warding off the hangovers you surely should've suffered. he asks you to say it again and again. once, while he's inside you, resting on his elbows, teasing you at the precipice of your release. another time when his head's on your stomach, your fingers idly playing with his hair.

he toys with your other hand, gently massaging it, and eyes your naked ring finger.

#sy asks #soap x reader #soap x f!reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish f!reader #tw alcohol mention

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dimalry · 14 hours

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Second you in loving depressed, dark circle, chronic insomniac Azriel with demonic possession undertones. I feel like often he’s portrayed as very soft uwu baby or dark daddy dom when really he’s a workaholic grouchy introvert with a fucked up sleep schedule.

Do you think he has any connections to Hel in the larger Maasverse? I’ve had a theory for a while that he’s a descendant of one of the princes which would explain how he ended up with Truth-Teller.

Anyway, just want you to know that I picture your version of both Az and Gwyn when I write in canon, so thanks for the inspo!

Yes, absolutely! Though I’ve never thought of what kind of connection Azriel might have to Hel until now. Your ask got me to think…

What if Shadowsingers, rare as they are, were actually created by one of the Princes of Hel? I wish Truth-Teller wasn’t Gwydion’s twin, but rather a long-forgotten weapon once wielded by a long-dead Prince of Hel. Azriel could have discovered it eons later, feeling a strange connection to it, as it was the very weapon responsible for birthing his kind.

(Excuse my poor attempt at drawing shadow- soldiers/beasts. This is basically what I had in mind. This too)

Let’s say Shadowsingers were once a single shadow entity. But over time they split, with shadows becoming just one part of a person rather than their whole form.

A good number of them remain in Hel, but they've transformed into strange, nasty creatures. In Prythian, there are hardly any left, and Azriel may be the last. There are a few in Throne of Glass and Crescent City worlds, but they differ from Azriel.

It is very difficult to find any information about Shadowsingers. No one knows where they come from or how they came to be.

Who gave them the title 'Shadowsinger' anyway? What if it was simply a fitting name given by a mad scholar who first encountered someone with dark, shadow powers? What if these soldiers originally had a different name, given to them by the long-dead Prince of Hel?

And let’s give Shadowsingers the ability to shapeshift. I’ve always found it strange that Azriel is considered the best spymaster in the world, yet everyone knows he’s the Night Court's spymaster, which defeats the whole purpose of being a spy. It’s like imagining a Russian spy working in an American office, and everyone there knows he's a Russian spy. (Lol)

But what if Azriel could change his identity through his shadows? That would truly make him the best spymaster. He wouldn’t need to go through the trouble of creating fake identities; he could simply turn himself into one of Beron’s personal guards. People might know who the Night Court’s spymaster is, but they’d never know when or who he’s pretending to be. Additionally, he could winnow through his shadows instead of using the typical method. By commanding his shadows, he could transport himself anywhere, making him even more powerful than Rhys in terms of winnowing. He wouldn’t need to pause for breath like Rhys; he could take 10 people with him effortlessly.

Connect that to the shadow soldiers from Hel. They used to transform into whatever they liked (like this) and winnow with ease, which is why the war went on for like forever. The prince’s army was incredibly difficult to take down.

Shadowsingers still speak the language of Hel to this day. Azriel uses it to communicate with his shadows, and only Shadowsingers can understand this language—no one else. They don’t even have to learn it.

Okay, wait—can we consider that the winning side was the mother, leading her own army? That Gwydion was wielded against the Prince of Hel? Thus, the Maas universe was forged from the remnants of that eternal war ages ago.

And while Gwyn isn’t related to the sword like Azriel is to the dagger, nor to the soldiers who fought for the mother, as a priestess who worships her, she does have that little connection.

It would be quite amusing for the Fates to pair a descendant of those Hel creatures with a priestess who worships the Mother as mates.

Good god, I somehow pulled this out of my ass. Now I have to incorporate that idea into my story cause it‘s kind of awesome.

Anyway, I’d Iove to read your fic. It makes me happy to know that people use my art as inspiration 🥹

thank you for the ask! Have a lovely day 💕

#WIPs #azriel shadowsinger #demon Azriel #Prince of hel #demon vs priestess #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #acotar #throne of glass #crescent city #digital art #illustration #my ask

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doveywovy · 3 days

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tobiizu modern au in which the uchiha are a wealthy family that vacations every summer at a family beachhouse on a (Relatively) small island- and Tobirama drives the water taxi they hire to take them out to it every year.

the first time it happens, they're both only about 16. Izuna immediately hates it- and hates tobirama- because it makes him feel childish. Here he is, out on vacation with his family (lame) to go play in the sand (lame!) and maybe play in the waves (SOOOO lame, totally childish). and heres this teen the same age as him, not just spending the summer break working but specifically working alone, doing a difficult and responsible job like driving a boat! Izuna takes this as a personal affront to his manhood and spends the whole ride there and the whole ride back being absolutely insufferable to Tobirama and the rest of the family.

he spends the next summer working his own summer job (But something much fancier, like interning somewhere impressive) and the summer after that he spends at an intense sports camp. So the next time they see eachother, Izuna's 19 and- okay, well, he hasn't really matured. but his stance has changed to the viewpoint that HE'S clearly the winner here. Here he is, out on vacation with his family (Wealthy and impressive) to go relax in the sand (so wealthy and mature) and maybe swim in the waves (sooooo cool, totally mature and adult). Meanwhile Tobirama has to spend his summer working in a dingey boat serving the Uchiha and family like them! Since Izuna's won the competition they totally had going on, he can afford to be nicer to Tobirama. especially since hormones have kicked in and tobirama is unbearably fucking attractive to izuna. He spends the whole vacation having ridiculous daydreams about them running away together (fucking on the boat) living a life at sea together (fucking on a boat) and him showing off his better lifestyle to Tobirama (fucking on the beach.) He does exactly nothing about any of this except being mildly more polite to tobirama for the 47 total minutes they spend interacting.

The next three summers, however, he gets proactive. The Uchiha are a big family with a ton of stuff they need, and they always run through it quickly or realize they forgot something after they left. Someone has to go back to the mainland and get The Only Cereal Kagami Will Eat, or Shishui's Special Sunscreen (he has allergies to the rest), etc etc. In past years it's been one of the odd aunts or uncles, but now Izuna's taken it up as his personal mantel.

If anyone needs anything from the mainland, of course Izuna will make the trip out! No need to worry! He'll call up Tobirama's company and have the ride out within the hour, and he'll be back two hours after that. Sometimes he runs right out without bothering to change- Mikoto needs fresh lettuce for the dinner salad, there's no time for him to change out of his trunks or put a shirt on! Everyone's glad he's willing to make the sacrifice for the family, nobody wants to do it themselves- and so nobody points out that unlike past triptakers, Izuna never double checks if anyone else needs anything before he goes. It means he has to make a lot more trips, individual ones for Sasuke's fresh tomatoes and Itachi's eyecream and Obito's glasses cleaner, instead of all at once like he could if he just asked before going. But they're a wealthy family, they can afford it, and he's getting it all in the end, isn't he?

Now that izuna's upped his time with Tobirama from 24-ish minutes to the island and 24-ish minutes back home (shared with his entire family), to around an hour one-on-one every other day the entire two months he's out there...things change.

For one, the crush gets more genuine. He's talking to Tobirama constantly and gets to know him as a person and unfortunately he really likes him as a person. The fantasies get more focused on getting to actually date Tobirama in a normal person way, not whisking a mermaid tobirama off for beach-sex.

Tobirama, meanwhile, is finally starting to like this guy. He hasn't thought about izuna nearly as much as Izuna's thought about him. He hated him as a teen for being annoying and bratty, thought he was hot and annoying a few years ago, and now he's a nice sociable guy who lets him talk about boats for twenty minutes straight. Who's extremely hot and constantly shirtless, for some reason? Which Tobirama's not mad at.

so- izuna's fumbling his way towards something, but cautious not to fuck it up because he genuinely wants something serious with Tobirama and that makes him much more worried about ruining it. and then one day madara- well, the thing is.

To madara, izuna will always be somewhat five years old. He can't imagine him any other way. So he assumes, when Izuna constantly spends his summer vacations on the water taxi with tobirama- he doesn't consider it could be about tobirama. He thinks it's about the boat! Especially since Izuna can hold full conversations about boats with people now (Because of his conversations with tobirama about them, but Madara doesn't know that) and takes photos of boats (For tobirama)....All of this to say, Madara decides Izuna must want a boat.

So madara offers to help him buy one. Nothing too fancy (to the Uchiha perspective), but something nice.

Izuna immediately remembers the conversations he's had with Tobirama about his dream boat. He remembers his ridiculous fantasies at 18 years old about whisking Tobirama away for a life on the open sea. and he imagines, for half a second, trying to explain to madara that he doesn't want a boat despite seeming to be obsessed with them because he's obsessed with a guy instead. He is not having that conversation.

He's buying a boat. He's buying Tobirama a boat. Then he just....has to figure out how to give it to him.

#tobiizu #tobizu #izutobi #and hes basically just like hey tobirama i bought a boat-#and tobirama is like YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO DRIVE ONE??? YOU HAVE NO IDEA MARITAL RULES???#YOU'RE GOING TO FUCKING DIE ADRIFT AT SEA #and izuna is like oh wow what a great opening i wanted to hire you to drive it for me actually. forever.#and he finagles that into them essentially being married #slowly but surely.#and the rest of the uchiha are very politely like. thats izunas Best Friend For Life around madara about it #What a Lovely Friendship. as if they are not actively making out one beach towel away

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trenchcoatimpala · 11 hours

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I just rewatched "In my time of dying" and I have some things I need to say about that speech John gives Dean before he goes off to die. Let's touch on the points, shall we?

John apologizes to Dean for making him grow up too fast, putting too much on his shoulders, having Dean be the one to comfort him when it should've been the other way around, and he tells him he's proud of him.

The fact that Dean has to ask if it's really John talking is the first clue at how messed up this is. But what I want to talk about is that you'd think this little speech is kinda nice actually. You’d think wow, look at John acknowledging everything he made Dean do/go through. You’d think hey at least he said he’s proud of Dean for real this time! You’d think that, right? And yeah it is nice. John does mean what he’s saying.

But it all gets ruined by what John does after he gives his little "I'm sorry I screwed up so much" speech. Because he then tells Dean that he may have to KILL Sam. That whole entire speech just gets fucking NEGATED by that in my opinion, because what did he just tell Dean he was sorry for? Oh, that's right, putting too much on Dean's shoulders, making him look out for Sam when that was supposed to be his (a father's) job.

He tells Dean to "watch out for Sammy" and of course Dean says "yeah, Dad, you know I will" but it's a double entandre. Watch out for Sam as in: he’s your kid brother, keep him safe, but also as in: he’s dangerous. It’s giving Dean more responsibility that he SHOULDN’T HAVE. After literally having just told Dean that he's sorry for dumping all that crap on him, he goes and dumps more crap on him. It was a deathbed confession of his sins, maybe even hoping that telling Dean he was sorry might absolve him of terrible torture in Hell. If he wasn't about to die, he wouldn't have told Dean any of that. Not to mention the fact that he's also leaving Dean in charge of finishing the hunt for yellow eyes.

And of course, after John dies, Dean's left with so much suvivors guilt, and he's confused and scared about what his Dad meant when he said he may have to kill Sam. This in turn leads to Dean sacrificing himself for Sam because "I'm not even supposed to be here" so in his mind it's evening the scales.

Dean carries so much with him and it all comes back to John fucking Winchester and his A+ parenting.

#if john winchester has one hater it's me and if he has none i'm dead #john winchester #fuck john winchester #in my time of dying #trenchcoatimpala talks/rambles #I just get this intense hatred for John sometimes out of nowhere

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kasu-meow · 1 day

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I think this is a bit of an unpopular opinion at the moment, I haven't seen anyone else say this, but... I love Gojo Satoru with all my heart, and because I love him so much, I am so glad that he is dead and is staying dead.

Ever since he was born, he was labeled as the strongest, and he was unable to be anything else except a weapon. He is so far above everyone else that most people don't even stop to consider that he is a human too, and the one time he allowed himself to love and be human, the object of his affection was ripped from him by the same society that put him in a box and forced him to carry all the burden alone.

Ever since then, Gojo Satoru has been shouldering the bulk of the responsibilities of Jujutsu society, living in regret, wondering "what if?" and desperately trying to protect the ones who now walk the same path he used to, because even though he lost what was precious to him, maybe he can make things slightly better so others don't have to go through that pain.

In my eyes, Gojo Satoru's is a story of loss, of pain and regret. The only thing he desperately clung onto was the hope that if he just pushes on a little longer, and mentors the new generation, that maybe he can really affect something in this godforsaken society, make it just a little better for the next generation, but not for him; it's already too late for him. He has already lost everything.

And so he became a teacher, even though he "doesn't want to do any more babysitting," he fought the people who made him a tool to protect the ones he knew could create the change he was seeking, and even though he knew he was walking towards his death, he still put on a smile and reassured his students saying "Nah, I'd win."

Even though he sacrificed himself to wear down Sukuna and let his body be used like the tool it was always perceived as, just so he could save everybody, what did he get? No one cried for him, he wasn't remembered for his kindness or selflessness, but was only blamed for his mistakes because then again, he is a weapon, a tool. Gojo Satoru will never just be a person.

But at least... now it's over. He doesn't have to fight anymore. He left Earth knowing he did his job, and that his students have got it from here on out. He is finally able to breathe and rest, and he was even reunited with the only person who, despite it all, saw him for what he was. Not Gojo Satoru, the strongest, but Gojo Satoru, the guy who likes Digimon, eats kikufuku and smiles despite everything. The one person who was willing to destroy the entire Jujutsu society to protect Gojo Satoru, who really cared about him, and the one Gojo Satoru did everything for. He finally has what he always longed for, and he made peace with his own death. He tied up everything he had left on Earth, and chose to let go because he is no longer needed. The reason he couldn't be revived with RCT was because his soul was no longer clinging to this plane of existence, because finally Gojo Satoru got what he wanted, a new generation of allies who will grow even beyond his potential, and will carry on his vision and make real change in the world.

Gojo Satoru is finally resting and at peace. I miss him, so much, but if he were to come back, what would he be coming back for? He would have to leave Geto Suguru once again, even though the first time almost killed him, and for what? To go back to being who he was, playing the role he used to play, fighting to swim upstream in a world that sees him as nothing more than a machine? What does he have left on Earth now, besides the life of a weapon? He did everything he could, and Jujutsu society will start changing now because of him. He even died the way he always wished for, killed by someone stronger than him, who recognized him, and swore to never forget him.

For the first time in a decade, I believe Gojo Satoru is truly happy where he is. And I really, really want him to be happy. I don't want him to force himself to smile for the sake of someone else like he is used to, I want him to be able to let loose and be himself with the people who appreciate him. I don't want him to go back to a miserable life of loss and regret. So yeah... it pains me, and I miss him, but I'm glad Gojo Satoru is dead, and I hope it stays that way.

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo

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bedsyandco · 3 days

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♡ 𝆬 𝐖𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝓹airing , quinn hughes x leilani tocchet

quinn doesn’t know what he’d do without his brothers and he hopes he never has to find out. him and jack have a habit of meeting at the lake house kitchen when quinn feels like the ground is about to swallow him whole. (wc ; 1.2K )

꒰ 𝓷ote , this is the first piece of my new au (sweet nothing). It’s a prologue of sorts. I am already completely in love with this universe, dad!quinn and everything that’s coming. this takes place before the ‘23-‘24 season. please feel free to drop by the inbox and tell me all your thoughts about quinn, lani and ro ꒱

quinn doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting at the kitchen counter, counting the drops that are falling into the sink from the leaking faucet. considering he’s counted to 600 something each time, 4 different times before losing count again, one might say a little too long.

drop , drop , drop . . .

the longer quinn stares at the sink, the more annoyed he gets. what a perfect analogy for what his life has been looking like the past few years. problem after problem dropping into his lap, like those drops in the sink, and he’s just supposed to figure out a way to solve them all.

except, much like the leaking faucet he still hasn’t fixed, quinn can’t seem to get a moment to catch his breath before another thing gets added to the long list of problems and responsibilities he has.

the latest wrench thrown in his plans showing up as a 6’2, green eyed Australian whisking his child’s nanny away down under. quinn lets an amused sigh escape, rubbing a hand down his face, and taking a long sip of the warm beer from the can he took out of the fridge hours earlier.

it’s not like this was totally out of the blue. the nanny and the Australian have been dating nearly three years and got engaged last summer. surely quinn should’ve anticipated this move. but for some reason, probably all the other things clouding his brain on a daily basis, he didn’t.

and despite the 2 month head start she gave him on replacing her, quinn still hasn’t found a suitable replacement that meets his standards.

a shadow moving on his left catches quinn's attention but before he can even give a reaction a fist is flying towards his face and hits him square in the jaw, sending his head rearing to the other side.

"what the fuck?!" jack yells, laying a palm flat on his chest, right over his erratic heart, looking at quinn like he was the one who threw the punch, and wasn’t on the receiving end of it.

"jesus jack. the fuck are you doing?" quinn grumles, rubbing his palm over his jaw, the rough hair against his fingers reminding him that he needs to shave.

"what am I doing? what are you doing? sitting here in the dark like you’re contemplating all your life choices,” jack half-jokes, sending his older brother one of his signature grins, but when quinn only releases a sigh as a response jack’s demeanour immediately changes and he pulls out the chair next to quinn’s at the breakfast bar, letting them both bask in the silence for a few seconds.

“last time we had a little bro-to-bro meeting in this kitchen at 4A.M. was when you told me about Rowan. And look, Ro is the best thing that ever happened to this family, but if you’re about to tell me you got someone pregnant again I’m really gonna freak out. I love being an uncle but you gotta learn how to wrap it up—“

“I’m not having another kid Jack. I can barely cope with the one I do have as it is,” quinn mutters, sending his brother an annoyed look that his mind would even jump to that conclusion. Not that he could blame him.

“Thank God. Besides my bet is on Luke and Vi having a kid next. Those two go at it like rabbits, at least now that Luke’s gonna be in Jersey it’ll lower the chances you know?” Jack says and Quinn lets out a soft laugh at his little brother’s disgusted tone.

“Let’s not put that out into the universe,” quinn jokes and jack hums in agreement.

“so if there’s not another little quinn on the way, what’s keeping you up this time of night Quinny?” jack asks softly, bumping his shoulder into his brother’s and Quinn lets out a shaky breath as he meets jack’s worried, blue eyes.

Maybe it’s because those blue eyes remind him so much of his mom’s that Quinn’s resolve melts away immediately as he tells his brother about the latest predicament he found himself in.

“well just start start up interviews again when you get back to Van. Ask some of the guys on the team who has kids, maybe they can recommend you someone they trust,” jack suggests as if quinn hadn’t already thought of and done that himself. jack must have seen the expression on quinn’s face because he doesn’t even let him get a word out before he speaks again.

“I don’t remember you being this selective when we were younger,” jack mutters and quinn scoffs

“yeah well I’m not choosing what toy to play with or who share my snacks with on the playground jack. this is my child’s happiness and safety on the line, I’ll be as selective as I damn well please,” quinn snaps, and jack puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“it’s gonna be okay. I’m sure you’ll find someone before the season starts. and if you don’t, and it comes to that, i’m sure mom and dad will fly out and be there as long as you need them,” jack suggests and quinn can’t help it as the feeling of panic settles in his chest and wraps around his throat at the idea of his parents rearranging their lives because he can’t get his own together.

he’s the oldest brother. he’s the captain. he’s the dad. he’s supposed to be the one looking after people; helping them figure things out and supporting them, not the other way around.

the thought of burdening others with his problems, physically made him ill. or maybe it was the thought about why he needed a nanny at all. the fear that he wasn’t present enough in his own son’s life. that he was an absent father.

with a mother that couldn’t get rid of him fast enough and a father that couldn’t even put him to bed every night. quinn was bound to screw his kid up for life.

jack’s face comes into view as he twists quinn’s chair, forcing him out of his deprecating thoughts.

“hey , no matter what happens. we got you, okay? someone’s gonna be there. mom, dad, me, luke, someone will be there if you need us quinn. I don’t care if I need to take a leave of absence from the team for a few weeks and be babysitter while you figure some stuff out. If that’s what we need to do, we’ll do it. And we’ll cross that bridge if and when we get there. I don’t say it nearly as often as you deserve to hear it but you’re a good brother Quinny, and you’re a great dad, and you’re about to be the best leader in the league,” jack says and quinn struggles to swallow past the lump in his throat

“crosby’s not retired yet you know,” quinn replies to the “best leader” comment and jack sends him a grin

“I know. My big brother’s always gonna be the best at everything in my eyes tho,” the words slip past jack’s lips and he laughs as quinn shoves him away slightly

“now you’re just trying to make a grown man cry and it’s mean,” quinn says and jack squeezes his shoulder one more time before going to grab a glass out of the cabinet. the original task he was coming down here to do…

“go to bed. i’m sure Ro is gonna wake up any minute and be looking for you,” jack says

“he’s passed out between luke and vi actually,” quinn says, grinning cheekily as jack laughs

“well that’s one way to keep them quiet.”

#꒰ ❛ 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 ❜ ꒱#quinn hughes fluff #quinn hughes fic

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lovelyflora21 · 2 days

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Strangers

Summary: She was still herself, he was still him. In the same place. Yet, isn't it strange how people can change?

Pairing: Leon S Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Tags: Angst, hurt, no happy endings (?)

A/n: A rather lengthy continuation to my previous fic, inspired by Celeste - Strange. Would recommend listening to the song whilst reading this to really get the feel of it ;)

Wc: 1,8k

P.s. Let me know if anyone wants to be added to the tag list! <3

Tag list: @lysa1201 @lysol1201

I tried for you.

What Leon said that night, the way he looked at her with complete utter disdain; mixed with a cacophony of heavy breathing and slurred speech of spiteful, venomous words spewed her way–safe to say, it was enough to turn that tiny little voice inside her head louder. Ten times louder than the conscience, the soft spot she’s always held for him.

That maybe everything she did for him was, in fact, all in vain. That it was a complete waste. She was wasting her precious, precious time and energy; her life, on a drunkard. An asshole of an alcoholic, once applauded for his bravery and prowess as an agent–akin to that of America’s very own zombie-killing, man-made Superman.

God, mama was right! I should’ve dumped him. What was I thinking?!

Were what had crossed her mind as she skipped down the stairs of his apartment’s fifth floor’s stairwell. She clung onto her bag and pride, more on her pride (what was left of it anyways) than her bag really, as she rummaged through the tote bag for her car keys. She had tears welling up in her eyes, her throat burning and constricting in a measly effort of holding herself together. From sobbing her poor heart out. From breaking down on the stairs and pitying herself.

Tried to see through all the smoke and dirt. It wouldn't move.

Everything else was a blur then. The drive back home. The whole thought process on deciding to finally and completely vanishing from his life. All that in a span of minutes. Most would criticize her for being too overboard with her impulsivity, for making a big deal out of nothing!

Oh spare me the theatrics! She could still hear Leon’s voice; nagging in the back of her mind, it would have been his reaction, if he had known of what she was about to do to him or saw an ounce more of her true reaction in response to his cruelty.

But as she drove through the traffic and streets of DC’s avenues, her heavy-with-tears eyes dropped to see his name popping up on her phone; his number texting and calling her numerous times–his picture flashing, showing off his stupid fucking cocky grin–it silenced the other voices that were doubting her decision. And suddenly what she was about to do was justified and she saw nothing wrong with it.

So when it turned red, she reached for her phone; looked at his number and picture one last time before she blocked it–blocked him, and shoved the phone back inside the bag.

The first night, she couldn’t cry at all. She tossed and turned in bed then eventually fell asleep. But the next few days? Oh they were torture. Hardly sleeping, hardly eating; the blunt of the impact finally hitting her head on. Her feelings, emotions and sound mind were colliding against one another. Everything was everywhere all at once. Anger, disappointment, hurt, sadness, grief and shame. Surging all at once then fading away just as quick into numbness and denial. Then she’d crash out again, and again, and again. Rinse and repeat.

So she did what Leon S Kennedy would’ve done. Drown herself in work, overtime after overtime. Back to back meetings, projects, RnDs. Anything to get her mind off of him and that night. One thing for sure though, she was done.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Before she knew it, she earned herself a promotion, alongside an offer to relocate somewhere else; she was given the liberty to pick the spot. To pick which branch of her office she would be relocating to.

Without doubt and further, deeper questioning; she said yes. Again, some would have considered her impulsivity a major flaw but to be fair, this was the opportunity she had been looking for. Especially after that night and after Leon.

Albeit the suffering and grief it brought upon her; that night brought her an epiphany. A revelation, that her whole life had revolved around him and him alone. She was never the center of her own universe, no–it had been Leon.

It was a mistake.

So now, with Leon gone and out of the picture; she had nothing to revolve around. There was nothing left for her here anyways…

She was never one for spirituality but it got her thinking– that the opportunity presented itself just in time. It was perfectly aligned with her, as if the universe had given her its blessings to move forward. Even without him.

As if it was a way for the universe to tell her.

He’s very dreamy, but he is not the sun. You are.

So when it was all said and done, when everything’s packed into the back of a moving truck and she’d bid farewell to friends and colleagues; she moved. Out of DC and to Francisco.

And things were okay again. Late nights weren’t so heavy and she wasn’t so burdened with all-consuming thoughts of him. Mornings came by easier for her. She began liking the way coffee smelt, the way the flowers bloomed and the plants flourish, she began liking the taste of sourdough bread with runny eggs on top.

Casual dates were a thing for her now. Enjoying herself and her time as an individual rather than a thing attached to him.

And before she knew it, a year had passed.

Life was great. She was flourishing, bright and blooming.

The sun was high above, her locks cascaded like waters down her neck. She wore a white dress, the patterns were small flowers in the color of muted salem. She had the day off, needed to pick up on groceries and flowers for her vase in the living room and kitchen island. She’d grown to fall for flowers ever since she’d moved to Francisco.

As she was looking at the arrangement of fruits set before her, smiling at the older lady; she couldn’t help but to notice a man staring at her then approaching her.

Hey there.

So when her eyes found him, clad in blue instead of black; they widened for a second. Taking in the phantom of what once was the man she’d loved and devoted herself to.

They stood there, just…staring…

Then there was silence.

Say, isn't it strange? I am still me You are still you.

—

So they sat there, across one another. This was their second meeting. In a cafe, her favorite. She’d suggested the place. They opted for the outdoor seating instead, feeling as though the walls around them were too overwhelming for her. Too suffocating, especially when she would be near him.

Her white shirt was slightly crumpled, tucked inside her blue denim jeans that clung to her perfectly. Her bag was set by her ankle, under the table.

She crossed one leg over the other, her eyes never leaving Leon’s. Who had his own ocean blue eyes on her.

Leon had begged her for this chance. Said he wanted to talk to her, needed to talk to her. And she gave him the same grace she would’ve wanted people to give him. Less of a second chance and more towards the urge for a proper closure, really.

Leon Scott Kennedy was never one to be curious. He’d learnt from his line of work that curiosity can and will kill the cat. And yet when it came to her, he was as curious as ever. So many things he wanted to say, to ask, to question, to find out, to know and last but never should be the least; to understand. Why did she disappear on him like that? Where has she been?Why San Francisco? How did she end up here? Is she with someone else? Is that why she was here now? Was she now a happily-married woman living the white picket fence dream?

But only one thing came out of his now slightly chapped-lips and dry mouth.

I am so sorry.

Back to our roots What did we lose? What did we lose?

He began, stammering as he leant forward across the table that barred him from feeling her warmth. From feeling her kindness, her love, her tenderness and the familiarity of her.

It’s in the past.

Her voice was…soft. But it lacked the love and gentleness she once held for him. Her eyes were distant…as if staring at a far away dream instead of him.

I shouldn’t have said what I said, I was an alcoholic and an asshole and I didn’t deserve you.

You really didn’t.

Then there was silence again. Leon’s breath caught as he heard her utter those simple words with such indifference it sent shivers down his spine.

There was no malice, no anger, no bitterness lacing her words yet all the same it wounded him so. In ways he never thought nor imagined possible.

Isn’t it strange? How people can change.

Give me one more chance, let me make things right.

His pleading was met with silence. Then there was a soft tapping noise against the table, Leon’s blue orbs flitted to her manicured nails for a second before coming back to her face. They were painted beige.

If I could, I’d pull your strings for one more dance.

I…I’ve changed. I’m not drinking anymore and I’ve been going to therapy and I’m not missing out on them anymore. I swear.

It was pitiful how he dragged on and on about how he was a changed man. But seeing she was not budging at all, made Leon’s stomach twist and turn.

I can’t.

Tell me what I need to do to make this work, to make things right.

She simply shook her head, a defeated and reserved smile graced her lips. God, those same lips Leon had missed so much. How he wished he hadn’t taken her for granted.

It’s for the best.

And with that, she gathered her bag and herself. She mustered up enough courage and willpower to heave herself up to her feet. Even outside with the wind breezing past them and the world still revolving around them, she felt just as suffocated and as still as ever. She refused to look him in the eyes, refused to study the way his face fell and his eyes glazed with tears.

I look at you, with nothing to say.

Leaning down for one last kiss, she placed a chaste and small peck on his cheek. Feeling the stubble caress her skin and mouth. She dared not bid him farewell, nor did he. Neither lovers dared to lift their faces to meet one another’s gaze, afraid it might shatter whatever defense they had left.

Isn’t it strange? How people can change From strangers to friends Friends into lovers

So she walked away, never looking back.

And strangers again.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy angst #im sorry for this one y'all #leon s kennedy #older!leon #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fanfic

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star-reaper · 8 hours

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Dean Winchester x Reader One-shot/Drabble

Anniversary

Synopsis: It's your first anniversary. He's supposed to be here. You're embarrassed, you're anxious, you're hurt. You're tired of not feeling like a priority to him. The entire walk home in the pouring rain has you thinking the worst, but what you find in your apartment is not what you had expected.

Hurt/Comfort, angst + major fluff, happy ending, fem!reader, pre s1 Dean, descriptions of injury, blood, typical canon violence

You're pissed. More than that, you're seething.

The embarrassment has twisted into white hot rage and the blood rushing through your body sends your heels tapping away erratically on the tiled floor of the restaurant, knee bobbing up and down and sticking to the leather seat.

The waitress has come back four times in the hour and ten you'd been there waiting, your glass of water anxiously sucked down and replaced with a sickly sweet mai tai twice. She glances up at you from the hostess booth every few minutes, pity practically seeping from her expression each time she does and still doesn't see your date with you.

Everyone knows you've been stood up. Guests around you peer over nosily, sneering. Or even glare at the loud fidgeting you're managing in the cozy corner booth of the facility. It's a nice place, you were so excited to finally try it out with Dean, immediately suggesting it when you two had planned this celebration a month ago. You'd eyed it every day on your walk home from the University you attended, it's classy appeal and crimson red walls practically glowing on the other side of the street, soft jazz music emitting from its doors. It was expensive, you'd both had to scrape together some savings to ensure you could afford it but god were you excited. Excited for a taste of normalcy, domesticity; a lovely night out with your lover at a gorgeous restaurant in the city, good food, fancy cocktails . . . It didn't seem like too much to ask for. And for your first anniversary it seemed fitting too. But now all you can think of is how stupid that notion was.

Normalcy with Dean Winchester? It was laughable. And really, you loved that about him, loved everything about him, but to think that for one night he would push aside his responsibilities to celebrate your anniversary together was just plain naivety.

You weren't a normal couple and you never would be.

And to think, you dressed yourself up all pretty, soft makeup adorning your features and your hair down just like he liked it. Your "once-in-a-blue-moon" jewelry set accessorizes your outfit perfectly, and really, you felt beautiful. You wanted him to see you like this, his green eyes glazed over with that lover boy haze, his usual smirk shifting into that sweet, gentle smile reserved for only you. He'd have his hands all over you and those pretty lips on your neck.

Now it all felt so silly.

You should've known the day was bound for failure when you woke up this morning and he was already gone from your apartment. Not completely unusual, you know of course what he does and you know what his father demands of him. You decided long ago that you didn't care. Anything was worth the pleasures of loving Dean— being loved by Dean. But you'd hoped today would be different. You'd planned to awaken together and spend all morning entangled in his body, loving each other lazily and sleepily and then finally rolling out of the sheets for a cup of coffee and stupid cartoons. Instead you'd left him a voice message,

"Happy Anniversary, Baby." You'd cut yourself off with a yawn, angling the phone away from your lips, then, "Was hoping I'd see you this morning to tell you in person but it looks like duty calls, huh? Call me back when you get this, I'm excited for tonight. I love you, Dean. Bye."

He hadn't ever called back, but really you just thought maybe it was a difficult hunt. He'd get back to you as soon as he could. You knew it. You ached to be angry with him for leaving you alone, for choosing another hunt instead of just giving you 24 hours of his undivided attention on this special day. But you swallowed that anger down and fought hard to remind yourself, it's okay. Shit happens. He isn't choosing work over you, and you know that it's so much more complicated than that. But then why did it hurt so bad? Why did your stomach sink further and further into you with each passing hour and no word from Dean?

The whole afternoon went by with still nothing. You'd called again to see if he was okay, if he was gonna make it to dinner. It went right to voicemail and at that point you felt it was up to hoping. Trusting. You trusted he would make it to your anniversary dinner because he knew how important it was for you. He knew how excited you were and he knew you'd be waiting for him. Part of you thinks you should have reminded him yesterday but you remind yourself that he's a grown man. He should be able to remember your plans together just fine without you breathing down his neck. He wouldn't have just forgotten.

Would he?

Hands shaking, you pull out your wallet and fish three twenties out of the zippered pouch. It's far more than what your drinks costed you and a pretty hefty tip but you felt it was only fair for your prickly attitude and the awkwardness your poor waitress had to endure. Your hand slaps hard against the cold, solid surface of the table. Your jaw is clenched so tight you swear you won't have any teeth left by the time you walk home. Rising on unsteady legs, eyes averted to the ground, you bee-line out of that prestigious restaurant and finally take a deep breath when your face hits the wall of freezing air outside of the building. It's cold in your throat and cold on your flush cheeks.

It's only then that you notice the onslaught of rain pelting down from the heavens in big, cold, droplets. It's just perfect, you think. How fitting would a cliche half-mile walk to your apartment be in the freezing cold rain after being stood up on your anniversary.

Fists clenched at your sides you start to feel that familiar tightness in your throat, prickling up from deep inside of you.

Don't cry. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, you think.

But it's too late, the tears are falling faster than you can stop them and the hurt, the embarrassment, the anger, the anxiety. . . it all comes crashing down in one big tsunami of fat tears running down your cheeks. You feel pathetic, but you just can't help it.

Your pretty dress slicks to your skin as you begin your trek home, the fabric darkening from the wet of the rain and you can already feel the soppy puddles forming in the soles of your heels. Your hair, once rolling perfectly down your shoulders in precise curls sticks to your face and plasters around your neck uncomfortably. You swear you're wearing holes into your bottom lip with how hard you're biting the flesh, the metallic tang of blood seeping into your mouth as you try to contain your sobs.

How could he forget this? How could he embarrass you like this? You're so sick of feeling like you're on the back burner all the time and you're scared it'll be the breaking point.

By now, you were supposed to be in the passenger seat of his Impala, driving home together with your bellies full and your hands clasped together on the center console, all smiles and loud singing to his music. He'd kiss you deep at the red lights and a familiar warmth would spread inside you at your core. Together you'd stumble into your apartment with a clumsy clash of teeth and lips and roaming hands— thinking about this was just making you feel so much worse. Nothing had gone to plan and now you weren't sure what would happen next. Not sure you could hold it together without blowing up on him as soon as you see him. If you even see him tonight. You have the feeling you won't.

Besides being absolutely drenched, it's also frigidly cold, the wind ripping through the tight collection of city streets and billowing your clothes. You shiver hard, teeth chattering loudly at this point and it's almost tempting to just run the rest of the way home. You probably would if you didn't have heels on. The evening dark sky casts a sad, blue glow across the wet pavement and across your skin, painting you in a cerulean hue of light disrupted only by the yellow luminescence of each street lamp you pass. You would think it was beautiful if not for your sour mood.

You think you're about to be rescued when you hear the thrum and idle of an old classic car pulling up behind you. You straighten up immediately and spin on the noise hopefully, wholly expecting to see that familiar, sleek black car and Dean, running to your aid with apologies shooting off his tongue. You deflate when you see instead, an old red Nova and a sweet elderly couple ambling into a shop together under an umbrella. You sigh hard and swipe your knuckles across your cheek in a useless attempt to will away your uncontrollable tears.

The usual ten-ish minute long walk home feels unbearably long and when you finally reach those double doors and push them open weakly you can't help but feel at least a little bit better. The lobby is dry and empty and warm and you relish in it for a moment before making your way to the elevator and up.

Your fingers are numb from the cold as you fiddle with your keys, fumbling a few times before finally unlocking the door and nudging it open with your hip. When you make it inside you slump against the wood of your front door and slide pathetically down to the floor into a ball, knees drawn tight to your chest and arms around yourself. You're crying again, sniffling and shaking and weeping and it feels horrible and relieving all at the same time.

Your apartment is dark save for the ambiance lamp left on in the living room and the light streaming through the crack at the bottom of the bathroom door. You cock your head to the side.

Wait a minute. You could've sworn you turned the off when you left, you're usually pretty good at remembering to shut off all the main lights. Then you realize the big, brown boots sitting next to you by the shoe rack. Dean's big, brown boots.

In an instant, you're standing again and striding in big, quick steps toward the bathroom door, heels discarded behind you and wet feet leaving imprints on the wood floors, your dress leaving puddles in your wake.

"Dean?" You call, voice so weak you barely hear it yourself, "Dean, where the hell have you been?"

Your hand is on the handle and you're wrenching the door open before he even has the chance to answer.

You can't help the gasp that slips loudly past your lips, your fingers following in wake to cover your mouth.

Dean sits crumpled on the bathroom floor, a wet washcloth in hand pressing against his temple and there's blood everywhere. Blood both fresh and dried caked on his face, oozing from gashes on his forehead and his neck. His skin is pale and his lips almost blue. His black tee is shredded into ribbons down the front with marks like an animal attack running all down his chest, angry and red, and swollen. Dean tilts his head against the wall he leans against and grimaces when the door you pushed into him knocks him hard in the knee.

Immediately you're at his side, down on your knees to tend to him and you're terrified because he's never come back this out of shape.

"I'm okay, Baby. Hurts like hell, but I'll live." He affirms, shaking his head at your concern, "Just gotta get cleaned up."

You pry the cloth from his hand and move to rinse the blood from it in the sink, wringing it out and re-wetting it before holding it back to the deep wound next to his brow. Your own are furrowed, no doubt displaying your every emotion to him consequently. It's almost instant how quick you forget your tears, consumed by the adrenaline in seeing Dean so beat up. It's not the first time you'd tended to his wounds after a hunt but it is the first time it's been so serious.

His lashes flutter and you realize how exhausted he looks as his eyes meet yours, then narrow as he takes in your appearance. You feel like shrinking under his gaze, averting your own as his hands come up to cup your cheeks and he pulls your face gently towards him to make you look at him again.

"Sweetheart, you been crying?" He asks tentatively, brushing his thumb past the sticky tear tracks drying under your eyes. With sudden clarity he's looking down at your body and your wet dress and sopping hair and his jaw drops wide open.

"Shit. Shit, Baby." His eyes widen and in an instant that exhaustion is wiped from his features, replaced with pure terror and guilt.

"I'm so sorry. Please tell me you weren't waiting for me out there. Please tell me you weren't sitting outside that restaurant the whole time waiting on me." He's shaking his head and for a moment you think he's going to cry now.

You sniffle and have to look away from him, swallowing that damned lump in your throat.

"You forgot." you manage to croak. "You forgot our anniversary."

"No, no, I didn't," - you narrow your eyes at him accusingly - "Well, I did— kind of! Baby, I'm so sorry I didn't realize that was today I just got so caught up in this hunt and Dad—"

"You always get caught up in a hunt. Dean, you left me alone in that restaurant. You left me alone all day. You disappeared before I even woke up, didn't leave a note or anything. You didn't answer your phone, you didn't—" You shake your head, trying not to cry again. "Do you know how embarrassed I was at that restaurant? You hurt me, Dean. This was important to me."

"Let me make it up to you," Dean grovels, eyes pleading, "Please, let me have a redo."

"I don't want to feel like this. I don't want to feel like I'm on the back burner. I know what you do is special. I know it's different and I know it's important to you. But you make me feel shitty when you don't put in the effort to remember these things. When you don't fit me in as a priority, too. It makes me feel like you weren't as excited as I was to celebrate this with you and that's hurtful." You remove his hands from your face to stand and you feel him panic for a moment, thinking you're walking away from him when you're just standing to reach the first aid kit on top of the mirror cabinet.

You pull from the box the bottle of antiseptic and some gauze and go to work on patching up those wounds. No matter how angry, how hurt you are, you weren't going to let him clean himself up the haphazard way he does it.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I was excited, I was excited to see you happy and to spend time with you. I was excited to show you off. Baby, you mean everything to me, don't think for a moment that you don't." Dean says, and you know he means every word. "I won't let it happen again, I'll shape up."

"Actions mean a lot more than words, you know." you say, not harshly, but matter of factly, quiet.

"I know. I'll make it up to you. It won't ever happen again. I swear it."

He rests his hands on your shoulders, soothing them up and down your arms. "Sweetheart, you're freezing. Ditch the first aid, let's get you into the shower you're gonna catch a cold."

You take one glance at his bloodied chest and know the shower would do him just as good rather than ruining all your clean laundry trying to soak up his blood.

"You too?" you ask, brows furrowed.

Dean nods before heaving himself up, using the wall as support even though you reach your hands out to him to hold him up. He shucks off his jacket and pulls what's left of his shirt over his head, leaving them in a dejected pile on the bathroom tile.

Next, he's pulling the kit out from your other hand and setting it on the bathroom counter before reaching his arms around your body to unzip your dress in the back.

"You still look beautiful. I'm sorry you wasted it on me."

"I look like a drowned rat."

Dean scoffs at that, his lips flitting up into that signature amused smirk of his.

"I love you." He whispers against your forehead, pressing a gentle kiss there before slipping the straps of your dress off your shoulders and you return his words.

The dress falls around your legs with a sloppy, wet, slap on the tile and you slip out of it before turning the faucet on in the shower. Dean unbuttons his jeans and you peel off the rest of each others clothes before stepping into the warm shower.

The blood melts into the hot water and down the drain, Dean grimacing from the pain and you delicately circle a hand around his wrist.

"Are you sure you'll be okay? What happened today anyway?" You ask.

"It's a long story, tell you some other time." You leave it at that as his hands come up to massage the shampoo into your hair and your eyes flutter shut at the sensation.

Together you clean up, pressing kisses to each other in various locations, Dean's hands gentle on your body and in your hair and arms circling your waist.

"I don't deserve you." he whispers so quietly you barely hear it over the patter of the water in the porcelain tub.

"You do, Dean. You deserve to be loved. You deserve to be forgiven. You deserve everything good. I love you. And I forgive you because I know you mean it. I know you'd never hurt me on purpose."

You don't say it, but you forgive him because he's Dean Winchester. You love him so hard you'd let it destroy you. You forgive him because he really does deserve it. Dean Winchester who lost his mom tragically. Dean Winchester who looks out for everyone but doesn't expect anyone to look out for him. (No one does). Dean Winchester and the little brother he raised who doesn't even know it. Dean Winchester and his hard ass, stubborn father who treats him like a soldier. Dean Winchester and his heart of gold. Your Dean Winchester.

"I love you, too." He kisses you deep, nose brushing against yours and calloused fingers at your collar, the other arm around your back. Your hands reach around his neck and thread into the short hair at his nape.

"You know, that ice cream place down the road is open until 10." Dean smiles, "Whaddaya say we go get some Rocky Road and bring it home and we can marathon whatever you want all night on the couch?"

You can't help the laugh that bubbles out of you.

"Okay," you say with a smile, "that sounds perfect."

"Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart."

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