#and boom the world is fixed

[greendomine]

dawg i need to d¡e soon i cant do this back n forth mood shit w myself anymore. quite literally poisoning everyone around me like why am i still here

[augment-techs]

AO3 tag: Muzzles + Lord Drakkon/Coinless Jason

Can I offer a crumb of Episodic Adventure today, good lords, ladies and nonbinaries?

[mosspapi]

The plastic covering the hinge on my earbuds case has completely broken off and the lid is now fully detached from the rest of the case. I'm like 90% sure I'm out of the warranty period and the contact us/support page keeps crashing so I can't even ask the company what to do. We live in a society bottom text

Edit apparently at least one of my requests did go thru (so possibly they just got like 12 of them bcuz the page kept reloading. Whoops) but it was just answered by their "AI platform" and just said "if u have an item u want to return for warranty please go here" and like. That is literally the opposite of what I said. I'm going to kill someone I swear to god

[mars-ipan]

the people at the arts resource center are so nice,,,

[sweetnans]

You've been fighting. A lot.

Lately, it's been more bantering and spatting at each other than being the couple you used to be.

It started with Katsuki staying in the agency more. There were multiple attacks from villains, and the paperwork was endless.

Then you decided that it was good for you to pick up more shifts. You started part-time, and now you were picking double shifts that landed on his days off.

Days and weeks passed by where you hadn't seen each other in the frequency you did before.

Till death tear us apart

The inside part of your wedding ring was a constant reminder that death wasn't breaking up your marriage. It was, in fact, the time that wasn't being fair with the two of you.

One night, when you and him magically had the same schedule and reunited at home for dinner, everything blew off.

It started like a subtle conversation. How was your day? Where have you been? Tell me about your week... and then boom. The bomb exploded right under your nose.

You were crying because you missed him, he was angry because he missed you too and he felt like the problem was leaking in between his fingers and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

Everything was a big fat mess.

"I didn't want this for us," you said, grabbing your head with both of your hands. Tears dripping from your face to the mahogany table.

"Me neither!" He was pacing in front of the table from one side to another.

He felt like it was the end of it, and it was the first time in years that he felt scared. He didn't want to lose you ever.

"Then what do we do?" You whispered. Your throat clogged because of the pain. You loved the man in front of you, every piece of him.

"Fix this fucking thing I guess" he shrugged finally stopping his feet. He was hurt for seeing you there broken because of him.

"You don't have to say it like that," you muttered, lowering your head, busy staring at the stains of your tears in the wood.

The whispers, the cracking in your voice, your face stained with tears. No, he wouldn't be that kind of man. That type of husband.

He promised the day he decided to be yours forever, long before you sealed your relationship at the altar, that he would do everything to make you entirely happy.

Do you need more time? Fine, he would reduce his hours at the agency. Do you need him to be more romantic? You got it, he would buy you flowers and chocolates. God, he would do anything for you. You just have to name it.

You were worth fighting for.

He stomped quickly to your side, lowering his body and kneeling by your side. He grabbed your hand in between his hands, and with careful caresses, he made your eyes meet with his.

"Shit, sweatheart, you know who I am, and I know you know that I've never felt something like this for anyone. It's just you and me in our world, " he pronounced, no mumbling or half grunts. He was actually speaking at you with his entire heart. "I'm yours completely, and I would do anything for deserving being by your side. I know I have to change some things and I'll do it because I want you and only you"

The only sound that came out of your mouth were hiccups. You were a sobing mess. You needed to change things too, but looking at Katsuki so eager and willing to make your relationship and marriage work gave you the enough courage to actually make a change and to never forget what you have in front of you, an amazing man with a heart of gold.

[cute-sucker]

your crush on rafe was helpless.

you knew you shouldn't indulge in it, as you flashed across the country club, wearing your cute outfits, and laughing with your girls. so what if you were a little of bimbo, giggling at anything said, and soft eyes wavering wherever they shouldn't?

you had been in plenty of relationships, beaming at anyone who treated you well, or perhaps not so well. rafe cameron was someone who you had always wanted to kiss. just a small peck on the mouth, or a soft embrace in his hands. somehow he was someone who wouldn't even touch you.

you had made it your mission after last year when you had tried to dance with him, only for him to promptly decline your offer, his eyes wandering someplace else, as you pouted. your friends had told you to give it up. what use was it?

after all rafe was filthy, with his dark blue eyes, and cruel worlds. all you had heard was bad things. but you were a soft princess, eyes docking at anyone, and painfully shy as well so who really cared about a harmless crush? it wasn't like anything was going to happen. you wanted for him though, harmless touches on his shoulder hoping that he'd look at you.

and suddenly it happened.

"coulda you move?" he squinted down at you, and you bit your lip beaming up at him. you had been eying him all night, pulling down your pretty pink dress hoping that he'd take a liking. instead, his eyes looked hazy, as he swung the bottle over his mouth.

then he gave you a pointed look, "what's a pretty girl like you doing all alone?"

it was so overused. it was so icky the way he looked down at you. it was so stupid, yet you found yourself flushing, playing with the strands of your bracelet, "i don't know. i felt a bit lonely."

at this he smirked looking down at you, almost as if his eyes had reajusted and he'd realised who he was looking at. you were like a shy little bunny, wearing pink platforms, glossy pink lips pursed and an attitude he'd like to fix. yet rafe's smile deepened, and he licked his lips to look back at you.

you battered your eyelashes you practiced in the mirror. his eyes seem to linger on your lips for a second more. the music continued to boom, yet you felt this distant hum go through your body. if he touched you, you would melt.

"lonely, huh?" he drawled, his voice low and rough around the edges. "you shouldn't be. not a girl like you."

you had thought about this so many nights. you'd wished, hoped that he would finally pay attention to you. you felt the heat rise to your cheeks, and could barely stop your hands from shaking as he leaned closer.

his breath was cool on your neck, he smelt like peppermint, something that made your head spin, "how about i keep you company?

that was it. you felt all of your confidence go down the drain, instead, all you could feel was the way that your heart beat faster and faster. as if he was about to catch you, and you swallowed hard. you pouted as you toyed with your tiffany bracelet.

'i'd like that," you murmured, barely able to hear your own voice over the pounding in your chest.

there was something about your soft tone that seemed to change something about you. rafe's smirk turned into something softer, almost predatory. he reached out, his fingers grazing your arm lightly, sending shivers down your spine. "good," he said. "because i've been watching you too, you know. always so cute and innocent. makes me wonder what you're really like."

at this, you felt your heart skip a beat. there was no way, but you let the delusions fill your head, charged with promise you seemed to jump up. earnestly you tilted your head, and placed your hand on his bicep.

"i guess you'll have to find out," you breathed out, voice much steadier than you had ever felt.

rafe's eyes seemed to darken with interest before he leaned in his arm travelling to the small part of your back, "yea? you'd like that?" now his arms captured your waist, as you let out a soft sigh.

"welcome to my world, baby.'"

˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚

wanna meet bunny!reader sister? pogue!bunny!reader drabble: smile for the camera

[miserycanary]

WHAT YOU'RE MEANT TO DO ᡣ𐭩

pairing: alpha!Simon 'Ghost' Riley & workcaholic omega fem!reader

synopsis: you've lived your whole life without any problems due to the status of being beta, and you liked it that way. It doesn't interfere with your work, and suddenly you're informed you're an omega? That can't be.

tags: small arguments, smut like.. actually, dumbification, slight size kink, belly bulge, hair pulling, praise, degradation, breeding kink??, daddy kink, slight overstimulation if you squint, spit kink if you live in delusions

You had a routine you religiously followed. The day starts with waking up at 4, never having trouble getting up because you always look forward to work. You leave the apartment you share with your boyfriend at 5:15— maybe later than that when Simon feels clingy and asks you to stay for that day. You’ll indulge for 5 minutes before pressing a kiss on his chapped lips, promising you’ll come home early for him which seems to satisfy him. 

Now you knew something was wrong when you woke up, exhausted, and all your bones weighed like a ton. Thinking back to last night, the clock displayed 10:15 when you finally resigned to bed, even unable to satisfy Simon (which he understood), opting to cuddle with you and nosing around your neck.

Your groan woke up Simon, his muscled figure making the bed creak as he followed your figure almost dragging itself to the bathroom. “Sweetheart?” he calls out, worry evident in his voice. “I’m fine, baby. Just feeling a little under the weather. Nothing some meds won’t fix,” the reassurance slips off your tongue easily despite all the alarms in your mind begging you to rest. 

Your breathing got labored as your body tried to function. Your lover seems to have taken your word for it and went back to sleep, making you crack a smile.

Finally, you managed to get ready.. at 5:40. On the way, you could feel stares pointing at you. Did you smell? ‘Did I shower? I.. forgot. No, no... I did..’ you think to yourself, putting your things down on the table and letting your legs rest. “What kind of fucking sickness is this?” mumbling to yourself. Your eyebrows furrow, cursing at the world and complaining about the medicine not taking effect. 

Time seemed to go fast but unbearably slow. It seemed like you could only recognize snippets throughout the day. Next thing you know, you hear your boyfriend’s worrying voice coming from your phone. Since when did you call? Nevermind. You hung up. Your mind flashes forward and the bright shine of your laptop looks back. For quite some time, you don’t recall moving, just looking dazed. ‘Water. I need water’ You finally snap back to reality, standing up. The world suddenly swirled and you found yourself on the floor. 

‘Oh, shit. I-I need to get up... Fuck, my legs won’t move'

Tears swelled in your eyes, feeling helpless as people started to crowd you. Amid the commotion, a thundering voice booms out, calling for you. “Y/N!” Suddenly, all you could feel was the cool feeling of your boyfriend’s skin on yours. His scent fills your senses. God, you could live off this. “Babe.. why are you here?” you look at him, sighing in relief when you feel his palm pressed against your cheek. “You called me, slurring your words.” His voice was so deep and rough, you thought. Involuntarily, you squeezed your legs when you felt something gush in between. Your period? No, no.. too early. Unaware, everyone seemed to catch up to what’s wrong with you. Everyone rushed to distance themselves from you when Simon held you protectively, hiding you away from everyone and glaring at those who seemed to look at you like prey ready to be devoured. 

Before you lost consciousness, all you could think of was you forgot to save your document. Then the next thing you wake up to is your apartment’s ceiling and the clattering from your kitchen with heavy footsteps. You could only assume it’s your boyfriend trying to cook. “Ghost..?” you call out, voice hoarse. In an instant, he was by your side with water in hand. “Hi, baby,” he starts, pushing the glass near your lips. You whine when you can’t even move to take a sip, and he melts at that. With gentleness, he tangles his fingers in your hair and pulls your head back, tilting the glass. “Open,” he commanded, which your body seemed to obey, your mouth opening and letting the cold water relieve your parched throat. As some droplets escape and cascade down your cleavage, you moan as it momentarily relives the heat your skin radiates. 

“Love...” your boyfriend starts with the tone you know he uses when it’s about something that will upset you. “You’re required by the doctor to stay home for 2 weeks,” he continues, which finally tips you off. “No! I-I have a project due in 5 days, okay? I just need some paracetamol.” Insisting, you move to get up but you feel your boyfriend’s palm on your waist pinning you down. “No, bunny. You’re staying.” You glare at him in return. A part of you was aware that he was doing this for your sake, but you were too stubborn to let him. “Ghost, stop. I’m not in the mood for any lovey shits, okay? Just let me be,” you snap. Usually, when you get this pissed, he lets you be and just rushes by your side when you inevitably pass out due to over-exhaustion. This time, he doesn’t. 

His stare was firm and commanding unlike the usual. Your Simon was soft, always there to clean up your mess. He never forces you to rest nor to listen to him— even if it is for the better. “Bunny, it’s not normal sickness, okay?” he still calmly explains, brushing the stray hair away from your face but you only slap his hand away, still frustrated. Seeing that you’re getting an attitude, he sighs and kisses your temple. “Do you know what your secondary gender is?” At his question, you stare at him like he asked you if you know the sky is blue. “Fucking hell, Ghost. Of course! I told you this the moment we met. I’m a beta, okay? Can you let me go now?” you hissed, attempting to raise his heavy hand of your hand yet he persisted and pressed harder. “No, princess,” he looks away in contemplation. “I rushed you to the doctor earlier, and… your testing was a mistake. You’re a freshly developed omega and it was advised you.. naturally let your heat happen.” 

There were a few beats of silence before you cackled, tears forming in your eyes. “Yeah, right, babe. As if. Can you just fucking let me go?” The news of you being an omega sounded fake— because it is, you scoff. “I’m not joking,” he mumbles with a new profound authority. After realizing he was serious, everything came crashing down on you. This couldn’t be. You loved being a beta. It doesn’t interfere with your life. You can’t be an omega. You can’t! No, it’s fake. This was a joke! Heats?? You?? No, no. That’s not true– 

“Y/N! Breathe!” Simon’s voice snapped you out of your haze, looking down to see your nails pressed so hard on his skin that’s letting out droplets of blood. Sobs were robbed out of your body, refusing to accept the change in you, yelling at your boyfriend to let you go. His figure immediately wrapped itself around you, pressing your face on his chest and nuzzling your head. “Calm down, bunny. It’s fine... Just calm down,” he soothes, putting his hand under your shirt to rub circles on your burning skin, and trying to get your breathing to match his. His shirt was drenched with tears but he didn’t mind. He muttered endless praises in your ear about how brave you are, and how you’ll be fine because he’s there. Ghost is there for you.

“I’m here, sweetheart” he cooed, pressing a kiss on your ear and laying the both of you down on the bed. He covered you entirely with his figure, protecting you from the world. With a final hiccup, you lose yourself to sleep and exhaustion, settling down and letting yourself be vulnerable with him with his pheromones blanketing your senses as if he’s the only thing there.

Waking up with a gasp, a layer of sweat covered your whole body when your attention was suddenly redirected to the wet spot below you that seemed to seep into the bedsheets. Hot panic took you over and you suddenly felt ashamed. Did you pee yourself out of nervousness? Clamouring, you stumble as you try to wipe the spot away, whimpering when another sudden gush dripped down your legs which woke Simon.

“Sweetheart? What’s up with ‘ya?”

You cry, rushing to his side and throwing yourself at him while apologizing profusely. “I-I’m sorry! Baby, I’m sorry... Please forgive me. I didn’t know!”

“Calm down, calm down.. tell me what’s happening,” his voice immediately calmed you down, your hands still clenching tight on his shirt and sticking your face in his scent gland. In an instant, the strong smell of whiskey, ground, and cigar invaded your nose but you welcomed it. The aroma calms down your nerves and allows you to talk without tumbling over your words. “I-I.. peed,” you mumble in shame that surprised your lover, but it seems the situation clicked in his head and he only responded with a chuckle. 

“No, baby... You didn’t pee,” he sighs, grabbing your waist and sitting you sideways on his lap, while he scoots backward to lean on the headboard. “It’s something omega releases in substitution to lube,” he starts his hand slowly peeling away your shorts, revealing your soaked panties. “This is slick,” his finger swipes along the covered lips of your pussy, a string sticking to his pad. He brings his soaked fingers near you when the smell suddenly hit him. You smell like cherry-fucking-pie.

‘Fuck, she smells so sweet. No, I need to be patient. It’s her first heat’ he thinks while he watches your eyes observe with fascination. He nosed around your scent gland taking in your pheromones that sent blood rushing to his dick. His hand pulls your panties to the side to directly flick on your clit, pressing his thumb down and circling. You whimper, holding onto his shirt as your legs instinctively close. Everything was heightened. It felt like you’d come any minute just from your clit getting pressed down.

“Spread them.” As if your body was possessed, your thighs separate, allowing Simon to completely slip off your underwear and press a single digit inside of you. The reaction was instant. Your back arches and your toes curl in pleasure, red chipped nails digging into his bicep, but he was too immersed in watching your pretty cunt take what he gives you to even care. “Good girl,” he praises, pressing his lips against your ear. Tilting your head to the side, you attempt on taking cover on his bicep, but Ghost only grabs your face, tilting it back. 

“Daddy needs to hear you, princess”

Your moans got higher as he added another finger and pumped them, borderline abusing your cunt. But you needed this. How else will you take your alpha’s massive cock? Looking down on you, he melts as babbles and whines were the only things you could muster. Your body writhes in pleasure, eyes rolling back in pleasure. “S-Simon! I’m... a-ah!.. close!” Feeling your release climbing, your pussy clenches around his digits while urging him to go faster; just a little more push to your climax. A scandalized gasp was ripped out of you when he suddenly stopped completely. “No, how do you ask to cum properly?” his voice grumbles, squishing your cheeks while your face is soaked with tears. “I wanna cum, Simon. Please please please–” he cuts you off, tightening his hold on your face and pressing his thumb hard on your clit. “No, not Simon.”

With that, you finally realized the key to your release. “Daddy, please. I wanna cum, please. P-put your fingers in again. Daddy, please” you whine, a hand releasing his bicep to place itself on his nape, pulling him down so you can messily press a kiss. Satisfied, he plunged 3 fingers in, forcing your cunt to take it. “There we go. Was that so hard, princess? Was it hard being polite to daddy?” he teases, pressing down on your sweet spot. His tongue licks around your mouth, sucking on the wet appendage and letting his saliva trickle down into yours.

You felt so tight around his digits, and the thought of how you’ll feel around him made his cock ache. The hard-on pressing against your lower back which lifted as the coil inside of you snapped. He watches with adoration as you soak his fingers and the bedsheets, a sense of accomplishment bubbling up inside his chest, making precum dribble out of his tip and stain his sweatpants. “Good girl,” the praise slips off his tongue absentmindedly as he sneaks a hand behind you, untying his pants and pulling it down just enough for his cock to spring free.

Still high from pleasure, he manhandles your body to the position he wants. Pushing your body forward so your face is planted on the sheets with your hips resting on two-stacked pillows. Amid pleasure, you got brought back when overstimulation ran through your nerves, feeling Ghost’s cock fill you up, inch by inch. You didn’t even realize when he had taken his bottoms off. The only thought running through your head was him, his smell, his overpowering pheromones, and his cock. God, his cock was driving you crazy.

“Babygirl, you need to loosen up,” he orders, slithering a hand under you to swirl around your clit. “No!.. oh! s-sensitive!” you whine, sobbing onto the pillow. “I don’t care, sweetie. You had your fill, now daddy needs his. Won’t you be a good girl and help me? I promise I’ll reward you,” he mutters, his chest pressing on your back. Driven with the need to be good for him, you let your cunt relax to take him in.

Slowly rutting his hips, he tries to thrust more of his cock inside of you. “Slowly, baby. Breathe for me. There we go. Perfect,” he groans, pressing his forehead on your nape when he finally felt himself completely buried inside your hot, wet cunt. “Such a perfect pussy. You want to make me proud, don’t ya?” You only whine in response, then a loud moan ripped out of you when you felt a subtle bulge on your stomach which got pressed down onto the pillow under the weight Ghost was putting down you. “Fuck, you’re so small, aren’t ya? Such a perfect cocksleeve. What a behaved slut for me.” Without a warning, he snaps his hips, thrusting in and out of you without mercy; like a carnal animal with the intent to just breed. God, this is heaven. This is where he’s supposed to be. With you, inside of you.

“I’m gonna fill you up so good, ma” he moans, your voice matching his. “Ah-ah-ah! Fast! Too fa— oh! Too fast,” you sobbed yet it felt so good. Every sense of yours was drowning with the thought of your mate, of Simon. You were so lost in pleasure, hands sprawled out on the sheets and gripping, trying to crawl away from the overwhelming pleasure. Ghost only clicks his tongue, putting his hands on your waist and pulling you back, filling you to the brim again.

“Daddy was too lenient on you huh? Maybe I need to keep you here. You won’t ever need to use that pretty head of yours, worrying about nothing, sweetie. I’ll do everything for you, okay? Your alpha will do everything for you.” You feel him pull back with the tip catching on your rim. As if given a break, you take a breath but suddenly everything was knocked out of you when he bottomed out with one thrust.

“F-fuck, you feel amazing. You just need to be good to me, okay? You just need to be a good mama for our children, stay at home, and let me use your pretty pussy when daddy needs to relieve stress” Pinning your waist down, it was like he actually sees you as a personal cocksleeve, using your body for his own release.

Thrusting faster, Ghost’s moans start to pitch higher, his hand tangling itself in your locks to pull your face from the pillow. Locking lips, he moans louder while pressing down on the bulge in your stomach, helping him get closer from the fact you’re so small— so easily to manhandle and to use freely. Maybe he should actually just keep you here. You won’t need to work. No need to stress that pretty head of yours over trivial stuff. He just needs you to stay with him.

The thought of you being swollen with his baby and staying inside the apartment waiting for him was the final thing that sent him to the edge. His tip spurting out cum filled you up to no end, kissing the entrance of your womb as he buried himself as deep as possible. Your hands scramble to hold onto something, afraid to get lost in the pleasure; scared of being a slave to the mind-numbing pleasure. You dig your nails on his thigh, sobbing and moaning in pleasure as his release triggered another of yours. Feeling so full, Ghost finally stopped cumming and lets you go. His spent body collapsing alongside you in exhaustion. Silence ensued between you guys, basking in each other’s presence. After a while, he got up to grab a towel to clean you up, knowing you’d be insatiable once your omega instincts completely settled.

Feeling his lips kiss your temple, his rough yet sultry deep voice (or maybe that’s just your love for him talking) telling you to relax made you purr. As you watch him take care of you, scrubbing down both yours and his spent off your body got you thinking. Maybe this is where you’re supposed to be. Doing nothing but behaving for your lover, keeping Ghost happy.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: AHHHH!! It's my first full-length fanfic which happens to be my very first explicit and descriptive smut. Please be gentle with the criticisms!! Also, do you guys want a König version? Please comment if yes.

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

⟢ taglist is open!! Comment if you want to be tagged in the next posts.

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

[limethefirst]

Guard Dogs

pairings: Deadpool x reader x Wolverine

warnings: drinking, violence, swearing, creepy guy in a bar, crude humor

summary: you never have to worry when you go out, your guard dogs are always there to protect you

a/n: can be perceived as romantic or platonic, it’s not specified! Also I want to thank everyone who’s been supporting my stories and all the kind words I’ve received!

Going out alone wasn’t something you liked to do, but unfortunately there were a lot of instances in which you had to. The world itself wasn’t a safe place, both Wade and Logan knew that, in fact it was one of the few things they could always agree on.

Today was no different, do your usual chores, relax, eat, work, but there was something else you wanted to do, a little treat for all your hard work, “Let’s go drinking tonight!”

Wade and Logan looked up from whatever they were doing. You had bursted into their apartment without a notice.

It was normal for all three of you to hang out, but it was unusual for you guys to all go to a bar together. Logan was the heaviest drinker of the group, he knew where to go, Wade would go with his friends mostly, and you didn’t treat yourself to this as much.

“Alright,” Logan mumbled, his eyes on whatever stories the local news channel had on, controller in one hand his head in the other.

“Woah the big bad wolf wants to be seen out with us?!” Wade exclaimed, referring to Logan, “Sign me up!” Logan rolled his eyes at the comment his ‘friend’ made, not in the mood to argue with him.

“Okay I’ll be back at 7,” You told the men, closing the door heading back to your own apartment.

“I need to go put on my good toupee!” Wade claps his hands together, heading towards his bathroom, grabbing the staplers on his way.

Logan’s eyes still glued to the television yells over to him, “They’re all ugly don’t worry.” Wade flips him off, closing the door.

Getting ready was something that made time fly by, because before anyone knew it 7 was already here. The three musketeers were ready for their adventure.

Logan led the way, knowing the best places in the city despite being here for the shortest amount of time. Wade was on your right fixing his “hair system” as he made some snarky remarks at Logan.

You walked close to Wade unaware of what was going on.

The bar was nice, it had some stools, a few benches and normal tables for bigger groups. Logan sat himself on the stools by the bartender knowing he’d get liquor much faster this way. Wade sat a seat away from Logan leaving you space in the middle of the two, which you didn’t mind at all.

“Give me another drink,” Logan called to the bar keep.

“There you go just fucking up that liver again,” Wade smirked at him, just trying to get under his skin.

“Shut the fuck up before I rip off that toupee and shove it right up your-”

Before Logan could finish Wade quickly put his finger up to his mouth, “Woah there peanut, I don’t do pegging on the first date,”

“If this wasn’t a public bar I’d cut that oversized head of yours off,”

You laughed as Logan and Wades bickering continued. Suddenly you noticed as the music seemed to turn off, normally you wouldn’t mind but tonight a nice song would’ve been good so you quietly excuse yourself from the situation.

You found yourself walking over to the jukebox; your eyes examining the song selections before picking ‘Million Dollar Man’ by Lana Del Rey (Ldr mentioned).

Having put on your song you found yourself walking back to the stool seat before a man walked in front of you.

“What’s a pretty lady like you doing by herself?” His tone was slurred, obviously from drinking too much. He wasn’t tall and he looked like he’d just woken up.

You gave a quiet sigh, “Oh I’m not alone,” You gave him a slight smile hoping he’d get the memo.

The man looked around and smiled creepily at you, “I don’t see anyone” He slowly took some more steps closer to you.

“How ‘bout now Bub,” Logan’s voice boomed from behind you, you felt his hand on your shoulder.

The creep gave an annoyed eye roll. Logan was taller than the man by a lot, and was definitely more intimidating.

“We were just talking, why don’t you leave us alone?” He began to mock Logan, this only riled him up some more.

“I’ll give you three seconds to walk away before I get serious,” Logan’s eyes were trained on the man, his arms were now crossed over his chest, visibly annoyed.

The man let out a dry chuckle, “Yeah okay what are you gonna do buddy?”

“We’re gonna fuck you in the ass,” Wade said as he showed up behind the man and grabbed his head, smashing it into the bar. Logan then brought the man back up just to knee him in the stomach before throwing him on the ground.

Everyone else started to get up after seeing the commotion, obviously itching for a fight, but you didn’t waste anytime for that grabbing both men and running out of the bar.

“Jesus Wade did you have to say that?” You asked him, wondering why he thought ass play was a threat.

“Do not use my name in vein,” he responded, clearly unbothered by his remark.

Logan gruffed at the evening you guys had, visibly tired from all that went on.

“We need to stop going out together,” you said looking at the street light.

“Let’s watch a movie at my place next time!” Wade offered, a cheery expression on his face.

“Yea whatever but you better not pick a fucking porno again,” Logan glared at him remembering the last time Wade picked a movie for the three of you to watch.

“I think it makes for good team bonding!”

[kiesbrainjuice]

hey hey hey 💆🏻‍♀️ i saw you wrote something about “them reacting to you at your first match as a their gf”(hope it’s understandable 😭😭) with fukurodani so can i request the same but with inarizaki ? particularly with the twins

thank you have a good day ! ♡

—THEM REACTING TO YOU AT YOUR FIRST MATCH AS HIS GIRLFRIEND ! inarizaki

pr : atsumu x fem!reader; osamu x fem!reader; suna x fem!reader; kita x fem!reader

syn : them reacting to you playing volleyball for the first time since you got together

wc : 3.8k

tw : none, just some jealousy and tease ykkk, pure fluff

a/n : sure! i wanted to do it for a long time! anyway i did the twins in particularity :) enjoy reading!

As they entered the bustling gymnasium, the air thick with excitement and the chatter of spectators, he felt a surge of pride. He might not be on the court today, but he was here for something equally important - to support the person who had become such a significant part of his life.

The Inarizaki team made their way to their seats, ... positioning himself for the best view of the court. As they settled in, the atmosphere electric with anticipation, he allowed himself a moment of reflection. He thought about the countless hours of practice you'd put in, the late-night strategy discussions you'd shared, the unwavering determination he'd seen in your eyes. A warmth spread through his chest, a feeling he was still getting used to but cherished nonetheless.

The announcer's voice boomed through the speakers, introducing the teams. Kita leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed on the court entrance. Any moment now, you would step out, ready to show the world what he already knew - that you were a force to be reckoned with, both on and off the court.

ATSUMU MIYA

The gymnasium buzzed with anticipation, its air thick with the scent of excitement and nervous energy. Amidst the sea of spectators, one figure stood out - Atsumu Miya, the talented setter from Inarizaki High. He couldn't contain his enthusiasm, his body practically vibrating with excitement as he perched on the edge of his seat. His honey-brown eyes, usually sharp and calculating on the court, were now wide with childlike wonder.

"There she is! That's her!" Atsumu exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly with emotion. His arm shot out, finger pointing eagerly as you stepped onto the polished wooden court. "Did you see that serve warm-up? She's gonna crush 'em!" 

Atsumu's teammates, seated in a row beside him, exchanged knowing glances and suppressed smiles. They had endured weeks of Atsumu's endless chatter about you, his voice always taking on a dreamy quality when he spoke your name. Now, finally witnessing the object of their setter's affections in person, they couldn't help but be curious.

Osamu, Atsumu's twin brother, leaned back in his seat with a smirk playing on his lips. He ran a hand through his dyed gray hair, a stark contrast to Atsumu's blonde locks. "You've been yammering about her nonstop, 'Tsumu," he drawled. "Time to see if she's as good as ya say."

Atsumu whirled to face his twin, indignation flashing in his eyes. "She ain't just good, you scrub! She's freaking amazing!" he declared, puffing out his chest like a proud peacock. "Watch 'n learn, 'Samu!"

As the shrill whistle pierced the air, signaling the start of the match, all eyes turned to the court. You immediately took center stage, your presence commanding attention. Your serves were nothing short of spectacular - powerful and precise, they cut through the air like missiles, leaving your opponents scrambling. When you spiked, it was with a ferocity that belied your frame, the ball slamming onto the opposite court with resounding force. On defense, you were a wall, your receives steady and your blocks impenetrable.

Atsumu's voice rose above the cacophony of the crowd, his cheers the loudest and most enthusiastic. "That's my girl! Show ‘em what you're made of, [Y/N]!" he shouted, his face flushed with pride and exertion from his constant yelling.

As the match progressed, however, the Inarizaki team couldn't resist the opportunity for some playful banter. Suna Rintarou, known for his deadpan humor, leaned over with a mischievous glint in his usually sleepy eyes. "Damn, Atsumu," he commented, nudging the setter with his elbow, "She's a real catch!"

Atsumu's reaction was instantaneous. His cheeks flamed red, clashing adorably with his blonde hair. He tried to sound nonchalant but failed miserably, his voice coming out squeaky. "Course she is! She's perfect... Got the best setter in Japan teaching her, after all!"

Kita Shinsuke, the team's stoic captain, surprised everyone with a chuckle. His usually stern face softened with amusement as he added, "Careful, Atsumu, he might steal her away from you."

The effect on Atsumu was electric. His eyes narrowed dangerously, a pout forming on his lips as he clutched the armrests of his seat. "Hey! Don't even think about it!" he declared vehemently. "She's mine, you hear?"

Despite the constant teasing from his teammates, Atsumu's focus remained unwaveringly on you. His eyes tracked your every movement on the court, drinking in the sight of you in your element. You were a force of nature - fierce yet graceful, your movements fluid and purposeful. There was no doubt in anyone's mind about your skill and dedication.

"I taught her that move!" Atsumu often retorted when you executed a particularly impressive play, his chest swelling with pride and admiration. "Well, mostly. She's a natural, you know?"

As the match drew to its climactic close, tension mounted in the gymnasium. The scores were tight, but your team had the slight edge. In a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, you leapt high into the air, your arm drawn back like a loaded spring. Time seemed to slow as you connected with the ball, sending it hurtling across the net with a resounding crack. The ball slammed onto the opposite court, untouched by the opposing team's defenders.

The gymnasium erupted into a deafening roar as the final whistle blew, signaling your team's victory. But even amidst the chaos, Atsumu's voice rang out clear and jubilant. He jumped up from his seat, nearly toppling over in his excitement, his fist pumping the air triumphantly. "You did it! That's my girl! Told ya she was the best!"

As the crowd began to disperse, still buzzing with excitement from the match, you made your way over to where Atsumu and his teammates were seated. Your face was flushed from exertion, wisps of hair escaping from your ponytail, but your eyes shone with happiness and pride.

The moment Atsumu saw you approaching, he bounded down the bleachers, taking the steps two at a time in his haste to reach you. Without hesitation, he swept you up into a tight embrace, his strong arms lifting you clean off your feet. You felt the rumble of his laughter against your chest as he spun you around, uncaring of the amused looks from passersby.

"Ya were amazing, [Y/N]!" Atsumu exclaimed, his voice thick with emotion. "Knew you had it in ya! Bet those scrubs didn't know what hit them!"

You laughed, the sound muffled against his shoulder as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "Thanks, Atsumu," you replied, your heart swelling with affection. "Means a lot that you were here."

As Atsumu set you back on your feet, his teammates approached, each offering their congratulations. Suna stepped forward first, a genuine smile replacing his usual deadpan expression as he offered you a high five. "Great game, [Y/N]," he said, impressed. "You're as impressive as Atsumu said. Maybe even more so."

You returned the high five with a warm smile. "Thanks, Suna. That means a lot coming from you guys."

Osamu grinned, throwing a muscular arm around his twin's shoulder. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he said, "Ya know, [Your Name], with skills like that, we might have to recruit ya."

Atsumu's reaction was immediate and predictable. "Back off, ‘samu!" he protested loudly, pulling you closer to his side possessively. His cheeks puffed out in annoyance, reminiscent of a child protecting his favorite toy. "She's mine, and she's staying right where she is! Go find your own amazing girlfriend if you can!"

Aran Ojiro, the team's powerful wing spiker, let out a deep, rumbling laugh. "Looks like Atsumu's getting protective," he observed, his kind eyes crinkling at the corners. "Can't blame him, though. You're quite the player, [Y/N]."

You felt a blush creeping up your neck at all the attention and praise. Squeezing Atsumu's hand reassuringly, you chuckled. "Don't worry, 'Tsumu, I'm not going' anywhere," you assured him, before adding with a playful wink, "But maybe I'll join a practice or two. Could be fun to spike your sets for a change."

Atsumu's face lit up like a Christmas tree, his grin threatening to split his face in two. His eyes, usually sharp and focused, now shone with unbridled affection and pride. "You're the best, [Y/N]," he declared, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. "Let's go celebrate! I'm buying! Gonna treat my star player right!"

As you walked off the court hand in hand with Atsumu, surrounded by his boisterous teammates, you felt a profound sense of belonging. The victory was sweet, but the knowledge that you had such unwavering support - especially from Atsumu - was even sweeter. 

OSAMU MIYA

The Sendai City Gymnasium hummed with anticipation, its vast interior a cacophony of excited chatter. Amidst the sea of spectators, Miya Osamu sat with uncharacteristic restlessness, his usually calm demeanor betrayed by the slight tapping of his foot. His grey eyes, typically laid-back, now held an intensity that matched his twin's on the volleyball court.

"There she is," Osamu said quietly, a soft smile playing on his lips as you stepped onto the gleaming court, your team's colors vivid against your skin.

Beside him, his twin brother Atsumu leaned forward, honey-brown eyes wide with curiosity. "So that's her, huh? The girl who's got my brother all soft and mushy?"

Osamu's elbow found Atsumu's ribs with practiced ease. "Shut it, ya scrub," he muttered, but there was no real heat in his words. His eyes remained fixed on you, drinking in your pre-game ritual.

Suna, seated on Osamu's other side, smirked. "Never thought I'd see the day Osamu got all worked up over something other than food."

"I'm not worked up," Osamu protested, his calm voice at odds with the slight blush creeping up his neck. "I'm just... supportive."

Atsumu snorted. "Yeah, real supportive. That's why you've been fussing with your hair for the past ten minutes, right?"

Osamu's hand, which had indeed been absently running through his grey locks, dropped to his lap. "I don't fuss," he grumbled.

As the teams gathered for their pre-game huddles, Atsumu's curiosity got the better of him. "So, what's she like on the court? Any good?"

For the first time since arriving, Osamu's eyes left you, turning to his brother with a hint of pride. "She's amazing," he said simply. "Just watch."

The shrill whistle cut through the air, signaling the start of the match. From the very first serve - yours, as it happened - it was clear that Osamu's assessment wasn't just lovestruck bias. Your serve rocketed across the net, leaving the opposing team scrambling.

"Woah," Atsumu breathed, genuinely impressed. "That was-"

"I know," Osamu interrupted, unable to keep the smugness from his voice.

As the match progressed, Osamu's teammates couldn't help but notice the changes in him. The usually stoic middle blocker was on the edge of his seat, grey eyes tracking your every move. When you scored a particularly impressive point, a rare, unguarded grin split his face.

"Look at that," Suna drawled, nudging Atsumu. "I think we've found something Osamu loves more than fatty tuna."

Atsumu snickered. "Nah, that's impossible. But maybe it's a close second."

Osamu ignored them, too focused on the match to rise to their bait. But when you executed a perfect cut shot, threading the ball between two blockers, he couldn't contain himself. "That's my girl!" he shouted, startling those around him with his uncharacteristic volume.

Atsumu's eyebrows shot up. "Wow, 'Samu. I didn't know ya could yell like that."

"Learned from the best," Osamu retorted dryly, earning a laugh from his teammates.

As the match drew to its climactic close, even Atsumu and Suna found themselves caught up in the excitement. The scores were tight, but your team had the edge. In a heart-stopping moment, you leapt high, arm drawn back. The gymnasium seemed to hold its breath as you connected with the ball, sending it hurtling past the opponents' defenses.

The final whistle blew, signaling your team's victory. The crowd erupted, but no one cheered louder than Osamu. He was on his feet in an instant, pumping his fist in the air. "That's it! Ya did it!"

Atsumu stared at his twin in amused disbelief. "Who are you and what have ya done with my brother?"

As the crowd began to disperse, you made your way over to where Osamu and his teammates were seated. Osamu vaulted over the railing, ignoring Kita's reproachful look, and met you halfway. Without hesitation, he swept you up into a tight embrace, spinning you around.

"You were incredible," he murmured, setting you down but keeping his arms around you.

You laughed, flushed with victory and affection. "Thanks for coming, 'Samu. Means a lot."

"Wouldn't have missed it for anything'," he replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Oi, oi," Atsumu called, approaching with the rest of the team. "Don't I get to meet the girl who's turned my brother into a cheerin' softie?"

Osamu rolled his eyes but kept an arm around your waist as he turned to face his team. "Guys, this is [Y/N]. [Y/N], these are the scrubs I put up with."

As introductions were made, Atsumu couldn't resist teasing his twin. "Ya know, [Y/N], if you ever get tired of this guy's cooking, I make a mean-"

"Don't even think about it," Osamu cut in, pulling you closer. "My cooking skills are part of the package deal."

You laughed, leaning into Osamu's side. "Don't worry, 'Samu. You had me at onigiri."

Suna smirked. "Now that's true love."

As the group headed out to celebrate your victory, you found yourself in the middle of the twins' familiar bickering, Osamu's arm a comforting weight around your shoulders.

RINTARO SUNA

The Sendai City Gymnasium buzzed with anticipation, its vast interior filled with excited chatter. Amidst the sea of spectators, Suna Rintarou sat with his usual languid posture, but his typically half-lidded eyes were wide open and alert, fixed intently on the court entrance.

As you stepped onto the gleaming court, your team's colors bold against your skin, a small, genuine smile tugged at Suna's lips - a rare sight that didn't go unnoticed by his teammates.

"Woah, is Suna actually showing emotion?" Atsumu teased, nudging the middle blocker with his elbow.

Suna's expression immediately smoothed back into his characteristic deadpan. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he drawled, though his eyes never left you.

Osamu leaned forward, intrigued. "So that's her, huh? The one who's got our Suna staying awake during matches he's not playing in?"

"I always stay awake," Suna retorted, finally tearing his gaze away to give Osamu an unimpressed look.

"Yeah, but ya usually look like yer wishing you were asleep," Atsumu chimed in. "Now ya actually look... interested."

Suna shrugged, a hint of pride seeping into his voice despite his best efforts. "She's worth staying awake for."

As the teams gathered for their pre-game huddles, Atsumu's curiosity got the better of him. "So, what's she like on the court? Any good?"

For a moment, Suna's usual bored expression gave way to a smirk. "Just watch," he said simply, settling back in his seat.

The shrill whistle cut through the air, signaling the start of the match. From your very first move, it was clear that Suna's confidence in your abilities wasn't misplaced. Your plays were sharp, your reflexes quick, and your game sense impressive.

"Damn," Osamu muttered after you pulled off a particularly clever feint. "She's good."

"Of course she is," Suna replied, unable to keep a note of smugness from his voice. "We practice together sometimes."

Atsumu's eyes widened. "You mean ya actually voluntarily do extra practice? Who are you and what have ya done with the real Suna?"

Suna merely shrugged, but the soft look in his eyes as he watched you play spoke volumes.

As the match progressed, Suna's teammates couldn't help but notice the subtle changes in his demeanor. While he wasn't as openly expressive as Atsumu might be, the tension in his shoulders when you were up to serve, the way he leaned forward during crucial points, and the ghost of a smile when you scored - it all painted a picture of a Suna they rarely saw.

When you executed a perfect block that sent the ball spinning back to the opponent's court, Suna actually stood up, a rare grin spreading across his face. "Nice kill," he said, loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

Kita raised an eyebrow. "I don't think I've ever heard Suna cheer before."

"It's not cheering," Suna protested weakly, sinking back into his seat. "It's... appreciating good volleyball."

"Sure, sure," Atsumu snickered. "And I'm sure it has nothing to do with who's playing that good volleyball, right?"

As the match drew to its climactic close, even Suna couldn't maintain his usual nonchalance. The scores were tight, but your team had the edge. In a heart-stopping moment, you leapt high for a spike, your form perfect. The gymnasium seemed to hold its breath as you connected with the ball, sending it hurtling past the opponents' defenses.

The final whistle blew, signaling your team's victory. While the crowd erupted in cheers, Suna's reaction was more subdued but no less meaningful. He was on his feet, a genuine smile on his face, clapping with more enthusiasm than his teammates had ever seen from him.

"Way to go, [Y/N]," he said softly, though his eyes shone with pride.

As the crowd began to disperse, you made your way over to where Suna and his teammates were seated. Suna met you halfway, his usual languid movements quickened by excitement he couldn't quite hide.

"Nice game," he said, pulling you into a hug that surprised his watching teammates. "You were amazing out there."

You laughed, wrapping your arms around him. "Thanks for coming, Rin. Means a lot."

"Wouldn't have missed it," he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before pulling back, aware of his teammates' eyes on you both.

"So this is the famous [Y/N]," Atsumu said, approaching with a grin. "The girl who's got our Suna actually showing interest in something besides blocking and napping."

Suna rolled his eyes, but kept an arm around your waist. "Guys, this is [Y/N]. [Y/N], these are the idiots I'm forced to play with."

As introductions were made, the twins couldn't resist teasing Suna.

"Ya know, [Y/N]," Osamu started, a mischievous glint in his eye, "if ya ever want to see what it's like to date someone with actual energy-"

"I have plenty of energy for what matters," Suna cut in smoothly, pulling you closer. 

You chuckled, leaning into Suna's side. "Don't worry, guys. I like my volleyball players tall, skilled, and delightfully snarky."

Atsumu clutched his chest in mock hurt. "Ouch, what about us?"

"I said skilled, didn't I?" you retorted with a grin, causing Suna to snort in amusement.

As the group headed out to celebrate your victory, you found yourself in the middle of the team's friendly banter, Suna's arm a comforting weight around your shoulders. 

SHINSUKE KITA

The Sendai City Gymnasium hummed with anticipation, its vast interior a sea of excited spectators. Among them sat the Inarizaki team, with Kita Shinsuke at the center, his posture perfect and his expression serene. Yet, those who knew him well could detect a subtle tension in his shoulders, a barely perceptible eagerness in his usually calm eyes.

As you stepped onto the gleaming court, your team's colors vibrant against your skin, the corners of Kita's mouth turned up in a small, but unmistakably warm smile.

Aran, seated beside Kita, noticed the change immediately. "I don't think I've ever seen you smile before a match you're not playing in, Kita," he remarked quietly.

Kita's expression remained soft as he replied, "There's a first time for everything, Aran."

Atsumu, never one for subtlety, leaned forward with a grin. "So that's her, Kita-san? The one who's got our captain all starry-eyed?"

"I wouldn't say starry-eyed," Kita responded evenly, though his gaze never left you. "But yes, that's [Y/N]."

Osamu, more perceptive than his twin, noted, "Ya look proud, Kita-san."

Kita nodded, a hint of warmth coloring his voice. "I am. [Y/N] works hard and plays with integrity. There's a lot to be proud of."

As the teams gathered for their pre-game huddles, Suna couldn't resist asking, "So, what's she like on the court, Kita-san? As disciplined as you?"

For a moment, a flash of affectionate amusement crossed Kita's face. "She has her own style," he said simply. "Watch, and you'll see."

The shrill whistle signaled the start of the match. From your very first move, it was clear that Kita's pride wasn't misplaced. Your plays were precise, your movements efficient, and your game sense impressive.

"Wow," Atsumu muttered after you executed a particularly well-timed set. "She's really good."

"Of course," Kita replied, his tone matter-of-fact but tinged with warmth. "She practices diligently every day."

Aran chuckled. "Sounds like someone else we know."

As the match progressed, Kita's teammates couldn't help but notice the subtle changes in their usually stoic captain. While he remained composed, there was an intensity in his gaze as he watched you play, a slight lean forward during crucial points, and a barely audible intake of breath when you were up to serve.

When you pulled off a perfect receive that turned the tide of a rally, Kita actually stood up, applauding softly but earnestly. "Excellent form," he said, loud enough for his teammates to hear.

Atsumu's eyes widened in surprise. "Woah, Kita-san actually cheered!"

"It's not cheering," Kita corrected calmly, settling back into his seat. "It's acknowledging good volleyball."

"Right," Osamu smirked. "And I'm sure it has nothing to do with who's playing that good volleyball."

Kita's response was a serene smile that somehow managed to silence even the rambunctious twins.

As the match reached its climax, even Kita couldn't maintain his usual calm demeanor entirely. The scores were tight, but your team had the edge. In a critical moment, you positioned yourself perfectly for a block, your timing impeccable. The gymnasium held its breath as you jumped, your hands forming a solid wall that sent the ball spinning back to the opponent's court.

The final whistle blew, signaling your team's victory. While the crowd erupted in cheers, Kita's reaction was more subdued but no less meaningful. He stood, applauding with genuine enthusiasm, a proud smile gracing his features.

"Well done, [Y/N]," he said softly, his eyes shining with admiration.

As the crowd began to disperse, you made your way over to where Kita and his teammates were seated. Kita met you halfway, his usual measured stride quickened by an eagerness he couldn't quite conceal.

"Congratulations," he said warmly, reaching out to take your hand. "You played beautifully."

You beamed at him, squeezing his hand. "Thanks for coming, Shin. It means a lot."

"I wouldn't have missed it," he replied, his thumb brushing over your knuckles affectionately.

"So this is the famous [Y/N]," Aran said, approaching with a friendly smile. "The one who's managed to make our Kita break his composure."

Kita's expression remained serene, but a faint blush colored his cheeks. "Everyone, this is [Y/N]. [Y/N], these are my teammates."

As introductions were made, the twins couldn't resist some gentle teasing.

"Ya know, [Y/N]," Atsumu started with a mischievous grin, "if ya ever want tips on how to get Kita-san to loosen up a bit-"

"I assure you, she doesn't need any tips," Kita interjected smoothly, his calm tone belied by the protective way he stepped closer to you.

You chuckled, leaning slightly into Kita's side. "Don't worry, guys. I appreciate Shin just as he is - reliable, hardworking, and wonderfully supportive."

Osamu nodded approvingly. "You've got good taste, [Y/N]-san."

As the group headed out to celebrate your victory, you found yourself walking beside Kita, his steady presence a comforting constant amidst the team's lively chatter. 

Ⓡ kiesbrainjuice all rights reserved. please to not plagiarize, repost, or translate !

tag : @haechansbbg

[chaoticforever]

Thunderous Pursuits | Yandere Thor x Male! Reader

Summary: Let this be a lesson to Thor’s old friend. Love is a fragile thing, easily broken by jealous gods. Especially Thor.

A/n: Smut is present.

Another day of saving the world.

Thor plopped himself down in the booth as his teammates began to settle down beside him. The restaurant the Avengers went to for the evening was a lavish and elegant establishment in New York, with high ceilings, gold chandeliers, and soft, ambient lighting. The walls were painted a deep shade of red, and the booth was comfortable and spacious, with a single red rose adorning the center of the table.

Earlier that afternoon, the Avengers had saved Earth again from yet another alien invasion. To celebrate this victory, Tony decided to take his teammates to a five-star restaurant in the city since some of them hadn't been to one before. He had arranged a private booth in a secluded corner of the restaurant for them to eat.

The God of Thunder opened the menu and gazed through the different choices. Thor didn’t eat earthly food as much, but he was going to enjoy them this evening.

Soon, a waiter approached their booth. 

"Hello, my name is Y/n, and I will be your server tonight," a polite voice addressed. "Can I get y'all started on some drinks?" 

Thor paused when he heard the waiter introduce himself. That voice... he would know that anywhere. Slowly, he lifted his eyes from the menu, and his eyes locked with the person standing near the table.

And, sure enough, it was him.

Y/n L/n.

"Y/n!" Thor's lips curled into a big smile.

The waiter looked up from the pad in his hands when he heard his name called. A fond grin appeared on his face when he saw the individual who called out to him.

"Hi, Thor!" Y/n walked around the table and the God stood up to give him a brief hug before stepping back. "It's so great to see you again. It's been too long, and wow, you cut your hair! It looks amazing."

"Thank you, old friend," Thor boomed, as he took his seat again, his piercing blue eyes never leaving his old friend's form. "It has been so long. I never expected to find you here, a restaurant, of all places."

The other Avengers quietly observed the exchange. They were intrigued by Thor's familiarity with someone the team didn't recognize. After all, they knew of Thor's brief friendships with Darcy and his ex-girlfriend, Jane, but this one was a new face. As they watched the guys interact, it became clear that Thor and his friend had a history that went back a long way.

Steve spoke, "So, Y/n, how do you know Thor? It looks like you two go way back."

The waiter nodded. "We do go way back. Way back. I was once an Asgardian god."

The five Avengers exchanged surprised glances. Clearly, they had not expected such a revelation. But Thor, on the other hand, frowned at Y/n's choice of words.

"Y/n, what do you mean, you 'were once' an Asgardian God?" His tone was sharp with curiosity, and his eyes searched for answers in Y/n's e/c eyes. Why did Y/n voice that? Was he not a God anymore? 

The former Asgardian cleared his throat, a subtle signal that the topic wasn't one he wished to delve into at this moment. "That is a story for another day. But for now, what can I get you heroes to drink?"

Tony was the first one to speak up and he ordered a martini, shaken, not stirred. Steve opted for a Coca-Cola, while Clint chose a cocktail. Natasha requested a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, and Bruce kept it simple, ordering a glass of water. However, Thor remained silent, his gaze fixed on Y/n. His mind was elsewhere, lost in thoughts known only to the man.

"Uh, Point Break, it’s your turn," Tony said.

Thor blinked twice, momentarily startled before clearing his throat and tearing his gaze away from Y/n. "Aye, my apologies. I will have... uh, what is that earthly drink you mortals enjoy so much?" He looked to Tony for guidance, who rolled his eyes.

"You mean beer? The billionaire supplied.

Thor nodded, turning his gaze back to Y/n. "Yes, I will have a human beer, please."

Y/n nodded and jotted down the orders with swift movements of his pencil. He turned to leave but paused, and asked if they were ready to order food or if they needed more time with the menu. As it turned out, everyone was ready to order.

The male server took their food orders, starting with Tony again, who ordered a steak with sides of mac and cheese and broccoli cheese casserole. Steve opted for a classic bacon cheeseburger and fries, while Clint chose a plate of pasta with garlic bread. Natasha ordered sushi with a side of chicken, and Bruce opted for a massive plate of ribs and mashed potatoes. Thor mirrored Bruce’s choice.

After writing down their food orders, Y/n left, heading to the kitchen and leaving the heroes to their conversation. Thor's eyes followed Y/n's retreating figure, his mind racing with numerous questions.

As the Avengers talked, Thor found it hard to focus. His mind kept wandering back to Y/n, his old friend who was now a waiter. He couldn't shake his curiosity about what happened to Y/n since they last saw each other and the implication that the man had given up his godhood.

"Thor," Natasha's voice cut through the haze of his thoughts. "It seems like you and Y/n have quite the history. Care to fill us in?" Her tone was inviting, leaving the decision to share entirely up to Thor.

"I've known Y/n since the dawn of time. He came to Asgard as a young adult and we were very close. We fought in battles and went on countless journeys. Though it seems I missed this part of his journey."

Clint, who was sitting across from Thor, arched a brow and gave him a knowing look. "Dude," Clint wiggled his eyebrows. "you have a crush on him, don't you?" It seems that nothing escaped Clint's gaze.

Natasha playfully nudged Clint, as Bruce shook his head. He muttered something about Clint being an idiot though a small chuckle did manage to escape his throat.

A slight pink hue tinted Thor's cheeks. "I certainly do not have a crush on him."

And that was true — Thor did not have a crush on Y/n. On the contrary, what he felt for his old friend ran deeper than a fleeting crush, even after all these years.

A little while later, Y/n returned with two more servers that had trays filled with food and drinks. They carefully placed everything on the table, ensuring that everyone received their ordered meals. "Guys, enjoy your meal, and feel free to flag me down if you need anything else," Y/n then left the Avengers to their meal.

They ate, and the conversation shifted to their recent battle and the close calls they had faced. Thor, once again, found his attention divided between the lively discussion and his silent observations of Y/n as the waiter efficiently moved between tables, tending to other people.

He needed to speak with him.

So, when the dinner concluded and Tony paid the bill, leaving a generous tip for Y/n's exceptional service, the group began to make their way out toward the waiting limo. However, Thor lingered behind, his eyes seeking out Y/n, who was clearing a table. Thor made his way over to him.

"Y/n," Thor’s voice was low and serious, causing Y/n to pause in his clearing and looked up at Thor, "a word if you please." 

Y/n straightened up and offered a smile. "Of course, Thor. What can I do for you?"

"I must know, old friend, everything that has happened in your life up until now."

Y/n's smile remained unwavering. "And I'll tell you everything you want to know tomorrow. Meet me in Central Park at twelve o'clock. You and I will catch up."

The thunderous God nodded, feeling satisfied with that arrangement as he placed a hand on Y/n's shoulder. "Until tomorrow, my friend. I look forward to it."

As Y/n walked away with dishes in his hands, Thor's eyes trailed after him. Why was his friend working as a server in a human restaurant? What had happened to him in Asgard? And most importantly, why'd he say he 'was once' an Asgardian God? Thor had his suspicions about the last question, but he still needed to get the missing piece of the puzzle from Y/n.

The only plausible explanation for Y/n's situation was that Y/n must have been stripped of his powers and made mortal, much like Odin had done to him before.

But the question remained: why? There were only two ways for a god to lose their powers: either through transferring their consciousness into another mortal body or by having their powers forcibly taken away. Y/n still inhabited the same body for centuries, automatically ruling out the first option. This left Thor with the conclusion that someone must have taken his powers, and he hoped that his dad hadn't been involved in such an act.

Suddenly, the restaurant door opened, and Bruce's voice rang out. "Thor, come on! Tony said you have thirty seconds to get out here or he's telling the limo driver to pull off without you. Let's get moving."

With a playful roll of his eyes at Tony's impatience, Thor followed Bruce out of the restaurant and into the waiting limo.

The limo glided through the city streets on the way back to the Compound, and Thor's thoughts inevitably drifted to Y/n. He recalled the curve of his lips when he smiled, the way the black waiter's attire highlighted his handsome features, and Clint's accusation about having a crush.

Indeed, as Thor had voiced earlier, it was more than a crush. The love he felt for Y/n ran deeper than mere infatuation, and it had only bloomed stronger over time.

One thing's for sure: over the years, Y/n had been the object of Thor's late-night fantasies more times than he cared to admit, even during his semi-relationship with Jane. Y/n was the main reason he couldn't fully commit to her. The thought of having Y/n beneath him, moaning his name while begging for release, was a desire Thor had harbored for some time. 

In Thor's mind, he felt that this was an opportunity given to him. It was clear to Thor that their paths had crossed again for a reason — because they were meant to be together. Why else would they have reconnected now — when Y/n seemingly needed him? It was a sign from the gods. So, he would first speak to Y/n, and then the two could focus on their relationship.

Thor couldn’t wait until tomorrow. 

XXXXX XXXXX

The wait until the next day felt like an eternity for the God of Thunder. He was so ready to see Y/n once more and learn about everything that had transpired in his life recently. He knew that Y/n would be there on time; it was in their nature to honor commitments, no matter how tiny.

Finally, the clock struck twelve, and Thor found himself standing in Central Park. The sun shone brightly, its rays dancing through the leaves of the trees, casting dappled shade on the grass, and a nice breeze stirred in the air. As he ventured further into the park, his eyes spotted a familiar figure sitting at a bench beneath the sprawling branches of a big oak tree.

There, casually leaning back against the bench with one leg casually slung over the other, was Y/n. He looked utterly at ease, dressed in a simple white tee and faded jeans. The outfit accentuated his nice, broad shoulders, and Thor's eyes wandered appreciatively over Y/n’s body.

He looked good.

Real good.

Thor's footsteps quickened, his eagerness to reunite properly with his old friend unmistakable. He knows that he just saw him yesterday, but the short amount of time wasn't enough to satisfy his longing for his company. Y/n noticed Thor approaching and gave him a slight smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Hey, Y/n," Thor greeted, his voice warm and deep. He extended his hand, and Y/n took it, letting Thor pull him into a hug.

"It's good to see you, T-Man," Y/n replied, using the old nickname he had for Thor. Hearing it now made Thor's heart flutter, and he loved the way it rolled off his lips.

Settling onto the bench, Thor's curiosity got the better of him. He knew that Y/n held the answers to the many questions swirling in his mind. So, without further ado, he decided to dive straight into the heart of the matter, forgoing the human tendency to beat around the bush now.

"My dear comrade," Thor began, his eyes locked intensely on Y/n. "You have much to tell me, and I am eager to hear it. How is it that Y/n, son of Hera and Zeus, God of Time, finds himself here on Midgard, serving mortals as a waiter? The last I heard, you were a protector of this realm."

The former God clasped his hands in his lap but he maintained eye contact with Thor. It was always customary to look someone in the eyes when speaking.

"I was the protector of this realm," he confirmed, "But your father and I had our fair share of disagreements. He deemed me reckless and unworthy, and in a fit of anger, he stripped me of my powers and banished me here to Midgard. I've been living as a mortal for almost two years."

A frown marred Thor's handsome features as he listened to Y/n's words, his eyebrows knitting together in anger. Stripped of his powers and exiled here — it was a brutal punishment, one that stirred a protective instinct within the God of Thunder. He knew firsthand the pain of being stripped of one's powers. The idea of Y/n, the mighty God of Time, being reduced to working at a job, was an insult to everything they stood for.

"That old fool!" Thor growled, feeling his anger rising. "To treat you, another God who has served Asgard for thousands of years with such cruelty is an outrage. He cannot keep doing this to people like us," he took Y/n's hand in his, giving it a soft squeeze, and Thor felt a burning desire to set things right. "Rest assured, I'll find a way to have him restore your abilities."

Y/n shook his head. "There's no need for that. I've accepted my fate as a mortal, and in some ways, I enjoy being human."

Thor's eyebrows ascended. "You do?"

Thor's surprise was evident on his face. The tall God remembered all too well the emotions that had consumed him when he was stripped of his powers and sent to Earth — the anger, the bitterness, and the overwhelming sense of tiredness that came with realizing that walking as a mortal was far more challenging than he had anticipated with long distances.

The waiter nodded in confirmation. "I do. There are some drawbacks to being human, like getting tired and injured, and I do miss being able to manipulate time. But being human granted me a freedom I never experienced before," Y/n paused, a faraway look in his eyes as if recalling a fond memory. "And I even found love."

Suddenly, the air in Central Park seemed to grow thick with each passing second. The once-bright sun was now concealed by the gathering of dark storm clouds. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a low, menacing growl that echoed through the trees. Additionally, the breeze picked up, carrying the scent of impending rainfalls.

Lightning crackled around the god's left fingertips, a visual manifestation of his rising emotions. His vision darkened at Y/n's words, and he gently withdrew his right hand from Y/n's grasp. Did Y/n just say what he thinks he just said? He had—

Y/n had found love. The word "love" reverberated through Thor like a strike of lightning, sending an unwelcome jolt of awareness through him. Love implied intimacy, tangled limbs, and passionate kisses. The thought of Y/n sharing such closeness with someone else awakened a surge of possessiveness through him.

Sensing the change in the weather, Y/n glanced up, noticing the dark clouds that had gathered. He looked around, seeing people leaving the park, then he turned his gaze to the man sitting next to him.

"Uh, Thor?"

Hearing his name, Thor snapped out of his turbulent thoughts and took a steady breath, consciously calming himself. As a response, the clouds above dissipated, replaced by the hot sun. The harsh wind softened, and the lightning that crackled from his fingertips faded away without a trace. The weather returned to normal.

"Love?" Thor echoed, his tone carefully neutral; he grappled with the unfamiliar emotion swirling within him. He tamped down the spike of jealousy, not wanting to seem possessive or unfair. They had been apart for years now, living separate lives, so what right did he have to claim Y/n's heart? And yet, the thought of Y/n being intimate with a male or a female stirred a possessive hunger deep within him, a feeling he had never experienced before, not even during his brief period with Jane. "Who is this person that has captured your heart?" He dangerously murmured disguised as casual curiosity.

Y/n smiled softly. "Her name is Maya."

"And how did you come to meet Maya?" Thor asked, his tone carefully controlled, even as that name rolled off his tongue like a sweet poison. But he schooled his features, keeping his emotions in check.

"Well, when I was sent to Earth, I found myself in the middle of an open road at night. Maya accidentally hit me with her car, but she took me into her apartment to rest up and recover. We spent a lot of time together, and eventually, we started dating as they say. She's a great woman."

A jaw clenched; Thor's teeth grinded as he forced himself to remain composed. So, Y/n had found love with this... Maya. "I see," his fingers curled into a fist. "And Is she aware of your past?" Y/n nodded silently in response. "Where is she now?"

The h/c-haired male seemed completely oblivious to the undercurrents of Thor’s jealousy as he spoke. "Maya had a hair appointment today, but she should be here soon, and you'll get to meet her."

Can't wait, Thor thought. He needed to see this Maya, to put a face to the name that now felt like a curse on his tongue. But more than that, he wanted to assert his presence, to let Maya know that Y/n was his first and would always belong to him. Furthermore, he would make sure—

"There you are, Y/n!" 

Instantly, Thor's head whipped around to see a female approaching their bench. This must be Maya. Her dark hair fell in loose waves down to her back, perfectly complementing her complexion and her radiant smile. She wore a comfortable denim jeans jumpsuit that hugged her hips, showcasing her curvaceous figure.

"About time you got here," Y/n stood to greet her with a soft smile, leaning down to brush his lips on her cheek. Her arms wrapped around him, and the affection between the couple was as clear as day.

"Sorry, I had to get my coffee. You know how I get," Maya let out a soft chuckle, her eyes widening as she looked over at the person sitting on the bench with her boyfriend. "Y-You're Thor!" she turned to Y/n again. "You did not tell me your old friend was the Thor from the Avengers!"

Y/n held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, you knew I was a god at one point, and that I'd be meeting an old friend. Who's the one, popular god that's currently running around New York City?"

"Still, you could've mentioned it was an Avenger!" Maya exclaimed, turning back to The god, who had been observing the exchange with a neutral expression. She held out her hand for him to shake. "It's so nice to meet you, Thor. I'm a big fan!"

Standing from the bench, Thor's tall and muscular frame towered over Maya, but not Y/n, who stood at a similar height. He shook Maya's hand gently, his gaze flickering briefly to Y/n's. "It's a pleasure to put a face to the name of the woman who has stolen my friend's heart," Thor's voice held an underlying current of quiet possession that the other two didn’t pick up on. "He has told me things about you."

"Oh, has he? Only good things, hopefully."

"I promise, only good things, babe," Y/n assured, his eyes shifting briefly to Thor. "So, Maya and I were just about to go to the carnival. Do you want to tag along?"

The God shook his head. "Thank you for the invitation, but I must decline. I have matters that require my attention back at the Avengers Compound." As much as Thor longed to spend more time with Y/n, he did not want to be a third wheel or see these two being affectionate.

The woman nodded in understanding. "I understand. You have the world to save and all. Perhaps next time if you're free."

"Most definitely," Thor agreed, his eyes following Y/n and Maya as they walked away, with Y/n's left hand in Maya's right.

A frustrated growl rumbled in Thor's throat as he raked a hand through his newly trimmed brown hair. This reunion had not gone as he had envisioned. He had imagined catching up on old times, and perhaps, even confessing his long-held feelings for Y/n. But, unfortunately, Maya's presence had ruined his plans.

The desire to remove this woman from the equation burned within Thor, and he knew there was only one way to do that. However, he understood that any harm brought upon Maya would hurt Y/n, and he didn't want to see his old friend hurt. Therefore, Thor decided to let Maya be.

At least, for now.

XXXXX XXXXX

In all honesty, Thor had been planning to return to the Compound. The thought of witnessing someone else's affection for Y/n was too much to bear. He had turned around, prepared to walk in the opposite direction when he changed his mind.

He turned back, deciding to secretly join Y/n and Maya at the carnival. He needed to see for himself the depth of Maya's love for Y/n when they were together.

The God maintained a discreet distance as he trailed secretly behind Y/n and his unfortunate girlfriend, not wanting them to realize he was following them. A few minutes later, he watched as the couple purchased their admission tickets and walked into the carnival, their hands still entwined. Thor lingered at the entrance, his eyes fixed on their retreating figures.

Thor paused at the entrance of the carnival, his mind formulating a plan. With the money Tony had generously provided, he decided to purchase a cap and sunglasses from the nearby store, employing a tactic he had learned from his time with the Avengers — infiltrating places and staying hidden in plain sight.

After getting his disguise, Thor paid for an admission ticket and stepped inside. 

The carnival was alive with the scent of cotton candy, popcorn, and funnel cake, mingling with both the excited chatter of children and the loud music blaring from speakers. People of all ages were there today, laughing and screaming as they rode roller coasters, tested their luck at games, and snacked on delicious foods.

Hidden behind sunglasses and a black cap, Thor moved with the crowd, his tall frame blending seamlessly into the sea of humans. His sharp eyes scanned the area, searching for the man he desired.

And as Thor navigated the carnival, his frustration mounted with each passing minute. He searched in vain for any sign of the couple, eyes scanning the crowds for Y/n and Maya, but couldn't find them anywhere. Heat started burning in Thor's chest that had nothing to do with the hot weather — but was rather fueled by his rising impatience and possessiveness.

"Damn it, where are they?" He muttered under his breath, irritation in his voice.

Thor quickened his pace.

Dodging between families and groups of teenagers, he walked past the game booths, bumper cars, and food stations.

His determined search finally paid off as he spotted Y/n's distinctive profile at the milk bottle toss game booth, a ball in his hands as he prepared to throw it. Maya stood behind him, holding a sundae cup with two spoons, as she cheered Y/n on.

Adjusting his sunglasses, Thor stepped closer to them. He watched as his friend threw the ball and knocked over a stack of milk bottles with accuracy. That didn’t surprise Thor; Y/n had been a seasoned warrior for thousands of years, after all.

The man behind the booth handed Y/n a stuffed animal—a tan plush dog— which Y/n then gave to Maya. Her smile lit up her face when she received the nice gift.

The couple walked away, sharing the sundae and laughing together. Thor's fists clenched at his sides as he fought the instinct to march over and pull Maya away — to claim what was rightfully his.

Instead, Thor forced himself to maintain a cool and distant demeanor, following his prey. He remained hidden, observing their interactions without them knowing. He kept his distance as the couple rode roller coasters, played more games, and indulged in stupid affectionate gestures. Throughout it all, Thor's anger bubbled, especially when Y/n had the audacity to cup Maya's cheek and kiss her softly.

That did it.

Thor knew he had promised himself that he wouldn't hurt Maya for Y/n's sake, not wanting to see him unhappy. But — after witnessing their interactions throughout the day, something snapped within him, and he didn't care about his promise. He decided that Y/n was meant to be happy with him — and him alone. The thought of anyone else having Y/n's heart was unbearable, and Thor found himself no longer caring about the consequences. He had no choice but to get rid of Maya.

On Friday night, Maya was leaving her workplace alone, while Y/n was at work. The night air was crisp, carrying a hint of a chill, as the streetlights casted orange glows along the pavement. Thor silently followed her. He kept a careful distance, mirroring her movements: walking when she walked, turning the corner when she turned, and stopping when she stopped. He hid when she turned around as if she knew somebody was trailing behind her.

A gust of wind rustled the leaves. Maya shivered from the cool, spring weather and pulled her jacket tighter, quickening her pace considerably. Her eyes glanced but she saw no one there. Unbeknownst to her, the threat loomed closer than ever.

As Maya passed an alleyway, the wind picked up again, and she felt a sense of unease. She stilled, feeling like she was being watched, "H-Hello?" she called out, her voice trembling. "Is someone there?"

Silence answered her, but Maya could've sworn she felt eyes boring into her back. She turned around, but the alleyway was empty. With a sense of unease lingering, she began walking, her steps faster now as she hurried towards the safety of her home, never pausing. Finally, she arrived at her apartment building and sauntered inside, the door closing firmly behind her.

As Maya set her keys down on the table and turned around, she let out a startled gasp at the sight of Thor standing there.

Quickly, Thor locked the top and bottom locks, feeling satisfaction from noticing the fear that flashed through her eyes.

Good, Thor thought, satisfied, be scared.

XXXXX XXXXX

The morning sun's rays filtered through the thin curtains, their warmth caressing Y/n's features, gently waking him up. He stretched languidly, and sat up, yawning. Then, the e/c-eyed man opened his eyes completely and headed to the bathroom.

One of the first things Y/n incorporated into his life as a mortal man was a nice skincare regimen. Maya had explained to him that humans often used facial masks to keep their skin clear and free from acne. In his previous life as a god, Y/n had never had to worry about such concerns, as his skin had always been flawless. Without his powers, however, he now found himself susceptible to the same skin issues that plagued mortals. So, he used these facial skin care masks.

Though Y/n can admit that he quite enjoyed these face masks. The soft texture against his skin was surprisingly wonderful, and the masks worked great.

He feels like his sister, Aphrodite.

After completing his morning routine, he grabbed his phone and made his way to the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee, already prepared, as he dialed Maya's number. The ringing tone echoed aloud and was greeted by her voicemail.

The phone heading straight to voicemail didn't entirely surprise Y/n. He knew that she loved sleeping in after a hectic work week. He decided to pay her a surprise visit since he had been given a spare key.

Y/n opened the door and was prepared to step through it when his feet paused and looked down, suddenly noticing the white envelope on the ground. Frowning in confusion, he bent down to pick it up, his eyes scanning the words inscribed on the envelope: "To Y/n, From Maya."

Intrigued, Y/n opened the envelope, his eyes reading over the paragraph, and the frown on Y/n’s features deepened. Huh—

The note read: My dearest Y/n,

Hope all is going well. I just wanted you to know that you’ll always have a special place in my heart, and our relationship is the best thing that ever happened to me.

It pains me to say this, but, to be honest, I have fallen out of love. Our relationship has run its course, and I think we are no longer meant to be. My love for you has faded like a flower wilting under the sun.

Please know that this was an incredibly difficult decision for me, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

I wish you nothing but happiness. May you continue to find love and fulfillment in life. And who knows, maybe our paths will cross again when we least expect it. Until that happens tho, farewell, my love.

With a heart full of memories,

Maya. 

The note left Y/n stunned and confused. Maya had seemed happy and content in their relationship. How could she just fall out of love and walk away like this? It didn't make sense to him in the least. There's no way this letter could be real.

What—? Huh—? More questions plagued his mind as he couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal and hurt. What had he done wrong? Had he pushed her away without realizing it? Or was there someone else?

Shaking his head, Y/n left his apartment building and headed straight for Maya's place. He needed to hear the reason for her decision from her own mouth, rather than reading it on a piece of paper. That wasn't fair to him and he deserved more.

Y/n's footsteps echoed hurriedly against the pavement as he hurried along the streets, rounding corners and navigating crosswalks. Finally, he arrived at Maya's place and hastily knocked on the door.

There was no response.

Then, Y/n inserted the spare key into the lock, twisted it, and marched inside. He stepped further into the room and called out to Maya when he noticed something.

Maya's apartment was empty.

It was completely devoid of her personal belongings — no furniture, decorations, nothing at all. He searched every room, drawer, and closet, but found no trace of her here. It was as if she never lived here.

Y/n pulled out his phone and tried to call Maya again — but it just went straight to voicemail. The realization sank in — this letter wasn't a joke or a prank. Maya had surely left him, and she hadn't even had the decency to do it in person or provide a proper explanation for her decision.

It was a hurtful and callous way to end their relationship. That's so messed up.

Y/n's hands balled into fists at his sides, the letter crumpling within his grasp. He felt a prickling sensation at the corners of his eyes, and he realized that he was experiencing two very human emotions:

Crying and heartbreak.

Y/n knew that gods experience human emotions such as crying, too. But now that Y/n was human, the experience felt different. In that moment, he understood the depths of his feelings for Maya. This was why mortals spoke of love as both a blessing and a curse — it can give you joy but could also inflict unbearable pain.

He exited Maya's apartment building, the crumpled letter still clutched in his hand, a tangible reminder of what he had lost. His eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, were facing downward as he walked, his thoughts consumed by these emotions. It was this lack of focus that caused him to accidentally bump into someone else, knocking their umbrella from their hand.

Crouching down, Y/n wrapped his hand around the umbrella to pick it up, but he found that he couldn't. Y/n bent down to retrieve the fallen umbrella, however, to his surprise, he found that he couldn't lift it. He tried with both hands this time, but the umbrella remained stubbornly out of reach. Jeez, this simple umbrella feels as hard as trying to lift Thor's hammer—

Wait a minute.

Y/n's eyes drifted upward, and he found Thor standing there, which means this umbrella was Thor's hammer in disguise.

"Oh, hi, Thor." Y/n’s voice came out soft, despite the emotions currently coursing through his mind, releasing his hold on the hammer. "Might want to pick that up."

Thor complied, lifting the hammer, eyes fixed on Y/n's e/c eyes. "Are you okay?"

Y/n’s response was quick. "Yes, I’m fine." 

Unconvinced by Y/n's fake composure, Thor placed a hand on his shoulder, his eyes filled with concern. "You know you don't have to pretend to be okay when it comes to me. You can tell me anything."

Finally, Y/n conceded. "Maya left me. Out of the blue, she broke things off and disappeared, and I don't understand why."

Thor's eyes softened, and he pulled Y/n into a comforting embrace. "I'm so sorry to hear that," his voice was, unknowingly, laced with feigned sympathy. "That lady doesn't deserve the honor of your love."

Unbeknownst to Y/n, a smirk played on Thor's lips, his eyes gleaming with a mix of vindication and triumph. He didn't like seeing Y/n in pain, but it was necessary.

The pain was only temporary, and Y/n would eventually get over this simple mortal. Then, there would be room for Thor, and they could finally be together.

In the weeks that followed, Y/n slipped into a deep depression. He spent most days lying in bed, thoughts consumed by the memories of Maya. He questioned everything, from his own worthiness to the nature of love itself. He didn't get it. Why had she left? Was he truly enough? These thoughts ate away at him — like maggots devouring the flesh of the dead.

Additionally, the only thing that stirred him from his bleak existence was his work. The familiarity of the restaurant, the mechanical tasks of serving tables, provided a fleeting sense of normalcy.

And throughout it all, there was only one person who was there for him — Thor.

The God of Thunder checked in on him regularly, offering words of comfort and support for his pal. He brought takeout, watched movies with him, and listened as the man poured out his heart, sharing his heartbreak and confusion. Thor was a great presence during his time of need.

In Thor's presence, he found himself smiling more. His appetite returned, and the dark circles under his eyes gradually faded. Y/n felt a little like himself again.

One evening, after Y/n finished his shift at the restaurant, he found himself with Thor in his bedroom. A movie played in the back, but they were too engrossed in conversation to pay attention to it. Thor had asked Y/n about his deepest desire.

"Well, being here on Earth for a long time made me desire love the most," was his admission as Y/n thought back to when he thought he had found love. "It seems that love is the emotion humans desire the most. I guess I'm one of them too."

Thor's eyes roamed over Y/n's face as if searching for something. And then, with deliberate slowness, he leaned in closer, his thumb gently stroking the back of Y/n's hand, sending shivers down his spine.

"I can give you the love you crave, Y/n," Thor murmured, voice deep and husky, his thumb continuing its gentle caress.

Y/n sat up straighter, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. He grabbed the remote and turned off the television, their conversation now the sole focus.

"What do you mean?" he asked curiously.

"I mean," Thor's voice rumbled. "I can show you what it means to be desired."

Y/n opened his mouth to ask the man to elaborate when Thor surged forward, his left hand cupping the back of Y/n’s neck and capturing his lips in a brutal kiss. Y/n gasped into the kiss as Thor's tongue, invaded his mouth, tasting and claiming, leaving no doubt about his intentions. 

E/c eyes widened in surprise at this, but Y/n didn’t immediately pull away. Thor's kiss was demanding, possessive as his free arm wrapped around Y/n, placing a hand on his back, pulling him closer. Y/n could feel Thor's hardness against his left thigh, straining against the fabric of his pants, and he moaned into the kiss.

Suddenly, Y/n pulled away slightly, breathless. "Thor, I—"

"Shh," Thor placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. "You want this, Y/n. You want my touch, my possession. Admit it, and I'll give you the love that you desire. You’ll forget all about that mortal, Maya." 

Stunned by this turn of events, Y/n could only manage a breathless, "Alright," he knew that he did crave this intimacy and always found Thor attractive. He wanted to feel that type of intimacy once more.

Suddenly, he felt the powerful urge to assert his agreement more physically, more explicitly. So, he pushed Thor onto his back, straddling his muscular thighs.

A devilish smile curved Thor's lips as he tugged on Y/n's shirt, eager to taste the body of the guy that he had daydreamed about countless times. With a sharp tug, buttons flew across the room, revealing smooth skin and toned muscles beneath.

"Dangerous move, little waiter," Thor murmured, his hands roaming across Y/n's chest, thumbs grazing perky nipples that tightened, hardened from his touch. "Now, I get to have my way with you."

Then, Thor trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses along Y/n's jawline and down his neck. His teeth scraped gently over Y/n's pulse point, nipping and sucking until a dark bruise formed. Y/n's breath hitched as Thor's hand glided lower, his fingers tracing the waistband of his sweatpants.

"You like it when I touch you, don't you?" Thor whispered, his hot breath fanning across Y/n's ear, "Tell me what you want."

Y/n craned his neck to allow Thor better access to his neck and shoulders. "I... I want you to touch me, Thor. Everywhere."

Thor didn’t need a further invitation. His hand slipped beneath the waistband of Y/n's pants, exploring the terrain of his six-pack abs before dipping lower. Y/n arched his back, his breath catching as calloused fingers brushed against the length of his already long, stiff cock.

"You're so hard for me, little one," Thor murmured, fingers teasing the outline of Y/n's length before pulling away. "I want to see it. Want to watch it throb for me."

With trembling fingers, Y/n removed his pants, sliding the fabric down his legs, along with his boxers. His cock twitched eagerly, the head already glistening with pre-cum. He had never been so aroused, so desperate to be touched and taken.

Thor's eyes darkened with desire as he reached for Y/n's cock, stroking it firmly, his right thumb teasing the sensitive slit. "That's it, my beautiful God. Let me see you. Show me how much you want this."

The former God's lips parted on a moan, his hips involuntarily bucking into Thor's hand quickly. "Please, Thor... don't stop."

Thor smirked, the possessive gleam in his eyes undeniable. "I plan to take this much further.  But first, I want a taste..."

And with that, Thor leaned down, his hot breath tickling the head of Y/n's cock before his tongue darted out, licking a thick stripe up the underside. Y/n cried out, his hips jerking at the unexpected pleasure, and Thor chuckled, the sound vibrating against Y/n's sensitive flesh.

"So responsive," Thor murmured, his lips wrapping around Y/n's hardness as he sucked and teased with practiced skill.

Y/n threaded his fingers through Thor's hair, his head falling back as sensations bombarded him. Thor's tongue swirled and twirled, his lips sucking on his cock, driving Y/n wild with need. He looked up at Y/n through his eyelashes, reveling in the sight of his pleasure-clouded eyes, and he sucked Y/n's length deep into his mouth, his hands caressing Y/n's thighs, thighs that now tremble with anticipation.

"Please, Thor," Y/n begged, his voice raw with need. "I want to feel you inside me."

Thor released Y/n's cock from his mouth with a lewd pop, saliva dripping from his lips as his fingers unfastened his pants. "Time to see what a real god looks like."

Thor sat up, his eyes flashing with promise as he slowly revealed his thick, veiny cock. Y/n's mouth went dry at the sight, his own spent cock twitching with some renewed interest. Reaching inside the nightstand, Thor discovered a bottle of lube and slicked up his cock for Y/n.

"Damn, Thor, that's huge," Y/n whispered his gaze devouring every inch of Thor's masculine glory. "Even bigger than mine."

A smug grin stretched across Thor's face as he pushed Y/n back against the bed, kicking off his pants in the process. "Get a good look at this and commit this to your memory and your heart, because I intend to make you scream my name."

With that promise ringing in the air, Thor climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself between Y/n’s thighs and lining up the tip of his cock with his entrance. 

"Tell me you want this, Y/n. Tell me you want me to fill you up." Thor's voice was low and commanding, his eyes intense.

Y/n nodded eagerly, his breath coming in short gasps. "Yeah, Thor. I want you. Please, take me. I need you inside me."

Hmm, Thor mused and pressed forward, his thick cock breaching Y/n with a slow, relentless thrust. Y/n cried out, his back arching off the bed as he was stretched wider than Y/n could remember. Thor paused, giving him a moment to adjust, but the reprieve was simply short-lived.

Thor began moving, his powerful thrusts driving Y/n into a euphoric haze. The bed creaked beneath them, the sound joined by the lewd slapping of skin and Y/n's loud moans as Thor’s hips moved.

"That's it, take it," The God of Thunder let out a growl, hands gripping Y/n's hips to gain better leverage. "You feel too good wrapped around my cock. I've dreamed of this... dreamed of claiming you, babe."

Y/n's eyes squeezed shut as he clung to Thor, his nails digging into the tall God's broad shoulders. "Oh, Thor, right there," he gasped, his entire body trembling on the edge of release. "Damn, I'm so close."

Thor's pace quickened, breath coming in hot, ragged gasps. "Open your eyes and look at me," he demanded, causing Y/n's eyes to snap open, his gaze locking with Thor's, and the Avenger's hand found his cock once again. "You make me feel like a true God. I could fuck you forever, but right now, I want you to come for me."

"Oh... fuck..." 

In response to Thor's words, Y/n's body tightened like a coil, and he came with a hoarse cry, his release coating Thor’s fingers. Then, Thor emptied himself into Y/n, his hips stuttering as he rode out his orgasm, painting Y/n’s ass hole in ribbons of white. He maintained eye contact with Y/n the whole time. Mine.

Panting and sweaty, Thor pulled out of Y/n and they collapsed against the bed, hearts beating fast from their encounter.

Thor pressed a tender kiss to Y/n's lips, his hands stroking the sweat-dampened skin of Y/n's torso. "You're incredible, Y/n. We were always meant to be together."

This was a known fact, and tonight was simply proof of their love for each other. Now, he needed to make sure Maya was fully out of the picture (Thor forced her to write that note to Y/n, and had set up a secret camera in Y/n's apartment, the footage transmitted to a hidden monitor in another location where he kept Maya chained and captive). Now that she had seen the love between them, he would tell Heimdall to execute her, ensuring she posed no threat to their happiness again.

Now, all that remained was for Odin to restore Y/n's powers. Then, they would be together forever, unburdened by the constraints that mortality has on people.

Just as it was meant to be. 

XXXXX XXXXX

[augment-techs]

I’m obsessed with the Orchid ones. SO.

Orchid and Trillium + Billy/Skull

Orchid - Refined Beauty: World of the Coinless, one moment Billy was nineteen with a hole on his chest and bleeding out on the battlefield in Trini's arms and the next--well. Everything had changed. Jason was alive, but terribly damaged from trauma. Zack and Trini and Bulk had been keeping the fight going, despite Kim being on the other side of the field through no choice of her own. Angel Grove was a smoking ruin but for a few months ago, the rebuilding itself slow but steady. The multiverse existed and Billy had met a younger alternate to himself that had grabbed him by the shoulders on his way back with his own team to their own dimension and growled in his ear, "Don't fucking die again. He can't handle it a second time." No need to know who the 'he' in question was. More than twenty years had changed Eugene in the most...uncannily pleasant of ways. He wasn't constantly shadowing Bulk, because he was a leader to literal hundreds of Sentries--though, only about forty of them were loving and devoted and Billy was just the tiniest bit jealous when he saw some around his own (physical) age clinging to his back and arms like squirrels and kittens. He wasn't all jokes and long winded laughter, because he had learned the need and necessity to be silent and measured. The sheer amount of times he'd walked into a room Billy was running theories and calculations in and caused Billy to almost spook out of his skin measured in the dozens; and just so he could tell him it was lunch or that one of the others needed him before vanishing just as silently. This was not mentioning scenarios when Billy had seen him without a shirt in the training arena, practicing with Zack or Kim or Jason. He had perfect posture, svelte muscles, and the kind smile that Billy remembered from when they were still so young... It both pleased and offended him that the man wasn't in a relationship. The man was the Whole Package; what the hell? Trillium - Modest Beauty:

After Skull was certain he wouldn't break down crying or embarrass himself out of his rooms in Billy's presence, the captain allowed himself to drink in the things and sights that he'd been half convinced his mind had made up to keep him sane while undercover. Billy's chicken scratch handwriting with the old fashioned ink pen sets Trini had snagged out of Drakkon's old offices and given to the young man at the first sign he'd need as many as they had so he could familiarize himself with his new environment with thousands of notes. He still did that thing with tilting his 't's and 'l's hard to the right. The way he wore clothing very similar to the academics of English universities when he was out of the palace, but preferred to stick to softer, more linen or wool based trousers or v cut neck shirts when inside amongst friends and allies. Skull had caught himself observing pale neck taught with a stretch, or fingers entwined above the head in the same motion. Billy's shirt sometimes riding up to show off belly or a slip of the back. Though if Eugene was being honest, the times he saw Billy when he wasn't wearing glasses and they met blue eyes across from the water fountain when Billy had taken his shoes off...that had to be his new favorite image he had a feeling he would keep with him forever.

[bbydoll18xx]

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart

Paige Bueckers x reader

KK tries to set you up on live, and things between you and Paige go south.

Word Count: 1.7k

Themes: angst, maybe some fluff?

This is heavily inspired by my love life, so yes, please feel free to feel bad for me thanks xoxo

~

“And oh, my god, he was so fucking stupid,” you exclaim exasperatedly, your longwinded rant having no ending in sight. “Like you’re literally in college and you can’t even hold a basic conversation? And don’t even get me started on his fucking mustache,” you add, gagging dramatically for good measure.

Hands were flying in the air as you spoke, and the girls of UCONN’s women’s basketball team listened amusedly as you complained about your latest failure of a date. You had promised yourself you’d get back out into the dating world after your two year relationship with your high school sweetheart had ended, but that was nearly three years ago. And now that you had gone through every stage of grief and were now (mostly) mentally stable again, you had begun dating to find ‘the one.’ 

However ‘the one’ seemed to be hiding among the frat boys and useless idiots you had been spending your friday and saturday nights with for the last six months. And you were quickly growing tired of their bullshit. 

“And then,” you dragged out the word theatrically, leaning forward to the group of girls listening, “he told me he wanted to do a line of cocaine off my ass! Like who even says that?”

The girls erupt in a fit of giggles and gasps, disturbed by your most recent date. 

You shake your head in mild embarrassment and place your head in your hands. “I can’t do this anymore,” you sigh, trying to avoid Paige’s stare. 

She was always staring, as if she could tell what you were thinking. And to be honest, it freaked you out because if she actually knew what you were thinking, you’d be in some deep shit.

You had feelings for Paige from the first day you had met her, and the battle was certainly an uphill one at that. A little voice in your head whispered mockingly that the reason you had been going on all these dates was to distract yourself from the harsh reality that Paige was just a friend. Nothing more, nothing less. 

And it really fucking stung. 

KK cuts through the silence, placing a soothing hand on your back. “I know what to do,” she says with a knowing smile. You meet her smirk with a confused look, wondering what the younger girl had in mind. “Let’s go on live and find you a boo!” she exclaims, clapping her hands together.

The other girls erupt in laughter at the idea, nodding their heads in agreement. The only one who is uncharacteristically quiet is Paige, who has a funny look on her face. Her nose scrunches slightly, and because you had spent years memorizing every part of Paige, including her moods and facial expressions, you would almost say she looked pissed.

Glancing back over to KK, you let out another long sigh, throwing your hands in the air defeatedly. “Sure, why the hell not?” 

She whoops excitedly, grabbing her phone and propping it up on the table in front of where the two of you were sitting. She clicks on the live, and it was not long before hundreds of people were flooding in with comments. 

“Hey, y’all!” KK greets the fans with a small wave and a huge grin. You try to hold back a grin of your own, but her excitement was infectious, and you felt grateful that your friends cared about fixing your sham of a love life. 

“We’ve got a special guest tonight,” KK explains, and you wave shyly at the camera. You typically did not love all the attention, and you tended to stay in the background when the other girls would go live. 

“Okay, so boom, we are looking for a date for my girl over here,” KK begins, explaining the situation to the people on the live. “Serious inquiries only!” She adds, wagging a finger towards the camera. “She is precious, and some of y’all are straight up freaks.”

You giggle at her words, trying to read the comments. Many of them we’re trying to gauge your sexuality, and upon reading another ‘is she gay’ comment, you decide to clarify. 

“I’m bisexual,” you murmur shyly. It had been nearly 6 years since you had realized you like girls, yet you still struggled with enunciating the fact. 

“Oh girl, they love you,” KK sings, patting herself on the back for her idea. “How about if y’all have some talent, join the live and woo my girl.”

Paige has since moved from her chair opposite you to sit next to you on the couch. Her leg is pressed up against yours, the warmth of her body radiating onto yours, and you bite your lip. 

“Yeah, yeah Paige is here. This ain’t about blondie today,” KK scolds the fans. “Now I want to see some good talent.” 

You turn your head to look at Paige, and she rolls her eyes at KK. “KK, don’t be mean to them,” she laughs, waving to the live. 

In your head you’re thinking that you honestly can’t even blame the fans. Paige was hot. You wanted to see her too. 

KK lets in the first girl, who upon seeing Paige, shrieks and throws her phone onto the carpet of her bedroom. You laugh, and KK lets out a huff of annoyance, deleting her immediately and moves on to find another person.

“This one seems promising,” she mutters, and you play with a piece of hair nervously. Being in front of the camera felt ridiculous, and you wonder how you got yourself into this situation. You are quickly pulled out of your thoughts by another young girl, desperately trying to serenade you and the other girls with a song. You try your best to avoid cringing, but the performance left you with bad secondhand embarrassment. 

A whole twenty minutes pass before someone promising pops up on the screen. A girl about your age with long dark hair and piercing green eyes is waving flirtatiously at the screen, causing you to sit up a little straighter. Next to you, Paige stiffens, and your eyes flit to her on KK’s phone, jaw clenched in a way that has your stomach rolling. You look down and notice her hand was closed in a fist, the other picking at a piece of lint on the couch. 

You avert your eyes back to the girl who was still smiling widely, and you make casual smalltalk with her, feeling warm from the attention of a pretty girl.

Comments are flooding in, and while you’re glad to see that many of them are about what a cute couple you and the mystery girl would make, you also notice an influx in comments regarding how mad Paige looked.

Before you could look over to check on her, she was flying off the couch and stomping out of the room. You hear her door close loudly, and you meet KK’s eye with a confused look. Paige’s departure has the fans going wild, and you whisper to the younger girl that she should end the live. 

“Okay, y’all, we gotta go. Feel free to DM her, though,” KK tells the dark-haired girl with a devilish grin, and she signs off quickly.

“What the fuck was all that about?” you ask no one in particular, eliciting shrugs from Aubrey, Ice, and Jana. 

“She’s been moody all day,” Aubrey says casually, and you pout, thinking about your best friend who was clearly unhappy about something.

“I’ll go check on her,” you mutter, heading towards the closed door of Paige’s bedroom. Standing in front of it, you take a deep breath before knocking.

“Come in,” you hear her mutter, and you enter the dark room, the only light shining from the tv and reflecting off the glassiness of Paige’s eyes. 

You sit on her bed next to her, placing a comforting hand on her thigh. “What’s wrong?” you ask gently, not wanting to spook her. She rarely opened up about the way she was feeling, and you did not want to rush her into admitting anything if she wasn’t ready.

She shrugs, quickly wiping at her eyes, and your heart nearly crumbles at the sight. You rub soothing circles onto her leg and reach up to wipe a stray tear from her cheek. The intimacy of it all is almost overwhelming, and you bite your bottom lip to keep in the feelings bubbling inside of you, threatening to expose everything.

“Just tired,” Paige mumbles, and you peek at her face, studying the beauty of her features. 

Your phone lights up in your hand, alerting you to a DM you had just received from the girl from the live, and you attempt to hold back a wide smile at her boldness. Paige looks down at your screen as you text the girl, Scarlett, back with a giddy expression. 

“I’m going to go to bed,” she says coldly, already moving to get under the covers. 

“Want me to stay?” You ask hopefully, trying to sound casual. Sleepovers between the two of you had become a cherished ritual, and you needed the simple proximity to make you feel whole again. 

“Nah,” she replies flatly, eyes closed and back turned in harsh finality. 

“O-oh, okay. Well, goodnight,” you stutter, temporarily stunned at her poignancy, and you flee her room with your head hung low in rejection.

“Is she okay?” KK asks. You don’t even know how to answer that.

“I have no clue what her deal is,” you mumble. “She’s never not wanted me around, so I think I’m just going to go. I’ve got a girl to get to know,” you add, trying to make yourself feel better.

“We’ll let you know if anything happens,” Ice responds kindly, and you nod gratefully in her direction before you take your leave.

You ignore the anxiety as you walk back home, instead focusing on the flirty messages Scarlett was sending to you. ‘This is what I need,’ you think. Paige was never going to be yours, and now you finally had a real chance at getting over her. 

With your head held high, you vowed that your feelings for Paige Bueckers would disappear. But would they really? Time could only tell. 

~

Part 2

Part 3

Hope you enjoyed! Let me know if you would be interested in a second part to this!!

[skzdarlings]

bodyguard: the first guard | part one | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | tba

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh's daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. please note this story will contain a great deal of physical violence, some committed against the reader and some committed by her. this will include fighting, training, torture, and parental abuse. there will also be explicit sexual content. chapter word count: 7500 words.

enjoy <3

-

B E F O R E

Felix takes his place in formation.  He is the youngest in the youth regiment at only ten years old, but he is no less competent.  They all belong to the same special-ops program, a group of specially selected children raised for armed service.  They are in the employ of Mister Miroh – and he says they will save the world. 

The world is full of shadows, dank black holes and grimy stains so embedded that no regular agent can scrub them out.  The young subjects of the soldier program are not regular agents.  Their existence is their mission.  

Felix has no life outside of the house of Miroh.   

He stands straight.  He looks forward.  His feet are the appropriate width apart and his hands are folded behind his back.  He holds this position as the trainers scour the lined formation, studying the young soldiers and reprimanding any flaw. 

They need the best soldier for this mission.  This is the most important assignment the regiment will ever receive.  Felix has trained his whole life for this.   

“Miroh has many enemies,” speaks the head trainer.  It is a familiar speech, more important now than ever.  “But our target is his local rival.  This enemy family has been a corrupting force for generations, taking through inheritance what it has not earned.  Miroh is not like The Enemy.  Miroh is a solider like you.  He came from nothing, fought for scraps, and built his own business one brick at a time.  He understands the world and he will fix it through you. You will be his hands in the places he cannot reach.  Your role is an honourable one.” 

A trainer passes Felix.  Felix straightens his spine that last infinitesimal degree.  They touch his shoulder but do not reprimand him.  It makes his pulse hammer with anticipation. 

Felix is one of the best.  There is a possibility they will pick him, if only because the actual best has a habit of—

“Oh, cheer up, mate,” Chris’s voice comes from a few rows back. “You know what they say: all work and no play makes—”

He is interrupted by a whoosh of air, probably a trainer punching him in the stomach. Felix closes his eyes so he does not wince.

“Bang Christopher Chan,” the head trainer says, his voice booming across the facility floor.  “Step forward.” 

Felix hears a frustrated sigh, then Chris stomps through the lines to reach the front row.  Everyone looks at him. 

He is an unassuming character.  Not very tall but deceptively strong.  Curly black hair and dimpled cheeks.  Felix remembers that smile, the lilting and friendly, “Call me Chris,” when Felix was just six years old and first thrown into the regiment. 

Bang “Call Me Chris” Chan is the best soldier here.  Or he would be, if he did not hate the honour. 

Even now he is glaring.  Like the rest of them, he is dressed in combat clothes, the pitch black of Miroh.  Unlike the rest of them, he stands with a lazy hunch in his shoulders.  His dark hair is dishevelled and he scowls like a petulant teenager.  He is thirteen going on fourteen but he is far from a normal teenage boy.  Even compared to the rest of them, Chris is something special. 

“Bang Chan,” the head trainer says.  “You have been chosen for this assignment.  Congratulations.” 

Felix is not surprised.  When Chris is forced to apply himself, it is abundantly clear he is the best soldier in the program by a huge margin.   Felix is also not surprised when Chris responds with his usual verve and ire.   

“Yeah, uh, you can go ahead and shove your congratulations up your ass, mate,” Chris says.  He crosses his arms stubbornly.  “Even if we kill this guy, do you really expect us to believe that’s the end of it?  You’re putting us in the middle of a fight we didn’t start.”   

He addresses the soldiers behind him just as much as the trainer.  He even glances at Felix who glares back at him, unimpressed with the rebellious dramatics.  Chris never learns.  He gets more chances than the rest of them because he is so good.  If he wanted, he could be unstoppable.  He could use his strengths for good. 

Instead, he just looks at the trainer and shakes his head.

“Nah,” Chris says.  “You started this fight.  I’m not ending it.”

A few of the adult guards move towards him.  The gathered soldiers take a collective breath, watching with anticipation.  It is common knowledge that thirteen year old Bang Chan can take a regular adult guard in a matter of seconds.  When it comes to Chris, the question is not who will win, but will he fight at all? 

He stands there like he has no intention of fighting.  But before anyone can grab him, the door opens. 

Miroh enters. 

The room is so tense and silent, his footsteps reverberate like thunder.  Miroh is every inch a soldier even in his blazer and tie.  He walks with purpose, his face intent. 

Walking behind him, keeping decent pace despite her smaller frame, is his daughter. 

Miroh is a fighter who does not believe in unearned inheritance, so his daughter is trainee soldier like the rest of them.  She is the same age as Chris.  She trains with the regiment, one of the better agents, but she was not in contention for this particular job.  People have tried to kill The Enemy before and it did not work, resulting in the death of innocents.  Miroh wants a strong heir and he is not above putting her through the same grueling regime as the rest of them, but he will not recklessly risk her life. 

It is fair to Felix.  Miroh’s world makes sense.  He believes in it.  He believes in him.

So he is rapt as Miroh approaches. 

The adult guards fall back and the young soldiers stand at attention.  Miroh’s jaw is set with grim determination.  He stares at Chris.

Chris drops his crossed arms.  He is smart enough not to run his mouth at Miroh directly, but his frustration is clearly simmering beneath the surface.  His fingers curl and uncurl in little fists. 

Miroh stands in front of him.  He speaks loud enough to address the entire room.

“I do not begrudge your desire for information,” Miroh says.  “You’re soldiers, not animals.  I acknowledge that you wish to know about the long-term goals for this company.  But that is not your job or your purpose.  This business is deliberately compartmentalized so if one cog in the machine fails, the apparatus does not cease to function.  The results of your missions speak for themselves.  What we’re doing is good work. That is all that matters.”

“Says you,” Chris blurts.  Even he looks surprised by his own retort, though he does not take it back.  He looks Miroh in the eye. 

Miroh looks back.  Then he reaches into the holster beneath his long coat and draws a gun.  It is smooth, second-nature.  Miroh is used to getting his hands dirty.  His steady hand points the gun at Chris. 

The trigger has not been pulled but the trainers already flinch.  They know Chris is the best and they have worked hard to shape him, even if his stubborn mind is not molded as easily as his body. 

Chris, himself, does not flinch.  He stares down the barrel, unrelenting. 

“You don’t want to do that.” 

The soft interjection makes everyone pause.  Heads turn and eyes dart, everyone’s attention transferring to the thirteen year old girl in the shadows.   

Miroh does not lower the gun but he looks at his daughter.  Chris looks at her too.  Felix is not sure who is more bewildered. 

The girl, herself, is calm.  She has indubitably mastered a stoic countenance, not a hint of emotion anywhere on her young face. 

“He’s the First Guard,” she states simply.  “This is not worth killing him over.”

The First Guard.  The other kids in the regiment sometimes call Chris that, though he doesn’t like it so it is usually behind his back.  Chris does not like that he has been singled out.  Chris does not like anything about the program. 

This is Miroh’s second attempt at the youth soldier program.   The operation raises soldiers from childhood to fight, to withstand pain, to feel no fear.  This training is supplemented with medical treatments, hormonal injections that are only effective if administered in the crucial developmental years of childhood.  It aids in building a body for soldiership, to take a hit just a little harder than most. 

Chris is the only survivor from the first round of injections.  He survived every test that followed.  He is stronger for it, even stronger than the rest of them.  He is a singular asset.  He will never be replicated. 

Thanks to The Enemy, none of them will ever be replicated.  The Enemy recently attempted to recruit Miroh’s developers and killed them when he did not succeed.  Detailed knowledge of the treatment died with them.   

Miroh can never accomplish anything with his enemy on perpetual offense.  Felix knows the stories like the rest of them, the generations of corruption wrought by a single wealthy family with its iron fist wrapped around the country’s throat.  Miroh wants to free them.  Felix knows if they kill this one man, if the household is left to rot in the hands of its weak successor, then Miroh can finally set everyone free. 

It is a noble honour.

Chris does not see it that way.  He never has.  Maybe it is different for him, having watched those other children die.  Felix understands it was a sacrifice, but a necessary one.  The Enemy cannot be killed by a regular soldier.  So many more innocents will die if he is left unchecked.  Surely that is worth the price of a few soldiers.  Wars have casualties.  It will be worth it.

It has to be worth it. 

Bang Chan, the First Guard – call me Chris – takes a deep breath.  It sounds frustrated.  He glares at Miroh’s daughter who is unaffected. 

Felix looks between them.  Then his gaze lands on another soldier in the formation.  Seo Changbin is in the first row, a boy one year older than Felix.  Not the best soldier, not second best, but not the worst. His most notable trait is his humour and his friendship with Miroh’s daughter.  They are close – at least as close as anyone can be down here. 

Changbin is looking at her right now, his gaze searing with intensity.  Their eyes meet briefly and he shakes his head, a small motion, just enough for her to see.  Despite his clear warning to stop, she is not dissuaded from addressing her father. 

“With all due respect, sir,” she says to Miroh, “Eliminating Bang Chan would be a mistake.  He’s the best soldier in the operation.”

“The best,” Miroh says.  He presses the barrel of the gun against Chris’s forehead.  Chris goes tense and everyone takes a breath.    

His daughter is still unmoved.  She is a quiet character in general.  Felix has barely heard her speak never mind argue.  She keeps her head down and goes about her work obediently.  She is a good daughter and a better soldier.     

Maybe that is why Miroh hesitates. 

“He is not the best if this is how he conducts himself,” Miroh says. 

“Father, aren’t you the best at what you do?” she asks without hesitation.  “Surely a proper soldier like you should be able to control a little boy.  Are you saying you are not capable of that task?  It takes no skill to shoot a teenager.  What message do you send to the rest of us if you have to resort to desperate measures to keep your own army in line?”    

The silence is deafening.  Even with a gun plastered to his forehead, a little dimple of amusement pops in Chris’s cheek.  Changbin exhales.  Felix is sick of standing still but he holds his form despite the growing tension. 

The seconds feel like hours.  Eventually, Miroh lowers the gun. 

“Guards,” he says.  The adult guards are immediately at his side.  “My daughter has faith in our order.  I would be remiss as a father to fail her.”  He looks down at Chris and speaks with a snarl in his upper lip, “Let us all try our best to succeed.” 

Miroh snaps his fingers and points at Chris.  The guards swarm him, two of them taking an arm each.  At least Chris is smart enough not to struggle.  He is an indomitable force but he does not have an army at his call.  He lets himself be seized. 

“Take him to the Cell,” Miroh says.

An instinctive hiss leaves the mouths of a few soldiers.  They have all been trained to withstand various degrees of torture, but the Cell is one of the worst.  Even Felix shudders at the mention of it.  It is a small windowless room buried deep in the bunker of the training facility, a small prison cell with no light and no warmth.  Everyone has taken a turn in isolation, camped on the hard ground in the damp and cold and dark.  Down there, minutes feel like days, days like years.  At least literal torture causes sensation.  The Cell is a great black nothing. 

Chris does not argue, knowing it would be useless, but he does glare at Miroh as he is hauled away. 

“Take her too,” Miroh says. 

With a snap of his fingers, two more guards surface and grab his daughter.  Her stoic expression finally fractures, true surprise bursting on her face. 

“Me?” she asks. 

“As my daughter, your perspective is acknowledged and appreciated,” he says.  “As a soldier, you need to remember your place.  Throw them in together.  Double the people, double the time.” 

Felix would not want to be shoved in that tiny space with another person.  Certainly not if the trade was double the duration. 

But then, Felix does not like company.  He does not understand the exhausted look on Changbin’s face.  Changbin isn’t being punished, so why would he feel anything? 

Felix watches.  He holds his form even where others begin to wane. 

The guards and their prisoners leave.  The door closes and Miroh looks over the regiment.

“Who’s the second best?”  Miroh asks. 

There is a beat of silence, the scene settling.  The trainer finally clears his throat and looks down at his papers. 

“Lee Felix Yongbok,” he says in that booming voice.  Felix’s heart soars just as high.  “Step forward.”

Felix marches forward, keeps his eyes ahead.  Miroh approaches him.  Felix does not flinch, not even when Miroh circles him like prey.

“He’s young,” Miroh says.  “What do you have to say for yourself, boy?”

“I want to do good,” Felix answers.  “I’m ready.” 

They put a gun in his hand and a beanie on his head.  He enters the world looking like a normal ten year old boy. 

He puts a bullet in the head of The Enemy. 

He suspects one day he will be back for the son and granddaughter. 

He hopes it will be soon. 

-

P R E S E N T   D A Y

Despite your father’s remarkable propensity for making you feel like a child, you are a grown adult.  You are intelligent and conniving and dangerously competent.  In some ways, having been raised like a soldier beneath his merciless iron fist, you are more steadfast, more severe.  Your life is carved into his, your fates tethered as one to his success.  You are your father’s daughter, a Miroh, irrevocably a product of his upbringing.   

You do not show weakness.  You do not throw tantrums.  You might spend twenty minutes in the lobby bathroom, splashing cold water on your face, and you might spend another five minutes shining your shirt buttons, then ten more folding and re-folding the lapel of your long coat – but walking into his office almost forty minutes late is not the same thing as throwing a tantrum. 

You think you’re composed until you walk through that door, then the week’s anxieties expand in the cage of your chest.  You are capable but you are not stupid.  Miroh might be your father but he is a totalitarian man of influence and it would be foolish not to be wary of his power. 

You are more apprehensive than you appear, but you march in there like a soldier, shoulders back and head high.  You inherited your father’s marble expressions and stone stature.  No one would ever guess your palms were so clammy, your neck hot and damp with sweat. 

“I’m here,” you say by way of greeting.   You are not characters to indulge in artificial small talk.  There is no affection here and pretending otherwise is a waste of everyone’s time.  

“I won’t bother with pre-amble,” he says, predictably.   ”You know why you’re here.”

“I do,” you say.  “And I don’t agree with it.”

“I know you don’t.”

The argument ends just like that.  You knew it was a dead-end protestation before you opened your mouth, but you had to say something.  You are adamantly opposed to your father’s latest imposition.    

A personal, twenty-four hour bodyguard.   For you.    

The decision was not made lightly.   Your father’s business rival perished just under a month ago, the bloody circumstances extreme and mysterious.  Until Miroh can ascertain what truly transpired at that house on that fateful night, then he cannot be too careful when it comes to guarding his own legacy.

Your father is a military tactician and business man.  He is in the habit of bracing for every eventuality with a detached, pragmatic determination.   Of course he wants you watched. This bodyguard assignment is imperative in protecting his house. 

“I have a security team,” you say. 

“They are insufficient,” he replies. 

“I trained them myself.”

“They are too numerous.”

“I’ll cut down the roster.”

“Rotations open vulnerabilities.”    

“And who’s to replace them?” Your patience snaps. “One of your dogs?”

“You are also one of my dogs,” he says, voice soft for such a venomous retort.  It stings like a slash across your chest.  “I would not disparage them.” 

“Oh, of course, my apology.”  You speak with the same false gentility.  “What a thoughtful master you are.”

“I must be,” he says, “because the dogs still come when I call.” 

There is so much contempt in his voice.  He looks at you with more hatred than he ever directed to his worst enemy.   It makes you want to leap across this room and throttle him with your bare hands, like you can shake the animosity right out of him. 

You are too old to feel like a little girl on the verge of tears, demanding to know why her father does not love her.   You have long since accepted there is no easy answer to that question.  You would say that Miroh is simply not capable of love but you know that is not true.  He can love.  He just doesn’t love you.  

You are the perfect heir, his exact replica in ability and countenance, but it is not enough.  It will never be enough.  No matter what you do, no matter how faithfully you obey him.   You have bloodied your hands in the shadows while he takes the public credit.  You have helped build the reputation of the family name.  You have given him everything. 

He rewards you with this.   

You are not stupid.  Regardless of his excuses, he does not want you under surveillance for your protection.  You both know your personal training puts you leagues ahead of the overwhelming majority of agents.  Your security team is a superfluous accessory as is.

Miroh has just witnessed the collapse of a previously impenetrable legacy.  This does not put him at ease.  The battle technician accounts for every possible manoeuvre.  You know he foresees his own downfall just as easily as he sees his success.  Unseated before his time, reputation annihilated, replaced by someone as savage and persistent as him. 

A bodyguard will not protect you from the world.  It will protect Miroh from you. 

For all your inner turmoil, you are a steadfast rock, standing across your father in his office and exchanging a knowing glance.  You are just like him.  Of course he is scared of you.  Of course he hates you.  Of course he needs you.  

The feeling is devastatingly mutual. 

“Who is it?” you ask, calmly. 

“Agent Slump, step forward,” your father calls one of the guards posted at the back wall.  “This is your new bodyguard officer.  He will accompany you at all times, day and night, including your office hours and service train—”

The agent steps forward as your father speaks.  You draw your gun out of your chest holster and shoot when the man steps into your periphery.  It blows through his shoulder and knocks him down, all in a piercing shriek that reverberates around the small room.  The other guards flinch in the ringing aftermath. 

You look at your father and re-holster your gun.  You lay the lapel of your long coat back over your chest. 

“He leaves something to be desired,” you say.  “I would have thought you learned your lesson with these undertrained toy soldiers.  Maybe a better bodyguard would have kept your wife alive.” 

Your own mother died during complications in childbirth.  Miroh remarried a few years later, a woman he genuinely seemed to cherish, a woman who was killed in retaliation for a deal gone sour.  Nothing fills your father with more righteous fury than the mention of her.  Miroh loved her almost as much as he hates you. 

You know better than to retaliate with such childish rejoinders, but you want to hit him where it hurts, see something real on that stoic face.  It garners you a flicker of rage, bathed in all that loathing, and it makes you smile. 

“Let me know if you can find a competent replacement,” you say.  “Until then, I have work to do.” 

You turn heel and march to the door.  The guards move out of your way despite lack of command.  They have never respected you the way they respect your father, but they do fear you and it works the same way. 

You are dressed for the office but after an unproductive hour spent stewing in agitation, you give up.  The head of your security team accompanies you across town to the primary training facilities.  Hidden in plain site, here Miroh has trained and developed some of his most deadly assets. 

You are one of those assets.  You spent your childhood in this facility, training among an elite selection of children, raised for the purpose of violence and victory.  It was a unique program.  It has never been revived, the medicant administered to the children lost and yet to be replicated.  

You are one of the few still living. 

Your training was relatively more lax.  As Miroh’s daughter, the trainers could not let you die.  But neither he nor they had qualms with letting you suffer.  Miroh never admonished them and you never complained, at the time naively thinking that if you could prove yourself then he would care about you.

A foolish aspiration long since abandoned. 

But the training has served you well over the years.  It certainly comes in handy when you need to fucking punch something. 

Your security team is comprised of regular soldiers so it does not take much to best them in a fight.  The exertion is nonetheless liberating.  You have always felt more at ease in action than behind a desk.  Combat clothes are less stifling than formalwear.  There is a reason Miroh never paraded you at parties the way his late enemy did with his late daughter.  Your place is in a fight and always has been.  

After a few rounds in the ring, you stop to rest.   Your team knows when to leave you alone to brood.  You lay back on the mat, flat in the ring. 

There is a moment, as often passes, where you question your entire life.  It has been a long, vicious fight, clawing your way to your position, that the road back out seems like an impossibly arduous task.  Too much has happened, too much pain and loss.  It has to mean something. 

You cannot surrender now.  The very thought has you reeling, physically painful to even consider.  

This is where you belong.  It is an irrevocable truth.  You are a Miroh. 

“Yah, murder princess,” comes a voice and the thud of booted steps.  “Just three rounds?  Tsk.  You’re getting soft.”

You roll over, grinning even though you know better.  You look up at Changbin who is dressed in similar fatigues, his bulky arms crossed over his broad chest, his dark bangs brushing his smirking face. 

“I was waiting for a real fight,” you reply.  “Looks like I’m still waiting.”

He barks out a laugh. 

Changbin is one of the few survivors of your father’s special-ops program.  Unlike others who were imported from your father’s overseas operations, Changbin was raised right here alongside you.  You do not even remember meeting him; he has just always been there.  

He is a few years younger but he always held your attention, both because of his skill and his ability to retain a sense of humour.  It was an often sought breath of relief in the conditions of your training. 

You look at Changbin now, grinning and more jovial than someone like him should be.  It is a testament to his resolute strength that he can hold a dual personality inside him.  He has always been that way.  He can flip between a stoic soldier and goofy guy in the blink of an eye.  It is part of the reason you have never let yourself entirely trust him.  Though you are fond of him, he is like you: just a little too good at what he does. 

“Haha, the princess thinks she’s a comedian now,” Changbin says.  He nudges you with the tip of his boot.  “If you want to make me laugh, you should try fighting.” 

“Oh, I see.”  You cannot help but rise to his bait, like always.  He is a perpetual little brother even though he is not your real brother and certainly not little anymore. 

You swipe at him and he jumps back.  Just like that, the pair of you fall into a long practiced dance.  

It is not the gentle footwork of a real dance, but a violent collision and parry of limbs.  It is just as musical and in sync, and somehow almost as tender.  You know each other’s weaknesses as well as strengths.  You know how to beat each other and how to prolong surrender, where to give advantage so the other can continue.  You used to fight until the trainers called a tie, saving you both from selection for the loser’s punishment.  To everyone else, it looked like a fight.  To you, it was a conversation and consolation.  Even if you had been in solitude for weeks, in that moment you were not alone. 

Changbin reads you now, in every swipe and jump and dodge.  In your matching black clothes and matching strength you collide and converse.  Your frustration strains in every vein and his enquires are plain in the deliberate pause of his complicated steps.

“Daddy problems, ah, murder princess?” he asks, grinning. 

He catches your fist before it collides with that smirk, twisting your wrist so you are forced to follow with a heavy drop.  You roll together, a back and forth until you individually spring to your feet and face each other.  You wait for the next move with equal calculation.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you say, batting a hit. 

“Really?” he asks.  “Because there are rumours in the pig pen that the general was looking for a big strong soldier to protect his little princess.” 

He lets you clock his jaw but it is a satisfying smack nonetheless.  A drop of aggravation is wrung out with your sweat.  You wipe your brow. 

“There was a change of plans,” you say.

Changbin laughs.   He is loud, always so loud for someone who can be so stealthy. 

“Of course!” he shouts.  “Keeping the doctors busy today, are you?”

He really knows you too well.  It is mutual.  You side-step a movement and body-check him. 

“Guess that’s what the general gets for choosing from the pig pen,” you say.  You infuse your father’s title with all the sardonic venom it deserves and pig pen with the same playful mockery as always. 

“Don’t be jealous,” Changbin teases right back, catching your taunt as easily as he catches your punch.  “If you keep practicing, one day you might be almost as good as me.” He has been making the same wisecrack for years, laughing to himself every single time. 

“Funny,” you say dryly. 

“I am the best,” he continues to tease, embellishing his movements with an unnecessarily dramatic flair.  “I’m sure that’s why the general doesn’t want me on bodyguard duty, right?  I need a real job, not protecting the princess.”

There are a few rapid-fire moves, too taxing for speech.  Then you manage, “Right.”  You take his offered opening and catch the back of his knee with yours.  “I’m sure it has nothing to do with your probation after the last field mission.” 

You expect to take him down but you do not expect the weight of his crash.  It is not like Changbin to fully collapse under you, almost like he was truly surprised. 

You are just as dazed by the impact.  You loom over him, staring bemusedly, like you have no idea how he got on the floor. 

It is not like Changbin to take a hit so personally.  Of all your father’s soldiers, he was always the best at shrugging off his individuality in favour of a mission.   He does not tend to dwell on his losses anymore than he lingers in his victories.  The past is a heavy thing to carry into battle.  He knows to leave it behind.  There is always another job around the corner. 

“You’re not still upset about that?” you ask.

The mission was shortly before the enemy’s downfall.  Years ago, one of your father’s child soldiers betrayed an operation.  Lee Felix switched sides and the enemy did not let your father forget it.   But Miroh is an ever-calculating general who knows which battles are worth fighting.  After one failed attempt at seizing the enemy’s daughter, he waited until the enemy came to him instead.  

When he finally did, you caught him.  You sent Changbin after his daughter and waited for the enemy’s imminent surrender.  He retracted his operation but Felix, that loose canon of a traitor-turned-bodyguard, fucked the Mirohs a second time and disappeared with her.  They all died a week later. 

Changbin was noticeably uneasy after the job, but you did not think much of it.   You were not worried about Changbin taking the mission too personally.  Yes, Felix was a former soldier in this regiment, but Changbin is not sentimental.  You chalked up his despondency to his loss.  It is not like him to let a target slip through his fingers. 

“Upset,” Changbin says.  “Me?”

You know him too well.  The joking tone is diminished, buried beneath the weight of his gloom.  He tries to smile but it does not fit on his face, too big and too wide of a grin. 

You tip your head, your regard scrutinous.  You have no idea how to talk to him with real depth.  You look at each other and understand it, but vocalizing it is another matter entirely. 

Like he can read your thoughts, his face scrunches up and he says, “Yah, you, cut that out!”  He shoves you as he gets to his feet, both of you stumbling.  “I’m fine,” he says.  “Come on, hit me again.” 

You are certainly better at conversing that way.

You take a starting stance but you are interrupted when someone from your security team whistles.  It is a warning whistle, the sharp tone a code for the arrival of your father.

You and Changbin straighten, turning to watch as Miroh approaches with a flank of armed guards behind him.  They are all dressed for combat in their black uniforms and black masks.  The half-mask is regulation for all field agents.  It covers the bottom half of the face and serves as protection in the event of smoke from explosions or exposure to noxious aerosols and gasses.

It also undoubtedly turns a human soldier into a less-than-human figure.  It obscures features, faces, flaws. 

Sharp eyes stare at you, every face uniform and expressionless.  There are half a dozen of them.  Your father’s usual security detail trails behind them.  Your security team eyes them in turn.   The whole room feels like a pot about to boil over.    

“What is this?” you demand.  

“This is my adherence to our agreement,” your father says. 

“Our agreement?” you ask.

“Yes.”  He stops in the middle of the room, standing straight and steady.  He looks at ease, like he barges in here with a small army every day.  “You tasked me to find a competent replacement bodyguard,” he says.  “So here is how this will go: whichever agent can beat you in a fight, right here, right now, will be your new bodyguard.  If you defeat them all, I will drop the issue and leave the matter of your personal security to you.” 

You look at his soldiers then at him.  You force yourself to composure.  It is not like you to instigate so much confrontation. You prefer to keep your head down and get the job done.  Your father does not love you but he knows your work is reliable.  Usually that is enough.

This entire escapade with the enemy has unravelled everyone.  The house of Miroh should be more stable than ever, your father taking over assets left behind by the enemy, but the whole world feels changed.  It is off its axis.  You feel unsteady, your body braced for attack with no reprieve.  You feel like you are looking at the world through someone else’s eyes.  Everything feels wrong.

In difficult times, you fall back on training and soldier instinct.  You are a battle technician, just as competent as your father.  He is not going to drop the issue and this is a fair compromise.  You can fight these guards.  Half a dozen well-trained field agents is a handful but not impossible.  Your body is built to be a little faster, a little stronger, to take a hit harder. 

“Fine,” you say, a single grating syllable.  You bite the word.  Through clenched teeth, you add, “Let’s do this.”

You and Changbin exchange a look.  He reflects your confusion, knowing you can easily take these guards, knowing Miroh knows that too.  It makes you feel even more uneasy.  Your father must be planning something but you do not know what.  But you cannot control him.  You can only control yourself.  You can fight these guys.  You can win. 

You take a swig of water then stretch.  The first guard takes a position in the fighting ring.  You brace yourselves with a starting stance, measuring the other. 

You wait, sweat dripping down your brow.  You feel their eyes on you, every soldier, your father, your friend.  Changbin stands off to the side, sitting in shadows.

It is where your kind belongs.  You are not regular soldiers. 

The fight begins and you take him down swiftly.  Your game with Changbin was just that, a game.  This is real.  This is a battle.  This is what your body was made to do. 

One by one, you take out the agents.  They charge at you, they swing at you, they even try to taunt you.  You deflect it all.  Your fist connects with a temple, your foot their knee.  You pop joints and flip soldiers and springboard back to action. 

You are getting tired by the last soldier but you do not let it show.  You sweat profusely, breathing hard, but you run at him and take him down.  Your bodies are a swirl of limbs and powerful movements.  Then he is on the ground, groaning, and you are rising, victorious. 

“Well?” you say.  You cannot help but grin, elated from the sheer exertion of exercise, and proud of your triumph.  There is a small, stupid part of you that hopes underneath everything, your father is proud too.  That he must relent and admit you are good.  

Miroh just stands there, unmoving and unaffected.  It dims your smile, frustration returning.  It simmers hot beneath your skin. It distracts you. 

Pain explodes in your left cheek, so sharp and searing it turns the world dark for half a second.  You see lightning flashes as you stumble, falling onto your side.  There is another guard in front of you, one you did not even see enter the room.  Did he drop down from the ceiling? 

He is a blurry shape.  You blink the stars out of your eyes, holding your throbbing head until clarity returns. 

Then your stomach drops. 

It is not a guard looming over you.  He wears the same black combat uniform and the same half-mask, but everything about him is different, everything from his build to his stance to the ice cold slash of his dark eyes.  Emotionless.  Empty. 

“Ah, I see,” you say, a breathless slur of words.  You cannot stop your voice from shaking.  “The First Guard.  I should have known.” 

There are only two living soldiers who can fight at your level.  The only two survivors of your father’s special-ops program.  One of them is Seo Changbin.

The other is Bang Christopher Chan. 

He stands over you in his combat gear, unflinching and barely human.  Even without the mask, you doubt you would see any humanity.  There is not a single shred of the boy he once was.  Chan was a problem for Miroh, once.  That was a very long time ago. 

That boy, Chris, is dead.  He has been dead for years.  The soldier in front of you is someone – something – else. 

You get to your feet, slowly and shakily.  He watches you.  He does not speak and he barely blinks, his gaze a meticulous perusal, his body braced for anything. 

Chan has the bloodiest, dirtiest hands of them all.  He does your father’s worst missions, assignments with details that even you are barred from knowing.  He is terrifyingly efficient, deadlier than any weapon in Miroh’s arsenal, and that is saying something because it is a substantial arsenal.  

Your own hands are dirty but it is nothing in comparison.  He is fast, he is deadly, and he feels nothing.  He looks at you like a machine scans a calculation.  A broken bone here, a fracture there.  You are certain he is already picturing a hundred different ways to contort your broken body. 

“Right,” you say. 

You are a strategist.  You know how to fight.  You know when not to fight.  But it is like instinct.  You look at him and something says fight him.   

You feel your father’s eyes on you.  You are not sure who is teaching who a lesson. 

You take a swing at Chan.  He dodges it.  He swings too, faster, but you anticipate it.  You tuck and roll, moving faster than you have ever moved in your life.  You are seldom pushed to the brink of your abilities like this.  Even half your skillset is double what most adversaries possess. 

But Chan is too much.  You spend the fight on constant defense, blocking swing after swing, hit after hit.  You take advantage of the smallest opening and crack your fist on his chest, only to realize he deliberately opened himself to it.  He grabs your wrist and twists you around before you can retaliate.  You are not used to such brute strength.  You follow his twisting to prevent a sprain or fracture, which he anticipates.  He grabs you by the throat and yanks you into him, right off your feet. 

You choke, blue swarming your rapidly blurring vision.  He slams you down on the ground, further disorienting you, still clutching your neck.

You dive somewhere deep inside your head.  You collect yourself as per your training, then swing your knee up between his legs.  It does not fully incapacitate him but it does discombobulate him.  He lets go of your throat and you slide between his legs, jumping up behind him.  He turns just in time to take a kick to the stomach, blasting him backwards to the end of the ring.    He prevents a worse fall by forcing himself down on one knee. 

You take the second he is down to catch your breath.  You try to calculate your next move but your adrenaline is dwindling.  Hopelessness settles in your chest.  You cannot win this fight.  At best, you can prolong it, but—

For the second time, you are blind-sided by pain.  It shatters down the right side of your body, a winded shove that blows right through you.   But it is not Chan.  Chan is still getting to his feet. 

You look up only for Changbin to bring his fist down in your face.  It knocks you off your feet and you land with a heavy thud.  Your heart races inside your aching chest. 

You have never fought Changbin like this. 

“What are you doing?” you hiss when he grabs you by the neck and drags you onto your feet.  You come to your senses and fight back, but you are hurt and tired and he has been recuperating. 

He punches you clear across the jaw and knocks you down again.  The world tilts sideways, spotted with black and blue.  Changbin drops on top of you.  You cannot even wrestle him, so disoriented.  He gets you flat on your front and pins you down. 

Then he takes a second to whisper in your ear, “Stop fighting me, murder princess.  Who do you want as a bodyguard?  Me or that thing?” 

If you were not so tired, you might have laughed. 

Your life is so backwards.  Changbin is helping you by beating the shit out of you.  But it is undoubtedly helpful.  He is right.  If Chan beat you, then Chan would be your bodyguard.  Your father would win.  He would have one of his agents glued to your side.  An agent you would never be able to shake no matter what you did. 

But it is not Chan over you.  It is your friend.  Someone from the same shadows as you.  Someone your father was not anticipating.

Changbin grabs you by the neck and yanks you up.  You look at your father with blood dribbling out of your mouth.

“I win,” Changbin says. 

Your father does not look happy.  That should upset you.  You and Miroh are bound as one. 

But it gives you a thrill.  His abomination of a soldier looms to the side, still staring at you, like he expects the fight to continue any second.  You suppose Chan’s life is one big fight and always has been. 

It doesn’t have to be that way for you, you think to yourself, a dangerous thought, one conjured by the feeling of your only friend holding you in his arms.  It looks like a death grip to anyone else, purely technical, but you feel it, the way he cups your injuries carefully despite his bulk and power.     

Miroh is scared.  He is getting desperate.  He wants you brought to heel.   In doing so, he is only stoking your resentment.

That pot starts to boil over.

“Well?” you say, in a voice as rough as gravel. 

“Yes,” your father says with a petty little snarl.  “I suppose you have won, haven’t you?” 

Changbin helps you off the ground.  You suffer through your pains.  You can feign steadiness for another minute, for long enough to retaliate.

You climb out of the ring.   You pass the other injured guards.  You walk right up to your father. 

Miroh stares at you.  You have identical glares, measuring each other.  Two soldiers with the same fire in their blood. 

You punch him.  It is a nice sharp shot across the face, using all the strength you have left.  You are one of the best.  Despite your injuries, it is still one fucking hell of a punch.

Miroh falls back in an undignified sprawl, hitting the hard ground with a painful thud.  He is good but he is not you. A fall like that would not have broken your bones the way it clearly fractures his arm.  

“Until next time, father,” you say. 

You step over him.  His security team immediately surrounds him, helping him up.  Your team comes to your aid as well.  Changbin follows too, coming right up to your side.  He grabs your arm and slings it around his shoulder, taking the brunt of your weight seconds before you would have collapsed. 

You look back over your shoulder.  The injured guards are tending their wounds.  Chan is looming in the background like a living shadow.  Miroh is clutching his arm and staring at you with fury pouring out of him.  You walk away, smiling despite your injuries. 

Your father should know better than to hit you.

You always hit back.

[sturnioz]

♯┆fully introducing. . . fratboy!matt .ᐟ ( and confident!reader )

confident!reader is a party girl through and through — she loves to get prettied up, go to a raging party, get fucked up, and fuck whoever she can get her claws on. fratboy!matt happens to stumble into her line of sight... but he's definitely not what she was expecting.

with the rhythmic click of your heels against the concrete, you stride confidently down the path, your arm wrapped tightly around your friend's waist as you both approach the thumping music that spills from the frat house ahead.

the house in front of you is a lot bigger than you expected, covered in colourful banners and lights that pulse in time with the beat of the music. students overcrowd the front lawn — some are tangled up in each other, messily making out and feeling each other over their clothing, and others lay back on the grass, gazing up at the stars as they giggle to themselves, clearly high on whatever they've indulged themselves in for the night.

an amused smirk tugs at your lips as you catch sight of a figure running out of the house, eyes wide with panic and their hand firmly clamped over their mouth, barely making it to a nearby bush before emptying out their stomachs.

you exchange a knowing glance with your friend as she giggles and nudges you softly, guiding you towards the house. with each step, the music gets loud, pulsing through your body, and as you cross the threshold, your senses are hit with a mix of alcohol, tobacco and weed.

the inside is a lot more livelier than the outside.

sweaty bodies grind against each other, lost in the euphoric feeling, hands slipping beneath clothing as if the world around them has faded away. boisterous laughter and shouts mix with the booming speakers, and you can spot a few large groups huddled together, cups in hand, playing a game of beer pong, the table already cluttered with empty cups.

it doesn't take you or your friend long to get the alcohol flowing, the warm buzz quickly mixing with the other substances that heighten your senses and fuel your confidence even more for the night ahead. you've flirted, touched, kissed so many guys that had slipped into your web, but despite the attention, they've all left you feeling unsatisfied and bored — making you roll your eyes, scoff, and walk away to find your next target.

you navigate the stick, cluttered floor, pushing your way through throngs of bodies when you spot him — matt.

he's lounding on the sofa a few feet ahead, his long legs casually manspreading, knees brushing against his brother chris, who has a pretty little thing nestled in his lap. matt's dark hair falls over his eyes, giving him a brooding look as he gazes intently at you. a joint rests between his lips; he inhales deeply, holding it in his lungs before releasing it in a slow, languid exhale, the smoke curling into the air.

your confidence soars under his intense stare, and your smirk widens as you reach up, adjusting your earrings just as your friend totters over with a drunken grin, eyes blown wide and lipstick smudged around her chin.

of course you fix it for her, swiping your thumb across the marks — but you pay no mind to the jumbled words that spill from her lips as you focus your gaze back on matt who hasn't taken his off you.

he stares as he raises a beer bottle to his lips, his throat moving as he swallows. he stares as he takes another hit from his joint, and he remains unaverred even as chris or any one of his frat brothers murmur around him.

truthfully, you're sick of this back and forth already. sure, it's hot, and you're most definitely horny, but it's not enough. you want more — so you get more.

you're excusing yourself from your friend, who is happily lost in conversation and interested in some other guy, and you're sauntering over to matt, your hips swaying with purpose. you catch the way his eyes follow your movements, trailing down your body as he raises his beer bottle to his lips.

you're placing your manicured hand on his shoulder and sliding yourself onto his thigh before you even introduce yourself, glossy lips curling into a smirk, eyelashes batting in a slow, deliberate blink as you tilt your head to the side — a charm that never fails.

"i was waiting for you to come to me, but... it seems like i have to do most of the work." you say, a slight tease in your tone.

"s'that right?" matt hums, his drawl smooth and unhurried as he tilts his head back to look at you, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as his hand slips behind your back, resting lightly on your spine.

"you're the one that's doing all the staring, yet you can't make the first move?" you raise an eyebrow at him, a challenge in your voice. "what's that all about? you shy or something?"

matt breathes out through his nose, a quiet laugh escaping him as his tongue rolls across his teeth, his shoulders raise and sag in a nonchalant shrug, not giving you a clear answer.

usually, this would piss you off, and you'd be out of his lap in seconds if this wasn't him. there's something about him that keeps you anchored in place, and you're a little desperate to uncover what lies beneath the surface of this mysterious guy who's captured your attention.

it goes back and forth like that for a while, you making quick jabs laced with flirtatious comments, and pressing your tits against his chest, hoping for some sign of reaction — but he remains unfazed, his calm demeanour unwavering, only giving you short, drawled replies.

it's not until you mutter some grouchy comment under your breath about him being boring, ready to remove yourself from the situation that he finally reacts, his hand patting your thigh.

"get up. i'm uh.... m'gonna take y'somewhere."

and suddenly, you're in his room, folded on his bed with your legs over his shoulders, dress bunched at your hips, your nails clawing at his shoulders and back, creating red lines in it's path, your sticky cunt suctioning around his cock with each heavy drill of his hips. there's mascara streaks down your cheeks, lip gloss ruined and choked sobs mixed with airy moans ripping from the back of your throat, tits bouncing.

matt's hovering above you, both hands resting on the pillow behind your head, holding up his weight, panting heavy as his necklace whacks against your chin. he's staring down at you, eyes dark and clouded, taking in the way you look all fucked out and speechless.

you're in utter disbelief — you never expected something like this to happen. you were always the one to take charge. you were always the one leaving the other in a drooling mess. it has always been you making the moves, not the other way around.

"where's all that confidence gone now, kid? huh? what — what did y'call me again? borin', right? y'remember?" his hand finds your cheek, tapping it a few times before he grips your jaw, condescendingly shaking your head as you mewl in response. "c'mon... use y'words. don't... don't tell me i made you all dumb 'cos i gave y'some good dick?"

“m—ma—att,” you gargle his name, trying your best to conjure your thoughts, to gain back your confidence and your sharp remarks but you struggle terribly. it’s a little embarrassing for you, but deep down there’s some part of you that likes feeling this way.

“yeah….” matt laughs, “fucked you up baaaad didn’t i, sweetheart?”

authors note. huuuuge thank you to @mercurydarlingg for bouncing ideas with me for this introduction, and especially helping with confident!reader <333 and another huuuuuuuge thank you to @mattinside for putting fratboy!matt into my head from the very beginning (there was actually a fratboy!matt before a fratboy!chris, just never brought him to light until today !!)

© STURNIOZ

[sanemi-whore]

Cruel World (1)

You had two choices - allow your father to marry you off to the highest bidder or run away and decide your own fate. What you weren't expecting was to encounter a demon along the way. Sanemi x Reader (afab) warning: arrange (forced) marriage, readers father is abusive (not physically), mentions of death/blood, cursing, alcohol intake, sanemi being in denial of his feelings lol, unsolicited touching/groping/humping, masturbating (m), word count: 12.838 masterlist | Part 2 | Final

“Fix your face.” your fathers words were harsh as he spoke to you. He sits across from you, legs crossed and hands in his lap. “You should be honored that a man has offered so much to marry you.”

Honored.

You wanted to laugh.

There was nothing for you to be honored about. There was nothing honorable about being married off to a man you’ve just met - a man twice your age at that. You never imagined being in a loveless marriage with nothing to live for but to be a trophy wife. 

“Yes, Oto-san.” you murmur, head low. 

It wasn’t long ago when your father was requested by a man - an older man who appears just as old as your father, if not older - for a meeting. They spoke in hushed tones while you were ordered to cook and serve tea for your guest. 

Your hand shook as you served the tea when your ears picked up on the conversation.

You were the topic - your hand in marriage. Your head screamed for your father to deny it - to say that no money in the world could even buy you. However, he hadn’t. He agreed without little resistance and you felt sick to your stomach. You couldn’t hear anymore of the conversation and you sprinted to the bathroom. You fell to your knees and released the sobs you weren’t aware you were holding.

“Sleep.” your father ordered. “He will be here tomorrow morning to speak of the arrangements.”

You nod your head. You stand from the cushion you sat upon and bow your head. Your father’s eyes caught the way your throat tightens, but he chooses to ignore it.

You do not say a word to your father before turning away from him and making your way down the dim lit hall to your bedroom. The hardwood floors were cold against your feet as you made your way to your bedroom. You slide the doors closed behind you and lean against it.

You missed your mother. You were certain she wouldn’t allow your father to do this if she was alive. 

Your father himself wouldn’t have done this if life wasn’t cruel to the both of you. He wasn’t always a harsh man that drowned himself in alcohol to escape reality. He was once a kindhearted man who adored his family - until said family was ripped away from him. From the both of you.

You’re unsure how long you were leaning against the door lost in your thoughts. Your eyes began to burn and you blinked rapidly to retain the moisture in your eyes. Your eyes darted to the window - the moon shined through it, casting a glow through the dark room.

Your feet walk before your mind can register it. Before you know it, you’re outside of your home in general and sprinting through the grassy field. You nearly trip over your kimono, but you manage.

You had nowhere to go. You were out of your mind. But you would rather be nowhere than be sold to that old man.

The area is dark and the only light guiding you is the moon above. Your chest heaves as your legs continue to run and you’re positive they would give out soon. You cursed your lack of stamina.

Your eyes swell with tears when you feel a sharp pain in your side.. Your feet lift from the ground and you’re being flung into the nearest tree. Your breath escapes from you and you’re now groaning in pain.

“Well…”

Your vision is blurry, the tears streaming harshly down your cheeks. Your attempt to regain your composure, but you’re badly wounded. 

“...you shouldn't be out at night.” a sinister voice booms through your ears. “You never know who lurks in the dark.”

You can hear footsteps coming closer to you. Your fingernails dug into the dirt, arms trembling.

You scream when your hair is yanked backwards and you’re lifted to your knees, an excruciating pain running through your veins. Your kimono and hadajuban is pushed down to reveal your bare breast and you feel what you assume are teeth sinking into you.

You were going to die - no doubt by a demon.

To think you survived this long - survived the massacre your mother and brother endured - just to die now on your own.

A gust of wind surrounds you, so rough that you fall forward once more. The demon's teeth are no longer on you and you take note that the demon itself isn’t either. Your hand immediately goes to the wound onto your chest, blood seeping through. 

You blink your eyes hastily to see your surroundings.

The demon was horrendous - eyes dark as the night and skin appearing as if it was burned off. He had horns coming from his forehead and on his lips was your blood. He licks them, eyebrows furrowing to the man in front of you.

You take note that the man is tall with white spiky hair that glows underneath the moonlight. His back is facing you and you cannot see his face, but he holds a large sword in his hands. His haori is white and appears to glow along with his hair.

“A Hashira, huh?” the Demon cackles. 

Your eyes widen at the demon's words. 

“H-Hashira…” you murmur, eyes glued to the tall man before you. You head of the demon slayers and the Hashira, but never would you have imagined being in the presence of one.

“Don’t just fucking stand there!” the Hashira barks, head turning slightly to the side. You follow his gaze to see a group of boys, all sporting black uniforms and holding their own swords. They are frozen behind a bush and all jump at the Hashira’s sudden bark. “Take the girl to Kocho!”

“Y-Yes, Shinazugawa-sama!” the group - 4 - of demon slayers say in unison. You witness them scurry off to you while the Hashira begins his battle with the Demon.

“You’re losing a lot of blood, miss.” one demon slayers moans sadly as he attempts to touch your wound. “C-Can you apply pressure to it while we get you to Shinobu-sama?”

You nod your head, but you feel dizzy suddenly. Maybe you had lost a decent amount of blood.

“Oh no.” another demon slayer quips. “She’s passing out. We have to leave now.”

Your eyes shot open, your shoulder being roughly shoved. You looked around your surroundings.

“Y/N.”

Your head snaps to the side, eyes widening. 

“Onii-san…” your voice is high pitched and childlike. Your eyes drift to your lower appearance and child-like hands. 

You then roam your eyes around the bedroom - the one you shared with your elder brother. It’s bright - the morning sun shining through the windows.

“W-what-”

“You overslept.” your brother flicks your forehead, an act you always hated but you could do nothing savor his touch.

Was this a dream?

Was this heaven? Had you succumbed to your wounds and died?

“Y/N…why are you crying?” your brother's voice is startled, wondering if he had flicked you too hard this time. He yelps when you crush your face into his yukata and continue to cry, tiny hands clutching onto him for dear life. “What’s wrong?”

“I…had a bad dream, Onii-san.” you sniffled after a few moments of your crying. 

Your brother’s eyes soften and he places a hand on the top of your head. “Baby.” he murmurs softly to you. “Go wash up and then meet me outside. I have something I want to show you.”

You do as you’re told, far too excited to see your brother again.

As your feet slap against the cold hardwood floor, your heart is pumping again to be reunited with your family. 

Your hands reach the shoji doors, ready to open it, the shining sun from inside your bedroom suddenly disappears and all that you are left with is the familiar shining moon light.

“Y/N, don’t-” your brother screams - he appears to be far away, so distant that you ponder if he’s in the same room as you.

What’s going on? The door slams open and your eyes widen. The tall monster - you remember now. Tentacles sway around him. His skin was a disgusting green and his claws clenched onto your mother’s kimono. She’s lifeless, covered in blood. 

A tentacle reaches out to swipe at you, but your brother flings himself in front of you - but he’s nothing but a child such as you. He slams into the nearest wall, body just as lifeless as your mothers. Blood pools from his wounds and you can do nothing but scream at the sight.

You release a sudden scream, thrashing at the hands gripping onto you. “No!” you choke out a whimper.

“Calm down.” the voice says - stern but sweet. “You’re alright.”

You’re alright.

Your eyes manage to blink until they focus on where you were at. You’re on a bed foreign to you surrounded by several other beds that are vacant. The room is quiet except for a few people surrounding you, your eyes recognizing a few of the demon slayers you encountered. 

That was not a dream - you being attacked by a demon was indeed real.

Seated beside you was a young girl with blue eyes with black pigtails. She has a stern look in her eyes as she stares at you. 

“My name’s Aoi.” she tells you. “You were having a nightmare.”

You nod your head slowly. That part was also correct. You cannot remember the last time you dreamt of the night your brother and mother had died - until now.

“Where am I?” you whisper out before coughing. Your throat was dry and raspy.

“Here,” Aoi leans beside you to grasp a glass of water from the bedside table. “drink this.”

You do as you’re told, mentally thanking her when the cool water hits your throat. 

“Are you alright?”

You notice it's a demon slayer - a young man who’s eyes appeared to be glossy. “You passed out on the way here.”

You nod your head once more. “Thank you for bringing me.” you tell them and they each nod back, faces red. “If I may ask…where is the Hashira that saved me?”

Aoi sits straighter onto your bed, but the way her eyes roll does not go unnoticed. “Go get Shinazugawa.” she tells the slayers who all freeze at her command. “Now.”

The three slayers scurry off but appeared to be in no rush. Aoi turns back to you. “Just a warning.” she begins. “Shinazugawa isn’t…the nicest.”

You tilt your head. 

“He can be a little…rash.” Aoi shrugs her shoulders. “Are you in any pain? I managed to stitch up your wounds.”

You shake your head. “No. Thank you.” you bow your head. “You are a nurse? You look so young.”

Aoi’s face reddens. 

“I’m sorry. I meant no harm.” you attempted to apologize, unsure if you offended her or not. 

“It’s alright.” Aoi stands. “I do help around the butterfly estate more often while Shinobu-san is busy.” she explains. 

The door slams open and frightens the both of you. Aoi’s eyes darted to the noise and her eyes turned to slits. “You don’t have to be so abrasive, Shinazugawa-san.” she hisses. “I’m going to get you something to eat.” she says without as much of a look your way.

Shinazugawa only scoffs as the young girl pushes past him, closing the door behind her slightly. You noticed by his demeanor as to why the slayers were reluctant in calling for him - you guessed people walked on eggshells around the man.

Your heart flutters when his eyes meet yours.

The man is covered in scars, you note, and the amount is alarming. You assume it was due to him being a Hashira and his time in battle with demons.

“You look scared shitless.” Shinazugawa’s voice startles you.

Your body heats at the fact that you were staring. Your eyes dart away and you bow your head. “I’m sorry!” you quip. “I-I just wanted to thank you. For saving me.”

You note that he doesn’t say anything. Your eyes darted forward to see that he was now directly in front of you. Your heart skips a beat - Hashira’s were stealthy. 

“Why were you outside alone?” Shinazugawa questions. “Surely you know that demons exist.”

You gulp. He was correct. You did know and yet, you still left without a care in the world of your fate. “I…”

The Hashira waits for your response.

“I didn’t want to be home.”

The Hashira doesn’t make a sound for a moment. He studies your face before responding. “You left in the middle of the night in nothing but a kimono…because you didn’t want to be home?” his voice is deep and condescending. “You could have encountered far more harm besides a demon.” he spats. 

Your hands clench onto the bed sheets you were under.

“Why didn’t you want to be home? Your husband refused to buy you something?”

Your eyes widen. He was mocking you, surely. 

“That kimono is expensive no doubt. You must come from money.”The Hashira spats before shaking his head. “Just tell me where I need to bring you-”

“I’m not going back.” 

Shinazugawa’s eyes widened at your interruption.

“I do not come from money, either. The Kimono is a gift from the man my father sold me off to marry.” your tone matches his now. You wanted nothing more than to thank the man, not be judged about your decision to leave your home.

Sanemi is quiet, unsure of what to say. You shut him up, surely. He could only judge you by what you looked like - your hair wasn’t a mess when he found you and you wore a kimono crafted from the best materials. It wasn’t his fault and he wasn’t going to apologize for it, either.

“So your father is broke.” Sanemi states.

“No.” you scoff. “He just doesn’t want me around him anymore. I should be honored to be married off to someone his age.” You say sarcastically. You do not realize you’re clenching the bed sheets until you release them, witnessing how wrinkled they become. “Sometimes I even think he wishes it was me that died by that demon instead of my brother.”

Sanemi’s ears perk, but he doesn’t say anything in response.

“He was sure to tell me each time he was drunk that he only wanted a son. It was my mother that wanted to have another child in hopes of a daughter.” you laugh low to yourself. You’re talking to yourself more than you are to the Hashira. “To think he lost his prized child and wife.”

Now Sanemi was feeling guilty, even if he wasn’t going to show it or apologize. It appears you had a shitty life with your father and he can only think of back many moons ago of his own disappointment of a father. 

“Sorry.” you murmur to the Hashira. “Got carried away.” you straightened yourself to look at him once more. “Thank you again. I know slaying demons is your job, but you could have left me there. I am forever grateful.”

Sanemi doesn’t realize it until it’s too late. His neck is hot and so are his ears. If he would look at his reflection, he’d see that his face is red. “Don’t thank me.” he murmurs with a gulp. “Where are you planning to go?”

You’re unsure of the answer yourself. There was nowhere for you to go. You had no relatives and going back to your father now was possibly the worst decision to do - you’re positive his wrath would be hellish. 

“A few years ago at the age of 15,” you began. “My father said that I could always be a prostitute and maybe work my way up to be an Oiran.” you begin to laugh and Sanemi couldn’t believe his ears. Were you seriously laughing at the harsh words spewed at you by your father? “He was drunk and upset.”

“Sounds like an asshole.” Sanemi states. 

You sigh, smile from your laughter still on your lips. “He was.” you agree. “I cannot hate him for it. To answer your question, Shinazugawa-san-”

“Sanemi.”

You furrow a brow at the Hashira. 

“I’m not one for honorifics.” 

You nod your head. “Sanemi.” you hum. “I’m not sure where I am planning on going. However, I’m sure wherever that is it will be better than my fate chosen by my father.”

Sanemi grunts. You appear to be courageous in a way, not caring what the world dropped at your feet as long as it wasn’t anything worse than your chosen fate.  

“Why not become a demon slayer?”

You giggle. “I don’t even know how to throw a punch, Sanemi.” your eyelashes bash at him and again, he feels hot. “I would be useless.”

“You can always train.” Sanemi suggests. 

You hum. “I suppose you’re correct. But I don’t know anyone willing to train me.”

A knock sounds on the door before it slides open. Aoi walks through with a tray, a plate of soup placed on it. 

“This should be light on your stomach.” Aoi tells you once she places the tray on the bedside table. “Shinazugawa-san, would you like anything?” she says to him through gritted teeth. She was only being polite and didn’t wish to hand him anything.

“No.” is all Sanemi responds with and Aoi only shrugs.

“I’ll be back in a half an hour to check in on you.” Aoi says and retreats once more. 

Your stomach churns at the aroma of the soup. You’re unsure how long it’s been since you ate and you were starving. You grasp the tray and do not hesitate to dig in. 

“I can train you.”

Sanemi only stands and watches the first ten minutes of you eating silently before he does speak. It catches you by surprise.

“Oh?”

“Would you rather be a prostitute?” Sanemi spats harshly. “Having different types of men on top of you at that. For that you could’ve married the man who paid your father.”

You aren’t fazed by his tone nor his words, your father has trained you for this since you were a child - bellowing insults after insults.

Your lips twitch. 

“I wouldn’t mind it if they were as handsome as you.” you tease the Hashira and now he’s taken aback, face fully flushed and his fists clenched. You giggle to yourself. “Just kidding, Sanemi. I wouldn’t be a good prostitute, either. I have no experience.” you take another sip of your soup and all Sanemi could think of was your last words.. “I would be honored to train with you.”

Sanemi gives you one last look before turning away. “I’ll talk to Kocho about you being released.. Until then, rest up.”

Sanemi slides the shoji doors open and walks out, not turning to look back at you. 

“Well,” Sanemi speaks. “come at me.”

You do, hands raising the wooden sword in your hand. You’re trembling as you run towards him and Sanemi wants to laugh at the way you look. He does nothing but step to the side and watch as you fall onto your face.

“That was pathetic.”

You gulp. “I know.”

“Get up.” Sanemi demands. “You’re entirely too slow.”

You were released the following day and like promised, Sanemi had returned. He doesn’t say anything but motions you to follow him to his home - a large estate not far from the one you just came from. You were given a change of clothes - a black uniform-like bodysuit that fit you slightly loose. You were surprised to receive the haori that matched the one Sanemi wore, you even beamed and stated that you fit the aesthetic to be trained under him - he only grunted a response. 

Sanemi wasted no time in jumping into training. He gave you a wooden sword and gave you little instructions on what to do. 

“For fucks sake!” Sanemi hissed after he watched you run - if you can call it that - towards one end of his training compound to the other. “Have you ever run a day in your life?!”

You pout. “Not since my brother died. That was nearly a decade ago.”

Sanemi groans. He wasn’t sure what he expected training you. This is why he never had the desire to train anyone and why he doesn’t have a tsuguko. 

“You’ll need to gain stamina.” Sanemi groans. He was sure you would need that before he even teaches you about total concentration. 

You groan along with Sanemi. 

“I know just the person.”

You follow Sanemi as he leaves his estate, but he doesn’t bother to wait for you. He’s a few feet ahead of you now and you’re trying with all your will to not be left behind. 

You reach another estate, your legs burned with the amount of walking. Sanemi reaches the shoji doors and knocks a few times, impatiently tapping his foot against the wooden floors.

“Shinazugawa!” the door slams open, startling you. A large man makes his way out from behind the door and your eyes widen at the height.

“Uzui.”

Uzui is tall, you note, and beautiful. His eyes are a beautiful color of fuchsia and his hair is just as white as Sanemi’s. He offers a dazzling smile before turning to you. 

“My,” Uzui hums. “Who is this woman with you?” The man's eyes inspect you for a moment. He even goes as far as to walk around to give you a once over. His arm reaches out quickly and before you can react, the palm of his hand - rather large - slaps your butt. “She has child bearing hips. Very breedable.”

You yelp, completely taken aback by his bold statement plus the rough slap upon your ass. All Sanemi could do was hiss at the older man. 

“Stop being a fucking creep!” Sanemi roars, hands clenched into fists.

Uzui only chuckles, painted nails pointing at Sanemi’s angered expression. “Do you want me to slap yours too?”

Sanemi isn’t amused in the slightest with Uzui’s humor and takes a step forward. The tall man erupts in laughter, raising his hands. 

“It’s about time you found yourself a wife, Shinazugawa.” Uzui’s eyes flashes to you for a moment before darting back to Sanemi. “Someone that can calm you down when needed.” Uzui wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, a knowing smirk forming onto his lips.

Sanemi scowls deeper, tips of his ears red. Tengen, being older than him, always had an immature side to him, always joking around at the wrong time - especially with his sexual humor. Surprisingly, it was tame. 

“I’m training her.” Sanemi hisses through gritted teeth. “She needs to work on her stamina.”

Tengen raises a brow. “So this is not your wife?”

Sanemi wants to reply with a snide remark, but refrains. 

“You always said you never wanted a tsuguko. What changed?” Tengen asks. Sanemi is a stubborn person. A few slayers - those who weren’t as cowardly - asked to be his tsuguko and he had rejected them harshly, what made you different?

Sanemi doesn’t respond, but Tengen believes he doesn’t have to. You appeared weak, not an insult in the slightest. A regular civilian and not a fighter at all. You could have dodged his slap onto your ass if you were at least a slayer.

Maybe Sanemi was but a man. You weren’t bad to look at - cute face, nice body and even nicer assets. Your breast could surely feed to satiate  any child Sanemi could put into you no doubt. 

“Stamina assistance, huh?” Tengen hums. “Have you tried sex?”

Your body feels hot once more. Uzui was the obvious joker of the two.

“Uzui-”

“So unflashy.” Tengen rolls his eyes. Sanemi was never any fun. “By the looks of it, she doesn’t run a lot.”

Did he call you fat? Unhealthy?

“I can change that in a week.” Uzui smirks at Sanemi. “Imagine going from a regular civilian to training with Hashira without even passing final selection first? You’ve been blessed by a God - me.”

You find Uzui’s personality funny - when he wasn’t spewing sexual nonsense for shock value.

“You are a Hashira, as well?” you ask Uzui and he nods.

“Sound Hashira, Uzui Tengen.” the smirk that forms onto his lips is one of vain. “Leave her to me, Shinazugawa.”

Sanemi scoffs. “I’ll stay.” he insists. You didn’t know Uzui. Though he had three wives of his own, Uzui was not one to not flirt. He was a touchy person and to the wrong people, it could come off as harassment. 

Uzui pushes past the two of you and back into his home. He slides the shoji door open wider for the two of you to enter. “I'm not going to steal your girl.” he snickers. “Though I’m not opposed to having a fourth wife. You would fit right in-”

Sanemi shoves Tengen who then chuckles at the wind Hashira’s reaction.

There were only a few instances in your life where you’d thought you’d die. When you were a child and witnessed the monster - you soon learned was a demon - was the first. Again when you meet the wind Hashira facing another demon, you were certain you’d die.

Now, as you run until the point of your legs aching, you’re sure that you can see your life flashing before your eyes. Tengen was serious when he stated he’d whip you into shape to improve your stamina. It took everything in you to not cry due to stress - Uzui was a tough one. He’d scream and yell at you to keep going, that it was unflashy for you to be heavily breathing and sweaty only after running around his estate 3 times.

You were utterly defeated when Uzui finally gave you a break. Your knees fall to the ground and you wish nothing more than to curl up and die. Every morning the past 2 weeks you’d wake, have a quick breakfast with Sanemi where both of you are in a comfortable silence and then you'd go out for the hellish stamina training.

“You must be exhausted.”

You’re unsure how long you managed to lay onto the ground, but when your eyes flutter open you note that the sun is beginning to set. 

“Here, have some water.” the voice belongs to Suma, a wife of Tengen. She kneels down beside you with a warm smile and hands you a glass filled with water. “Lord Tengen sure has been determined lately.”

You gulp down the glass of water effortlessly in three large gulps. “Thank you!” you wheeze. 

Suma giggles.

“How determined is Lord Tengen?” you ask her.

Suma tilts her head slightly. “He believes you are done with the first half of your training!”

Your eyes widen and now your energy - though tired - matches Suma’s. You clap your hands together and laugh.

“You can move on to combat now!” Suma exclaims.

Your head tilts. “Combat…?”

“You didn’t think all you’d be doing is running?”

You yelp at the sound of Uzui’s voice. You never got accustomed to his sudden arrivals - but he assured you many times that not only was he a Hashira or a God - but was also a former shinobi. You never questioned him or his over dramatic self-proclamations. 

“No…?”

Uzui doesn’t say anything behind you. You take note that he was dressed down in a nemaki, a bright blue one with black stripes and his hair surrounds his shoulders. Your eyes widen slightly in awe - he was so majestically beautiful. 

Uzui kneels down to where you sat just as Suma rises. His lips form a small grin. 

“You are doing good.” Uzui compliments with a slight pat of your head. “You’ll be done with your training in due time.”

Your eyes widen, face feeling warm. You nod your head curtly. “Thank you, Lord Uzui!” you’re unsure why your cheeks feel wet until you feel a calloused finger wipe at your cheek. You were crying - in joy, of course. You’re unsure why; maybe because you’re not in the same place you were at when you came with Sanemi. You were (slowly) growing into a better person and the feelings are overwhelming.

“Ahh, don’t cry!” Suma sniffles with a shake of her head. “You’re going to make me cry!”

Suma drops and wraps you in a tight hug. “Please join us at the Onsen! You’ve been working so hard you should relax!”

Uzui watches as you and Suma scurry off - you with a slight limp - off towards his home. He shakes his head and ponders just how you managed to get caught up with someone such as Sanemi - yet it wasn’t his place to ask questions.

Your back hits the stone rock at the onsen, head tilted to the side as you sigh deeply. Your body now felt relaxed due to the hot water of the onsen. Suma had brought you into the home for dinner and before the hot springs, you were allowed to shower off the day's work and even borrowed a nemaki from Suma. 

You can hear Uzui’s loud voice followed by the soft ones of Makio and Hinatsuru. You had to admit that once you found out about his three wives, you were shocked. Yet, it made sense. There was no doubt Uzui was an extremely attractive man with an insane sex appeal - not only that but also a Hashira. His wives were kind women who matched Uzui’s attractiveness and sex appeal - flashy, as he would say. They often ask you to stay for dinner once training was done or offer you water while Uzui insisted you run “one more lap” which turned to 10 more laps.

“How does your body feel, Y/N?”

You flinched, eyes snapping open. You were dozing off. 

“Ah,” you smile at Suma. “alright. So much better than before.”

Suma nods her head. “I’m glad. You’ve been working so hard!”

Your face feels hot.

“Y/N!” Uzui’s boisterous voice booms through your ears. “You’re looking as flashy as ever! A different look from the sweat that you’re usually covered in.”

Uzui was teasing you.

“Lord Tengen says you’ll be training with us tomorrow.” Makio says. She’s leaning against Uzui’s right while Hinatsuru occupies his left. 

“Ah, yes.” you nod. “Combat training, right?”

Hinatsuru nods.

“I’m not much of a fighter.” your face grows hot once more. You’re embarrassed to be in the presence of kunoichi and a Hashira - three good fighters and a swordsman. 

“Neither am I!” Suma wraps you into a hug once more, bare breast against your own. You yelp, flushing deeply, but you know Suma means no harm. 

Uzui watches Suma and you closely, both of you giggling amongst one another. Soon Makio and Hinatsuru enter the conversation and leave his side.Uzui finds himself watching fondly on just how welcomed you became with his wives. How in the world did someone like Shinazugawa enter your life - Uzui was unsure. However, whatever the man's intentions were (outside of training you) he hoped they were pure.

A month had passed and Sanemi was beginning to think you lived at Uzui’s home. You’d usually come at the end of each day to bathe, eat dinner with him and then head to bed. Now, he found himself eating alone and your bedroom being empty. 

Of course, Sanemi was not fazed by this. You were doing what you were told, after all. By what Uzui has told him about your progress, you were doing good. His wives enjoyed your company as you did theirs.

However, what Sanemi was not expecting was your change in attire. He accepted the invitation for Uzui to watch you train with low ranking demon slayers. You were dressed similar to his wives, short, sleeveless dress with white bandages wrapping around your thighs. His eyes find themselves  landing on your breast and he coughs.

“She looks different.” Sanemi says aloud besides Tengen, who snorts at the man's observation.

“She looks flashy now.” Tengen declares.”Truly a work of art.”

The necklace you wore around your neck also didn’t go unnoticed. It was large and gold and also covered in shining diamonds and other unnamed stones he couldn’t bother to mesmerize. If Sanemi didn’t know who you were, he would assume you were also a part of Uzui’s haram.

“You were instructed to train her in stamina. Not play dress up.”

Tengen rolls his eyes at the sound of Sanemi’s voice.

“Look at her now.” Tengen points a manicured finger at you, but Sanemi is already watching. 

Sanemi supposed you were better now. You ran without appearing to be seconds away from dying, nor were you as slow as you were nearly two months ago. He had watched slightly impressed that you managed to keep your own up against the low ranks - impressive seeing as you were not yet a slayer. 

“What are your intentions with her?”

Sanemi’s eyes don't leave you as he ponders on Uzui’s question. 

“Surely she’s more than a tsuguko.”

Sanemi makes an annoyed grunt.

“She lives in your home when you wouldn’t even allow others.” Uzui doesn’t want to mention Genya to not upset the younger man. But, it’s obvious that is who he is speaking of. It causes Sanemi’s fist to instantly clench.

“She had nowhere else to go.” Sanemi began.

Uzui furrows a brow. 

“She joked about becoming a prostitute.”

Uzui chuckles. “Virgin’s can be sold for high.”

Sanemi’s head snapped to eye the white haired man. Just how did he know that you were a virgin?

“She speaks of you fondly.” Uzui says after another few moments of silence. “Hina swears she has a crush. How unflashy of her to have one on someone like you.”

“What the fuck is that suppose to mean?!” Sanemi roars.

Your attack at the slayer stops upon hearing the scream. Your body turns behind you, witnessing a laughing Uzui and a fuming Sanemi. Your eyes widen, not expecting to see him. You had focused all of your time on training that you would often stay at Uzui’s estate.

“Shinazugawa-sama is here.” one slayer moans in despair. “I should hide.”

“What for?” asks another slayer.

“I accidentally bumped into him yesterday and he threatened to castrate me!” the slayers voice drops a few octovals. 

“Sanemi!” you begin to wave, dropping your kunai and begin to sprint towards the man. 

“Did she just call Shinazugawa-sama by his name?” one slayer gasps, fearing for your life. 

“Is that his girlfriend?”

“No way, no way no way!” another slayer falls to the ground. “There’s no way someone cute and sweet like Y/N-chan is dating that psycho!” he shakes his head.

You reach Sanemi and Uzui in a matter of seconds - it causes Sanemi to take a step back, but he keeps his face cool and unbothered. Your hands take his calloused ones and you’re excited for him to see the progress you made. Gasps could be heard from the slayers behind you, and besides Sanemi, Uzui is humming with a shit eating grin.

“They do say opposites attract.” a female slayer murmurs.

“Is…Shinazugawa-sama blushing?”

Sanemi’s ear twitched. His head snaps behind you, hands still in your smaller (and softer) hands. “What the fuck are you waste of space doing?!” he barks at the slayers who all cower. The veins on his neck are pulsing as he screams. “Get out of my sight!” the slayers bow, sending Uzui their farewell before running out of the estate, not looking back now fearing their own safety and well-being. 

“How long have you been here?” you ask. “Did you see me sparring with one of the slayers? Do you think I got better? Faster? Stronger?” you’re overly excited, so much so that you’re slightly bouncing with excitement. Sanemi’s eyes couldn’t help but flicker to your breast to the hopeful look of your eyes. 

Uzui watches with a look of amusement. The tips of Sanemi’s ears are red and he wants to tell a perverted joke, but he understands now is not the time.

You reminded him of Suma often. You wanted to be praised - to be told you did a good job and that he was proud of you. But, Sanemi didn’t believe in praise. He was an abrasive person and reveled in such abrasiveness. He’s watched countless times as Sanemi verbally (and physically) abused slayers - even the Hashira wasn’t safe from his wrath.

“Y-Yeah.” is all Sanemi said and now Uzui’s head is spinning. 

Did Shinazugawa Sanemi stutter?

Was the Shinazuawa Sanemi flustered?

A knowing smirk forms on the older man's lips and now he’s pondering on all the ways he could bring up this moment to never let the wind Hashira live this down.

“Don’t say shit to me.” Sanemi hisses to Uzui when you sprint away, declaring that you were going to gather your belongings before leaving Uzui’s estate with him. 

Tengen cackles loudly.

“I haven’t been to Asakusa in years.” you say to Sanemi. “Do you frequent here on your missions?” Sanemi nods, tying his yukata to hide his sword. “Similar to today. A few of us are patrolling the grounds to assure there aren't any demon attacks tonight.”

There was a festival today, after all. Sumidagawa firework festivals were one of your favorites to witness. You recall being on your fathers shoulders as you watch the colorful firework display. That was many moons ago, and now as Sanemi and you stroll through the streets of Asakusa, you are feeling nostalgic. 

“Do you think a demon will attack tonight?” you asked Sanemi. You hoped they didn’t - the sight of innocent families and couples litter the streets of Asakusa and that would ultimately be ruined by such demonic attacks. 

“Possibly not out in the open, no.” Sanemi responds. “But we can’t be off our guard, either. We have slayers to assure no one wanders away from the main road.” Sanemi recalls the story of Tanjiro coming face to face with Muzan right in Asakusa - he’s certain that Muzan would allow himself not to be shown again.

Your head lowers slightly. 

“The fireworks should be starting soon.” Sanemi notes. “I’m going to patrol the south of Asakusa. Stay here, I’ll be back shortly.” he stops walking to face you and you slowly nod your head. “Something on your mind?”

You shake your head, not wanting to bother Sanemi with your useless thoughts.

Sanemi doesn’t say another word before turning away. Your eyes follow his figure until he fades into the crowd and only then did you bother to look up into the dark sky at the fireworks beginning. All you could think about was watching the fireworks with him. 

“Where’s your girl?” asked Uzui as Sanemi strolls past. “I got eyes on the south of Asakusa.”

Sanemi scowls. “I’ll go east.”

“East is taken by Iguro and Kanroji.” Uzui furrows a brow. “I spotted Tomioka and Kocho going west not too long ago.”

Sanemi stops in his tracks. 

“There won’t be any attacks tonight.” Uzui is certain. “Not with this many hashira present.”

Uzui scours the crowd around him. “Don’t tell me you left your girl all alone?”

Sanemi’s eyes glare at Uzui, but the taller man isn’t fazed.

Uzui crosses his arms. “To think she got all dressed up….” he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have left such a flashy beauty-”

“Shut up!” Sanemi hisses and now he’s heading back north where he told you to remain.

Uzui hums. He enjoys teasing Shinazugawa until his eyes are even more crazed and his cheeks are a dusty crimson color. It only affects him when he mentions you - so much so now that Sanemi would rather flee the scene than to fight him like he’d usually do.

Sanemi slows his pace when he reaches closer to you. He takes in the sight of you - kimono wrapped tightly around your frame.It was black and silk and he notes the stitching of pink sakura leaves.

The light of the fireworks are illuminating upon your skin, casting down a colorful hue. There’s a faint grin upon your lips - covered in gloss, it does not go unnoticed by him. 

You do not notice Sanemi until he’s right next to you. You turn to smile at him but don’t manage to. “Is…everything okay?”

Sanemi doesn’t respond and now you’re worried. “Sanemi-”

“Are you having fun?”

You’re taken aback by his question. “Yes.” you tell him. “It’s so beautiful!”

Your eyes turn back to the firework display in the sky, but Sanemi’s eyes remain on you. Beautiful.

You were beautiful.

Sanemi’s heart jumps at the sight of you - was he sick? He was sure he was starting to feel ill. Maybe he’d have to visit Kocho when they met up later and see if she had any medication on hand. 

The firework display goes on for another half an hour until it’s done. The night sky is filled with smoke and the surrounding people are all chatting amongst themselves. Those with families are scurrying off with their fussy children. You recall when you were once a fussy child begging your parents to stay longer.

Meeting the rest of the Hashira wasn’t something you’d thought you’d do. Meeting two was an honor - but all? Your heart jumps at the sight before you. You had accompanied Sanemi to a dinner the Hashira were having to celebrate a successful night free of demons. 

Mitsuri was the first Hashira you were introduced to. She introduced herself mostly and then the rest of the Hashira to you in order in which they were seated - Iguro, Rengoku, Kocho, Tomioka, Himejima and Tokito. The sight of a young boy catches you off guard, but he doesn’t appear to be bothered with anything around him besides staring off into space.

Since you weren’t much of a drinker, you opted in eating more food with Mitsuri while those who did drink mingled with one another. 

“Why aren’t you drinking?” Uzui asks, lifting his own shot glass and takes a swig.

Sanemi wasn’t a drinker.

“Can’t handle it?” Tengen chuckles mockingly. “Fight all those demons just to be scared of a little alcohol?”

Sanemi’s hands grasp the glass from Uzui’s hand after he fills it with another shot. He down said alcohol effortlessly. 

“Well well,” Uzui cackles aloud. “Look at the big shot.”

As the night dragged further on, you noticed that most of the Hashira were beginning to bid their farewell. Shinobu and Giyu were the first to leave, Giyu suddenly standing and an annoyed Shinobu trailing after him. Gyomei and Muichiro followed soon after, the younger boy not saying a word while Gyomei wished everyone a good night. Obanai stood only when he noticed Mitsuri did so, bidding you a goodbye and claiming that she wished to see you soon. Kyojuro watches with amusement as Tengan and Sanemi appear to be in a fierce drinking battle, both men refusing to back down.

“Excuse me.” you announce lowly, standing from your cushioned spot.

Uzui’s eyes follow you to the restroom before turning back to a fuming Sanemi. A knowing smirk forms onto his lips and Kyojuro is sure that he was going to have to break up whatever fight would break out. 

“Y/N-chan is beautiful.” Tengen says, downing another shot. “Such a flashy kimono she’s wearing. Right, Kyo?”

Kyojuro’s head stirred with the question, but he nodded his head nonetheless. “Yes. Y/N-chan does look beautiful tonight!”

“I-”

“Shut up!” Sanemi doesn’t want to hear anything else Tengen has to say. 

“Such an un-flamboyant response.” Tengen shrugs. “I believe she smells nice, too. Like…lavender. Maybe Jasmine.”

Kyojuro watches the way Sanemi’s hands clench the shot glass as he chugs it down. 

“Why you smellin’ her?!” Sanemi hisses, eyes glaring daggers at the Sound Hashira. “Fucking pervert.” he murmurs to himself. 

Tengan enjoyed being an agent of chaos, so much so that he thought ahead of time. Just as you were returning to the table, Uzui stood. “We have an early start back to headquarters tomorrow,” he announces. “We should be going to bed.”

Kyojuro also stands and wraps an arm around Tengan.

“Oyakata-sama covered the rooms for us tonight.” Kyojuro says back to you and Sanemi. “Tomorrow we’ll be heading out, so please get enough rest!”

Sanemi doesn’t say a word, just stands. His body sways a little and you’re surprised to see him stumbling. “Are you alright, Sanemi?” you asked with caution. “You’re-”

“I’m fine.”

But Sanemi doesn’t appear fine. It takes another 20 minutes to get back to the inn that was provided for the Hashira and yourself. 

“Shinazugawa.” Sanemi grumbles to the owner. 

“That room was taken about 10 minutes ago.” the worker hums. “The only room we have left is for…Uzui Tengen.”

Sanemi’s fist clench and he bangs it against the counter. The owner yelps, eyes widening and he’s flinching away from the man. “That fucker took my room!”

“S-Sanemi!” you place your hands onto his bicep, attempting to stop his assault on the counter. “Let’s just takes Uzui’s room. It can’t be that bad.”

Sanemi’s skin is burning under your touch, but he doesn’t push your hands away.

It was bad, Sanemi knows it. Oyakata-sama knows of you and your situation and before Sanemi heads out for Asakusa with you, Oyakata assured that there will be two beds for you and Sanemi.

However, Tengen had planned this. He left in a hurry so he could get Sanemi’s room where one bed would be free while you and he took Uzui’s room - one king size bed sitting right in the middle of the room. 

“I should bang that door down.” Sanemi grumbles lowly to himself, slamming the door shut behind him. “Drag his ass out of my room…castrate him while I got the chance and-”

“You can have the bed, Sanemi.”

Sanemi’s grumblings halt once he hears your voice. 

“You’re a Hashira, after all.” your voice is soft and sweet, it does something to his heart once more. Sanemi has to see Kocho tomorrow morning for sure now. 

Sanemi shakes his head, but soon regrets it. He was becoming dizzy and now he sits upon said bed. “I…you can take the bed.”

“Hm,” you hum. “We can share the bed. You can take the right and me the left.” you suggest and now Sanemi feels claustrophobic. He’s never shared a bed with a woman - not even the ones he was intimate with. They were nothing but stress relievers, after all. 

But, Sanemi doesn’t deny. He loosens his yukata and falls onto the mountain of pillows. His eyes close and now you’re giggling to yourself. He was asleep already, the drinking fest (or competition) with Uzui took a toll on him.

You dim the lights and make your way around to your side of the bed. You, too, loosen your kimono and allow yourself underneath the covers. You cover Sanemi, who stirs slightly but doesn’t say anything. 

Just as you feel yourself dozing off of consciousness, Sanemi’s voice catches your ear. 

“Y/N.”

“Huh?” you turn your body around to face him. The window sat open across from the bed and the moon shines right through the window and onto Sanemi’s face.

“You smell nice.” Sanemi murmurs, swallowing thickly. His mind is swirling with the amount of alcohol in his system. “Like…lavender…and jasmine…” he inhales, nostrils blaring to catch your scent.

Your cheeks are hot at his compliment. Unknowingly, you scoot closer to him.

Sanemi allows his eyes to close for a mere second before opening them once more.

“Y/N.” he calls you again and now he’s slowly rising.

“Yes, San-”

Sanemi erupts in a fit of coughs. You rise from your position from the bed and come closer to help. “Do you need to throw up?” you asked with wide eyes.

Sanemi shakes his head. His coughing stopped but he can feel your hand upon his back, gently rubbing,

“You’re beautiful.” Sanemi murmurs so low that it’s inaudible to you.

“What, Sanemi?” you come closer attempting to hear his words and Sanemi feels even more intoxicated with your scent.

Sanemi is strong. Within a few seconds you’re beneath him in a tight embrace.His actions catch you off guard, but yet you do not feel frightened by his sudden action. Lilac eyes stared into your wide ones.

“Are you afraid of me?” Sanemi’s words are slurred.

You should be scared of him, he tells himself. He was a man that could hurt you - take advantage of you. How easily it was for him to do so even intoxicated proves that you would be frightened-

“No.”

Sanemi freezes. No?

“I don’t believe you’ll hurt me intentionally.” you continue.

Sanemi is stiff, your words replaying in his mind. You weren’t frightened of him - not of his appearance, not of his personality or demeanor. 

Sanemi again feels the jump in his heart, reaching all the way down to his stomach to his abdomen. If he didn’t find a cure to whatever upcoming sickness he had, he’d surely fall out. 

Sanemi buries his face into your breast - that had slightly spilled out when he embraced you suddenly. You do not move, unsure of what to do. Sanemi slowly rubs his face against your breast and when he’s done, he lays his head against them and releases a sigh.

“You’re beautiful, Y/N.” he murmurs just when his eyes feel heavy. “I think I’m sick.”

Sanemi felt warm all over, but he didn’t appear to be sick. His face is flushed and you’ve already concluded that it was the alcohol taking over. 

“My heart…jumps when I’m with you. I think I’m dying.” he murmurs again. Your breathing hitches. “I can’t die…can’t leave Genya…” Sanemi’s babbling now and he doesn’t stop, not until his words become low gibberish and you note that his breathing evens out.

Your eyes snap open, body jolting awake. The sun was rising, the reddish hue shining through your window. Your body was now feeling as though you were being squeezed to death. 

You were - being squeezed that was - by Sanemi. His eyes are snapped shut but you can hear the faint sounds of whimpering coming from his lips.

“Sanemi…?” you murmur, managing to get your arm out from his embrace. He was still asleep, you took note that he must be having a nightmare. 

Your hand gently touches his hair, the white tresses feeling oddly soft at the touch. You recall the many times your older brother had comforted you from your own nightmares - gently rubbing your head and offering a soft hum.

The sight was truly something else. You would often accompany Sanemi when he was training other slayers (whenever he had the time) and harsh was an understatement. He was verbally abusive towards them, hurling out insults after insults. He’d beat them until they were a sobbing, puking mess - and that was just the light work. 

His job as a Hashira left him oftentimes returning to his estate with new scars that you’d tend to - even if you insisted Aoi or anyone else at the butterfly mansion would be better suited.

A nightmare didn’t appear to be something someone like Sanemi dealt with - but having to risk your life fighting demons on the daily possibly took a toll on him. You never spoke with Sanemi about his own past or family - who was Genya? How and why did he become a part of the Corps? You felt like he knew so much of you and you didn’t know him at all.

You begin to hum softly while stroking Sanemi’s hair. Through time, Sanemi’s whimpering halted and his embrace became looser - yet you couldn’t leave it fully for he would just tighten it again. You remained stroking his hair until you yourself was dozing off, moments from losing consciousness.

Sanemi’s hums, his closed eyes twitching when an annoying light hit him. The sun was rising and the pounding in his head annoyed him to no end. He snuggles himself deeper into the pillows, inhaling the sweet scent…

Of lavender…and jasmine…maybe even vanilla?

Sanemi’s body stirs away before his eyes can open. He feels a movement below him.and only then did his head remove themselves from the soft pillows.

Just for them to not be pillows - but your breast.

The silk kimono you wore is clenched tightly into his hands - that had you locked in a tight embrace.

“Sanemi…” your voice is softer when you’re just waking. “...are you alright?”

Was he alright? How could you be thinking of him when you were being suffocated beneath him.

Sanemi lungs himself away from you as if you burned him. The loss of his warmth causes a shiver to run up your exposed skin.

“Did I hurt you?” Sanemi’s voice is deep and raspy - dry. His eyes are wide with shock.

Your face is warm by his words. “No. You just…passed out.” you giggle, unsure of what the man remembers or not. “...I couldn’t really move you myself.”

Sanemi inhales. “Why didn’t you…pull my hair or punch me?” he questions and now it’s your turn to give him wide eyes. 

“Why would I do that?” you respond. “You were drunk and tired. I don’t mind it.”

Sanemi scratches his hair and swallows. He shakes his head. He didn’t have time for this - not now. He was a normal man with normal needs, but the last thing he needed was his pants to tighten, especially at the sight of your exposed skin.

“You were having a nightmare.” you sit up against the large bed. “I hope you are feeling well now.”

The soft touches of his hair and the sweet humming wasn’t a part of his dreams then.

Sanemi inhales once more. 

“Maybe some tea would be good for you. Does your head hurt?”

Sanemi doesn’t get to respond before you’re getting up from the bed. 

“I’ll go get you some.” you murmur, making your way into the bathroom to freshen up before leaving out of the bedroom all together.

Sanemi makes it his mission to take a cold shower while you’re out - anything to get the release of his swelling cock to go down. The water shocks him, but it doesn’t do anything. He curses at himself for allowing Uzui - that fucking Uzui - to get him drunk. He was even more pissed at himself for falling for the bait - but not only that, but to get so out of his mind that he woke up…

Sanemi decides to grip his cock tightly. His boner was never going to go down unless he did something about it. He closes his eyes, trying to think of anything but you. His arms begin to jerk and now he’s erratically pumping his cock. His closed eyes begin to think of the many women he’s been with in the past, but his mind keeps drifting back to you. He swears he can smell your scent surrounding him at this moment. He thinks of how soft your skin is - especially your breast. It causes his breath to hitch at the thought of his hands being able to-

Sanemi cums hard - so hard he’s twitching. “Fuck.” he hisses to himself. He was utterly fucked.

“We’ll be heading out soon!” Kyojuro says loudly to the surrounding demon slayers. “Please be prepared!”

The demon slayers all agree in unison. 

“Ah, Y/N!” Kyojuro’s boisterous voice echoes off of the wall as you enter the main room of the inn. “Good morning!”

“Ah, good morning, Rengoku-san.” you offer a small smile. “Did you sleep well?”

“I slept great!” Kyojuro chuckles.

“How about you, Y/N? Did you and Shinazugawa sleep well?” Uzui asks, a knowing smirk on his lips. 

“Her and Shinazugawa?” one slayer murmurs.  

“The rumors are true?”

“Wait, what rumors?” “That Shinazugawa-sama has a girlfriend!”

“No way, that’s her?!” one slayer falls to his knees. “She’s so hot!”

“Yes, Uzui-san. We did.” you beam at him. “Your bed was quite large.”

“They slept in the same bed?!”

“How can she not be scared of that maniac?”

“I’m glad.” Uzui beams back. “Where is Shinazugawa?”

“Back in the room. I’ve come to make him some tea.” you respond. The inn provided breakfast, lunch and dinner that was complimentary. In the main room, various tea bags are displayed alongside a large tea kettle set on a low boiling temperature. 

“Did you wake with a headache, Uzui-san? I can get you some tea, as well.”

Uzui follows you to the tea kettle where you make Sanemi’s tea. “I woke up just fine.” Uzui says. “You do look like you got just the right amount of sleep. Your face looks so hydrated.” Tengen was hoping he’d walk into you and Sanemi was sweaty with bed hair and maybe even bruises - but he’s glad nonetheless that you still looked flashy.

“No way Shinazugawa-san deserves her!” a slayer hisses. “That white hair maniac-”

The slayer feels the wind being knocked out of him. He falls to the ground before he can even finish his sentence. 

Sanemi, eyes glaring deadly, pushes past the boy without a care. The room gets quiet and the slayers are far too frightened to even speak in front of the wind Hashira.

“Shinazugawa.” Uzui waves, but Sanemi’s looks can kill. “It looks like you woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” he jokes.

Sanemi wants to hurl insults - and punches - at the sound Hashira. He’s sporting a knowing smirk, eyes shining with mischief. Tengen knows what he’s done and he wants to rub it in the younger man's face. Sanemi was going to give him the reaction he was looking for. 

“Sanemi!”

Then Sanemi hears your voice from behind Tengan. His eyes lower to you holding a cup of tea in your hands. You inch closer to him with a warm smile that has his shoulder faltering from their once tense state.

Kyojuro furrows his brows and grins. 

Mitsuri watches from around the corner, her eyes widening and low to herself she’s giggling. “How cute!” she squeals and besides her, Obanai is leaning against the wall.

“I made you some tea for your headache.” you say to him, offering the tea to him. 

Sanemi takes it in his hands, nodding. “Thanks.” he murmurs to you, ear tips red. He was going to give Uzui the shit talking he deserved - after he drank the tea you prepared for him. 

You nod your head, content in watching him sip his tea.

“No way, how did she manage to relax him with tea?”

“Where did Shinazugawa-san find such a lovely girlfriend?”

Sanemi’s head slowly turned to the slayers behind him. He doesn’t have to say anything for them to scurry off.

“I hope it tastes good.”

Sanemi’s head snaps back in your direction. “It does.” he murmurs. 

“I’m glad.” you give him a smile and he nearly chokes on his tea.

Tengen snickers.

“First!”

You lift your sword - an extra one given to you by Sanemi - and dash your body forward as fast as you could and slash your sword in a round, cyclone pattern. You do so until Sanemi speaks again. 

“Third!”

Sanemi never did the forms in order. He stated that it was to keep you on your toes.

You swing your sword around just as Sanemi instructed you to once before. He stated this form was to protect yourself from incoming attacks.

“Second!”

You inhale, attempting to keep your breathing intact. You lift your sword upwards to the right and above your head. You release several vertical slashes at once.

“Stand down.”

You fall to your knees, breathing heavily. You were using pure will to keep going and to not disappoint Sanemi.Your head lifts to the sky, finding it to be late into the evening and soon the sun will be setting.

“That’s all for today.”

You’re covered in sweat. You wanted nothing more than a bath to release yourself from all the sweat and grime from training all day. 

“I’ll bathe then begin dinner.” you say to Sanemi and stand on your feet.

“No need.” Sanemi says. “I’ll have the servants-”

“I insist!” you declare. You enjoyed cooking for Sanemi - it was a way for you to show your thanks and gratitude for allowing you to stay with him for a year now. You’d watch what the servants of the corps would make for the two of you and learn from there of his likes and dislikes.

Sanemi doesn’t respond and you take your leave. Your bath isn’t long but it leaves you refreshed. You tie your kimono around you loosely and prepare yourself to cook. You’ve gathered a few vegetables the day prior and left them outside in the basket. You hum to yourself as you go and achieve them towards the back.

You face crashes into something hard and you’re falling backwards just as you open the shoji doors. You fall flat on your ass, your kimono slightly unraveling. “Ow…” you huff, going to tie the kimono back into place.

Your eyes catch dark olive green trousers from where you stand, different from what Sanemi usually wears. Your eyes lift to the person - a tall one at that - until they noticed a purple yukata. It indeed was not Sanemi.

You stand to your feet and huff. You had to lift your head to face the person - a boy with a scar on his face. Your eyes widen slightly - he appeared to look like Sanemi (the scars and eyes gave it away).

“You…” you begin, coming closer to the boy. “...are so cute.” you beam at him - it causes his face to fully turn red. “You look so much like Sanemi. You must be Genya!”

Genya’s face and overall body is hot at your words. He’s embarrassed. He wasn’t expecting to find a woman at his brother's home, yet he recalls the rumors around the corps of his brother having a girlfriend.

“I-I…” Genya takes a step back.

“You must be hungry.” you say and grasp his hands into your own. Genya now stands straighter when he feels your hands. “Come, please!”

Even if Asakusa was nearly a year ago, you recall Sanemi’s drunken words of not wishing to die because of a Genya - you never asked around about such a person. You wished to wait for Sanemi to bring up this person when he was ready, but he never did. 

You instructed Genya to sit at the table while you prepared the meal. He didn’t speak much while you cooked, but it was alright because you did most of the talking.

“Sanemi must still be bathing. He sure does enjoy that.” you ramble off as Genya sits completely still. “You sure are a big boy, Genya! So young and tall.” You ponder how tall your brother would be at his age in an alternate world where he didn’t die. 

Once dinner is done - beef sukiyaki - you place a bowl down for Genya, Sanemi and yourself. You smile at him. “Go on. Eat.”

“T-Thank you.” Genya’s voice is a mere whisper. He does as he’s told, enjoying the wonderful taste. He’s unsure if he should be here without Sanemi knowing first, but he doesn’t want to disrespect you as his girlfriend.

Footsteps could be heard against the wooden floors and Sanemi entered. He’s dressed casually outside of his regular uniform and his hair is wet. His eyes are soft when he enters and smells the food, but they harden once his eyes catch sight of Genya.

“Sanemi, dinner is-”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

You’re taken aback by Sanemi’s tone. You can feel the tension radiating from both males - brothers. 

“Aniki, I-”

“Get out.” 

“Sanemi…” you stand to your feet as does Genya. You’re shocked by his harsh tone towards the younger boy. 

“You are not a brother of mine.” Sanemi spits. 

“Aniki. I only came to apologize-”

“Take your apology and leave.” Sanemi turns away, his appetite ruined. “You should leave the corps all together. You’re a weakling who cannot even use breaths. You’re going to die..”

Sanemi goes to walk away and your heart breaks at the harshness of his tone.

“Aniki-”

Sanemi strikes - you note - but you’re already interfering in his attack. You place yourself in front of Genya and push him away, your body shielding him from whatever attack Sanemi was attempting to do.

You do, however, feel hands on your back which you assume was supposed to be meant for Genya.

“Y/N!”

You fall in front of a stunned Genya. “Are you alright?” you ask the young boy who only nods. He’s convinced you were crazy to get in front of an attack from Sanemi - a Hashira at that.

 Your head turns back to Sanemi. His eyes are wide with shock.

“I can sense your intent was to truly hurt him.” you murmur to Sanemi, voice low and lace with…disappointment? The jump is happening in his heart again, Sanemi notes. It’s different now - it causes his muscles to tighten and his heart to ache. “I won’t allow you to do that.”

Genya gasps at your words.

“What he and I have is none of your concern.” Sanemi mumbles. The look you’re giving him is a look he’s never witnessed from you before. You never looked at him with such disdain - such disgust. 

“It may not be.” you say. You stand to your feet, offering Genya a hand that he hesitantly takes. “But I won’t allow you to attack your brother in my presence.”

You turn back to Genya and give a sad smile. You were at fault for inviting him into Sanemi’s home and later, you would apologize. You do not know what both brothers are dealing with and in due time, you wish to understand. As of now, you need to get Genya away.

“I can walk you back to your home.” you say to Genya.

Sanemi’s eyes follow you and Genya until you’re completely out of sight.

The walk was quiet and peaceful. The sun is setting and the cicadas are buzzing louder.

“I’m sorry for causing trouble.”

Genya is the first to speak.

“No trouble at all.” you smile his way. “I’m the one that should have not interfered.”

Genya gulps. Another ten minutes of silence falls before he stops in his tracks.

“I don’t want you to see Aniki in a different light.”

Your head tilts at Genya. His cheeks are a dusty red as he speaks.

“I know he tried to hurt me and all but it’s not his fault!  He…I’m the one who blamed him for killing our mother. He did it to protect me.”

Your blood runs cold at Genya’s words.

“If I would’ve known she was a demon then I…I wouldn’t have said those things to him…”

Genya falls to his knees, pain erupting through his chest. He hates to appear vulnerable in front of others, but he cannot bear his brother for hating him more if he lost you as a partner.

Genya feels hands in his hair and his body stiffens.

“It’s not your fault.” you say to him, gently rubbing his hair. “Sanemi doesn’t hate you, Genya.”

Genya’s head snaps up to look at you, eyes blurry.

“I sense no hatred from Sanemi.” you say to him, kneeling down to his level. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Genya nods hesitantly.

“He told me he wants to stay alive to protect you.” your voice is so low that it barely registers in Genya’s ear. “I know Sanemi loves you. He just…” your mind flashes to Sanemi’s attempt to attack Genya. “...has a hard time showing it.” you say. Sanemi will still be the same who held you so tight while he was drunk, claiming that you were beautiful and he needed to be alive for Genya.

Genya’s head hung. “Thank you, Y/N.” he says. “I can walk the rest of the way. Please talk to Aniki.”

You watch fondly as Genya stands and bows to you. He looked so much like Sanemi in his own way that it makes you simper at him.

You do as you’re told, following the path back to the Wind Hashira’s mansion. You find it silent, everything where you left it. 

Maybe he doesn’t wish to talk, you say to yourself. You decided to eat alone and head to bed, leaving Sanemi’s food on the table in case he’d want to eat it later.

Sanemi wasn’t a drinker.

Whenever Sanemi drank, it reminded him of his father. The man was nothing but a drunk who’d come home and often beat his children and wife - even if he didn’t need to be drunk to do so.

Sanemi recalls the many times in which he had fought his own father to ensure that his rampage didn’t go too far. He didn’t care what bruises, black eyes or cut lips were left behind as long as his siblings and mother were safe.

But Sanemi failed, he thinks. He couldn’t save his mother from turning into a demon.Hiroshi, Teiko, Sumi, Shuya, Koto…he couldn’t save any of them. Not even Genya, as pathetic as it was. Genya remains a part of the Corps and his life is threatened when he goes on missions - no matter how many times Sanemi tries to get him to leave, he doesn’t.

The sky is dark and starless when Sanemi returns home. His vision is hazy and his head is spinning. He can hear it, the sword hitting against the tatami mats. You were still awake instead of being asleep like you should be.

You slice against the tatami mats roughly and with ease, eyes focusing on them. 

You gave up on trying to sleep. The first hour consisted of you tossing and turning. You got up to check and see if Sanemi had arrived yet, and once finding his food cold and untouched, you decided to wait for him. You gave up on the third hour mark and decided that if you weren’t going to sleep that you’d mind as well be training. 

“Why are you awake?”

You’re startled by the sudden voice joining you. “S-Sanemi.”

Sanemi’s swaying slightly and his eyes are low. “Have you been drinking?” you ask, but you’re aware of the answer.

“Why…are you awake?” 

Sanemi’s words slur slightly. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” you respond. “Are you hungry? I-”

Sanemi unsheathes his sword and points it at you. 

You stop in your tracks. 

“Come at me.” Sanemi commands. 

You gulp. “No.”

“Come…at…me…” Sanemi says through gritted teeth. “I won’t ask you again, tsuguko.”

Your heart is pumping outside your chest. You’re trembling but you do as you’re told. 

Sanemi pushed himself to the side before you had the chance to connect your hit - even if that wasn’t what you wanted. “Weak. Try again.”

You inhale deeply. You swing your sword once more and again and again and again. With each swing of your sword, the Hashira easily dodged or parried your attack. 

“You think you’re going to go to Final Selection with skills like this?” Sanemi spats. His words are harsh and your mind is unsure why he’s like this. Was it the alcohol?

You swing your sword and just when you’re sure it would connect with his own sword, Sanemi dodges and the opposite side of his sword hits your side. It doesn’t slice you, of course, but it sends you tumbling. 

“Stand up.” Sanemi demands, inches away from you.

“I don’t want-”

“Stand up!” Sanemi suddenly roars. It echoes off of the trees of the night. “No demon will allow you grace!”

You drop your sword at his feet. You weren’t sparring with him any longer. He wasn’t in his right mind now. 

“I’m leaving-”

Sanemi’s hand, rough and calloused, cups your jaw tightly. It causes you to yelp and you’re caught off guard. He’s kneeling down in front of you with wild eyes. “No demon is going to allow you to walk away.” he spits. “Do you think that husband of yours would’ve allowed you to run away if you were with him?”

Your hands push at his chest, but he doesn’t move. 

“Do you think he would’ve stopped fucking you because you told him no?”

Sanemi only comes closer. His breath is thick with alcohol and for the first time, you question if he’d cause you any harm.

“Pick up your sword and fight me as if I’m a demon.” Sanemi’s grip on your jaw tightens. The sane part of him screams at him to stop - that he’s hurting you. “Fight me as if I’m the husband your father sold you to.”

You’re now punching at his chest to get him away from you, but Sanemi’s stronger. He’s solid. 

“If I allow you to go to Final Selection, you’re going to die.” Sanemi’s sane mind hates himself now for how he’s speaking to you, but the alcohol in his system is angered; at himself more than anything. 

Sanemi couldn’t save his mother or his siblings.

Sanemi couldn’t save Genya from joining the Demon Slayer Corps.

Sanemi couldn’t even save his friend - Masachika died alongside the demon they slain. 

Sanemi’s certain how his heart would crumble if you didn’t make it through Final Selection - that you would be another person he couldn’t save.

Sanemi’s words hurt to hear. Had he no faith in you? You’ve trained hard everyday. Uzui’s training left you sore for weeks on end, but you never stopped. You even decided to ask Mitsuri for help whenever she was free. How you managed to spar with Muichiro, you were unsure yourself. His crow berated you for even attempting to go near him, but you did so regardless because you wanted to become stronger.

You wanted to make Sanemi proud; that his time in saving you wasn’t a complete waste.

Sane Sanemi is going to hate himself when he regains complete control once more. He doesn’t like to look of disdain in your eyes when both of his hands yank your hair.

You’re beautiful, Sanemi notes, even when there's tears blurring your vision. 

“I won’t fight you…like you’re a demon or that man…” you gritted out, shoulders faltering and now you’re sobbing. “You’re not like them.”

Sanemi’s eyes widened. He pushes you onto your back roughly and his hands grip your kimono stash. 

You don’t question him but your body trembles when he yanks your kimono apart. You’re not naked beneath it, but you were expecting to go to bed before training so what you do have is limited.

“Make me stop.” Sanemi hisses. He leans closer to you, eyes not leaving yours. “A demon is going to kill you as they please. That husband of yours,” Sanemi leans closer so that his body fully traps yours beneath his. “would take you as he pleases.”

“Then take me.”

Then take me.

Then take you?

Sanemi’s head spins. 

“You are no demon nor are you the man I was sold to.” you speak, voice weak and low. “I’m not afraid of you, Sanemi. I sense even now that you won’t hurt me.”

Sanemi pushes himself away from you as if you burned him. He turns his head away as you fix your kimono.

“You…” Sanemi speaks after a moment. You both sat upon the ground and neither of you moved from your spot. “...remind me of my mother.”

You don’t say anything. This was the first time Sanemi was speaking of his past.

“She would protect us from our fathers wrath.” Sanemi scoffs. “When you jumped in front of my attack on Genya…you reminded me of my mother. In that moment, I knew in his eyes that I resembled our father.”

You flinch upon hearing Sanemi crash upon the ground. His eyes are closed and you pondered if he passed out. 

“You’re so kind, Y/N. Kind and beautiful.” Sanemi rambles, repeating the same words over and over again. “I feel it again. The jolt in my heart.” Sanemi holds his chest and sucks his teeth. “Aoi said that there’s nothing wrong with my heart. Little brat was laughing at me when I told her my symptoms.”

You find yourself smiling at the wind Hashira. Were men always this dumb?

“We should get you to bed.” you tell him.

“No.” Sanemi responds far too fast.  

“Why not?” Sanemi doesn’t want to tell you it’s because you won’t be coming with him. Instead he releases a grumble. “Don’t feel like it.”

You decide to lay beside him, back against the hard ground and eyes up at the starless sky. 

“Final selection is in a few weeks.” you say.

“I know.”

You lick your lips. “I’m going to come back alive.”

I hope so, Sanemi thinks, but he says, “I know.”

Your head turns to look at him. His eyes are closed and now his breathing is slowed.

Sanemi’s eyes stirred awake when he felt his face being touched. You’re tracing the scar that stretches from his cheek to his nose. He feels it again, the jolt in his heart.

Part 2 | Final

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Cash Slave, reporting in...

Good morning, master. State Trooper Hernandez reporting!

I hope you're doing well since the last time we saw each other. Again, I can't apologize enough for pulling you over on the highway. I had no idea you were such an amazing hypnotist. Thank you again for letting me get off easy and only making me taze myself twice! I was paralyzed in that muddy ditch for awhile, but you could've given me a helluva worse punishment!

Your instructions aren't negotiable, so I made sure to snap a photo before I started my shift today. As you suggested, I've been eating a box of donuts every morning, and I've packed on a hefty 30 lbs since I've started. My wife has complained, but I know you want me to look more like a cliche of law enforcement!

I'll stop by your house to drop off my paycheck tonight after work. I won't forget to pick up some pizza for you and your friends on the way: extra sausage, just like you said!

See you tonight, master!

Hello sir.

It's been a week since you came into my shop, and I've followed everything you said. I didn't agree with it at first, but you convinced me with that little pendant.

You were right! I really am beneath powerful men like you. Filthy blue-collar workers aren't worthy to lick the dirt off your shoes. You were right to point that out, and you were right to tell me to embrace it. When the world looks at me, they shouldn't see a man. They should see a grease monkey at the bottom of society.

That's why I haven't showered or changed in seven days. My BO is uncomfortable to work in, but I know it's just a reminder of what I am. I used to be proud of my job. Ha! I used to look down on suits like you, but I'm nothing in comparison; just a tool at your disposal.

Anyways, I cleaned and waxed your old car as fast as I could. I know I lent you my convertible, but you're welcome to keep it. I put a lot of sweat and blood in fixing her up, but like you said, fancy cars are meant for you to drive and me to maintain.

Stop back in my garage anytime. White-collar men like you get free service here! It's not the place of any lowly laborer to get in the way of what you want.

Thank you again, sir.

Hello boss.

Just started another long day of window washing! It's another hot one, but I'll keep my head down and sweat through it like usual.

I've gotta say, it's days like this that make me miss the comforts of my old corporate desk job. I'd kill for some AC right now, but I remember how much you made me realize I hated that career. Like you said, I'm much better suited to a life of mindless cleaning.

It turns out you're the real one with a knack for business strategy because all of your advice has been genius! The income is dependent on the hours I put in, and since I'm working for half the price of all competitors, I've gotten a monopoly on the market! I've fully booked all seven days for the next five or so weeks, so I'll be washing windows non-stop!

The business is already booming! I've been billing customers to your bank account, so you should already see all the profit in there!

Later today, I'll make a note of the minimum I need to replenish the cleaning supplies I'm running through. I'd also be grateful if you loaned me a bit for personal use, but it's understandable if you can't spare any! We agreed that I wasn't working for a salary, and I'm fine with that! I've been sleeping in the company van the last few weeks and it's more than good enough for me!

Don't worry, boss. I'll get back to work!

Tell my wife hello for me, master!

Working on a rig has been isolating. The job is brutal, the days are long, and every night I head back to our bunks covered in oil. I thought I'd at least get to bond with the other guys, but most of us are too tired to do anything but eat and sleep after our shift.

The only thing that's getting me through it is thinking about you. I know I also have a girl at home, but you were the one that gave my life purpose. I was never going to make money as an actor, and you helped me see that! You were the one that convinced me to go for this ridiculous job in the middle of the ocean, and now I'm making a ton of money!

You deserve it all.

I wouldn't have seen any of this cash if I hadn't stuck around after your stage hypnosis show. I still remember the wild look in your eyes when you came up with this idea for me. I also remember that hungry look you had when you saw my wife. It was impossible to say no.

Oh, and thanks for keeping my wife company while I'm gone. A man like you deserves her attention more than I do. Like you said, I doubt I was pleasing her to begin with. The only thing I'm good for is earning money, and I hope you're enjoying it because it sure isn't easy to earn!

I gotta get back, but I wanted to let you know that I signed up for another six months like you suggested. It's lonely, but I'm happy to do it, master!

Son, or should I still call you 'sir'?

I'm not sure if I your new title applies through text as well? Being your dad and your servant can be a bit confusing, but I don't mean disrespect you! Just let me know.

My workout is done and I'm headed back to your house. I signed the deed over to you this morning, so you officially own it now! Like usual, I'll clean the place from top to bottom. I've got all the mops and cleaning supplies in my van and ready to go. Since it's Friday, I'll start on the weekly yard work; mowing, weeding, etc... I don't want to bore you with the details, but it'll take the majority of the day to keep your place in tip top shape!

As I understand it, you are having friends over tonight, so I'll prepare a three course meal for eight. I ironed my apron this morning so I should look like a more presentable waiter than last night when I served your food!

As always, please let me know if there's any other way I can be of service today or tonight.

I'll be awaiting your return, sir.

Hey little bro,

I just finished my workout at the gym with dad. We're both hitting PRs and we're really starting to see some results! Still can't believe you hypnotized his dumb ass to think he's your butler! That man looks so stupid changing from gym clothes into a bowtie and gloves. He's constantly calling you 'sir' too, even when you're not around.

He's such an idiot.

Anyways, I'm all dressed and ready for my new job. You were totally right. I'm going to be so much happier as a clown instead of a wrestler. I'm about to head out to my first gig; a ten year old's birthday party. I think he's the kid of someone I used to compete with. It might be a little awkward, but it won't affect my routine. I've got an afternoon of pies in the face and self-deprecating humor ahead of me.

I made sure to tell the guy who hired me that I'm willing to stay after and clean up. Kids make a huge mess after all. I just hope he won't be too weird about me being a clown at his son's party. We may have been rivals in the past, but that was back when I wrestled. Now I'm just a joke for hire. He's technically my boss for the day, so I'll have to get used to taking orders from him.

Wish me luck, bro. I'll give you the money after the dad dismisses me. Let's hope I make a good clown!