#but i really want to know what he'd think about that in the moment

[cvnntagious]

Die For Me

☆ Fuckboy!Matt Sturniolo blurb for anon

Not that you cared, but Matt had been M.I.A for over a week now. He hadn't been in class, hadn't texted you, and you hadn't seen him in his usual hangout spots around campus. Not that you'd bothered to check.

Well, okay, you shouldn't have checked — But you did. Not because you cared. I mean, he didn't care, so why would you? You'd been looking for him because, for some reason, your professor had decided to hand over his work to you. It didn't seem like he knew where Matt had gone either.

You didn't really understand what this had to do with you. The professor had just told you to give it to Matt whenever you got the chance. What, did he think you and Matt were something? Because you're not. That's not what Matt wanted, and neither did you.

But as your grades began to slip, it was clear Matt was on your mind. For no reason, really. Like, you didn't like him or anything. Seriously, you didn't like him. Usually, with the help of Matt, you would've been able to de-stress by now. Even touching yourself was no good. His help had been keeping you steady for the semester, and without it, you were nothing academically. At least that's what you told yourself.

Today 10:22 PM : ' Hey sorry. Been a minute. '

That's what you saw pop up on your phone as you tried to focus on studying for the upcoming quiz. You knew who it was before you even read the contact at the top of the notification — that unreadable way of texting, topped with an annoying amount of periods, just like always. He said it'd been a minute, but it had only seemed like seconds since you last talked at that moment. You were already annoyed.

Texting back seemed like no use, brushing it off with a sigh that exuded not only irritation, but a hint of relief as well. At least now you knew he hadn't gotten himself into some shit. Not that getting into shit was much like him, it was more his brother's thing. But still, he tended to stick his nose where it didn't belong when it came to any problems Chris got into.

Today 10:25 PM : ' Come slide. Dorm's P17. '

You tried to ignore it, but the numbers caught your attention. Could he really want you this bad? Usually he'd come to your dorm, or on some rare occasions you'd meet him at Chris' frat. Never once had he bothered to give you his dorm number. This felt new, possibly refreshing. He'd always told you where he stayed wasn't necessary information— basically the nice way of saying he didn't take you seriously, nor trust you enough.

Though tempting, your better judgement told you not to give in so easily. As you held down the power button and slid the icon to power off before flipping your phone face down, you felt a certain sense of empowerment, proud of yourself for deciding it wasn't worth it. So why did you find yourself waiting for him to answer the door, fidgeting nervously as you looked at the short brown carpet of the dormitory hallway?

"Didn't even get a warning," You heard his voice as the door opened in front of you, causing you to look up at him.

With an embarrassed chuckle, you lifted your hand to show him the black screen of your phone. "It died," You lied, eyelashes fluttering as your eyes met his blue ones.

You watched his small smile as his tongue ran over his white teeth to hide it, invisalign making them chunky and, in some strange way, admirable. Then, he stepped aside, giving you room to walk into his doorway. "S'late, I know, but I just- like I said, its been a while," Matt began explaining as you walked into his dorm, leaning on the doorframe as his head followed you.

You turned to look at him after having taken in his dorm, rather unimpressed by the lack of personality. "Yeah, about that, actually— Where y'been?" You asked curiously, as he shut and locked the door behind him.

Matt only shrugged, suppressing a smirk as he took a step forward to let his hands travel down your waist. "Lot'a stuff," He replied simply, head cocking slightly to one side. Of course he wasn't going to tell you - he never told you anything. "S'a lot to handle, y'know," He then added, eyes darkening as they held contact with yours.

Your brows furrowed at his words, a bit confused. If he didn't want to tell you why he was gone straight up, you'd prefer if he didn't start hinting at stuff. "What is?" You breathed out, hands moving to rest on his forearms as you unknowingly caught his bait.

"Not being able to see you every day; To touch you every day." He said that as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, his head dipping to place open mouthed kisses on the sensitive skin of your neck. "To call you mine," He then whispered. You knew it were dumb to think he meant that, but for some reason, those four words made you want to give yourself to him completely.

Matt smiled for the first time since you'd walked in when you pulled back to admire his face, letting out a small hum when you leaned back into him to press your lips against his. Just like that, he walked you backwards towards his bed, hands slipping under your shirt to caress the soft skin of your stomach. The coldness of his silver rings caused you to hiss into the kiss, too distracted by the sensation to notice him turning you so that he was now with his back to his bed.

As he sat down on his bed, he pulled you down to straddle him, hands holding your waist. You looked down at his glossy blue eyes as your hands reached up to knock his hat off of his head, fingers threading through his brunette curls. "What d'you want, Matt?" You finally asked, one hand coming down to allow your finger to caress the underside of his chin as he looked up at you.

His hands traveled up your figure, lifting your shirt as he did so. He allowed his hands to rest on your boobs, kneeding them as he chuckled ever so quietly. "To not have to do the work this time," He answered in a teasing tone, eyes flickering down to look at where his hands worked.

Though reluctant, you lifted yourself off of his lap to hoover over it. Using one hand to stabilize yourself on his shoulder, your free hand made its way down to his belt buckle as he watched your every move intently, "Don't look so happy," You mused when your eyes had glanced up to see the excitement in his.

"You know I love this shit," He quipped as you pulled his belt through the loops, lifting himself just enough for you to pull his pants down to his thighs. You only had so long to admire all you could see through his boxers before you felt Matt tugging on your pants, pleading without words for you to take them off.

Again, you lifted yourself off of him, this time allowing him to unbutton your pants and shimmy them down your legs until they were discarded somewhere beside his bed. As he fiddled with your pants, your hand began palming him through his boxers, length already riled up from not being touched much longer than he was used to. He groaned as his eyes remained locked on yours, a wet patch turning a spot of his boxers a darker shade of gray.

After a bit of teasing, you decided it was time to finally get your eyes on the prize—his prize. Pulling it out of his boxers, you ran your hand along his shaft to feel it rock hard already. "So big," You muttered, eyes glued to it.

Matt couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips at your words, expression smug as it could be. "This's new news?" He asked playfully, a stark contrast to his usual cold behaviors. It was like he really came out of his shell when he was aroused, and you were ready to put him right back in it.

With a squeeze of his dick that caused him to grunt, you pulled your panties to the side and lined him up with your entrance. Matt looked enthralled as he watched you do your work like this were routine, hands leaving your hips to rest behind him, leaning back to tilt his head back when you sunk down onto him without warning.

His hair was messy, and he could feel he was ready to sweat with your gummy walls around him. Lips pursing together, he hummed as you began to slowly grind into him, letting you do the work, just like he said he wanted.

It wasn't long before you began bouncing on him, hands on his shoulders for stability as you let out choked moans, as if his cock were suffocating you. The quick pace had your thighs burning, struggling to keep up with it, and yet, Matt simply watched in enjoyment. It wasn't often he allowed himself to freely make noise, but you could tell he was really enjoying this, with the way he had let out more groans and pants than usual.

Seemingly out of nowhere, his hands dartted out to grip the flesh of your hips as you continued your motions. You could've swore you heard a whimper when his head dropped forward to lean on the front of your shoulder. "Fu–ck this," He drawled out to you, hips begining to meet yours as he chase his high.

This simple, not so innocent gesture only served to fuel you, completely forgetting about the burning sensation. Your bounces got bigger, lifting yourself all the way to his tip before dropping back onto him with shreik-like moans. Matt was loving this, pants and groans now following each motion on his painfully ready cock.

"K- keep goin' f'me, baby, m'gettin close," He rasped, forcing himself to lift his head from your shoulder so he could look in your eyes while he came.

You nodded, bouncing mixing with grinding as you tried to tell him you were close too. It was too late. You let out a loud moan as you snapped on top of him, Matt following suit at the feeling of your sticky liquid releasing all over his dick. Your movements slowed to ride out your guys' orgasms before eventually coming to a halt, both of you panting with each other.

"Le's, uh— We'll do that more often, yeah?"

○

"Come on over, baby, can you slide for me? Yeah / You know how I love it when you ride on me." -Chase Atlantic

w/c : 1.8k a/n : if you've sent in any anons, i promise i'm getting to them. it's taking me a while cs i take forever to write and now i'm super busy so please bare w me, these anons have been building up for months now...

-love, your grandma cvnty ☆!

[ninyard]

do you perhaps have any thoughts on kevin telling wymack about kayleigh's letter? it's just so interesting to me and i'm so sad we didn't get to see it :(

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG <33 I wanted to do this justice and although i feel like there's a different way it could've gone, I feel like this is... one of the options at least

-

Kevin's hands shook so badly when he knocked on his coach's office door, that the first knock of knuckles on wood hardly made a sound at all. That could've been a sign to walk away, but instead he knocked again. David looked up from whatever papers he was rummaging through to see Kevin in the doorway, and he sat back, waiting for him to explain his presence.

It was an age before Kevin found his voice, "Do you have a minute?"

"Am I going to regret it?" Wymack crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his chair over to get a better look at him, while he shut the door behind him.

"Are you busy?" Kevin asked instead, and stepped into the room so slowly he felt like he was barely moving at all.

"I'm always busy," He answered, his eyes following Kevin as he sat down. "But right now, no, I'm not. Everything okay?"

Kevin looked at the floor, his cheeks burning with an unyielding anxiety that he couldn't control, worse for every second longer that he looked into Wymack's eyes without telling him the truth.

"I wanted to talk to you about something." Kevin tried, sitting forward in the chair across from his desk. "But I don't know where to start."

"Are you quitting?"

Kevin exhaled through his nose. "No."

"Is it Edgar Allan related?"

"No, it's not."

"Is anyone dying?"

"No, Coach."

Wymack held out his hands and shrugged his shoulders with a pout, "So, what's there to be worried about?"

Kevin hesitated before looking up at him. He really has no idea. Guilt burnt it's way up his throat, guilt for what he was about to say, for what he was about to do.

Do or die. Now or never.

Kevin took another deep breath and prepared himself for the worst.

"It's about my mom."

David paused for a second before shifting in his chair, a twitch in his eyebrows as he tried to read Kevin's face.

"Okay,” Wymack said. “What do you want to know?”

“No, it’s…” Kevin sighed in frustration. A part of him wished he'd written a script, or perhaps left the letter anonymously on his desk for him to find later. Anything that would save him from having this conversation unprepared. Unprepared still, even after he'd spent years thinking about how he would say it. But that wasn't fair, and the longer he waited, the worse it would be.

At least it was easy to forgive his silence when he didn't physically have the letter in South Carolina, but Neil had pulled away the safety net of distance by delivering him the letter, and he couldn't put it off any longer..

“I actually want to tell you something.”

Wymack didn’t understand, and it was written all over his face - he knew that Kevin never really knew his mom, and what he knew he hardly remembered, and what he remembered only existed in flashes and feelings. What could Kevin possibly tell him that he didn't already know?

It was a moment before he made any movement, but looking at Kevin, he held a hand up and raised his eyebrows, "Well?"

"My mom wrote me a letter," Kevin started, as Wymack slowly leaned back into his seat. "I don't know when, or if I was supposed to even see it, or..." Kevin reminded himself to breathe. "She wrote about you."

David exhales a short laugh from his nose, "And what did she say?"

He smiled like he was waiting for a joke to come, like he knew exactly what she could've said. Kevin wasn't sure if there was something in the look on his face, but as he felt every drop of blood in his body draining down into his shoes, David's small smile faded.

"Can I just give it to you?" Kevin said, after another agonising minute of trying to find the right thing to say. "And I don't know how I want you to react, David, I don't know how you're going to feel or what you're going to think. You don't have to say anything, okay? Please don't."

Wymack straightened up again, his smile gone and replaced with an uncomfortable frown. He repeated Kevin, an inquisitive statement, "You don't want me to say anything?"

"Or do, I don't know." Kevin took the letter from his pocket, and it was only then that he realised just how badly he was shaking. David's eyes flickered down to the practically vibrating piece of paper in his hands. "Just... Don't feel like you have to, I guess."

David extended his hand Kevin's way again, but Kevin felt frozen in place. His heart was pounding in his throat, like this was one of the biggest secrets he'd ever kept being spilled out, right in front of his eyes. And it was just that, really, something he'd kept buried deep. This secret was his mother's, not his, and perhaps that made it worse. She decided to keep David in the dark, her burden to bear that he was left out of the loop, but now, Kevin sat there, the truth in his hands, doing his mother's dirty work.

There was no going back once he handed that letter over. There was no pretending he didn't know, there was no more blissful ignorance. Kevin knew that handing over that letter would change Wymack's life - it would turn everything he knew about himself, and Kayleigh, and Kevin on it's head. In just a minute or two more, he would be a father. It would change his relationship with Abby, his relationship with Kevin. It would posthumously change his relationship with Kayleigh, because once Kevin handed it over, he would be a dad, and she had kept that from him. But right then, before the paper left Kevin's hands, he wasn't. For a moment more, he had no idea what the words trembling in Kevin's hands said. It was hard to soak that in when he could barely focus at all.

"You're freaking me out now, kid." David leaned forward, an awkward laugh behind his smile. He was just about able to reach the paper that Kevin held, but he hovered his hand over it instead. "May I?"

When Kevin meekly nodded, he took the letter, and Kevin's stomach finally gave out. He brought his hand up to his mouth to cover the gag that threatened to leave his lunch on the floor. David didn't notice. He sat back instead, smiling as he read the writing that he recognised, the tone just like how she used to speak, presumably.

"She-" He started, a joke or a memory on the tip of his tongue, and Kevin knew where in the letter he was. He knew where he had gotten to, because David's smile was quickly wiped away as he froze, still like a mannequin, exhaling a breath through his now open lips. His eyes were frantic as they skimmed over words that were almost meaningless after what he'd just read.

He flipped the page over, probably waiting to find "Just kidding!" written on the back. But it wasn't there, and he wouldn't find it, and the words wouldn't change no matter how many times he reread them to make sure. Kevin already knew that to be true.

After far too long, he quietly asked, "Where did you get this?"

"She left it with the Master." Kevin swallowed, his mouth dry. "I found it a few years ago."

"A few-" David said, like he'd been punched in the stomach. His words were cut off in his throat as he tried to find something to say. "Who..."

Kevin shoved his shaking hands under his thighs, and bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from crying. He could feel all of these bottled up feelings bubbling in his chest, but when he said he didn't know how he wanted David to react, he meant it. That didn't mean that he wasn't hurt by the silence that fell over the room, that he wasn't hurt by the worry that painted over his face. David wasn't smiling, but he wasn't angry. He wasn't happy, or upset, either. His face was unreadable. Maybe it would be easier if his feelings were clear. Maybe rage would be easier to swallow than shock.

"Jesus," David sighed, and ran a hand down his face. He dropped the letter on the desk, shutting his eyes for a moment.

"You don't have to say anything," Kevin said again, his voice shaking now too, and finally he looked up. Finally he looked into Kevin's eyes, only visible for just a second until they filled with tears that he couldn't hold back. "I just... thought you deserved to know. I'm sorry."

"Yeah," He nodded and looked up at the ceiling. Kevin wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand. He didn't look back at Kevin when he quietly asked, "Who else knows?"

"Jean, Riko," Kevin put a hand on his chest. Any longer and his heart would be on the table in between them. "And... Neil. But he hasn't told anyone, I promise."

"You told Neil?" It was almost angry, but more tired than anything else. Like all his energy had been sucked out of him by reading just a few words on a page.

"No, Coach, I didn't," Kevin was quick to clear up the assumption. He sniffed, and David pursed his lips as Kevin tried to talk through the tears that spilled down his cheeks, unstoppable, guilt filled. "He found the letter over the holidays and he brought it back here with him. I'm sorry."

David sighed again, and after a long and terrible pause, he said, "Kevin, I need a minute."

Kevin tried to find just an ounce of something in his words, a speck of relief, or reassurance, or anything that would make Kevin feel even just a little bit better about the decision he'd made. His hand was forced, in a way, twisted behind his back as Neil pushed him into Wymack's office to tell him the truth.

"Okay," Kevin agreed, and picked the letter up to replace it back into his pocket. "I'm sorry."

"Stop that," David clicked his tongue and waved him off. "I just need time to think."

Kevin nearly tripped over his own feet trying to get up. He crossed the room, the weight of the conversation left unspoken pulling him back, begging to be understood and spoken about and explained over and over. But he had to go. David needed space, and he needed time. It wasn't fair to expect anything else from him.

The door had just about closed before he had sighed again.

"Kev," He crossed his arms, and Kevin turned to look at him, holding the door open with an outstretched hand. "We'll talk later."

"Sure." He nodded with a teary exhale. He wasn't sure if what he felt was relief or not, but it was something, as it always was. Perhaps it was just the reassurance of a conversation to be had, instead of a topic that would be buried and forgotten, living on through his mother's faded handwriting and the very few people who knew.

"Just not right now," David clarified with a weak and desperate smile.

"Okay." Kevin's lip trembled. "Thank you, Coach."

David looked between Kevin's eyes for a moment longer before he gestured to him that that was all. He reached for the phone in front of him as Kevin quietly shut the door. The door was too thick and the ringing in his ears too loud for him to eavesdrop on what was being said or who he was talking to. Kevin used the collar of his t-shirt to wipe his eyes again.

They'd talk about it later.

Kevin did the only thing that he knew he could do, and he jogged down to the court. Andrew would kill him for being on the court without gear, a practice racquet in his hands that hadn't been stored away earlier. Coach would kill him for firing shots without a helmet on, but still Kevin dropped a ball in his net, and with his left hand, he fired towards the goal until it lit up red, until all that was left in his head was red lights and loud buzzers, and the bouncing of a ball against plexiglass.

[ghostdiva]

ok so the new trailer for episode 3 just dropped. big hype. here are some theory's, notes, and observations.

also I took a lot of screenshots...

anyway here we go.

so the adventure is set to be "The Mystery of Mildenhall Manor". Now, I do think that Caine is gonna be the quest giver this time, sending the gang to find something inside the spooky, probably haunted manor.

small guess is that they gotta find Matilda, one of the ghosts haunting the manor, and trap her in a vacuum. idk why, it's literally just a hunch.

Jax also takes a moment to harass Pomni with a vacuum, which just makes me think of Luigi's Mansion.

anyway, the gang (minus Zooble) are gonna go in the manor and try to find whatever they're looking for, and either by agreement or random set of events, the gang is gonna split up, Pomni and Kinger being paired up. I don't really know if Ragatha, Gangle, and Jax stick together or not, as they're not really shown much in the trailer.

I am inclined to believe it is a set of events that separates the gang tho.

it's the one of the reasons I can think of that'd make Pomni climb on the door like that.

I mean... outside of the very spooky decorum.....

which Pomni has a pretty reasonable reaction to

btw, I fucking love Pomni's cartoon physics with the squash and stretch rubber-hose animation. it's so expressive and fun to watch.

anyway, it seems Caine is determined to have Zooble go on adventures. so he literally sits them down and tries to therapize them.

though with Caine being an AI with very little knowledge of how the human mind works, this goes predictably horribly.

I imagine Zooble tries on some level to convey to Caine the ludicrousness of their situation. stuck in a digital world getting repeatedly traumatized by meaningless adventures that seem to do more harm than good. though I get the feeling Caine would miss the point, leading Zooble to correct him, and/or get upset at him for not understanding. watching this verbal fight happen between these 2 will probably lead to us, the viewer, understanding more about Zooble.

anyway, back to the manor with this cute little guy.

look at him, he's so cute and squishable. unfortunately this guy is the only cute and squishable NPC here because Pomni and Kinger seems to really be going through it.

they're mostly poking around, opening drawers and stuff. maybe they're looking for a key to get back with the others or something? who knows.

they both probably stumble around in the dark for a bit, both figuratively and literally.

they might end up stumbling into an antagonist NPC, which is the only way I can explain some of these screenshots.

it looks to me like Kinger is facing something. I mean, He's missing an eye in the first one, smacking something with a gun in the second, and looking really worried in the third. Plus the fist 2 have similar lighting so I'm inclined to believe those 2 pics come from clips in close time frames to each other.

there's also another image that has similar lighting...

now... this may sound weird, but I think that either Pomni got Possessed somehow, or something tried to take her shape. Possession seems more feasible since we know at least 2 of the NPC's in this adventure are ghosts, and at least in media ghosts are known to possess people. seeing as digital circus seems to love pulling from video game mechanics, this wouldn't surprise me at all.

this would also kind of explain why in the "POMNI WAKE UP!! IT'S TIME TO GO ON AN ADVENTURE" video, in the "Kinger with a shotgun" clip, he seems to be hitting Pomni with the gun. it makes a lot more sense if Pomni ends up getting possessed somehow, forcing Kinger to hit her in order to defend himself from the ghost.

this also could tie back to the worried look on Kingers face in the screenshot before Possessed Pomni. Cause he'd know what he has to do, even though he doesn't want to hurt Pomni.

Hell, I'm pretty sure Kinger even openly protects Pomni in this episode.

because of the shot in the trailer taken from this hole's perspective

not only is Pomni hiding behind Kinger, but he has one of his hands out in front of her, as if to protect her from whatever is in that hole.

also in regards to guns, Kinger isn't the only one who gets to have a gun.

Pomni gets to wield a shotgun too, and it's likely to help both herself and Kinger fight off whatever was after them in the hole.

Ghost possession and gun-slinging aside, I do think that Pomni and Kinger have a little heart to heart in this episode.

boy doesn't that screenshot look familiar. reminds me of episode 2 with the blue lighting and concerned expression on Pomni's face. That scene in the test room where Pomni comforts Gumigoo. this time tho, she's comforting Kinger. it almost makes me wonder if this will be a reoccurring theme, with all the other characters eventually having a heart to heart with Pomni, and Pomni comforting them.

it'd really make her live up to her quote in episode 2 "I guess I just don't want you to feel like you're nothing. I don't want anyone to feel like that".

the only thing I do still have questions about, is wtf is Kinger looking at here?

I mean, it looks like the eyes of a ghost, if they could make their eyes glow like that.

ya know what, maybe he's looking at a mound of pillows or something.

yeah, like that.

[sun4r1nnity]

"samu,"

osamu rolls his eyes the moment you call out his name, while a grin spreads across your face as you throw yourself on the couch next to him. he knows your intentions and what you're about to say, because you've been pestering him about it for days. that damn dyson hair dryer.

osamu didnt think that he'd be one of the victims of what people call the equivalent of ps5 to women. hell, the social media really has a bad influence on his wife. last time something like this happened is when the internet going crazy about those stanley cups, and it rubbed off on you too unfortunately. "sooo... i've been thinking..." you say, trailing off as you trace circles on osamu's chest. "thinkin' about what, exactly?" he inquires, already aware of the unspoken conclusion in your words.

"you know, maybe... if we should get a hair dryer. i mean, wouldnt our life be better with it? like, its a beneficial stuff," you say, avoiding eye contact with osamu, making him chuckles at your act. "enlighten me," he prompts, with a smirk on his face as he leans back on the couch and rests his head on his hands. he felt amused seeing that stupidly cute pout on your face as he waits for you to whine about that hair dryer you've been wanting.

unbeknownst to you, osamu would buy you the whole world if he can. he'd get you anything you wanted, because he gets to see you happy and show his love to you by spoiling you. so, it quite goes unnoticed when a notification pops up on his phone screen, informing that the dyson hair dryer he ordered few days ago will be delivered today.

[inniefulme]

you're so forgetful !

summary ; in which the skz members are your boyfriend and: you asked them to do something/had something to do but forgot to do it and now you're mad so now they try to apologize!

bf!skz x shorttempered!reader

notes ; my last post got WAY more attention than intended so now i am incredibly worried about finishing the actual thing fast.. here's a little something while you wait teehee (update: i forgot this app even existed WTFF i swear school has been busy please understand)

warnings ; swearing, some sexual jokes at bin and hyune's part but not tm, didn't exactly go throufh everything so might have some spelling/grammar mistakes so i apologize in advance !!!! reader isn't mentioned in the story, lmk if i miss anything <3

© inniefulme on tumblr. do not repost, remake, or steal.

bang chan

you probably asked him to defreeze the meat in the fridge when you left to buy groceries and other home needs but he forgot to because he was so engrossed on his computer and even had the time to go live for stays !!!! and he couldn't even take the meat out.. (ik what ur thinking)

you were definitely MAD because you wanted to have a nice dinner with him and you already planned everything out, it was already 10 pm when u got back too :( now you're ignoring him after you scolded him for forgetting

"y/n, please, i'm sorry. i swear i really did forget." is all he could say, he's too confused to think of what to say because he knew he messed up bad time when you're even rejecting his spoilers for the next come back like ??????

he'd be sitting in front of his computer thinking about what could possibly be a way to win you back, he even decided to go live again to ask stays. some said get you something you would like, or maybe just keep saying sorry.

he decided to do the next best thing, keep saying sorry of course!

"y/n, i'm really sorry. please forgive me, please, please?" he begs right in front of you kneeling down as u sat down on the couch completely ignoring his presence while you watched the tv.

he looked so sad at this point, ready to give up as he sat beside you. "i really am.." he pouted, leaning his head against your shoulder. you of course couldn't bare seeing him like that anymore and gave up, patting his head

"it's fine.. stop whining." you said, which chan immediately perked up hearing and looked up at you again. "are you sure? really?" he tries to get your confirmation first.

"yes.. don't worry." you replied, which made him sigh in relief as he placed your hand on his. "i really just, really am sorry. i won't let this happen again okay? even though it was about some meat in the fridge." you laughed, nodding. "promise?"

"promise." he kisses the back of your hand and smiled widely

lee know

genuinely i didn't know what he'd forget to do the most so i just thought of something dumb

and what dumb is it? you asked him to login to your game later so you don't lose you streak of course!

and he still forgot because he slept, woke up, played with the cats, eat and slept again probably

now you're pissed off because you were on your 143 streak and he ruined it :(

"oh come on it's just a game.." he makes up an excuse. "a game i spent hours on! don't you know how long it took to login that much and now you made me lose my streak?!" you crossed your arms, pouting

"you're overreacting, c'mere." he extends his hands out. "no, i'm mad." you looked away

"oh please, i'm not falling for that.." well i guess he did because you kept on ignoring him for 3 hours straight which made him go insane ngl not being able to touch you, especially when you're at home with him and still REFUSING physical contact

"okay fine, i'm sorry okay? please open the door, soonie wants to see you." he knocks on the door. "is it soonie or you're the one who wants to see me?" you asked

"both. now open up." he keeps on knocking and refusing to stop, which made you annoyed. "the door isn't even locked dumbass." you yelled out, which made him silent for a moment before opening the door

"could've told me before.." he rolls his eyes playfully, before getting in bed with you. "i really am sorry okay, don't ignore me like that ever again." he snuggles up with you as soonie joined in

"then don't do something like that again.." you groaned. "i promise, okay?" he assures you, holding you in his arms tight

changbin

here's an interesting one!

ahm.. something like lee know's maybe? he forgot to... do the laundry?????

that's all i could think of sorry

no bc u told him to do it like 4 hours ago while u had some work to do, you didn't even leave the house or anything but no now it's 10 pm and he still forgot womp womp

your favorite shirt is in the pile too and you were planning on wearing it tmrw when u and binnie go out :((((

"you could've set a reminder at least?!" you scolded him, which he just sat there in the couch crossing his arms feeling bad because he knew it was his fault

"i forgot to set one too.." he mutters, looking up at you. "you're too forgetful sometimes, it's bad!"

"it can't be helped okay!" changbin snaps back, before he pulled you onto his lap and groaned. "sorry. stop being so mad about it, you can find other shirts that could fit on you."

"but you said you loved that one the most.." you pouted. "you look good in anything, and i'll love you no matter. it doesn't make much of a difference." he says while running his hand through your hair "i just loved it because it compliments your body the most." he smirks

"hmph.." you whine, refusing to touch him in any sort of way despite already being on top of him. "come on, i said i'? sorry..?" he cups your cheeks, before playing with it for a while. "here, i'll let you buy something from my phone.. how about that?" your ears perk up, as you quickly take a glance at him. "promise?" you asked. "promise, bub."

you smiled, before wrapping your arms around his neck and hugged him. "thsnk you~" you cooed, as changbin laughs it off. "in one other condition.." he adds

"let me do anything to you tonight, eh?" he raises an eyebrow teasingly, which made you blush a bit but simply shrugged it off as you hit him playfully

"ow!" he pretends to be hurt, as you pouted. "i guess that's a yes, hm love?" he chuckles, pulling his phone out of his pocket

hyunjin

let's say he forgot it was your date today, except like teeny bit worse

you were already dressed up, did a bit of makeup and everything, only to see him lying on the couch with the remote on his hand, skimming through the channels on the tv

you were genuinely confused, thinking you got the date wrong or anything, but no, it really was today

"hyune? why aren't you ready yet?" you asked. "hm? where we going?" he looks up from the couch, sitting up as he looks at you for a moment, smilinf at your appearance. "you're kidding right? you said we have a date."

"date? when?" he tilts his head to the side. "i don't remember setting one for us, you're messing things up babe." that is, until his phone alarm rang with the title; 'date with y/n'

you would agree that if he simply forgot and just needed a reminder, he'd be off the hook. but even saying YOU were the one messing things up despite being the one planning the whole thing is just another story

"oh fuck.." he mutters as he looks at his phone. not only that, he set it 2 hours after the actual date, now you both missed your reservation. "hwang hyunjin. are you kidding me right now?" you cross your arms, clearly mad

"i'm sorry, i totally forgot.. i was just-"

"too busy with the damn tv? oh i can see that!" you cut him off, now scolding him. "now we missed the reservation!" you groaned, stomping yout feet towards your room..

"babe, look, i'm really sorry okay? i didn't mean to." hyunjin tries to apologize, standing behind you in front of the mirror while you removed your not-too-much-of-makeup-but-still-was-something makeup that took work

"pleasee? i can still make it up to you, we can go elsewhere." he wraps his arms around you from behind, resting hid chin on your shoulder

"anywhere you want, my treat, you don't even have to do anything but enjoy yourself, how about that?"

your furrowed eyebrows slowly went upwards, as you stared at him from the mirror. "anything..?"

"yes, love." he kisses your cheek. "anything." you contemplate it for a moment, before you sighed. "fine.. since we're still going."

"there we go, there's my lover." he giggles, pinching your cheek. "no need for you to wear any makeup or change, your perfect as you are. i'll be taking your clothes off later eitherway." he says laughing, running his hand through your hair

[ohtobeleah]

I like to think the song 'I Love You, I'm Sorry' Specifically the Bridge of the song, is very Logan Howlett x Reader coded. And stick with me for a moment because I'll explain what I mean. It's early days, like truly early days in your relationship. So early that you don't even know if the feelings you feel are real or just lust-coated wishes.

I love you, I'm sorry

You were the best but you were the worst As sick as it sounds, I loved you first I was a dick, it is what it is A habit to kick, the age-old curse I tend to laugh whenever I'm sad Stare at the crash, it actually works Making amends, this shit never ends I'm wrong again, wrong again

I feel like it would be the reader who has this shit on repeat in her little cafe. Just doing the ordering, or enjoying five minutes of peace that comes once in a blood moon when you run a cafe that's a vigilante's wet dream.

"You listen to this song an awful lot," Logan grumbled as he took a sip of his coffee. Black, nothing sweet, no milk, no cream. "It's like an unrelenting Groundhog Day of bad music." Deep down, Logan only says it because he knows your attention is on the books in front of you and not on him.

"If you'd pay attention to the lyrics, you old fart, then maybe you'd understand why I like it so much," You don't even look up from where you're writing down your next order of alternative milk. But smile nevertheless because you know Logan has no intention of admitting he'd ever be into the same music as you. "It's about you."

"Like fuck it's about me," Logan replies with a frown. "How is it about me?"

"Logan," You sigh as you finally look up across the table. You're slightly frustrated because you need to focus, but you can't be mad at the brooding oldie sitting across from you when he gives you that shit-eating grin you love so much. He wanted your attention, he got it. "I sometimes wish you had mind-reading capabilities because then you'd know when I'm tellin' you to piss off." Logan chuckles at your attempt to flirt. He can smell your arousal from here, but would never mention it. The two of you had never crossed that line...Yet. It's not the only thing he can smell. He can smell your perfume. The Black Plum and Vanilla one. He can smell your shampoo. The juniper and white lilly one. He can even smell your annoyance for the way he's tapping his knee against yours under the table. The gentle knocks keep breaking your concentration and it's making you more and more flustered.

"I'd only wanna read your lips anyway," Logan takes yet another sip of the coffee he loves endlessly but would never admit to your face that your coffee doesn't make him want to kill himself. "Come on, enlighten me a little here."

You just stare at Logan for a moment, really just drinking in his entire being. Fuck, you were really falling for his son of a bitch, weren't you?

"You always call yourself the worst Logan there is. The worst version of yourself across all the realities and different timelines," You explain as you pack up your things. "But to me, you're the best, and I loved you before I ever had any chance to see your flaws, for the many that you fucking have," You sit in silence for a moment, just at peace with the fact you'd told Logan that you loved him in a very unconditional, non-traditional way. "Do with that information what you will, I have work to do you."

Later that same evening, when Logan knocks on your front door, you glimpse the song he'd last been listening to on the little iPod you gave him that you found in an old junk drawer. You raise a single brow as you lean against the doorframe and smirk.

"Gracie Abrams, Huh?"

"Go fuck yourself."

Ilya

[grimsonandclover]

Blurb expanding on this idea. Not proofread, written in an hour tops.

Nsfw

College!Artrick in the modern day instead of 2006/7. They're bored, Art's finished his assignments and Patrick's procrastinating so they decide to go to a party someone is throwing near campus that they've heard people talking about. Patrick wants to get laid, Art wants to talk to someone other than Patrick (he loves his friend but they've been around eachother 24/7 for days now).

Art's the first to come across you at the party. Platform pleather boots with metal buckles up the sides, a black, lace trimmed miniskirt with ripped fishnets underneath. A large black knit sweater with small holes at the collar, and Art's wondering to himself if it came like that or not. Like moths got to it. A large silver cross on your chest with layers of necklaces stacked with it, the fingers gripping a red solo cup clad with chunky rings and long acrylics.

Your head is turned away from him initially, so he only gets a look at your clothes at first. He approaches because he wants to ask about the sweater (he's never been good with icebreakers). When you turn to look at him, he thinks his heart stops.

Your lips are painted a dark red, almost black, and the first thing he thinks of is if it would transfer to his lips if you made out. Because fuck, he wants to kiss those lips.

"It came like this" you explain, and then he realizes that you're answering his question. "Why?"

You shrug. "I don't know. Cause it's cute, I guess."

Art couldn't explain it, but he believed you could make anything look cute. So he shrugged, agreeing. It's when you introduce yourself by name that Patrick finds Art again, and it's his turn to oogle at you.

He's never been a picky guy, barely has a solid type unless saying his type was "hot" was a valid answer. But seeing you... you're his type. Just you. Patrick's shoulder to shoulder with Art in an instant, leaning in to introduce himself loud enough so you can hear him over the shitty party music.

When he gets your name, he smiles over his solo cup as he repeats it. Art gives his best friend a look. Oh great, he's into you, too.

"I like your makeup." Patrick points to your face like you don't know where it is. "I didn't know emos could look so hot."

That makes you laugh. "I'm not an emo, but thanks, I guess."

Art nudges Pateick in the ribs before speaking up again. "And your jewelery, too. How long does it take to put on?"

The rest of the night is spent with the two friends competing for your attention, flirting with you the best they can. You know what's going on, and you let them if not for your own amusement.

You start noticing the two more on campus, and when they see you (which isn't hard to do) they awake sure to strike up conversation. It isn't long before you can call them friends.

Neither of them want that, though. They wanna see if your panties are as black as the bra peaking from your tank top when the sun's threatening to turn the school into melted goo. You wore a sweater at the party when you met so they couldn't yell, but this tanktop showed off the absolute rack you owned. They wanted your tits in their drooling faces. They wanted your glossy lipstick smeared over their cocks. They wanted to hear you scream their name as you bounced on top of them, feel you cum around them.

Instead, they settled on the long game. While hanging out, you'd mention the music you liked, what album you were listening to, what band you went to see over the weekend. The moment classes end and you all leave to your respective dorms, the two tennis players are both removing Drake and Carseat Headrest from their ques and playing whatever song you last mentioned to them. They do it just so they can tlak over eachother the next time they see you about the songs on the album they both suddenly know. Patrick finds himself unexpectedly loving Seether, especially, and he didn't even think he'd leave the experience liking the music for real.

You really start liking Art and Patrick, which you didn't expect. Sure, they were cute, attentive, and incredibly hot, but they weren't exactly the type of guys who normally approached you. Guys like them actually tended to be intimidated by anyone in alternative styles or genres. And they listened to you. Would let you talk about your interests for hours if you wanted. It made you like them even more.

They were surprised, too. Like I said, Patrick doesn't really have a type, just hot people, but most girls he's been with aesthetically have been pretty "mainstream" all things considered. There's nothing wrong with that, of course, but it made you stand out to him in his fantasies. Both your style and your tits. He really liked staring at your boobs every chance he got. His top fantasy lately when he jerks off involves him smothering himself in your tits while he fucks you. He comes hard to the idea, making bigger messes over his fist and chest than usual.

Art usually got with "clean girls" or girls adjacent to that aesthetic, so hes confused by the complete 180 his tastes seemed to have taken since meeting you. You're all he could think about now. He wanted to wake up next to you in the mornings and see you fresh faced before your daily beat, watch your ritual of doing your hair and picking out your clothes and jewelry. He wanted to witness the whole process. And he wanted to motorboat you, but that's a side thought. He's also gotten off to the idea of being with you, but he's always so ashamed. He doesn't want to sexualize you like that, it doesn't seem fair or nice. Does that stop him? No. He's still scrolling through your Instagram, painting his fist and the corner of his phone white with cum to your latest thirst trap selfie, imagining that it's your hand around him instead, your acrylics wrapped around his needy cock when he whimpers your name into his pillow. It's hard to look you in the eyes afterward.

[penkura]

Scared of Doctors anon again.

I now raise you: Law during his time at Punk Hazard finding y/n while they're still a subject.

Honestly I have too many thoughts about this. It's helping me wait for the dub to come out

Such good ideas though, omg. I'm thinking and more is coming to me for this, it's such a good prompt. There's so many ways it could go!

But for now...

Law had not intended to save you when he came to Punk Hazard. He had a plan, one that would hopefully bring down this Devil Fruit factory and help him get his revenge, it didn't include meeting and getting to know you little by little in the time he was there. You had run into Law by accident when trying to escape, making him curious about what was going on.

You look scared when you first run into him, having turned a corner abruptly and colliding with the young doctor, asking him for help.

"Please, help me get out of here!"

"What?"

There's a fear in your eyes he doesn't like seeing, while you grip his coat tightly and plead with Law to save you, somehow. He knew Caesar was conducting experiments, obviously with the SMILE fruit and everything, but he didn't know the extent, and now he's more curious seeing you.

You look perfectly fine and healthy, there doesn't seem to be a reason why you should be afraid of anything. Most of the people that Law has seen through the lab are willing participants, or they've been bribed by Caesar with something for him to use them. You don't seem to fit either bill, unless there's something hidden that even he can't see.

But his powers should tell him, right? The brief scan he does shows nothing is wrong, though he can see some kind of drugs in your system. He'd have to do his own testing to figure out what they are and what they're for, but you're interrupted by Monet a moment later.

"Oh, I see you've met our oldest patient, doctor."

Law's concerns grow when you immediately remove your hands from him, looking towards the ground with more fear than before. Monet explains you'd been sick with a highly deadly virus three years ago before she and Caesar took you in, away from your home and family, and have been working ever since to find a cure. He watches as you back away bit by bit, turning more into yourself and apologizing, before turning around and running back where you'd come from. When he asks Monet at the illness was, she beats around the bush and doesn't give a straight answer, Law knows something is wrong with this situation but he's not in a position to figure out what it is.

Not until the Straw Hats and the Navy show up anyway. The distractions provided by them allow him the time to find you again, though you still seem fearful of him. He holds his hands up where you can see them, making you tilt your head.

"I won't hurt you. I won't touch you at all. I can use my powers to see about your illness."

"...why bother? I'm gonna die anyway."

How strange, to hear words he'd said so long ago said to his own face, but in such a different situation. After Law explains how his Devil Fruit powers work, you consent to letting him do a proper Scan, and you're confused when he tells you there's no sign of any illnesses in your body. He still sees those drugs in your system, but he doesn't have the time to check what they are yet.

"We're going to destroy this place. You'll have to come with me if you want answers from Caesar."

You really don't know if you should trust him or not, he hasn't given you much of a reason not to apart from being a doctor, like Caesar and Monet had claimed to be. Your voice is shaky when you ask Law if he promises to find out what happened, and when he does, you're almost crying as you nod. Law lets you take his hand, once you've calmed down and agreed to go with him, he starts to lead you to a safer area.

"I won't let anything happen to you, all right? Not until we get you the answers you need."

For some reason, you decide to trust him.

[mustainegf]

→ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟗

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to find some understanding as my mind spiraled out of control. The only noises in the room were the soft hum of the fan and the steady breaths of James lying beside me. Tomorrow, he'd be off on tour again, and it weighed more and was heavier to handle than I had thought it would be. To me, he'd just got back, and it felt like I was going to lose him all over again.

I shifted, for what felt like the hundredth time, trying to find such a position that my body would agree with. But no matter how I adjusted, I couldn't settle. Not only could I not stop thinking about him leaving... but there was something else I couldn't get our of my head... something that also had to do with James.

James stirred beside me, his voice deep. "You've been tossing and turning," he said softly. "What's goin' on, hun?

I froze, I didn't know how to answer. I didn't want to burden him with just how fragile I had been, how badly I needed him. So I did what I always did in those kinds of vulnerable moments. I deflected.

"Just. hormones," I muttered awkwardly, hoping that would suffice.

"Hormones?" he replied, a hint of a smile weaving its way through his voice. "What kind of hormones?

I swallowed hard, my face starting to heat up. I knew I had to answer him, but I wasn't sure if I was ready for that kind of vulnerability. "It's just… the uh, second trimester," I started, my voice a whisper. "It… it makes me feel… um, you know, horny."

I was instantly regretful that I had said anything. Mortified, really. I squeezed my eyes shut tight. Why did I say that? Why didn't I just blow it off?

After a moment, James scooted beside me, twisting his body so that he faced me. "You've been feeling like that and didn't say anything?

I bit my lip, mortified still. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable," I admitted, keeping my eyes fixed on the popcorn ceiling. "I mean, with your injuries and everything that's been going on with us, it didn't seem right to bring it up…"

Again, the silence stretched, and my nerves were starting to get the better of me. Then James's hand reached out and found mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.

"I don't want you to feel like you can't tell me things like that," he said softly. "I'm here. I want to help you... especially if that's how you've been feeling."

It was as if he had removed a boulder from my chest. I turned my head slightly to his direction. His face was still not distinct in the shitty dim light of the room.

"You want to help?" I asked, the words barely audible.

James nodded, his fingers tracing light patterns down my wrist. "I do," he said firmly, filling his voice with warmth and affection. "Look... I love you... and I'm leaving tomorrow... I just- I want to have a chance to love this body of yours before I have to leave..."

I hesitated, something blooming inside me. Of course, I had missed him and yearned for the closeness again, yet wasn't quite sure how it would work. "But… your arm—"

"I'll be fine," he softly interrupted, squeezing my hand. "We can find a way, It doesn't have to be perfect. I just want to be with you."

The tenderness of those words completely disarmed me. I searched his eyes for some sign of doubt or hesitation and found a lot of love instead.

"Are you sure?" I whispered innocently.

He leaned in far enough that his lips brushed against mine in a soft, gentle kiss. "Always," he whispered against my lips. "I want to take care of you."

His voice melted away the last of my reservations. I nodded, my body melting as I accepted his offer.

We began to kiss again, deeper this time. His lips moved slow and sweet over mine, and the fire that was there between us began to build. His good arm wrapped around me, pulling me more into him, his injured one being careful to stay at his side. His hand stroked over my waist down to my belly.

"I don't want to hurt you," I whispered between kisses, my hands running through his long hair.

"You won't," he murmured, his lips meeting mine once more. "I promise."

The connection f our lips deepened as I shifted closer and my hands slid down his chest, feeling his skin beneath my fingertips. He groaned softly against my lips, and the sound reminded me of the many times we'd done this, yet somehow, it was different this time. I'd missed this, missed him.

But the more we shifted, the more I knew common positions were out of the question. His injuries would make it very uncomfortable for him to be on top, and I wouldn't dare do anything to make him hurt even more.

"Here," I said softly, breaking the kiss and moving back just enough to meet his gaze. "I'll ride you," I say gently, nodding.

For a second, James stared at me, in awe and love. "you sure?" he asked gruffly low.

"I want to," I admitted, my palm resting against his chest, feeling the soft hairs. "I want you to be comfortable too..."

He smiled, his hand gliding up to cup my cheek. "You're..." he whispered, his lips finding mine once more. "I love you..."

"I love you too," I said with a whispered voice, shaking with emotion. We started to undress, each movement sensitive and deliber­ate. James watched with wide wonder as I took my shirt off, his eyes feasted on the swollen curve of my belly. His hands were soft and extremely careful against my skin, touching my tummy in wonder, knowing that resting beneath, was his child.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed, his hands gliding over every surface he could reach. "So beautiful."

I went red, more vulnerable than I'd ever felt, but his words were making me safe. Carefully, I straddled him, my knees at either side of his hips, and in a second James's hand found its place on my belly, holding it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. And it was.

"Look at you," he whispered, looking me up and down. He drank in the details, the slight stretch marks on my belly, the way it swelled so warm. "Carrying our baby... I've never seen anything more.. beautiful in my whole life."

Honestly, they were never would I thought I would ever hear him say, and it was making my heart beat faster, my hairs prickle and my skin heat up. I leaned down, my hot mouth covering his, as I readjusted myself and positioned us together. His breath caught as I lowered myself onto him, and a soft moan escaped my lips.

Oh my God. We'd had sex before, yeah, but this? This was way different... fuck, it was good. Every thrust, every gentle push was bringing us closer and closer. James's hand never strayed from either my belly or hip, he worshipped me with every stroke.

"You're p-perfect," he murmured, his voice choked and heavy. "So perfect, baby."

I could feel the tears now, threatening to spill as the moment became too big to hold in. I loved him so much, loved this man who was the father of my child, loved the way he was looking at me now, knowing I was the most important thing in the world.

"James..." I panted as I bounced on him, feeling every agonizing ridge and vein clench inside me. "I love you... oh God, I love you so much."   His hips surged harder against mine, his good arm pulled me into him and we moved together. "I love you," he huffed, his eyes pressed to mine. "You're everything to me... You and our baby.. y-you're everything."

I writhed above him as both of our hips worked in turn, slapping over and over. I think he could tell the effect this was having on me, with the hormones and all.

I couldn't help but thick of how perfectly we fit together, even with the added weight of my pregnancy. Each gentle roll of my hips me whining. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I gazed into James' eyes. I couldn't help the tears, nor control them I was too emotional, too hormonal, and I loved him with all my heart... and fuck, this felt so good. His touch was worshipful as he caressed my belly and traced the contours. James' look softened, his thumb brushing away a tear from my cheek.

I let out a loud whimper, my body squirming for release. Tears continued to shoot freely down my cheeks, mixing with the sweat that coated my skin. "Please, James… I need to cum," I pleaded, my voice breaking with white hot lust.

"It's okay… It's okay for you to cum," he repeated, his tone a comforting murmur against my cheek.

It was too much, and as I came, it wasn't just the pleasure that but the my emotions. All wrapped into that one moment.

I melted against his chest, my face streaked with tears, my body shaking right to my soul as I turned into a puddle of whimpers. James clutched me tight against him, but very softly, his lips pressed to my forehead, my cheeks, my lips.

"Hey, hey," he whispered softly. "It's okay... I've got you. I'm right here."

"I'm sorry," I sobbed, burying my face in his neck. "I don't know why I'm crying."

He leaned in, whispering softly against me, "You don't have to apologize," and stroked my hair softly. "It's just the hormones, right?"

I laughed weakly through my tears, nodding against his skin. "Yeah. probably."

After a few moments, James spoke softly. "Can I finish?" he asked, his tone carefully measured to convey his understanding should I choose otherwise.

I lifted my head slightly, meeting his gaze with a tender smile. I nod, not wanting to leave him uncomfortable. "Yes," I whispered.

As I nestled closer to James, my hand found its way to his throbbing member, wrapping around him with a tender yet firm grip. With every stroke, I poured out my love, my grip passionate.

The feeling of his length pulsing in my hand only fueled my want to please him.

He was singing with praise and moans galore with every stroke of mine. Escaping lips of pleasure, muttered words of gratitude.

My other hand was gently massaging his tense balls, another point of contact, while my mouth went searching for the soft skin of his neck. I nipped and licked at his flesh, planting wet kisses along the line of his collarbone. My actions were mirroring the rhythm in my hand, tugging on his manhood.

As his orgasm very quickly approached, James's words of became a mantra, hurled with every second that passed. "That's it. Just like that.," he husked.

His climax hit him hard, his seed spilling forth in hot sticky bursts across his abdomen. It was a sight to see, watching him lose control, his face contorted in pure bliss. I watched as his seed painted his skin so beautifully.

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, holding me close. "I love you so much," he whispered, his voice all soft gentleness. "I'm here. I'll always be here..."

After a while, James shifted beneath me, easing me off him and settling me back onto the bed. "I'll be right back," he whispered against my forehead.

I watched him stumble naked into the bathroom. I couldn't help but admire his naked body, so masculine and raw. I really was in love with him. Soon, he came returning a few moments later with a warm rag, and a clean stomach. James gently laid me back and helped spread my legs as he carefully cleaned me up. Full of love, and this such a quiet intimacy that bound me closer to him.

When he was done, he tossed the rag aside and got back into bed beside me. He wrapped himself around me, his arm splayed protectively over my belly as he kissed the top of my head.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"For what?" he returned softly.

"For loving me."

He leaned forward and kissed the top of my head again. "I'll love you always, whatever happens."   I buried myself in him as he spoke, my eyes closing, his warmth heating my own. I was exhausted, but wrapped up in James' arms, I was safe. And so was our baby.

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Idea #92: Percy/Apollo, but make it The Trojan War

Into every fandom, a time travel fic must fall - or in this case a second one, because I somehow got to thinking about the delightful PJO trope of Percy being thrown back in time to The Trojan War and realized that doing so misses out on a fantastic opportunity.

Or: What if post-TOA Percy Jackson and Apollo time travel to shortly before The Trojan War?

Just imagine it:

Everything follows canon through TOA, with one exception: rather than struggle to catch up in the mortal world following the Second Gigantomachy, Percy elects to stay at Camp Half-Blood. There he can homeschool at his own place with programs tailored towards ADHD children and still visit his family on the weekends - and not get into any more ridiculous situations in the mortal world when one of the gods kidnaps him or sends him on a quest to find their sneakers.

This, naturally, stresses his relationship with Annabeth - who, now that she's no longer living at camp full time, calls it the easy way out. But Percy is tired and struggling in mortal high school where everyone thinks he's a delinquent idiot when another option exists seems foolish. Percy and Annabeth break up and drift apart.

Enter Apollo, fresh from his latest stint as a mortal. He's trying to do his best by his children, which includes popping by camp as often as he can get away with - which in turn means spending a lot of time with Percy, who at this point is unofficially running CHB because it's not like Dionysus or even Chiron have done a brilliant job of it in recent times.

(First aid, strategy, and mythology classes are made mandatory. Percy personally ensures every demigod knows enough about self-defense to be able to survive long enough to run away or for help to arrive. Bullying is cracked down on so hard that it's this, not Percy's generally parental nature, that has people calling him Camp Mom.)

Percy and Apollo become friendly. Enough so that some of Apollo's kids assume they're dating and keeping it on the down-low so as not to draw Zeus' ire. Or Poseidon's. Or anyone else's. It's on one of their not-dates that they're yeeted into the past, without warning or explanation.

And so 19-year-old Percy Jackson and post-TOA Apollo find themselves in Ancient Greece c. 1220 BCE, roughly thirty-five years before the destruction of Troy.

The time travel is immediately obvious, as Apollo becomes the closest thing a god might experience to being high the moment they land in the past - being a powerful god in modern times is nothing like being a powerful god at the height of his power in ancient times. It's overwhelming (and somewhat alarming from Percy's POV, but kind of funny in retrospect.)

The specific date is harder to determine, but made clear when Hermes shows up and starts going on about you'll never believe what father's done now: he seduced the Spartan queen as a swan and she's laid an egg. Hera is furious - especially as they're saying the girl that hatched from it is the most beautiful in the world, even though she's only a few days old. It's nuts. By the way, where have you been? You missed the last two council meetings. Do you want Dad to punish you?

Apollo at this stage is very high. He's also been USTing over Percy for quite some time and is worried what the gods of this era might do to Percy without divine protection (smiting or seduction, it's all on the table). But mostly he's very high, and so to keep Percy close and safe he declares he's been off having the dirtiest of dirty weekends with his latest lover and that Hermes' presence is ruining the mood. So if he would kindly leave, please and thank you, he'd really rather get back to it without an audience.

This, naturally, is a surprise to Percy, but he rolls with it because 1) he doesn't have any better ideas on how to get rid of Ancient Greek Hermes so they can figure out what the hades is going on and 2) he's been USTing over Apollo ever since he recovered enough from Tartarus to start feeling attraction again.

Fueled by mutual UST, they put together a cover story that should hold the next time a god with too much prurient interest shows: Percy is now Prince Persē of Gadir - a Phoenician colony that will grow into the future Cadiz - well past the edge of the Greek world at this stage but not beyond belief for Poseidon to have visited, as it's obvious who his father is. They claim his mother is the King of Gadir's youngest sister and as such Persē had a royal upbringing, but was far enough down the line of succession that he was free to chose to sail east and explore his father's homeland. Apollo caught sight of him on his journey, one thing led to another, and here they are.

(Are there easier, more sensible cover stories? Possibly. But the UST refuses to let them consider any of them now that a fake relationship is on the table.)

Deciding what to do about The Trojan War is much harder. On the one hand, it's a lot of senseless death and destruction. On the other, without it we don't get The Iliad and The Odyssey - two of the most influential works of literature in western civilization - and Aeneas doesn't go off to Italy (leading to the founding of Rome, which would change the history of western civilization a lot). In the end, they decide to let the war happen but do their best to mitigate the worst parts of it.

And so Percy goes off and becomes a hero of Ancient Greece while pretending to be in a relationship with Apollo.

This stage of things is filed with angst from both parties, as both Percy and Apollo want a real relationship with each other but think they're abusing the other's trust by eagerly faking their relationship. There's a lot of PDA, a lot of feelings, and limited communication. It goes on for quite a while and would probably exasperate quite a few people if everyone in the know didn't think they were already in a relationship.

It's also filled with modern day Percy being confronted by realties of life in Ancient Greece. It's not just mortals knowing about - and interacting with - the gods: it's everything. It's food and clothes and language and culture and housing and travel. He can play a lot off it as being a traveler from the edge of the known world, but some of it has him asking Apollo if he's being rick rolled.

Apollo, meanwhile, is having troubles of his own. He is not the god he used to be and it's hard pretending otherwise. He tries to walk the line of doing enough to be believable and holding back enough not to despise himself, but it's a fine line, he fails often, and he spends a not insignificant amount of time worried he's backsliding.

And so it goes until 7-year-old Helen of Troy is kidnapped by Theseus to be his wife.

This, naturally, does not fly with Percy, who by this time has built up something of a reputation as a hero. He teams up with the Dioscuri to rescue Helen.

One would think this would earn him Zeus' favor. It doesn't. Instead, Zeus sends monsters to harry him for refusing to let Castor and Pollux take Helen's captors' loved ones captive and raze Aphidna for Theseus' crime. Percy manages to hold his own for quite a while but eventually, exhausted from the near-constant fighting, is gored and left for dead by the reformed Minotaur.

...and when Apollo arrives, frantic, to heal him, Percy ascends instead, becoming the greek version of Saint Sebastian - a minor god of heroes, strength in the face of adversity, and athleticism; sort of halfway between Hercules and Chiron.

Then and only then do Percy and Apollo finally get their act together, confessing to each other how much they care for the other and how much they don't want this to be fake any longer.

History proceeds apace - albeit with Persē being a second immortal trainer of heroes.

24 years after their arrival in the past, 16 years after Percy's ascension, The Trojan War begins. Despite their best efforts, there's only so much they can do - war is war and gods are gods. They are able to stop some of the worst excesses on both sides, but in the end Apollo still sends the plague that causes Agamemnon to take Briseis for his own, which caused Achilles' departure from the field, Patroclus' death, &c - not because Apollo was trying to maintain the timeline, but because in the instant he sent it he was angry and reverted to his old ways.

Troy falls...

...but when Zeus tries to use this as an excuse to ban gods from interacting with their demigod children, Apollo is able to say that's a bit extreme isn't it? with enough backing from the rest of the council that Zeus is forced to amend his ruling so that the gods are only allowed to freely visit their children on the "cross quarter days" that fall between each solstice and equinox (1 February, 1 May, 1 August, and 1 November).

This changes everything and nothing.

Time continues its inevitable march. Greece has its golden age before being conquered by Rome, which splits apart under its own weight and forms several smaller countries, which eventually spread their cultures around the world...

Apollo and Percy are there for it all. Persē is a minor figure in mythology, but never forgotten. He is ever-present in Apollo's temples - though the Church will later try to rewrite their myth so that they were merely sworn fighting partners, rather than lovers who eventually had a quite lovely wedding on Olympus (and then, at Poseidon's insistence, an even bigger ceremony on Atlantis). Percy takes over day-to-day operations of CHB from practically the moment the Trojan War ends.

...and so Persē is there the day Sally Jackson tries to get her son to camp, and is able to intervene when the Minotaur attacks on their border. He's able to meet her and her young son, Perseus ("Mom named me after you and the guy that killed Medusa since you're the only two heroes to have happy endings!"), and guide him through the trials that come with being a child of prophecy.

One day that Percy will hand Luke - who was never happy with the limited attention the gods were allowed to give their children - a cursed dagger so that Kronos can be defeated. That child will be offered godhood, turn it down, and go on to have a happy life with his eventual wife, Annabeth. He will never have his memories erased and be sent to Camp Jupiter. Gaia will not rise until long after that Percy's grandchildren are dead, and Zeus will not be quite so bullheaded when the proof of it is brought before him. That Second Gigantomachy is swift, well-coordinated, and fought without another Greek/Roman war brewing in the background.

And when they finally arrive at the day Apollo and Percy were originally sent back in time, Percy admits that while he is happy some version of him was better prepared for the war he was asked to fight in and allowed his peace afterward, he would change nothing about his own life, for it brought him to Apollo. The sunrise the next morning - on the first morning of the rest of their lives - is particularly spectacular.

Bonuses include:

Gaslighting Poseidon into believing that he's met Percy before the first time they're introduced. ("What do you mean you don't remember me, Father? You were present when I came of age! You gifted me this trident! Have I displeased you in some way?") It's an absolute masterclass that eventually manages to convince Poseidon that, yes, of course he knows Percy - and, maybe, he should check in on all his other demigod children to make sure he's not missed someone. (Two. He lost track of two of the others. Maybe he should be more careful about siring children in the future.) Apollo practically has to stuff his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing.

As much historical accuracy as can be crammed into the Percy trying to make sense of Ancient Greece chapters as possible. Think Of a Linear Circle - Part III by flamethrower levels of historical research. As much as can be shoehorned in without bogging down the plot.

Percy and Dionysus bonding over their mutual dislike of Theseus, though Percy generally gets along with his other half-siblings, especially the ones who come to camp young enough to keep from getting big heads over being the children of Poseidon.

Though Percy adores all the children in Cabin 7 (most of whom are born via blessing this time around), he and Apollo have at least one child of their own - maybe a demigod born before Percy's ascension to sell their fake relationship? Maybe a minor god who's later attributed a different parentage by mortals? Dealer's choice on details.

It never being made clear who, or what, or how, Percy and Apollo were sent into the past. All of Percy's oddities are attributed to him being foreign or formerly mortal, all of Apollo's to the fact that he's in love with someone who didn't die before their first anniversary, and no one ever guesses time travel is responsible for their eccentricities. Or that time travel was ever an option.

And that's all I have. As always, feel free to adopt, just link back if you ever decide to do anything with it.

More PJO Ideas | More Terrible Fic Ideas

[dullgecko]

I love a trans Riz moment and one of my headcanons is that goblin names are gendered by the number of syllables (Pok, Sprak, Riz all being one syllable, Sklonda being two).

And we all know that middle school Riz was Going Through It in terms of bullying so he was almost certainly also misgendered constantly by the other kids.

I think that’s part of why Sklonda is so against the other Bad Kids using nicknames for Riz because The Ball is two syllables and they’re accidentally misgendering Riz (according to goblin grammar) and she has had enough of other kids misgendering her son because they think it’s funny.

It’s also why Riz hates the multi-syllable nicknames like Rizbert and Rizwalda and keeps insisting it’s “just Riz”. But equally he also doesn’t want to come out. He’s sure it would be fine, but he doesn’t want to risk it just in case things go wrong. So he doesn’t know how to explain it so he doesn’t say anything, but it definitely hurts every time they do it.

(I think at some point he does deserve to snap at them though, as a treat).

(I’ve been trying to write a fic about this for ages but the words aren’t wording right, so I offer it up as a humble headcanon to be rotated in other peoples brains)

Goblin biology is different from humans or elves or even half-orcs. They're goblinoid not humanoid after all, their anatomy was different and their ancestors could be traced all the way back to the fae realms in eons past. Like with most creatures of the fae realms their relationship between their biological sex and gender is fairly loose, or more realistically practically non-existant. Hells, if you want to be a different biological sex the switch is incredibly quick and easy. Just go and talk to one of your hordes elders and with magic you'd be done within half and hour. Simple.

Riz grew up in Elmville though and Solesians tended to be weird about the whole thing. Sex and gender seemed to be intrinsically linked for some reason and, in order to naturalise better, goblins tended to stick with the gender that most-accurately reflected what was expected of their current biology.

Riz was six years old when he told his dad he didn't want to be a girl and that was that. A quick jaunt up to his families ancestral home, dinner and a minor name change and he was back in Elmville ready for school on Monday. It should have been as easy as that but even after explaining that he was a boy now the kids at his school just didn't seem to understand. They constantly kept calling him by his old name, some of the Helio kids even going so far as to corner him and preach at him about how what he'd done was evil. The bullying lasted for years and followed him all the way through middle school, only adding more ammunition to what he was already dealing with just by being a goblin in the first place.

He thought he'd managed to leave he worst of the bullying in the past when he finally made it to high-school. None of the kids who knew him in middle-school had come to Aguefort so no-one knew that he was a girl before. Just to make double sure though he made sure to dress the part. No one would call someone in a suit a girl, it was the most masculine outfit he could think of after all.

Honestly it was going better than expected. He did wince initially at the whole The Ball nickname but that was fine. His friends didn't know the multiple sylables were a thing in goblin, though his mom still drew her lips into a think line and glared whenever she heard Fabian call him that. They didn't even call him that in a teasing way anymore, it was more of a title so he felt like it didn't have the same kind of connotation.

At the moment though they were teasing him a little bit. It was all good-natured, someone having commented that the nickname Fabian still used for him was weird and they should really think of another one. They'd rotated through quite a few humerous titles but had somehow strayed dangerously into nicknames playing off his own name which he protested.

"Oh! What about Rizbert? Or Rizmothy." Fig waved her spoon towards the goblin, swallowing around mouth full of icecream even as Riz winced.

"Guys no. Just Riz is fine. Or The Ball. I dont mind The Ball. Plus you keep making my name longer aren't nicknames supposed to be short?" He clutched at the glass of his milkshake, claws tapping at the glass as he tried to get them to change the subject.

"Yeah but you cant go shorter than Riz so we need to think of something else." Kristen nudged her shoulder against their rogue, the height difference meaning she just bumpd him directly in the head which made him make a quiet 'ow' and rub his temple where she'd clocked him.

"What about Rizzy?"

"Guys seriously I don't-"

"Rizriz?"

"Please stop."

"Rizbian, no thats too close to Fabian."

"Kristen honestly I don't like-"

"Rizgug! No wait same issue as the Rizbian one. OH how about Rizik."

The goblins eyes narrowed down to thin slits as the last name was said, Riz baring his teeth and slamming his glass into the table with a loud bang that made his party members jump.

"It's just Riz." He spat, venom lacing the short sentence as he pulled his ears back and down. Kristen holding her hands up in front of her in a defensive posture even as the goblin grabbed his breifcase off the seat beside him and slid down under the table.

Riz duck between his party members legs, not able to hear them calling after him over the sudden roaring sound of his own blood in his ears, and stalking out of the diner without another word. Milkshake dripping onto the spot where he'd just been sitting because the glass had cracked when he slammed it down with too much force.

They'd tried to follow after him but it was basically impossible after he left their line of sight, the rogue was incredibly adept at not being seen when he didn't want to be and he really didn't want to be right now.

He managed to drive his party into a mild panic after only a few hours, the goblin marking himself as offline in their group chat and declining their calls after a few rings (including Fabians, which did not bode well considering how pissed off he'd been when he had stalked out). Adaine had even tried to skry on him, but his wisdom was high enough that he easily slapped down her attempt and sent her a single text message consisting of the word 'no' before turning his crystal off completely.

They'd ended up splitting up to search for him across the city, heading for any spots he might go and promising to fill eachother in if they spoted him. Fabian had been circling the town on the Hangman for a while by this point, squinting down alleyways as he passed just in case he could spot their sneaky party member down one of them.

He'd passed the Strongtower Appartments at least twice before he thought to check there as well. Sure, it was a far too obvious a spot but maybe The Ball HAD just gone home.

Fabian hopped off The Hangman outside the front of the apartments, patting its seat and telling it to continue circling and searching without him as he stepped inside. He knew where Riz's appartment was, hells he even had a key these days, so he head there directly and let himself in.

He probably should have knocked before just barging in though, given that there was a rather pissed off goblin woman currently sitting at the dining room table glaring daggers at him. "Ah. Apologies. I did not expect you to be home. Have you purchance seen The Ball recently?" He had paused, half-inside the apartment with his hand on the doornob and very nearly backed all the way out again when she somehow managed to look more annoyed when he spoke.

"I'm not going to confirm or deny if I've seen Riz recently." She put heavy emphasis on his name, ears flicking as she interwove her fingers on the table in front of her. "But, if you have come to apologise I may see fit to pass it along when I do see him."

"Pardon?" Fabians look of genuine confusion made Sklondas demeanour shift, ears flicking into a more curious position rather than the angry one they'd been settled in before.

"You're not here to apologise for deadnaming him?"

"Sorry I'm not following? We were having lunch and he got pissed off and stormed out. We were looking for him because well.... we were worried and he switched his crystal off." Fabian entered the apartment completely, letting the door swing shut behind him with a click as he stood awkwardly in the entrance area.

"You called him Rizik."

"Kristen called him Rizik." Fabian corrected her, noteing that the normally open door to Riz's bedroom was shut. "Fig mentioned that you didn't seem to like when we called him The Ball and was trying to find a new nickname. I recall that may have been among them."

Sklonda rubbed her hands over her face, heaving a sigh before tipping her head back to look towards the ceiling as if asking a higher power for help. "Don't use that name again. Didn't you know it would upset him?" "No?"

The goblin woman gave him a confused look, pushing back her chair and heading over to Riz's room to knock on the door. Cracking it open slightly and chattering at the person hidden inside in goblin before shutting it again.

"Goddamnit kid. How are they supposed to know if you don't tell them." She donked her forehead against the closed door before turning back to face the fighter.

"Look he's fine and home. Tell the others that but he doesn't want to see anyone at the moment. I think he's mostly feeling silly about getting so pissed at you all and storming off because you couldn't have known it would upset him." She pointed a finger at Fabian before waving for him to sit down at the table. The half-elf pulling out a chair and sitting down obediantly when directed to.

"The kids at his last school used to call him Rizik all the time and thats because it was his name. He shortened it when he told us he was a boy and I'm only telling you this because he said i could. Don't tell the others."

Fabians eye went a bit unfocused as he tried to process what he was being told, eyebrows shooting high on his forehead when he finally put it together. "TOLD you he was a boy.... So he wasn't before... Ah. Deadname. Understood. I'll.... inform the others that that particular nickname is completely off the table."

[trialbywombaat]

🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺

Okay so I might not be able to commit to 171 sentences 😂 But I will for sure give you a good chunk 💖💖💖

He hesitates, trying to figure out how much Howie knows. He never technically came out to Howie, or anyone else at the 118. He'd relied on the LA first responder grapevine, the same one that had let him know that Bobby and Athena had gotten hitched; that Chim was engaged and had a kid. He settles on a vague-ish response and presses send. Not exactly what I was asking... He waits, and wonders if it takes longer for text messages to travel overseas. He doesn't know much about the science behind it, and he's never had much reason to look into it before, but maybe Evan would know. It seems like something he'd be interested in. If it doesn't take longer for text messages to travel overseas, though, Howie is being frustratingly slow. Probably for a good reason, but it's annoying nonetheless. He swipes out of his messages app and opens Instagram. He barely uses it, and only even has an account because an ex had convinced him to download it, but now he finds himself typing 'Evan Buckley' into the search bar and tapping on Evan's profile. It's only been a few hours, but already he'd started to wonder if he was exaggerating Evan's attractiveness in his mind. But looking at Evan's profile, at the endless supply of thirst traps and selfies he's posted, it's quickly apparent that Tommy hasn't misremembered a damn thing. Evan is exactly his type. His finger hovers over the 'follow' button. It wouldn't be weird to follow Evan, would it? They've already exchanged numbers, after all. Before he can tap the button, though, his phone buzzes again. A response from Howie. Not a particularly helpful response, though. It just says, ohhhh. He watches the three little dots appear and bounce around while Howie is apparently typing more, and he tries not to think about how much he cares about the answer. Finally, another message appears. Sorry man, but he is famously into women. Okay. That's okay. He won't deny the disappointment he feels settling deep in his stomach. He really had thought Evan was flirting with him. And usually his gaydar is pretty accurate. But he's not infallible. Part of him wants to argue that Evan could be into women and men. Maybe Chim just doesn't know about it. But the word 'famously' gives him pause. There's more to the story that Tommy doesn't know, so if Howie thinks Evan is straight, who is Tommy to disagree. He allows himself to feel the disappointment for a moment, to ride it out. But he isn't going to dwell on it. It's not the first time Tommy's been attracted to a straight guy, and it probably won't be the last. He knows how this goes by now. Maybe they'll drum up a decent friendship, and Tommy will have someone to watch Fight Club with when they're back in LA. Or maybe they'll drift apart, and five years from now they won't even remember each other's names. And even if it seems to hurt a little more this time, if he can't seem to get Evan's face out of his mind, it's probably just because they've spent so long together already. Because he'd sat there for five hours refusing to move for fear of waking Evan, of losing the warm pressure of his head against Tommy's shoulder, and he'd imagined what it might be like to wake up like that every morning. So it might take him a little longer to move on than usual. But he'll figure it out. He allows himself one last look at Evan's instagram before he tries to get some sleep. A goodbye of sorts. At the top of Evan's profile he sees a notification that's just popped up. Buckaroo_Buckley_ wants to follow you. He has no choice but to follow back.

[thedamselzelda]

Don't Wake Me Up

Featuring: Chūya Nakahara

Author Chat: Part One! I feel so bad bc I have left DBH and LBH high and dry bc CHUYA FUCKING NAKAHARA has taken over my brain for the moment. Do not fret, I will return to darling Dazai, but I wanna get this short little three parter done so Chuya can leave me alone. (TBH I have a Chuya plush on the way, so he's never truly gonna leave me alone.)

Will update with main story page eventually, will also update the navigation of my page eventually... hopefully.

wc: 6.7k, sfw, slightly proofread, mild cursing, a little angsty ngl

hope you guys enjoy! Reblog and like if you enjoyed this! <3 DamzelZelda

Chūya Nakahara doesn’t dream. Or at least, he believed that he couldn’t… There was only one time he was truly able to do so, but even now that seemed like a distant memory.

"Ane-san's back! She's back!" 

"Yes, finally!"

Chūya navigated through the dark, winding tunnels of the underground base, guided by the excited voices echoing off the damp stone walls. He rolled his eyes, hearing the unbridled enthusiasm in their tones about your return. The irony wasn't lost on him; you'd be gone just as quickly as you'd arrived, like a fleeting shadow. Not quite a full member of the Sheep, but not an outsider either. Your ambiguous status never sat right with him, though he grudgingly acknowledged that the others trusted you. After all, you were a member before him.

As he approached, the voices hushed to whispers. Chūya's gaze fell upon you, watching as you offered a soft, enigmatic smile to the younger teens. They looked at you with admiration, as if you were some divine being gracing them with your presence. He let out an annoyed sigh, waiting for you to finally acknowledge him.

"Happy to see me, Nakahara?" Your voice carried a hint of amusement, and your attention fluttered up to him. His eyes darted between yours and the younger Sheep among you, feeling a heat arise to his face.

He let out a puff and shifted his weight, crossing his arms as he glared at you with feigned disinterest. "Did you at least come back with something useful?" He ignored your question hoping to provoke some flicker of emotion from you.

Your head cocked to the side, a knowing smile playing at the corners of your lips. "Of course I did. Never disappointed, have I?"

Chūya could only grit his teeth, his eyebrow twitching in annoyance as he turned away. "Let's just hurry up then, that way you can go on about filling their heads with more nonsense."

Your laugh pierced the air, neither harsh nor melodious. To Chūya, it felt mocking, further souring his mood about your return. The sound of your boots clicking on the stone floor followed him as your voice lulled the others away, promising to see them before they succumbed to sleep for the night.

"If you're that envious, I could offer you a taste of what they're so excited about," you teased, your voice grating on Chūya's nerves. He felt your hand on his shoulder, halting his escape through the dim corridor.

Chūya whirled around, feeling the embarrassment rise to his face. "I'm not jealous, alright?" He snapped, hating how defensive he sounded. Despite his irritation, he couldn't bring himself to shake off your touch. Your hand was impossibly soft against his shoulder, its warmth even seeping through his jacket. He tried to ignore the way it made his skin tingle.

He watched your eyes narrow, still maintaining that infuriatingly gentle, calm look you always wore. When you spoke, your words had a teasing lilt that made Chūya's stomach do an uncomfortable flip. "Come on, Chūya. You told me once you think you can't dream. Don't you want to find out if that's really true? I could at least try, you know?"

Chūya's gaze darted between your eyes, searching for any hint of mockery. He didn't hate you, not really, but he'd never admit how much your composed presence affected him. It was unsettling, how you could make him feel so off-balance.

With a dismissive click of his tongue, Chūya shrugged your hand away. "Whatever. We don't have time for this right now, ‘kay? There's actual important stuff to deal with," he muttered, fighting to keep his voice steady.

"Ah, yes..." you mused, your tone shifting. Chūya bristled at the hint of disapproval in your voice. "I heard whispers of your little display today. Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't actions of that magnitude typically require approval from all council members?"

His eyes narrowed as he watched you glide past him. "You weren't here," he countered. "We took a vote in your absence."

You waved a dismissive hand, your casualness infuriating him further. "I would have voted against it. You’ve put quite a big target on us for attacking a Mori Corp airplane."

Chūya scoffed, trailing behind. His eyes caught glimpses of your neck as your hood slowly slipped off your head, and he quickly averted his gaze, annoyed at himself for noticing. "I was sendin’ a message. We have to show we aren’t to be messed with."

"Now, now, Chūya," you purred, spinning around so suddenly that he nearly collided with you. Your faces were mere inches apart, and he could feel the warmth of your breath as you spoke. "Your time to act would’ve come, but now, we have to act. If you had known the rumors flooding the Port Mafia right now, you’d know the time to move would’ve been any time after yesterday.”

Chūya found himself frozen, caught between the urge to step back and the inexplicable desire to remain close to you. He couldn’t even bring himself to murmur out any questions. The mischievous glint in your eyes left him simultaneously frustrated and intrigued. He hated how easily you could get under his skin, how you always seemed to know more than you let on. Yet, a part of him couldn't help but be drawn to the mystery you presented, even as he tried to deny it.

"Oh yeah? And why's that?"

Chūya felt his cheeks burn as your eyes bore into him. Why did you have to look at him like that? It was unsettling, the way you seemed to focus solely on him, ignoring the other council members. Even Shirase's attempts to catch your attention with fond glances went unnoticed. It made something twist in his stomach, a feeling he couldn't quite place.

"They'll be distracted for a while," you began, your voice low and confident. Chūya watched, trying to keep his expression neutral as you shifted your weight, placing a hand on your hip. The casual gesture shouldn't have been so... distracting. He forced his gaze back to the map.

"Rumors are circulating about the current boss and his predecessor. Seems the depths of hell couldn't hold him after all." Your finger landed on the map, and Chūya found himself following its movement as it glided between two buildings. He tried to focus on your words, not the graceful motion of your hand. There was something strained about your tone, as if you were taking the rumor personally. "It's the perfect time to strike. Two caches of newly imported booze, guarded by about five men each. They'll be too preoccupied with the rumors to properly defend them."

Chūya groaned, letting his head fall to the side to hide the conflicting emotions on his face. "No way," he muttered, hating how his voice cracked slightly.

"What's wrong, your majesty?" Your mocking tone sent a shiver down his spine that he desperately tried to ignore. "We can handle this without you. Quick in and out."

"It's too dangerous, regardless," Chūya argued, moving around the table. He stopped just before you, close enough to feel the intensity of your presence. It made him feel off-balance for a moment, and he had to fight to keep his voice steady. "You'd send barely armed, non-ability users near Port Mafia territory? Are you tryin’ to get ‘em killed?"

Your eyebrow raised, and Chūya felt his heart skip a beat. He hated how you could affect him like this. "Who said I wasn't going with them?"

Chūya clenched his fists within his pockets, a storm of conflicting emotions churning inside him. On one hand, your recklessness infuriated him. Didn't you understand the risks? The Sheep weren't just pawns to be sacrificed. But on the other hand, a part of him wanted to agree; this would be the best time to strike.

He settled for glaring at you, hoping the anger in his eyes would mask the confusion underneath. "And what if somethin’ goes wrong?" he growled, his voice low to hide its slight tremor. "The Sheep aren't expendable. We can't just throw ‘em into danger on a whim."

Chūya knew he was fighting a losing battle - both against your persuasive arguments and the inexplicable pull he felt towards you. He forced his eyes back to the map, desperately focusing on the proposed mission, on anything but how your presence seemed to fill every corner of the room. The Sheep came first. They had to. No matter how much a part of him wanted to agree with your every word.

"We could leave it to a vote?" Your voice drew his attention back like a magnet. He noticed your hands clasped behind your back, a gesture he'd seen countless times before. It irked him how such a simple thing could look so authoritative coming from you.

Chūya sighed, rolling his eyes as he looked to Shirase, hoping to find an ally. "My vote's obviously a 'no'." He hated how his voice betrayed his frustration.

Shirase, predictable as ever, nodded in agreement with you. The others murmured amongst themselves, and Chūya felt his irritation growing. Always caught between the two of you, never able to make a decision on their own.

He scanned their faces, already sensing his defeat. "Fine," he spat, "but I'm not savin' your asses if you get caught." The words tasted bitter in his mouth.

He always lost when it came to you. You held more sway, more influence over their decisions than he ever could. Some 'King' they'd made him. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, shoulders hunching slightly.

"No."

Your voice cut through his thoughts. Chūya's head snapped up, confusion etched on his face as you turned to address the others. "I'll leave the room, allowing for an anonymous vote. I understand Chūya has some doubts."

You turned back to him, offering a small bow that left him feeling off-balance. "You should at least be able to state your case. I have other matters to attend to now that I've shared the information."

Chūya stared at you, caught off guard by this unexpected move. He couldn't quite read the expression in your eyes, and it left him feeling even more unsettled than before. As you moved to leave, he felt a confusing mix of relief and an unwelcome urge to ask you to stay. He pushed both feelings aside, focusing instead on the opportunity you'd just handed him. Maybe, he could turn this around without you there to sway everyone's opinion and save himself the headache.

In the shadows of a dilapidated warehouse, just above the war room, Chūya found you cradling two of the younger Sheep members. The kids were about thirteen, he guessed. Your hands hovered above the children's heads, emanating a soft blue glow that shifted to lavender as Chūya approached. The sight mesmerized him—your ability manifesting like the northern lights dancing across a night sky.

Chūya whispered your name, his voice barely audible over the creaks and groans of the decrepit shelter. As the glow faded from your hands, you turned to him, your eyes holding a warmth that seemed out of place in their world. With practiced gentleness, you tucked the kids into threadbare futons, pulling frayed sheets over thin shoulders.

He could never quite figure you out. These tender actions contrasted sharply with the impulsive, almost reckless decisions you made during missions. It was as if two people inhabited your body, and Chūya never knew which one he'd encounter.

"I thought your ability was about creating dreams," he said, meeting your gaze. Something in your eyes made him uneasy—an invitation to a hidden world you longed to share. The idea tempted him, but the dark circles under your eyes betrayed the toll it took.

"Dreams are just part of it," you explained softly. "I can manipulate the entire sleep cycle, pushing someone through different stages at will. Dreams are flashy, but the real power is in controlling sleep's restorative aspects."

Chūya nodded, processing this. Your ability, like you, remained a mystery. Standing in the gloom, surrounded by their sleeping makeshift family, he wondered what other secrets you held.

"So, you're giving them... what, super-sleep?" he assumed.

You chuckled. "Something like that. They'll wake feeling more rested than they have in years."

Comfortable silence fell, broken only by soft breathing and distant sounds of city life. Chūya found himself stealing glances, noticing how the dim light caught in your eyes and the slight furrow of concentration between your brows.

Suddenly, you huffed out a small laugh and snaked your arm around his. "Come on. I have one more piece of information to relay."

"Wha—what?" Chūya stammered, feeling a strange heaviness as you tugged his arm. He jerked back, confused. "Where are we going?"

Your face softened in understanding. Leaning in, you cupped your cheek and whispered, "We have to go where the walls can't listen."

Curiosity overrode his hesitation. What information could be so sensitive? He allowed you to link your arm with his again, walking compliantly as you led him through the drafty corridors of the abandoned building. This place, meager as it was, was home to him and the other Sheep. He wondered if you felt the same, given how often you vanished into the shadows, hunting for information.

As you neared the back door leading to roof access, a voice called out your name. Shirase. Chūya noticed the flash of irritation across your face and had to suppress a grin.

You forced Chūya to turn with you, and he suddenly realized how this might look to Shirase—the two of you walking arm-in-arm in the darkness, an oddly intimate picture.

"Shirase." Your voice was strained, patience clearly already wearing thin.

Chūya tensed, sensing the underlying current of tension. Whatever information you wanted to share, it was clear Shirase's interruption was unwelcome. The air grew thick with awkwardness as Shirase approached, giving Chūya an odd glance before focusing entirely on you.

"Hey, so..." Shirase began, his voice cracking slightly. He ran a hand through his messy hair, a nervous habit Chūya had noticed before. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind... you know..." He raised his hands, wiggling his fingers in a vague gesture that made Chūya cringe inwardly. "Doing your thing... your ability... on me?"

Chūya fought the urge to roll his eyes. Shirase's crush on you was painfully obvious, and his clumsy attempts at flirtation were almost unbearable to watch. The way Shirase stood there, with that goofy grin plastered across his face, made Chūya want to disappear into the shadows.

You answered in a tone that was polite but firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation. "I'm honestly really tired, Shirase. I've got to leave early tomorrow for the next assignment, since we aren’t going for the alcohol. You know how it is."

Chūya watched as Shirase's face fell, the rejection hitting him like a physical blow. It was almost pitiful, the way his shoulders slumped and his eyes dulled.

"Oh, yeah, sure. I totally understand, no big deal," Shirase mumbled, his gaze darting to Chūya. The look in his eyes was a mixture of embarrassment and something darker.

Chūya shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very aware of your arm still linked with his. He wanted to say something, to break the suffocating silence, but words failed him. The whole situation was mortifying, and he found himself wishing he could use his ability to manipulate gravity and just float away from this awkward position, but he remained still.

You cleared your throat, your voice taking on a gentler tone. "Look, Shirase, I appreciate the thought. But my ability isn't something to be used lightly. It takes a lot out of me, and right now, I need to conserve my energy. You understand, right?"

Shirase nodded glumly, his eyes fixed on the floor. "Yeah, of course. The mission comes first. Always does."

Chūya felt a twinge of sympathy for Shirase, despite his annoyance at the interruption. They were all so young, thrust into this dangerous world of abilities and shadowy organizations. Moments like these – awkward, painfully human moments – were rare and somehow made everything feel more surreal.

"Maybe another time," you added, though Chūya could tell from your tone that you didn't mean it. "We should all get some rest."

As Shirase mumbled a goodbye and shuffled away, Chūya felt the tension in your arm relax slightly. He glanced at you, noticing the way your eyes followed Shirase's retreating form with a mixture of pity and frustration.

"That was..." Chūya started, not sure how to finish the sentence.

You sighed, a wry smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "Yeah, it was. Come on, we still need to talk."

You guided him towards the door, grasping the ladder outside. As you hoisted yourself up, Chūya followed, trying his best to focus on the rungs rather than... other things. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut at the thought. Instead, he noticed the absence of your blue bracelet, finding it odd you didn't wear it even when wandering the halls of their base.

A sigh of relief escaped you as you reached the top. Chūya looked up to see you glancing down at him, a mischievous smile stitched across your face.

"Couldn't you have just used your ability and beat me up here?" you teased.

Chūya laughed, shaking his head. "Where would’ve been the fun in that? Also, I was followin’ your lead. Chivalry isn't dead, you know."

"Oh, how very gallant of you, King Chūya," you replied with an exaggerated curtsy.

He watched as you moved to the edge of the metal roof, sitting down with a dull thud. He followed suit, leaning back on his arms and gazing up at the star-studded sky. Despite the living conditions, at least it always came with a beautiful view...

"I'll probably be gone for a while..." you spoke into the midnight air, snapping his attention back to you.

"Oh? Planning a vacation?" Chūya quipped, raising an eyebrow.

You gave a small laugh. "Wouldn't you want to extend your outing after an awkward encounter like that? I hear Siberia's lovely this time of year."

He shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. "I haven't really been on the receiving end of unwanted attention like that.”

You expelled air dramatically. "Are you kidding me? Yuan practically has heart-eyes whenever you so much as breathe in her direction."

Chūya’s eyebrows shot up. "Nah, I don't really notice her like that. She probably just wants to see my ability in action or something."

"That's the thing though, isn't it?" Your voice softened as you curled your legs inward, resting your chin on your knees.

"It's like..." you continued, your voice soft and contemplative, "to them, we're these larger-than-life figures. Not quite gods, but definitely not just regular humans either. In their eyes, we can do no wrong. We're the kings and queens they make us out to be."

Your words hung in the air between you, heavy with implications. Chūya found himself staring out at the city lights, pondering this new perspective.

"But we're not," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm no king... even though everyone keeps callin’ me one… We're just... us. Right?"

You turned to him, a sad smile playing on your lips. "Yeah, we are. But sometimes I wonder if anyone else sees that anymore."

A comfortable silence fell between you as you flattened your legs on the metal roof. Chūya noticed you picking at your hands, the skin red and raw. Without thinking, he reached out and grasped your hand to stop you.

You looked up at him, hesitation in your eyes before speaking. "What I wanted to tell you, without anyone else hearing... it's about the old Port Mafia boss."

Chūya felt a jolt of excitement mixed with apprehension. "What about him?"

You grasped Chūya's hand tighter, the touch unfamiliar but oddly comforting. His eyes widened slightly at the gesture, but he didn't pull away. "The rumors..." you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "they're saying Arahabaki has something to do with his return."

Chūya's breath hitched, a mix of curiosity and unease washing over him. "What? What do you mean?" he pressed, leaning in closer, his red hair catching the moonlight.

You shook your head, frustration evident in your voice. "That's all I could get. I tried to find out more, I really did. I'm sorry." Your shoulders slumped slightly, disappointment clear in your posture.

"Hey, nothing to be sorry about," Chūya said, his tone softening as he tried to catch your eyes. A reassuring smile played on his lips. "I know getting that information must've been tough, considering."

You hummed in response, a wry smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Anything to do with the Port Mafia is nothing short of exhausting, especially after being their property…"

Chūya tensed up momentarily, thinking back to your explanation of your escape and arrival at the Sheep. He quickly shook off the dark thoughts, focusing on the present.

"Oh, and there's more." You squeezed his hand, drawing his attention back to your words. "Supposedly, there's going to be a Port Mafia member lurking around Suribachi, searching for information."

"Dammit," Chūya hissed, his free hand clenching into a fist. Then, a mischievous glint appeared in his eye. "Of course they're gonna snoop around our territory. But... it could be an opportunity."

Your grip on his jacket sleeve tightened, concern evident in your voice. "Just promise, nothing reckless like today."

A playful smirk crossed Chūya's lips, his earlier tension melting away. "Shouldn't I be telling you that? You're the one constantly putting yourself in the Port Mafia's crosshairs."

You returned his smile, a mischievous glint in your eye. "I have my ways. Men will do a lot for a good dream and rest."

Chūya huffed out a laugh, remembering Shirase's earlier request and your offer. His curiosity piqued, he asked, "Speaking of... if you were to give me a dream, what would it be?"

You glanced back at the cityscape, considering for a moment. "A good life... one where you didn't constantly worry about the Sheep or whoever you were over. Where being 'king' just means being strong and respected, not having all this weight on your shoulders." You turned to him, a soft determination in your eyes. "I'd make that true for you."

Chūya nodded, looking out at the city, the lights twinkling like earthbound stars. "Sounds like a good dream," he said softly, not quite grasping the full depth of your words, but appreciating the sentiment all the same.

He nudged your shoulder playfully, trying to lighten the mood. "But hey, who needs dreams when we've got all this?" He gestured dramatically at their surroundings - the rusty metal roof, the distant glow of the city, the vast starry sky above.

You snorted, rolling your eyes. "Oh yes, living the high life here on our luxury penthouse."

"Exactly!" Chūya grinned, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "Five-star accommodations, breathtaking views, excellent company... what more could a guy ask for?"

Your laughter, genuine and unguarded, filled the night air, and Chūya found himself grinning wider, enjoying the sound.

"You know," you said after a while, your voice taking on a more serious tone, "whatever happens with this Port Mafia business, whatever turns up with Arahabaki... we've got this, right? You and me, the Sheep... we'll figure it out."

Chūya felt a warmth spread through his chest as he gazed at you, his friend and confidant, silhouetted against the night sky. "Yeah," he said softly, his voice filled with determination and a hint of excitement for whatever challenges lay ahead. "We've got this."

He watched curiously as you gave a curt smile and began unzipping your outermost jacket. "Here," you said, shrugging it off.

"Hmm?" Chūya's eyebrows quirked up, wondering what you were up to. He observed as you bundled up the jacket and placed it behind him with a gentle pat.

The nudge on his shoulder caught him by surprise. "I'll give you a dream," you explained. "Just a real quick one, twenty minutes tops."

Chūya hesitated for a moment before giving in to your urging. As he laid his head onto your jacket, he couldn't help but notice the lingering warmth you had left behind. It was... nice. Comfortable. "Oh yeah?" he quipped, unable to resist teasing. "That dream you mentioned earlier seems like it'd take longer than twenty minutes."

Your laugh rang out once again in the night air. He watched as you raised your hand above his head, your fingers hovering just above his eyes. "No, I just had another idea. A dream where you'd actually win at an arcade game for once."

"Hey!" Chūya protested, his hand shooting up to grab your wrist. "That was one time." He felt a flicker of embarrassment at the memory, but it was overshadowed by amusement.

Your playful head tilt and the smile that followed made Chūya's cheeks warm unexpectedly. "Oh yeah? Then how come it kept happening?" you challenged.

He scoffed, releasing your wrist in feigned annoyance, but he couldn't quite keep the smile off his face. "Whatever, just try and give me this dream," he grumbled good-naturedly.

The sudden smack on his chest caught him off guard. "If you even act angry it'll affect the dream so stop it," you warned, your tone light but your eyes serious.

Chūya closed his eyes, exhaling sharply as he tried to empty his mind. It was harder than usual, especially with your presence so close, warm and comforting beside him. 

"Ability: Exhaustion," he heard you intone softly.

As sleep began to tug at the edges of his consciousness, Chūya found himself both skeptical and hopeful. All he ever saw when sleeping was emptiness, a void of darkness. But if you could actually manipulate a dream for him... well, he hoped he'd remember it. The thought of experiencing a real dream, even if it was just about winning an arcade game, filled him with a childlike excitement he hadn't felt in a long time.

Chūya stood before the full-length mirror in his apartment, his nimble fingers working on the knot of his silk tie. The warm glow of the setting sun filtered through the windows, casting long shadows across the room. He hadn't realized he had zoned out until a sharp vibration from his suit pocket jolted him back to reality.

A scowl crossed his face as he remembered Mori's insistence on his attendance at this event. A gathering of executives, sub-executives, and other Port Mafia affiliates was enough to make his blood simmer with irritation. Social niceties had never been his strong suit.

With a sigh, he slid his hand into his pocket, retrieving his phone. Kōyō's name flashed on the screen, and he could practically hear her stern voice already. No doubt she was calling to ensure he hadn't found some convenient excuse to bow out.

"What?" he answered, his tone clipped as he wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder, returning his attention to the stubborn tie.

Kōyō's voice came through, tinged with exasperation. "Are you even dressed yet? I feel like I've been waiting down here for over twenty minutes."

Twenty minutes, tops. The unbidden thought flashed through Chūya's mind, accompanied by a fragment of a long-ago memory. He shook his head, nearly dropping the phone in the process.

"I'm nearly done," he grumbled, finally conquering the tie. "Whatcha so in a rush for, huh? Not like this is a business meetin' or anythin'."

He heard Kōyō sigh on the other end, a sound he was all too familiar with. "Have I taught you nothing about punctuality, Chūya?"

Rolling his eyes, he set the phone down on the dresser, speaking louder as he shrugged into his jacket. "It doesn't even start till thirty minutes from now, we're fine!"

A groan emitted from the receiver, followed by Kōyō's voice, quieter now. "You really have learned nothing."

Chūya snatched up his favorite hat, settling it at a rakish angle on his head before picking up the phone again. "You gonna keep lecturin' me or should I just call it quits on this whole thing?"

He could practically see Kōyō's stern expression through the phone. Despite his irritation, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Some things never changed, and Kōyō's motherly concern was one of them.

"Just get down here," she said, a hint of fondness creeping into her tone. "And Chūya? Try not to scowl too much. It's unbecoming."

With a theatrical sigh, Chūya ended the call. He cast one last glance in the mirror, adjusting his hat slightly. The man staring back at him looked every inch the Port Mafia executive, but his eyes held a hint of something else. He shook that feeling off too. He didn’t need anyone questioning him tonight about his thoughts of days long gone.

Even as the sleek black car glided through the neon-lit streets of Yokohama, Chūya couldn't help but drift back to the memories that had surfaced earlier. The plush leather seat beside Kōyō felt a world away from the cold, hard rooftops of his youth.

He remembered that night, waking up with a smile that had become foreign to him since joining the Mafia. Your face had been hovering above him, alight with excitement to share the dream and hear his thoughts. In a rare moment of unbridled joy, he had hugged you tightly. You were warm despite the cool breeze, your heartbeat seemingly synchronized with his own.

Chūya squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the memories away. You had told him to forget, after all. But the images kept coming, vivid and relentless.

He saw you crouching before him, water splashing up and soaking your jacket. You were dressed in all black, an oversized hood casting shadows across your face, leaving only sadness visible in your eyes.

"Heard some rumors about you, Chūya," your voice echoed in his mind, "about the Sheep."

He remembered the pain, the stab wound in his stomach pulsating with each labored breath.

"The Sheep... they're gonna be split up. That way something like this doesn't happen again."

Even now, years later, he could feel the grimace on his face as he had looked up at you. "What about you?"

Your soft smile, the gentle touch as you brushed stray hairs from his face - it all felt so real. The handkerchief you had produced from your jacket, wiping away the sweat from his brow.

"I'm not a member of the Sheep, Chūya. Not really, remember?" Your words had stung more than the wound. "So... it's best you forget about me."

He had wanted to reach out, to grasp onto you, but his body wouldn't cooperate.

"But, that dream, what I made for you nights ago... I think you're gonna get that now. The Port Mafia will take care of you, Chūya."

Even now, he wanted to object, to call out the lies. It couldn't have been real, just a nightmare born from blood loss and pain.

"You'll be a king. Just... don't let people get into that head of yours."

The memory of your touch on his cheek, the soft press of your lips against his forehead - it all felt too vivid, too real to be just a recollection.

"Even throughout our endless bickering and fighting because our passions differed," your whispered words ghosted across his skin, "And of all the dreams I've had, you were always in my favorite ones."

Chūya's eyes snapped open, the present rushing back in a flood of sensory input. The purr of the car engine, the faint scent of Kōyō's perfume, the glittering lights of Yokohama streaming past the tinted windows. He took a deep, steadying breath, pushing the memories back into the recesses of his mind.

He was Chūya Nakahara, executive of the Port Mafia now. A ‘king’, just as you had predicted. But as he straightened his tie and adjusted his hat, he couldn't help but wonder if this was truly the dream you had envisioned for him all those years ago.

"What's got you all silent for once?" Kōyō's melodic voice cut through Chūya's reverie, accompanied by a gentle nudge from her ornate fan.

Chūya scoffed, crossing his arms defensively as he shifted in his seat. The leather creaked softly beneath him. "Can't I be silent in peace? Already don't wanna go to this event," he grumbled, his reflection in the window scowling back at him.

Kōyō's laughter filled the car, light and airy. With a practiced flick of her wrist, she opened her fan, the intricate design catching the passing streetlights. "Surely it won't be that bad," she mused, fanning herself gently. "Just come and make an appearance, and maybe Mori will allow you to leave early."

Chūya rolled his eyes, the action exaggerated by the tilt of his hat. "What's the point of this event if even Mori's going to mope the entire time?" he retorted, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice. "He's still not over that bastard up and leavin'."

A playful lilt colored Kōyō's response, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Sounds like you aren't either."

Chūya's eyes widened, his body recoiling as if he'd been struck. The mere suggestion sent a jolt of indignation through him. "Hey! I'm glad that suicidal bastard ain't here anymore!" he snapped, his voice rising sharply in the confined space of the car.

Kōyō's laughter only grew at his reaction, the sound both infuriating and oddly comforting. Chūya gritted his teeth, choosing to let it go rather than dig himself deeper. With a low growl, he turned back to the window, watching as familiar buildings rushed past in a blur of neon and shadow.

Not much longer now, he thought to himself. Then he could make his appearance, play his part, and leave all the sooner.

As the car jerked to a halt, Chūya’s hand was already on the door handle. He pushed himself out, the cool night air a welcome change from the stuffy interior. Turning back, he offered his hand to Kōyō, feeling the delicate pressure of her fingers as she gracefully exited the vehicle.

Closing the door behind her, Chūya took a moment to survey his surroundings. The buzz of anticipation in the air was almost palpable, mixing with the subtle scents of expensive colognes and the night-blooming flowers adorning the entrance. A steady stream of Port Mafia members and affiliates moved towards the building, their finery a stark contrast to the shadows at the edges of the property.

Chūya’s eyes were drawn upward, tracing the lines of the imposing structure before him. The 'Mori Corporation' sign gleamed overhead, its golden letters a beacon in the night. He couldn't help but smirk at the audacity of it all.

Following Kōyō's lead, Chūya stepped into the building. The familiar opulence of the interior hit him anew – soaring ceilings, glittering chandeliers, and the low hum of power that seemed to emanate from every surface. Even after five years, a part of him still marveled at the sheer grandeur the Port Mafia commanded.

His gaze swept the room, cataloging faces both familiar and unknown. Leaning closer to Kōyō, he muttered, "So, who's even here from the affiliates? We don't really deal with them, that's Mori's business."

"Well," Kōyō began as they approached the bar, "I believe the Nagano group Shirubā Sanzu's leader is here. I can never remember his name." She waved dismissively, clearly unbothered by the lapse in memory.

Chūya grabbed two champagne flutes, handing one to Kōyō as she continued. "The Tokyo sister group Onikai is here too. I remember when that girl used to be just an assassin and whisperer. She was so good, I surely thought she'd make executive, but no! She took the job of taking over that syndicate group. She hardly ever shows up to these though."

As Kōyō reminisced, Chūya’s attention drifted. His eyes scanned the room, finally landing on Mori. Good, now he could make his presence known and start planning his escape from this tedious affair.

As he began to move towards Mori, Kōyō following, something made him pause. There was a smaller figure beside the Port Mafia boss, and for a moment, Chūya felt as if the ground had shifted beneath his feet. It couldn't be... could it?

"Then the Mito group—" Kōyō continued, but Chūya cut her off abruptly.

"Wait," he said, his voice tight with sudden tension. "Go back. The other group – what's the leader's name?"

Kōyō's response sent a jolt through him. The name she spoke – it was so close to yours, yet more formal, a longer version of your name. As if she were talking about a person he once knew intimately, now turned stranger.

"I actually think that might be her over there," Kōyō added, but Chūya barely heard her.

His heart pounded against his ribs as he strained to get a better look at the woman speaking with Mori. A whirlwind of emotions surged through him – disbelief warring with hope, uncertainty tinged with a sharp edge of something he couldn't quite name. Could it really be you? After all this time?

Chūya's world narrowed to a single point of focus. He had to know. He had to see your face and confirm whether the past he'd thought long buried was about to come crashing back into his present. Without a word, he passed his champagne flute to Kōyō, barely registering her questioning look in his peripheral vision.

His feet began to move of their own accord, carrying him forward. He didn't care if he was about to make a fool of himself. He had to know he wasn't dreaming.

As he drew nearer, Mori's smooth voice drifted into earshot. "I just wish you would return, my dear. I could instate someone else for you to come back. It's just too nice to finally see you in person again. Ah, it makes me remember your youth."

Your voice – so familiar, yet changed – came clearly in response, laughing off the proposal. "And let my hard work go to waste? Come now, Mori, you know better than I that this has been the best venture for me, for us."

Chūya's gaze locked onto you. Your eyes squinted as you smiled, a practiced look you had no doubt given thousands of times. Mori merely chuckled at your rejection, one you had probably offered several times before.

He noticed your hands clasped behind your back, fingers mindlessly picking and rubbing your nails together – a habit he remembered all too well.

Chūya's lips parted, but no sound came out. He tried to steady his breathing, silently cursing his quickening pulse. He swallowed hard and tried again, hearing your name leave his lips in a shaky whisper.

Mori turned first, then you. Chūya couldn't read the expression on your face, only noticing your eyes dart between his as your lips parted in surprise.

If it weren't for Mori's knowing chuckle, Chūya might have remained frozen in disbelief.

"I'll let you handle this one, dear," Mori said, his tone laced with amusement. "Seems it's time for you to clean up your mess." He patted you on the shoulder before giving a small bow to Chūya and departing.

Chūya watched as your eyes drifted downward, your gaze seeming to bore holes into the polished marble floor. He caught the sharp exhale that escaped your pursed lips, the sound barely audible above the ambient chatter of the gathering. Your shoulders tensed, a minute movement that he might have missed if he hadn't been so intently focused on every detail of your presence.

You gave a harsh swallow, your throat bobbing visibly with the effort. Chūya's eyes traced the familiar line of your neck, memories flooding back unbidden. Slowly, achingly slowly, you raised your head to meet his gaze.

The look in your eyes struck him like a physical blow. It was a complex mixture of emotions – regret, apprehension, and something that looked unsettlingly like pity. Your brows were slightly furrowed, creating a small crease between them that Chūya had the absurd urge to smooth away with his thumb.

"Chūya," you began, your voice soft and hesitant, a stark contrast to the confident tones you'd used with Mori moments ago. "I can explain."

[simpjaes]

i feel like a stalker reader fic with a plot twist of sunghoon being a stalker even before reader was obsessed with him (kind of like a mastermind where he plotted how and when they would meet first) AND A FREAKY ONE AT THAT is only a fic that you could possibly write

and you're right about that bc i do believe i'd slay that shit if I ever got around to it.

a/n: this was meant to just be a thought but i got a lil lost in it lmfao.

Like, the idea of Sunghoon being obsessed with you since fuckin' senior year of high school because he transferred there. He was vulnerable when he transferred due to home life stuff forcing the move, and he had close to no one save for a dad who was never home. You were the first person to say hello to him and that singular greeting made him grow attached.

and he'd like, watch week after week. sometimes you'd greet him in passing but never really approach him or anything. he would be too far attached already to approach you himself too, because he feels socially awkward. he is socially awkward. No one back at home liked him much either so his confidence isn't quite high enough to peruse you.

anyway, shoot to college. maybe....he's been like...yknow....doing his research on you since he transferred back in highschool. maybe he's doing the same degree path as you.....maybe he did some snooping to land in the same university, taking the same classes....at the same times as you.........

he's grown very smart about this tho bc like, you'd never second guess why you're always seeing that handsome guy everywhere. maybe you guys are just more alike than you could have thought. and you wouldn't grow your own little crush turned obsession until he you noticed how he ignored you.

you never saw him glance or stare. he'd brush you off any time you try to greet him, he'd always speak in class with confidence, making you feel like he's...very very very intelligent. and it's like, woah, he acts so different compared to high school. you're into him kinda....there's nothing wrong with a lil crush right?

lil crush turns HUGE crush when he ends up at all the same parties you attend. always lurking in a corner by himself looking handsome and untouchable, sometimes with other girls approaching him. these are the moments you'd catch his drunken eyes on you from time to time. Or maybe he's just catching you staring. you're not sure of yourself anymore by this point.

still he wouldn't make any moves or efforts to talk to you. little crush turns to big crush. big crush turns to you wanting to learn more about him...and learning more about him turns to you consistently checking in on his social medias that he rarely updates....asking about him around campus when you manage to land in a room where he isn't, hoping he shows up to more parties..etc.

you wouldn't realize the stalker behavior you're exhibiting til it was too late. he'd be all too fond of it though, knowing he's managed to catch your attention by giving you none at all. what a needy little doll.

It's not until you dead ass find out where he works part time and you're filling out your own application before you realize that maybe you're going a bit too far. when he ends up being there during your interview though, you're a bit too blinded by wanting to know more about him to think too hard about it.

and so, the two of you are working together, going to classes together, attending parties together...except separate. and it's driving you up a fucking wall because surely it's because he has a girlfriend right? but you never see her. you can't find any trace of someone he's with on social media. never on campus, at work, no where. so, lets say you guys end up at a party again and you really do lose it.

lots of alcohol in your system, sunghoon looming in a corner, side eyeing pretty girls who stare at him. you'd be the one staring the most, walking up to him while forgetting how to breathe, only realizing you might actually be in love with him when you try to reach for his shoulder with a brain so empty you forgot what you wanted to say. "Hm?" he'd hum at you with a raised, unbothered brow. His skin prickling at the way your shaking hand grabs at him. He calms himself through it though, having jerked off enough to the mere thought of these hands on him nightly since he met you. He knows how to calm down now. "I'm like, in love with you, maybe." You'd slur out, stupidly with an embarrassed but hopeful expression. Sunghoon's unbothered demeanor wouldn't change, but the setting would. He'd take your hand and guide you without a word, outside, into his car, and he wouldn't say a anything to you through it until he'd driven and parked somewhere entirely secluded. [He's sober btw, you make him drunk enough.] "Do you even know how much I want you?" He'd mumble so quietly you wouldn't be able to hear him over the thumping of your heart, but you stare at him, watching his lips move as he tries to speak. You watch him the whole time, feeling safe in this secluded spot with a man you've grown obsessed with. Your body reacts and moves on instinct as he sits there. You can't fucking stand being so close yet so far from him. "I don't know what you're saying to me." You'd mumble and slur out to him, far too drunk than you originally thought now that there is no loud and booming music to drown your thoughts out. "You never do." He frowns, leaning towards you and practically pinning you to your seat by energy alone. His entire body feels like it's on fire, cock twitching, heart jumping. "You want me?" You nod, breathing softly and deeply as you look at him. Of course you want him. "How bad?" He follows up. "As badly as I've wanted you?" You nod again. "You sure?" Another nod.

His eyes go vacant now as he stares at you, adjusting his body on top of yours in the cramped space of his car. You feel his nose nuzzle against your neck as he inhales deeply. He groans slightly at the scent, never able to smell you so fully except for in passing. This alone could satisfy him for life if he wanted it to. "Show me then." He nearly demands, wanting you to be the one to prove all of his work to get to this point is truly coming to fruition. Wanting you to make all of the first moves. Wanting you to do it all for him.

And, well...you do.

[gilverrwrites]

Have we discussed Roman’s separated wife hooking up with Bruce Wayne? You and Bruce have always been cordial, so when Roman doxxes you, Bruce lets you stay at the Manor and cry on his shoulder until the wine bottle is empty. He’s so nice and his hand is so warm on your cheek and oh Lord, it’s bigger than your face and you can’t remember the last time you felt safe while a man was touching you. You try to make a move, but Bruce knows he’s overindulged you (partially to get info about Roman but he’ll feel guilty about it later), so he stops you��but promises he’ll be more than ready and willing when you’re in your right mind and decide you still want this. You wait anxiously the entirety of the next day, until Bruce shows up at your door in the sluttiest t-shirt and sweatpants you’ve ever seen, his ginormous hand finding its place on your face again while the other one is slipping under the hem of your shirt.

Slutty top? You've hit a nerve anon, cause now all I'm thinking about is Brucie in a slutty little crop top, like sir put that washboard away before I bite it! Honestly, feral for anyone of any shape and size in a crop top, just show me your belly, please. Yeah, that would work on me.

But to answer your question, no we have not discussed this but we certainly can!!!!

Like, I can say earnestly, when he invited you to stay with him, sleeping with you did not cross his mind; he was purely thinking about;

Helping you get out of a bad situation

Good for the Brucie Wayne image (so long as the press don't get wind of it until you've found somewhere permanent to move too)

(as mentioned) Chance to get info on Black Mask

But the moment you flash that perfectly poised smile, even though you’re clearly on the brink of tears, he's thinking ‘Uh oh. I'm in trouble.’

He never thought much of you while you were with Roman, if maybe a little bit sorry for you. The extent of your relationship was occasional networking with Bruce at events, and Batman peeking through your windows at night to check on you when Roman was at his worst or imprisoned.

It helps that he thought you were pretty.

But now, as he's getting to know you on a personal level, seeing that you're stronger than he'd thought, and smarter. You're letting down walls and actually relaxing, and in his domain at that! It stirs something within him.

And for you, like Roman and Bruce are the same age, from similar backgrounds, similar personas for the public (charming and rich) but it's crazy to see how different they really are.

When you talk, Bruce isn't just waiting for his turn to speak, he listens.

There's no coercion when you set a boundary, he just respects it. Which funnily enough makes you more willing to share. He's just so easy to trust.

When you ask about interesting pieces around his house, he doesn't brag about where it's from and what it costs. Instead, he tells you stories about his parents or his kids interacting with it.

He's funny, and respectful, not at all what you'd expected.

And did you mention handsome? Oh, he's very handsome. That dark hair and those blue eyes. The chiselled jaw and the dimples and he smells good too, you find that out after you bury your nose into his chest while he's carrying you to bed that first night. You're tipsy, and his house is a maze, he's just trying to help and not at all showing off his strength.

The same way he's just dressed so casually the following day when he comes to find you, this is what he always lounges around. He's totally not subtly flexing his glamour muscles as you open the door.

Now, Roman is by no means bad in bed. He's just, shall we say, selfish? He has a set way in life and sex that he expects you to live up to.

Bruce though? He's a giver. He can take, when appropriate, but right now, he knows what you need.

You need those big hands on your waist as he chases you into the bed with his mouth. You need them soothing your tired body, massaging all the stress out of your aching body. You need his thumb to rub circles into your inner thighs while he kisses, and sucks, and laps at your hot, wet sex. You need his long hard fingers pumping into that sweet little hole, again and again until you cum all over them.

And that is just the start.

But you know one other really important thing you need? Some goddamn aftercare.

He knows it straight away, shouldn’t have been surprised. But when your body immediately falls limp after he rolls off of you, when you look at him confused as he asks if you need anything he knows your life has been lacking kindness for so long that you barely even recognise when it's extended to you.

He's not good at the emotional stuff, at comforting words but he reasons that you probably don't need to hear it right now. Don't need to be reminded of your mistakes, of your past.

Instead, he pulls you into him, wrapping his warmth around you like a giant weighted blanket. Holding you until you accept his affection and melt into his arms.

Meanwhile, the False Facers can't breach Bruces security, can't get a good look into the Manor. Which means they don't know what you're doing there. But they know you're there, and that means Roman knows you're there.

And Romans not stupid, you sneaky, no good, selfish whore.

He gave you everything, and this is how you repay him? You nasty little bitch. And with Bruce Wayne of all people?

Don't get comfy, because the moment you step outside those gates, the second you let your walls down, he's going to rock your shit. You're going to pay for all the crap you've put him through, tenfold.

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Part 12: ~

Operation Spy Part 1:

Here we go. The moment we've all been waiting for. The rescue. How will it go? Knowing this lot...

Step 1. Grab the yellow paint and mark the infected containers.

Step 2. Load the infected inside.

Step 3. Get back to the mainland.

Step 4. ...

Well, we'll see what happens afterwards.

Brodie and Roper waited at the Under Rig. They watched the horizon. An outline of a cargo ship came into view. It was a strange feeling. They were all so relieved because this was it - they were going home - but how can you just walk away from this? Easy. You don't.

The pair had to count their lucky stars. They weren't dead like Gregor or turned into something no one thought possible like Rennick. They can still have a normal life. Until then, they just had to go through an investigation, followed by a debriefing and possible firing from Cadal to cover their own arse. It's not like anyone here would care. If Cadal was thinking about sending anyone here to another rig, then they had another thing coming.

'So, what's your plan, Roper?'

'I think I'm going to take myself and the misses on that long needed holiday to Spain. What about you?'

'Take myself and Raffs back to Skye and...'Brodie shrugged. 'I dunno. Rethink my life choices.'

Roper wasn't daft. He was basically the crew's therapist when he wasn't manning Marine Control, and he knew something was bothering Brodie. Which was an oddity in and of itself because nothing bothered him. He was a father figure to most of the younger lads here, especially Raffs. Brodie's known him since he was a child. Roper's eyes lingered towards Brodie's crossed arms. His hands gripped to the sleeves as if he were hanging onto them for dear life. His breathing was laboured, which he'd just pass off as the cold.

'Don't blame yourself,' Roper said. Brodie's shoulders and jaw tensed. 'Raffs is fine. You're fine.'

'I know.' Brodie spoke through gritted teeth. 'But, I shouldn't have let him go down there.'

'He wasn't infected.'

'The lad wasn't ready.'

'Yes, he was, Brods. If none of this happened, he'd be going head first back into that diving bell. Give him time. He'll tell you what he wants.'

Of course, Roper was right, and with a supportive pat on the shoulder, he made his way to the Deck for an update. Brodie continued to watch the cargo ship come into view and took a deep breath to help himself relax.

'He's right.' Raffs' voice broke Brodie out of his spell. The pair had failed to notice that the young man was just around the corner. He approached and leaned against the railing. He seemed happier today. More relaxed. His wide eyes were calm, and his hands weren't shaking. 'I mean - Yeah, I was terrified, but I knew I was safe. Plus, I did hit my head in there. Of course, I'm going to be shak-'

Brodie didn't let Raffs finish his sentence. He just grabbed the young man he saw as his son and held him close. Raffs knew what this was. He's felt this crushing hug before, where Brodie kept him close and refused to let go. The last time he felt it was when Raffs nearly fell down the stairs carrying one side of a dresser. You couldn't fight it either. Any second now...

'I'm sorry.'

There it is.

Raffs returned the hug, though he could never have the strength of Brodie. 'I'm fine,' he said with reassurance whilst he pulled away. 'Just needed to wrap my head around all this.' Brodie's heard that excuse before, but he'll take his word for it. As long as he was okay.

The same couldn't be said for Muir.

Anxiety suddenly gripped him, and the heartbeats he could hear weren't helping. If this was his power from The Shape, then it was frankly shit. The excitement from everyone made him uneasy. There was no warning. The anxiety just came knocking on the door before kicking it down. Muir's mind began to race with ridiculous possibilities. What if the ship sank? What if the police are waiting for Caz to just shoot him? What if The Shape isn't really dead and it'll follow them to the mainland? What if he's taken away and he never gets to see Innes again?

Muir held his breath with a thousand yard stare. No one seemed to notice. Not even Innes, who came into the container with a backpack he left for his partner. All of Muir's eyes turned to him, yet his head stayed seated in the same position.

'Alright. That's all of your stuff.' Like everyone else, Innes was happy. 'Yes. I brought the bloody harmonica before you ask. But don't go playing it until we get ye home.' Muir didn't answer and continued to stare. His mind wouldn't shut up. Everyone's heartbeats drowned out whatever Innes said. It was an echo for him. Everything began to blur. Not because The Shape had suddenly returned, but because he was crying. Muir could finally allow himself to breathe again. Innes looked, and his smile dropped. 'Muir?' He felt a tendril wrap around his hand, and he instinctively began to stroke it with his thumb.

'Please don't go.'

Innes frowned. 'I'm not going anywhere.'

'Stay in here with me.' A pause. 'What if this doesn't work? And what if I'm taken away, never to be seen again?'

'I think that's impossible.'

'Innes, please!' Muir snapped as he began to tighten his grip on Innes and shook his head, because he couldn't run a hand through his hair anymore. 'I don't want to be on my own.'

Innes moved towards him and wiped Muir's tears away. Muir hugged and pulled him closer for him to rest his head on his shoulders. Of course, Innes allowed it and, in return, gave Muir a kiss. 'Alright... Alright, Muir. I'll stay, but we have to be quiet.' Muir nodded before buring his head into Innes.

The pair were so worked up in themselves that they didn't notice Gibbo, Trots, and Roy watching. None of them were surprised. They all suspected something for a while. I'm glad to see they had their confirmation.

Roy often wondered what that felt like. To love someone so near and dear in that way. He's loved friends and family, but nothing you could conclude to be romantic. His only real love outside of that would be football and cooking. He caught on that the three were just staring at this point and gave Gibbo and Trots a small tap.

'Right, you two, get in.'

With their belongings tucked away in the corner, Gibbo, being bigger of the pair, went first and soon settled by using his bag as a pillow. Trots soon followed and didn't exactly know what to do with himself. He had this coat pocket, but it was just awkward for him. Like Rennick, he felt like a rescue horse being led to a stable.

'Hope you don't mind me sharing with you, Gibs.'

'As long as there's no Cadal this or Cadal that.'

'Oh no, this has made it worse,' Roy laughed. 'But hey, if he gets bored, Animal Farm is in his bag.' It wasn't. Trots knew it wasn't. The comment got Gibbo laughing. Trots just smirked before using the tendrils to make himself taller before giving Roy a quick shove on the shoulder with a chuff.

'Off with ya, ya prick.'

'Seya on the other side, lads.'

Of course, the men weren't in complete darkness. Along with the sun coming through at the bottom of the door, Caz and Finlay made some adjustments to the containers, other than paint. A few holes for the natural light. No one thought about possible rain, though.

'Are you really going to use your infection to get a Union?' Gibbo asked out of curiosity.

'Of course,' Trots said. 'How can they say 'no' to this?'

'Ah Christ.' Maybe Gibbo should have taken Rennick as his container-mate. He made his stance known by grabbing Trot's bag and holding it over his head like a pillow trying to block out the noise.

'Right, you two Roasters,' Finlay said in her usual tone that commanded your attention. She was never scared to use it towards Rennick and Addair before, and them being infected didn't change that. The pair awkwardly stood in their own shared container. 'I better not hear a peep out of either of you.'

'I want off this rig, Finlay,' Rennick said in that tone when you're about to get an earful. 'Why the fuck, do you think I'm gonna be loud?!'

'Because you always have to get the last word.'

'Then give me my own container.'

'No. We take you in pairs. Muir's too big for anyone else.' Except Trots, but wanted to be with Gibbo. 'Now keep ye' voices down, or I'll come in there and ring both of ya necks.'

Was Rennick scared of Finaly? No. Was Addair scared of Finlay? Also, no. But, the pair had to admire her attitude, even if they didn't like being spoken to like this. She always carried herself with authority and had bigger balls than most of the men here. Even if she couldn't swim.

'Hey Finlay?' Addair called as she began to close the door. Finlay stopped and listened. 'Why did the military say no to you?'

'Because they don't take women. Is that why they refused you, Addair?'

With that, the door shut, and Finlay could finally feel her blood pressure return to normal. Faint snickering from Rennick could be heard through the metal, followed by a small smack. She spotted Roper and gave a thumbs up, who gave one in return.

Within minutes, the cargo ship docked beside them, and a man stepped off and onto the walkway that connected to the rig. Thankfully, the sea was calm this afternoon. Roper went to greet him.

'Are you Rennick?' He asked.

'No,' Roper said. 'We did a headcount. We lost him.'

'Didn't take a lifeboat?'

'Considering none of them worked, the answer's no.'

The man noticed the exhausted look in Roper's eyes. He was putting it on just so they could leave faster. They then noticed the amount of holes and smashed windows were on Beria. And this was only one part. Their eyes went wide and confused as they scanned the rig before looking to Roper for answers, who exchanged a look that said, 'I know.'

Nothing else needed to be said. The man gave a nod of approval. 'Oh, and we still have some equipment that Cadal will want back.'

'Will they?'

'Do you want to pay for anything we lose?' Seems Caz's sarcasm had finally rubbed off on Roper.

'Fair enough.' He turned and called to his crew. 'Get the crane going!'

And breathe.

Soon, the crew of Beria were safely secured on the cargo. The infected were all sat next to each other, but the equipment sat on top. So much for the holes to give them sunlight. Maybe they could see in the dark?

Caz found himself watching the containers from the safety of Bridge. He couldn't feel their presence from this distance, and it left him on edge. He hoped they were okay. Yes, even Rennick and Addair. He turned and, along with the others, watched the Beria slowly disappear from view.

'Good riddance.'