#side note i did get in trouble for this and was forced to apologize

[winged-bat]

As a younger sibling Damian deserves to have some drawn murder fantasies about his siblings in his sketchbook and nothing should be thought about it

[luvyeni]

⠀ ( drabble ) finally forever ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 박성훈 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ sunghoon tying himself to you for once and for all  ヾ

yandere!sunghoon・ reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ yandere ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎mentions of murder, ‎ ‎unprotected sex, breeding kink, crying kink‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ wc ・ ‎0.8k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. yandere sunghoon smut PLEASE, your yan work has got me salivating. It can be any scenario you would like (punishment, stokeholm syndrome i hope u get what I mean) love your work !! take care. 🫶

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 hope this is what you wanted 🫶🏽🩷

you no longer walked on eggshells when sunghoon was around like you did when you first started whatever it is you had — you no longer fought with him about leaving ; in fact you hated when he'd leave or when he said he'd take you out. . . all you wanted was to have him to yourself.

sunghoon didn't see that at first; he thought you were just trying to fuck with him , waiting for him to let his guard down just to leave , so he tried everything to get to you — chaining you up to your bed , leaving you without food; that didn't work , he'd come home to you sitting on the bed , waiting for him.

he even tried bringing another girl home; no he had no intentions of sleeping with her , she was purely there just to see if you squirmed; and when you didn't , instead you cried , he killed her , there was no use for her and of course he couldn't let her go , you being tied to the bed kinda threw her off and he didn't want her to call the cops — even then you didn't do anything , not a flinch or anything.

he didn't even console you as you cried thinking he was tired of you — he still didn't fully believe it , he believed this was all an act , that was until you wrapped your arms around him , begging for him to never leave him , that you needed him; that you wouldn't be able to go on without him… that's when he knew he had you.

“you'd die without me?” he said , you sniffled, nodding your head. “stop all that whining , i killed her you saw it.” he said. “i was never gonna sleep with her.” your eyes were red, tears streaming down your face — it was fucking turning him on. “pl-please don't do that again.” you said. “you've acted like a bitch this entire time , why should i listen to you.”

“you know how much trouble you put me through? how many people died because of you?” he grabbed both your hands. “things won't change that easily because you suddenly love me , you still need to be punished.” he dragged you back to the room , throwing you the bed. “you want me to believe that you really won't leave?” he said , cuffing both hands , binding you back to the bed. “then shut the fuck up and let me do what i want to you.”

you laid there; no resistance as he pulled your pants down , leaving you in the underwear he bought. “you love me now?” pulling his pants down , freeing his cock from his underwear , it was your first time ever seeing his dick. “y-yeah.” you stuttered , pulling your panties to the side. “look at this wet cunt , no matter if this shit is just an act , this pussy is definitely singing a different tune.”

“i-i do love you.” you cried out. “i-i swear.” he let out a tsk sound. “then show me.” was the last thing he said before stuffing you completely full of his cock. “oh yeah fuck!” he groaned , wasting no time in thrusting into you. “so warm , fuck i waited so long for this.” he gripped your waist , holding your waist in his hands , as he began to pound into you. “hoonie fuck!”

he never heard that nickname came out your mouth , but it only encouraged him to fuck you deeper , and with much more force. “shit , should just use this little pussy until you can't take it anymore.” he hissed. “forget if you cum or not.” he slapped your cunt. “sunghoon.” you screamed pulling at the restraints. “use you as my cum dump.”

you began to tear up again , he was being really mean. “keep crying , show me how sorry you are.” you sobbed out and apology after apology , not even sure what you were apologizing for. “im sorry , im so sorry.” you said in between sobs. “please let me cum , i need to cum , please i love you so much.” he heard enough , plus he was on the brink of cumming himself. “cum , cum now.”

he gave your clit a few slaps as you came , creaming his cock , tightening around him. “fuck I'm gonna fill you up , keep you pregnant with my kids so you'll have no choice to stay.” he didn't really like the idea of child , but if was to get reassurance that you'd stayed with him then so be it. “fuck im gonna cum inside you.”

“please hoonie , please fill me with your cum.” you begged , he gave you a few more thrust, stilling his hips as his cock pumped a load of his cum into you. “fuck , you're mine.” he groaned. “this is my fucking pussy.” his hand coming up to your throat. “you're mine , and a few kids will solidify that.”

“gonna fuck a few brats inside you so you'll be stuck with me forever.”

©LUVYENI

[seresinhangmanjake]

Hi there! I'm crazy about your stories about Feyd!! Truly brillant!! I've sren your accettino requests...wanted to know if you could a Feyd x reader where they are married and she let him keep the harpies. One day, while Feyd is in a council, reader gets attacked or someone tries to have his way with her and she's saved by the harpies, who kills the man and than take her to their room to care for her, and when Feyd arrives he reward them or something....you choose the endind.

Thankss

Protecting His

Feyd-Rautha x reader

Warnings/Notes: I made it a little bit different, so I hope that's ok. Mention of attempted assault, but it is not detailed. Goes with my His series, but you don't have to read it before reading this. I know this could've been smutty, but idk, the inspiration just didn't take it that route.

Words: 1360

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

“I apologize, my Lady,” the harpy says as she dabs alcohol along the fresh slash on your forehead. “It’ll only be a minute more.”

Your chuckle is a weak breath of air. “You saved me. The last thing you need to do is apologize,” you tell her. 

She briefly pauses her work before continuing. “Our Lord na-Baron will not understand,” she says. 

She’s probably right. Red will be blinding his vision. It’s enough that a guest in your home—an invited guest, a welcomed guest—tried to take advantage of you in a moment when you showed him kindness, but a plethora of additional factors will only heighten your husband’s fury: the fact that you allowed yourself to be alone with another man, even though that was against your intention; the fact that that man touched you and tried to do more; the fact that you’re bleeding because of it; and the fact that Feyd wasn’t the one to protect you, and in his place, one of the harpies was forced to step in. As if they weren’t in enough trouble already. 

He’s been deciding what to do with them for days now, trying to figure out if they have enough use elsewhere to be worth keeping alive, but he’s been coming up short, and you know their fates at the hands of your husband are unlikely to be forgiving. 

They’d been so good for so long, so well-trained after they tried to take a bite out of you—literally—as you slept by Feyd’s side almost a year ago to the day. That act of disobedience cost them each a finger, but from learning their lesson, they eventually became trustworthy enough for Feyd to assign them as your handmaids. And they maintained the position until the unfortunate incident of one of them losing control. 

She tried to take a nibble out of your flesh, and worse, in a moment when you were holding your newborn son. When Feyd learned of this, he lost his mind. Though the harpy acted alone, Feyd banished the three to the other side of the fortress and took the hand of the harpy who tried to have you for her next meal—this harpy. 

You stare at the stump, a bandage replacing where pale, delicate fingers used to be. She’s lost enough. It’s not right that she suffer a lash to the neck simply for being within range of you. It’s not right that Feyd’s rage will have him do the same to the other two. 

“I’ll make him understand,” you promise her as she covers the cut with a strip of tape, and as if on cue, your husband practically blows the door down with the force of a hurricane. 

His eyes land on you and soften with worry at your injured state. They reharden as they find the harpy at your side. “What did she do!” he snaps. 

You quickly rise to your feet, ignoring the dizziness that slightly blurs your vision, and place yourself between him and the harpy. “She saved me.”

He rushes toward her, but with your hands pressing into his chest, you keep him at bay. “She tried to harm you not a week ago!”

“And now she saved me.”

Feyd sucks in a breath through his nose, his shoulders rising and falling, his chest puffing and deflating. His eyes fall to your face. His brow knits as his hands cup your cheeks. He presses a long kiss to your lips, then says, “Are you ok?”

“Yes,” you say. “He would’ve done more if she hadn’t been there.”

“I gave explicit orders—”

“I know,” you intercept. “But would you rather a dead wife?”

It’s a blow. Not a wise one, considering he almost lost you during the birth of your son, but it’s reality. You could’ve died tonight. The man that wanted to hurt you wouldn’t have kept you alive to name him after the fact, whether you’re the na-Baron’s wife or not. He’s much too high-ranking, and without your voice there to reveal his lies, he could’ve pinned the crime on anyone.

Feyd’s hands drop from your face, and during your husband's brief placation, you glance over your shoulder at the harpy. “It’s best you go back to your cell now. A guard will escort you.”

She bows her head. “Yes, my Lady,” she says before she treads lightly around you and your husband to the door. 

Only once she’s gone and Feyd has settled into his seat at the foot of the bed do you say, “Don’t kill her.”

His head snaps up. “You will not tell me what to do.”

“I’m asking.”

“Why?”

You snort. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Feyd crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you teasing me at a time like this? Your life–” His eyelids pinch and he shakes his head. “You could’ve–”

With a sigh, you move to sit beside him on the mattress. “I’m fine,” you tell him. “But you cannot punish her for saving your wife. It’s not right.”

He pauses in his contemplation before he says, “What was she even doing on this side of the fortress?”

“She said she wanted to apologize to me and that you wouldn’t permit it, so she snuck over,” you answer. “You could’ve at least let her do that much.”

“I couldn’t risk it,” he lightly snaps. “I couldn’t risk you and the baby.”

When your hand lands on his forearm, he takes your fingers between his. “And they don’t have to be around us ever again if that’s what you want, but please reconsider hurting them further. They were always kind to me and–”

“Except when they tried to steal you from me to eat,” he reminds you.

“Yes, well, they were more kind than uncontrollably hungry.”

Feyd stares at you long and hard. His thumb rubs back and forth over yours. “You’re serious.”

You give a single decisive nod. “I am.”

—

When Feyd unlocks the cell door and steps inside, two of the harpies skitter across the floor to Feyd’s feet. They paw at the ankles of his pants. One’s head nuzzles the toe of his boot. He pays them little attention, his eyes on the hunt for the one tucked in the corner against the stone wall. She shies away from the blazing ray of his glare. 

“My Lord, we are very sorry for what our sister did,” the first harpy says—the eldest, the tallest of the three. It is most fascinating to see her so low. She tightens her fingers into the pants fabric, but Feyd kicks her off, and her entire body jolts back like a creature freshly injured.

“So very sorry,” the second, who has backed away alongside her sister, mimics.

“Please spare–”

���Hush, I’m not in the mood,” Feyd scolds. 

“Y-You will kill us?”

Feyd finally tears his stare from the huddled harpy to the ones by his feet. “You can pray to the kindness of my wife that I will not be,” he says. “You,” he juts his head back to the other. “You get a reward that I expect you to share with your sisters.”

Her head lifts from where it was resting atop her knees. Her dark eyes widen a touch. 

“A reward?” one of the others says.

“For us?”

Feyd gives a curt nod to the guard behind him, and a moment later, the man who attempted to take you against your will is tossed into the room. Already battered and bruised, he remains face down on the cobblestone flooring. A groan escapes through his lips, but that and the slightly pinkish hue of his skin from whatever blood remains in his veins is all there is as proof of life. 

“A meal,” Feyd says. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

The three glance at the body and then back up at Feyd. He doesn’t say another word as he turns on his heel and signals his guard to relock the cage. He doesn’t look back as the screams begin to echo through the dank halls. He has better things to do, like tending to his wife. It’s been a long day, after all, and she could use the comfort.

[vxnuslogy]

— the angel who lived. ft sunday

— warnings: f!reader (referred to as mother) but still uses "you/they" pronouns, angst, mentions and themes of death, brief mentions of blood, very lengthy/word vomit (~8k words), not proofread that much so apologies for any grammatical errors

— author's note: this is more of a character study on sunday and how i think he'll come to learn that escapism isn't really the way go about things but overall, i'm really happy with how this turned out. i hope you guys enjoy :p

death doesn't have a requirement. regardless of age, gender, or race, it will eventually reach everyone at the right moment.

sunday has always remembered the words - or rather the rumors the dreamchasers spoke of - that when death comes knocking at their door, they'll be clad in purple and a trusty crow perched on their shoulder for a companion. sunday wasn't the type of man to believe such rumors, but now, after waking up from what seemed to be an endless dream, he was forced to believe their words.

“can the angel walk?” you spoke. emphasizing the way you called him angel made sunday furrowed his brows in contempt. you were mocking him. with a huff of his breath, he slowly rose from his  position and walked with you.

“where are we?” he asks. you looked at him from the corner of your eyes before replying. “death's waiting room.” sunday felt his blood run cold. “you'll be staying here with me and the rest until your time is up.” he wanted to question you more. press you for answers on when and where death will take him.

but he never had the chance to. not when children of all ages came rushing towards you, all with bright smiles on their faces. he stood in shock, mind boggled at the thought. they were hugging death. did they not feel any ounce of fear?

one of the many children that surrounds you took notice of his presence. she had long brown hair kept in two low pigtails and bright green eyes that remind him of the garden he and robin used to play in when they were just their age. she waved him over and you urged him to walk up the steps of the giant house that stood in front of him.

“you'll be staying here with us until your time runs out. do be an angel and help me around with the chores, alright?”

and so for an indefinite amount of time — and against his will — helped you around the “orphanage”. 

the younger children were all unruly and liked to cause trouble. every morning he'd wake up to a young child jumping on his bed and would be subsequently dragged into his bathroom to get ready. they'd tug at his hand with an iron grip - it really wasn't, sunday could easily pry his hand away but choose not to hurt the child’s feelings - leading him to the main kitchen where you and one of the oldest girls, elenaor he learned, cooked everyone breakfast.

“woke up on the wrong side of the bed, i presume?” your voice laced with amusement made sunday sigh. putting on the apron elanaor had given him, he reluctantly stood by your side and waited for you to hand him a few ingredients to chop. “it was more of woken up by a gremlin and getting dragged all the way here.” your and elanaor’s snickers of amusement never failed to make heat rise up to his cheeks. he had to fight the urge to hide behind his wings, if he did, you'll tease him relentlessly. this wasn't how he would normally act under any circumstances. he had a reputation to keep, but here, in what you call “death's waiting room”, no one knew him. so he was free to act how he wished.

“you've been here for a while,” turning off the tap, you pat your hands dry and walk towards a pot on the opposite side of where he was. “you'll get used to it.”

“i don't think seeing “death” act like a mother towards soon to be dead children is something i’ll ever get used to.”

the halovian bit his tongue the moment his words stumbled out of his mouth. he could still hear you moving around the kitchen but you had made no effort to respond. sunday was ready to issue an apology but you had beat him to it.

“it's something i’ve never really gotten used to.” the sound of chopping ceased from his station. the sound of water boiling echoed between the two of you - he hadn't realized that elanaor had left to escape the tense atmosphere - he turned to stare at your back, watching you dutifully stir the pot. something that reminded him of his mother. he wonders then, did you also take his mother here to this very orphanage. did she also chop ingredients as you stirred soup?

“i find that quite hard to believe…” his voice is uncharacteristically quiet and unsure. so unlike the voice of the head of the oak family.

you turn to him with a raised brow. “and why is that?” he walks to your station, chopped vegetables in his hand as he dumped them into the pots before putting the lid back on. “you look at home here. is this your home, death?”

you close your eyes and smile. “for a while, yes, yes it is.” 

sunday didn't question you further. the two of you quietly set the plates on the multiple tables in the dining room. he would often take glances at you, soaking in the black off shoulder top you wore under that frilly apron; the long muted purple skirt that swayed with your movement like it was your dance partner for years; and the most eye catching of them all, the black gloves you never took off. all of the sudden, sunday remembered this one particular rumor about you.

“they say before death became death, they carried life in their steps; but their fingertips eventually caused everything they touched to wither away.”

sunday wonders if that particular rumor is actually true.

elanaor came back with wary eyes flickering between him and you. with a small smile from you, the girl started taking the utensils from the cabinet and started laying them on either side of the plates. sunday will never get used to this almost domestic scene unfolding in front of him.

“breakfast is ready!” you cup your hand beside your lips as your voice echoed throughout the house. it wasn't long before little feet dragged against the wooden floor and started to pile in the dining room. “be sure to wash your hands first.” your gentle reminder was met with a chorus of ‘we remember!’. 

sunday stood idly in one of the corners, hands crossed over his chest as he started to remind himself of the next chores he'd be doing. sighing to himself, he pushed through his messy hair as his wings fluttered. without another word, he left the dining room and made his way to the backyard where there were piles of wet clothes waiting to be hung dry.

“oh! good morning, mr. sunday!” said a young boy with blonde hair and matching blue eye - the other covered with a black eye patch. “good morning, louis.” he replied with a smile before starting to take a few pieces of clothing and helping the boy with his chores.

“breakfast is ready,” sunday reminded. “i’ll take it from here.” louis shook his head and continued his actions. the older man didn't bother to urge him to get breakfast further. if there was one thing he learned by being here, it's that the children had adopted your stubborn and independent nature.

after hanging all the clothes, sunday bid louis to get breakfast - scolding him for trying to skip eating - and quietly made his way back to his room and plopping rather ungraciously on his bed with a sigh. his arm came to cover his eyes as he pondered, “when will death come to me?”

“not now, that's for sure.” 

sunday quickly sat up from his position to see you come inside his room, a tray with plated food in your hands.

“it's rather rude to enter someone's room without knocking first.” he barked. you only rolled your eyes at him and placed the tray on the small table in the middle of his room. “i did, but the angel seemed too lost in his thoughts to notice.” 

“be sure to finish everything. once your finished, bring them downstairs so i can clean them.”

and without another word, you exited his room. sunday sighed for the nth time today and made his way to the table, pulling a nearby chair and said his prayers before digging in.

he didn't want to admit it, but you were a good cook. every dish that you served him tasted like home; as if you had dug around his mind to take all of his nostalgic feelings and poured them all in the soup he was eating now. for “death's waiting room” it was ironically peaceful. sure the children would get into scuffles here and there, but without a fail, you'd come just in the nick of time and quell the burning banters.

but today you seemed distracted. sunday was an observant person by nature; he reads through people's emotion by the frequency they create and interpret them through the halo behind his head. recently, your usual soft yet peculiar frequency was replaced by something erratic; something that couldn't sit still. in the back of his mind, sunday wonders if it's related to the crow that's been following you like a shadow recently.

taking the tray in his hands, he made his way back downstairs to help you wash the dishes. on the way the children greeted him with bright smiles as they haul one another to play in your reading room, eager to pick out the bedtime story he or you would read later tonight despite it not being even noon. sunday didn't fight the small smile that crept up his face as some of the older kids tried to take the tray away from his hands, urging him to rest while they wash his plates.

“it's nothing to worry about.” he would reassure them with a pat on the head. “a few plates won't be the death of me.” 

by the time he was back in the kitchen, his chest began to feel heavy as you and elanaor talked. both your backs facing him but judging from the heavy and somber frequency you created, he could only assume you're talking about something sorrowful.

“angel?” you're voice snapped him out of his stupor. “apologies, i zoned out.” he avoided your eyes as he set the down his dirty plates to the side and pulled his sleeves up to his elbows.

“you alright?” you question him, a brow quirked up in wonder. he looked to elanaor who was already looking at him with worry, “i should be the one asking that, but i’m alright.” you only hummed as you wiped your hands on the spare cloth and took off your apron.

“i have something i need to do.” 

elanaor's frequency spiked making sunday’s heart skip a few beats. 

“ely, angel, can you keep an eye on the children? i’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

“mother, wait!”

sunday felt his eyes widen as elanaor called you “mother”, dropping the plates she held on the sink and instead came to grip at your arm. her head hanging low as her hands curled into fists.

“does he need to go…?” she asks, voice below a whisper.

golden eyes met yours. sunday was trying to decipher how, or rather, why, your frequency suddenly flatlined, like how a heart would when someone passed. you were the first to break eye contact. leaning down to whisper something in elanaor's ear that broke the girl’s heart.

“angel.” your voice felt off too. it made his ears ring uncomfortably. it sounded like an untuned violin trying to play a complicated piece to impress the audience. “keep the children entertained while i’m absent.”

sunday didn't like you; he hated you. but right now, as you left the poor girl trying to harshly rub away the obvious tears spilling from her eyes, not bothering to turn back as you walked away, he decided he hated you even more.

—

“i understand. we’ll proceed like usual.”

your office was off limits to certain people for various reasons, but sunday and elanaor were exceptions. without turning to look back, you heard elanaor's voice from the other side of the door as you put the telephone down.

“come in.” you called out. the creak of the door always unnerved girl, you said you'd get it fixed but after the angel’s arrival you hadn't found any time to do so. “do you need something?”

“the children are asking for you.” this time it was the angel who spoke. his voice like a river flowing endlessly in a creak, you were distinctly aware that his kind had a natural affinity to having captivating voices. 

“i’ll be down in a—”

you were cut off as a crow started cawing and scratching at your window. from its reflection you see elanaor look down and sunday staring at you with a narrowed gaze. with a sigh, you circled around your desk and opened the window. the crow situated itself on your shoulder, a piece of paper tied around one of its foot.

“the two of you go ahead of me.” you spoke, taking the piece of paper from the bird. “i still need to finish this.”

from the corner of your eyes, you see elanaor leave but sunday didn't budge from his spot.

“something the matter, angel?”

“enough with the mind games, death.” 

he barged in your office, closing the door on his way and standing face to face with you. an angry fog clouding his eyes that reminded you of molten gold and sweet dreams.

“what's going on?”

“nothing is going on.”

“you're a terrible liar.” he snapped. you quirked a brow at him with a tilt of your head that made him even more furious. 

“so the angel can feel angry. that's good to know.” you turn your back on him and open up the piece of paper in your hand despite already having guessed it's content.

gaining back his composure, you heard him take a deep breath before trying to calmly question you further.

“what did you whisper to elanaor this morning?”

“i believe that's none of your business.”

“you—!”

sunday was ready to snap again but reigned himself in just in time for you to walk past him.

“if you're so curious,” you opened your office door and paused to turn back on him. “why don't you join us later tonight?”

“join you for what?” he didn't like where this one was going. the air felt heavy, it's as if the entire world were resting on his shoulders. it didn't helpt that you gave him a bitter closed eyed smiled as you left the room.

“one of our boys will be leaving soon.”

—

“and so, they all lived happily ever after…”

by the time you and sunday reached the reading room, children of all ages were all huddled into a cozy circle with elenaor in the middle. in her lap was an old storybook you had found in one of your travels.

you placed blankets on each and every children sleeping on their makeshift fortress of scattered pillows and stuffed animals.  brushing some of their hairs away from their eyes, letting your gloved hand linger on their faces for a while longer. all the while, sunday kept his gaze on you as elenaor stood by his side, storybook in her hands with an iron grip.

after tucking in everyone, you joined the two of them. you were the last one to exit the room. turning off the lights and letting your gaze loiter around the many sleeping faces in the now dark room.

“let's go.” you uttered with a sigh. taking the storybook from elanaor's hand and tucking it under your arms. “where are we going?” sunday asked who was a few paces behind you.

“we'll be bidding farewell to one of the older boys here.”

he didn't question you further like you had imagined, but you were grateful nonetheless. on the way you stopped by your office to take a candlestick and lit it up to serve as your guide through the dark house.

after climbing up a few steps, you stopped in front of an old rusting door. turning back to elanaor and sunday, you asked, “are you sure you want to be here?”

sunday was the first to answer. 

“you were the one to invite me.” he crossed his arms over his chest. he kept his eyes closed to hide the anxiety he felt, but the wings behind his ears betrayed him as they came to try and hide away half of his face.

you turn to elanaor who only nodded solemnly.

“death doesn't have a requirement..” you mutter as you open the door and enter the room. the two followed you inside and heard elenaor choking back on her tears. “it will eventually come to everyone, regardless of their age, gender, race.”

“death will find us all.”

in the cold and lonely room stood a bed, a boy with deadly pale skin laid there as he looked at you with a knowing look on his face.

“it's good to see you again, mother.”

sunday was at a loss for words as you sat down on the edge of the bed as you took off the gloves you wore and placed them on the bedside table along with the candlestick. the crow that was perched on your shoulder came to rest on the boy's bedframe instead.

“it's good to see you again too, corvy.” the sickly boy reached out his hand to pet the crow’s head but heaved a cough in the middle of the action.

the sound of his coughing urged elenaor to leave his side and run towards that other side of the bed opposite to yours. she gripped the sheets in a tight fist, sunday feared her palms would begin to bleed if she gripped any tighter.

“everyone's time eventually runs out…” you mutter as a strange red chord appeared in your hands the moment you touched the boy's forehead. “it's only a matter of when and how you're time runs out.”

“did you enjoy your stay here, michael?”

the boy named michael smiled with content. his boney hand holding yours that rested on his cheek.

“i did, mother.” you smiled at his response. the same smile you would greet the children with once they have woken up; the same smile the children would close their eyes to whenever you finished reading them a bedtime story. 

“that's good. i’m reassured that i did my job just fine.”

“you've always done a good job, mother.”

sunday couldn't believe his eyes. he didn't want to believe his eyes as your tears slowly cascaded down your face as you leaned down to press a kiss to the boy's forehead. elanaor jumping over to your side and hugging you tightly as her tears soaked your shirt.

your other hand came to hold the red string that was tied around the boy's sickly figure on the bed. you motioned your hand in a weird way and suddenly a pair of black scissors appeared. sunday felt his blood run cold as sweat dribbled down to his chin. 

“may destruction have mercy on you.” you whisper to him, forehead resting against his. “leading your journey in the afterlife, forever peaceful.”

“may this be the end of your painful dreams.”

and in the blink of an eye, the cord was cut and the boy closed his eyes.

sunday read the way his lips moved and felt his heart break in sympathy.

“may you have peaceful dreams, too, mother.”

—

you carried destruction — death — in your fingertips. ever since that night, sunday had kept his distance from you. he always kept his distance with you, but now, you would never catch him standing near your vicinity. 

the children found it strange. the two of you, without a fail, would always banter back and forth until the halovian had to leave to do other chores. some would turn to elenaor and ask what had happened between the two of you, but girl would only smiled with her eyes closed, pat them on the head and say “it's alright, they'll come around.”

but sunday thought otherwise.

how could death, shed any tears? it didn't make any sense. you were an emanator of destruction - he deduced from your words that night - death itself, so how come you brought life to the very house he and the soon be deceased children here?

they all considered you a mother. a mother. a parental figure they could go to to share their sorrows and woes. 

you couldn't possibly be the death he's come to know and fear, but at the same time you were. 

he wanted to hate you. hating you would be easier. it is easier. but his mind kept reminding him of the multiple times you would treat these children with the utmost gentleness. because you knew that one wrong touch could end their dreams.

“mr. sunday,” he looked up from his downcast position to look at elenaor. she'd been crying, sunday concluded. her eyes were red around the corners and she would sniffle from time to time. “will you be joining us for lunch?”

“ah…” he awkwardly turned his head away to hide the scratch that one of younger girls had accidentally given him. if she were to notice, elenaor would come bursting into your office to inform of his injury. “i’m feeling rather full as of now. I'm afraid i’ll have to decline.”

“i… see…” she only gave him a closed eyed smile. “well, goodbye then, mr. sunday.”

he waved goodbye to the girl who ran back inside the orphanage and sighed. hand coming to graze the cut on his left cheek and wincing as he did so.

“it'll get infected if you don't get that treated soon.”

sunday visibly froze, much to his dismay, as your figure emurged from his side. speak of the devil and they'll arrive, he thought.

“it's a scratch.” he weakly argued to which you only just hummed.

he kept his eyes on his hand playing with the grass as a shadow was cast over him. sunday flinched back when a gloved hand came to reach for his face, making him back up more to the tree he had been leaning on all morning. his actions startled you making you recoil your hand, all the while your hair obscured your eyes. but sunday swore he saw a flash of hurt in them. he felt guilty.

against his better judgement, his free hand came to hold yours in his. 

“sunday?!” you said in shock trying to pull your hand away.

your hand was warm. he wondered if they ever got sweaty and uncomfortable when the heat reached its peak, wearing black under the scorching sun didn't seem too appealing.

“you said my name.” sunday replied, making you furrow your brows. of all the things he took note of, it was the way you said his name. slowly, he let go of your hand and let it fall back to your side. you held such a strange expression on your face, but who was he to talk. he did something strange too.

with a sigh, you pinch the bridge of your nose. “come on, let's get that scratch of yours a bandaid.” 

sunday walked quietly with you as you navigated to the house’s makeshift infirmary. on the way there, children looked at the two of you with wide eyes and quickly rushed to each other's side to have hushed conversations.

“sit down.” you command and he followed.

the following minutes were spent in silence. you scavenging for a bandaid and some disinfectant, while he sat on the bed watching you move from one place to another.

“look to the right for me, angel.” your voice instructed him. this time, it wasn't your usual soft tone, nor was it the mellow and somber one on that night. it was more monotone this time around but still held some semblance of what he assumed was “fondness”.

your fingers carefully dabbed the cotton on his scratch before placing a bandaid over it. sunday noticed you didn't let your touch linger on his face like how you would when you patched up some of the kids when they got their own injuries.

“do you sing?” sunday asked on a whim, making you pause as you put away your tools. “what brought this on?” you question with a tilt of your head.

“louis and i heard someone humming the other day.” his finger grazed the fresh bandaid on his face. gold eyes never leaving your figure as you turned to look at him. “he told me you often hummed some of the children to sleep.”

“there's your answer then.”

sunday wanted to throw a pillow to your face. with an aggravated sigh, he stood up and followed you out the door.

“would it kill you to try and answer directly?”

“maybe.”

before you could step out of the infirmary, a pecking noise came from one of the windows, stopping sunday and you in your tracks.

you left his side and opened the window and let the crow inside the room. like the first time, it sat on your shoulder as you unraveled the piece of paper it handed you.

“will another child be leaving?” he mumbled. you walk towards him again and the both of you walk out of the infirmary. “everyone in this orphanage will leave.” your eyes met his and sunday pondered on what was going on in your mind.

“including you?”

“yes.” your answer was unexpected. “including me.”

“how so?”

“i’m no exception, angel.” there you were again, calling him by that blasted pet name. he couldn't fight the urge to roll his eyes as he followed you to the library. “i may bring death, but death will eventually come for me one day.”

“will someone replace you once you're gone?” 

you only nod your head in agreement. hands grazing the many spines of the books that make up your library.

“ely would probably replace me.”

sunday pressed his lips to a firm line. in his mind, it made sense. elanoar was undeniably the closest child to you. she even accompanied you and him when michael departed, and he could only imagine how many children she's seen leave this orphanage in that room.

“they aren't really children, you know.”

the gray haired man furrowed his brows in confusion. “what do you mean?”

“you know what dreamscapes are, right?” he nods and follows you to sit down on one of many seats in the library beside the window. “people sleep and enter this fantastical world created by your predecessors. this place is similar. the reason why i call it “death's waiting room”, is because it's actually a waiting room.”

“do you mean…” sunday paused, trying to connect all the pieces you've given him. “these… children… they probably aren't children. they're people who've fallen asleep and are waiting for death.”

“exactly.” you flip through the pages of the book you had taken from one of the shelves. every page was filled with different words in elegant cursive handwriting. “right now, you're in a dream. waiting for your time to run out. waiting for death to come to you.”

“then, if that's the case, when will you cut the cord of my life?”

“even i don't know the answer to that.”

“is my name not written on the paper your companion gave you?”

you shook your head. “then how do you know when someone's time is up?” you take a few minutes to organize your thoughts, trying to think of a way to explain it, but in the end you couldn't.

“i don't know.”

“you don't know?!” sunday snapped. hands crashing on the wooden table as he stood up. his eyes were furious at you, making you sigh. “i’m not a god, angel.” you snap the book shut in hand. the sound echoing in the empty library as sunday sat back down. 

“i may bring death to everyone i touch, but i am no more than a pawn in the grander schemes of things.”

“even i don't know why death comes to take the lives of us humans.”

sunday was speechless as he looked at you. you looked tired — absolutely exhausted — just like how his sister would describe him whenever he refused to leave his office back in penacony.

“i… apologize..” he bowed his head in shame. “i don't normally lose my composure like this.”

“it's fine.” he heard you sigh. “everyone grows on edge when death is waiting outside their door.”

“do you have to cut the cord?” 

what a silly question, you must've thought. but sunday wanted to know even if what he was asking was inevitable.

you only smiled bitterly in response.

“even i fear the consequences of death, angel. i have to.”

sunday felt sick in the stomach when dinner approached. his ears ringed with your response, that you too, will eventually meet your end. it made him sick, and he didn't want to admit it. 

he didn't come down to the dining room as usual. he expected elenaor to knock on his door, carrying a tray of food, something she's been doing after michael’s departure. but this time, when he opened the door, he had to stop you from stumbling inside his room as elenaor kept pushing you inside even with her hands occupied.

“elenaor..?!” you both whisper yell to the girl.

“you two need to talk!” she said with a huff. you winced when she dropped the tray of food on his table. “everyone's been worried about you two, y'know.” you both look away, sunday scratching his cheek while you were blatantly ignoring the girl as she put her hands on her hips.

“mother,” she called out to you but you pretended to not hear. “mother!” she said a little louder, now standing in front of you as she tugged and whined for you to acknowledge her. “you're so mean, mother!”

sunday’s wings hid the growing smile and laughter that was bubbling in his chest at the comical sight. 

your cold facade was cracking with the way your lips were curving upwards; eyes pooling with mirth as the girl continued to scold you for some odd reason.

“and you!” elenaor pointed at sunday with her finger. he saw you snicker under your breath, fist in front of your lips, a futile attempt to hide your amusement. “you're supposed to be the more mature one between the two of you!”

“i am?” he points to himself with a tilt of his head. “yes!” she replied with a huff. elanaor made her way to the door, but not without giving the two of you another half attempt to glare. “by tomorrow, the two of you should be back to normal!” and for good measure, she slammed the door shut on the both of you.

the room was quiet, that is until, your giggles filled the room. your poor attempt in stopping your laughter made sunday's eyes go wide in shock, though he didn't know why. you always laughed in the house. be it from the teasing you always do to him and the other kids or by something else, you were always a giggly person.

but this was different. sunday just knew this was different. the way your eyes crinkled and shaped itself into little crescent moons and how tears of pure joy would escape every now and then. and your smile, aeons your smile. that smile didn't belong to death, it belonged to you.

sunday's laugh rang like church bells, you had to double check if what you were hearing was real. the two of you shared a moment of silence before erupting into fits of giggles again. the sound reminded you both of children running around the orphanage, playing kings and queens, monsters and knights, and the laughter that came after all the playing.

“what a strange girl she is.” sunday said after coughing into his fist. he had to reign himself in when you laughed in reply. “she is. but she's my strange girl.” 

your eyes lingered on the door the younger girl had slammed. they held such fondness, sunday wouldn't have guessed the “death” he's always been afraid of would be so loving.

“well, now that's done.” you wipe away any stray tears left and motion sunday to his food. “eat. louis told me you hadn't eaten lunch. you must be starving.”

sunday sat down on the chair while you sat on the edge of his bed. smoothing out any creases on his blanket as he ate his food. every once in a while, he'd look at you between bites and still see that smile present on your face. 

“you should smile more.” he said before wiping his lips on the towel elanaor had kindly prepared his food with.

“i could say the same to you, angel.” you look back at him. the same soft smile still on your lips as the streams of moonlight in this beautiful dream started to fill in the gaps of the window in the room, bathing you in a glow that made you look divine. “you look more handsome when you smile.”

he coughed into his fist as you laughed. wings coming to try and cover his face and hide his flustered state. 

“i never… took you one for compliments.”

you tilt your head curiously, “do i not look like the type to give compliments.” sunday shook his head. hair and wings following his movement that made you swoon inside, it was nothing short of adorable. seeing the always composed mr. sunday stuff his face with the food you cooked for him.  

this wasn't good. but you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

“you're wrong then.” you say as you let yourself fall onto his bed.

“are you fond of children?”

“well, i wouldn't have gone through all this trouble by creating this dream if i wasn't.”

“just answer me directly, death.”

you laugh again in response. how strange it was, that the name “death” the halovian would always use to describe you no longer sounded hostile.

“yes.” you said softly. “i’m very fond of them.”

“why?” he questions. you hear the sound of plates and utensils move around and it wasn't long before another weight made the bed dip from the other side. “everyone dreams of having their own family, angel. i’m no exception.”

you closed your eyes for a moment before they open again in bewilderment as you looked to your side.

your right hand, still with it's glove on, was being held by sunday's own hands. his thumbs and index finger would tug at your fingers before his palm settled in your own. 

you could hear the way your heart was beating in your ears. “do you not fear death, angel?” you ask as you let the man play with your hand like a child.

“i do.” he answered. you felt the bed dip and shift as he turned to lay on his side. “but recently, i've come to know them very well.”

you close your eyes again. letting the feeling of sunday tracing shapes in your palms lull you into a momentary sleep.

“what is death like, if you've gotten to know them very well.”

“death is a scary thing.” he paused, making sure you were listening. “i tiptoed around it back at home, like how two siblings would've tried to hide from their father when they played hide and seek.” 

“i didn't believe death existed until it took something - someone - very important away from me. it was the first time in a while did i felt the fear and fury of it all being poured into my body.”

“do you hate death, angel?” you ask, still not opening your eyes.

“i do.” he answered with no hesitation, making you scoff. “death is impatient, not waiting for me to finish my explanation before jumping to conclusions.”

alright, you admit, he got you there.

“i hate death. i don't ever want to experience it anytime soon. it takes and it takes, and i don't want it to take anything important away from me ever again.” you felt sunday weave your fingers together as he spoke. “but i learned that death, also gives.”

“death is a lot kinder than i imagined. they didn't snarl or bite - but they did tease and scoff - at me. they're fond of children, much to my surprise. treating them with the utmost care and gentleness, even i believe i don't possess.”

“death, though not intentionally, showed me that even beautiful dreams can cause suffering. something i've refused to believe — to acknowledge — for the longest time.”

“are you scared?” you ask. opening your eyes to turn to lay on your side as well. not letting sunday's hand slip away from yours.

“no, not anymore.” somehow, you could almost see the smile his handsome face wore. “because death is gentle when someone's time is up.”

“what if they aren't gentle with you?”

“well,” he only chuckles. “death is gentle with me right now, are they not?”

ah, he got you again.

—

sunday, from a very young age, was taught that dreams were one of the many ways that the gods used to convey their intentions to mankind.

all his life, sunday had seen the ugliest side of humanity and yet he wished nothing but the best for them. he dreamed of creating a paradise where humanity no longer had to fight for survival; the strong wouldn't grow stronger nor will the weak grow weaker. everyone would be equal. 

sunday's existence was to be everyone's savior; their saving grace in this perpetually cruel world. he would willingly spend the rest of eternity in solitude if it meant that others could live in a paradise, free from all misery and suffering.

he's never seen anything wrong with wanting to escape; taking the easy way out. who would want to be in pain after all.

you would.

why does life slumber? he always asks — he wanted to ask you but never got that chance to. 

“we slumber because we don't want to wake up. we do not wish to see a painful and unfair tomorrow. we want to hold on to this beautiful dream where everything is alright. because we fear the future, we don't wish to wake up. the future is not kind, not to everyone. we will lose everything.”

“but we still have to.”

jolting awake, sunday pressed his hand over his chest where his heart was beating erratically, its sound ringing uncomfortably in his ears. no longer was he in the orphanage he'd grown accustomed to. now, he was all alone, in a damp, cold, and dark room.

“can the angel walk?”

twisting his head to the side, there you sat. the same black off shoulder top, muted purple skirt, and your companion perched on your shoulder as you close the book in your grasp.

you smiled at him. “so the angel can wake up, good to know.” your words ring in his ears. it feels nostalgic, a sudden sense of deja vu, but it left him with a feeling of doom as you walked to stretch a hand to him.

sunday took it with a moment of hesitation. he let himself be pulled up with your help and let you lead him somewhere else.

“where are we?” he asks.

“in reality.”

his eyes narrowed in a confused glare. 

“what happened to the orphanage?” he didn't like the quietness of everything. he couldn't read your emotions, frequency practically nonexistent. “gone. everyone left.”

the ground shook along with his heart. he couldn't properly process the way you took hold of his hand and began to run straight into the darkness.

he was scared. he was so uncontrollably scared with what you've done because why…. why was he still alive?

“pick up the pace angel.” you turn your head to him. a teasing smile on your lips trying to hide the panic and terror in your eyes. “don't tell me the angel forgot how to run?”

“what's going on…”

“nothing's going on.” there you were again, avoiding the question; leaving him guessing in the dark.

against his instincts — the nagging voice in his mind to follow you and run — he pried his hand away from yours and skid to a stop. 

“angel?!” you shout in confusion. your panic doubled as the ground shook more and more.

“you can't just keep me in the dark, death.” his hands balled up into fists at his sides. the look of foreboding did not suit you, he much preferred your easy going natured smile. “i’m not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on.”

what a stubborn child, your mind replayed. eyes fogging up with an unreadable emotion.

“alright,” you say calmly. “how about a game then?”

sunday looked confused but stayed patient with you. something you're not used to.

“let's play a round of tag. you're it. if you tag me, i’ll tell you everything.”

“this isn't a game, death.”

sunday had come to the forlorn conclusion that he didn't even know your name.

“all is fair in love and war.” your voice matched your somber eyes. 

what did you mean in love and war? what love? what war?

“come on now, angel, can't you just play one game with me?”

his adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed his fears down along with his hesitation.

“okay.” he said. “let's play, but just one game.”

you smiled in thanks. “on my count, we run.”

.

“three.”

.

“two.”

.

“one.”

.

“RUN!”

and so the both of you did. you ran with such vigor, sunday felt that he'd lose here. lose the chance of finally knowing the truth.

“don't give up on me now, angel. we're almost there!”

your laughter echoed in the dim lit corridors of this nightmare that seemed to never end. but the way a crown of light bathed you, sunday felt his feet push further and further until they burned from the pain.

you kept smiling back at him. the childish smile he'd always see on the faces of the many children back in the when they also played tag. you would always be “it” and tagged one child to another, leaving you the victor by the end of it all.

but this time, sunday would rise victorious.

“brother!”

sunday skid to a stop as a body slammed on his own, nearly making him stumble down. a warm embrace enveloped him, the same embrace that woke him from his dreams of order back in penacony.

“it's mr. sunday!”

“are you alright?”

everything was too fast. one moment he was playing tag with death and now he's reunited with his sister and the astral express crew.

“robin…” he quietly murmured. arms snaking to hug his sister tightly as tears pricked the corner of his eyes. “i’m here, brother.”

sunday let a smile break out of his face as he let robin check up on him. laughing at the way she weakly punched him on the chest.

“it's a good thing you're unharmed, mr. sunday.” welt said, fixing his glasses. “it took us quite a while to find you, but i’m glad our efforts weren't in vain.”

sunday furrowed his brows. “what do you mean?”

“after your disappearance in penacony, me and the astral express crew had joined forces to track you down.” robin explained.

“i… see…” sunday pondered if the reason they weren't able to find him was because he was inside your dream.

wait.

“death?!” he shouted into the space but no one answered. he was sure that everyone was looking at him weirdly as he lightly pushed robin to the side to try and look for you.

“death?!” the pink haired girl exclaimed. “what's going on mr. sunday?!”

before sunday could respond, another tremor broke out.

“brother!”

something flashed in sunday’s mind for a quick moment. his mind replayed the first time he arrived at “death's waiting room”, how he was forced to do chores and help around, tell the children bedtime stories and tuck them in for bed. how the first night he witnessed death made his stomach swirl with uncontrollably fear and how “death” itself cried for the departed.

he remembered how elanaor barged into his temporary room and pushed you in. how he ate his dinner in silence as you smooth out the creases on his bed. how, against his own judgement, came to lay on the bed and hold your hand that he couldn't believe brought upon ruin to someone's dream.

“it's time to wake up, sunday.”

sunday felt a body hug him tightly before he was pushed out of the way. in a quick flash, a red cord wrapped around him and death before it snapped.

the loud clamor of a giant gate dropping made his ears ring. sunday felt his breath quicken as he ran to the metal gate and slammed his fist against it in a poor attempt to get it to open.

“death!” another slam of his fist. “death you said you'd explain!” and another. “don't leave me in the dark!”

sunday felt his breath becoming shorter and shorter.

and how his heart dropped when crimson started to slip through the cracks of the metal gate.

“you didn't tag me, so i still win.”

“no…” another slam of his fist, louder than ever. “no! death hang on, we can save you!”

“you can't.”

“you don't know that!”

the trailblazer came to pry him away from the gate but he persisted.

“i know death better than anyone else, angel.”

“you…!” sunday felt his legs give out on him. he could only gaze at the way your blood pooled at the floor. “what did you do…”

you chuckled. “i never thought i’d die for someone else, you know.” sunday's caught wind of the cawing noises on the other side of the gate.

“no…”

“who would've guessed i would die for your sins.”

“the papers…” and you only hummed to confirm his suspicion.

there was one thing that sunday noticed whenever s child needed to depart: your companion will always bring you a piece of paper with their name written on it.

“my name…” he weakly muttered. “i was supposed to die…”

“you were.”

were. you didn't kill him.

the papers that started to pile in your office and the way your companion never once left your side; they way that never - not even once - have you taken off your gloves off whenever you fondly brushed his bangs away from his eyes or the way you let him hold your hands.

you didn't kill him.

the room shook again, this time stronger than the previous ones.

“we need to leave, now!” the navigator shouted.

sunday felt his body being supported as the trailblazer slung one his arms over his shoulder.

“fly. fly far, far, away from here sunday; you're free now.”

how ironic it was, that you, “death” itself, would die for a man who tried to go against the principles of the aeon he claimed to follow.

you brought the head of the oak family to your waiting room, waiting for the moment when his name would be delivered to you so could cut the cord of his life. but you never did.

“you're no longer guilty, your sins have been cleansed.”

you didn't want to let him go, as he did with you when he held your hand that night.

“i’m sorry i couldn't be gentle like you hoped for. but this was the only way.”

“i hope you finally understand that human suffering is inevitable. that even when we're in pain we still find a way to value our lives.”

“we are not gods, angel, we don't get a say in what happens to humankind. but i hope you'll come around to accept that it's what makes us all human. remember us — me — with fondness in mind.”

sunday will never come to know death, because death died for him and his sins.

“i hope you enjoyed your time with death, sunday.”

© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.

[twst-drabbles]

Silver 8

Summary: Silver wouldn't stop touching you. When you're injured and recovering from another overblot, Silver breaks into your room.

(Alrighty, almost finished emptying out the inbox. Silver Silver Silver, what a treat of a person he is. I can only hope I did him justice in this yandere little thing.)

Silver started touching you.

You didn't mind, at least initially. He'd tap you on the shoulder or speak into your ear while lightly holding your shoulder because conversations between you two are often only for you two. But they were always brief. Short, short touches could easily be forgotten in the blink of an eye.

There was a weight to Silver's hands. He's not expressionless by any means, but he often takes his troubles and stuffs them as far from his mind as he can. He would smile in reassurance, and his hands would be death-gripping the sword at his side. When he would wake from another narcoleptic episode, he would smile as though basking in the beauty of the morning light, before gently tugging at your shirt as though you'll vanish into the wind.

His hands speak his worries, and he's been touching you more and more.

When you had gotten up from the bench to grab a snack from a nearby cart, Silver had the corner of your shirt pinched between his fingers. You didn't say anything beyond just tapping his hand to get him to let go. He did, and he apologized, so you figured that was that.

When you were sitting at a library table, reading away at your notes because you had a test next class, Silver sat besides you without word, hand landing right next to yours. You didn't mind, because this was something you both always did. It's nice to have company, and Silver was someone you liked being around. His arm twitched and suddenly the back of his hand was touching yours. You moved away, again, without a word.

He'd apologize with a tightness to his lips. You figured that would be the end of that.

But it just kept happening.

Light taps against your fingers when walking too close, grasps on your arm when you already have your attention on Silver, brushes against your shoulder when there's nothing there.

Many would say, "Silver is flirting, don't you get it?"

But every time he would do that, for just the briefest of moment, Silver would look like a scared animal, waiting for the inevitable to tear through everything he holds dear.

You figured if you ignored it long enough, if you swatted at him enough times, he'd get the message that he's pushing it.

But then you got injured, and all that weirdness festering in your brain went out the window. Plum forgot it, because overblot was a way more worrying event than whatever was going on with Silver. You didn't have anything broken, but you did have stitches and too many pulled muscles. So much so that the ghosts had to assist you in getting up the stairs.

People came over, giving you gifts and other things to help with the recovering process. Some even decided to stay in your dorm for a time. Ace and Deuce were the first to camp out here, but were also the first to leave, mostly because they sucked at healthcare and Riddle forced them out. Jack stayed a little longer, but you shooed him out when it was clear that your dorm was located in a spot that forced him to get up way earlier than he should be for the sake of his routine. Vil wouldn't allow Epel to stay here longer than a week, and Ortho had many other responsibilities that also didn't allow for him to stay.

And Sebek couldn't bear to stay away from Malleus's side, and so he sent Silver in his stead.

Silver stayed. He helped you around, gave you food when you needed it and when you didn't, reminded you of your medication and even collected your notes for you.

Really, it felt as though nothing had changed.

And then you woke up to fingers stroking your cheek, trailing right over the back of your neck.

You seized the empty glass cup on your nightstand and threw it behind you. It missed the frozen Silver and shattered against the wall.

There's that look again, that look of guilt and fear. He knows. Silver knows what he's doing.

"Get out," you growled out, because you're tired of his shit. Chance after chance and he just kept pushing.

"Wait," Silver's knees thudded against the floor, "wait please."

His voice was nothing more than a pleading whisper. You couldn't hear it, not after realizing that your locked door was missing the knob.

"You're fucking with me," because what else are you supposed to say to that?

You pushed yourself to the edge of the bed, almost about to fall off when Silver's hands and landed on the sheets, about to touch your thigh.

"Please, I promise I didn't mean any harm," Silver breathed out, eyes and voice full of tears, "I needed to see you, to see if you were okay."

You grabbed your lamp, yanked it out of it's socket, and bashed it against Silver's skull.

He fell, but was still conscious, murmuring a stream of apologizes as you slowly walked over to him. There wasn't any blood, and something about that only made you angrier.

You crouched with the help of your bed and yanked Silver up by the hair. He wince and grasped at your wrist, but didn't pull or fight. When his gaze connected with yours, tears finally fell over his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I needed to feel if you were still real. That I wasn't living in a dream."

Excuses, excuses, excuses.

You're tired of them.

"If you're so sorry, then let me break something."

"Please, so long as I can still see you," Silver said past sobs, hands tenderly stroking your arm.

"Put your hands on the floor."

You'll be breaking those first.

[flawdchaos]

Spilled Drinks

Robert Rosenthal x Reader

Word Count - 1,735

authors note : hello friends, i have never written anything like this before and posted it. i had some free time today and an idea and dreamt this up. it is far from perfect but i hope you enjoy it, nonetheless. thank you!

The muffled yelling of multiple voices was enough to drag Y/N out of the daze she had fallen into. Her workday had started early and ended late leaving her feet and head throbbing - a shower and her bed, more of a cot really, were calling her name. Her venture to the communal showers she shared with her fellow nursing staff was quickly interrupted as Violet and Helen crossed her path.

With a tilt of her head Violet spoke up. “And where do you think you are rushing off to?”

“To shower and get some sleep.” As soon as the final word fell from Y/N’s lips her two friends were quickly shaking their heads in protest.

“You promised! You always say a person is just as good as their word. It will just be for a drink or two and then you can come and get as much sleep as your heart desires. I swear to you.” Violet said, wagging her finger in front of Y/N, like a mother would do a troubled child.

After a brief glare between the two women, Y/N sighed, hung her in defeat, and turned back in the direction of her bunk.

“I don’t even know what to wear to an army base bar. Those men already don’t take us seriously and you think this is gonna make it any better?”

“The more you fight it, the worse it’s gonna be Y/N. Just for once stop living and breathing being a nurse and just be a girl surrounded by a bunch of good looking men.” Hazel spoke up for the first time that night before being met with another glare from Y/N’s direction.

Y/N knew both her friends had a solid point. In the ten months she had been working at Thorpe Abbotts she had never allowed herself a break. She did her best to maintain a positive reputation among the men she treated but her friends, and now even herself, had noticed that the weight of the job had begun to take its toll. A night away from the blood, cries, and medicine couldn’t be all too bad - for her sake.

The August heat was enough to force a light sweat upon the girls as they journeyed from their bunks to the bar. As they stepped inside the building, Hazel quickly pulled her powder from her purse and turned to Y/N blotting away at certain areas of her face.

“You have to talk to at least one man tonight. One. And not someone you’ve treated.” Violet stated and lightly shoved Y/N forward to the bar, shooing with her hand. “Get a drink, enjoy the night.’

“One cosmopolitan, please” Y/N stated after reaching the bar, flashing a smile. She hoped and prayed, as the guy poured away, that the alcohol would be enough to calm the nerves she felt bubbling in her stomach. They only increased as she looked around and spotted Colonels, Captains and Majors. Leaned against the other side of the bar were the now infamous friends, Buck and Bucky. Gale Cleven was nothing but kind and a gentleman but Y/N had overheard talk of a girlfriend back home and John Egan, well, he was John Egan. There was nothing else to say. A few months prior, during a training exercise he wound up hurt and sitting in front of her in the infirmary bay, clutching his elbow with a shit eating grin plastered to his face as she wrapped his arm. Conversation flowed easily with the major but Violet had urged her to speak to someone new.

The bartender brought her from her daze as he placed the drink in front of her and she quickly took a sip. As she pushed back from the bar, she ran directly into a tall frame that had tried to squeeze in beside her, red juice spilling on both of their newly starched clothes.

Before an apology could tumble from her mouth, the man was already grasping her arm to steady her and ushering for his friends to grab a towel from the bar.

“I am so sorry, ma’am. I wasn’t watching where I was going and I ju-” she cut his rambling off

“No, that was all my fault. I was lost in thought and then - oh my god” taking a quick glance down to the tan and brown jacket, her eyes shot open even wider, “your uniform. I can’t believe I got that all over your dress jacket.”

An arm reached between the two of them holding a towel that Y/N quickly grabbed and started dabbing along the man’s chest, steadying herself by grabbing onto his arm.

“This is the first night I ever came out and I just ruined someone’s jacket, oh my god.”

A large hand landed on top of hers, stopping her from continuing her attempts at cleaning up the mess she, well both of them, had made.

“I promise you, ma’am, it was my doing. Let me order you another drink. This ones on me.”

For the first time during this whole encounter, she looked up to the man she had lost her Cosmopolitan to. She was silent as she stood with his hand still over hers, quickly losing her will to deny the drink once her eyes locked with his blue ones, a small smile adorning his face. All she could do was nod. He took a step forward, placing his hand on the small of her back to turn her with him towards the bar.

“A cosmo, right?” he questioned and a small nod was directed his way. “Another cosmo for the lady and whisky, neat, for me please?” The bartender quickly got to work leaving the two strangers standing closely together in silence. The man quietly cleared his throat and stuck out his hand.

“Robert Rosenthal, but most of the guys call me Rosie.” Y/N took his outstretched hand and lightly shook it up and down.

“Y/N Y/L/N”

Robert grabbed the drinks the bartender sat before him and motioned his head towards an empty table across the dance floor.

“Would you like to grab a seat? I think you owe me at least a conversation after this.” he said, looking down at the tan shirt that was now stained slightly pink. A small smile made its way across Y/N’s face.

“It’s the least I could do.”

Robert led the way to the table, nestled in the corner and sat the drinks down. In a swift motion he pulled a seat out and ushered Y/N to take it. As soon as he sat down, a wave of confidence overtook Y/N’s once anxious mind.

“So, Rosie, what is it that you do?” she asked, raising the glass to her lips. She had some worry that the appearance of a woman drinking alcohol would be ‘unladylike’ but all of her care went out the window when she realized with everything she had seen and done, it was the smallest token of appreciation.

“I’m a pilot. I’ve been flying for a while now.”

“Are you any good?” she teased.

“I sure hope. I have learned the hard way making impressions isn't all too easy here. I just embarrassed myself in front of those two majors.” He said, moving his head to the right.

“Buck and Bucky?” he answered with a small nod. “Don’t sweat it, Buck is too nice to make fun of you and Bucky will forget about it in about two hours when the whisky finally hits and his favorite song comes on.” Rosie cracked a smile at her, shaking his head at the thought of the once intimidating major belting out show tunes.

“Thank you, that makes me feel better.”

“Anytime.”

Rosie took a large gulp of his drink and leaned forward on his forearms.

“So, Miss Y/N, how did you wind up here in paradise?”

“I’m a nurse. I’ve been here almost a year. I still don’t know what I'm meant for.” She admitted, lifting her glass to her mouth to slightly hide her face.

“How do you mean?” he quipped.

She took an inhale, taking a moment to carefully collect her words.

“It’s not easy. A lot of these guys come here, make friends with their crewmates and drink and sleep their feelings away. I can’t really blame them. They’re fighting a war for Christ's sake. But, us women, see what comes back. The trauma, the injuries - all of it - and we get sideways looks for drinking a shitty cosmopolitan every once and a while.” she laughed sarcastically as she finished the rest of her drink. “I love helping people but it gets hard.” He nodded, looking down at his own drink and giving it a swirl.

“I never thought of it that way. You ladies get the best and worst of us.”

She sat for a moment, looking at her hands folded in her lap.

“Do you see those two girls over there?”

“By the bar?”

“Mhm. Those are my friends. They have spent the entire ten months we have been here urging me to come out, get away from the bubble I've made for myself and I fought against it until tonight. I thought it would be a disaster. Then I got here and got a drink and told myself it would be fine, only to spill it all over you.”

“Y/N, it's really no bother.”

“I know, because as crazy as it sounds - I am so glad that I did.”

A small crept across Rosie’s face as he sat back in his seat, downing the rest of his whisky.

“And why’s that?”

“Because, it gave me the perfect excuse to talk to you Mr. Rosenthal.” cheeks turning bright red as she directed her eye contact towards him.

“Well then, I’d be a fool not to ask for a dance Mrs. Y/L/N.” standing from his seat and outstretching a hand, which Y/N gladly took.

Together, hand in hand, they walked to the dance floor where Rosie pulled her close. Y/N settled her head on his chest, watching as their feet moved in harmony.

“Oh, and Y/N,” he spoke up with a small smile perched on his lips, leaving her to tilt her head up towards the pilot “, the next round is on you.”

[daycourtofficial]

Jealousy fueled punishments

Summary: Nesta’s an incredibly jealous female when you spend time with another and naturally she has to punish you for it.

Author’s note: @tsunami-of-tears this is for you 🫡 for some reason I can’t write anything except Nesta smut rn 👁️👄👁️

Warnings: porn without plot, oral f!receiving, fingering, clit spanking, bondage, Nesta having a strap, d/s dynamic, aphrodisiac, mommy kink

“Hello my love.”

Nesta’s voice causes your spine to straighten as you sit on the edge of the bed, wearing the lingerie she laid out for you, the lace making you feel bare before your girlfriend.

The blindfold left you unable to see her, but your pointed ears practically twitched listening to her heels hit the ground as she walked in front of you.

Her hand gently tugs on your jaw, tilting your face up so she can get a better look at you.

“Do you know why you’re here, dove?”

You lick your lips at the scent of her arousal, “yes. I ignored you while we were at Rita’s.”

The two of you had spent the previous night at Rita’s with the Valkyries. In your excitement at seeing everyone for the first time in a month, you unfortunately spent more time talking to Gwyn than you did Nesta.

And Nesta was an incredibly jealous and territorial female.

Her hands move to the back of your head, pulling your hair back so you’re looking up at her, eyes unable to see her.

“And why is that bad?”

You squirm, her authoritative tone filling you with need.

“Because it makes mommy upset.”

“And what happens when mommy’s upset?”

“I get in trouble.”

She leans forward, her mouth hovering over your ear.

“Apologize. Now.”

You open your mouth to speak, apologies on your tongue, when she puts a finger inside your mouth. You immediately begin to lick and suck her fingers and she chuckles at your obedience.

“Not with words, dove. You’ll take what I give you, and if you’re good, I’ll take it as an apology. Am I understood?”

You nod your head, but she grabs your nipple twisting harshly, causing you to suck in a breath as she pulls the finger from your mouth.

“Words, pet.”

“Yes, mommy.”

“Good. And you’ll accept everything I give you?”

“Yes, mommy.”

You can hear the smile in her voice as she walks away, before coming back to you. Her hands grasp your jaw tightly, tilting your head back and pushing some container up to your mouth. “Open, dove,” is all you need to hear before obeying as she begins pouring liquid into your mouth. Her fingers gently coax the liquid down your throat as she tells you to swallow it.

You take it, telling her “thank you” once you swallow. She hums in approval, her nails softly scratching your throat before she pulls away.

You hear her heels clicking on the floor around you until she stands behind you, her knees coming up on the bed and her arms wrapping around you from behind to gently lay you down onto the bed.

She was still fully dressed as she sat her knees on both sides of your face, pinning your head beneath her hips. You whine, all the blood in your body rushing down to your cunt.

You tipped your head back on the bed, intoxicated on the scent of her so close to you. You start inching closer to her heat, sticking your tongue out, ready to apologize very thoroughly when a harsh smack is delivered to your clit.

You gasp as Nesta tells you, “no touching.”

You whine, moving your hips involuntarily. You needed her. You were consumed with lust and you just had to have your hands and tongue and mouth on her.

Your fingers move by your side, itching to clutch her hips and force her to sit down on you. Her pussy is right above you, a few inches from your face. You’re writhing in need and she’s hardly even touched you.

Your thoughts all revolve around her and about pleasing her and how you can make it up to her. She pulls off of you, standing next to the bed. You tilt your head back to follow her movements with your ears, but you lose track of her until she comes back, crawling on top of you from the other direction. Her constant change in position is making you dizzy. Your hips move up, desperate to make any contact with her body. She puts a hand down on your hips, forcing them to stay still.

She purposefully drags her breasts slowly up your body, and all you can think about is putting one in your mouth and sucking on her nipple. Her long fingers start undoing the blindfold covering your eyes, pulling the fabric away. You squint at the bright light, your eyes adjusting to light again when you notice Nesta hovering over you with several ribbons in her hand, a smirk that tells you she will not hold back tonight.

“Hands above your head,” she tells you. You comply, and she ties your hands in an inescapable knot above you. You groan, your blood hot with need.

You drink in her form, the silver lace on her body leaving little to the imagination. She moves back down your body, her teeth grazing against your panties causing you to moan obscenely. She drags her mouth down you, letting her breath fan your pussy before continuing to move down, her tongue dragging from your inner thigh to your ankle, her hands securing your legs apart with ribbons tied to the bed posts.

You’re wild with need, and Nesta drags a finger into the waistband of your panties before snapping it against your skin. You gasp, and she chuckles, looking over her beautiful girlfriend, bound before her.

She’s practically drooling over the state you’re in. All she wants to do is rip your panties off and feast on you, wanting to taste you until you cum over and over again on her tongue.

The scent of your arousal is coating every surface of the room and Nesta wants it to linger for days.

She leans over the bed, her hands gently moving up her thighs, higher and higher. Your heart races, praying she’s taking off her panties so you can taste her.

She knows exactly what’s running through your head as she pulls her panties off, showing them to you. You start bucking with need, her scent driving you mad. You can practically taste her in your tongue from her scent and you start groaning, pure lust pulsing through you.

She walks towards you, listening to your babbles of “please mommy” and “you’d taste so good”. Her silver eyes pierce yours, as she grips your jaw, her fingers applying pressure to open your mouth as she stuffs her panties into your mouth.

Your eyes roll back at the taste, and she laughs.

“I wanted to try out this new arousal potion that herbalist was boasting about.”

Your eyebrows snap forward at her words, your breathing ragged through her underwear.

“It’s said to cause the drinker to become feral with need.”

She leans towards you, “and I want to push you to your limits. Show you what you could have.”

You groan, as she sits back on top of you, her wet cunt right by your nose. You were trapped - arms and legs tied, your mouth gagged.

She’d do whatever she wanted with you.

Your hips moved with the thought, and you feel Nesta’s fingers move close to your face. She chuckles darkly as her finger starts rubbing her own clit, inches from your face.

You thrash at the realization, some primal part of you taking over, needing to taste her, to feel her, to be the one to coax those noises from her.

She ignores you, keeping you caged beneath her, her fingers making quick work through her own folds, her scent becoming thicker and thicker each second.

She picks up her pace, her fingers moving quickly around her clit, and all you can do is watch. She’s moaning above you when she quickly dips her hips down, sitting on your face. You moan into the gag as she rubs her clit against your nose. She is soaking you in her arousal, and you don’t care.

You try to spit out the gag, but Nesta must have charmed it to stay in place. All you want is to just get a taste of her as she rides your face.

She moves back off of your face, a pitiful groan coming from you as her long fingers move into herself. You are inches from her, writhing beneath her as she fingers herself above you and your whine is absolutely pathetic as she makes herself cum over you.

She sits back down on you, letting her juices coat your face. You can’t breathe, but you don’t care. You’re too lost in her scent, the taste lingering on her panties as you pull against the binds keeping you in place.

Once she gets off of you, you take in a deep breath, her arousal coating your face in a wet shine. She slides a finger through your folds, “so wet for someone who hasn’t been touched.”

You groan again, but she just leaves the room. You knew you shouldn’t have done it - Nesta’s punishments were absolutely cruel and brutal.

She comes back in a few minutes later and you gasp at the sight of her.

A massive strap on was swinging from her hips as she walked toward you.

She purrs, watching you with predatory amusement. Amused at how absolutely fucked out of your mind you look.

Your hair is wild, pupils blown with need, your own cunt sopping wet for her.

Gods she loved punishing you. She walked towards you, pulling the gag from your mouth, amused at the way you involuntarily reach your tongue out for just one last taste of her.

“I’m going to fuck you so dumb the only thought in that pretty head of yours will be the name ‘mommy’.”

You nod your head vigorously, as she takes the cock, guiding the tip through your folds. You moan deeply at the contact, hips thrusting for more, more, more.

“Does someone need mommy’s cock?”

You nod your head vigorously, the cock brushing against you in the most delicious way, but she pinches your clit at your lack of verbal response.

“Yes, mommy!” You scream, and she starts sliding the cock inside of you, the potion Nesta gave you making you so wet she slides in fairly easily. Her cock stretches you perfectly, wanting more, more, more.

She’s thrusting deeper and deeper inside of you as she asks, “is this what my pretty dove needed? My cock inside of her to remind her who she belongs to?”

She undoes the binds on your ankles, grabbing them and placing them over her shoulder. The new angle pushes her in deeper into you, and you know you won’t last much longer.

You’re a mess underneath her, and Nesta picks up her pace at how blissed out you look beneath her.

“Please, can I-? Can I cum?” You pant out.

She looks at you, eyebrow raised, “do you deserve it?”

“Yes!” You say, feeling yourself coming closer to that edge.

“I don’t think you do,” she says, biting your neck. You moan, and she moves her mouth on top of yours, her grip tightening at the moans coming from you.

“Please,” you say into her mouth.

She thrusts harder into you at your pleading, “no.”

The drug is roaring through your veins and you are so close, her cock hitting you in just the right spot. She pushes forward, her teeth nipping at the skin of your neck.

“I can’t-I won’t-have to,” you mumble out, feeling your orgasm approaching because of Nesta’s unrelenting pace.

“If you finish right now, you’ll be in even more trouble.”

Her words push you over the edge, and she watches as you come undone on her fake cock. Her thrusts slow, and she reaches up, untying your hands from the ribbon.

You fall limp on the bed, your chest rising and falling very fast.

Nesta rubs her hands up and down your arms, kissing your hands. “You did so good, love. Let me grab a washcloth.”

You turn to her, chest heaving, eyes still wide with need, stopping her wrist.

“I don’t think that drug’s worn off if you want to go again.”

[l0n3ly-gh0st205]

Heyo Stranger, if you are like doing request rn can We get more white beard pirate's with child!reader crumbs pls 😌

A/n: Oh my days; ABSOLUTELY ANON!!!! Crumbs are my favorite hehe

Sorry, I responded so late; getting into the vibe of my second quarter at college and dealing with some personal stuff on the side, but! im here to feed the found family enjoyers! (also, I still love my college. It's super fun but stressful! I may post some of my assignments, but we are still in fundamentals rn)

Enjoy! :D

Child!Reader with the WBP!!

[■□□□□□□□□□] 10%

☆꧁༒Ĺoading. . .༒꧂☆

[■■■■■■□□□□] 60%

☆꧁༒Ĺoading. . .༒꧂☆

[■■■■■■■■■■] 100%

☆꧁༒Complete༒꧂☆

So, in previous posts, I mentioned that Marco and Thatch found a baby in a storm… but don't get me wrong, they're stupid enough to adopt a kid off the streets accidentally.

Obviously, in the new world and on the grand line, there are some not-so-great families/ pirates, so I don't think it's out of the question if a female crew member gets pregnant on a ship for them to, perhaps, dump their unwanted child on a random island and expect them to die or smth

And if the island had a town, then they’d most likely be living on the streets since it’s just another mouth to feed, and no one wants to put a strain on their already delicately crafted lives

But moving on from the sad stuff

Imagine if a toddler reader, just hungry and wanting some clothes for the winter, notices a new ship in the port and tries to steal some food and clothes

And, of course, a lil bby can't really steal too well, either falling into a barrel or easily getting caught by the crew…

Lucky for you, the white beard pirates have a soft spot for kids :D

God, just imagining thatch holding up this scrappy little baby, probably crying big fat tears from getting in trouble, up to white beard being like, ‘So what are we doing with this?’

And white beards’ parental instincts immediately kick in.

So yeah new little sibling :D’

I headcanon Ace as being the previously youngest crew member… so when i tell you he was SO happy someone else was now the ‘baby’ of the family it's insane

Would absolutely pick on you for everything, your age? Lil bby. Your height? Short stack. Hell you could drop a fruit on the floor on accident and ace will make fun of it

But even if he’s a little mean at times he’ll absolutely adore a younger sibling.

Like i imagine that he’ll look at you as kind of away to make up for some of the mean things he did to Luffy when they were young, and to make up for Sabo’s absence, so he’ll be the most defensive on your behalf if someone other than him starts picking on you

but on a little angstier note, that doesn't mean that Ace warmed up to you in the beginning

you were found by the crew shortly after ace was forced joined, and he was still in his lil emo era of hating everything and everyone

So while you were blossoming with all the love and affection your new family was giving you, Ace refused to see you, or any other whitebeard pirates, as his family.

you were probably one of the only reasons why Ace warmed up to the whitebeard pirates, and became so fiercely loyal to them to begin with though

but it was a slow process, and you probably got hurt a bit trying to befriend ace (kinda like luffy in the beginning((i may make a fic of this)))

but once he did warm up to you, and accepted his role as white beard pirate, oh boy!!!!!

will absolutely take care of you and try to mend any damage he did while he was pushing you away, big warm cuddle pile with lots of soft apologize and pinky promises will always be the antidote

also, i dont really need to mention this but ace is warm!! so if reader is still a baby baby, then alot of times when ace was available he’d be incharge of calming you down, since his hold was basically like a big warm blanket that would put you right to sleep

A/n: sorry this is super short, my brain is running on fumes but im still trying to crank out my own artistic stuff inbetween college work, and also trying to get a business and help my room mates animation studio get off the ground

but if you enjoyed this feel free to reblog and comment! i love reading comments!

also my requests are open!

[vivvangel]

new year, new me ! | PART ONE

synopsis: in a span of two years, sunghoon, the "sweet face devil", or that one ridiculously good looking every uni has (or we wish had), changed so much that most believed he was putting up "a good boy act" to stay out of trouble. turns out, it was a part of his new years' resolution to win you back.

warnings: sunghoon x reader, terrible take on humor, angsty, plot moves a bit fast, sunghoon slander, pregnancy jokes, sunghoon and y/n are both pathetics in love.

viv's note: had to split it up cause it's too big (no double meaning intended..) also part two will NOT be released.

the human heart breaks sometimes.

sometimes it heals pretty quickly with the span of time, and other times, it stays in its broken state.

you weren't sure where you were in that zone after your sweet long-term highschool boyfriend kissed someone in front you during the last year of uni.

sunghoon had changed a lot throughout the years, but, for as long as he could remember you were his everything. one drunk fuck up at jake sim, his bestfriend's party and your mutual friend, ripped everything he had and loved in a matter of days.

it all started when sunghoon was invited to a party, not just any party, the "best" and "never seen before" type of party as jake claimed. there would be nothing sunghoon regrets more than going to this stupid party. long story short, sunghoon and you went to the party together, you left him alone, as in you left his side for a bit to catch up with your girlfriend, yunjin. there would be nothing you regret more than doing so. sunghoon got completely drunk and gives into the advances of this random girl— kissing her, in front of everyone, in front of you.

sunghoon's friends separated the girl from sunghoon, who was completely oblivious to what just happened as you left the party, immediately. that's how you two broke up. you two never said you broke up, but let's be honest — everyone, including you and sunghoon, thought this was over.

that was over a year ago, though. you haven't heard about sunghoon in these past 12 months, except for an occasional "he's doing pretty good for himself now" whenever you and jake caught up with life.

your phone buzzes. you assume it's yunjin, or chaewon and check.

"what the fuck..?" you thought to yourself, munching on the bag of cheetos you opened to accompany you while you watched your favorite romcom. "THIS IS NOT FOR REAL WHAT THE FUCK— okay NO, be cool, I'm over his ass, be nonchalant!" you say to yourself as your fingertips dance around the keyboard, trying to merge words to form some coherent sentence that isn't "omg hoon texted me🥺"

you would be lying if you said your heart didn't skip a beat.

so 2 days later, you did wear something cute and go to the cafe where you're supposed to meet him.

it was awkward. quiet, and full of awkward forced laughter. you never would've thought the lively conversations of random nonsense, laughter & banter would turn into — whatever this was. "so y/n..." sunghoon tries starting a conversation, warily. you look at him, not saying anything. "i know i'm a fucking jerk for saying this after all these years, but i'm sorry, you didn't deserve what i put you through"

silence. sunghoon tenses up a bit.

what do you even say to that? "thanks for being sorry"?, "oh no, it's fine"? but it isn't fine, and you're not thankful. "i mean, we don't get to control shit like that, do we? i'm sorry too for being too timid to say anything back then." you finally muster up the courage to say that, your eyes almost melting into his. everything in life changed, except this. his eyes. still warm, still full of love. you see it, feel it, but don't know what to do about it.

"why are you apologizing, y/n? it was all my fault anyways i should've never gotten drun—" he sighs, trailing off. "all i'm trying to say is, i know i'm not worthy of your forgiveness but you're still my world after all of that. i know it's selfish for me to ask because i'm the one who fucked everything up but, y/n, i'll always love you"

"we never fell out of love, did we?" you say, chuckling sadly afterwards as a tear rolls down your face. "y/n, please don't cry, you're the only one i've ever loved in my life, you know that"

"would it be crazy if i kissed him?" you think to yourself —

"sunghoon, will it be crazy for me to kiss you?" you blurt out, as sunghoon's eyes widen, but a small smirk forms on his lips. "you know what else is crazy? how much i love you" and with that,

his lips, on yours.

... TNBC ! | PART 2 (✖️ !)

taglist ! @zerasari @noidnoentry @heeseungskiwi @nonotwice1 @txtlyn @heelvsted @sunfull @nctdom @coriantiax @strawberrysavi @dopeydokyeom @sussyjake @sjkezz @no-jams-no-mans @simp4jongseong @fancycreatorofaspy @jiheon @imisshyunjin @flwrsforni

[signedkoko]

Mammon and either a Female or GN reader are in a relationship, and Reader has nightmares often.

Normally Reader is good at hiding it from Mammon if he notices something off, shrugging it as them being tired because they love him, but they think he's too greedy to really care about them that deeply- but he DOES care, and he learns about their nightmares one night during a particularly bad one where Reader wakes up screaming.

Mammon does his best to actually comfort them even if he's shit at it/not used to it, asking why Reader never told him about this and they reveal they thought he wouldn't care and the hidden caring side of Mammon comes out?

Pls.

Mammon X GN!Reader [Comfort]

In which you suffer from night terrors, and despite hiding it from Mammon he finds out.

Often times, when one has night terrors they will have a harder time staying still in bed

Though, this can easily be tossed away as someone being a messy sleeper, which is what you always told Mammon when he'd joke about having you web you up to keep you still

And preferably not attacking him in your sleep

He was always lighthearted or dismissive about it, so you assumed you could get away with just that

Even if these nightmares bothered you, and often left you restless, you'd rather that than bother him with something so childish

But sometimes they were way worse than you could have imagined, and on one particular evening you seemed to erupt

A fit of hysterical screaming and crying woke Mammon up before you did, and it took several tries of him trying to shake you awake before your eyes finally opened

" Fuck! D'ya need a hospital or somethin? "

He was probably yelling as loudly as you were, but mostly because he assumed you were shot or something

I mean hey, who wouldn't try to attack one of the sins? He was always worrying your affiliation with him could possibly lead to your death, amongst other things

A quick scan of every single inch of you told him you weren't physically harmed, but the bags under your eyes were getting darker by the days and he couldn't help but prod

" It's nothing, I didn't mean to wake you. "

" Bloody hard to sleep through that! Just tell me what's wrong! "

Mammon never gave a shit about anyone but himself, or that's the impression many get

But you've been a real turning point for him, he almost treats you like an extension of his own being

He is short tempered though, so he pretty much forces you into revealing what's troubling your sleep, and why you've never mentioned it before

Mammon gets very huffy when you say it seems like he doesn't care, but give him a moment and he will start grumbling apologies and trying to say that he does care

" Well, y'know, you're mine n shit. Take care of what's yours, right? Just tell me this shit! "

Closest you'll get to him being sweet

Author's Note - Went for headcanons since it was not specified! Thank you for requesting!!

[green-eyedfirework]

Dick has had to concentrate on his breathing the entire day.  In, hold, out.  In, hold, out.  The count is the only thing letting him hold it together.  In, hold, out.  In, hold, out.

Jason isn’t here, to get himself into trouble by saying or doing the wrong thing.  Marian has been bundled off to Leslie—despite Prince Grant’s assurance that he isn’t going to send her away, Dick doesn’t want her in this suite.

In, hold, out.  In, hold, out.  Breathe.

“My god, that took so long,” the prince groans, shutting the door with a bang.  Dick can hear the bolt slide shut.  “Personally, I think Daniel’s pissed we gave him so little notice, that ceremony dragged forever.”

Dick registers the note of irritation in his mate’s scent and has to fight to stay where he is.  In, hold, out.  In, hold, out.  He can hear his mate moving around the room, can hear the rustle of cloth and the squeak of the wooden cabinets.

“Dick?”  He nearly stutters on his next breath as he lifts his gaze to meet his mate’s eyes.  Grant is squinting at him, shirt off, standing in front of the closet.  “You okay?  You’ve been standing there for a minute.”

Dick forces himself to move.  One foot after the other.  Thankfully, his closet is on the other side of the room.  One foot after the other.  He can do this.  “I apologize,” he rasps quietly, “I got caught up in my thoughts.”

“No need for an apology,” Grant replies easily, “I was just worried that you’d turned into a mannequin.”  His tone makes it a joke, but that’s exactly how Dick feels.  Like a wind-up toy, robotically moving through the motions, carefully and neatly undoing the knots that hold up his mating silks.  A wind-up toy that’s not sure when it’ll run out of juice.

Halfway through the knots, his fingers stutter.  An omega’s mating silks are not designed to be removed by one person.  Last time, this did not matter.  Last time—last time it was ripped off of him before he could utter a single protest.

In, hold, out.

“Dick?  Are you having trouble with the dress?  Do you want some help?”

In, hold, out.

“If it pleases Your Majesty.”  Dick’s surprised his voice doesn’t waver.

“You don’t need to be so formal,” Grant laughs as he moves closer.  Dick can hear him stop right behind him.  “Just Grant is fine.”  A broad hand brushes against his side as fingers tug efficiently but none-too-delicately at the knots.  The cloth gives way, peeling off rather faster than his pounding heart appreciates.  “They really make this difficult, huh.”

In, hold, out.

Grant’s fingers slide against his bare back as the half the silks slide off, and something in Dick snaps.

He’s untethered.  Unmoored.  Drifting.  Something in his mind attempts to hide from the oncoming pain, and it shatters his control.

“The gods must be smiling on me, sweetheart, because we got you all to ourselves—”

“Fucking breed another pup into you—”

“Omega bitch, this is where you belong—”

“Do that again—bite him again, look at him, so good and quiet—”

“Yes, take it, take it you fucking whore—”

“What the hell do you have to cry about—”

“Be grateful—”

“You’ve got four of us to take care of you, sweetheart—”

“Dick?  Dick?”  The memory-scent of alpha lust is abruptly replaced by shock and fear.  “Dick, what—Dick, please say something, Dick!”

There’s a stinging pain on one cheek and Dick realizes his eyes are open.  He’s kneeling on something cold and rough, an arm around his shoulders keeping him upright, and he’s staring up at an alarmed face.

“Are you okay?” Grant looks very concerned.  When he bends lower, all Dick can smell is his scent, blanketing everything around them.  “Should I get the doctor?”

“No.”  Dick’s voice sounds like it’s coming from far away.  “I’m fine.”

“You went gray and collapsed, Dick, that isn’t fine,” Grant says firmly, blue eyes scanning over him, the same icy color as his father’s, “Was it something you ate?  Are you ill?”  Grant tightens his grip and hauls Dick up easily.  “Here, you’ll be more comfortable on the bed.”

Dick can feel something inside him shrivel.  Grant puts him down delicately, and then comes back with a blanket that he wraps Dick up in, before scurrying away and coming back with a glass of water.

The world feels distinctly off-kilter.

Dick doesn’t know when Grant got possessed by Jason’s spirit, but his stomach is twisting uneasily and he just wants this over with.  It isn’t permanent, he has to remember that, Grant is the Crown Prince of Defiance, he won’t stay mated to Dick, it isn’t permanent.

“I’m fine,” Dick says raggedly, unwrapping the blanket.  He sets the water aside, his stomach is already tied into knots.  “Just—get this over with.”  It’s ruder than he wanted, but Dick is too tired to care.  There’s no point in walking on eggshells around alphas, Grant will hurt him either way.

The remainder of the knots are easy to undo and the silks fall off, pooling at his waist.  Dick takes a shuddering breath—in, hold, out—and looks up to gauge what he should do next.

Grant is staring at him blankly.  “Get what over with?” he asks in a curiously flat tone.

Dick goes very still.  His rudeness was more egregious than he thought.  Terror carves through his veins as he stumbles off the bed to crumple to his knees, bowing his head as he fights not to tremble.  “I—I apologize, Your Majesty,” Dick forces past numb lips, something shrieking in his ears, “I did not mean to imply anything less than gratefulness for the honor of being your mate.  I am not suffering from anything that would bar you from consummating the bond—”

“Dick,” Grant cuts him off.  Dick looks up to see his mate several steps away, staring at him in a cross between shock and horror.  “I’m not going to fuck you.”

Dick stares at him.  He doesn’t—his head is empty.  Something is roaring in his ears.  In, hold, out.  He doesn’t understand.

Grant’s expression crumples into something distressed.  “Dick, this is political, remember?” his voice urges, desperate, “It’s just to keep Luthor’s hounds off the scent.  You have my bite, that’s all we need, we don’t need to consummate anything.”  He takes a shaky breath and crouches to be at eye level, still several feet away.  “I’m not going to touch you,” Grant says, slow and even and firm.

He doesn’t start laughing after he says it.  His eyes don’t flash with cruelty or mockery.  His scent is filtering around the room, and Dick can smell nothing but sincerity.

“I’m not going to touch you,” Grant repeats, his gaze intent on Dick.

Dick starts crying.  The prickling won’t stop, it feels like something’s unspooled in his soul, and Dick furiously rubs at his face but the tears keep coming.  “Dick?” comes hesitantly and softly and Dick clamps his mouth shut on a hiccup and tries to stop crying and ends up burying his face in his hands in a futile attempt to halt the tears.

“Dick?” Grant sounds so uncertain, “Dick, do you—shall I get someone?”  Dick shakes his head, he doesn’t want anyone to see him like this, he doesn’t want his mate to see him like this, he just wants to hide.

The last time he cried this badly, Marian had just asked him why she didn’t have a Papa like all the other kids.  Jason had seen the expression on Dick’s face and whisked Marian away, explaining that she was so special she got the very best Mama, and Dick locked himself in his room and sobbed until he had no tears left.

Dick can hear Grant moving, can hear a glass being set down near him as he curls up and hides his face against his knees.  A soft weight drops on top of him and Dick flinches before he realizes it’s just a blanket.  The footsteps fade away.

He doesn’t know how to explain it.  It’s like something inside him unraveled, a tightness he kept locked up, and the sobs feel like they’re draining poison from him.  He cried at his last mating too, but he cried in pain, touched by hands he didn’t want on him, consigned to a life of eternal torment, unable to fight back.

Now he’s crying at the brush of a future he didn’t think possible.

It takes a long time before the tears peter out.  The blanket is soft and Dick scrubs at his face before going for the water to soothe his sore throat and quiet the hiccups.  The room is quiet, but more than that, the room is empty, but Dick doesn’t have time to feel alarmed before Grant pokes his head through the door.

“I heard…” the alpha trails off when he meets Dick’s gaze, visibly wincing, “I, ah.  How are you—how are you feeling?”

Like shit.  But arguably less like shit than he thought he was going to feel, so he supposes that’s a positive.  “I’m sorry,” Dick croaks out.  He doubts that having his mate fall to pieces is what Grant was expecting from this night—the crying undoubtedly messed up his makeup, he’s huddled under the blanket like a sad lump, and—

“No!” Grant says immediately, eyes wide, “No, shit—no, Dick, I’m the one who should be sorry.  I didn’t think—I didn’t realize that you thought—I didn’t explain,” he finishes, sounding miserable, “How this was going to go.  It’s just—it’s just for the public perception.  Until Luthor backs off.  You don’t have to—you don’t owe me—I’m not asking—” he blows out a sharp breath and rubs a hand over his face.  “This isn’t real,” he says finally, “It’s not a real mating, and I don’t expect you to act like my mate, and I’m never going to touch you without your permission, okay?”

Dick nods.

Grant smiles, though it doesn’t look as bright as his previous ones.  “Do you—can I help you with anything?” he asks nervously, hovering in the doorway, “I’ll sleep in the sitting room, the door’s locked so no one will be able to tell the difference.  Do you want me to get the doctor?”

Dick shakes his head.  “I’m fine,” he says throatily.  Grant doesn’t look like he believes him, but he just nods and closes the door behind him.

Dick slowly pushes himself up till he’s sitting on the bed.  He’s exhausted, wrung out like a worn dishcloth, but he can’t help the part of him that calls it a trick.  That keeps watching the door.  Slade Wilson is a man good enough at manipulation to keep an entire empire under his control, and Grant is his alpha heir.

There has to be a trick.

Dick curls up on the bed, dressed in softer clothes, and waits for the creak of the door.  Waits and waits and waits, until the darkness and exhaustion conspire to pull him under, and he falls asleep.

~#~

Grant is gone when Dick wakes up the next morning—he isn’t in the sitting room, there’s no trace that he slept there last night, and the guard outside said he left early.  Dick had deliberately not scheduled anything important for today, assuming he’d need at least the day to negotiate with his alpha to return to work, so he finds himself aimlessly wandering the path to Leslie’s rooms.

“Your Highness,” Leslie looks visibly surprised when he pokes his head in, “Good morning.  Is everything okay?”

“Yes, I came to pick up Marian,” Dick says, and goes along as Leslie ushers him into a chair.

The doctor looks at him with her uncannily piercing gaze.  “Do you need an examination?” she asks, her tone matter-of-fact and her eyes concerned.

“No,” Dick jolts up from the chair, “No, nothing like that.  Just Marian, please.”

“A contraceptive?” Leslie asks, quieter.

“No,” Dick has to fight the flush, “No, Leslie, nothing—nothing happened.”  There’s no one else in Leslie’s office, but he still drops his voice to a whisper, “There’s no—he said he won’t—it’s not a real mating.”

Leslie, to her credit, doesn’t display the incredulity she’s sure to be feeling.  “Okay,” she says simply, before motioning to Dick’s face, “You might want to wash up, Your Highness, anyone would think you spent the whole night crying.”

Dick flushes again, but takes her point.  By the time Leslie returns with Marian, he looks more put together—he can do nothing about the dark circles, but his eyes are no longer puffy.  Marian still scowls when she sees him, all of three years old and a little alpha princess determined to control everything she sees.

“You don’t look good,” she accuses as he scoops her up, poking at his cheek, “You missed bedtime.  Aunt Leslie doesn’t do the voices.”

Dick doesn’t bother to point out that Jason’s the one who does the voices, not him, instead dropping a kiss on her forehead.  “Sorry, Mari, I won’t miss bedtime today.  Do you want to come picking flowers with me?”

“Flowers!” Marian shrieks in his ear, and all’s forgiven on her end.  Leslie, however, still looks grave.

“Are you sure?” she asks lowly, “She can stay here longer—”

“I’m sure,” Dick says, even but firm.  Grant didn’t touch him.  Grant didn’t hurt him.  Grant didn’t even come into his room.  He was never concerned about Grant hurting Marian, just about being unable to hide his injuries from his child, and if he’s not getting injured, the point is moot.  “Thank you for watching her.”

“It was my honor, Your Highness.”  Leslie’s gaze follows him out, a tangible presence against his back.

Leslie’s concern is not the only one he’s faced with.  Several people ask him how he’s doing, ask him if he’s okay, ask him if he needs some extra food or water or balm or medicine.  Even more people watch silently, narrowed eyes intent on his gait, on his face, on the bite on his neck visible with his low-collared shirt.

Needless to say, he’s more than happy to get out of the castle for a few hours to make flower crowns in a meadow with his daughter.

He runs into Grant when he returns for lunch, laughing at Marian trying to hold all her flowers in too-small hands and nearly walking straight into the Crown Prince in the atrium.  Grant steadies him before he can fall and then blinks when he takes a full look at Dick.

“I see someone had a fun morning,” Grant says, raising a hand and darting a look at Dick, as though asking for permission.  Dick dips his head in the slightest of nods, confused, and holds still as Grant reaches up and—adjusts the flower crown on his head.  “Now it’s perfect,” Grant smiles, and sweeps into a mock bow, “Your Highness.”

“Your Majesty,” Dick gives a practiced smile and does an equally teasing curtsy back, aware of the many, many people watching.  Luthor cannot know that this whole thing is just pretend.  “Would you like one as well?”  Dick is holding Marian’s attempt, a crown half falling apart in his hands, but Grant gamely ducks his head for Dick to crown him.

He smiles at Dick when he straightens, the Crown Prince of Defiance with a three-year-old’s best attempt at flower braiding in his hair, and Dick can see hearts melting all across the room.  “I’ll see you in the evening,” Grant says, a hand under Dick’s elbow as he kisses the air above Dick’s forehead.

Dick scans the room as Grant strides away, and sees most looks of suspicion fading.  All except Marian, who is holding two fistfuls of squished petals and staring after Grant with a narrowed scowl.

Dick hasn’t exactly explained the situation to her, too mired in panic himself, and that’s clearly a mistake he has to rectify.

~#~

It’s late by the time Grant finally makes it to his rooms, and there’s a headache pounding behind his temples.  The smooth workings at the beginning of his visit deteriorated soon after they announced the mating, and today, without Dick there, it felt like people were deliberately stalling him.

In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if that’s actually the case.

There’s giggling coming from inside the suite and the scent of a happy pup, and he follows it to find Dick and Marian ensconced on the couch.  Dick is reading her a story, and Marian is interrupting him every other word, and despite that, Dick looks at her fondly.

They both look up when Grant enters, and for a moment, Grant is frozen.  Should he leave?  This is his suite, he really doesn’t have anywhere else to go, but they both looked so unguarded in that moment before they realized he was there.

“Your Majesty,” Dick says, straightening, before a smile spreads across his face, “You’re still wearing the crown.”

What crown, Grant thinks dumbly, before he remembers the flowers.  His hand immediately flies up, knocking a few flowers askew—the whole thing is tangled in his hair.  Dick’s smile widens a fraction before it returns to his usual polite expression.

“I’d entirely forgotten about it,” Grant says, trying very hard not to stare at Dick.  The thing is, Dick is a very attractive omega—the first moment he saw the steel in Dick’s eyes as he calmly dismissed a subpar plan, Grant couldn’t help but want.

But Dick doesn’t want.  And that is the problem.

Admittedly, Grant wasn’t only thinking of the strategic benefits when he suggested the mating—more time spent with Dick, more time to get to know him, and a casual testing of the waters of how the rest of the empire would react to him mating with a prince of a conquered territory—but he had never expected this.

Dick’s terror—because Grant was all but choking on the scent as Dick shivered on the stone, looking up at him like he expected Grant to attack him for the audacity of feeling faint—and his tears, and the desperate, disbelieving look in his eyes when Grant swore that he wouldn’t touch him…

Well.  Grant didn’t get much sleep last night, and even spending the morning hacking away at training posts pretending that they were the alpha who dared to put that terror in Dick’s mind didn’t help.  Everyone staring at him like he’s a monster—Dick’s fear had to come from somewhere, somewhere real, and if Dick expected Grant to—to rape him when Grant never said anything of the sort, had in fact said they would annul the mating once their troops were in position—he’s probably not the only one.

Grant doesn’t know what shadows he treads on, only that they’re there.  He could ask—he’s the Crown Prince of Defiance, he could have every gory detail by the morning—but the memory of Dick’s terror-stricken expression arrests him.  He could leave it be, step carefully where he knows the ground isn’t stable, and make sure his intentions are always clear.

The priority is Luthor and Gotham’s safety.  Dick’s safety.  Grant can handle a few black looks.

“Silly, you’re just making it worse,” Marian clambers off the couch and glares at him.  Dick scrambles after her, immediately pulling her up into the safety of his arms.  Grant tries not to feel slighted.  “What did I say about calling people names, Mari?” Dick hums quietly.  The princess pouts.  “Apologize to His Majesty, please.”

“I’m sorry,” the little princess dutifully recites, looking incredibly put-upon.  Grant has to press his lips together to hide the smile.  “Are you my Papa?” she asks.

Grant chokes.

“Mari,” Dick’s cheeks are red, “I already explained this.  We’re going to be staying with Prince Grant.  He is not your Papa.”

“Only pack stays together,” Marian narrows her eyes, “Uncle Jay said.”

“Sometimes, friends stay together too,” Dick exhales slowly, “Don’t believe everything your Uncle Jay says.”

Marian is still eyeing him with a calculating expression.  Pup or not, it’s clear she’s an alpha.

“...Can you do voices?  Mama’s bad at reading stories.”

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” Dick looks exhausted, “I’ll get her to bed.  I didn’t mean to bother you—”

“It’s no bother,” Grant gives him a hesitant smile before turning to the little princess, “And yes, I do happen to be good at voices.”  Rose has always called Grant dramatic.  “May I tell you a story, Princess Marian?”

The suspicious look in her eyes disappears to glee.  Dick is looking at him with a soft kind of incredulity, like he’s not willing to believe what he’s seeing, but he’s okay going along with it.

~#~

Grant’s continued stay on the sitting room couch is halted by Marian finding him there one morning, bulldozing over all his objections, and dragging him into the bedroom.  Grant gives Dick a look that is very close to panic, and Dick can’t help but laugh.

There’s no doubt in anyone’s mind who the next ruler of Gotham is going to be, and Mari is a force unto herself.

Grant won’t hurt Mari, Dick knows that, Dick believes that, and he okays Grant joining them on the bed.  All it takes is one servant to enter their suite unexpectedly and find out Grant is living on the couch, after all, for Luthor to decide that Gotham is easy prey.

The prince still keeps his hands to himself, even then.  He silently asks Dick’s permission before touching him in public, even though the whole point of this mating is to put on the act of a happy couple, and Dick is starting to believe that Grant will actually keep his word.

It’s a startling thing, to sleep in the same bed as a strange alpha, and trust that he will not hurt you.

Grant may be the Crown Prince of Defiance, but he’s soft in ways that Slade isn’t—Dick can not, for example, imagine Slade sitting on a bed with a bouncy, wriggly three-year-old, ignoring the pup crawling over him while trying to have a serious conversation.

“Luthor’s envoys will be here tomorrow,” Grant says as Mari attempts to crawl up his back, “They will be scrutinizing us carefully.”

“Yes,” Dick says, not betraying the jolt of fear at where this conversation is heading.

“We have to be convincing.”  The dread the words would’ve inspired is undercut by Mari spilling off of Grant’s back with a startled shriek and a muffled omph as she lands on the pillow.

“Yes.”

“I’ll—is it okay if I hold your waist when you stand next to me?”

“Grant,” Dick exhales, almost exasperated.  He isn’t made of goddamn porcelain.  “It’s okay to put an arm around my waist or hold my hand or brush hair out of my face.  You don’t have to keep asking permission.  I will tell you to stop if I don’t want it.”

Grant briefly squints, but drops the topic.  “Okay,” he says slowly, “What about kissing?”  His scent is beginning to leak anxiety, “I just—they’ll expect us to be close, and it doesn’t have to be on the lips, it just—”

“Okay.”

“What?”

“Okay,” Dick repeats slowly.  Kissing.  Honestly.  Dick agreed to this thinking of several worse things than kissing.  “You can kiss me.  On the lips.”

Grant looks poleaxed, like he was never expecting Dick to agree.  “Okay,” he repeats, wide-eyed, “Okay.  I’ll squeeze your hand before I do it, okay?  You can pull your hand away if you change your mind and want me to stop.”

Dick stares at him, caught in a moment of how is this real, how is he real, before Marian pops up between the both of them.  “I want kissies!” she demands.

“Oh, do you?” Dick laughs and tickles her and bends down to loudly kiss all over her belly as she shrieks in glee.  When he looks up, Grant is watching them with warm fondness—Dick can smell the faintest scent of want, but for the first time in years, the scent doesn’t make something cold crawl down his spine.

~#~

Grant does indeed squeeze Dick’s hand before bending in for a kiss in front of Luthor’s envoys.  Dick holds his mate’s hand for the rest of the day, and squeezes a couple of times to catch some kisses of his own.  Grant is warm, and he smells nice, and Dick feels dizzy and giddy in equal measure, like he’s a teenager again, sneaking kisses behind the stables.

Their mood is infectious.  By the time Luthor’s envoys leave—Dick has informed them, in no uncertain terms, that their trade agreement is unacceptable, with Grant’s hard-eyed glare backing him up, and shot down every one of their half-hearted revisions—they look resigned.

Gotham is not easy prey.  Lex Luthor will find no chinks here.

[normspellsman]

To Be Forgiven

part one | part two | part three | part four (wip)

pairing: ao’nung x fem!sully!reader, bff!tsireya x bff!reader, & mentions of lo’ak x tsireya

genre: angst (lo’ak still hasn’t apologized yet), comfort (from tsireya to reader), & fluff

word count: 4k+

warning(s): mentions of lo’ak & ao’nung physically fighting, mentions of lo’ak being a douche to reader, neteyam + tsireya beating (not literally disappointing i know) some sense into lo’ak, cursing, reader thinking lo’ak was right about her (ifykyk – read part one if you don’t), mentions of blood + injury, lo’ak in deep shit that he won’t be able to get out of, slight mention of lo’ak having self loathing thoughts, lo’ak feeling guilty for what he said, & mentions of ao’nung defending your ‘honor’

taglist: @aonungsmate @optimisticblazetrash @dearstell

word bank: eywa / great mother — goddess deity that the na’vi believe in, tsmuke(s) — sister(s), irayo — thank you; thanks, skxawng — moron; idiot, ilu — aquatic creature residing on awa’atlu used for riding + hunting, & txe’lan — heart

note: so i lied, this series is probably going to be three or more parts 🫣. enjoy tho! <3 we stan tsireya in this fic frfr

He was fucked. Lo’ak was royally screwed.

He knew the minute that those degrading words came out of his mouth that he was severely fucked.

He could say he didn’t mean it in the moment, but he did. He knew he did. And that’s why he knew he was going to get a new one ripped into him by his older brother and girlfriend once they found out, but not before Ao’nung nearly beat him to a darker shade of blue and purple.

Both Lo’ak and Ao’nung had left your secret hideout with multiple bruises and blood running down their noses. The boys had shown each other the extent of their frustrations towards one another, yet again. But this time, it was over you.

The two boys walked home silently and limping, washing themselves off in the sea before making their way into their separate marui pods.

Lo’ak had prayed to Eywa that none of your siblings were awake by the time he arrived at the pod, but alas, it seems as if the world is not on his side, once again.

“What the fuck happened to you?” A groggy voice asked, making Lo’ak stop in his tracks and wince at getting caught.

Yep. He was going to get his ass handed back to the Great Mother tonight. He could only pray for a safe return into the deities arms as he turned towards his older brother.

The familiar scowl Lo’ak always saw on Neteyam had painted itself on to his face, eyes narrowing at the various injuries on his skin.

“What did you do?” Neteyam harshly whispered out, striding towards his idiotic younger brother, pulling on the boys ear as he guided him towards one corner of the marui where they kept all healing essentials and forced him to sit down, tsking at him as he did so.

Lo’ak yelped in pain once his older brothers slim fingers pinched the soft skin of his sensitive ear, leaning into the grasp in hopes of easing the pain by a fraction. He rubbed the spot his brother was pinching once he was pushed into his bottom side to sit, pouting at Neteyam’s roughness.

“It’s nearly sunrise and you manage to get yourself into trouble, again!” The elder hissed out, mumbling to himself about how careless and utterly idiotic his younger brother was, shaking his head at his whispers. Always taking care of this skxawng, he thinks, annoyance settling itself in his chest.

Lo’ak decides not to say anything, knowing that if he were to open his mouth and speak, he wouldn’t stop and end up confessing to his crimes due to guilt. He didn’t want to die just yet. He needed time to figure out how he was going to make it up to you and get you to forgive him for the stupid words he spat at you in anger.

Being twins had come with its advantages and disadvantages. Firstly, it was a rarity amongst the Na’vi that it was considered a myth or even a sacred omen, many praising Lo’ak and you after your births and even during the day as you two grew older. Much lore surrounded twins within the Na’vi culture, most of it being just that, lore and myths, little truth behind any of it. So due to this, the Omatikaya practically worshipped the ground the both of you walked on when you were younger, receiving many gifts and prayers to Eywa as a token of their gratitude for gracing them with your presence. But all of this was put to a stop by your Grandmother, Mo’at, once she realized this. She didn’t want all the attention to go to your heads, especially your brothers. Secondly, the both of you were so in tune with each other’s emotion that it was freaky to see you finish each other’s sentences, give the other needed comfort, and see you move together in sync. This proved to be advantageous during training or scouting, one of you following the other and tag teaming whatever came your way. And thirdly, you were the eldest twin, the first born. So you always held it over Lo’ak’s head whenever granted the chance, annoying the boy to no end.

Lo’ak loved you dearly. So much that it was often hard to express or put into words. You were his other half. The other part of his soul. So he knew just how much his words had impacted you. He could feel it. Feel the cold, bitterness of sadness rest atop his chest, right where his heart laid. He felt so guilty. He just wanted to take back the words he said, but he knew it wasn’t possible. He was going to have to work for your forgiveness.

“Sit still and be quiet,” Neteyam mumbled as he sat in front of his younger brother and dipped his fingers into the cream white healing paste Kiri had made a couple days back, lathering it onto Lo’ak bruises and open wounds.

Lo’ak bit back his tongue in pain, wanting to hiss out at the coldness of the paste and the rough application of it. He could tell that Neteyam wasn’t very happy with him. And he was going to be absolutely livid once he found out the truth behind his wounds.

He wished sunrise never came.

———

When you left Lo’ak and Ao’nung to their own devices last night, you made way to another spot of yours that only you, your sisters, and Tsireya knew about. The four of you often came to it to have some girl time and gossip about whatever was going on in either of your lives or just to be in each other's presence and braid another’s hair. It was a bit of a ways away, so you called upon your ilu to take you there.

Once you reached the seemingly tiny island, you noticed another body sitting in the sand, fiddling with something in their hands.

You’d come to quickly realize that it was Tsireya who was on the island, finishing up the bracelet she had promised to make Tuk just last night.

“Hey,” she softly said, turning her head around slightly to glance at your figure, sensing your presence behind her.

You shot a small smile towards the girl before sitting down next to her, bringing your legs close to your chest as you sighed out the breath you seemed to be holding in ever since you left Lo’ak and Ao’nung.

“What’s wrong?” Tsireya asked, concern laced in her voice and evident on her face.

The Metkayina girl had a knack of knowing if something was wrong with you, creeping you out a bit when you first started to get to know her. It was how she found out you and her brother were seeing each other. She practically pried it out of you, squealing in delight once she got you to utter the confirming words, hugging you and excitedly exclaiming that you were going to be tsmukes and how she was glad you were going to be the one.

Tsireya’s question brought a frown to your face, water beginning to pool at your waterlines. Eywa, how you did not want to cry in front of your best friend and boyfriend's sister.

“It is fine if you do not want to tell me, tsmuke,” she reassured, putting one of her four fingered hands onto your back, softly rubbing it up and down in comfort, “I will be here whenever you are ready to say it.”.

Her words were the tipping point and you found yourself sobbing into the sweet girls arms, wrapping around your shaking form as she tried to comfort you the best she could.

“Was it my brother?” She asks, her tone serious and flat. If it was, she wasn’t going to hesitate to smack some sense into her brother. You’re one of her dearest friends and she’d hate to see her skxawng of a brother be one of the reasons you cried.

You shook your head at her question, swallowing down another sob that tried to crawl its way up your throat.

You could only imagine what your brother and beloved were doing to each other in the dark of your hidden spot. Punches were definitely being thrown and insults were most likely being shouted at one another. You felt bad for leaving but at the same time, you needed to leave. To get away from your brother and his angry gaze and hurtful words. You needed time to think and process.

“It was mine,” you reply, reluctantly pulling yourself out of Tsireya’s comforting embrace. If you didn’t, you knew you’d only further continue to sob into her arms and barely get any words out in an attempt to answer any of the questions she asked you.

Tsireya frowned at your words, beginning to worry about what he did to make you this upset.

She knew the kind of relationship and connection the two of you had. That’s what she loved about the both of you. You always followed each other around like lost puppies and rarely ever fought, only arguing over stupid things like who got the last yovo fruit or whose turn it was for Tsireya to teach. So seeing you this distraught over something your twin brother did, had the girl extremely worried.

“What did he do?” She questioned, pointed ears tipping towards your frame in anticipation to hear your answer.

You explained to her what happened. How you and Ao’nung were spending time together. How Lo’ak managed to stumble upon Ao’nung feverishly kissing your neck. And the kinds of words Lo’ak spat at you and how they made you feel.

To say the least, Tsireya was pissed at her moron boyfriend.

“I hope Ao’nung beats the shit out of him,” she mumbled, tone angry and harsh as it came out.

You managed to chuckle at her response, stopping your crying momentarily. Tsireya joined you in your short chuckle, giggling to herself.

“I’m serious though, (Y/N). I hope he beats some sense into him,” she added, bringing you into a hug, gently stroking your braided hair. “He shouldn’t have said those words to you. There’s no excuse. There’s no truth behind it, my tsmuke. You are not what he says you are for seeing my brother,” she finished.

You only hum in response. Your head couldn’t help but think that a part of his words were true. Why were you seeing someone that was known for bullying you and your siblings? Why did you feel for him the way you did? Was it because you were what Lo’ak said you were?

Tsireya’s voice pulled you from your thoughts as she laid both of her hands gently onto your damp cheeks, making you look at her as she spoke, “I am serious. You are not a slut for seeing Ao’nung. Yes he may have done some questionable things in the past that aren't excusable. But you have made him a better person. You changed him for the better,”.

Her words bring another wave of tears to your eyes as they run down your nearly raw cheeks. Her words make you feel a bit better about what Lo’ak said prior.

You smiled at your friend before bringing your forehead to hers, both of them resting against each other.

“Irayo,” you replied, truly thankful to have someone like Tsireya in your life.

“Anytime, tsmuke,” she answered back, her dimpled smile spreading across her lips as she did so.

———

“You stupid, stupid boy!” A familiar voice yelled out from outside of the Sullys marui pod.

Lo’ak froze.

Shit, he thought, I’m going to die by the hands of my girlfriend. Fuck.

The teen boy stood still in his tracks, dreading the moment he’d have to turn around.

It was barely sunrise and Tsireya was already out for blood. His specifically.

“Hello, my love,” Lo’ak tried to milk out, hoping she’d melt at the nickname he gave her early on within their relationship.

But all she did was scoff, “Seriously, my love? How dense do you think I am, Lo’ak?”.

To be frank, Lo’ak had a feeling that you’d tell Tsireya about what happened or Ao’nung would, making his stomach twist in anxiety at the thought. He was right though. You told Tsireya of the events that occurred only hours prior and now he was going to feel the wrath of your best friend and his girlfriend.

“Look, Reya, I can explain,” he tried to rush out, pleading with her to at least listen to what he has to say. But she was having none of it.

“No, Lo’ak. You will not. Did you know your sister cried in my arms until sunrise?” She spat, anger clearly evident in her tone and body language, wide tail swishing to and fro behind her.

Lo’ak swore he saw his life flash before his eyes at his lover's harsh tone and deadly glare directed towards him. Tsireya was never the one to resort to violence or anger, believing that killing them with kindness worked best. So seeing her practically growling at him and very much angry made him want to crawl into a ball and cry.

“Oh, right. You wouldn’t know because you were the reason she was crying in the first place!” The girl continued, more angry at her boyfriend's attempt at trying to get her to hear him out.

She knew that what he said was completely wrong. No brother should ever call their sister that, no matter how angry. Ao’nung would never, had never. At this moment, Tsireya found herself thanking the Great Mother for giving her a brother like Ao’nung. One who treated her with respect and would never spit out degrading words like that to her.

The poor girl was shaking in anger, an emotion she rarely ever felt or expressed.

Before Lo’ak could utter another word, another voice chimed into their conversation.

“Trouble in paradise you two?” Neteyam asked, a playful smirk etched into his lips as he leaned against one of the many open arch ways of his family’s marui.

Neteyam had been rousing from his slumber when he heard Tsireya’s loud hissing, curious as to what was the cause of it. He’d say he’s not surprised that it was directed at his younger brother. Lo’ak had a tendency to cause that kind of reaction from people wherever he went.

The younger brother groaned out in annoyance, not wanting his brother to get into the middle of his and Tsireya’s conversation.

“I’m glad you’re here, Neteyam. Maybe your presence will smack some sense into your brothers thick skull,” Tsireya spat out, never taking her glaring gaze off of Lo’ak.

The smirk on Neteyam’s lips fell, his usual frown overtaking it. “What do you mean? What did you do, Lo’ak?” He asked, now standing upright, full attention on his brother.

Lo’ak ears drew back to press up against his head and his tail curled itself between his legs, a telltale sign that he fucked up big time.

“I…I caught (Y/N) with Ao’nung last night,” he mumbled, barely loud enough for Neteyam to hear.

Neteyam had a sneaking suspicion that you and the Metkayina boy were seeing each other behind their backs. Sure the realization hurt but it was your love life and if you weren’t ready to tell your family that you were seeing someone, then it’s your choice. It’s not like you were a child who couldn’t comprehend consequences or make your own choices. You were a woman and were allowed to make whatever decision you thought fit for yourself.

The older boy blankly stared at the younger, not seeing a problem in what he just said.

It was then that Lo’ak realized Neteyam knew about your relationship and that Tsireya most likely did as well. A new sense of anger crawling its way up his stomach. Why couldn’t you tell him? Why did they know and he didn’t?

“And…” Tsireya urged him on, losing her patience with the Omatikaya boy.

“And…” Lo’ak continued, avoiding eye contact with both teens and looking down at the soft sand beneath his feet, “I called her some…things as a result.”.

“Things?!” Tsireya scoffed, clearly over her boyfriend's tiptoeing over the actual truth, “You called her a slut, Lo’ak. For seeing my brother.”.

The growl that left Neteyam’s throat made Lo’ak shrink in on himself in cowardice, still refusing to meet his brother's gaze.

“You skxawng!” He shouted, pushing at Lo’ak’s shoulder, making him stagger back, “You’re an imbecile! Why would you call her that?”.

Lo’ak growled back at his brother in retaliation, anger getting the best of him.

“I was angry! I wasn’t thinking straight,” he hissed out, fists clenched into balls by his side.

Neteyam scoffed, “Clearly. You never do, Lo’ak! All you do is talk but never think. Look at where thats gotten you now!”.

Lo’ak wanted to pounce on his brother and punch him in the face, repeatedly. But he knew it wouldn’t get him anywhere, especially after last night. It wouldn’t solve that sadness you felt nor the anger he harbored. So, he just bit his tongue in hopes that the pain would distract him from his impulsive thoughts to bury his fist into his older brothers face.

“You really hurt her, Lo’ak,” Tsireya spoke out, voice becoming soft again as some of the anger dissipated over the course of their conversation. She was still mad at him but it started to seem like Lo’ak was beginning to finally understand the weight of his words.

“She cried so hard in my arms that she fell asleep. I had Rotxo help me carry her to my marui so she could sleep peacefully,” she continued, catching Lo’ak’s eyes shift from the sandy floor to her, concern creeping on to his features, “She told me how sad your words made her feel. How she thought they were true.”.

That made Lo’ak’s heart break into a million different pieces. You thought that you were a slut? That he truly meant his words? Oh, Eywa. He really did fuck up.

“We know that you didn’t mean it. She knows. But, Lo’ak, your words have an impact on people and they made a significant one on (Y/N) last night,” Tsireya adds on, gently approaching Lo’ak as she took one of his hands into hers and put the other on his cheek, making him look at her, “You need to make it up to her. You need to tell her that there was no truth behind your words and that you were a skxawng for saying them. She needs to hear your apologies from you.”.

The anger Lo’ak once felt disappeared, guilt replacing it.

He was so stupid. Such an awful brother. He should’ve never said those things to you. He should’ve walked away from you and Ao’nung to collect his thoughts instead of insulting you and beating your boyfriend. He felt terrible. But he deserved it. He should feel terrible for all the pain he caused you with his words.

How was he going to make it up to you?

———

You awoke to a body shifting behind you, bringing you closer to their chest as their arms gripped you tighter.

“Morning, yawne,” a deep and familiar voice groggily said.

You smiled at the voice, immediately recognizing that it was your boyfriend who had you in his arms, just like last night.

“Morning, Ao’nung,” you whispered back, getting comfortable in your boyfriend's warm embrace.

Ao’nung never failed at lifting up your mood and making you feel better. It was his speciality. Just one look at his adorably stupid face and everything in life seemed so much better, more brighter.

The boy had only gotten back from his fiasco with Lo’ak when he realized you were fast asleep in his bed, laying on your side as you brought up the thin sheet he always slept with to your chin. His sister had explained to him why you were in there, feeling even more anger towards your twin. He hated seeing you like this. He wished he could take all your pain and awful thoughts away and transfer them to himself so you wouldn’t have to suffer anymore.

“I love you, Ma (Y/N),” Ao’nung mumbled against your skin, burying his face into the space between your shoulder and neck.

You giggled at the tickle of breath against your skin, recoiling a bit from the sensation. You turned around to face your lover to combat the ticklish sensation, coming face to face with Ao’nung.

Your eyes widened and jaw dropped when you saw the state of his face.

Ao’nung saw the grimace on your face and gently took your hands in his and kissed each knuckle. He knew fighting with your brother wasn’t the smartest idea and would most definitely end up with him receiving a few scowls from you in return.

“Did Lo’ak do this?” You softly questioned, afraid to speak too loudly in fear that it would bring unwanted attention from his parents.

They had been proud of their only son for no longer picking fights with Toruk Makto’s son and you didn’t want to ruin that by yelling at or reprimanding him for it. You suppose this situation wouldn’t count though. He had defended you against your brother, basically fighting for your honor. It was different.

Ao’nung only hummed in response, placing your palms against his warm and bruised cheeks.

Tsireya had seen to his injuries when he came limping into the marui. She and Rotxo had just gotten you situated into bed when he arrived. She scowled at him for fighting with Lo’ak, but praised him for defending you. She was proud of her brother for being a good partner but was disappointed at hers for saying such cruel words to you.

Your heart broke at his confirmation, though it didn’t come as a surprise. You knew what was going to happen if you left the two boys to deal with the situation themselves but you couldn’t bring yourself to stay there any longer. You needed some space from your brother.

You opened your mouth to apologize, feeling guilty for leaving Ao’nung to handle your twin by himself but he stopped you before you could, placing a soft kiss against your lips.

“It is not you who needs to apologize, my txe’lan” he says, reading you like a book, “It is your skxawng of a brother who needs to.”.

You chuckled lightly at his words, bringing your lover closer into your frame as your hands continued to rest against his cheeks.

“He’s stubborn,” you reply, slightly doubting your brothers ability to apologize first.

For a majority of your shared childhood with Lo’ak, he rarely apologized for his actions. You could count on one hand the amount of times he’s genuinely apologized to you. All of the forced and half assed ones don’t count in your book.

“He’ll come around. He has to,” Ao’nung retorted, resting his forehead against yours.

Although he too doubted Lo’ak ability to apologize first, you were just as stubborn, if not more, than your twin. He knew you’d do any and everything in your ability to ignore Lo’ak until he came to his senses and gave you a genuine apology he actually meant. That’s another thing he loved about you. You refused to have anyone walk over you, including family.

“I hope so,” you sadly replied, a small frown painted onto your lips.

Your response made Ao’nung copy your frown, feeling guilty for the kind of brother you had. Albeit Lo’ak not meaning his words and being careless with them and his actions, they still had an impact on those around him. He just hopes that he comes to his senses sooner rather than later.

“Wanna go for a swim?” Ao’nung questions, trying to lift up your saddened mood.

Swimming and exploring with Ao’nung is something you always enjoyed, finding peace in his presence and joy in doing something relatively new, even if you’ve been on Awa’atlu for months now. So you nodded at his question, happily pulling your boyfriend up to his feet and out towards the beach.

No matter what, you knew that Ao’nung would do everything in his ability to make you happy for as long as you were together. And you hoped that even with this small bump in your long, adventurous road together, that it would be forever.

If only Lo’ak could see that. If only he understood.

[irisintheafterglow]

End Game #7 (volleyball captain!gojo x you)

summary: you wrap the captain's fingers before the semi-final match and reassure an uneasy player.

wc: 1.3k

cw/tags: established relationship (fuckin' finally, right?), tiny bit of angst but mostly fluff, mentions of eating

note: shorter update because i forgot this was supposed to be a series of drabbles (and then i wrote 3k words on one part lmao).

“I didn’t think quarter finals would give you this much trouble, Satoru.”

“Me neither, and then that captain looked at you for too long and I saw red.” The corner of your mouth turns up and you glance at him to see his eyes shining proudly. He liked having an excuse to go all out, especially if it meant defending you from dirty-gazed players. “I think I overdid it a bit, though.” He shrugs apologetically while you finish wrapping the gauze around the joints of his right pointer finger. 

“It’s okay. I like taking care of you,” you reassure him and he leans down to press a kiss to your hairline, whispering how much he adored you. That morning, you offered to help him tape his fingers after he could barely wrap them around his coffee cup without flinching in agony. In normal Satoru-fashion, he attempted to play it off with a forced smile and a self-effacing joke about being clumsy; but, you were already suspicious of something being off when his face contorted after blocking a particularly powerful spike. It scared you and you were tempted to ask Yaga to call a timeout, but the pain on your boyfriend’s face vanished just as quickly as it appeared. You’d been extra careful after that match when you held his hand and he sighed deeper in relief when you gently caressed his knuckles. You’re just about finished reinforcing his joints when Megumi and Yuuji come back from the bathroom. 

“Will he be alright?” Yuuji asks you and you nod, kissing Satoru’s fingers one more time before setting them on his lap. Megumi eyes you two oddly, sticking his tongue to the side in disgust when Satoru murmurs that he loves you. You shoot him a pointed look and he apologizes under his breath. 

“He’ll be fine. It’s a precaution for when your captain inevitably goes all out and we need to make sure his body can keep up.”

“Mhmm, you definitely know about my body keeping up–” 

“Okay, you’re done.” Megumi and Yuuji’s eyes expand to the size of pool balls and your face suddenly feels like it’s burning. You push away Satoru’s smug face, abandoning him on the lobby bench to fetch the wagon with the jerseys, water bottles, and other items Yaga told you to bring. Yuuji takes the moment to ask Satoru about how his gameplay has been during the matches up to that point. 

The team remained steady through all preliminary matches, bypassing the first qualifier round and eventually making their way to the semi-finals. They were playing well, but so were the rest of the prefecture’s teams. If the close victories affected Satoru, he didn’t show it; he showed up to every match with a self-assured grin and would only drop his smile to stare daggers at the other team. It helped that he was a master at getting the underclassmen fired up to the point where Megumi and Yuuji were scoring just as much as him and Suguru. With Inumaki holding down the team’s defensive power, Satoru encouraged the others to try different plays and, if they didn’t work, immediately got the point back with an infuriatingly reliable ace. Often, between plays, he shot you a smile and made a little heart with his hands that made your stomach flutter. 

Megumi follows you to the wagon with his hands in his pockets, much quieter than his usual indifference. You fish around the wagon to find the box of team jerseys and set it near the top where it’s easily accessible, resting the handle on your hip while Megumi continues to look uneasy. If you didn’t know the boy as well as you did, you might have mistaken his silence for calm focus; but, his eyebrows were ever so slightly dipped in concern and it worried you. 

“What is it, Megs? You feeling okay?” 

“People are looking at us again. Some guys tried to pick a fight with Itadori and me in the bathroom.” Your eyebrows shoot upward in alarm and he’s quick to explain that though nobody got hurt, it still made him feel slightly anxious. It wasn’t uncommon for the team to be subject to funny looks or snide remarks, but you noticed the frequency with which they occurred increased exponentially this year. 

Not that your boyfriend cared in the slightest. 

“I think it’s because you’re a third year now, ‘toru,” you muttered into his chest one night. You both were on the verge of sleep after an exhausting prefecture-wide workshop day filled with conditioning, yelling, more conditioning, and more yelling. He’d snuck through your window and crept into your bed, pulling you naturally into his chest and claiming that he missed you too much to sleep alone. But, you couldn’t get off your mind the wary stares you received from managers of other teams when you told them about your team. 

“Huh?” 

“The other teams–they’re scared of you.”

“As they should be. I’m at my best right now ‘cause you finally came to your senses.” He flashes you a sleepy smirk, blue eyes droopy. 

“No, that’s not it,” you decide. His features abruptly drop into a stubborn frown as you contradict him. If there was one thing he hated more than his family, it was when someone told him he was wrong.

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not me. It’s you; all of it is because of you.”

“This sounds scarily like a breakup, sweetheart. Don’t tell me you’re already sick of me.” You ignore him and keep verbalizing the thoughts finally clicking into place. 

“Baby, you’re a third year captain of a powerhouse volleyball school sponsored by the Society. Kyoto’s the only other team that can take that title. You basically have everything to lose if you don’t put in your all this year, not to mention you’re a Gojo…” 

Your words trail off when he stiffens next to you at the mention of his family name and you apologize for bringing it up. He despised talking about his family, how they’d been in control of the organization for decades and how people assumed he was a wealthy brat who paid his way to success. That couldn’t be further from the truth, and you’d spent hundreds of nights awake with him convincing him being a Gojo wasn’t his entire identity. It hung like a dead weight on his shoulders, being the prized son of the Jujutsu Volleyball Society. Many schools across the nation tried in vain to infiltrate the institution, but the archaic bloodline-centered system made it nearly impossible for outsiders to participate. Bitter schools tended to whisper in the hallways about your team, calling them monsters, beasts…

Curses. 

“Just ignore them, Megs. They’re scared because we haven’t been this much of a threat in decades. You’re breaking their status quo by knocking out the usual Tokyo rep.” 

“Do you think we’ll actually be able to do it this year? Get to Nationals?” You pause, looking over at your team. Suguru has Satoru in a tight headlock, scolding him for who knows what while Yuuji and Yuta try to calm their upperclassman. Satoru’s head wiggles like a bobble head while he tries to bite Suguru’s arm. Nanami hides his face in his hands and Yu sympathetically pats his back; their faces are grave like they were taking mugshots. Inumaki and Panda observe the scene with the rest of your players, munching on onigiri you packed as snacks. It was an entertaining picture and you wished you could capture the sincerity of the moment in a jar to keep forever. 

The team was a little stupid, sure, but they had spirit and heart you’d never seen before that made you want to stay. 

You finally look back at Megumi and nod determinedly before starting to roll the wagon to the warmup area, smiling when you hear Satoru’s yelp of alarm, a loud crash, and his stern captain-voice loudly instructing the team to follow you.

[the-type-a]

Duncney Week 2024

Day 3: Now Won’t You Promise Me, That You’ll

Never Forget

“But I’m in the fishcabin with you, aren’t I?” Create a moment that lives rent free in Duncney’s minds (bonus points if this prompt ends up being super angsty).

*Read under break*

The pitter-patter of rain echoed throughout the room. It was dim as one lamp illuminated light through the space. A large bed with ruffled sheets creaked as a figure rolled over to their back, now facing the ceiling.

A deep sigh escaped the man’s lips as he balled something in his hand. Quickly, as if regretting this action, the man unscrambled the paper. He tried to smooth out the edges as he stared at what it really was. A single picture.

It wasn’t just any old photo he had found buried beneath his bed. No, it was a special one. One that he had taken so many years ago in a place he desperately tried to forget. A picture he remembered the backstory of all too well.

“Coast is clear, Princess.”

“We’re going to get in so much trouble.”

Duncan and Courtney had now successfully found their way into Chris’s private room at the Playa Resort. It honestly ended up being easier than both expected as the camera crew straight up refused to film at that location for little to no pay.

“Relax, babe. Besides, I thought you liked living on the edge.”

“And look where it got me.” She snapped back a little too aggressively than intended.

The green haired teen turned to face her now, knowing how cheated she had felt. He took her hand and squeezed it. Her face relaxed as her brown eyes met his.

“Here, with me. I think that’s a pretty great outcome.”

“You know what I meant.” She said in a defeated tone.

He hated seeing her so upset. She was always so determined, so headstrong— Duncan needed to see that side of her again. Without a second thought he let his hands find her waist, and before she had a chance to react his fingers began to tickle her sides.

Laughter that was music to his ears filled the area they stood in. It was exactly what Duncan wanted. The way her lips curved into a smile and her playful taps to get him to stop made even Duncan start to laugh. He needed to capture this moment.

Before losing his chance, Duncan pulled his phone out and took a quick picture. The sound of the camera and flash made Courtney’s eyes shoot open.

“Duncan!” She hissed, trying her hardest to grab the phone. He held it out of her reach, knowing she’d delete it if given the chance. He made a mental note to print it out later for safe keeping.

“Come on, Princess.” He pulled her into him, giving her a gentle kiss he knew was not enough for that moment, but they would have time for that later.

“Let’s go tear some shit up.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, suppressing the ache longing to come out. He should reach out to her— if anything to apologize for how everything went down. And if by some miracle she heard him out then maybe, just maybe, he’d have another chance with her.

With a sigh, Duncan forced himself out of bed. He needed to clear his mind. He looked at the time and realized he had just enough time to make the opening night showing for a new slasher film just downtown. He just hoped whatever sucker he ended up sitting next to wasn’t a complete nuisance.

—

Courtney focused on the line in front of her, taking a few steps every couple minutes. A flash coming from the side of her made her head turn instantly.

“Cate!” She groaned in annoyance.

She had agreed to come out just for her, and how did she repay her? By taking a possibly lousy picture of her.

“Oh, come on, Court!” Cate began, “When do you ever just live a little?”

“Plenty of times, thank you very much. Now delete it.”

“It’s not even that bad, look!”

Courtney rolled her eyes as she took the phone from her sister's hand.

She thought back to the one time she hadn’t really minded such a candid photo. A lump formed in her throat as she recalled many sneak away nights she shared with a certain blue eyed boy. How her feelings got the best of her all those years ago, and how easily her heart shattered from not listening to her brain.

She wondered what his life was like so many times, but something tugged at her heart right at that moment. And without realizing she promised herself she’d speak with him if the moment were to ever arise.

Now remembering she was staring at the photo for far too long, Courtney nodded quickly with a small smile.

“Could be worse.”

“Come on, we really don’t want to miss this movie!”

Courtney followed her sister into the busy building, already dreading having to watch the new slasher film. She took a deep breath and reminded herself she was there for her sister. Plus there was no way she was waiting in this rain.

After all, how bad could it really be?

—

[makur0]

hello! can i request keito with fem reader where they both got caught in rain while they're on their way home, and keito couldn't help but gets turned on looking at his girlfriend getting soaked, her body curve almost looking visible to some eyes :( when they got back home she noticed that keito has been quite and ask him what's wrong, and then he loses himself and fuck her in the bathroom??

“Just… hold still for a minute.”

synopsis — getting caught in a storm was not on his agenda. but having his dignity washed away by the rain was definitely not what he planned for [keito hasumi x fem! reader]

content warnings — nsfw, mdni. semi-exhibitionism(?), pervert! dom! keito, bathroom sex, penetration, creampie, pussydrunk! keito

author’s note — i used to not like keito, but the enstars fandom REALLY changed my mind about that haha… even more so after this i bet.

word count — 1401

“DAMMIT, IT’S STARTING TO RAIN…”

Scowling, Keito tugged you under the nearest overhand as soon as he felt the first few drops, glaring at the darkening clouds. “And it look’s like it’s not gonna stop anytime soon.”

You sighed. “Well, so much for a nice date. Do you think Kuro can pick us up?”

“He’d be driving all the way back from work- and just for a thirty-second drive back to the house?” He gave you a half-hearted glare, and you shrugged. “It’s not worth it.”

“Well, then can we try to make a run for it? It’s still light-“

You were interrupted by a thunderous roar, the rain increasing tenfold. Fat droplets hit the overhang over the two of you, rolling down from the sides and splattering you and Keito.

The latter grumbled, wiping a stray droplet from his glasses. “Well that’s great. I don’t think we should— the weather is dangerous. But it’s more dangerous for us to stay here, so I say running back to our house is our best bet…”

You didn’t wait for him to finish; you were already off. The male let out a noise of surprise, going to scold you, but relented and joined you in the pouring rain as the two of you raced back home.

He would glance towards you frequently, but the more he did it the harder it was to look away. The rain had soaked through your blouse, the material sticking to your skin and becoming so translucent that… dammit. Why were you wearing such a pretty bra— wait, why was he even looking at that?! How undignified can he be?

And the fact you were basically flashing yourself in public… god, he was losing his mind at an incredible rate. He couldn’t think straight, forgetting both yours and his wellbeing as he almost tripped over the curb of a sidewalk and slipping towards you. You didn’t think much of it, deciding that he was just having trouble in the rain.

Yeah, the rain was making his face red and reduced him into a stuttering mess as you tried to get the house keys from him. Yeah…

You breathed out a sigh of relief as you finally stepped in your house, away from the rain. Caring less about the water prints you left around the house, you rushed to the bathroom to dry up and changed. Keito hesitated, hovering over the entrance as he tried to process what just happened.

Did he get turned on? Yes. Should he do something about it?

…Yes??

- - -

“Keito— are you alright? Why are you acting so weird?”

The said male mumbled out an inaudible response, burying his flushing face into the towel he dried his hair with. When he peeked up, you couldn’t help but coo at his pout, his eyes more prominent without his glasses. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” He muttered, obviously lying. Deadpanning but not wanting to feed into the nonsense, you just sighed and turned around to reach for your hairbrush.

“Can’t you just stop acting like a baby for once? You-“ You cut off with a jolt, feeling Keito’s still-damp hands grab your waist tightly as he pulled your back flush to his chest. The hairbrush hit the tile with a sharp noise, but that soon was forced into the back of your mind as you stared at the male a bit closer. “Keito??”

He seemed to whisper an apology, but after glancing at you in the eye he raised his voice. “Just… just hold still for a minute.”

“What?”

One of your free hands grabbed the side of the sink, instinctively grounding yourself as your boyfriend suddenly shoved his hands under your belt and down your thighs, bringing your pants and underwear along with it. You made an effort to jerk away to his boldness, but shivered and froze after you felt his hot breath on your neck.

He was desperate desperate.

In fact, he was so whipped that he didn’t even bother to apologize, which was saying something because he usually does whenever he jumps on you out of the blue. Right now his mind was set on getting himself off, with you in tow.

He got into foreplay quickly, his deft fingers rubbing your swelling nub and folds. Flinching, your other free hand lifted up to cover your mouth but Keito beat you to it, slipping two fingers into your mouth just as he nipped at your shoulder.

You were going to lose your balance soon- with your boyfriend working you with both his hands and mouth, you felt the inescapable adrenaline he was feeding to you. When he saw your legs buckle visibly and your eyes clouded, he picked up the pace on your cunt, faint squelching sounds reaching both of your ears. You came with a soft whine, your hands going to grip Keito’s shirt as he fingered you through your orgasm. Fatigue was already creeping up your body as you caught your breath, but the knowing grip he had on you said that you weren’t resting just yet.

“You came so easily,” Keito observed out loud, his lack of tone making you shiver. “Glad to know I wasn’t the only one craving this.”

“Just hurry up…” Grumbling, you reached back to press on his ass, the force making him grind against your own. His bulge was prominent, and when he felt the clothed sex rub against your heat the both of you groaned. “Make it quick.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” He snapped, but obliging to your words as he impatiently tugged his pants off and let his cock spring out of his boxers, resting on the curve of your back. You bit your lip, grabbing it to align with your hole, but let out a small grunt of shock as he pushed you against the sink, pinning both of your hands on the cold marble.

Any complaints that were about to bubble out soon grew into rushed moans as Keito slipped into you effortlessly and immediately started to rut into you, shying grunts slipping through his lips as his eyes screwed shut.

“Oh fuck-!” Your head fell on the marble top, the coolness of the stone competing with the raging fire your boyfriend was now fueling. Being louder than him right now, your pathetic attempts to speak echoed through the bathroom walls, your own lewd moans reaching your ears.

Your hands were let go a while ago, Keito’s arms instead wrapping around your waist as he almost lifted you up every time he slapped his pelvis to your cunt, feeling your previous orgasm string off between your thighs and his hips. At this point he was so lost in your cunt that he didn’t even slow down for you when another numbing orgasm rolled over you, your cries white noise to him, as all he could focus was how tight you were wrapping around his cock.

“K-Keito- ghk- t’fast-t~!” You struggled to shied away from him, but he’s had you wrapped around your finger for this long, he can’t let go now especially since he’s nearing his high. Letting out a tsk at you antics, he muffled your complaints with a hand, his grip tightening around your jaw as he nipped at your ear.

“Just be my little whore for a bit longer,” He spat out, his breaths shaky as his pace became ragged and inconsistent. “Bit- bit longer…”

The tears that were gathering around your eyes finally fell as you felt Keito push even harder into you, soon feeling warmth explode in your cunt as he pumped you full of his seed. That feeling alone was enough to wrench out a third orgasm from you, your body convulsing violently. Finally the male slowed to a stop, collapsing onto your shaky figure as the both of you held on the sink to stay on your feet.

You couldn’t see it, but felt Keito’s seed drip out your hole and trickle down your thighs when he pulled out, shivering as you felt his fingers scoop it up and finger it back to your hole.

“Jesus, Keito…” You let out a breathless laugh, turning your head to see his flushed face, the post-orgasm finally clearing his head. He tried to hide his embarrassment, but his bright red ears gave it away.

“Let’s- let’s just get cleaned up. And not a word about this.”

TAGLIST: @ibaraluvr @sugarsweb @himeru-soulmate

[joels-darlin]

Monday Morning - The Rescue

Chapter 1 can be found here - Ch 1: Monday Moring - The Situation

Pairings: Javier Peña x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ only. kidnapping/hostage situation, violence, angst, hurt, allusions to rape, mentions of weapons, restraints/being tied up, mentions of blood and injuries. (I think that's all sorry if I missed any)

Summary: A standard Monday morning commute to the DEA office takes a harrowing turn of events. Now Javi and Steve are here to rescue you.

Word count: 2469

Author Note: Apologies this took so long to get out but have been hit with huge writers block recently and finally got through it!! I am debating (being a strong word here) wrapping this all up with a Chapter 3, so if you want it please let me know! Any feedback is appreciated, thanks all ♥️

Special thankyou to @ladybess-a03 for your help/support on this and providing your amazing Beta reading services which I am forever grateful for ♥️ AO3 Link

Javier was losing his mind, anxiety bubbling in his chest an unusual feeling for him. Taking another glance around, his eyes landed on the clock that hung on the yellowing walls of the office.10:43am, and you still hadn’t stepped through those heavy brown doors. He knew you liked to be in earlier than the rest, taking the first couple of hours of peace to catch up with any leftover paperwork and enjoy the coffee you grabbed from near the markets on your short commute in.

His fingers drummed against the solid oak desk, shifting to grab another file from the growing pile of paperwork next to him. Having only drained his coffee cup a mere five minutes ago, file still in his hand closed, Javi pondered for a second thoughts of you filling his mind. 

“Fuck this!” he thought shoving the chair back with force and standing to his feet. Snatching the cup from the desk he stalked to the kitchen; he needed a distraction, and fast.

In the kitchen was where he ran into Steve who seemed to have a similar need for a caffeine fix. Javi made himself busy washing and drying his cup before leaving it next to the coffee machine, signaling he was next in the queue.

“You heard from her?” Steve spoke first, breaking the unusual silence between the pair.

“Nothing, she must be on holiday or sick?”

“I spoke to the front desk earlier, but no phone calls or requests have come in,” Steve responded in a flat tone.

As far as they were concerned this was unusual behavior, and something felt really wrong. You had never missed a day's work, always opting to call in at the earliest convenience if you were sick or unable to come in. After Steve left, Javi busied himself again now that the coffee machine was free, retreating back to his desk shortly after. A sigh left his lips on approach as he spotted the paperwork pile which he swore had increased since he had stepped away.

The day dragged on like any other; go through the never-ending paperwork, look at leads on Escobar, review new (but also useless) intelligence. It was the conversation between some other colleagues that caught his attention on his seventh visit to the kitchen for a refill.

“Did you hear about the trouble this morning? At the markets, I heard some young woman was bundled into the back of a car. They must be in trouble with Escobar and his cronies” he overheard. 

Javi’s ears pricked up at this, craning his neck towards the conversation happening in the other room. Paper thin walls meant no secrets were safe in this office. His mind suddenly went into overdrive. The markets? Wasn’t that near where you usually frequented for your coffee? Shoving his cup in the sink, not even bothering to clean it this time, he rushed back to his desk.

“Steve…can we talk…in private?” he asked. He leant over the desks, getting as close to his partner as possible trying to avoid causing any commotion. Moving his head to gesture at the storage cupboard across the other side of the room. Steve nodded, rising from his desk before following, closing the door behind.

”This better be good, I have a pile of paperwork to-” he began. 

“I was just in the kitchen…overheard a conversation about someone getting kidnapped by possibly Escobar’s men near the markets early this morning…you think it could be her?”. It had been radio silence all day, still not hearing anything from you, definitely a cause for concern.

“Wow, you really like her don’t you?” his partner chuckled. Steve knew Javi had a slight infatuation for his female partner but didn’t think it ran this deep. It was obvious sometimes though, the extra glances across the office towards your desk whilst working or the way his partners eyes lit up upon you entering the room.

“Steve…not now…seriously…could it be her?”

“What makes you think it could be? These things happen on the streets pretty much every day!”. Javi sighed, lifting his hand to card his fingers through his hair. 

“I don’t know, I just have a bad feeling and it won’t go away…”. 

What Steve failed to mention was also the sinking feeling in his stomach that had been churning around for most of the day; in his eyes you were a friend and even he was starting to get concerned. 

“I guess it won’t hurt to go ask around” he said. 

~~~

Absolutely useless, the pair might as well have stayed in the office, having not gotten a single lead on your whereabouts. With the endless shaking of heads and “No’s” they were met with, the frustration was grating. Not a single person had recognised your face in the picture they were showing around, but there had to be someone here. 

From the corner of his eye, Javi spotted it; the coffee cart. Still manned, an old looking bloke who must have been late sixties maybe. In all of ten minutes the man in question had identified you, and even made note of the number plate of the vehicle he saw you being carted into; it was like some sort of miracle. Javi and Steve left not long after, graciously thanking the man for his information, even grabbing a quick coffee whilst there as a token gesture. 

He might have just saved your life.

~~~

It took less than an hour for them to find the location once back at the office. A small group of the team pulled off their current assignments, their new focus now being tracking the whereabouts of the black SUV they now knew you had been taken in. It wasn’t long before they got a hit. The vehicle was last spotted in a location known to Escobar - owning establishments up and down the country.

As soon as the approval was given they were out of the office and into the car, the location being a disused house just a few miles from the market. It was a huge risk just two of them versus however many of Escobar’s men were guarding you. But Javi had to get you out if it was the last thing he ever did.

Under the cover of darkness they parked just up the road from the house, in the hopes to not raise any suspicions. Slipping out into the warm air, both quietly approaching the two doors on the building, splitting them evenly. Luckily, for once, there were only two men inside; taking one each the bodies dropped to the ground in the blink of an eye. The partners opted for a quick scan of the premises for any further Sicarios before giving the all clear.

“Cariño” Javi’s voice came out barely a whisper, catching sight of you from through the doorway. Eyes scanning your frame he could see you were stripped to just your underwear. Beaten, bruised, blindfolded and currently slumped over in a rusty metal chair. It wasn’t hard for him to miss your chest heaving with sobs. His heart sank, stomach twisting and turning in a sickly way - the bile starting rising in his throat. Then came the wave of rage. How could someone do this to you, a small, fragile but beautiful human being?.

Checking his surroundings again before holstering his gun he approached you cautiously, your head lifting slightly at the sounds of footsteps in the room.

“Please ...no…not again…please” you begged, screamed in fact. Evidently choking on a fresh set of tears. Javi stood frozen for a second a million thoughts whizzing around his head; what the fuck had they done to you?

“It’s Javi…sweetheart…you’re okay, Steve is outside the door…you-you’re safe now” he said, his own voice stammering as he processed the sight of you, the sickening feeling in his stomach not having passed yet as his mind ran with thoughts of what had happened to you in this room. 

“J-J-Javi….H-H-How?” you croaked. 

“Shhh now, it’s okay. I’m going to undo the ropes and blindfold for you. But it’s just me; I won’t hurt you” he said. 

Javi waited and the small nod of approval was enough for him to step closer. Approaching the back of the chair his eyes fell to your hands bound together with an old dirty rope. Releasing the knot took him longer than expected and he let out a sigh of relief upon seeing it hit the floor - not missing the angry bleeding marks which embellished the soft skin there.

Circling back around Javi wasn’t prepared for the sight he lay his eyes on; breaking his heart into pieces. The mixture of pain and blind rage bubbling up in his chest; insistent that he was going to make every single one of them pay. Fighting with his demons he wanted nothing more than to pull you into an embrace. Now was not the time for that though, as he was unsure how much physical damage you had endured, and wanted to get you straight to the hospital to be checked over.

“Hey…” a soft voice made you lift your head, eyes locking for a brief moment with those brown orbs, it being hard to miss the sadness and guilt swimming in them “…think you can stand?” Javi asked. 

You nodded, taking a minute for a deep breath in and out before shakily standing from the chair - feeling his eyes watching intently, ready to intercept at any moment. It wasn’t long before your shaking legs gave out, landing on the cold hard floor with a thump. At this point what was just another bruise for the ever growing collection.

“Okay cariño I’m going to carry you, alright? If you get uncomfortable at any point tell me, okay?”. Javi waited for your approval and after another slight nod he approached slowly, sliding one arm under the back of your knees and the other around your back, lifting your frame from the floor to carry you bridal style. Ever so careful with hand placement.

Cradled against his chest it was hard not to close your eyes, the sheer warmth radiating from his skin, your head nestled in the crook of his neck; forehead brushing against the exposed skin there. The smell of Javi filled your nose as you tried to control your breathing - a mix of leather, tobacco and coffee.

“You good, hermosa?” he asked. No words came out, just the nod of approval again to signal that you were okay. Making sure he moved slowly out of the house, he carefully bundled you into the backseat of the car.

“Is she alright?” the familiar voice cut through the darkness, and it took a second to realise that it was in fact Steve. You don’t remember much after that; the world plunged into darkness.

~~~

Coming to your senses, you slowly started blinking, desperately trying to open my eyes and see what’s around. The blinding light slowly subsided as you craned to take in the surroundings. Okay so this was a hospital, you knew that for certain, obvious by the pristine white walls and that goddamn awful bleach smell that made your nose crinkle in disgust. It was the soft voice from the right which caught your attention more though.

“Cariño…”. Turning your head, you saw him. There was Javi, sat in the sickly green looking hospital chair, standing the second your eyes locked. “…it’s okay we got you, you are safe now”.

A heavy sigh left your lips, the events of the morning playing vividly in your head. “I mean…I th-think so” your voice was hoarse and weak.

“I’ll go tell them you are awake” he smiled and reached out a soft warm hand, taking yours and giving it a quick squeeze before heading towards the door. 

Taking in the surroundings, you quickly noticed it was dark outside from the slight crack in the blinds over the window. How long had you been out? Looking down at your body, the tangle of wires and IV’s all connected into your skin causing a shudder to run up your spine. Not failing to notice that you were still just in your underwear, the scratchy feeling of the hospital blanket against your skin was uncomfortable, but at least it was covering you from the chest down. The door creaked open again, in strolling Javi moving to stand next to you.

Your skin was a mass of purple bruises and luckily only a few superficial cuts which were taken care of whilst you were out, your face being the part that had taken the brunt of the beating. They had left you with a hefty black eye, split lip, and fractured cheekbone. Javi was seething hearing the damage they had inflicted. But there was one thing he couldn’t get off his mind, the thought plaguing him for the many hours he had spent sitting in that goddamn chair.

“Sweetheart…I need to know…did-did…they touch you?” he stuttered, locking eyes with yours again, emphasis on the word he needed to get across so you understood what he was asking. Taking a moment to answer, you were obviously reliving the previous trauma and he could see it behind your eyes, tears just starting to collect at the lash line.

Gaze drawn back down to your lap all you could do was nod, not baring to look at him again knowing the tears will spill over. He had an idea but wanted it to come from you and the non-verbal response was enough. It took a lot for Javi to show his emotions but that was when he broke.

It was only when a nurse entered the room, fresh hospital gown in hand, that he turned away. More so to give you privacy whilst she helped you into the clothing, he let a single tear slip down his face whilst his back was turned, wiping it away with the heel of his hand. Gods above, he was going through it right now, unable to comprehend how someone could even do that to you. The feeling in his chest was insufferable, his heart breaking into a million tiny pieces again. He couldn’t even imagine the pain you must be feeling right now. 

It was only when he caught sight of the nurse leaving that he turned back around. Glancing over at the bed, you looked so small…so frightened. Javi wanted nothing more than to scoop you up into his arms and make the pain go away. But right now, that wouldn’t achieve anything, for as much as he wanted to. He was going to have to be so careful with you for a long, long while.

This was going to take time, but he swore then and there to be by your side every step of the way.