#saving throw pod

[thefandomcassandra]

Watch Saving Throw

I'm in the VODs rn but this scene grabbed me by the throat and said "hey maybe draw this?" and I said "o7 on it chief" and then did lmao.

Saving Throw is fun and I need to catch up lol.

[hoeswater]

hey alan mandel and jonathan williams come over here a minute i just wanna talk

[derbophobia]

there are times in a girls life when only a menthol cough drop can save her. these times are called "days" and well they happen quite a bit ^__^ !

[tender-rosiey]

“GOOD! NOW PUNCH HIS FACE!”

— when your baby and gojo, geto, nanami, toji, and sukuna get protective over you (f!reader)

a/n: I am alive!! as an apology here is a multi-character post 🙏 btw in toji's part, you're megumi's mom

GOJO SATORU:

two peas in a pod, twins, copies: these are all things people have called your husband and son.

honestly, they’re not wrong. your son has his father’s looks—satoru swears he has your nose and ears but anyway—and he carries the same protectiveness and love he holds for you, if not amplified.

you can’t count on one hand the amount of times the house has been turned upside down because of their fights for a cuddle session with you.

of course, you have always tried suggesting them simply sharing you, but these problem children would rather eat raw zucchini than ever share the cuddle time.

so while your son is barely six, you can still count on him to team up with satoru against anyone who wrongs you in anyway like what’s happening right now for example.

you’re out with your lovely family to buy some groceries, and since they both were whining about getting some sweets, you allowed them to go and snatch a couple from the next aisle.

on the other hand, you stayed to look for another type of detergent to clean the floor—especially since satoru got this new type of paint for s/n and it’s quite an endeavor to remove it with a regular detergent.

however, being in the cleaning supplies section never guaranteed the lack of filthy men who can’t take no for an answer. this one man approaches you, smug grin on his face as he leans on the wall, “what’s a pretty lady like you doing alone?”

“buying groceries like a normal person; now please leave me alone.”

he quickly frowns, “don’t be so stingy doll,” his hand extends towards your arm, “I can show you a good time; I promise—“

the man is swiftly smacked with an egg on his face, and he is left with the egg dripping down his face, “what’s your wrong with your kid, man?!” he yells at the person behind you.

he then grumbles, “ruined a potential good night.”

“my kid was absolutely right in what he did,” you hear satoru’s voice. you then feel a hand on your shoulder, and you’re pulled into a chest you’re all too familiar with, “’toru��“

your husband shoots a small smile your way, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, before looking at his son, “that last throw was very good, s/n! throw another one but just below his stomach."

a cheshire cat-like grin is plastered on your husband’s face as s/n prepares to launch another egg at the man.

there is a very evident scowl on your son’s face as he yells, “don’t you ever bother mama again, you stinky bum crumb!”

the man gasps and tries to make a run for it, but your son wouldn’t be the son of gojo satoru if he doesn’t manage to land the hit exactly where he wants.

the man quickly crumbles to the ground screaming and alerting literally everyone in the store.

so satoru picks both you and s/n and makes a run for it.

you hold tightly onto him, “wait, ‘toru, the groceries!”

“we can always order! saving my princess and son is more important!”

your son grumbles, “but I want to hit the rude man!”

“me too, champ, but—“ satoru sweat-drops and glances behind him, “I doubt the angry security guards would like that!”

GETO SUGURU:

your twin girls are one of the sassiest to exist.

in a way, they take after their father who is also pretty sassy but very low-key.

the sass of all three combined is terrible to be the victim of. luckily for you, they don’t dare direct their triple ray towards you, especially—in any argument—at least one will try to win you over.

if it’s suguru trying to stay on your good side, then he is hugging you from behind, pressing feather-like kisses on your shoulder and whispering about how sweet you are. if it’s the girls, then they cling to your legs and keep yelling about how much they love you.

so it is safe to say that you have a small squad to protect you from any potential “danger”.

“oh my, dear shouldn’t you focus on refining yourself a bit more?” you hear a woman say beside you.

you turn towards her, offended, “excuse me?”

“I mean,” her eyes scan you, disapprovingly, “you look average at best, and with that you won’t be able to find yourself a husband, let alone have children.”

you’re still processing her audacity as she continues, “but then again, it’s probably for the better that you don’t have children; you can barely take care of yourself.”

“can I help you?” your husband says as he approaches the woman.

she smiles condescendingly before chuckling, “I was simply telling this lady to take care of herself more; she hardly looks presentable.”

geto’s smiles tenses up as he is about to give the woman a calm peace of his mind, but his daughters beat him to it.

your older twin stands in front of the woman, scanning her with pure disgust in her eyes.

she grimaces and voices out her thoughts, “you are like a crunchy lizard.”

the woman gasps, “how dare you—!”

you cut off the woman, curious about your daughter’s conclusion, “why a crunchy lizard, sweetheart?”

your daughter looks at you with a small frown, shaking her head, “a crunchy lizard is an ugly sad lizard.”

a snort escapes your husband, and you’re barely able to contain your smile.

your other daughter follows up, looking at her twin sister, “the lady looks like that one green thingy we saw yesterday,” she taps her little foot, trying to remember and beams at the woman, “shrek! you look like shrek!”

then they both glare at her, frowning, “you’re a monkey!”

your husband doesn’t let it go as he deals the final—subtle—blow, “come on now girls; we shouldn’t bully the lady with the mcdonald’s like hairline anymore.”

it seems like the woman can’t take it anymore as she starts sobbing and running to the hills.

a moment of silence is shared across the four of you, before you carry both of your girls in your arms and start tickling them, “I don’t know whether to be proud of you or scold you, little evil girls!”

they squeal, trying to escape your hold and calling for their father.

geto chuckles and wraps his arms around the three of you, “let them have it for tonight, y/n,” he ruffles their hair, “they were brave and defended their mom, after all.”

“yeah, papa is right!”

“yes mama, please!”

you pout then smirk at geto, “well I don’t mind, and since papa is also very proud of you girls, he will buy any toy that you guys want today!”

the color drains from your husband’s face, and he watches motionlessly as his girls latch onto him, screaming about the toys they want.

you giggle at his expression and blow him a kiss. he reluctantly blows you one back, while the girls excitedly pull him towards the toy store.

NANAMI KENTO:

you and your husband were blessed with the sweetest girl as your daughter, and she was just recently joined by another sweet girl.

you can never forget the happiness on your daughter’s face when she saw her baby sister.

it also seems that no matter how many times you give birth, your husband can’t help but get emotional when he holds your baby. his hands are forever delicate as he cradles her to his chest.

you remember what he said during the birth of your first daughter.

“I feel like a piece of heaven has been plucked and placed in my arms.”

the way he always goes soft for the three of you is honestly adorable.

today, you were going on an outing with your—now 6 months old—baby and your older daughter who is almost six.

your husband never brags about his muscular form, but he never misses a chance to carry the baby or the baby supplies.

you have offered to at least carry the bag, but he always refuses, stating that ‘you already carried the baby for nine entire months in your belly; this is the least I can do.’

so yeah, sometimes you wish to smooch your husband till forever, but that’s not the point.

you’re walking hand in hand with your daughter as she sings her favorite song. you hear someone click their tongue, so you look to the side and lock eyes with an old lady. she takes the opportunity and approaches you.

“you should be ashamed of yourself!” she yells pointing at you, “your husband shouldn’t be carrying the baby supplies nor the baby itself for the matter,” she scowls, “that’s your job!”

“with all due respect ma’am, but that isn’t her job, and taking care of the baby should be something we are both responsible for.”

“yeah!” your daughter huffs, “and don’t take out your sad life on my mama!”

your eyes widen as you stare at your daughter.

on the other side, your husband is just as speechless. your daughter pays no one any mind as she continues, “mama works hard every day! you wouldn’t know that! you immature nugget!”

nanami frowns lightly, “d/n, that’s not nice—“

and for the cherry on top, your baby daughter throws the bottle cap she was playing with at the old lady, and frowns at her.

she starts babbling some nonsense that you're pretty sure are curse words in baby language.

having had enough, the old lady huffs, “the utter disrespect,” and starts walking away.

the rest of the spectators’ eyes follow her till she is out of sight. finally then, people start minding their own business, and you and your little family are left to the aftermath.

you giggle, “that was funny.”

“really?!” your daughter beams.

nanami cuts her off, “no,” he then looks at you with a small frown, a sigh escaping his lips, “y/n don’t encourage them—“

your baby daughter screams happily when she sees her sister smile. she starts kicking her feet with the biggest smile on her own face.

your older daughter starts laughing with her and tries to make her little sister laugh more—she was successful.

meanwhile, you chuckle, leaning on your husband’s shoulder, “admit it, kento; it was kind of funny.”

his resolve softens at the sound of laughter from all three of his girls, “okay, maybe a little, but—“

“yay!!”

ladies: 1

kento: 0

FUSHIGURO TOJI:

your husband and son are so alike, save for the part that your husband is a bit more shameless, and your son is more on the shy side.

however, they both have the same bluntness and the tendency to give anyone who they don’t like attitude.

for example, today, you were walking in the park with the both of them to unwind a bit.

not to mention that megumi wanted to walk his dogs which was a plus, since you would be able to watch your dear son play around with them.

it was all going great until you saw an old ‘friend’ who came running at the sight of you. he was someone who has always been way too touchy and in your personal bubble.

you have tried talking to him about it, but you’re confident that he does it to somehow force you into reciprocating the intimacy.

even if you’re a married woman with a freaking kid.

he giddily clasps your hand, “y/n, ‘been a long time!”

“h-hey,” you smile awkwardly.

he laughs, “I was passing by when I saw your figure, and I couldn’t help but come and say hi.”

you nod, “that’s great, but I am busy, so maybe later?—“

“you’ve gotten even prettier!” he exclaims, “I wish you would finally take me out on a—“

“can’t you see that she is uncomfortable?” your son retorts, “also, you should step back; you shouldn’t touch someone like this without asking them.”

megumi squeezes himself between the both you and glares at the man.

the guy was about to reply to your son, but toji pushes him back with ease, pulling you beside him and hand resting on your waist almost by instinct, ��kid is right,” he tilts his head a bit, “ever been taught manners or do I have to do the teaching for you?”

the guy is taken back; offended, he snaps “you can’t speak to me like that!”

“and you can’t hold my mom’s hands like that, but here we are,” your son cleverly sasses him.

on the other hand, your—shameless—husband pulls you into one scandalous kiss and smirks at the guy when he pulls back, “and you can’t hit on a married woman, by the way.”

you hear your son gag in disgust at his dad’s actions, but you’re too busy burying your face in your husband’s chest, hoping that the guy disappears before toji makes even more of a bigger scene.

you also hope that the ground would swallow you, but that’s the alternative option.

the guy clutches his fist, before walking away, spewing insults at the sky—since he is too scared to cuss out your buff husband. once the man is out of sight, toji ruffles megumi’s hair, chuckling, “good job, kid.”

your shy bean’s cheeks redden slightly as he looks away, “…thanks.”

you’re still thinking about what just happened when you slap your husband’s chest, “toji, literally why?” you grumble, patting megumi who started holding onto your leg the moment you hugged toji.

“why not,” your husband shrugs with a small smile, taking pride in your flustered form.

“dad, I want ice cream.”

“no, you just want me to let go your mom, so you can hog her for yourself,” toji grumbles, staring down at megumi.

unfaltering, megumi looks up at him ,“dad, I want ice cream.”

“god damn it, listen here you—“

“divine dogs.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

there is no denying that both your son and your husband care for you very much, and they both—very aggressively—compete for your attention.

I am talking he literally throws the kid across the room kind of aggressive, and your son, in turn, throws whatever he has at him.

it’s eventful, but you would be lying if you said that it wasn’t one of the reasons why you will get grey hair earlier than everyone else.

so their very aggressive nature is also shown in their protectiveness over you.

a person doesn’t need to insult or even dare flirt with you for your devil duo to make their life a living hell; your husband and son don’t tolerate someone speaking to you if it causes you to ignore both of them.

for example, this one new servant was clueless to where the broom is, and unluckily for him, he saw you sitting with your husband and son in the gardens. he humbly approached you, “excuse me, m’lady.”

you turn to look at him with a smile, “yes?”

he clears throat, a bit flustered by the attention, “I—I wanted to ask where the—“

“up your ass, you disgusting fiend,” your son sneers followed by his father’s ever-permanent scowl.

“who gave you the permission to come and speak to her so casually?” sukuna presses, and the servant quickly falls to his knees.

“m-my apologies, my lord! I did not mean to disturb you!”

sukuna crosses his arms, “well, you did, and you also disturbed your queen and prince,” his eyes narrow at the servant, “what do you have to say for yourself?”

meanwhile, you’re watching all of that, mouth agape and trying to articulate anything to save the poor guy. you finally find your voice, “sukuna, it’s okay; he didn’t mean—“

your son hugs you tightly and glares at the servant, “to think he would so brazenly speak to you like you’re old friends is terrible, mother.”

you can almost see your son’s cursed energy flaring, and you can spot the small smirk on your husband’s face as he watches his son.

before it escalates any further and you find yet another dead corpse in your palace, you pick up your son, kissing his cheek which makes him flustered and causing him to bury his face in your neck.

you look at the servant, “you’re dismissed, and you can ask the head maid about anything you need, okay?”

“y-yes, m’lady!” he, however, stays glued to the ground, “may I have the permission to lift my head?”

sukuna grunts, “sure.”

“thank you, m’lord,” the servant says, before scurrying towards the gate, having secured his freedom after his little mistake.

or at least, that’s what he thought.

your husband slices his legs off with a flick of a finger, and your son, who has inherited his father’s technique, slices the head off.

and so the body falls to the ground, and the other servants hurriedly start cleaning up the mess.

you frown at your husband, “sukuna! he apologized!”

he rolls his eyes, and pulls you by the waist, “do I look like I care? he shouldn’t have interrupted our time together.”

“aww, you’re jealous!”

“no, I am not—“

“hands off, old man!”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[thick-monster-thighs]

Warlord Yautja/Reader; An Act of Rebellion

Title: An Act of Rebellion Rating: Explicit Fandom: Predator: Killer of Killers Ship: Warlord Predator/Grendel King (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader Warnings: Non/Dubcon, captivity, canon typical violence Author Note: This is the first third of this fic. The whole work can be read on AO3! Summary: You are one of the few chosen by the Yautja to fight for their entertainment. Before you are taken to the arena, however, you catch the attention of the Warlord. Fighting back seems like a good idea at first - until he effortlessly turns the tables and demonstrates his power and control over you.

You spit onto the floor, releasing a mixture of saliva and old blood from your aching mouth. Your head throbs as if it had been slammed repeatedly against the metal wall of the room, even though you only fell out of the capsule holding you. A dull pain radiates from your hip, knee, and left hand—the parts of your body that broke your fall.

Who comes up with such nonsense as a floating cryo capsule?!

Dizziness makes the entire room dance and spin around you, causing deep, oppressive nausea. You have to muster all your willpower not to vomit on the cold floor beneath you.

"Fuck..." Blinking against the dizziness helps, if only a little. Don't throw up. Luckily, after a few seconds, your vision slowly becomes clearer. And your throat stops itching, mouth stops producing extra saliva.

Your weak knees can barely hold the weight of your own body. Cold muscles scream in silent agony, trembling and shaking as they threaten to give way. The cryo capsule you're pulling yourself up on is technology your foggy brain doesn't quite recognize. It's certainly not a Weyland-Yutani pod. Its rough, angular design is made for beings larger than humans. It's alien technology, an alien ship.

What's the last thing you remember?

It takes a moment for your brain to search for memories. The fog is thick, hiding what brought you to this creepy room lit only by narrow red lamps on the walls. The floor is cold. You hear the roar of an engine that doesn't belong to one of the company's large haulers. The vibrations in the material of this ship are more penetrating, reaching into your bones. Weyland-Yutani ships sound different. They sound hollow and somehow... cheaper. Their ships sound like cost-cutting measures and a willingness to lose entire crews if it means saving a little money.

This is not a human ship. Its high-quality engine emits a deep growl that resonates in your chest like a steady purr. A purring monster made of metal, on its way to who-knows-where. You gasp for air as your brain finally locates the missing memory in the darkness. The Karattera. The strange cargo the company wanted to be transported to one of the research facilities back home. The crash on Vokila-2. And the black creatures that wreaked havoc. As this tidal wave of memories washes over you, accompanied by the lingering smell of blood, a trembling sob escapes you.

It's a sound as unstoppable as it is desperate. There are no tears, just the realization that the entire crew of the Karattera is dead. Just like the mining company team on the planet. You remember killing three of those black, fast beasts with long skulls using the Vokila-2 station's trash compactor. You heard the sound of bones breaking, of monsters screaming out in agony, of acid eating through metal - and then you sensed movement behind you, followed by a click and a growl. And then? Nothing. Only the floating emptiness remains, waking up in the cryo capsule with the stale taste of blood in your mouth. With trembling hands, you touch the back of your head, where there should be a wound because you were knocked down - or were you? It's the obvious conclusion to the blackout, to the lack of memories, but there's nothing there. Just a small bump that is hardly worth mentioning. The unanswered questions pile up in your stomach like a bunch of needles. What the hell is going on here?!

The door opens with a hiss. Every muscle in your body tenses in panic when you see the huge figure in the hallway. Ah, fuck.

It's a Yautja.

Rumors about these warriors - as fearless as they are brutal - have spread to the farthest corners of the company's colonies. People whisper on the freighters that these massive warriors are monsters who kill without mercy, whether with blades, plasma cannons, or their bare hands. They hunt for fun, pleasure, and the thrill of success. If that's true, then you're either a trophy or their afternoon entertainment. Double fuck. The Yautja makes harsh growling noises - it's a command, that much is clear. Given the situation, move your ass is the only logical conclusion. He's coming to get you. But why? And to where? With your legs trembling from the long, cold sleep, you stagger toward the door, trying not to appear threatening. Supposedly, the Yautja don't attack defenseless people: They don't attack the unarmed, the sick, children, or pregnant women. Hopefully, there's some truth to these rumors because you don't want to end up on the wrong end of that huge spear he's holding. Nevertheless, your pride demands that you lift your chin and walk as upright as possible. You make smooth movements despite the jelly knees. Don't appear threatening, but don't appear easy prey either. This phrase echoes in your brain over and over again like a mantra or a prayer to reason. The chance of survival is probably slim, but not zero. If it happens, it happens. At least take one of these bastards with you. This attitude was helpful when the black alien beasts overran the Karattera and Vokila-2. It kept you alive and gave you the courage to fight back. Maybe it'll save your out of luck ass again. The spaceship's corridor is long and empty. Several doors lead to other rooms, but they are locked, and you can't peek inside any of them. A rough, deep rumbling sounds from somewhere. It's an animalistic roar that echoes off the ship's walls until it becomes a distorted sound of rage. Your heart skips a beat in despair. Getting out of here alive is going to be difficult.

Suddenly, the Yautja grabs you with an incredibly strong grip. Before you can dodge his hand, the cold of the walls and floor wraps around your neck. There's a click, and something heavy hangs around your neck, pulling you slightly down. The weight and the realization what it is sends hot rage shooting through your head.

A fucking collar!  

"Hey, what?!" Your angry hiss is drowned out by the mocking growls and clicks of your opponent, who seems to be thoroughly enjoying your expression of stupor. Trembling, weak human fingers pull at the metal holding your neck like an iron grip of death. But the collar won't come off; it just rubs uncomfortably against your sensitive skin. With a fiery gaze, you look up at the Yautja, nodding slightly and twitching your shoulder in a demanding manner. "What is this? What's going on here?! Am I your prisoner?" The collar is beeping almost audibly, making you increasingly aggressive. Like a fucking time bomb around the neck. The Yautja raises and lowers his chest with a deep, flat growl and lets out a snort. Mocking and amused. Then, he pushes you toward the end of the corridor to get you moving. Apparently, there's a schedule here because he pushes you again, urging you to pick up the pace.

The corridor itself is long with a floor of metal grates that echo your footsteps. It leads to another corridor, then another, and finally, a last one that is significantly wider and shorter than the rest. This cursed ship is a labyrinth and must be enormous. How are you supposed to get out of here? Hide in a ventilation shaft if you can escape at all. And then what? Steal a rescue pod and drift off into nothingness? Honestly, the options don't look good.

"C'jit, this one's particularly unimpressive." Another Yautja approaches you and your guide. He's armed with a long spear as well, though he has a much more relaxed demeanor than the guy who's been pushing you around. The loud hissing of a door at the other end of the hallway drowns out the words whispered into your ear by the collar. It's a translation of the warriors' language. Granted, it's useful that this thing around your neck acts as a translator, though that's definitely not its main function. It's probably more like... a shock collar. Or a real bomb. Oh god, please don't let it be a bomb. The hissing of the double doors announces the arrival of more inhabitants of this ship. Heavy footsteps thunder on the grated floor, sending vibrations through your whole body until the inside of your ears starts to hurt. And the closer the footsteps come, the faster your heart beats. Three. Two guards and a monster that can only be described as such emerge from the gloom of the dimly lit corridor. The two guards stop and lower their heads as the third emerges from the dimly lit corridor.

Oh man... The newly arrived Yautja is massive. The chances of making it out alive are closing in on zero.  

His stature easily surpasses that of the others of his kind, and his cloak of bones and spines makes him look even bigger, more powerful, and more terrifying. The vertebrae protruding from his shoulders and upper back are a stark, ominous warning not to mess with this specimen, a warning reinforced when the other two Yautja take a subtle step back as he glances at them.

The urge to look away is so strong that your neck muscles tense up. However, looking away now would be a sign of weakness, and weakness is something you can't afford right now. These people crush the weak like bugs between their giant hands, amused by emotions like fear and terror. And yes, of course you're afraid. It would be stupid not to be. A few deep breaths, though, allow you to think somewhat logically. You clench that fear into a tight little knot below your diaphragm and think back to the mantra:

If it happens, it happens. At least take one of those bastards with you.

So, you straighten your back, pull your shoulders back, and stare stubbornly ahead.

>>> Continue on AO3

[xximperioxx]

Help Me Hold Onto You

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.1k (not proofread)

Warnings: parent death (mother) , mourning, panic attack/breakdown(reader throws up), patient death, robby walks in on reader having a panic attack, fluff, age gap, medical inaccuracies, very brief mention reader having tattoos

Notes: For some reason did not include a dad but oh well. Probably why the reader has a thing for Robby. this took me a while to write idk. Also I based the panic attack symptoms on mine so pls don’t come at me. Totally listened to The Archer by Taylor Swift while writing this. Thank you for all the love recently and hope you enjoy <3

——————————————————

You don’t hear Robby’s voice telling you to call the time of death until he puts his hand on your shoulder. You flinch.

You silently watch Donnie and Mateo cover the woman’s body.

“She was your family?” Mel asks

Your eyes pull away from the now sheet covered body to look at her confused, “No, she-she came in yesterday.”

She sees your confusion and nervously rocks on the heels of her feet. “Oh. You called her mom, I just assumed.”

Your head whips up and your eyes burn with anger. “No, I didn’t.”

Mel shrinks and is about to open her mouth before Robby pops his head back into the room instructing everyone to take a break.

An irritated scoff leaves your mouth as you slip away from the group. Donnie and Mateo share a silent look.

Your heart hurts. It’s not that you didn’t believe Mel- you absolutely did. You just didn't think you would slip like that. Someone else’s mom you couldn’t save. You let her slip away like your own mother. Same cause of death. A heart attack.

You come to a stop and your hand rests at your chest. Your heart thumping loudly. Your eyes begin to burn as you try to focus your breathing.

Your feet move you to the closest bathroom which happens to be the unisex bathroom.

You bust open the bathroom door, fully hyperventilating now.

You couldn’t save her. You didn’t even get to say goodbye to your own mother.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mel finds herself approaching Dr. Robby at the hub. “Dr. Robby,” She interrupts, “I’m um… concerned about Dr. (Y/N).”

Robby continues his work on the tablet, “Well, she did just lose a patient, Dr. King, and that doesn’t get easier no matter how many times.”

“She kept calling the patient ‘mom’. At some point during compressions I heard her say, ‘Please don’t do this mom’.” Robby’s eyes glance up with concern. She continues, “I tried to ask her about it and she got angry.”

He sets the tablet on the counter. “I’ll check in on her.” He gestures to the screen, “And you keep up the good work with your patients.”

As Dr. King walks away, Robby slides his glasses to the top of his head before running his hands down his face. He knew something was up. Normally the two of you worked in sync. Two peas in a pod. You were his top senior resident, not that he would admit it out loud.

You were always in his eyesight and even on your days off, Robby’s eyes would search for you. You had taken a few days off during the week and you had left suddenly. Not even letting him know, he had found out from Gloria you would be taking a few days off due to personal reasons. He knew something was wrong when he texted you and never got a response or when you had come back to work with dark circles under your eyes. You looked fragile and not your usual radiant, lighthearted self. There were no jokes, no smiles, no laughs, no glances directed at Robby or anyone in the Pitt.

Robby had watched Gloria approach you at the beginning on your shift. How she took your hands and gently told you something he couldn’t read on lips. How you gave her a weak smile as you said thank you. When you just silently stood with your arms around yourself for a few moments after Gloria walked away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You slide to the floor gripping at your chest and neck as if it would help you breathe.

You don’t hear the door open with the ringing in your ears nor do you see who swiftly comes into the small bathroom. Your eyes are closed with the intent of trying to focus on your heartbeat. Hopefully to also stop the tears from flowing.

Robby rushes into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He let out a sigh of relief, finally catching a moment to pee.

The sound of a zipper causes your eyes to peek open. A noise attempts to come out of your throat. You recognize the navy blue sweatshirt and cargo pants. Your head finds itself back in between your knees.

Robby jolts at the sudden noise, “Jesus – fuck.” He whips his head around. His eyes widen at the sight of you. “Fuck, (Y/N).”

He quickly zips his pants back up ignoring his belt as he kneels in front of you. His hands pull your face up, his eyes scanning your face. Your name continues to slip from his mouth.

Your eyes open and your vision is still fuzzy. His fingers graze over some stratch marks on your neck before checking your pulse. 160 bpm. Your shortness of breath suddenly turns into dry heaving. Without thinking, you shove Robby to the side and retch into the toilet. All that comes up is the iced coffee you had this morning.

Robby places a gentle hand on your back. You let out a deep sigh of relief. Finally feeling like you can breathe again as if you threw up the heavy feeling in your chest. You finally pull your face away from the toilet and let your body relax. Grabbing some toilet paper, you wipe the lingering tears on your face before looking at Robby.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your bathroom break,” your voice raspy. A tired smile attempts to form.

He leans against the bathroom wall with you. He doesn’t say anything. His eyes studying you. “You doing okay?”

You blink.

He takes in your bloodshot eyes and the dark circles before letting out a nervous chuckle at your reaction.

“Besides the fact that you walked in on me having a panic attack?” You press your lips into a fine line, “Just peachy.”

He nods and nudges your shoulder with his. “What’s going on? You’ve been distant.”

You scoff while standing up. Robby lets out a groan as he stands up, his joints yelling at him. You turn the faucet on and begin washing your hands. Your eyes meet his in the mirror.

“Talk to me,” he pleaded.

You wipe your hands,“That’s rich coming from you.”

Robby wants to flinch. There had been moments in the past where you had begged him to tell you how he was feeling whenever he would shut himself down. You had begged him to let you help him. You always saw right through him. He always pushed you away and you would always pull him back in.

He sighs. “I just want to help you. I’m worried about you.”

You huff, “Just stop. I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

Robby tries to reach for you. You jerk away as your voice wavers, “Please just leave me alone. I-I want to be alone.”

His heart breaks. You sound like him. His lips press together as he watches you unlock the door. He runs his hand through his hair. The roles are reversed now.

You pause before leaving, “Don’t forget to piss.”

All you hear is a snigger as you slip out of the bathroom.

You make your way to the hub. Your eyes up to see Langdon already staring at you. A small smirk resting on his face.

You sigh, “What?”

He leans against the counter, “Don’t think I didn’t notice you just walked out of the single bathroom Robby happens to be in.”

The two senior residents watch Dr. Robby walk out of the bathroom. You quickly clear your throat and reach over Langdon, grabbing a tablet, “You just love being an asshole, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Robby would never want to admit it to himself but you’re the one he would risk it all for. Yet he’s too scared to act on his feelings with you. When he looks at you, he’s reminded of his failed relationships and deep down he knows he’s better off alone. He wouldn’t make you happy in the long run. You’re young. You have your whole career left ahead of you and he doesn’t want to put that in jeopardy.

Dana snaps her fingers in front of Robby’s face. He gently shoves her hand out of his way. Her hands now on her waist.

“I’ve been calling your name for like two minutes.” She searches his face. “You okay?”

He aimlessly nods, his mind still on you. Dana gives him an update regarding some patients. Half listening, he glances past Dana and focuses on you. You meet his gaze.

Robby interrupts her, “Do you know what’s going on with (Y/N)? She’s not herself.”

Dana tries to joke, “Worried about her, lover boy?” He gives her a look. “Right. Well, the poor kid just lost her mother. She just lost a part of herself. So of course she’s going to be out of it.”

Robby's face falls. His heart drops. The pit in his stomach is now bigger. Why didn’t you tell him?

Dana notices the look and frowns, “Did she not tell you?”

He goes to look for you but you’re nowhere to be seen. He shakes his head out of frustration. “It’s like she’s shutting me out.”

The charge nurse puts her hand on his shoulder, “Sounds like someone I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robby finds you making a coffee an hour later. Just as you’re about to take a sip, Robby takes the cup out of your hand and tosses it in the trash.

“Robby, are you fucking serious?” If looks could kill.

“You’re going home.”

“What?”

“Grab your bag. You’re going home.”

This time you laugh. You brush past him.

He backs up, blocking the doorway. “I’m serious.”

You look at him unimpressed, “Well, jokes on you I don’t have any more PTO or sick time so I can't leave.” You try to sneak under his arm through the doorway.

His arm curls around you, stopping you once again. He sighs, “As your attending, I am making the decision to send you home.”

You furiously blink away some tears, “You’re going to pull the attending card now, Robby?”

He silently nods.

“Y-You don’t understand I need,” you let out a shaky breath, “–I need to work. Please Michael.”

His lips press into a thin line as the sinking feeling in his chest returns. He was trying to do what’s best for you.

Robby’s arm drops. He looks down and gently takes a hold of your hand, “You need to mourn.”

You rip your hand away. Almost angry he knew about your mother. Your lips trembling while shaking your head, “No-No, I don’t.”

Robby lets out a deep breath. “Please.” Finally, you look up at the man in front of you. “You need to go home.”

You stand there, bitterly wiping away tears as you watch Robby walk away to grab your backpack from the hub. You sniffle.

How could he just send you home like this? How could you let yourself break down this much? He can’t just do this to you when you have tried to help him mourn Adamson for years. You angrily take your bag from his hand and brush past him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jess, if I get any more sympathy flowers I’m going to start giving them back as a warning. Like an omen.”

Your roommate, Jessica, takes the vase of flowers from you. “I like them. They brighten up the apartment.”

You begin to walk to your room, “Yeah...nothing like being reminded your mom just died with flowers.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” She yells from the other room.

You lay on your bed, picking at your fingers. Your eyes close. You haven’t slept in days. You have a migraine from crying. Any time you were alone your thoughts were plagued with her. Childhood memories. Her passing. The future without her. She would never see you get married, meet her grandkids, see you succeed.

Your mind wanders to Robby. She would never meet him. You talked about him enough that she probably had him imaged out. You see him with you. Your future. Together.

Your eyes pop open. Did you just think about marrying him? Suddenly your heart aches, feeling guilty with how you treated him. You were shutting him out. You don’t want to push him away. God if anyone knew what you were going through it would be him.

You stare at the ceiling fan. Maybe you should text him.

“(Y/N)! You have a special delivery.” Your roommate sings out.

You sigh and curl into your bed. You hear her call your name again.

Slowly but surely you stand up from your bed. Your feet pad against the wood floor as you make your way to the living room. You can hear Jess making small talk with someone. “Jess I told you - give the flowers back. Let them be an omen.”

You pause when you see Robby in your apartment. Tired eyes, a warm smile on his face, a hand in his sweatshirt pocket, the other holding a coffee, and his backpack on the floor by his feet. He’s still in his scrub top and cargo pants meaning he had come right after work. To see you.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes move away from Jess, taking you in. Your hair still damp from a shower, an oversized college shirt, and a pair of pajama shorts. Robby’s eyes can’t help but trail up your legs, noticing tattoos he didn’t know you had.

He snaps out of it, clearing his throat. “I brought you a coffee.”

“To make up for the one you threw out?”

He nods. You purse your lips to stop you from grinning. You take the coffee from his hand.

“I’m uh–going to go grocery shopping. Please make yourself at home.” Jess picks up her bag from the kitchen table. She hesitates, stopping by you. She whispers with excitement, “Is this doctor daddy?”

With a roll of your eyes, you give her a shove. You notice the tip of Robby’s ears turned bright red at the not so quiet comment. Your roommate waves goodbye before heading out.

You take a seat on your couch. “How’d you find my address anyways?”

Robby rubs the back of his neck, “Langdon.”

“That little fucker,” you mutter. He cracks a smile.

Robby follows you to the couch. He walks over to a shelf, admiring your life outside of work in pictures. You sip your coffee. It’s quiet.

He gently picks up a face-down picture frame. It’s you and your mom smiling at each other. You watch him as his eyes study the picture.

“I’m sorry,” you finally speak up. “I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want people knowing.” You sigh, “I guess it’s been a way for me to feel like the whole thing never happened.”

He takes a seat next to you. Your knees touching, “You don’t need to apologize. Especially to me.” He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to send you home like that– I just don’t want you to end up like me.”

“I know you didn’t get to mourn Adamson like you should have. I know it still haunts you.”

He shakes his head almost wincing at his mentor’s name, “I could see myself in you today and that terrified me.”

He reaches for your hand and intertwines your fingers. Your eyes become watery, “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Robby mutters, “I hated that you shut me out.”

Looking down, you blink away your tears, “I just feel so broken. Alone.”

He looks at you and whispers quietly, “I’ll put you back together,” he lets go of your hand. His calloused fingers trace your jawline, gently turning your head to look at him. “Just like you’re doing with me.”

Your eyes search his, “You would stay?”

A grin spreads onto his face, “Can’t get rid of me. Even if you tried.” His face softens, “Help me hold onto you.”

Your face mirrors his, “I mean I’ve held onto you this long.”

Robby jokes, “I know how you feel now when you try to take care of me.”

You lean into him, “I can be pretty annoying.”

He smirks and leans in closer, “I’d say so.”

“Maybe that’s why we work so well together.”

He brushes your hair out of your face, “And why’s that?”

“We see right through each other.”

There was never a time where you didn’t see through Robby’s bullshit lies. Whenever Gloria would get on his nerves, when he was struggling with his depression or anxiety, or when he had a tough patient. Robby always seemed to know when you didn’t get enough sleep, having a rough mental health day, when you were hangry, or when you just needed a hug.

Robby’s dilated eyes dart down to your lips.

“Are you going to kiss me, Dr. Robinavitch?” You murmured. Your soft lips brush against his.

“If you’d let me.”

He takes your nod as a yes. Robby closes the gap between you and connects your lips together. You immediately reciprocate, gently kissing him back. His rough calloused hands cup your face, deepening the kiss.

After a few seconds you slowly pull away. His forehead rests against yours.

You let out a soft laugh. “I’ve thought about that for an embarrassingly long time.”

A groan rumbles at the back of Robby's throat. “You don’t want to know what I’ve thought about.”

You snicker before placing a soft kiss beneath his beard. “We can discuss that later.”

He pulls your legs over his lap and wraps his arm around you. Your head rests on his chest as his hand rests on your bare thigh.

You listen to his accelerated heart beat slowly calm. He lays his head on top of yours. The two of you sit in comfortable silence. You stifle a yawn.

“I wish you could have met her,” you whisper.

“I would tell her she has the most intelligent and beautiful daughter…” his thumb gently caressing your skin, “And that she won’t have to worry about you because I’m not going anywhere.”

Your heart swells, “Thank you.”

“Adamson is proud of you. I know it.” You mumble into his chest. Robby releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. A sense of reassurance floods him. Something he hasn’t felt in a while.

After a few moments, Robby hears your breathing become slow and rhythmic.

Robby sighs, “I would also tell your mom–I have loved her daughter for a long time and have just been too afraid to admit it.”

“I love you too, Michael.” You tiredly mumble as the curve of your mouth curled up slightly.

He presses his lips to the top of your head with an embarrassed smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jessica comes back to the apartment to find the two of you on the couch. Robby quietly snoring and you in his arms, sleeping for the first time in days.

[tiramissyoucake]

Would the reader ever fall in love with vitrum mark? Like a Stockholm syndrome situation also would he do anything to try and keep the reader living longer to stay together longer?

No blurb for this this time sorry but hmmm I did think about this. I think reader would come to 'tolerate' Viltrum Mark and maybe there would be small moments of friendliness between them, but I feel like he'd need to do something big like save their life from a threat (an actual threat, not the demise of earth by his hand), I'm open to ideas about this btw.

I think he would be really worried about the lifespan ordeal, it's something he thought of when he brought you to Viltrum, when he married you, whenever he kills something and is reminded of the futility of other races.

I'm just throwing stuff at the wall and seeing what sticks atp but I had an idea where during a conquest or invasion of some sort he could stumble across some sort of sleeping pod that uses either cryostasis technology or some alien technology I can't describe.

It would hurt to lock you up in a pod, so it's only a last resort if you REALLY crossed a line. Something like trying to run and stow away on a Viltrumite ship, dragging you kicking and screaming to a secret chambers deep in the empire where the technology was kept, "you'll be safe here." He says, "I'll move my bed here to see you everyday." He says.

During that time, maybe he'd recruit scientists or some of the most brilliant minds in the multiverse to create a lifespan-extending formula, bracelet, serum, anything. (Something like the Flaxans bracelet in s1) think of it as a small surprise when he decides its safe for you to come out.

In the meantime, Mark spends his 'you-time' pacing back and forth while staring at your sleeping form through the haze of frost on the protective glass, the most peaceful he'd seen you since he tore you away from earth. Ocassionally, he'd take a step closer and talk to it as if you could hear him. "I miss you.", "you were never this cold.", "wait for me.", "I love you so much."

Another idea I had was clones, since it is possible in the Invincible universe, but it felt too... dismissive. I think he'd value his spouse, the *original* spouse, it wouldn't feel right if he was just kissing a lump of meat with your face and memories, there always would be a nagging voice in the back of his head telling him he needed a new toy since his old one 'broke'

[clare-875]

Falling (Zoro x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Zoro x Female Reader Summary: You tend to be clumsy, and because of your boyfriend's past, you give him a mini heart attack every time you fall. Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Injuries, Worried Zoro, SPOILERS for Zoro's past?? [One Piece Masterlist] _____

Zoro knows you're strong.

He's seen you defeat opponents three times your size, seen you throw yourself in danger for the safety of your crew, had seen you win gruesome battles, and what's more, when you spar with him, he actually breaks a sweat. The two of you often train together, and Zoro bears witness to how you mould your strength, bettering yourself for the next battle and the next.

He knows.

But god dammit, why did you have to be so clumsy?

Zoro knows that, technically, it is no one's fault: the way you trip over your own two feet, the scattered bruises you bear, the odd yelp after the hundredth time dropping glassware in the kitchen. But he can't help but fall victim to the spike of his heart, the sweat that seems to rise instinctually, and his limbs that carry him quickly to the wake of your curses or the crash of your miseries.

And, most of the time, the new injury you hold is small and insignificant; rarely would you require medical attention afterwards. But Zoro finds himself still hating it. Hating the fact that he has no one to fight or to blame, has no one to curse or berate, no one to protect you from. Because your injuries are the cause of your own, and it wasn't like you particularly loved the misfortune of wounds from everyday activities either.

You had to admit, though, and to Zoro's muted gladness, that the number of injuries you bore had significantly decreased after meeting the stoic swordsman. Even before the two of you started dating, Zoro had noticed your affinity to the most unseeming dangers and had unknowingly taken it upon himself to prevent purple and blue from tainting your skin.

His curses as hands guide you away from walls and obstructing objects you somehow do not notice.

The twitching of his brows as he quickly catches you before you fall face-first to the ground, panic clouded beneath his irritation.

Every movement, every moment you take a step towards another hazard, carefully judged by his sharp eyes and willing instincts.

You were grateful beyond measure that your now-boyfriend, though oftentimes bearing an annoyed facade, cared and was patient enough to save you from the minor disasters you thought were an everyday norm. His efforts had increased tenfold, especially when the two of you became official, as he had an excuse to linger by your side as often as he pleased.

Though embarrassed sometimes that such a capable fighter as yourself found defeat in the lack of coordination of your own limbs, you could not deny that Zoro's protectiveness was an attractive and oftentimes welcome response. However, you did not realise the brunt of his actual panic, his actual aversion to the sight of you injured, until the time you accidently fell down a flight of stairs on the Sunny.

.....

You had been standing at the front of the ship, your Captain on the figurehead as you both tried to spot the pod of dolphins that had been swimming in front of you. Your boyfriend was half-sleeping against the mast of the ship, though his senses still lingered on the voices of you and Luffy, laughing and talking and challenging yourselves to see how many of the sea creatures graced the forefront of the Sunny.

"There's nine!"

"What are you talking about? I counted at least twelve!"

Your voices were caught by the gentle breeze and the timid sun as it fell slowly to the horizon. Everything was peaceful, everything was calm, and Zoro was on the brink of actually sleeping, knowing all was well and that you were safe. Your conversation with your captain had dwindled into more casual talk of adventures and plans of endeavours on future islands.

Your bright discussion lasted many sparing moments but, of course, was interrupted by the familiar grumble and groan of your Captain as he fell on the sunny's figurehead exaggeratively.

"[y/n]~ I'm hungryyy."

You roll your eyes at his whining words after only a moment's silence in conversation.

Luffy never seems to find satisfaction with the amount of food he eats.

"What do you want me to do about it? Sanji's got the whole kitchen on lockdown after the incident you pulled this morning."

You faintly remember your Captain and the crew's cook, causing a ruckus in the kitchen that no doubt stemmed from Luffy's devouration of food.

"He'll listen to you pleaaaseee"

You continue looking to the horizon, unfazed.

"No."

"Pleaseee"

"No"

"Pleaseeee"

"No."

"Pleaaaaseeee-"

You grit your teeth in irritation, sighing heavily as you push yourself off the railing of the ship. Luffy, however, meets your frown with a grin in anticipated satisfaction.

You always did give in too easily.

"Fine, something small, though. It's almost time for dinner."

Luffy lets out a laugh and nods enthusiastically, upright once again on the figurehead. You step away from the blatant joy on his face, making your way to the stairs that lead to the green of the deck below.

Sometimes, you don't know if Luffy is the Captain of this ship or a child the crew look after.

You move, still lost in your thoughts and quite, honestly, simply not thinking. Because, well, you feel a normal human would not have to think too hard about going down a flight of stairs to get food. But you forget that you are not the average person.

In fact, you probably should've grabbed the railing and counted down the steps back to solid ground because one minute your foot was on wooden steps, and the next you were walking on air.

You let out a yelp of surprise as you slip on the rigidity of the stairs that were supposedly beneath you, and you feel your world turning in your head. The spike of your heart comes with a fraction of a second of weightlessness and a single thought in your head.

Shit, not again.

You stumble, and you fall, limbs hurdling and gracing the rigid edges of the stairs. In a flurry of movements, you are suddenly on the grass of the deck, but in a way that would surely leave remnants of your clumsiness. You groan as you finally come to a halt, back against the ground as you look to the sky, exasperated. You can hear the light laughter of your Captain.

"You alright [y/n]?"

But you do not reply, hearing the amusement in Luffy's tone. You did not blame him, however, as the crew had become accustomed to the way things, such as walking, were not so much a given but a privilege to you. You roll your eyes, still on your back as you lie in defeat for a moment. Sure, you were not too badly hurt - you were a member of the straw hat crew after all - but you'd be damned to try moving again for a few seconds.

To your boyfriend, however, your sudden shout, fall and lack of response had sent him into a spiral.

Zoro was shot awake the instant he heard the yelp you let out as you lost your balance and succumbed to your fall on the stairs. But he was too late to move, and in all honestly, though half-awake, he felt something die within him when he saw your limbs tumble and hit the edges of the wooden planks.

"[y-]"

His voice is caught in his throat, as his heart rate spikes abnormally high. Higher than the instances when he saw you fall before. His mind unwillingly travels far into his past, to the dojo where he found the dream he still clings onto today, to his childhood friend and rival, Kuina.

She had been strong, too.

Hell, she had bested him in all battles he called for.

He thought that she would be a constant in his life, a source of rivalry and challenge and growth. She had seemed invincible in his young age. But then, the news had travelled.

The news of her death.

And the cause of it, was the very stairs he watches you fall on now. The unnerving atmosphere, her haunting funeral, and the will he holds onto through battles alongside her swords.

But you.

You were strong, capable, grown...

You were the love of his life...

You were falling...

He can't save you.

Your limbs stumbled to a halt as you hit the soft grass, a stark contrast to the stairs that would be the root of bruises on your body later. And you were okay.

But your boyfriend didn't know that.

Zoro's heart rate continues to rise, and he thinks that he is on the brink of hyperventilating. One sharp breath in, and his limbs are pulled into forced movement as he travels to you, cursing himself for looking blankly at the scene so uselessly. He stumbles forward, and he hears his Captain, words filled with teasing amusement.

"You alright, [y/n]?"

But you don't move, you are facing the sky, face shadowed by the falling sun, and he doesn't know if you are conscious or okay. You stay silent, not replying to the words of Luffy, and Zoro hates how long it has taken him to travel mere meters to your side. But when he enters your vision, you are met with a sight you have never seen before.

Zoro... scared.

"[y/n]!!"

The green-haired swordsman looks down at you frantically, hands giving way to light tremors you feel quickly cradling skin and causing you to look up in concern. Zoro sees your eyes, awake, and lets dull relief relieve his heart, but he is not yet satisfied.

"Zoro, I'm okay, I just-"

"What were you thinking, woman?"

There is a pause as you register his rushed words and the way his eyes seem to travel to every crevice of your face and body, searching for an indication that you were not okay. He measures your gaze, and he pulls you closer, willing you to anchor his nerves.

"Zoro-"

"You could've been seriously injured-"

"Zoro-"

He meets your gaze once more, but hesitantly, eyes wavering at your worry, only now realising the vice grip he has around you. His breaths are uneven, and even his Captain grows silent and confused at the sight of his second-in-command in rare loss of composure.

You start to sit up from within his embrace. You reach out and cradle his face in one hand, watching as more relief starts to fill his system and replace the panicked look on his face, replace his uneven breaths with more steady ones. Just what had gotten into him?

"You could've died."

His voice is low, and it causes a jolt of your heart. This was your always stoic, serious, calm swordsman... He now looks haunted, and his gaze is only half with you, as though reliving a moment only he could see.

"Zoro," you murmer, there remains a crease in your brow as you are still confused but also concerned about his unusual behaviour and haste. You gently run your thumb on the skin of his cheek, hoping to soothe him the way he so often does whenever you are lost to the confines of your mind.

"I'm okay, stairs aren't going to kill-"

"You don't know that."

His words are sharper this time, and your eyes widen, slightly startled. You watch guilt envade your boyfriend's eyes, then his grip lightning further on your skin, as sharpness fades in a heavy sigh. His gaze is more sullen now, though his nerves are calmed, and he allows you to sit up fully.

"Okay, I'm sorry."

Your words are soft and anchoring, and Zoro stands reluctantly, gently guiding you to your feet as though one wrong movement would tear him away from the reality of you, alive and well before him.

"Don't apologise just- tch, let's go see Chopper."

Your boyfriend refuses to meet your gaze then, but you nod silently. Luffy decides to look away from the sight of Zoro, his arms wrapped securely around you, in a mix of not understanding but knowing there must be some sort of invisible battle Zoro faces. You, on the other hand, allow his limbs to wrap securely around your shoulders, holding more of your weight than necessary, but you remain in silence, allowing him to look after you.

In the infirmary, Zoro remains uncharacteristically worried and rigid. Before entering, his only words to you were those that indicated he wanted to be with you as Chopper checked up on you. Only when the small doctor gives you the all-clear does Zoro let the tension fall from him fully. You thank Chopper, and the two of you make your way out of the infirmary, quiet though the air is still murkey with apprehension.

"Zoro, what's wrong?"

In the hallway, you stop him abruptly with the pull of his arm, still unsure as to why a stumble on stairs - unlucky but not necessarily unforeseen - has him in a state you have rarely seen. Your boyfriend turns to you hesitantly, eyes far away.

"I just know what a fall is capable of."

His low voice catches an edge of emotion. His hand lingers absentmindedly on a sword by his side. The white one he always holds close to him. You remember him saying faintly about how it was given to him long before you met him. Zoro was a private man, and even you had barely formed the cracks on the enclosures of his past, but you saw clearly now that there must've been a connection.

His incessant protection over every minor fall.

The way he would always treat your injuries so carefully afterwards or make sure Chopper saw to it that you were okay.

Every careful caress and action is rooted to a past you do not know, but you also now find understanding.

Zoro moves close to you so you can feel the heat radiating off his body and so that he can feel the warmth your skin emits. He seems to search your eyes and analyse their lustre and spark. A single caress as he moves away lingering hair, and his lips were suddenly on yours.

You are taken aback, not used him so spontaneously kissing you in an open space, but you return the favour quickly, pressing against him and feeling the way he cradles you so delicately, so carefully. There is a moment of him and a moment of bliss. When you pull away, there is a warmth to his eyes and a softness enveloped just for you.

A vulnerable love that lingers.

You, the root of his worry.

You might not know the depths of his past, but you sure as hell take a lot more care walking down a flight of stairs after that.

[bibxrbie]

"Luke Skywalker isn’t like the old Jedi. He saves Vader with his attachments!”

Wrong!

Luke Skywalker, at the end of Return of the Jedi, after his confrontation with the Emperor drags Darth Vader through the destructing Death Star. He’s desperate, knuckles white under the heavy weight of his father’s body, a little boy dragging his dad to safety. He sets Vader down for a moment, to catch his breath or maybe to get a better grip. He goes to grab Vader again, but Vader, uncomfortable and in pain, asks Luke to take off the mask. He wants to see Luke through his eyes instead of the eyes Palpatine built for him. Luke refuses, says that removing the mask is a sure way for Vader to die. Luke doesn’t want Vader dead, he wants Vader alive. Not to hold him accountable for his many evil acts, but for the same reason why Luke Skywalker can’t kill Darth Vader; Vader is his father and Luke loves him.

And yet, after a moment, Luke removes Vader’s mask. He doesn’t want to, he hesitates, but he removes the mask with enough slowness to allow Vader to take it back. In that moment, Luke sets aside his desire for Vader in his life, sets aside his desire to see him live, and sets aside his entire mission, the reason he was even on the Death Star in the place. In his compassion for his father, Luke stays with Vader until he dies. It is this moment where we see him be the best damn Jedi he can be. I’d even argue that this moment is the greatest example of non-attached love we see. Because Luke lets Vader go! He lets his father die, and in some ways, by removing the mask, he too kills Vader, he stays with him until his last moment, gives him the kindness of granting his last wish and finally chooses Vader.

And Luke doesn’t have to do this. If Luke Skywalker’s love for his father was an attachment, he would ignore Vader and continue dragging him to the escape pod, put his desire for a father as his central focus and ignore Vader’s wants and discomfort. Maybe he would even save him. But he doesn’t. Instead, he watches as Vader dies.

He builds a Jedi burial for his father and watches it burn the remnants of Vader and Anakin Skywalker away. He mourns Vader, he mourns what they could’ve had as father and son, considers what ifs and maybe-if-I-did-this. Vader/ Anakin is released from his mortal body, from his ‘crude matter’ and Luke lets him go. He says one final goodbye to Anakin. Then, he joins Leia, Han, Chewie, Lando, and the rest of the Rebels and celebrates their victory. He lives in the present and celebrates what he has instead of what he lost.

Luke Skywalker is THE Jedi. Everything about Luke Skywalker serves as the foundational cornerstone of the Jedi, everything about the Jedi as a culture and philosophy is reflected in his character. Luke’s desire for the New Jedi Order isn’t to throw away the values of the old Order, but to vitalise them, breathe life back into dying lungs, and rebuild a path that people set out on their way to destroy. (Yes, his Order is different from the Old, but that’s because it has to be. He doesn’t have the resources or the safety of the Old Order.) The philosophies of the Jedi are difficult and they aren’t for everyone, and like the perfect Jedi that Luke is, he struggles and stumbles and sometimes he even rejects it. But, no matter how far he falls, it is a way of life he chooses again and again and again. It is a way of life that welcomes him back each time

[spaceklance]

actually I haven’t stopped thinking about Lance getting blown up since I was 14 so here’s some headcanons for Lance’s back scars/recovery:

He has Hunk help him moisturize because it helps with fading/mobility (eventually he gets comfortable enough with the rest of the team to ask whoever is nearby when he needs)

He has chronic pain that is worse some days than others and randomly spikes and takes his breath away. He fights through it and gets really good at not letting it show, especially in battle because he needs to be at his best performance and can’t let himself miss shots because of it or show weakness for the enemy to exploit

He’s stiffest in the morning and religiously stretches to maintain mobility

He’s always taken hot showers but now they are literally a necessity to relax the muscles

He’s never exactly been body shy but definitely has some issues after the incident where he’s embarrassed to be perceived (until he inevitably embraces the hotness/gets so used to them that he forgets to be embarrassed or insecure)

He definitely has nerve damage that the healing pod wasn’t able to fully prevent or heal, so there’s dead spots where he can’t feel anything. The center spot of the damage is the most desensitized. Sometimes he gets hurt and doesn’t know until someone else points it out or he takes off his armor and sees the blood/bruising (the team is horrified when such cases happen and are Vigilant at checking him for injuries after they witness it the first time and realize what happened and why)

It’s no secret that Lance is Coran’s favorite, and it’s partly due to Lance saving his life. What only Allura knows is that Coran was absolutely certain Lance would become the best/most well rounded Paladin since Alfor because of how selfless and instinctually protective he is, even when he doesn’t know who he is protecting. It was the first indicator of just how grand Lance’s potential was, and he never failed to prove Coran right

Lance still gets nightmares, even years later and despite all the other horrors they’ve all experienced. That first experience of throwing himself in danger to save someone’s life sticks with him so thoroughly he can still sometimes feel the phantom heat at his back when he wakes up

idk I just think the show really glanced over so much of their trauma and this was a HUGE one for me personally, lol. everyone who writes about Lance’s back scars has my entire fucking heart in their hands <3

[evilminji]

You know all those Cults in Gotham?

Bet at least ONE of them could spring for both a Legit Magic User and a Cloning pod.

Because The Wayne's? Hearts of Gold. Long standing pains in the asses. Probably the only thing standing between this gods forsaken wasteland of a city and Their Dark Lord. For GENERATIONS no less!

It's sooooo obnoxious!

So they want to Curse Um dead. Just a good ol fashioned bloodline curse. Destroy um from within, etc. BUT! To do THAT? You kinda need a blood relative to sacrifice!

And Bruce is... well... rather infamously An Orphan With No Biological Kids (at that point).

So? What do you do? Make one, obviously. You send in some of your own on a Holy Mission. Honeypot that playboy! Get us a kid to sacrifice! Our God will reward you etc! But... FFS! What? Are brunettes not your TYPE or something?! Pretty lady! Throwing herself at you!!

TAKE THE BAIT!

But he DOESN'T. Because he's both really used to that behavior, as The Wayne Heir and a False Playboy, AND because? He's fuckin Batman. He can see through your schemes.

Okay.

Okay!

Plan B!

Get us some DNA. We'll CLONE the sucker. That should be doable, right?

........OH COME ON! How?!

Batman: [REDACTED] / Cultists: 0

Fuck it! This is impossible! How are we supposed too... *eyes drift over to the Wayne Family Private Graveyard* .......Idea? Ideeeeaaaa~! Someone get us a shovel!

So they, cultist bastards that they are? Fuckin rob a grave for some DNA.

OBVIOUSLY though, it can't be one of the more RECENT graves! He probably VISITS those! Watches them! No we gotta be SNEAKY! Get one a bit further back! Mwahahahaha! We're so brilliant! Our God is gonna give us SUCH a Good Grade in follower!

A thing that is both REAL and possible to achieve!

So, while a Weirdly FURIOUS Batman? Is just... VIOLENTLY breaking ALL of their bones? Cultist 17 is furiously digging like his life depends on it. Either somebody snitched or Batman was hunting them down! Either way?

Gotta! Get! That! DNA!!! *digs faster*

Ah HA! Got it!

Fucking SCATTER! Run you fools, RUN!!! *everyone bolts*

And AT LAST! They have it! Wayne DNA! Now? Pop that sucker into the machine and make us a baby! Too sacrifice! *relieved noises* Man, that was hard work you guys. But we DID it!

Except??

Theoretical Babies? And "Real, slowly forming in front of me and becoming a human child" type babies? VERY DIFFERENT psychologically. It's ONE thing to sacrifice a HYPOTHETICAL baby... but when you're the guy running and monitoring the Cloning machine? Watching it slowly form and come together into... into a CHILD?

You start asking questions of yourself. Of God.

Of what, EXACTLY, you are willing to do.

What lines you find yourself unwilling to cross.

And yeah, your life was SHIT before the cult. Yeah, you were alone. Adrift. Without purpose. Angry at the world for all of its ugliness and failings. But... sitting, alone, in a dark room? Nothing but the steady hum of machines and the cool light of that pod? You are left with nothing but time... and your thoughts.

And the baby.

The one... the one YOU made.

Almost... he's almost like a son, in a way. Your son. Floating there, innocent and unknowing. Destined to be born, only to die painfully, for a cause he could not even begin to understand. Because he's too young. Too small. Just... just a baby.

The baby YOU made.

Doubt seeps in like mist. Creeping into the cracks forming in your faith. Surely there's another way, right? Why not save up for a better magician? Or... or hire a hitman? Why involve a child? Surely... surely your God would not WANT this, right? Or if He did! Surely, he would want the boy to be able to CHOOSE, right? A noble sacrifice, for the cause?

The pressure builds. Batman is tearing the city APART looking for your fellow Believers. Leadership is pressuring you to get "It" ready all ready.

He's not an "it".

They are dismissing your questions. Threatening and posturing, as you grapple with your faith. Where? Where is the COMMUNITY that you joined? The camaraderie? Every day, Believers are being torn down. The faith has lost so many!

How can this be WORTH it?

Your faith is slowly, cruelly, strangled in your chest. A death, by ten thousand silences, and ten thousand more cruelties.

Your son is ready.

You do not tell them.

The Clone of Bruce Wayne's great-grandfather is small, but healthy, in your arms. A tiny warm body, with a strong beating little heart. You call the police. Leave your phone, call running, on the desk. No one thinks to stop you, as you calmly walk out the back door.

Why would they doubt?

You are Faithful.

You drive. Pray to a God you have lost faith in, beg forgiveness for what you do now. Your beat up old junker of a car makes decent time, as you leave Gotham. Your son, asleep in a carefully made nest of blankets, on the seat next to you. You drive. You keep driving.

Past towns.

Past cities.

Out of the state.

Stopping only to feed your son and fuel your car. You... you can not bring yourself to care about what will happen to you now. You know they will find you. Know this is the end. But something ancient burns in your chest. A caring you never thought was REAL.

You are afraid.

But you will not let them harm your son.

Finally, a town. Far from Gotham. Quite and cheerful. It calls to you.

Here. It... it has to be here.

You find the hospital. Tears choking you. There is a place to drop of children. You've seen them before. How strange, that now you stand before it and HURT. Your arms not listening to your command. You... you have to do this. You HAVE too.

He is just a baby.

He is your son.

You have to keep him safe. And... and that can not be with you.

You gently put your baby boy into the drop off. Press the buzzer. And then? You make yourself walk away.

Get back in your car, and drive. The gun in your glove box will insure they can never pry from you, what you have done. Where he is. He is safe now. He has to be. You... you did your job. As his father. You made sure he was safe.

You can barely see the road, through your tears.

You take your secrets to the grave.

And Danny? He grows up. Is adopted young and never knows different. Both a Fenton and a Wayne. Knowing only one of these, to be his. But... that Wayne? Was a damn fine man. A pillar of his community and a champion of the people.

Got tossed more then a few blessings, in his life.

They weren't the STRONGEST. But they added up. And more importantly? Were hardly the refined magics of the more powerful. They were cast onto "Him". By blood and bone, more often then not. Which was all well and good!

When there was only ONE of "Him".

Cloning technology did not exsist. So why would you word carefully against it? Danny becomes a VERY lucky boy. Survives many things he should not. In fact, the kindness and hard work of his original? Gifted back in magically powered well wishes? By this, he survives something NO ONE could possibly expect him too.

It saves his life.

His template would be quite pleased, knowing that. That his life of good deeds, saved the life of the child he never got a chance to meet. That it protected his children, from even beyond death.

And in Gotham? At long, long last. The program Bruce made in his helplessness and despair, to search EVERY child until the child made of his bloodline was found? Spits out a match.

A Watchtower engineer.

Daniel J. Fenton.

@hdgnj @hypewinter @lolottes @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @mutable-manifestation

[lostbookmark]

MDNI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

Game Masterlist here

Summary: After the death of your brother and his wife. You find yourself adjusting to a new role in your life. A single parent to your teenage nephew. How do you help him heal? How do you help yourself heal? You're not sure. You don't think you can, until an annoying basketball coach enters your life and turns everything around.

Pairing: Basketball Coach Yoongi x Single Aunt F. Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst, Smut, Strangers to Lovers,

Warnings: Death Of Parents / Brother/ Family, Car Accident (Cause), Swearing, Explicit Sex, Arguments, Physical Fighting, Past Abusive Relationship, Talks Of Domestic Violence,

A/N: So, it occured to me that I never named Yoongi's team. From here on out they will be the Bangtan Ravens. GO RAVENS!

SMUT!

“Have you asked Yoongi to be your plus one yet?" Elly asks, as she sits beside you on the bleachers at Nicky's game.

“Nope,” you answer, watching the boys run around the court.

“Chicken,” she laughs.

“What if he doesn't want to come?” You ask. “What if the dark lord throws a fit?”

Your mom, who was sitting in front of you, whirls around at your words. You guess she heard. Your dad wraps his arm around her shoulders, directing her focus back to the game. Elly rolls her lips between her teeth to stop herself from laughing.

“I think he's probably wrapped around your finger and wouldn't deny you anything,” she tells you. “Trust me. I saw how he looked at you when he found you in the stands. He won't say no.”

“I'll ask him tonight,” you promise.

“Good,” she replies. “I made sure to leave a seat next to you empty just in case at the reception.”

The crowd starts chanting.

Coach Jeon and Yoongi are both yelling, clapping their hands as they watch their players run across the court.

The clock counts down quickly.

5…4…3…2…1

The buzzer sounds loudly through the enclosed space.

Bangtan Ravens Win 31 - 19.

Your side of the gym goes wild as everyone jumps to their feet cheering. You stand slowly, clapping your hands watching as Nicky's team gathers, hugging each other before lining up on the court to high-five the other team. Nicky looked like he was glowing out there. It was in this moment that you knew putting up with everything was indeed worth it. You had made the right choice in letting him play.

He was born for this.

“You better be careful tonight,” your mom says, looking up at you.

“What?” You ask, not believing what you just heard.

“You heard me,” she said. “Don't get Nicky…. or yourself in a situation you can't get out of. You should be careful and call me if you need me.”

“I will,” you say.

“Have fun,” she says stiffly before walking down the bleachers and out the gym.

You and Elly exchange a look. This was odd. This clearly wasn't your mother. Obviously, this was some imposter, some pod person trying to impersonate her, a clone. However, it's your dads gentle hand on your shoulder and short nod that tells you that it was his doing. Once again, he stepped in and saved the day from her wrath. You need to step up your gift giving to him for all the shots he’s taking for you. Maybe you will get him a fishing pole or something. Unless your little fight with her actually got through to her.

“You better ask him tonight?” Elly says once more.

“I will,” you sigh.

Fuck, why were you so nervous all of a sudden.

Yoongi's car was illuminated by his dash as he drove the three of you back from your date. The only sound that filled the car was the quiet music that drifted from the speakers. Turning your head, you laugh silently as you watch Nicky sleep peacefully, curled up with a giant stuffed banana that he had traded all his tickets in for earlier in the evening.

Elly and your brother had tried to lay low while hanging around with you after the game, stalling, until almost everyone was gone. From there, you and Nicky took off with Yoongi as stealthily as you could to Arcadia Grill and Play to eat off an overpriced menu and play overpriced games. It was a pretty relaxed evening until they came to Hoops and you felt like someone should have cued some dramatic old time gun slinger western music for the faceoff that they were doing before they turned to their respective game. Both games start at the same time. Nicky and Yoongi grab the orange balls, throwing them with presion, sinking them in the net one after another as the timer counts down. Nicky's tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration as your eyes narrowed at Yoongi, who suddenly started to fumble with grabbing the balls as they came back to him, wasting time. While Nicky continues to make every shot, Yoongi seems to miss every third shot. You have a hunch he's missing on purpose.

Nicky relished in his victory with some innocent smack talking while his tickets dispersed from the machiche. Yoongi took it all in stride, waving off your attempt to keep your nephew quiet. Yoongi decides to play once more after Nicky's victory. As the teenager leaves to play some racing game, Yoongi presses start on the machine. Not only did he not miss one shot, but he beat the high score by a mile. You gave him a knowing look as the tickets spit out of the machine, causing him to just shrug at you. Nodding, the two of you went on your way enjoying the rest of the night with Nicky being none the wiser.

“He's knocked out back there,” you say, laughing lightly as you turn back facing forward.

“It's been a long day for him. He played hard,” Yoongi replied, as he focused on the darkened roaded lit by his headlights.

“Thank you for tonight,” you say. “We had fun.”

“You're welcome,” he said, grabbing your hand that rested in your lap.

“Aaand, thank you for letting him win,” you tell him.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” he denies your words as he brings your hand to his mouth to give it a quick kiss.

The two of you go silent, and your free hand nervously plays with the little black stuffed cat that he traded his tickets in for. You were going to make fun of him for getting a stuffed animal until he promptly handed it over to you. No one has ever won you anything before. That's not true. Your older brother won you a bear once out of a claw machine once at the skating rink at your tenth birthday party. You had slept with it for years. You still have it. Maybe you should find it.

“So, have you always played basketball? “ You ask.

“Pretty much,” he answers. “I loved it. The adrenalin. The crowd chanting your name. It was all such a rush.”

“You all sound the same,” you giggle. “What was your position?”

“I was a shooting guard all throughout school, but I know that doesn't mean anything to you,” he laughs.

“You would be correct,” you laugh with him. “Let me guess then. You were a popular jock who dated a cheerleader? Did she shake her pom poms for you?”

“Maybe,” he chuckles. “And based on everything that I have gathered….you were not a cheerleader.”

“Ew… absolutely not. Although, I did beat one up once. I got suspended for that one,” you tell him.

“I don't doubt that,” he replies. “I bet you were so cool. You wouldn't have even noticed me had we gone to school together.”

“I think you have that backwards,” you argue lightly.

“No,” he says, sticking to what he said. “I was popular, but I bet you were ….. cool, like you couldn't give fuck what people thought about you. I always wanted to be like that, but I was always afraid to stray too far from the rules and expectations,” he explains.

“Oh, you're still like that, Mr. Handbook,” you tease, making him laugh. “Did you stop playing on your own or…..”

“I got hurt in college,” he tells you. “Dislocated my shoulder. Team doctor pretty much told me that it was in my best interest to stop playing. So, I threw myself into my studies and…..”

“Started this program. You know you could have fessed up that you were the president that night we fu…you know, instead making me look like an idiot,” you tell him.

“I didn't hide it,” he defends himself. “If you actually took the time to read about the program you were putting Nicky in. You would have found it.”

“You knew damn well I didn't know,” you tell him.

“I know,” he agrees, finally pulling into your driveway. “I liked that you seemed to not know. I liked how you wanted me, how I wanted you. You didn't just want me to get your kid ahead.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt and lean over the middle console to brush the tip of your nose against his. Moving your head slightly, you see Nickly still dead asleep with his giant banana. It won't take much for him to go back to sleep once you are back inside.

“Stay,” you say, making him lick his lips nervously, and you don't want him to back out this time. “I think I owe you for two wins now. I think you should stay and collect.”

“I was just joking about that,” he says. “You don't OWE me anything.”

“Are you refusing?” You ask, confused.

Ouch.

“How about I stay and ….. we just sleep,” he suggests.

“Sleep?” You question, not believing him.

A beat of silence.

“....yees,” he answers slowly.

You smile.

He is such a liar.

“Sure, we can just sleep,” you can lie, too.

You shut Nicky's door softly as you tiptoe back to your room. He was sound asleep with both his tv, tablet going, and his body curled around that big banana. It's perfectly normal for him minus the new addition of the banana. Entering your room once again, you turn on that dime dresser light and slide carefully under the covers next to Yoongi, who was sleeping away peacefully. Smirking to yourself, you slowly crawl over his body, causing him to shift in his sleep, moving to lie on his back. Laughing lightly, you press your lips lightly to the column of his neck. You were done letting him think all you were going to do was sleep. Foolish man should have known better.

“Psss, wake up,” you whisper against his skin.

Yoongi goans as his eyes sleepily flutter open and adjust to the new lighting. Looking at you, he blinks a couple of times, and you smile a devious smile before making your way down his body and under the covers. Sliding his shirt up his torso, you drop kisses down his bare skin that was warm with sleep. Poking your tongue out, you drag your wet muscle down his now tightening stomach. Curling your fingertips into the waistband of his boxers, his hands suddenly cover your own.

“What are you doing?” He asks, whispering into the lowly lit room and uncovering your head. “Nicky…”

“Sleeps like a rock,” you answer, pulling his boxers midway down his thighs as he lifts his hips.

“The door,” he says, not stopping you.

“Is locked,” you inform, looking up at him from under the covers. “Now, I will stop if you want me to or shut up and let me suck your cock.”

Silence and a wide-eyed stare.

Was he in shock, or was it his answer?

You will take it as his answer.

If it wasn't his answer, his rapidly hardening erection sure was. Smirking, you take him into your mouth. Humming softly around him, you feel him relax back against your bed. Tossing your hair over your shoulder, you playfully tease with swirling your tongue around his mushroomed tip several times before pulling off and licking him from base to tip from underneath his shaft.

“Is this what you had in mind?” You ask, in a hushed tone. “Is this what you wanted after the first game? Did you want me on my knees for you?”

“Fuck, yeah,” he breaths out.

“Tell me what you like,” you whisper before sinking your mouth back onto him all the way down until your nose meets his pelvic bone, swallowing around the girth of him.

“THAT! HOLY SHIT THAT!” He whispers urgently. With a gasp, you pull off of him and wrap your hand securely around him, twisting and tugging so you can catch your breath. “Fuck, we don't have…”

“I want to,” you say, taking your hand off him and removing your shirt by pulling it over your head. “I'm not good at expressing my feelings with words, but I'm good at this. Please, just let me do this.”

Yoongi sits up, cupping your face and rubbing his thumbs along your smooth skin. You lean down to capture his lips with your own as your hand still works, twisting and tugging, but you were not done with your mouth yet. Pressing on his chest with your free hand, you push him back down and resume your position, kneeling over his lower body and taking him in your mouth without any hesitation.

Yoongi's hand flies into your hair, gathering your messy tresses into a loose pony to keep it out of your face. Looking up through your lashes at him, his eyes are half lidded as his tongue is poking into his cheek, staring at the way his cock is going in and out of your wet mouth. Raising an eyebrow, you take him down your throat, making his grip on your hair tighten and low strangled groan leave his throat . It felt like victory. Pulling off of him, you intentionally let saliva string from your tongue to his tip cause him to growl softly and pull you back into his lap.

“What's wrong?” You tease. “You can't take a little bj?”

“Do you know how often I think about stuffing that mouth of yours?” He teases back, slipping his finger just under the inner edge of your underwear, finding your obvious wetness. “Do you want to explain this?”

“Explain what,” you whisper, feining ignorance.

Yoongi slips his middle finger into your wetness, making you close your eyes in semi relief. You've been wanting his touch for weeks now, and now that you had him here… you needed him. Foreplay could wait until the next time….. damn, you were already planning for the next time.

Yes, it could wait for the next time.

Grabbing his wrist, you climb off his lap and crawl over to your nightstand for your familiar unassuming box hiding the condoms. Tossing one his way, you slide your underwear down your legs before kicking them off your leg carelessly. You notice that Yoongi hasn't even moved an inch, seemingly confused by your actions.

“Don't you want me to…” he starts, but you shake your head no.

“Not tonight,” you answer in a hushed voice, picking the condom up from where it landed on the bed and opening it.

“But…. but I like doing it,” he said.

“Next time,” you tell him.

“But you taste really good,” he tries again, and you laugh quietly.

“You can take as long as you want next time,” you promise, rolling the latex down his still hard erection as you move his shirt out of the way and climb back into his lap.

“But…” he tries.

“Shhh,” you hush him with your finger pressed against his lips as you sink down onto him. “Next time.”

Yoongi's eyes close, and his head tilts back, taking in the way your warmth surrounds him. You bite your bottom lip, trying to stay quiet as your hands grab his shoulders for leverage. Slowly, you pull yourself up before bringing yourself back down on him once more. You don't hurry. You don't rush. You didn't feel the need to. Not right now. You just wanted to feel him, just for a moment. Taking your time, you relax and bury your face into the side of his neck. Pressing your lips into the skin just below his ear.

“Fuck,” Yoongi whispers, bring his lips down to kiss your shoulder.

Pulling your face away from his neck, you rest your forehead against his own. Your hips still gently undulate on his still partially clothed lap. His hands slide up and down your back before tangling in your hair. Yoongi angles your head perfectly to slant his mouth up and across yours, slipping his tongue into your wet cavern. Your tongues roll perfectly with one another…..addicting. You had never had kisses like his before. Like you never wanted them to end. Like you could feel them for hours later as if they still tingled although he was nowhere to be found.

“I….I need you deeper,” you whisper against his lips.

“As you wish,” he whispers back.

Yoongi wraps your legs securely around his waist, and his arms wrap around your lower back before he flips the two of you over. Quickly, he undresses before covering your body with his own. Placing your ankles on his shoulders, he reaches down, placing his covered tip at your entrance. Smirking, his hips surge forward, causing the headboard to thump loudly against the wall.

You both freeze.

“Was that loud last time?” Yoongi whispers, looking frantically between you, the wall and the door. “I don't remember that being loud.”

“I don't know,” you answer, covering your mouth, trying to quiet the laughter bubbling out of your mouth. “We were a little busy last time to notice.”

“Shhh,” he shushes you. Pulling back, Yoongi, with much more careful intention, rolls his hips forward, filling you. Filling you just like you needed, but it still wasn't enough. Spreading your legs the best you could, Yoongi adjusts, attempting to pick up the pace, but unfortunately, your bed wasn't having it. “Shit, this isn't going to work.”

“Okay, okay,” you say and point to your oversized bean bag chair in the corner of your room.

“Are you serious,” he whispers and you nod.

Getting up, you grab his hand and pull him from your bed and lead to the chair before pushing him down onto it. You won't admit it, but the push was more of a test than anything. It didn't flip over, so you should be good to go, but you won't tell him that. Straddling his lap, your knees sink into the soft pink corduroy fabric. Reaching behind you, you take his thankfully still hard erection and place it back at your entrance and sit.

Biting your bottom lip, you brace yourself on his chest, you rock your hips along his, grinding your clit along his lower stomach.

“Is it deep enough?” His voice, rough, tense asks.

“Yeaah,” you answer rather breathlessly.

Yoongi hands grab your hips, gliding your body across his a little faster. You grab a hold of the pink fabric on either side of his head, gripping it in your fingers until your knuckles turn white, willing yourself to stay quiet.

“Fuck you feel just as good as I remember,” he groans in your ear.

“Shhh,” you hush, turning to brush your lips against his.

Bucking your hips faster, you stop short from hitting his thighs to prevent the inevitable slapping noise. However, right now, you couldn't care. While this slow shit felt nice, it wasn't what you wanted. Throwing yourself down onto his lap, you bounce and throw your head back.

“Too loud,” he whisper screams at you. “Shit, yeah, sooo fucking good….too loud!”

“Then….shut….up,” you pant.

Grabbing the back of his head, you smash his mouth to yours. He groans as you slip your tongue onto his. His hands grab the flesh of your bottom, pulling you back and forth, taking over your movements. Your whimper sets off a growl deep within his chest. A sudden movement has your back touching that thick pink corduroy fabric. On his knees, Yoongi was at the perfect height for him to thrust his hips into you. With one hand, he braces himself on your open leg. While the other is working magic with him thumb. Furiously, his thumb rubs back and forth over and over again on your sensitive clit.

Slapping a hand over your mouth, your eyes roll in the back of your head as your back arches. Yoongi chuckles before pulling you down the bean bag and hiking himself up the best he can to hover over you, causing him to hit even deeper inside of you. His hand soon flew to yours over your mouth as you let out a muffled cry of pleasure.

“I love listening to you,” he pants in your ear, and you mumble something unintelligible in return. “What was that, doll?” He asks, removing his hand, but his hips never stop rolling into yours.

“Please, come,” you beg.

Giving you an open mouth smirk, Yoongi ducks his head and claims your mouth. Much like you had, he throws caution to the wind and slams his hips into yours, rapidly not caring how much sound he was creating. In an instant, his arms were completely under you, almost scooping you up to press flush against him. One more shove of his hips, he grunts into your mouth and stills. The two of you collapse onto the squishy surface.

Wrapping your arms around his sweaty body, you hold him as close as you could, and your heart does something. Your rhythmic pounding skips a beat.

You like him.

You really like him.

“Do you want to be my date for my brother's stinking wedding?” You ask, fearful of his possible rejection.

Silence.

It's too long of a pause.

“You sound really excited to ask me,” he teases, laughing lightly. Shaking his sweaty hair out of his face, Yoongi holds himself up by his elbow and rests his face on the palm of his hand, looking down at you. “Do you really want me to go?”

You nod, and he lifts an eyebrow.

“Yes,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I need a date, and you're my best option.”

“You're so romantic,” he smirks. “That means I'll probably have to meet your parents. Like for real meet them.”

“Let's hold off for as long as we can on that,” you say.

“When's this little shindig?” He questions.

“First weekend of December,” you answer.

“I'll pencil you in,” he says, leaning down to kiss you softly.

“Just pencil?” You razz, pushing him gently off of you.

“Well, I'm hoping it doesn't happen, but I think you have a tendency of running away,” he says softly.

You look at him seriously. He looks back at you just the same. All the joking is gone.

“I'm right here,” you say.

“For now,” he states.

“I'm right here,” you say again with certainty. Standing, you hold out your hand for him to take. “Let's shower.”

Taking your hand, he stands with you before pulling your now cooled body into a hug. You want him to know it. You want him to know you like him. Like you said earlier, you weren't good at words. You will have to show him. You weren't quite sure how to do that, but it was going to take more than a blowjob and sex.

You'll figure it out.

You always do.

《Chapter 10》

Tagged Readers

@busanbby-jjk , @meelismee @jajabro , @wicked-game-black-butler @wobblewobble882, @damn-u-min-yoongi @mintedagustd , @Granataepfelchen @yoongiiuu93, @jimeg629 @jincapableoflove , @minghaosimp @redragdoll, @ot72025 @seoullove96 @our-cool-jenny @kam9404 , @momma1 @amarawayne , @militrybarbi @haileyborig, @bettytta @mar-lo-pap , @lattejimin,@butterymin @thelilbutifulthings , @cannotalwaysbenight @muchwita , @maryhopemei, @rinkud, @misfits1a, @ktownshizzle

[persefolli]

about the tonowari x reader x ronal thing:

their wife/spouse is someone who doesn't really have a big role like them, like a fisherman or a farmer, and just gets giddy when they or the kids want to help/join her.

bonus if the Sully's meet her and is like, "so... what are you?" and her family gets low-key offended and pissed, lol.

just a thought

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐑𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐢

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐍𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @iwanttogohomeandtakeanap, @ms5m1th, @18lkpeters, @yukichan67, @laylasbunbunny, @jakesullyscocksleeve, @neteyamyawne, @fanboyluvr, @myheartfollower, @letsloveimagines, @xylianasblog, @papichulo120627

𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐀/𝐧: 𝐈'𝐦 𝐝𝐞𝐟 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭!

“Y/n!” You heard a familiar voice in the distance. You looked up from the field and saw Tsireya running over, holding her satchel.

“Hello Reya. What brings you to this side of the reef?” 

She groans and sets her bag near your mauri pod, “Mother said you haven’t met the Sully’s yet and it's been two weeks.”

“Ah..I mean-”

“She wants you to come to dinner.”

You smiled and tilted your head. Reya shared the same expression. The both of you knew when Ronal “wanted” something, there was no choice, no way out. You weren’t getting out of this dinner.  

“I decided to come and help you make a grand impression. You can make our favorite dish. That is if you have some ovumshroom growing.”

“Oh I always have some in the chamber. Go grab the hoe.” You waved Tsireya to the small makeshift pod..or shed you had specifically for farming tools.

You smiled brightly watching Tsireya get to work, picking at the ground to see if she can find any fresh ovumshroom to pick out. While she did that, you went to sprinkling fertilizer over the newest crops you planted earlier that day.

Farming always brought you a sense of joy. It was calming, especially being away from the hustle and bustle of the village. Ronal and Tonowari insisted you move to that side of the reef, just so you could be closer to the family, but you insisted on staying where you were. The sun hit this part of the reef better and the soil was much more suited for planting and curating the plants you worked with.

After a while, you retreated back into your marui pod, where Tsireya was already sitting, peeling the shroom and humming to herself.

“Make sure to save the stubs. I can-”

“Replant them. I know.” She giggled and you ruffled her hair a bit. 

You moved to clean yourself up, putting on the nice clothing Ronal and Tonowari gifted you for nights like this. Ronal would throw a fit if you walked in wearing your farming clothes, but you would do anything to appease your lover.

A knock at the entrance caused you and Tsireya to look up. It was Ao’nung.

“I’m not too late am I?”

Tsireya threw a shroom stub at him and giggled. 

“Not at all,” You said. “You might wanna start boiling some water.

The teens worked happily in your kitchen as you tidied a bit. It warmed your heart to know that kids, especially of their age still enjoyed the simplicity of farming and cooking. Tsireya opened up to you once about how it was a nice way to get away from the training and practices of being the princess.

Ao’nung was less vocal about his enjoyment, but he kept coming around so that was a plus.

The three of you worked until sunset, creating an ovumshroom stew with fish and porridge, one of your favorites.

“Now who's gonna help me carry this across the reef?” You said playfully. Tsireya walked up but was pushed back by her brother.

“Let the future Olo’eyktan handle this.”

“Hey! Dad said I still have a good chance.” Tsireya rebutted. 

“We’ll see about that.”

---

After a long walk, the three of you finally arrived at their home. Ronal had a scowl on her face, and you smiled awkwardly. “I brought food.”

“At least you didn’t come empty handed.” She huffed. 

“I came as fast as I could.” You said lowly, realizing the Sully family was already inside the pod.

Ronal went back to announce the food was ready, and the navi began pouring in. You poured the porridge into their bowls as they stood in a line, chatting and smiling brightly at the warm meal. When it was Neytiri’s turn, she held her hand up before you could fill her bowl. 

“I can pour it myself, thanks.”

“Oh there’s no need, I insist.’ You politely said, holding up the spoon.

“I rather not…have someone like you pouring my food.”

“Someone like me?”

The room fell silent at your high-pitched voice that radiated from shock. 

Ronal was standing not too far from the two of you with a nasty glare on her face. Tonowari also had a look of disapproval displayed across her face.

“In the forest we don’t have servants.”

Ronal hissed, and Tonowari stood, walking over to stand close to his wife.

“She is no servant.” Ronal said harshly.

“That's Y/n. Mom and Dad’s girlfriend.” Ao’nung said a little unphased from the situation. 

Everyone watched as Neytiri's face changed, going into shock. She fell silent, and a thick draft blew through the pod. She nervously giggled before nodding.

“Enlighten me Ms. Sully. What about Y/n made you think she was-”

“It’s fine Ronal.” You chimed in, trying to deescalate the situation. In Neytiri’s defense you were wearing less formal clothing and you were serving the food. It wouldn’t take much to put two and two together. 

“I apologize.” Neytiri said.

“It was an honest mistake.”

“Mistake my foot.” Ronal mumbled, 

Tonowari placed a hand on his wife's shoulder and nodded, giving everyone the non-verbal signal that we could all move on from the mistake. 

The pod was still quiet by the time you sat to eat, everyone, even the kids, scared to break the tension that floated in the air. You looked around to see if anyone would perk up, but everyone was either focused on their food or frowning. 

You made eye contact with Jake, and you can tell he was about to take his chance with damage control. 

“Would it be rude to ask how this came to be?” 

You smiled and chuckled. “Well Ronal initiated everything. IIf she wants something she won't stop until she has it.”

Tonowari looked over at Ronal who had a bit of a flushed expression on her face. “Well Ronal here saw Y/n dancing around the bonfire, and went to join in. This was when the kids were…Tuk’s age, maybe younger.” Tonowari started. “After that night we wanted to meet with her more, but we didn’t see her around the village. Ronal tried convincing me for weeks that she was indeed Metkayina and not from some other clan.”

“I found her playing with rakes on the other end of the reef.” Ronal said.

“I was plowing the sand, not playing with rakes.”

“Same difference.” Ronal sighed. “I saw her..thought she would make a great addition.”

“Whatever makes Ronal happy.  I told myself.” Tonowari smiled. “But… Y/n makes me happy too.”

After an eye roll from Ronal everyone in the pod laughed, dissipating the once tense room. 

Once dinner ended, and the Sully’s retired to their own pod, you stayed behind to help clean the mess that was left behind. You noticed Ronal washing the dishes intensely, so you walked over and leaned to look at her.

“Ronal.”

“That Neytiri woman. I don't like her.” She said scrubbing the dish.

“It was an honest mist-”

“I allow her to seek Uturu and she comes to my home and disrespects me, you- us!” She stammers.

You grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to face you. “Ronal….it's fine. Listen, I'm not offended. We're from two different worlds, I've accepted I may not be treated with respect like you and Wari.”

“But you should be!” She says sternly.

“Ronal.” You placed a kiss on her cheek. “As long as I am with you two I am just fine. I don't care what people say about me, or how they treat me, because you and Wari are the only two people whose opinion matters.”

Ronal looked at you before sighing and nodding, giving in, like she always did. Tonowari walked over and smiled at the sight of you two embracing.

��And you,” Ronal turned to her husband. “You did not defend me.”

“Sweetheart you did a better job than I could’ve. And I would rather not get into women's business.”

Ronal stood quiet before nodding. “You have a point.”

[ohnoitstbskyen]

Which LoL character do you think is in the greatest need of an ASU and why?

Hard to pick just one...

There's a solid argument for Singed, since Arcane is meant to be The Canon now and Singed...... just is not That Guy

Besides him though, Zilean and Corki have probably the ugliest and least fitting models and animation in the game

But I really wouldn't be who I am if I didn't also throw in one of the worst examples of total mismatch between champion design and story in the entire game

And it's not just that her story insists that she's a hard-bitten, traumatised sole survivor who has struggled for her life against extradimensional horrors her whole life, bonded to an alien ravenous symbiote and hated by the people she is trying to save as a "monster," while her character design insists that she's a physically flawless swimsuit model in a body condom.

It's also that 99.9% of her skins actively ignore the fact that she's supposed to be a symbiote character - that her alien suit is supposed to be core to her character, the split between the human and the monstrous. But nah, her skins just put her in various outfits and then she has pods floating behind her because [indistinct mumbling.]

I don't think there's a champion in League of Legends where it is more profoundly clear that Riot does not give a single solitary shit about the concept of the character, they ONLY care that she's a hot woman who can be put in hot woman outfits.

>sigh< at least Dana Luery Shaw gave us Hollowspun

[suzukiblu]

Thank-you sentences for bOO-oops behind the cut; “Kara gets to Earth on time and the Kents get a two-for-one special on free kids”. tw: aftermath of a panic attack, implied PTSD, unhealthy coping mechanisms. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

If it hadn’t been for Ma and Pa, she would’ve just stayed up above ground with Kal, both of them hurting and terrified and screaming. If it hadn’t been for Ma and Pa, she wouldn’t have been able to get him away from all the roaring and crashing or protect him from the noise or soothe him through the fear. She wouldn’t even have known how to get him away from it. Wouldn’t have been able to do anything for him at all. 

Worse that that, because all she actually did by being there was make it worse. Ma and Pa could’ve carried just Kal down here much faster if they hadn’t had to drag her along while she was screaming and panicking and carrying on like a disgrace. It would’ve been easier, if she hadn’t been there. She couldn’t help him at all. She couldn’t protect him at all. 

She was a burden to him. 

That’s not why their family saved her. 

“Suh ay-fuh,” Ma repeats softly, and “Suh ay-fuh,” Pa agrees. Kara still doesn’t know what the word means–what the words mean?–and still isn’t sure she’s even reading Ma and Pa’s tones right, flat as they are, and is still just so bitterly ashamed of herself. Kal fusses in her lap, and she wipes helplessly at his face with the cloth square again. He keens unhappily and tries to squirm away from her grip, and she feels a rush of panic and terror and–and– 

She’s such a disappointment. Such an embarrassment to their house; their family. Such a . . . such a useless . . . 

She chokes back another sob, hating herself for even having to, and wraps herself tighter around Kal. He just–it’s not–it’s not safe, if he just– 

“Karr-full, Ka-Lair,” Ma says, laying her hands gently over the back of Kara’s. Kara doesn’t understand how Ma and Pa can be this kind, when she’s such an embarrassment and a mess and . . . and isn’t . . . “Ka-Lum jess wan-suh tah gitt dow-nah, dar-leen, thas ull.” 

Kara doesn’t know what Ma’s saying. Something, obviously but . . . but not something she knows. Not anything she recognizes; not even anything she can even hear right, it feels like. Kal is keening unhappily in her arms again and still trying to wriggle away from her and she doesn’t–she doesn’t–doesn’t he know it’s not safe? Doesn’t he know how small he is, how easy to snuff out, how tiny and helpless and small and–and– 

He doesn’t, she thinks vaguely. He doesn’t remember Krypton burning and collapsing and imploding; doesn’t remember his parents sealing him away inside his pod. Even if he does, Aunt Lara and Uncle Jor had probably just laid him in it the same way they would’ve laid him in his cradle. Just like he was going to sleep for a little while, and no different from any other time they’d put him to bed. 

Mother and Father, though . . . 

Kara had–she’d panicked. She’d been terrified, and she’d been trying to convince them she couldn’t go alone, that they had to come with her, that they couldn’t just send her alone, and–and she’d refused to get in her pod, and–and she’d–she’d refused to get in, so the last time she’d ever gotten to touch her mother had been her mother grabbing her by the arms and throwing her in, and her father slamming the door behind, and her own voice screaming and screaming and her fists beating against the door, and the whole world ending all around them. 

She’d thought–she’d thought there was something else they could’ve done. Thought there was something else they could’ve done. 

But she’d been wrong. Stupid and deluded and shameful and wrong. 

So the last time she’d ever seen her parents she’d been screaming at them, fighting with them, and the last time she’d ever touched her mother had been her mother having to shove and throw and force her away, force her to not be stupid enough to die. She hadn’t gotten to hold her or Father one last time. Hadn’t gotten to say goodbye to them. To say anything to them. 

She hadn’t even let them say goodbye to her. 

The last thing she ever, ever could’ve done for them before they’d both burned up and died, before the whole world had ended, before everything any of them had ever known had ended, and she hadn’t even been able to do that. Couldn’t even let her own parents hold her one last time, and tell her goodbye. Let them be proud of how their daughter had acted; how she’d understood what they were doing and why, and had accepted her duty with dignity, and gone calm and steady, and how she wouldn’t wake up thousands upon thousands of lightyears later still sobbing and screaming for them. 

What kind of daughter is she, that she couldn’t even give them that? 

. . . what kind of daughter was she. 

Her parents are dead. She’s not a daughter anymore. 

Kara Zor-El is no one’s daughter, and Kal-El doesn’t understand that it’s not safe anymore. Wasn’t ever safe. “Safe” was a lie, always. But he still doesn’t understand how easily the ceiling could cave in, how easily the world could crack apart, how easily the sun could burn out. He doesn’t understand. 

He doesn’t understand, and all she has left is whatever she can do to keep him safe. 

That’s the only thing she can do for any of them, now. Anyone from their house, anyone from their line, their family, their world– 

Kal’s first word wasn’t even Kryptonian, and he’s never cried for Aunt Lara and Uncle Jor like she thought he would, and he doesn’t understand. 

And he’s the only thing she has left. 

“Ka-Lair,” Ma repeats even softer, and Kara can’t shame their house again. Can’t fail Kal again. Can’t fail her parents again. 

Can’t stop herself from bursting into tears again. 

“O, bay-bee gurr,” Pa says roughly, and he and Ma both wrap her up in their arms again like she even deserved it the first time, and she can’t do a thing but just sit there holding Kal and sob and sob and sob all over him. She’s such a disgrace. Such an embarrassment. Such a disappointment. 

Such a weak, pathetic failure. 

Rao won’t even come for a shameful thing like her, when it’s time. 

Ma and Pa tug her to her feet with Kal again and guide them both over to the far side of the room past the shelves and unwrap the rolled-up blankets on the shelves to spread them out over the flat pallet laid on the floor back there. The blankets are odd ones, soft and padded and thick with, for some reason, rows of metal-toothed fasteners all the way down two of their edges. Kara only knows they’re fasteners at all because she’s seen them on the aliens’ clothes before, but doesn’t know why blankets would need fasteners like those. 

She can’t think of a reason, but she also can’t stop crying and can’t protect Kal and can’t do right by their house and can’t make up for not hugging her mother one last time, so why would she be able to do anything at all? 

Ma and Pa coax her and Kal down into the blankets and fold them around them, and . . . oh, Kara realizes as Pa pulls the fastener’s tab up to seal it into a large pocket that envelopes her and Kal completely. Kal fusses and tries to squirm out of her arms, reaching for Ma with a flat alien-sounding whine, but he doesn’t know it’s not safe, and Kara can’t let him go. She just–she can’t. It’s not safe, and he doesn’t know. 

Kal whines louder, and then he starts to wail. Ma kneels down beside them and strokes his hair, making her little hissing sounds at him again. He goes back to the flat alien-sounding whines, but tries to crawl out of Kara’s arms again. 

She doesn’t know why he can’t just understand. 

“It’s not safe, Kal!” she sobs into his hair, huddling down small in the blanket pocket and wrapping him up tighter as she curls in around him again, and Kal goes back to wailing and tries to kick his way out of her arms. Ma hisses and hisses and hisses, leaning down over them and stroking his hair again. Pa sits down beside her and reaches over to stroke Kara’s back through the blankets, and she still can’t stop crying, still can’t take care of Kal, still can’t do this right, can’t–can’t– 

“Ma!” Kal wails, reaching towards her again. “Ma! Ma! MA!”

But it’s not safe, and he doesn’t understand. 

Kara sobs harder, and Ma and Pa make their little hissing noises again and again, and Kal wails, and she’s–she’s such a disgrace, an even worse disgrace, a–it’s not another apocalypse, not even anything really dangerous, not the literal end of the world all over again, so why is she crying again and why doesn’t Kal understand?! He needs to understand, he needs to, he won’t be safe if he doesn’t understand, if he doesn’t learn, if–he won’t be safe! 

And he doesn’t even know enough Kryptonian to know that, because she hasn’t taught him enough to know. 

How can she not have taught him that? 

Ma lays down beside them and wraps them both up in her arms, and makes more hissing sounds at them. She talks very soft and quiet, even as Kara just uselessly sobs and can’t even try to understand what she’s saying. But Kal’s cries start to gutter down a little, and then a little more, and then they settle into just hitched sniffles and tiny little whimpers and flat whines. Ma strokes his hair, and Pa strokes Kara’s back again. 

And Kara can’t even make Kal feel better when he’s scared, so what use even is she? What good even is she? 

None. Nothing. Not any kind of good. She’s useless, and no good to Kal at all. 

This pretty little yellow sun shouldn’t even touch her with its light. Never should’ve touched her at all. 

She can still hear the crashing through the heavy doors of the hatch, distant and muted but unmistakable. It won’t stop. 

She tries to tell herself that as long as it doesn’t stop, the world hasn’t ended. If the weather protocols are running, and the sky is roaring like that . . . the world isn’t over, if she can still hear that. 

She couldn’t hear anything after her father had slammed the door shut on her. 

So . . . so as long as it doesn’t stop, Kara tells herself. Tells herself, and cries silent, shameful tears against Kal’s vacuum-black curls and the dull, rough fabric of Ma’s flower-patterned dress where it covers her shoulder. As long as it doesn’t stop. The world isn’t over, if it doesn’t stop. The world is still there, if it doesn’t stop. 

It has to be. It has to be. 

Kal needs it to be, because he needs to be safe. She needs to make sure he’s safe. So the world has to still be there. At least this world, anyway. 

It’s already too late for theirs, after all. It’s–it’s a long time too late for theirs. 

But it’s not too late for Kal.

.

.

.

They all stay down in the liquid-stone room for a long time, and the crashing and rain continues on. One crash is so bellowingly loud that even Ma and Pa jump at the sound of it, but they don’t seem concerned; just a little startled. They don’t seem concerned about anything but Kara and Kal. 

Not like it’s the end of the world. 

Ma and Pa talk to them for most of it. Pa sorts through a few thick paper records that are on the shelf and takes one off, and reads to them from it in his flat, toneless voice. Ma strokes their hair, and . . . 

Kara thinks it’s how the aliens sing, what Ma does. Or at least, it seems as close to singing as she’s heard them do. There isn’t even as much resonance or melody as a Kryptonian’s typical speaking voice to it, but . . . but it is kind of her, to do it. Kara appreciates it, that she tries. 

They’re both so kind, all the time. She doesn’t understand why they’re always so kind, even when she’s doing something as disgraceful and embarrassing and ill-behaved as this. 

She should sing to Kal more, Kara thinks vaguely. If she were better at this–if she were better at this, she would’ve been singing to him already. Telling him stories; telling him about their world and their house and their–about his parents. Speaking their language to him. 

His first word might’ve been Kryptonian, if she were better at this. 

And if she were better at this, Ma and Pa wouldn’t even have thought they had to go out in the storm and bring them down here to begin with. 

Kara cries a few more times, later, but only once Kal is sleeping and Ma and Pa think she’s sleeping too. She’s already disgraced herself enough for one day, and she can’t be trouble for them; can’t be difficult like this again. Like she keeps being. 

She can’t be, because as kind as they are, even Ma and Pa won’t put up with a useless farmhand forever. Can’t put up with a useless farmhand forever. There’s work to do. They need someone strong enough to help them bring in their harvests and carry their animals’ feed and Pa’s tools and Ma’s shopping and–and not make trouble, and–and if she can’t do that, they’ll send them away. And Kara can’t let that happen yet; not before she understands this planet well enough to take care of Kal on it by herself. 

So she can’t let that happen yet. And she can’t be useless, or difficult, or a disgrace. Can’t make trouble for Ma and Pa or get in their way. 

And she can’t let Kal see her any way but smiling. 

.

.

.

It’s silent, when Kara wakes up in the morning. The world is over, and she’s behind a locked door, and she didn’t even let her mother hold her one last time. 

She gets up and goes outside to help Ma and Pa clean up the mess from the storm and feed Kal breakfast and do the chores. 

She has to.

[2-dsimp]

I'VE BEEN BRAIN ROTTING ABOUT THIS SO HARDDD but like... any of your ocs reactions to their s/o dying??? or like, getting ill with a disease that can't be cured. ( rivius and uhm any other of your boys?? kinda curious how nokka would react to wifey dying before him ) your ocs have been in my mind for MONTHS now ever since i found your blog and i've been visiting your blog for more than twice a day, it's so bad. also, I'm sorry if I broke any of your rules when it comes to requesting something...

—-/——-/———-/———-/—————-

[The Archdevil reaction to your death]

—-/——-/———-/———-/—————-

“No, no, no! This is all rubbish! The formula needs one last piece! That’s all it’d take to finally fix them!”

Rivius snarled, the devil was holed up in his laboratory. Completely closed off from the outside world, obsessing over perfecting the perfect formula. A formula that could cheat death in its raw essence.

Your life was taken far too soon, an untraceable contamination latched onto you. Before you could make it to his laboratory to get throughly quarantined. The mad scientist was running on empty, blackened eyes with his pupils glowing red with pure devastation. His tears slowly dripped like magma, burning holes into his scattered diagrams and blueprints.

In his manic episode he chopped off his hair, the long mane. That was his only boost of self esteem to show that he actually belonged in his lineage off giants despite his inferior size. Because of his failure for not being able to defy that damnable improbability from wrongfully taking you away from him.

The Archdevil ran his body haggard like a machine running only on steam, while lamenting over his resentment for fate. He despised how many people threw that detestable word around. As if that was a justifiable reason to accept that your death was meant to be. It was complete bullshit, utterly incomprehensible!

If there was enough time he could’ve cured you. He knew he could’ve saved his dearest attendant. At this point he’ll throw away any sense of morality and go off the deep end. It didn’t matter what he needed to do in order to complete his newest creation. Sure, it may cause calamity and wars between other worlds/nations just because of its god defying existence. But you were worth everything and more.

Stepping towards your encapsulated within in a cyro pod he crafted from scratch. He pressed a hand against the glass a promise escaping from his lips. An almost unrecognizable voice from him misuse full of vulnerability.

“Attendant, I never said you could quit being my assistant. Don’t you know that our contract has no end date? I won’t allow you to rot away. Your rightful place is by my side.”

——-/————-/————

A/n: you’re fine! I’m still in the middle of revising my rules! Also thanks for dropping by XD! As for Nokka let’s just say there’s gonna be a rampaging dragon on the loose. 👀