#im still so bitter about his death

[annatartastic]

Manifesting Sam returning as Adar for season 3 by pulling a Glorfindel ✨

[telesodalite]

Thinking about Krok and his og squad again...

[mywritersmind]

BREAK MY HEART AND I SWEAR IM MOVIN’ ON WITH YOUR FAVORITE ATHLETE - LN4

summary : You weren’t joking when you wrote the lyric ‘Break my heart and I swear I'm movin' on with your favorite athlete’. What a perfect opportunity when that same athlete falls right into the palm of your hands with your ex’s burning gaze directed straight at you.

listen up : reader wrote ‘good graces’ ! flustered lando! protective lando! sorry to anyone named nick.

words : 1519

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“Need a shot of your strongest!” I slap my hand down on the bar, my friends around me and looking worried. I’m fine! I’m absolutely fine!

Is my ex currently across the room from me? Yes! But I'm cool, I'm calm, and I'm collected.

I down the bitter liquor, pushing back my hair and taking a breath. “Fuck him.” I mumble as my friend's hand goes to my arm. I’m completely over him, but every time my eyes land on that jerk I can’t help but remember how I caught him fucking his assistant.

Jackass wasn’t even talented enough to have an assistant, I should have known.

I start dancing, forgetting about my hatred and focusing on my friends. The true loves of my life! I throw my hands up, ‘Cupid's Chokehold’ playing as we all sing around and laugh.

I hear the mumbling and whispering instantly, a new ground walking into the exclusive club my friends pulled me into. My best friend squeals, grabbing my arm, “That’s Lando Norris!”

I raise a brow, still dancing and turning to see the man and his own group. I recognize a few from when my ex would get up at 4AM to see their races.

Formula 1 drivers have a reputation… most worse than any other soccer or hockey player. I watch Lando, a drink in his hand as his eyes scan the crowd.

The reputation makes sense, a face like that doesn’t just shrug off girls.

I turn before he can see me. He doesn’t know who I am, I doubt any F1 driver knows a borderline inappropriate pop star.

“You have to talk to him!” She screams, jumping up and down in her heels now.

“No!” I laugh and think she’s going to drop it until she gives me an annoyed look.

“That’s hypocritical!” I laugh, how the fuck is that hypocritical? I am forced to realize what she’s referring to as I turn and see my ex standing in front of the driver.

He’s smiling like the idiot he is, asking for a photo and clearly going on for too long. Lando is his absolute favorite driver, I couldn’t escape his face for the two years I was dating my ex.

My friend's smile grows, and she starts singing. “Break my heart and I swear I'm movin' on with your favorite athlete!” she’s off key and definitely drunk, pushing my arm she laughs, “This is your fucking time! It’s your own words! He broke your heart babe!”

At her last words I frown, making up some excuse to get another drink. I look back at Lando as I walk back to the bar, my ex is still there but I catch Lando’s eye, accidentally sending him a disgusting look.

I rip my eyes away and order another drink. I sip on it, my legs crossed on a bar stool and my back against the counter as I watch my ex go back to his friends.

I know he sees me, and I'm grateful he hasn’t said anything. He’s an asshole and I'm upset that he’s ruining my night by his proximity to my friends and I.

“Do I know you?” The unfamiliar accent catches me off guard, looking away from my ex and up at Lando Norris. Shit.

“Um… No?” I sip my drink again, trying to ignore his arm resting behind me and how delicious he smells.

“So why were you death glaring at me?” I can’t help but laugh at this, his brow quirks when I do.

“I wasn’t! Not at you at least…” I look back to my ex, nodding, “I was glaring at him.”

“Well he must have done something really bad to you because that look was damn scary.” I bring my lips to my glass again, locking eyes with his that are so green, even in the club lights.

“He’s my ex.”

Lando looks genuinely surprised at this, “Your… ex?” he points and nod, “Yours? As in dating ex?”

“Yes. What other type of ex is there?”

Lando shrugs, eyeing him and shaking his head, “Sorry. I genuinely just don’t believe it! He’s…” He stops himself, like he realizes he’s actually speaking out loud, “Well you’re way out of his league! You’re fucking gorgeous, and honestly on my to-do list of the night.”

I raise a brow at this as his eyes go wide, “I mean I wanted to talk to you! Not in a creepy way! In a genuine way.” I turn towards him more and clock the sincerity in his voice, “So, i’m assuming you broke up with the dick?”

“He cheated on me.” Lando’s jaw drops at this, “Okay shut up now you’re just boosting my ego.”

“It deserves to be boosted! Fucking hell, asshole. Shouldn’t have let him take a photo.” He smirks at me and it makes my smile return, “You do look familiar though…”

“I’m a singer, Y/n L/n.”

He laughs, tapping his fingers against the counter, “I know you! My teammate's girlfriend is obsessed! You're the one with the funny lyrics.” By ‘funny’ he means horny as fuck.

I nod, “And you’re my ex’s favorite athlete.” He cringes at this.

“Not yours?”

“I know nothing about Formula 1.” I shrug as his hands go to his curls, “But I do know you.”

His smile widens at this, his eyes soft, “I like that.”

Lando is nothing like I imagined. I thought he would be annoying and honestly a dick, but instead he’s just flirty and actually hilarious.

He’s cute too, buys me a drink, moves his hand to the outside of my leg to pull down my dress that’s riding up my thigh.

Fuck those lyrics, I want him.

He’s funny and ridiculously stunning, “You know- once I mentioned that you were cute, not even hot or anything, and Nick didn’t talk to me for two hours!”

Lando scoffs, “That’s just rude.” he motions to his face, “Anyone could see i’m adorable.”

“Fuck, now i’m boosting your ego!”

He smiles, “You’re doing that by just looking at me.” He's a flirt and I love him for it.

He’s looking at me like I hung the moon. We just met and he’s leaning down to hear what I'm saying over the loud music, his hand never leaving me.

I reach up and twirl a piece of his hair around my finger, “I like your curls.”

“Thanks love…” the nickname comes out smooth and easy. Far too dangerous for someone I barely know and someone I really like.

He tells me about his travel schedule and how he likes my dress. I tell him where I live and when I tour… “I wanna see you perform.”

I laugh, his hand still on my leg, “I barely know you.”

“Easy fix. Come home with me tonight.” It’s straightforward and risky, yet very tempting. “I’ll let you know everything about me.”

I bite my lip as his eyes stray from mine, “Norris.” I say sternly as he nods, slowly looking back at my eyes with a cheeky look on his face.

“Yes or no, love? Break my heart, it’s fine!” He says dramatically as I laugh and roll my eyes, leaning away from him before his hand finds my waist and pulls me closer, “You don’t have to. I’m just offering…”

“Get me a water, then we’ll see.” His smirk is back and his hand lingers on me before walking down to where the barista is flirting with a pretty girl and not paying any attention to us.

I smile as he leaves, waving to my friends as they motion to text them and blow me a kiss. I’m still smiling when someone slides next to me.

“Y/n!” I know the voice instantly and it makes me feel sick. He’s beaming as if he is privileged to see me, which he is, but he shouldn’t look so happy.

“Nick.” I say, my smile gone and my warm and fuzzy feeling disappeared.

“I didn’t know you were here!” Liar. “How’ve you been?”

“You mean how have I been since I caught a girl sucking your limp dick?” I say with my brows raised, “Oh just peachy.”

His smile falters. Dickhead.

My actual savior returns, a head turning smile on his face until he sees my ex. Lando walks past him, not even sparing a glance and handing me my ice water.

“Ready to go?” His hand is warm on my hip, his gaze cold when looking at the man who stares at the two of us.

“Sorry… what?” Nick is genuinely frozen in place as I pop out of my seat, Lando gripping me with both hands now. Shit his hands are big.

“Mate… she wrote it in a song.” He nods at him as I grin, a straw at my lips and giggle in my throat. Lando leans down close to my ear as we walk away. I can practically hear the smirk in his voice, “I’ll show you a real man.”

@//YOURUSERNAME

liked by landonorris, lilymunihe, and carlossainz…

yourusername i’m a woman of my word🤷🏻‍♀️

landonorris definitely lost a fan but gained the most important person in my life. i love you😘❤️

comments on this post have been restricted…

[soursherbat]

LAMB X BISHOP MASTERPOST YEAAAA!!!

(original template link)

this genuinely took me so long but i needed to explore my ship dynamics with ramzi and his bishops! more details under the cut if you want to know more- warning this post is LONG!!!:

[edit: i was obviously rlly sleep deprived while writing this so im editing it for better readability, including using more consistent pronouns for everyone bc reading it back this post. was very hard to parse 💀]

in order, just adding notes and addendums :3c im super sleep deprived so im trying my best but i need to yap about them

ramzi's pronouns are it/he/they!

narinder;

initially a very slow burn relationship, this sheet shows them at their peak. it takes a very long time for the lamb to forgive narinder, and vice versa, but once they're over their differences they're committed.

notes;

he/they for narinder :3c he's bisexual with a preference for masc presenting people! (using he/him for this post)

prefers to be the big spoon but will allow ramzi to take that spot if it really insists on it

reaallly loves to wear the lamb's fleeces and cloaks (the only clothing of theirs that will fit him) but is too proud to directly ask for them

narinder really does not like most people- the only ones he usually socializes with are ramzi and his siblings, possibly a follower he can tolerate for a few minutes. if ramzi is talking to others while narinder is shadowing him he tends to just flick his tail and sulk quietly until his lamb gives him attention again

narinder isn't great with words, he prefers to show ramzi his love with physical affection (in private) and acts of service, while ramzi is more than willing to shower narinder with loving words and acts of devotion

ramzi refuses to confess its feelings to narinder first, full stop. narinder waits and waits, but eventually gives in and tells ramzi how he feels first- ramzi is still feeling bitter and betrayed by narinder, not appreciating them snatching it from its peaceful death to be a tool in his games. they're both incredibly conflicted, it takes a long while for them to work their differences out. its not something that can be solved with a single conversation, but eventually they come to terms with everything that's happened and make amends

ramzi wouldn't actually squash the bug- it'd prefer to just grab it and take it out of whatever space its invaded, narinder will just smack it and be done with it

im just applying the driving one if i ever make a modern au lmfao

narinder cannot cook to save his damn life after being locked up for so long- ramzi had to learn quickly being raised by ratau, i'll be real i dont think that rat knows how to cook

that prickly cat would prefer not to show his love for the lamb in public, but he might sneak a kiss while no one is looking... ramzi however doesn't care, though it does like to fluster narinder a little by flirting while others are around

these two would kill for each other, narinder is practically begging the lamb to let him do so actually- nari is described as the lamb's shadow (affectionately) by most because of how often he's seen just following it around the cult. god help you if you confess your love to the lamb while he's around- though ramzi does get pretty jealous if it sees anyone making eyes at his special kitty...

nari is 4,000 years old virgin to me lmao. ramzi has had a few relationships before narinder, it actually marries shamura before nari- they're not beating the toxic yaoi allegations any time soon they were still battling their resentment around that time

i'll touch on the spicier dynamics in a dedicated post sometime >:3c that'll apply to the rest too-

i wouldn't describe narinder as being awkward, but moreso stoic and lost really. he's also just incredibly pissed off with ramzi, feeling robbed of his rightful status as a god and feeling jealous of everything its built for itself in such a small amount of time- later on he's more flustered than nervous or awkward because that damned lamb wont stop flirting with him

gods help you if narinder even sees you making eyes at the lamb. he's incredibly possessive over his former vessel, its perceived rejection of him made something in him snap and they want to possess it, even if he knows that's not exactly plausible... he's normal, i swear (<-lying) ramzi returns some of that energy, it really does not like followers flirting with its favorite cat- i'll be the first to admit that they've got some toxic codependency going on

-

leshy;

leshy uses any pronouns! he really just don't care that much, same with his sexuality (using he/him for simplicity for this post)

these two fight over who gets to be the big spoon, since they're nearly even in height (leshy tries to argue his branches make him taller) it makes it easier for them to trade big/little spoon positions- but theyre so competitive they end up wrestling over it

leshy can't even see the clothes he's wearing, but he likes the idea of ramzi matching with him, even if he won't directly admit that

ramzi is rarely called by name when leshy is around, it's always 'lambzi', 'lamby', 'cottonball', or any other seemingly sarcastic pet name he can come up with for it- meanwhile ramzi often calls him 'wiggler' or 'wormy'

compared to leshy, ramzi is a little less outgoing. leshy loves to be the center of attention, he loves to pull pranks and cause mischief whenever he can.

ramzi's quick to let leshy know he is loved through any means, though surprisingly leshy is a bit more inconspicuous about showing his affections for his lamb through old traditions it clearly has no clue about but leshy gets a bit of joy watching its confusion (shamura tells it later-)

these two have a pretty easygoing relationship, at first leshy is upset about his lost godhood but he quickly begins to like staying with the lamb when he learns how accommodating and, frankly, extremely chaotic it is- they get along very well and have a teasing, poking and earnestly soft relationship rather early on. leshy admits his feelings first, mainly getting fed up that ramzi hasnt confessed that it obviously likes him by that point

neither of them mind bugs, leshy actually likes them quite a bit. they'd prefer to catch and release rather than smash them

the poor worm is blind of course he cant cook!! he might be able to if he really focused on building muscle memory and focusing his senses but he's honestly just too lazy to bother, heket's cooking is better anyway

leshy doesn't care if anyone is looking, he loves his lamb! he gets a little embarrassed when they know its siblings are around, but she does get a kick out of knowing he's making narinder jealous

ramzi would lay down his life for his precious chaotic grub, it knows leshy is more than capable but it can't help but worry sometimes- leshy knows ramzi can handle itself so he's pretty relaxed about everything, unless ramzi comes home particularly hurt

i like to think leshy was a bachelor in his time... why not?? he's the bishop of chaos, im sure he's started a love triangle intentionally to watch them fight over him- ramzi however is a little less experienced in romance

leshy has not an ounce of awkwardness in his body, ramzi's a little awkward when he says something particularly unhinged but otherwise they match each other's freak a little too well

leshy would never admit to ramzi that the smell of anyone else stuck to his wool makes leshy a little jealous... another reason he likes to lend his clothes to ramzi, really-

-

heket;

she/they/he for heket, she's bisexual with a preference toward women (using she/her for simplicity on this post)

heket is the big spoon, no questions asked. she loves to cradle that lamb in her arms and it is NOT one to complain about that

heket doesnt lend out her clothes very often, but she likes to see how baggy they are on ramzi- she quite likes seeing it wake up wearing her shirts...

ramzi is incredibly formal with heket, usually referring to her by name or some honorific to show its respect (something she appreciates greatly)- meanwhile heket is always referring to the lamb by anything but its name, really

heket's level of social battery depends on the day, some days she would prefer not to speak to anyone, others she's more outgoing

heket shows her affection by making sure ramzi isn't overworking itself, making sure it's eating and sleeping- she knows it can care for itself, but she just wants to protect her lamb.

there's absolutely no way heket would swallow her pride and confess her brewing feelings for ramzi, she waits very patiently for it to finally get its nerve up and admit that it wants to pursue a relationship with her- after (mostly) healing her throat, she doesn't feel so lonely in the cult once her voice returns and she begins to feel conflicted about ramzi... she wants to hate him, but it's doing everything they can to help her siblings and she can't help but respect and admire it for that, she would admit that she would never consider it if she was still a god-

heket thinks bugs are cute, she'll either catch and release them or keep them in a little container for a bit (she's never beating the weird little sister allegations to me)

ramzi's cooking definitely is not as good as heket's, if it cooks a meal the whole cult is asking when it's heket's turn next LMAO-

PDA ruins heket's cool and stoic exterior in her eyes, though she can't just say that to the lamb- she'll gladly give it a hug or a kiss when nobody's looking, though

honestly, ramzi is just protective over all of the bishops. it feels terribly for killing them repeatedly and making them suffer in purgatory, and it never wants to see them suffer again- heket knows the lamb is strong, she's seen it with her own eyes. that doesn't stop her from worrying for it a little when it leaves on a crusade, however...

heket has some relationship experience, though its been a WHILE- forneus and ramzi are her most recent romantic endeavors and she's incredibly awkward about both of them

heket is insanely awkward, she tries to maintain a cool exterior but it's so hard when that damned lamb is so cute and that sweet cat mom is so kind and shaped- whats a woman to do in her situation??

she can get a little bit jealous if her buttons are pushed on the wrong day, but other than that ramzi and heket have a pretty open relationship

-

kallamar;

any pronouns for kallamar! though he/she are most preferred, she's very lax about his gender and loves to experiment (using he/she interchangeably, lamb is referred to by it/its for simplicity)

despite being nearly a full foot and a half taller than ramzi, kallamar loves to be its little spoon! he feels so safe in his lamb's embrace, she would never leave if it was possible

none of her clothes would fit the lamb, but he does have clothing made for it often! he'll be damned if he lets ramzi walk around looking anything less than presentable, even if its naked it must be TASTEFULLY naked- (though his definition of what that means is a bit nebulous. ramzi's convinced he just wants to ogle)

they love to make up pet names for each other, 'mari' and 'kallie' are ramzi's favorites to use for its precious husband. kallamar is particularly fond of calling ramzi his puppy, often flustering it-

kallamar is a YAPPER and she will not shut up about how much he loves her lamb! ramzi doesn't mind it, but she's often talking so much that it can't properly find the words to express it back- so it gives gifts often, knowing how much its wife loves to adorn himself in jewelry and silks!

ramzi is actually a little bit intimidated by kallamar's experience in love and how pretty he is, kallamar ends up making a very dramatic love confession in front of everyone, totally flustering ramzi (though it has to admit it really loves the dedication!)

he is TERRIFIED of bugs kallamar will shriek so loudly if she finds even a small beetle anywhere near her living space- ramzi often finds itself catching the little bugs while kallie screams bloody murder in the corner

kallamar absolutely can cook but he doesn't want the responsibility of cooking entire meals for the whole cult so she intentionally cooks like shit to avoid it- ramzi catches onto that pretty quickly though

these two need to get a ROOM the confessional is NOT to be used in that way!!!

kallamar's overprotective attitude mainly comes from a place of not wanting the lamb's image to be ruined, he'll tend to its makeup and wardrobe, even helping to enforce loyalty amongst its flock to keep its image pristine- and kallamar is just an easy bullying target, ramzi is Very quick to put an end to that!

kallamar is absolutely more experienced than ramzi, though he's no less dedicated to it. it makes their relationship very calm, there's very little tension between them!

ramzi is very awkward around kallamar at first, he's pretty indignant and a bit cruel to it during the first few weeks- once ramzi begins offering him gifts and praise she warms up rather quickly, however. ramzi's disarmingly cute appearance and dirty mouth tends to make kallamar a nervous mess sometimes, though...

there's not a single ounce of jealousy between these two 🧍‍♂️ they both understand that they're dedicated to one another, and can dedicate themselves to others without compromising their bond

-

shamura;

they/it for mura! i feel that they enjoy experimenting with their clothing in relation to their gender, but they prefer neutral pronouns (using they/them for mura and he/him for ramzi for readability)

these two take turns on who gets to be the big spoon, though usually shamura claims that spot

shamura loves to weave clothes for ramzi! they enjoy seeing his face light up when they incorporate designs ramzi has shown them that sheep often wore, wanting to keep that memory alive for him

they're pretty formal at first, but the two of them can't help but call each other by loving nicknames once they've become comfortable with each other- ramzi often calls shamura 'softie' or 'dearest'

shamura prefers to keep to themself, though they've grown rather attached to webber. they've basically adopted the little creature, that's their son...

once clarity has returned to shamura through ramzi's healing, they have a better grasp on their words- but they still struggle to word their feelings a lot of the time. they try their best, but they find it easier to give gifts or show their affections with physical intimacy when words fail them

shamura is incredibly paranoid and wary of ramzi's presence when they're first indoctrinated, until they finally break bread and reach an understanding, shamura doesn't even consider the lamb could feel anything but hatred and resentment toward them. they assume that he wants revenge, but learns that he just wants to help them- it takes a bit longer for the fear to truly leave shamura, but when they never feel that dagger in their back, they begin to soften he clearly isnt lying to them, he's helped all of their siblings become as happy as he can- and he asks nothing in return of them? it feels too good to be true, but they can't help but trust him eventually ramzi confesses first, and is initially (softly) rejected... but theyre not entirely opposed! mainly conflicted, for a while-

they both love bugs, obviously- though sometimes ramzi gets bitten while trying to show shamura the little spiders he's captured

shamura likes to cook but they prefer liquid only foods- it's not horrible, but sometimes they want more variety

shamura is a bit shy about their relationship with the lamb, they're the least experienced with this sort of thing out of all of the bishops- war and reason have no room for love and compassion, after all. they're learning, with ramzi's help

if someone even LOOKS at ramzi the wrong way, shamura is the first to come to the lamb's defense. both a form of devotion, claiming ramzi as their charge they'd guard with their life, and a form of facing their grief- they'd ended ramzi's life once, they don't want to see it hurt anymore

these two match each other's freak so well its scary- you dont wanna see what happens in the mating tent when these two are in there!!

after shamura's initial wariness and shortness with ramzi fades, they become incredibly shy and awkward- they don't know how to navigate all these new feelings, and they don't really know who to turn to for advice

shamura is very possessive of their lamb- they were the first to be wed by him, after all- not to mention i personally think them being a spider influences this quite a bit,

WOAW THATS IT!!! holy shit thats a lot of text.... anyway if u have any questions abt any of them or want more clarification feel free to send me asks i love to yap abt them all <3

oh boy im not looking forward to putting all the tags on this

[thenightwolf51]

What if Jack and Maddie Fenton were actually Jack and Janet Drake?

The Drakes are their actual identities but they created the Fentons as a why of letting loose, of getting to be their truest most unhinged selves and pursue their true passion without the eyes of high society Gotham judging them.

Whenever the Drakes are supposedly out of the country on archeological digs they are actually in a little no where town in the midwest.

The Drake wealth is perfectly capable of funding their experiments and prototypes and every now and then they do show up to a dig for a week or too, but the Fentons are who they truly are.

So of course Gotham never finds out about Janet's first pregnancy and little Jasmine is welcomed into the world as an Amity Park Fenton, not a Gotham Drake. Janet's second pregnancy however.

Well as i said, the Fentons are who they truly are at their most unhinged and unfiltered. And upon finding out that their having a set of identical twins, well, can you really blame them for passing up this perfect opportunity to test Nature vs. Nurture.

One boy would be a wealthy Drake raised as an only child in a hostile city, the other would be a Fenton raised with his older sister in a peaceful small town.

That's what they decide and thats what they do, and everything is as cannon goes. Tim doesn't know that his parents "archeological digs" are really an excuse to spend most of their time as the Fentons, and Danny and Jazz don't know that the longer "ghost conventions" are an excuse to handle Drake affairs and check on their unknown brother.

At least until things start to get complicated.

(Im not sure if Maddie fakes Janet's death or if she really dies, and if Jack's coma is fake or real and he lost his Fenton memories. Or maybe the death and coma dont happen at all and the truth comes out some other way like Danny finding the Nature vs. Nurture notes or a school trip to gotham or maybe Jazz desides to go to college in Gotham and it comes out that way somehow.

This obviously works best as a "bad parents Jack and maddie" though how bad they are can be entirely up to you. Maybe everything comes out sometime after a "reveal gone right" and Danny and Jazz think their parents are getting better only to be smacked in the face by the betrayal of "secret billionaire parents who essentially abandoned their brother"

Dont know but im tossing it to the void.

To me the most important scenes in this idea is Tim angst at the fact that his parents were never actually too busy to be there for him and had instead chosen no to be there, the somewhat bitter consolation of learning that even when their parents were physically there they still weren't there there for his siblings, and then some good ole slightly unhinged sibling bonding.

Maybe the measuring of ecto contamination and debate in if their parents presence did more damageto their health or less

They honestly might be tied on mental and physical scars. All three kids tend to come with headcanons about neglect and malnourishment)

@hdgnj @omnicrafts @im-totally-not-an-alien-2 @tathartiel @0mnicrex @ailithnight @little-pondhead

[navydoves]

xavier admits it.

cw: angst, suicide

“you’ve… lied to me this entire time.”

“i have.”

“and… and everything about you… a-all the strange, weird happenings in your life… is because of this?”

“they are.”

“and the reason you don’t have a family, you left them behind, you left… you left me behind?”

“i did.”

tears start to well in your eyes. this was too much for you to process all at once and xavier felt an immense amount of guilt hit his chest despite knowing this reaction would come out of you.

“i…i love you, greatly, there isn’t an ounce of me that doesn’t,” he whispers.

“but you didn’t love me enough to stay with me, you didn’t love me enough to even give me—her—an explanation as to why you left. and if she was anything like me she probably loved you too! and you ripped that away from her.”

“i… did.”

“and now you’re telling me all this like i’m supposed to be okay with it? like im just supposed to just… live with this knowledge that you’re not from here, that our entire relationship has been a lie, that you’ve abandoned me once. how am i sure that you won’t do it again? that you won’t go and find another me because it’s convenient for you.”

xavier wets his lips and looks down at his lap. usually sharing the blanket of the night sky with you would bring him great consolation, but all he felt was turmoil that boiled disgustingly in his chest. he knew if he turned to you, really looked into your sadness soaked eyes, that he wouldn’t be able to hold back his own tears.

“i won’t do that, i didn’t leave her—you—because it was convenient for me. there’s already been so much miscommunication and misunderstanding between me and you, in both lives, i don’t want there to be any more. i left because i had to. it was either that or getting used to seeing your dead body over and over again. what… what kind of person wants to see the one they love be killed countless amounts of times? everything i did… everything i do now is for you.”

you bite your lip and shake your head. your emotions were high and you knew something hurtful would spill out of your mouth if you dared to respond. you wiped away your tears and held your knees to your chest. this lovely spot on the roof xavier and you designated for star-watching became bitter to you so quick. you felt like you were being mocked.

“why… why are you telling me this now? why couldn’t you have just kept your mouth shut and we could’ve lived a happy life together? i feel like im being tortured right now.”

xavier smiled to himself solemnly. he wished he could’ve kept his mouth shut, that he would’ve left you in bliss for the rest of your life til death do you part, but that wasn’t possible.

“because i don’t have a happy life ahead of me. i’ll be dead soon.”

it takes you a second to fully register the weight of xavier’s words. you sit up and turn your head toward his, eyes wide and heart thumping within your ears. you felt like another train just hit you square in the face and then ran over your dead body a few more times for good measure. dread.

“w…what?”

“philos, that planet, feeds off of its people. you were its feeding bag because of a protocore syndrome you had within your heart—similar to the one you have now—but since that’s all in the future… no one on philos exists yet. no one but me. philos as a planet still exists out there and i’m the only one with a connection to it, so it feeds off of me for life. i’ve tried to… live with my condition as best as possible, but i can feel it… my end. which is why i have to be honest with you now, i don’t have much time left to do so.”

an indescribable, insurmountable, absolutely horrific sense of grief punctures your chest. lies, it was all lies, this wasn’t going to happen this was all a joke on your life. what had you done to deserve such a man so selfless yet so selfish? he’s played with your heart like strings but how could you be upset when the melody that came out of it was so beautiful. hes duped you time and time again but… would you, could you be happier if you knew everything from the beginning?

“what the actual fuck and am i supposed to say to that?” you sob softly. “can you at least fucking look at me? can you at least fucking bless me with that? how long am i gonna have left to look at you?”

xavier’s brows knit together as the first wave of tears spilled from his eyes. he wasn’t used to crying, he wasn’t used to this unbelievable sense of remorse and disgust simmering within his entire body. he turns his head to you and holds back a small sob as he meets your ruined eyes.

“you deserve so much better than me, i know. to hurt you in this way… to make you feel this type of pain, i’ve amounted to nothing as your partner. my death doesn’t scare me, leaving you does. but i’ll repent for you. in every life i’ll ever live i’ll repent for you.”

“i don’t want you to fucking repent. i want you to be here, with me, living this life with this version of me. i can’t stand the idea of you… moving on, living life without me somewhere else. you’ve already done that once xavier.”

“then i’ll make it my dying wish to not be reborn.” he responds quickly. “i don’t want another life, i want my last life to be with you. this you. you’ve already granted me my every wish of happiness, i owe my life to you. you’ll have it.”

you shake your head again and grip the sides of your hair. why did he have to be this way? so terribly noble and devoted to the point that you feel like you have no choice but to accept his sacrifice. why do you feel bad for him when you were the one who’s been manipulated and deceived this entire time. you let a sound that was between a frustrated groan and a choked cry. you felt so powerless and lonely already. who was this man to you? you didn’t know anymore.

“xavier i can’t even… what do i even do? what can i even say? it feels like my head is gonna explode and i don’t know if i should hate you for all of this or love you in your last moments. xavier what do i do?!”

xavier touches his chest and grips onto his shirt with anger. he’s never hated someone more than he did himself right in that moment. to save you from a lifetime of torture, he goes and tortures you even more. gently, tentatively, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into a hug. if you decided to push him away and curse at him for even trying to be console you, he’d accept it. but you instead melt in his arms. his warmth and love were overwhelming even now.

“i wish i knew, i wish i could tell you what you needed to hear and make everything okay again. but for once im not hiding anything from you and i have nothing to say left. i love you, and i will accept absolutely anything you decide to do from here on out. but if you’ll bless me one last time, then i just… want to be with you until im not.”

you shake and sob within xavier’s arms. you didn’t want to leave him, no matter how much pain and agony you felt in the moment you couldn’t bare to leave him. the love you’ve built up for him over the years couldn’t just vanish and you didn’t want it to either. but what about you? why did you have to suffer even after his death while xavier got the peaceful ending? why was every single thing you encountered always unfair to you?

“…xavier,” you murmur while pulling back from his embrace. there was a sudden shift in your energy that he noticed almost immediately. “you’d accept anything i do?”

“anything.”

“then let me die with you.”

a very familiar sense of dread now hit xavier. he stares at you for a few moments before shaking his head.

“w…what?”

“i can’t live without you, i can’t imagine a life like that. i want to die with you, that’s what i want to do.”

“i…i can’t let you do that, that’s—“

“you can. you’ve spent your entire life lying to me, every version of me. i hung onto your every last word because i loved you, so please, for once keep your promise. you said you’d accept absolutely anything, so this is my final decision.”

xavier’s face was painted in horror and uncertainty. what was he supposed to do at this point? deny you? accept you? beg for you to change your mind? you deserved to live more than he did. why should you suffer the same fate as him if he’s the one who did this to you.

why did he have to drive you to suicide?

“you’re…. not thinking right. please… don’t be so sure about something. we’re not calm right now, p..please just take the ti—“

“no!” you cut him off again. “no, no my mind isn’t gonna change. i’m gonna have to suffer the rest of my life without you and feel the same pain you did when you lost me. i can’t do that, you know the feeling all too well and yet you’re still denying me. xavier please. i can’t die without you and i can’t live without you. please.”

broken was too tame to describe xavier. the concoction of emotions burning within him left him feeling speechless and the unfortunate determination in your eyes was what guided his next words.

“when?” he asked.

“now.” you responded.

you look to the ledge of the roof where several stories down was the street below. it wasn’t a small distance to potentially gain injury, it was a large enough gap to ensure death.

“please, you have to at least consider—“

“there’s nothing left to consider, xavier. i can’t give this type of grief another day to live. i need peace.”

you stand and brush the rubble from your legs and hold out your hand for xavier. if he took it, it meant he resigned to your words and accepted the fate you’ve decided for the two of you. you hoped he would love you enough to grant you that. he glances up at you with wet, pink eyes and then looks down at your hand. he takes several moments of consideration before he takes it, stands, and walks with you to the ledge of the roof.

you never liked heights and so you sought comfort within xavier’s neck as you held him tightly. he reciprocated and held with you a strength that he didn’t know he had up until now. you’d finally calm down, and seeing you this calm made his heart ache. you were happy with his fate, with your death, and that question still rang in his mind even as he neared his end.

why did he have to drive you to suicide?

he was a good for nothing. and the girl he spent his entire life trying to protect from death was now going to die within his arms once again. he was worthless and his life’s objective was too. it was that realization that made him okay with dying right then.

you looked up at him from his neck and smiled somberly, a new stream of tears ran down your cheeks. xavier looked down and smiled back, kissing away your tears one final time. fear overtook you as your bodies tilted, but xavier’s words brought you peace.

“i love you so much.”

“i love you more.”

it was said that the event of two shooting stars occurring in one night was nearly impossible, but that night the impossible happened.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

the same tv

words: 1.8k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, unprotected sex, p in v sex, parent death, funerals, robbery, redemption/forgiveness, addiction, drinking (wine, not like hard drinking), tickling, cockwarming, they call themselves kids at one point but at no point are reader or rafe under 18, like itll make sense once you read it in context

the first thing you do when you enter your house is kick off your shoes. the next is to stop holding back your tears as they stream down your face. you can't even sob anymore, just silent, steady tears.

you sigh as you look around the entryway. there's been some changes since you moved away, despite only being out of your parents house for a little over a year. they replaced the grand portrait that was of your mom's parents with one of you, now taking the place of honor.

you look away before you get to the rest of the family photos. you've seen enough at the funeral. you walk further in to the house, bare feet against the shiny wood floor.

you pause when you hear something further in. you haven't forgotten how the old house seemed to speak, groaning and settling during strong winds or when too many people were crammed between it's walls.

this sound seems different, but you're also occasionally sniffling, your ears are shot from blasting music in an attempt to distract yourself, so you shrug it off and walk further into the living room.

the sound suddenly makes sense as you see someone stood in your living room, arms holding up your parents flat screen television, awkwardly trying to carry it.

you aren't even mad. you honestly don't care about the tv. or the fact that someone is trying to rob you.

you let out a bitter laugh before you sink to the floor. “of fucking course this happens.” you are glad you still have your purse slung from your shoulder as you pull your wallet out, quite aggressively throwing it at the robber who has now frozen.

“what?” he questions, lowering the tv to the ground and pushing his hood of his head, a dumb move for someone currently committing a crime.

“this has been the worst week of my life and now you're robbing me. just my fucking luck…” you let out a broken sob. “just take whatever you want and leave.”

the only things that matter to you still in the house aren't actually worth anything anyways. the photos of your parents, your dad's cologne that's half empty, the oak tree that your childhood dog is buried next to.

“i thought the people who lived here died.”

you pick your head up, a look of fury overtaking your face.

“they did. they're my fucking parents! and now they're gone and you're fucking robbing me! get the fuck out!” you stand up, pushing at the robbers chest.

he looks familiar, like you should know who he is but can't place him.

“im-shit. im sorry.” he says, allowing you to shove him away and out the door. 

“im really fucking sorry!” he yells again before you slam the door shut.

-- years later --

you park your car in the driveway instead of pulling it all the way into the garage like you know you should, but you need to know if you're correct about the man sitting on your front step.

“you're the kid that tried to rob me.” you say as you walk the sidewalk to the porch.

“yes.” he says, looking ashamed and a whole lot more grown up. “i was an addict and i owed a debt. my dad had just kicked me out of the house and i was on my own for the first time. it was stupid of me, but when i heard the people living here died, i thought it'd be a victimless crime.”

he sighs deeply, like even just thinking back to that time physically hurts. “i didn't even think that someone could have inherited the house. im so, so sorry.” 

he swallows thickly. “my mom died when i was young. my dad- my dad just died recently. he faked his death and i got him back, but he's actually gone this time. you know what you said about the worst week in your life?”

you think back those years. it's mostly a blur, especially the days surrounding your parents car crash and funeral, but you do remember breaking down in front of the robber. you nod gently, waiting to hear the end of his speal.

“i know what you mean now. and im sorry i hurt you. im sorry about your parents dying.” he pulls something out of his pocket, extending his hand.

you look into his open palm, realizing it's a ornate gold necklace.

“no.” you shake your head. “you keep it. you don't need to bribe me to forgive you.”

“i want you to have it.” he says. “it's… it's not a lot, but it's something. something to help make up for what ive done.”

you reach forward, carefully taking the necklace out of his outstretched hand, carefully not to accidentally bump his skin. 

“thank you.” you say, admiring the way the sun gleams off the metal. 

“im rafe, by the way. rafe cameron.”

“y/n.” you respond, undoing the clasp of the necklace.

“here, let me.” he takes it out of your hands, moving quicker than you can think as he steps around you. your hair is already up in a bun, so rafe is able to reach around and easily place the chain around your neck.

“thank you.” the weight of the necklace feels comfortable against your skin, like it's the last finishing touch you need. you are wearing your mother's earrings, your father's bracelet, and now you have the other piece of what made that time in your life so miserable, your robbers necklace.

“i… i guess ill be going now.” rafe says.

you turn and watch him walk away. you recognize so much of your former self in him, the clear grieving he's going through.

“are you sober now?” you call out before he reaches the end of your driveway.

“sober enough.” he shouts back. rafe doubts he'll ever truly be clean, but he can at least manage now, doesn't need the drugs like he used to.

“then come back for dinner tomorrow. we can talk.”

you can see the smile stretch over his features. “ill be there.”

-- three months later --

“shit.” rafe says, head snapping over to you. “this is the same tv.”

you giggle and nod, surprised it took him so long to realize. “i never really watch tv on the actual tv, so no need to replace it.” you shrug, the gold necklace still draped over your neck. you haven't taken it off except to shower and sleep.

“god, thats crazy.” rafe looks over to you. “imagine if we just talked back then.” 

you shake your head. “you just think you want that because we get along now. we were both in bad places.”

“you don't think we would have been hooking up back then?” rafe asks, raising an eyebrow at you, watching the way your thighs press together at the mere mention of hooking up, already feeling the urge to sleep with rafe even after having sex only a couple of hours ago.

“we were two scared kids. if we were hooking up we definitely shouldn't have been.” you giggle, reaching your wine glass out for rafe to refill, which he is glad to pour a more than healthy amount in.

“and now?” rafe looks down at his lap.

“and now we are two slighty less scared slightly older kids.” you giggle again, taking a deep sip before leaning across the couch cushion to press a kiss to rafes cheek, the movie you had put on long forgotten.

“rafe.” you wait until he looks you in the eye. “im here for you.”

“god, what have i done to deserve you?” rafe wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you on top of him as he flops back onto the couch. 

you let out a laugh before it's cut off with his lips. he kisses you heavily, hand against the back of your head, not allowing you to pull away, not that you want to.

you let himself get lost in your kiss. you wish you had someone to support you in the time you needed most, and you're determined to be that person for rafe now.

rafe easily dominates your mouth even though he's underneath you as you quickly work your shorts off, wiggling against him until your bottom half is nude.

you press against rafes crotch, still covered by his sweatpants. you feel his cock straining against the fabric as you rub your pussy against it, wetting the gray material.

“baby, please.” rafe groans. he would pull his cock out himself, but his hands are preoccupied holding you close to him as if his life depends on it.

“oh, now you don't like teasing?” you smile.

“alright, i deserve this.” rafe also manages a chuckle despite his straining erection. “but please. need to feel your pussy ‘round me.”

“alright.” you roll your eyes dramatically. you'll have to get revenge on rafe at a different time for edging you the other night.

you push his pants down his thighs until you're able to reach into his underwear and pull out his cock. you give him a few quick strokes before lining up your entrance and sinking down.

rafe let's out a moan, barely pulling his face away from yours. “you're so wet.”

“it's almost like i like you or something.” you roll your eyes.

rafe laughs before kissing you again, hand moving up to your hair, tangling his fingers between the strands.

you sit on his cock for a moment, adjusting, before beginning to move, up then down, up then down, subtle movements of your hips, not needing anything fast, wanting drawn out, wanting it to last.

the movie is long over by the time rafe finally cums, a hand finally moving down to rub your clit to make sure you get off at the same time as his.

by the time you're both satisfied, you're sweaty and exhausted. you don't even bother to pull off his cock as you rest your head against his chest.

“thank you.” rafe says softly, rubbing his hand over your back. you don't need to ask what for. you know. for being there. you'll always be there.

you look up at him, a small smile on your face. “how are we gonna tell people we met?”

things are quickly getting serious, and while he hasn't breached the subject with you yet, neither of you have been hiding how quickly you're falling.

“what, you think it's a problem that we met when i was robbing you?” rafe says, making you giggle, only intensified by his hand pressing into your side, fingers tickling you as you howl with laughter.

rafe flips you over onto your back so you're underneath him, keeping his cock pushed inside of you.

“maybe we should just tell people we met on tinder.” rafe shrugs.

you roll your eyes. “somehow that's more embarrassing.”

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @sourkittie @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @auryyz @raysmayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut @drewsephrry @1aarii1 @edszn @theoraekenslover

[kadwrites]

deja vu | T.S

previous part | next part

or check out the series masterlist

summary; how well do we really know the people we love?

warnings ; dark!tommy, minor character death, description of violence , mentions of murder, arranged marriage!trope , slow burn, fem!reader

a/n ; please let me know what you think!

-

you tilted your head and frowned , you're both standing at the garrison.

"tommy..." you mumbled in protest

"i know" he nodded "it'll be very short."

you clicked your tongue and then huffed "if you take longer than ..... 30 minutes i'm leaving."

"ya won't."

"get out of my sight." you muttered , taking a sip of your drink.

you sighed, looking over at the place. it was fairly busy, but not stuffy. sounds of chatter and men laughing echoing around, the lighting is dim. you made your way to the booth you were in, sitting down , eyeing your drink.

"when i heard tommy was marrying again, i would've never thought it's celest's little sister that he's trapped."

you recognized the voice before even processing the words, you look up, your brows raised and smiling in disbelief "lizzie?"

she's standing there, looking over at you. her blue eyes studying every inch of your face, a face she hadn't seen in a long time. and you hadn't expected to see her here , of all places.

"what are ya doing?" she speaks softly. you know the tone, you get the meaning; what are you doing with someone like him ?

you stand up, your gaze never leaves her , still smiling. "lizzie... i've not seen ya in so long..."

since she got involved with tommy , that is. lizzie and celest knew each-other , went to school together. lizzie would sometimes stay over , whenever your mother felt she wouldn't be safe otherwise. until the war.

she chuckles, "ya 'ave your mother to thank for that."

you chuckled too, still looking at her. "how did ya know about it?"

she gives you a look, her dark brow raised "everyone knows. i just didn't know it would be someone like *you*"

you lick your lips, "lizzie i know ya two share.... a history"

she scoffs , a bitter smile on her lips "i don't resent ya for this, i wouldn't." she shakes her head "i 'ave given up on 'im... a long time ago." her eyes look away for a moment before landing on you "whatever ya think of 'im, whatever ya believe he is , he's not." she speaks with conviction.

you don't reply to that, you're just trying to know what she means by it.

"thomas shelby doesn't know love like we do, what he knows is ownership." she chuckles bitterly, "learned what that meant the hard way. but ya shouldn't go through what i did." she shakes her head softly

"i don't understand...."

she stays silent for a moment "consider this a warning from a friend, this man , *will ruin you* , and when that 'appens ya will not recognize who you've become but he.... he will remain the same, unchanged not matter how hard ya try. he will always be what he always was, no love in the world can heal whatever is broken in 'im."

"ya don't understand, lizzie." you speak finally, "this isn't simple, for either of us. i can't leave"

"ya can't or ya won't?"

"i..." you pause for a moment, letting out a chuckle "i can't."

she studies your face , nodding "what does celest think? what does oliver think?"

"they're not thrilled."

"i know 'im more than most." she adds "and if i

knew what i do now when i first met 'im....." she looks away "i came here because i knew you'd be here and to tell ya that ya can come to me... if ya ever need help."

she places a hand on your arm, looking at you one more time before turning and making her way out of the garrison.

"she was always a nice girl" your mother sighed, taking a bite of her food

you and celest look at eachother before looking back at her,

celest knew why lizzie talked to you , and so did the rest of your family

"where's abraham?" you nod towards anna

she shrugged , "he had to do something before coming here"

"ya knew who i dreamt of?" your father pointed his fork at you "that teller boy, jeremy was it?. it was the strangest thing , i tell ya"

all the women at the table tried to stay neutral, keep their reactions to a minimum, you try to hide your uncomfortable reaction behind your glass of water "it is strange"

the whole table looks towards the front door, the sound of the door slamming open and not slamming back closed, and the heavy rushed footsteps

"i need to talk to ya," he appears in the living room doorway. he puts his hands on his hips, breathing heavily as if he ran to the house. he's disheveled, he pushed his glasses back on his nose with a shaky hand

"jeremy teller is dead." he speaks in a hushed voice, looking around to check that no one is listening, both of you standing in your parents bedroom. he didn't want anyone to hear , especially not renee or she might just give birth on the spot.

"what? no he's not." you laugh, looking at him. waiting for him to finish his joke

he looks at you, wiping a hand over his face. he looks at you "he's fucking dead."

your laugh falters slowly as you look at him, your face twitching with different emotions "how ? when? how do you know about it?"

"i heard. they found 'im murdered," he tries to not speaks too loudly "his throat was slit"

you can feel your blood go cold "do they know who killed 'im?"

he tilts his head, his hands still shaking as they rest on his hips. "ya know who killed 'im."

"no....no." you shake your head, laughing again in disbelief "no no no, no" you look away and step back, putting a hand over your forehead "that's impossible."

"listen to me" he grabs your shoulders, turning you to look at him "he did it, all of small heath knows he did and ya do too."

"no , he wouldn't." you shake your head again, your heart beating so fast you can hear it. "why would he do that? he wouldn't ."

he moves you gently, sitting you down on the chair in your parents room. he kneels , his hands move to your face "what do ya wanna do now ?"

the room feels so stuffy, you can hardly breath.

"i don't know." your chest feels like it might collapse. you try to stand up, but you can barely feel your legs, you try to blink away the darkness that takes over your vision.

but you knew it was coming, the darkness does take over.

here you are again, staring at that portrait that hangs opposite of your bed. you're filled with dread , fear and even anger , your eyes trace the portrait that you've already memorized.

your head on the pillow, your sister sniffling is another reminder, like a deja vu of that cursed night.

but you can see someone else in your peripheral vision sitting in the chair , those cold blue eyes cannot be missed. its as if his presence filled the room with a cold sort of air.

you try to get up,

"lay down"

"i don't want to." you mumble, letting out a breath as you lean your back against your bed frame. your eyes still on the painting, you don't even glance his way.

"feeling better?" his voice sounds colder than you ever remember it being. the smell of the cigarette smoke making you close your eyes shut, making your head spin. you reach for the glass of water on your bedside table, your hands quiver as you bring it to your lips

"yes" you put the glass back down

"ya look pale"

"hmm"

you can't shake that feeling, you're scared of looking at him and seeing the same view you did that day, the blood on his hands.

"ya killed 'im." you're almost muttering to yourself,

he doesn't answer you, and you don't ask again. you finally peel your eyes off of the old painting, glancing at him. the look on his face gave you the answer that you already knew.

he looks so calm , so collected , almost wicked. "are ya scared now?"

and it was your turn to not answer his question, but your eyes never leave his.

"did ya do it yourself?"

"yes" he looks right back at you "you're already aware of what i can do"

you just shut your eyes, your hands shake as they grip into the covers

"forgetting it is your fault, not mine." his voice sounds again

you don't even remember the rest of that day, his words were replying in your head.

you snap out of that trance a day later, you're in the living room on the chair by the window. you look straight at the window as your mind tries to make sense of everything, and then a figure down the street catches your eyes and you feel a switch go off in your head.

i have eyes around here.

and you realize , probably ears too.

your clothes swish as you run out of the living room towards your parents' room, your mother running behind you. the old wooden floor cried under your rushed footsteps

"what happened?"

you don't even hear her, you don't process what she's saying. you pull out the box from under their bed, you rummage through it , pulling out your dad's revolver.

the cold metal of the gun feels like it's burning through your flesh

"what the fuck are ya doing? where did ya get that?" oliver yells , his eyes opened wide as tries to run after you too.

the whole house freezes, all of them just still as if the slightest movement would set that gun off

you push that door open , it slams against the wall beside it. your feel take you towards the man standing in the street , a figure you've seen lurking around too many times to chalk it up to coincidences

you cock back the hammer, your hands are steady for the first time since yesterday.

"ya tell tommy fucking shelby that if he doesn't get ya fuckers away from me , i'll start shooting."

you move the revolver and point it to the pavement , missing his foot by a hair.

-

taglist ; @tardisloverz , @optimisticsandwichgladiator , @theshelbyslimited , @illuminwtesz , @goldensunflowe-r , @gruffle1 , @warrior-of-justice , @mgdixon , @babayaga67 , @goblinjnr , @justaproudslytherpuff , @budugu , @twlegit , @amberpanda99 , @aesthetic0cherryblossom , @capswife , @lets-turn-and-burn , @affabletimelady , @edencherries , @globetrotter28 , @eg-dr3amer3 , @sadroses98 , @fairytale07 , @hakudaru , @swordofawriter , @esposadomd , @blogforficslol ، @bearchermer , @n1c0t1n4 , @dreamy-caramel , @dragonsondragons , @charli123456789 ، @bunny24sstuff ، @butterfly-lover , @my-tin-can-mans , @powellssaturn , @vlryexsworld , @h0neylemon , @citris-runaway , @swinginmusicalfunnydragon , @babyspice6 , @oatmealisweird , @yuki254 , @ce1iat , @thelastemzy , @queenofshinigamis , @bai-wuxiangs-mask , @knmendiola ، @bethexo07 , @geeky-politics-46 , @dawnzzzz , @probablypossesedbysatan , @n0vaj3an , @oscarisdaddy69 , @nadloves , @ay0nha , @whoreforaz , @starrystormwritings , @hml2918 , @bloodywickedvamp , @ajmiila02 , @torrie421 , @queen-bunny , @febris-amatoria , @verycollectivecreator , @mutareadastra ,

[comfortless]

syl im begging on my hands and knees pls pls pls expand on that idea of könig being a warrior rumored to eat womens hearts its like giving scheherazade and i NEED IT

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. vague time period/setting. fem(afab) reader. light descriptions of violence and gore, talk of cannibalism, non-con groping & cuddling, forced marriage.

There are endless tasks to be done and everything beneath a vast blue sky to explore, forgoing those things, the men about your village often prefer to gather for a duel. There are no rules for their game, only that you bring a weapon and thrust it toward the opponent in such a way that it brings you glory, pride, some scabbing mend to a crooked scar.

Except not you, never you. They wouldn’t so much as allow for the women to watch unless sparring for the hand of a weeping bride happened to be the gleaming prize waiting at the end of the night.

Your eyes had witnessed such before, a girl with hair the color of autumn straw that rolled down to the end of her back, whisked away by some man from the sea after he dug his blade into an old farmer’s belly. Her father. A sad thing, but you imagined her life must be much better now. Instead of tending to a mule or pricking her fingers on needles for sewing, she’s off collecting sea shells and has the ocean’s breeze eternally perfumed in her hair. Maybe she cradles a baby on her hip now, plump and cooing happily whilst they watch the waves roll and glitter beneath the sun.

A better life for only the cost of a swift death. It was something that you had always envisioned wanting for yourself, away from this village that reeks of blood, the very place where your options were limited to shoveling after the horses or to die a lonely hag.

That was until the behemoth began to show his face. Not quite his face at all, actually. It changed things for you. Instead of a longing for one of these strong men to carry you off into the night, there sat a creeping terror each and every time he crossed the threshold into the village.

He was rumored to be many things: an executioner from a foreign land, either a lost and wicked saint or a demon made flesh, and worst of them all… a cannibal from out in the untamed downs that crest the mountainside.

The women of the village were frightened by him, by the bulk and height that suggested he was not a man at all, but something far more terrifying beneath that black veil. They hid away when he first arrived, claiming he carried an organ in his hands, chewing away at a still-beating heart with blood running down his fingers. The men remained rigid, but their hands shook when they took up their weapons against him.

And there was no way of knowing then that this man was to be yours.

Time and time again, the giant would win, request a warm meal and a bed for the evening, and would be gone away come morning. He wouldn’t return for months, and the gossip would continue to fester until his return. Then, only then, would lips be pursed in silence and another fool would rush to death in an attempt to win some measure of pride. His opponent would be buried in the very field they would fight in, his bones serving for another layer upon the earthen stage once the worms and rats had picked him clean, and the giant would be back. He was always back.

The town is hushed to silence when his horse is led through the well-worn street. There are lingering observers: the broad stable hand that would not even dare to raise a whip or a dagger to this behemoth, the women of the brothel even shy away from him, and the children who whisper their rumors behind open palms.

He does not stop for any of them, only carries forward with that dark cloth concealing his head.

You peek out from your window, nursing tea with honey to calm the chill drifting through the air, feathering over your skin. It’s bitter on your tongue, even with the sweet coursing through it. Bitter, when his blue eyes flick in your direction and you feel every inch of your skin begin to prickle and tense.

He’s worse up close like this. The man doesn’t conceal his torso, never seemed to find a need to— no one ever gets close enough to wound him. Not any more, at least, judging by the pasty scars that mar his chest with the biggest being a healed, pinkish blemish that stretches from below his ribs down to a narrow hip. You find the most unsettling part about him is not those marks of violence, but the fact that you can not read his face.

Time slows to a halt as he just stares, takes you in with your cup of tea and the old dress stolen away from your mother’s own wardrobe. And you return it, warily looking him over from his veiled head down to the toes of his boots. After regarding you in the very same way a bored cat would observe an unaware, little bird, he moves along his path with a quiet huff of breath as his face is turned away from you.

There’s a heavy axe strapped to his back that you only notice then. Something new and shiny, glistening in the rays of golden sunlight above. Sharp and wicked, too cruel a weapon to be used in a bout for dinner and a lumpy mattress stuffed with decaying straw.

You could only hope he brought a cloth to clean it once this ordeal was over. Perhaps he truly does use his veil to do so, gets drunk on the scent of blood and gore clinging to it and pleasures himself to the violence as they claim. The macabre tales of this giant only go darker than that. But the tales he lives up to most of all are the ones about his skill in killing.

When night begins to scrape across the sky in dark, drab purple, fate comes crawling throughout the town as though it is nothing more than a famished ghoul.

Your mother storms toward you where you’re sat, preparing for bed. Her face is a mask of pure anguish when she pulls you into a tight embrace. She bawls into your hair, digs her nails into your back as though she would sooner die than let you go.

The men of the town follow behind her, wrenching her arms away from you and pulling you up by the front of your gown. The thin linen tears with the force of rough hands, rips a thick line down your chest that almost leaves you bared to them. Though the hands are eager, the eyes of these men do not shine with hunger, only with fear.

The shouts and cries from your lips are lost to them, to even your mother who wails in defeat someplace behind you.

“You’re plenty old enough to be a bride,” says one of the men, voice like a coiled snake spitting venom. It doesn’t take one of the well-educated people of the capital here to explain just what is to happen to you now.

The giant, the cannibal, saw something that he liked, and decided that you would be his prize. When you’re led to the field, kicking and flailing against the strong arms that hold you tightly in their grip, the sight is enough to tell you just how much that he enjoyed your silent, curious staring only hours before.

He stands upright, silent and daunting above a body that’s been split by the axe still held in one strong hand. The color of crimson cakes his knuckles, crests over his arm and the expanse of his chest, all from the headless corpse lying disposed at his feet.

The scene is what you expected, you’ve heard the words of your people about this beast of a man’s propensity for violence, but no amount of mental preparation could have truly readied you for seeing so much blood. The blood of a man you knew to be good and true, a hard-working blacksmith from the foothills. What a tragic way to go out: fighting for a pouch of coin when this horrible giant must have clearly lost his mind to rut and rage.

No hand comes to cover your mouth when you shriek, and the tight grips guiding you forward only loosen when your man or murderer stalks forward to take his prize. Through your tears, you still manage to make out the lines beneath his eyes, how they fold upward, and there’s no doubt that he’s smiling beneath that mask. A big, ugly grin at the thought of prying open your ribs and helping himself to a maiden’s heart.

He lifts it over his head in a swift motion, and drops it over your own instead, opposite to the hastily cut eye holes to block out all of the hazy, pale light of the moon and flickering yellow-red torches surrounding. Amidst the panic threatening to send your heart fleeing from your chest, the cold trickle of dread that finds itself curling in your belly, you feel two arms hoist you up and settle you over the back of his wretched steed.

“Gehen wir.”

Then, the darkness turns abyssal.

You only pray your body has truly died of fright when you first wake. There’s no darkness, no scent of blood when your eyelids pry apart to flutter. Water laps over your bare thighs, cold enough to force a shiver up from your feet to the blades of your shoulders. But behind you sits fire, a warmth so comforting you would think you’re rested against a stone bathed in summer sun, if not for the softness.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, rationalize just what’s happening, until a hand clutching a scrap of cloth maneuvers up from your thigh to your tummy, lathers you in a soap that smells only of pine. It halts, cinches around your waist when you begin to tense, when he knows you’re truly awake. A pond to your front and a man of horror at your back.

There’s sunlight streaming down from above, painting the clouds in gold. There are birds happily singing from the surrounding trees, and other, unseen animals scurrying through fallen leaves. Serene, pretty, and almost comforting when the wind turns course and brings with it the scent of late-ripening fruit. If the reality of your situation were not so dire, perhaps you would have enjoyed it, being here with a man who killed instead of presented your family with a dowry or offered you some pleasant wedding to dine and drink your fill of berry wine at.

“Let me go.” Your voice is a feigned warning, the mocking growl of a mere pup. You imagine he must keep his weapons close, only offering himself the courtesy of cleaning you so your meat doesn’t taste of dirt or lavender oil when he sinks his teeth into it.

“Süss frau,” he mumbles behind you, presses his head into your hair and inhales deeply as your body only grows further rigid. There’s a pause, before he corrects himself. “Meine süss frau.”

It would help if you knew what he was saying, calm your nerves some, maybe, but each word spoken only sounds guttural and instills further fear. You twist in his grip, hissing small curses that would have left your mother in a rage, but he only laughs at your squirming. Then, he tightens his grip as the cloth is dropped into the pond’s glassy water.

“Take me back home,” you continue to urge, placing a trembling hand over the limb pressing your body further back against him. “Please.”

Your small attempt at pleading is met only with his head dropping to the nape of your neck, a kiss pressed against the flesh there. It warms for him, sends a heat spiking up to your cheeks in spite of the way you still suspect he wishes only to rip your throat open with teeth more akin to a devil’s fangs.

You turn your head, intent on spitting right in this monster’s face, but find only a man looking back at you.

There’s a shimmer in his eyes that almost seems playful, a grin so prevalent there it must cause the corners of his mouth to ache. No blood in his teeth, and though the silvery-blue of his eyes seems distant, they are not cold. The goliath who stole you away stinking of blood and innards isn’t present now, and that seems even less of a comfort. He’s even handsome in the strangest way, certainly not the look of nobility, but none of his features are cruel. There’s a boyish charm to him, perhaps he would have the look of a charismatic farmhand or an apprentice of sorts if not for the scarring.

“Won’t hurt you… too pretty,” he assures, burying his face against the side of your neck. But the bastard does, digs his teeth right in and suckles at your skin when you claw at his arm in surprise. It’s not enough to draw drops of blood, but it accentuates the point that he seems to see you as something of his, a possession of sorts.

There’s a messy patch of drool over bruising skin when he pulls away to laugh at the wounded expression upon your face. He apologizes in a huff of breath as he guides you up to stand at his side. His hands linger too long for comfort when they rest along your waist. Your sullen glare only seems to further endear him. Too much, judging by the way the pillar between his legs bounces thick and hard and proud, throbs when you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze and angrily hiss to him about how a man should treat his wife. Cannibal or not, the beast needed to learn some manners.

Fear still edges its way up your spine, but it diminishes more and more as the seconds pass.

He’s no gentleman when he splashes away the remnants of soap from your body, hands grazing over every inch of your bare skin he sees available to touch. Your breast first, weighed up in his palm with the nipple pinched between his index and middle. Emboldened by your hushed protests, he dares to slip his other between your legs, and only then do you force his hands away.

He certainly bears no resemblance to a proper husband when he hoists you over one shoulder to carry you further into the woods and into his shack, either.

It’s barren and ugly, an unsightly wooden structure decorated only with a thin mattress, a table too small, and blades of many forms. The axe sits proudly below the window, astonishingly cleaned of the gore from the night prior. The veil rests above it on the sill, damp from a cleaning that never should have been. You stare at his belongings for a time when you’re placed on your feet, silently judging the array in search of anything to justify the gossip, only to come up short of anything.

He doesn’t even touch you past the bathing in the pond. You’re dressed in a tunic that fits like a dress upon your form: far too big, long and dull to be anything you would normally be seen in. But there are no tailors this far out in the wilderness, though there’s an apologetic promise whispered to you once he sees you in his clothes. He’ll buy you a new dress upon your first visit to town as his wife, several if it pleases you.

The man leaves for a spell, brings you rabbit to clean and prepare, then busies himself stoking up a fire for cooking. His speech is a little broken when he tells you of how long he’s waited to have someone like you here with him, how he never suspected a woman so pretty would be his wife. And you don’t eat when the meat is fully cooked and placed in front of you both. You insist that you only wish to return back home, to hug your mother and tell her that you’re still alive.

That, he takes insult to.

His brow is pinched when he forces you to sit in his lap. He brings the meat to your lips and presses into your cheeks with his free hand to force your mouth open. There’s nothing romantic or cute about it, about him, but you do glumly settle in his hold when the realization does dawn on you that, though his strength is extraordinary, he is only a man and the only harm coming to you would be between your legs.

You’re drug over to the mattress after dinner by a tight hold over your wrist. The fight hasn’t left you, not by a smidge, even when the loose tunic is lifted over your head with shouts of your displeasure and you’re pressed onto your back with the giant watching you curiously from above.

He pins you there, but doesn’t force his hands down to your sex again. He only sighs when he rests his weight next to you and curls in to lie his head over your breasts.

You’re body remains stiff and rigid as a bowstring. His nearness only sends that same swell of heat back from the pond, brings with it the scent of fire smoke and sweat emanating from him. His hair is long and soft, soft as the kisses he places on the plushness of your tit, long as the drag of a callused palm from your hip up to cup the other.

He offers you no warning when his teeth circle over your nipple, holds fast to you when your back arches and your fingers weave into his hair to jerk him away. The worst part about him seemed to be having a penchant for leaving a mark, and the smug grin that crosses his face when he meets the fury in your eyes with the lust-drunk look in his own.

“Was? You don’t like?,” he grumbles, tracing over the marks of his teeth with his thumb, pressing against and smearing his saliva until you feel your back begin to arch and your breathing grow heavy.

“It hurts.”

He stares at you in amazement for a moment, whether surprised you haven’t made an attempt to flee or startled by the lack of a strike to his jaw after such a thing, it mattered not. Your terrible, ignorant “husband” only seems satisfied with your response. He draws back to sit on his knees before you, sliding his hands along each curve and dip of your body until they rest at your ankles.

“Ja… hurts. I will make it better, meine süße.”

He’s no less brazen when he makes a dive toward your womanhood, lips parted in preparation to breathe you in. Or… taste you in full, whichever option was suited for men who were more beasts than men at all. Maybe that was his only feat of cannibalism: licking at women until they were wet and pliant for him to take entirely. You pry him away with a gasp and a quick shift onto your side, demanding that he not touch you any further.

Again, he laughs, curls behind you and shifts his hips to slot the girth of his cock between your thighs, buries his face into your neck once again. You can feel the grin that stretches over his lips against your skin. When the dark envelopes you both, the quiet crackle of the fire in its pit still showing signs of life, he seems content to just cuddle you close.

Exhaustion creeps its way through your limbs, steals the fight from your voice and leaves your eyelids heavy. You consider waiting it out, listening to his breathing deepen and slow to creep away, but his grip is firm around your middle, so strangely comforting that you do allow yourself to relax. Running could wait until the morning sun rose.

[cravingblood]

emptiness is a closet full of your old clothes

⟢ caleb (xia yizhou) x reader

⟢ tags - 18+, angst, grieving, codependency, oral (f!receiving), hurt/no comfort, crybaby reader, she’s just very sad and wants caleb to eat her so she’ll never have to miss him again sorry

⟢ wc - 2k

a/n - couldn’t stop thinking about the what ifs for if caleb hadn’t died via explosion and she kept living in their house after his death my brain spat this little drabble out in like an hour im no shakespeare they just make me so crazy

ao3 link + song inspo

The word home doesn’t fit quite right in your mouth.

It’s technically true, there’s a roof over your head and food in your belly. Everything is just as they left it- like he left it. Precious photographs hanging on the walls with smiles plastered on your faces, now leaving a bitter taste in your mouth every time you look at them. You’ve considered taking them down, but living without his eyes on you makes you question if you even exist at all sometimes.

You’re surrounded by all your most beloved memories, all your trinkets and pieces of nostalgia hidden away in boxes collecting dust in the attic. It should be comforting. Having tangible pieces of your loved ones shouldn’t make you feel this sick. Painful reminders you can’t bear to part with. The house is cold, empty, lacks familiarity. You're a stranger to these walls now. Who did this belong to? Who does it belong to now?

He was here, he’s always been here, he’s still here.

He haunts every corner of this house.

It hurts to exist in this space, to exist in a world he once loved you in. Everything feels shifted, off. Wrong. Your friends do their best with you, offer support. It’s sweet and guilt eats at you every time you turn them down. Determination to pick yourself up and rely on nobody else outweighs everything. It’s a routine you’re forced into. A routine you have to get used to, have to accept. You make sorry attempts at recreating the meals he so diligently insisted on making you everyday.

(“If you can’t decide I’m happy to do it for you. There’s a whole recipe books worth I’ve memorized up here over the years.” He says tapping his temple.

“You have an early morning, don’t worry about me.”

As expected, your timid refusal is quickly dismissed. “It’s my job to worry about you, and when have I ever been too tired to take proper care of you?” He raises an eyebrow. “If I walk out this door right now you’ll stuff yourself with something sweet and wonder why you’re not feeling well later, no?”

You smile despite yourself and sheepishly avert your gaze. “….at least let me help you.”)

You do laundry and inhale the faint smell of detergent still clinging to his old clothes. Cedarwood, citrus, and sweat. The scent makes you dizzy; it hugs you, comforts you, chokes you. You can taste it on your tongue. Temptation tugging at you to bury yourself in it until his scent sticks to you forever. Until it's yours.

The burning in your lower belly brings crushing shame as you deeply inhale his t-shirt. You yearn to breathe the hot hair he exhales into your mouth, lick the sweat that drips down his neck. Zero in on every sensation he evokes by simply existing in the same space as you again.

("Come here."

“Huh?” His sudden assertion pulls your attention away from your own workout.

He beams at you and immediately starts to get in position. “Come sit on my back while I finish this set of pushups.” You send him a confused looks and he grins, "Don't give me that look, I won't drop you now c'mon!"

You exhale a half hearted chide, “You’re so weird," standing and making your way over to him regardless.

The heat of his body seeps into every part of you that’s touching him. Feeling the movement of his muscles shift underneath you, steadily working both of you up and down with impressive ease. Beads of sweat start to drip down his face. Your mouth immediately dries up. You chew your bottom lip, silently chastising yourself for your body's automatic reaction to such a simple sight.

“Don’t be so tense. I’ve got you, promise,” he chuckles between breaths.

He’s so strong, so sturdy; for himself, for he people he loves, for you. Always willing be your pillar and the shoulder you shed your tears on.

You internally pray that your sudden fidgeting was perceived simply an effort to keep yourself upright. The grunts escaping his mouth rumble beneath you, tying knots in your stomach. His groaning sends tingles down your spine and thrusts your imagination back to long suppressed desires. That strength could leave bruises you’d beg for every night in the hopes they stay imprinted on you forever.)

Suffocating silence greets you as you brace yourself and enter his room. The whole world is too quiet without him. Full of cold silence without the sound of his heartbeat against your ear. You make your way over and allow yourself to sink into and be enveloped by the comfort of his still unmade bed. To feel the soft caress of his cotton sheets. A cheap substitute for kind arms. Cold duvet wrapped around you. The closest thing you’ll ever get to being held by him again.

The burning in the back of your eyes matches the one tearing up your insides, skin prickling from the desire blooming in your lower belly.

It’s wrong. It’s depraved to fantasize about him this way. Shameless in your wanting, allowing mourning to warp into a gaping hunger you know will never be satisfied.

The images are so vivid. Purple on your neck. Flesh between his teeth. Prey willingly baring it’s neck in surrender. You'd willingly bleed for the loving hands holding the handle of the gun. The taste of iron fills your mouth as you bite your tongue. Fruitlessly attempting to will away the sick, sharp arousal permeating your body.

(“Look at me, baby. What’re these tears for hm?”

You love him like this- clear adoration in his eyes, palpable possession in the firm yet gentle way he pulls you closer. His hand softly tips your chin up and meets your glassy stare.

“Nothing. I just miss you. All the time. Even when you’re right here in front of me.”

He kisses your temple, moves lower to the tears leaking out of the corner of your eye. You feel his lips move against you as he whispers, “I know the feeling all too well.” A gentle hand caresses your cheek, roams down to your neck. He squeezes your nape and brings you impossibly closer, angles his face down to meet you in an achingly tender kiss.

“I’m not going anywhere. There isn’t a force in this universe strong enough to tear me away from you. Not even you.”

“Liar,” you hiccup.

“You are so, so beautiful like this.” Hungry. Lonely. A rabbit without it's wolf. A lamb without it's butcher. Miserable prey seeking it's matching pair of canines.

You’re both selfish, selfish creatures.

You want to claw at him. Etch yourself into his skin, his body; and live there forever. Nestled in between his ribs where the soothing beat of his heart lulls you to sleep every night. Until you’re indistinguishable from one another, inseparable. Two souls housed in one body.

A sob wracks your body as you reach for him and crash your lips together once more. Unable to control the trembling in your voice when you pull back, and a soft whimper escapes, “You’re mine, you know that?”

“I always have been.”

He picks you up and smoothly maneuvers you both to the bed. His hand cushions the back of your head as it meets the pillow, the tension eases in your body as he follows suit and sinks his full weight on top of you. He presses a deep kiss to your lips and sighs softly. You’re immediately pawing at him- reaching around his neck and chasing his lips with a whine every time he pulls away. Urging him to you, inside you. Closer, closer, closer.

He senses your impatience and lets his soft tongue gently slip into your mouth. You let out a small moan the moment his taste hits your tongue. Moving between soft pecks to deep kisses; oxygen is trivial, you would let him steal every breath left in your lungs. You melt beneath him, scratch lines into his back. Desire born of desperation. Mindless and ravenous, you imagine him swallowing you whole.

“Closer, please- need you.”

You almost regret those words the second they come out as he moves away- until he starts tearing apart every layer separating you both. A thick haze begins to settle in your mind as his hands return right where they belong. His tongue and lips descend on you and begin to follow a line down your middle, slowly teasing you as he finally reaches the damp fabric of your underwear.

He presses a featherlight kiss below your navel and looks up at you with flushed cheeks and stars in his eyes. “Precious girl. What am I gonna do with you?”

“Anything you want,” you rasped. “Anything.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew half of the things I’ve fantasized about doing to you,” he murmured. “You're the most important person in my life. They scare me sometimes.”

You shake your head. “I belong to you. Use me as you see fit, tear me apart,” you beg. “Nothing you do could ever scare me.”

“You ruin me, angel.”

He hides a conflicted expression by lowering his head again. You tremble as he licks a firm stripe up the fabric of your underwear. He kisses right where you’re pulsing. Breathes where you’re empty and toys with you until the cotton is completely soaked through. The heat is unbearable, fingers find his hair and you roughly tug.

“No more."

He kindly grins, condescending tone dripping from his voice, “That’s not the way to get what you want,” he turns and kisses the inside of your thigh. “You’re my good girl, so ask again. Nicely.” Another kiss then a sharp pain that shoots right to your clit; flesh pinched between his teeth. A warning.

“Please.” Tears are forming anew in your eyes. “I want it. Please, please. Can’t wait anymore.”

You flinch as the unexpected sound of ripping fabric reaches your ears. His grip tightens as tosses your legs over his shoulders and manhandles you closer to him. The sensation of his tongue sends as sharp jolt of electricity through your whole body as he laps tenderly at your skin. Licking teasing strokes up and down your slit before suckling hard onto your clit. Pressing into hard. Kissing away the ache.

It punches the air from your lungs and sends your back arching off the bed. You attempt to squirm but Caleb is faster than you, fixing you with a bruising grip as he anchors your hips down onto the bed.

You’ve never known complete ecstasy like this; and you never will, not unless Caleb is the one giving it to you.

He moans against you as he begins eating your cunt with the fervor of a starved animal. Prodding his tongue at your entrance, creating an obscene mix of saliva and slick. He drinks it all in, drinks you in. Drowns himself in your body, works your pleasure as you let out choked sobs and urge him in as far as he’s willing to go.

He’s merciless as he steadily brings his fingers to your entrance, softly opening your body to him. Carving himself into your heat, feeling you flutter around him like a wild heartbeat. Tasting you with ardent fervor and working a steady rhythm that sends your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

You know you can only endure the merciless torture for so long, as the pressure begins to crest. You reluctantly chase the feeling, desperate for release, and already mourning the loss of his touch.

The force of your orgasm shatters you completely. He holds you through it all as the shock waves make it's way from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. Pleasant fog settles back in your mind, as you faintly recall the feeling of Caleb’s warmth momentarily shifting as he brings your lips together to feed you the taste of the two of you. You feel his murmured words against your lips, trembling with barely concealed emotion. Reverence you feel down to your bones.

“Precious, I’ll come home to you every time. No more tears.”)

Cold sweat and tears soak the sheets that once held the both of you as you dreamt. His bed was going to be your tomb.

[bloomries]

I'm not sure if you write angst or not, but if you do can you write the brothers (separately) and mc get into a big argument like a very heated one and the brothers says something like "im so fucking tired of you blah blah blah the next time i see you better be at your funeral" and then like a few hours later mc either dies or is like almost dead but survives you can pick 🫶🏿🫶🏿 FEEL FREE TO MODIFY(?) MY REQUEST AT ALL !! you don't have to write all of the brothers

regretting his words.

includes : lucifer, mammon, satan, and belphegor.

summary : getting into a fight with ___, him basically telling you he wishes you were dead, but he'll soon find himself regretting those words when you get fatally injured.

warnings : gn! reader. heavy angst. serious & intense arguments. death (reader dies/nearly dies).

note : thank you for the request! i totally didn't cry i did! i don't write angst often, so i'm not sure how good it is but i hope that it suffices! please enjoy!

LUCIFER

You were just happily chatting away, telling Lucifer about your day when he slammed his hands on his desk, standing up abruptly as he glares at you with those terrifying red eyes. "Stop. Speaking." His voice echoes off the walls.

"W- What-"

"I said, stop speaking. Fuck, all you do is talk. I can't wait for the day you finally cease that incessant yapping!" You're too stunned to say anything else, faltering between wanting to cry and to yell, instead Lucifer continues. "Leave, now! And don't come back unless you decide you can be quiet." He points to the door, and you scamper off without a word.

If he had known that would be the last time he got to hear about your day, he would've bit his tongue and set his pen down to listen. However, he stands beside your lifeless body, staring at it with a bitter taste in his mouth. Was this... his fault?

If he hadn't shouted for you to leave, then you wouldn't have left the house, and wouldn't have been attacked by a drunk demon. "H... How- How do we get them back-" He lifts his head to look up at Diavolo, who hesitates.

Oh.

There was no getting you back. "No... W- We brought them back before, we can do it again. Do it again!" He demanded, although when he realized how loud his voice got, he faltered. Yelling, again. Why was he always yelling? He can't remember...

Diavolo leaves, to give Lucifer some time to process and time to say what goodbyes he needs to. The moment the door closes, Lucifer drops to his knees, holding back tears as he lightly holds your hand. "I- I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... Tell me, please. Tell me about your day, I want to hear it. Please." Despite the desperation in his hoarse voice, no words are given back to him, and he realizes he'll have to come to terms with the fact he'll never hear your voice again.

MAMMON

"Get off of me," Mammon shoves you away, sneering at your pleading expression. "If ya don't wanna support me then just go." You knew it would be a hard task, to get the demon of greed to stop gambling, but you had tried relentlessly either way.

"Mammon, I just think-"

"Here we go again, I don't wanna hear your naggin' again, 'kay?" You rush to grab hold of his arm, holding him back from leaving.

"Please, just stay in and-"

"Fuck, can you get off? I'm so fuckin' tired of this shit," His eyes glowed as he glared down at you, anger coursing through his veins, "I don't wanna see ya again, not less it's at your funeral, got it? Now just leave me be," He finally shook you off and left, slamming the door and leaving you in darkness.

Darkness that Mammon would soon return to, only the apartment he left you at was set ablaze. His heart was hammering in his chest as he rushed past the crowd, swerving through the fire despite the cries from the crowd for him to stop.

Pushing open the door, his heart hammered in his chest as he seen you, on the ground. He couldn't care about the smoke, even as he hacks his lungs out, as he checks your vitals desperately.

You were still alive, although barely. As he picks you up, a paper falls out of your hand. He picks it up and his world stops moving.

'Next time we'll kill them. Pay your debts.' He knew exactly who it was from, those damned witches. Cursing under his breath, he carries you out of the burning building, and on the ride to the hospital, he's blubbering apology after apology, begging for your forgiveness, even though you've yet to wake.

SATAN

"You can't do anything right, can you?" Satan hisses out, snatching the book in your hand away from you. You thought you'd try and be helpful, to organize his books for him since it had gotten so messy, but instead you were met with his fury. "Damn it, you messed everything up!" He groans at the sight of his books being put back in their place. He had a system! And you ruined it.

"I have to reorganize all of this now!" He swiped all the books you had put on the shelf off, them all clattering to the ground with heavy thuds. You slowly backed yourself towards the door. "The only thing you knew how to do right was die." The memory of dying by his brothers hand was painful, but nearly as painful as his words.

You choke on a sob, tears spilling down your cheeks. "I- I'm sorry," You whimper out, before leaving. It takes Satan a few hours to calm down, and once he does, he feels incredibly guilty. He should apologize, he decides, embarrassed as he opens the door- only to be met with a frantic household.

"Satan! There you are! What the hell!" Mammon is the first to notice Satan and his confusion.

"What's going on?" Satan asks, peering down the hall. "Where is [Y/n]?" Mammon falters, awkwardly shifting in place.

"No one told you...?" Satan gave him a look that read 'told-me-what?' and Mammon frowns, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"They got into an accident. We're all heading to the hospital but..." Satan's heart sinks at the grim look Mammon holds. "It doesn't sound good, s- so hurry!"

An accident? You got into an accident? He doesn't bother to wait for his brothers, rushing to where you're being held, and when he gets to you... Your body is bruised and battered, and your vitals are weak but at the very least stable.

"No... Please, no..." He takes your hand in his, "Y- You have to wake up, okay? So I can apologize properly, so you can hate him. I need you to wake up and hate me, okay? Curse me, hex me, I don't care just wake up..." He holds back the bile crawling up his throat. "Don't die, I can't... I didn't mean it. I can't lose you, so please... Don't die."

BELPHEGOR

"Damn it, when you came back I should've just killed you again." He grumbled, swatting your hand away. He rolls over in his bed, his back facing you. "Stupid humans, good for nothin'..." Belphegor grumbles, closing his eyes. He just wants to sleep now.

"You're so mean..." You hold back tears, going to leave. "I'm not gonna bother to ask you if you wanna join ever again!" You huff, and he rolls his eyes, snuggling further into his bed.

"Don' care, never talk to me again for all I care." With that, you left (promptly slamming the door) and he fell asleep without a care.

And it's not until he's being shaken that he wakes again. "Damn it, wake up, Belphie..."

"Ugh, I thought you said you weren't gonna talk to me anymore," He groans, slapping at the hand shaking him. Except, as he wakes up some more, he realizes it's not your voice but Asmodeus. "Huh? Oh, I thought you were..." Belphie's words die in his throat at the tear-snot drenched face Asmodeus had. "What-"

"You idiot!" Asmodeus shrieks, "Do you even know what's going on? Of course you don't!" Belphie rolls his eyes, thinking Asmo is being dramatic again.

"I don't have time for this-"

"They died." Belphegor freezes, his blood running cold. "They died, and it's all your fault! If you had just joined us, then that dumbass demon would've been too scared to approach 'em, and wouldn't have hurt 'em!" Wait hold on... You died? No, this had to be some dumb prank, right? Right!?

"Asmo, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"Come downstairs and see for yourself!" Belphie follows apprehensively, and sure enough, there you lay, in your bed as if you were asleep, but you weren't. He couldn't hear your heart, that heartbeat that always lulled him into his most peaceful slumbers.

"No, not again..." His hands were shaking as he approached you, "How could I... I did... this?" He looks at his brothers, who shamefully turn away from his gaze. "No, I... I was just sleeping... I..." Tears spill down his cheeks. Curses and shouts erupt from him as he flips your desk, throwing memorabilia, and the such- energy his brothers haven't seen from him in quite some time. It was going to be a while before he accepted your death, once again dying because of him— And this time, there was no reset option.

[chuulyssa]

𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐈'𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 !

tw mentions of self harm, hurt & comfort, fluff, pm!zai, mentions of odasaku's death & grave

song forever winter tv ftv taylor swift

pair pm!zai x reader

wc 2.2k

You were the sun to his winter.

At least, that's what you liked to call yourself when you were alone. You would never dare to say it in front of him, though; he would only laugh, dismissing your words with a teasing remark. To be frank, you weren’t quite sure what to call the relationship between the two of you either. From an outside perspective, it might have seemed like you were just good friends — or perhaps, hopelessly lovesick. But up close, when the world wasn’t watching, you both knew you were just confused teenagers, trying to find your way through a life that had no room for love. In the Port Mafia, emotions were a luxury that neither of you could afford — especially for the Demon Prodigy, the emotionless killing machine.

Was it love? You didn't dare answer. Your circumstances forced you not to. But it was true that you were one of the three people Dazai had ever opened up to. It was true that you were the one he would lean on to in his most vulnerable moments. It was true that you were perhaps the only other person to have seen him without his bandages. He wouldn't hide himself from you. He was a shadow, and you were his light.

Then, why, you wondered, was he trying so hard to?

The dim, amber glow of Bar Lupin cast long shadows across the polished wood, the clinking of glasses and low murmurs filling the air like a quiet hum. You had been looking for Dazai everywhere since you received the ominous text from him.

zazai :3 1:03 A.M.

im sorry for everything

He was nowhere. Not in his container, nowhere in the headquarters, even Chuuya didn't know where he had gone. It was all your fault. You should've known earlier. He’d been distant lately, more so than usual. Now, about three hours later, after driving round downtown and coming back up, you hoped to find him here, at the one place that still held a sense of comfort for him.

As you pushed open the door, the familiar scent of whiskey and old wine greeted you. Your eyes quickly scanned the room, landing on the figure slumped over the bar. Dazai. His shoulders were hunched, dark hair falling over his eyes as he stared blankly into a half-empty glass. His fingers were coarse and brittled — of course, he had been refusing all the meals you invited him to. The sight of him like this, so utterly broken, sent a sharp pain through your chest.

You approached slowly, hesitating for a moment before sliding onto the stool beside him. “‘samu?”

He didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge your presence at all, and for a moment you wondered if he even realized you were there. His eyes were glossy, cheeks red from the alcohol in his system. But then, he sighed wearily.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was hollow, devoid of the usual teasing lilt.

“I was looking for you,” you admitted softly. “You can’t just text me stuff like that and expect me not to panic.”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “Worried about me? That’s a first.”

You winced at the coldness in his tone, and for a moment you wondered if he wanted you here at all, but you couldn’t back down now.

“You know there hasn’t been a day I’ve spent without worrying about you. But you’ve changed.”

“Changed?” He lifted his chin from the table top and rested it in his hands, sparing you a glance. “I am but your poor little kitten.”

“You are planning something, Dazai.”

He didn’t reply, choosing to instead play with the hem of your shirt.

“Answer me. What did Odasaku tell you? Why are you behaving like—”

“Would you look at the time? I almost forgot what sleep looks like,” he interrupted, getting up and throwing his coat over himself.

“Dazai,” you called, but the door closed and you were alone again.

--

The clock on your wall read 5:00 a.m. when the loud, insistent banging on your door jolted you awake. Who could it be so early in the morning? You stumbled out of bed, rubbing your eyes as you made your way to the door. As soon as you opened it, Dazai nearly fell into you, the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath. He was wasted, more so than you’d ever seen him. Had he returned to Bar Lupin after you had left? Or did he have a stock of alcohol? He must have stolen some from Chuuya.

He leaned on you heavily, hair cascading down his face and brushing your neck lightly. You didn’t say a word, just wrapped an arm around his waist, guiding him into your apartment after closing the door. The usual sharpness in his eyes was dulled, replaced by a glassy, unfocused gaze that told you he was far from sober.

The world outside was still dark and unsettling. But inside your small apartment, there was solace, calm, and a rare tranquility he always said he liked. Maybe that's why he showed up tonight after shunning himself away from you.

You led him to your bed. He sat heavily on the edge, his head drooping as you knelt in front of him, hands working with practiced care to pull off his shirt. His skin was warm beneath your fingers, and as the layers of fabric fell away, you saw the bandages that crisscrossed his torso, stained and frayed from neglect.

“I have some in my drawer,” you said quietly, moving to rummage through the drawer to find bandages to replace his old ones.

Your hands moved instinctively to them, but the moment you touched the first strip of cloth, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist with surprising strength. His eyes, though clouded with drink, held a trace of fear, of vulnerability that he rarely let anyone see.

“Samu,” you whispered softly. “Trust me, yeah?”

For a moment, you thought he might refuse, that he would pull away and shut you out like he had so many times before. But then, slowly, his grip on your wrist loosened, and he moved his hand away, giving you silent permission.

You carefully began to unwind the bandages, each layer revealing the scars beneath. Your heart clenched at the sight of them, the wounds that had never truly healed. But you didn’t let it show, didn’t let him see how much it hurt you to see him like this.

Gently, you applied medicine to his scars, wrapping the fresh bandages around him twice, making sure they were secure, desperately hoping they would help heal them. You looked at him. His eyes were closed as if he were trying to block out the world.

--

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the graveyard, the air thick with the scent of blooming flowers and the lingering silence of the departed. You made your way through the rows of tombstones. Dazai had skipped the Port Mafia meeting, and they had sent you to find him so the boss could berate him yet again. You didn't want to, but you knew where he would be.

As you approached Oda’s grave, you saw him. Dazai stood there, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable as he gazed at the headstone, communicating silently with the still rock. The wind rustled through the trees, carrying with it the faint scent of rain. You hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and walked towards him.

“Dazai.”

He didn’t turn around, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched as if bracing himself for what he was about to say. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stepped closer, refusing to let him push you away. “You skipped the meeting.”

“Ah, you’ve come for that. I should’ve known he would send you to see me.”

You walked closer to him, and he glanced back at the sound of your footsteps. “You know Mori won’t let that slide.”

“Why don’t you tell him I don’t want to work anymore?”

“Because you say that all the time.”

“What if it is real this time?”

You paused, searching for confirmation in his eyes for what he had just said.

“Oh,” you said, when you couldn’t find a contradiction. “You’re leaving.”

“Yeah,” he hummed lightly, still not looking at you.

“And you are completely sure.”

“Yup.”

“You won’t change your mind at all.”

“That’s right.”

Beat.

There was a moment of silence.

Finally, he turned to face you. And you saw what you were looking for.

“Now you will say something cheesy,” he said. “Something like, ‘I can’t live without you, please don’t go.’”

You turned pink, and he smiled, albeit it was a bit forced.

“But would you believe me if I said that?” You asked.

“I would, although I hope it isn’t true.”

--

The atmosphere in the corridor outside the boss's room was suffocating. You stood there, anxiously waiting for Dazai, knowing that he was probably getting scolded for skipping that important meeting earlier. You were more worried about what Dazai would end up saying, now knowing that he was going to leave the Port Mafia.

“You can't just leave the Port Mafia alive!” You exclaimed. “You were the one who said that.”

“Oh, then in that case, I think I would be the first person to do so! Or, on second thought, the second person, after Ango, of course,” he replied cheerfully.

When the door finally creaked open, you were taken aback. Dazai stepped out, looking as carefree as ever. His hands were casually tucked behind his head, and there was a cheerful grin across his face. It was as if the reprimand he’d just received had not had the slightest effect on him.

“Oh, you waited for me?” he said teasingly. “Let’s go to your house.”

You blinked, trying to process the abrupt shift in mood. “Yeah, I did,” you replied, your voice laced with confusion as you fell into step beside him.

How could he be so cheerful today, after that night in your room?

As you both walked through the winding hallways of the Mafia’s headquarters and out into the quiet streets, the tension began to ease. Dazai broke the silence. “You know, I met a wonderful girl today.”

His words caught you off guard, and you turned to him, surprise evident on your face. Dazai wasn’t one to talk much about girls or dating — at least, not unless it was related to a mission, in which case he would manipulate the lady and leave her broken-hearted the next day. You were glad that never happened to you though.

“You’ve started dating?” you asked, trying to sound happy for him.

“Mhm, maybe,” he flashed you a sly grin.

“Well? Mr Romeo, Who is she?” you pressed.

Dazai hummed thoughtfully before answering. “Oh, I visited Odasaku’s grave earlier, didn’t I? I bought flowers from a shop nearby. The girl working there… well, I think she might be even prettier than the flowers she sold me.”

You felt as though the world had tilted off its axis. “Oh,” was all you could manage to say. You smiled weakly.

He had just betrayed you thrice in the span of three hours, first by dropping the bomb that he was leaving you, then cheerfully brushing off whatever trouble he’d gotten into with Mori and now by nonchalantly mentioning a girl who seemed to have caught his eye.

Maybe this was something you could learn to live with. Maybe.

--

It was quiet — too quiet, the kind that weighed heavy on your heart in this night. You knew why Dazai had insisted on staying the entire day, and deep down, you dreaded it. This was going to be the last time he stepped foot in your home, the last time he sat on your soft couch, the last time you would share this space that had become a sanctuary for the two of you.

He sat across from you, his usual air of casual indifference replaced by something far more somber. He hadn’t said much since he arrived, and that silence had been deafening. You could feel the distance growing between you, an invisible chasm widening with each passing second.

“Ahhhh,” you screamed of frustration, and he chuckled lightly. “You’re really, really leaving, aren’t you?”

He didn’t meet your gaze, half-assed smile still on his face, his eyes fixed on the floor as he nodded.

The words hung in the air, heavy and final.

“What about us?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

“Us?”

“Don’t,” you warned. If he was just gonna pretend that there was nothing between you, you didn’t need to hear it.

“What do you wanna do?”

“I don’t know, moron.”

“Ah, fuck,” he ran a hand through his hair. “Well, this complicates things. Pack your stuff then.”

“What?”

“We’re leaving.”

“Just like that?”

“You wanna hand in a resignation?”

[howlingmod]

Something angst with Subspace x reader plz??

ok so this might be mid . scratches my neck im trying

summary - subspace x reader angst, no happy ending

misc - warnings for unrequited love, implied death, gore, and generally just. not good things. reader has amnesia and is described as having severe physical trauma

-you couldn't recall the exact details of what had gone wrong. you couldn't remember the exact details of much, to be entirely honest. much of what you knew now was just what other people had told you about, which, in of itself, wasn't much. most often you were left to piece things together through news paper clippings and bits and pieces of conversation.

-you had been a scientist for blackrock not too long ago, and a prolific one at that. you were one of the leading researchers in their nuclear department before abruptly falling off the face of the earth. an attendant had told you it was because of 'an incident you had,' which landed you here in your blank-walled room, with no real hope of returning to your former station due to your current mental state.

-you were stable enough health wise, more fragile than they'd like to see but you could still perform basic tasks and recall standard information before you overworked yourself. it wasn't a terrible spot to be in by any means, you didn't have too much to worry about but it still didn't feel like a real life.

-you were cared for and had some materials to busy yourself with, receiving enough attention in the form of biweekly check-ups, typically in the form of questionnaires revolving around your memories and abilities. you didn't have many visitors, though. you had a few nurses you could remember the faces of, but no family members, the only exception was another researcher, subspace t. mine.

-apparently, he was also an important scientist. he'd told you as much after a month or so of visiting, once the shock of you not recognizing his name had worn off. it came off as egotistical to you- sure, he was a big deal, but you had other things to worry about. one random guy escaping your knowledge isn't the end of the world. you'd let that bitterness slip in a little mutter under your breath, one that he'd seemed to hear. you'd expected him to shoot up, play up his image and demand your respect, but he didn't. he'd just stared at you a little more hurt than you were expecting, like he couldn't believe you didn't know him as a person and not just a figure.

-you figured out at some point that you two did know each other, but you didn't know how close you were. he talked about who you were before 'your incident,' but never let on anything about your relationship. you figured you must just be acquaintances, as any time he began to talk about the two of you together he'd trail off and stop talking. there must not be much to say. there must not be much he wants to tell you.

-while he usually just came in to talk, he'd prod at you every now and then, grab at your face and arms and turn them this way and that to examine you. on one specific occasion he'd gone to examine your horn. you'd seen it in the mirror plenty of times but you tried not to look at it too much, it made you feel a little sick. as opposed to the smooth surface he and the attendants had, yours was rough, the inner bone exposed and cauterized tissue spilling out. there were holes in the surface, ranging from small dots to divots large enough you could (but wouldn't dare to) stick your finger through. it was the topic of many examinations, being the biggest indicator of your fragility.

-his claws on the surface didn't hurt, you could feel his hands shake with how careful he was being. he didn't seem to be looking for anything in particular, just analyzing, logging the damage done. he didn't speak at all, just frowned and held his breath. at some point or another the touch began to burn and you'd just pulled your head away, slipping out of his hand quickly enough you'd briefly wondered if you'd scratched him in the process, as he'd just as quickly yanked his own away, staring at you like you'd burned him (or like he'd snapped it off). he never spoke about any of the deformities that littered your body, the welts and scar tissue and gashes seemed too painful for him to do more than stare at.

-he'd brought you a replica of your gear once, not nearly as powerful, according to him, but a replica nevertheless. you'd held it a few times, even carried it around your room while you were alone, but it never resonated. it felt natural in your hands but the power never sunk deeper than a layer under your skin, out of sync with your heart. he never asked where it went or why you didn't keep it around you. the first time he'd noticed (rather quickly, you thought) he'd been quieter than normal, just sitting in silence across from you and staring at the space between the two of you.

-he'd continue to visit you, progressively switching from memories of you to the mundanity of his day. he couldnt brag to you the way he did others. it felt wrong. he may have been rotting but you were an entirely different case. he still had the luxury of his identity where you'd been stripped of everything and dumped into a cell equally deprived of character. nothing was coming back. your horn was slowly rotting and chipping right out of you. there was only so much delaying that could be done.

-what do you do when the person you love is destroyed and the person replacing them will be destroyed all the same?

-with every passing month he would keep looking you over and talking about something meaningless to grasp at time and with every passing month you would grow wearier and wearier, slowly but surely.

-he'd broken once, held tight to you and hid his face over your shoulder, whispered about a life you couldn't call yours and a love you didn't have a part in and you'd stayed motionless there, hands limp. you couldn't return the affections, they were meant for someone else before you.

[kelpweedkelpweedingkelpweeds]

Ok, so I think I'm slightly ready to talk about the comic (really I'm not but my brain has been thinking about them for an hour straight I have to let some of it out) This comic answered a hundred questions in my head and in the process produced a thousand more to replace them. The exploration of hyuna's thoughts as she was dying, it's so wonderfully complex and exactly what I expected out of vivinos.

Hyuna's feelings towards Luka is less so "I want to hate you, but I can't", rather it's "I hate you, you caused me so much pain and yet at the same time I pity the things that caused you to do this to me and I still care about you". A popular opinion is that as Hyuna spun Luka around her intent was revenge, and my 2 cents on it is that yes payback was part of it, but her kneejerk reaction was to save him.

There's still no official confirmation for Luka's role in Hyunwoo's death but he holds a major part in it. Hyuna cared deeply for her brother; it's no wonder she would hold bitter feelings towards someone who caused her to lose someone she loved. Hyuna knew that Luka loved her more than himself; she knew that she was the only person whose death would make him feel anything, not even his own. So she let herself get shot, made him lose the one person who ever made him feel human, made him feel the human grief of watching someone you care about sacrifice themselves, made him understand how the other performers on stage felt as they watched their friends die in front of them. This was her revenge, letting him feel the same pain she did, the same pain he inflicted on so many others on stage.

But at the same time, Hyuna isn't cruel. Her character is about love, love for humanity and the hope for freedom. As she heard that bullet fired, her first thought wasn't to make him suffer, it was to protect him. That she didn't want to see him die. Because watching him bleed out would cause her so, so much pain. It could be considered selfish, as she is the head of the resistance and he is the alien overlord's favourite pet, the person symbolizing the thing she swears destroy and never return to. But for someone who loves the world so selflessly, her love for Luka is and always has been selfish, and so is her resentment. He is her only weakness, the only person she would sacrifice her life for to teach the meaning of loss and pain.

She tells him that she leaves a puzzle for him to solve, which can be interpreted as figuring out human emotions for the first time. She understands him well enough to know that it will work, for he loves her more than anything else and loves her enough to at least try and move on like she wishes him to. Perhaps he may never find the answer, perhaps he might die before he has the opportunity to, but Hyuna knows he will try desperately, that perhaps in the process he could be given the chance to be human, as he deserved to.

She didn't let herself get shot for the satisfaction of watching him cry for the first time, she died because she loved him and wanted him to come to understand grief and gain the ability to move on, things that he was deprived of since his birth. She never forgave herself or Luka over what happened, but she wanted him to learn to forgive himself, so that maybe he could do what she couldn't. She knew she didn't have to ask him for forgiveness; his love for her poured out of him like water, he could never hate her for the selfish thing she did. So maybe Hyuna died with bitterness lingering towards him for what he did, but ultimately she came to peace with the fact that she loved Luka, that she would die for him, that only he could bring her back to the damned alien stage as her burial ground.

Y'all I nearly cried writing this, can I PLEASE do a self indulgent post next about how pure Luka's love towards Hyuna is I DONT WANT TO DEAL WITH THE COMPLEXITIES OF HUMAN EMOTION IM BARELY HANGING TOGETHER RIGHT NOW

Here have a stupid lil image of them (sorry Hyuna isn't coloured in I know it's really bad but when all you can think about is how tragic they are all I want to do is draw them happy for the rest of eternity)

[la-petite-lapin]

Keeping Secrets | John Price x female!reader

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John Price x afab!Reader Word Count: 2.3k Content Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, smut, mentions of injury, cannon typical violence, swearing, age gap (reader is in her twenties, John is in his forties), suggestive content, oral (F receiving), PIV (protected (stay safe, kids)), brief mention of Price JRs, no use of Y/N

The Captain and the Sergeant start keeping secrets from the rest of the taskforce

It wasn't like it was in the movies or the books. There were no longing glances across crowded rooms; no deep, personal conversations late at night. There was no warning.

The first indication that anything had changed between the two of you was in a dimly lit safehouse. A job had gone wrong - horribly, irreparably wrong - and Soap had been medevac-ed out to the nearest army hospital. The rest of you would have to wait until morning; would have to make it through the night when a countless number of enemy operatives could still be hunting you, then hike to the nearest evac point before sunrise.

Ghost was pacing the worn wooden floors, and you were sure he'd wear through them at some point. You knew better than to make a joke about it - knew better than most the deep bond that he and Johnny shared. To mock it would be to die a brutal death by Ghost's hand in the night.

Gaz was coping with it in the best way he knew how: checking in with everyone, yourself - as the newest member of the taskforce - included, mother-hening his way around the three-room cabin in the middle of rural woodlands.

It wasn't until he'd finally convinced Ghost to sit down and take a breath, that Captain Price finally approached you. Heavily, he lowered himself down to sit beside you on the shabby old sofa, not saying a word at first as you stared ahead at nothing.

Johnny had been standing right next to you when it all went to shit. Him diving in front of you like a lunatic was probably the only reason that you were there with them. The shot to his shoulder would have been a direct headshot on you.

It was hard not to feel bitter or dazed about that.

"It's not your fault, Sarge," John said, his voice markedly softer than usual. He typically made it a point to avoid babying you in any way - knew that you hated being treated differently to the boys - but you could make an exception for him just the once. "Soap chose to block that bullet. Saved your life an' all. Cheer up, yeah? He's alright and you'll see 'im soon enough."

You turned to face him, offering him a small, weak shadow of a smile. "I know. It just sucks."

John frowned, seeing through the thin veil of fake cheeriness. Quieter, he added, "It's alright to be shaken by this, too. First near-death is always scary. It stays with you in a way the ones after don't." There was a pause - a long, tentative pause - as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his parted knees, dark eyes finding yours and holding them. "If- if you don't want to be alone tonight, you don't have to be."

Laid out in the open like that, the offer seemed so damn tempting.

Your mind raced through all of the shit that could go down if you took him up on it - if you were found out. You could be removed from the taskforce, stripped of the sergeant rank that you'd fought so hard to attain. John could be reprimanded for sleeping with an officer under his orders. But, if no one knew... what was the harm?

With a soft, sweet smile - a genuine one this time - you tilted your head, leaning slightly into his space on the sofa. "Yeah. I think I'd like some company, Captain."

Hours later, after Ghost had fallen asleep on the floor of the living room and Gaz had been assigned first watch, Price led you into the smaller second room of the safehouse - the bedroom - under the guise of checking your wounds. In reality, the minor scrapes to your arm and leg had already been dressed, not requiring any further attention. If anything, the cut to Gaz's forearm was of a higher severity.

John grinned as he shut the door with a soft thud, sliding the flimsy, rusted deadbolt across to lock it. You were thankful for the added security; the increased reassurance that the boys wouldn't be able to just wander in and catch you in the act.

The bedroom was poorer lit than the main room, making it harder to see. The moon illuminated the outline of the Captain's broad, muscular frame as he removed his beanie and tactical vest before turning his attention to his belt. You took a seat on the edge of the bed, thighs clenching in an attempt to relieve some of the aching tension in your core.

He took his time stripping down to his white t-shirt and boxer briefs, the material straining with the impressive tent in the front. "Like what you see?" he grumbled cockily, noticing your attention.

You let out something akin to a whine. He looked so good - so unbelievably good after the day from Hell you'd just had. There was also something else that made it undeniably more thrilling; the risk of getting found out. The taboo of it all.

You couldn't deny that you'd found Price attractive before that deployment. You'd spent every day for the past two years around him; living, eating, and working alongside him and the boys. It had also been a fact of life that he had a following - a constant, ever-present gaggle of new, female recruits cornering him in the hallways and vying for his attention. But he never took any of them to bed as far as you knew, preferring to spend his nights in the barracks alone.

At first, you'd thought that he had a wife or a partner off-base, but a conversation on your last stakeout together led you to the truth; he just wasn't interested in the barrack bunnies. He wasn't interested in sleeping with someone just for the sake of it - just because they wanted to get a piece of taskforce 141's infamous Captain.

"I think I might need to see some more to decide," you purr teasingly, lifting a hand to beckon him closer to the bed.

He stepped forward slowly, hands rising to rest on his tapered hips. He was built like a bear; broad, thick, and covered in a fine layer of downy body hair.

You licked your lips, eyes tracking every single minute movement.

"I think I need to see something from your first, princess," John teased. "It's only fair."

Eyes never leaving his, you made quick work of stripping out of your own tac vest and pants, chucking them over the edge of the mattress and into a heap on the floor. You even went one step further; shucking off your t-shirt. With a small smirk, you leaned back, clad only in your flimsy underwear and sports bra.

John's eyes were practically bulging out of his head.

"Like what you see, Captain?" you purred, words a light-hearted mockery of his own self-assured crowing.

"If I'd have known," John grumbled as he took another slow, measured step towards the bed, "that this is what you looked like under all that gear, Sergeant, we'd have done this a long time ago."

A grin formed on your lips, ego expanding ten sizes as John prowled across to close the rest of the distance. His irises were all but swallowed up by his pupils, blown with lust.

Shuffling back on the mattress, you eased back as John came to a stop, kneeling between your parted legs. With a lover's gentle reverence, he pressed a kiss to each of your knees in turn before turning his attention to the scrap of damp cotton protecting your modesty.

"May I?" he asked softly, fingers hovering over the waistband at the side, thumb smoothing a path along the ridge of your hipbone.

Breathily, you gave your consent. "Yes. Please, John-"

With practiced ease, he lifted your hips up and off of the bed, guiding your underwear down your bare legs then chucking them to join the rest of the clothes littering the floor. His hands skimmed back up, callouses feather-light against the skin of your calves before rising to knead your plush thighs. He seemed to be mapping out your body; ghosting over the sensitive parts repeatedly, lingering where he'd deduced you liked to be touched.

The man was a fast learner. An eager one too, for sure.

When he'd finished pawing at the soft skin there, he pushed your thighs apart, holding them down to the mattress and exposing the moisture glistening at their apex. Licking his lips, he bowed his head slightly, lowering his body down to the bed.

"John?" you asked, confused as to where he was going and why he still had his briefs on. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, princess?" he mumbled against your inner thigh, dark eyes lifting to meet yours. "Didn't think to bring any rubbers with me, and I don't fancy having any little Prices running around any time soon." A spark of mischief glittered within his gaze as he nuzzled his bristly moustache against a particularly sensitive spot. Your shiver seemed to only embolden him further. "Which means tonight's all about you."

You arched your back off of the bed, trying to push his face closer to where you desperately needed it. "Can you hurry up then?" you whined, getting impatient.

John chuckled. "Yes, ma'am."

And, with that, he bowed his head and made good on his promise.

"John!" you yelled, thighs burning with the strain as you bounced up and down on his cock. "John- fuck!"

A whole three months had passed since the first night you'd spent together in the safehouse. The morning after, you'd fully expected him to put an immediate stop to it the moment you were all rescued. Instead, he'd held your hand in the Heli - tucked between both of your bodies, hidden from sight - and promised that you'd talk about what this is later.

Nights since had been split between your room in the barracks and his. Mornings, too, upon occasion. Every spare moment the two of you got alone was accompanied by the feeling of his large, warm hands on you. By his constant, protective presence in your life.

It was a miracle that no one had noticed the new pull between the two of you. How you seemed to orbit one another.

And then there was the sex. The constant fucking.

"Keep it down, princess," he grumbled, breathless and sweating, beneath you. He didn't look too bothered though - too blissed out to properly care or consider the consequences of someone overhearing.

Clinging to some semblance of intelligent thought, you bit down on your wrist in an attempt to muffle the sounds leaving your mouth, drawn out by the captain and his fat cock. It was quickly becoming one of your favourite parts of him, second only to his beautiful, expressive laugh. It was no secret to you that he was well-endowed. Well-endowed and skilled at utilising it.

"Stop that," he grumbled gruffly, raising a hand to gently remove your wrist from between your teeth. He quickly replaced it with his own hand, guiding the soft part of his palm between his thumb and index finger into your mouth. Anything to prevent you from accidentally injuring yourself. "Keep riding, love. I'm getting close."

A part of your brain purred at that. Love.

It was a pet name that he used sparingly. Perhaps because he saw the flash of panic in your eyes almost every previous time he'd used it.

But now...

You tipped yourself back, hands finding purchase on his tensed, thick thighs to deepen the angle. Freeing his hand from your clenched jaw, you whimpered, "I'm... John, I'm so close."

"Me too, sweetheart," he mumbled, speeding up the pace of his thrusts. He punctuated the sentence with a snap of his hips. "Me too."

Wrapping his arms around your waist, he tugged you down into his chest and rolled, rising up onto his knees as he set you on your back. Pressing a trail of soft, tender kisses to your face and neck, he picked up the pace; drilling deliciously deep.

You whined, squeezing your legs around his waist and clawing at his back with your fingernails.

With a low growl, John lost it. Turning frantic as he barrelled towards his rapidly approaching end, he pushed you towards your own orgasm - practically bullying it out of you.

You came with a sharp scream, turning your head in a fraught attempt to smother the sound in the pillow. It smelled of Price - rugged, masculine aftershave and a hint of tobacco smoke.

He himself came moments later, gasping as his release swept over him. Covering your body like the world's best weighted blanket, he slumped down on top of you.

Still buried deep inside the paradise at the apex of your thighs, he pressed a sloppy, lazy kiss to the side of your neck, running his nose along your throat. It was one of the best part of sex with Price; the cuddling that came after.

Giving a small jolt of his hips, he grumbled something into your salty skin.

"Hm?"

John lifted his face slightly, breath tickling the underside of your jaw. "I said, I wish I was ten years younger. Then I could go again and again without a half-hour break between each round."

You giggled. John's age was something that you didn't mind. You knew that the age gap between you probably would have put some people off, but - if anything - he made you feel safe and respected. Though that could be the fact that he was a highly-decorated war vet, and a complete Golden Retriever of a man.

Pressing a kiss to his temple, you whispered, "I wouldn't have it any other way, John."

There was a beat of silence as the two of you soaked up the moment; the feeling of just holding one another on the sweat-soaking sheets, oblivious to the world outside of the little bubble you'd created for yourselves. With a chaste kiss to your shoulder, John gave another tentative roll of his hips, drawing another whiny groan from you.

"You sure know how to make an old man feel loved, princess."

Before you could reply - to bring up to the l-word that you'd both been skirting around for weeks now - your phone chimed. The alert tone was one you'd reserved for the other members of the taskforce only.

Why would they be messaging on a Sunday night?

A wave of panic cresting inside of you, you eased John's softening cock out of you, wincing at the sudden emptiness. Your phone was on the desk, all the way over on the other side of the room. It seemed so impossibly far as you scrambled for it.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" John asked, suddenly fully alert and hurrying to tug his boxer briefs back on.

Wordlessly, you read the message you'd just been sent. Your face blanched to an unhealthy pallor as you handed him the phone. A single message notification waited on the screen, glaring with accusation.

GHOST: We heard everything, you two. Think you owe us an explanation at the very least. Rec room in ten minutes.

John looked up from the phone screen, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a lopsided, sheepish smile. "Well, I guess that's what we get for keeping secrets, princess."

a/n: hello, hello :) so this was the Price X 141!reader fic that won the poll! I've had so much fun writing this one - not that I don't love Double the Love (my firstborn fic) please feel free to tell me what you want to see next! - happy surprise-post thursday, lapetitelapin :)

[cheeseboi420]

Of A Feather - Chapter One Preview

A/N: hi everybody!!! I am super duper stoked to present u all with the first 2k words of Of A Feather, aka the "what if Jason's bio mom didnt SUCK" fic. Im hoping to have the full chapter ready for publishing in the next week or two! Big thanks to everyone who's talked to me abt this fic so far, and an ESPECIALLY big thanks to @jayladfanpage for basically being my jaybin encyclopedia while i work my way through this fic!!! This warning will be more applicable in future chapters but it should be noted that this fic is NOT canon compliant and does significantly change/recontextualize a couple things about Jason's background, but you the audience get to find out about all that in real time alongside Jason lmao!! Anyways, without further adieu, please enjoy this preview ❤️

You expect this evening to play out like the one before it. And the one before that. And the one before that. Your routine hasn't changed in the last 13 years. Why should it? It serves you well enough, keeps you alive and… Well, that's about all it does for you. Not that you're looking for more! For the most part, you are… content, maybe isn't the correct word. Complacent fits a little better, but still isn't wholly accurate. You're content in the knowledge that your boy is safe and loved, somewhere far away from the trouble that chases you. You're complacent in your own quiet misery. The longing and loneliness had been a bitter pill to swallow those first few years of running, but after this long you've learned not to complain. God knows no one would listen if you did.

You've got a shitty box pizza in the oven. This will be your dinner, tomorrow's breakfast, and tomorrow's dinner. You won't particularly enjoy any of the meals, but they'll sustain you well enough. These days, food brings you little, if any joy. Meal times are a chore to slog through before the distraction that work brings or the sweet embrace of sleep. You look forward to, more than anything, going to bed. Not because you're tired (though there is a bone deep weariness that permeates- that no amount of rest could ever fix) but because bed means sleep, and sleep means dreams, and dreams mean a chance to hold your baby again.

You don't dream of Jason every night, but every morning, you wake thinking of him. Is he still asleep right now? Having breakfast? Is he eating well? Is he happy? Is he happy? Is he happy?

By the time you push your way through breakfast most mornings the cacophony of thoughts revolving around your son quiets to a dull roar in the back of your mind. It's better that way, you think. If you thought about him as much as your mind seemed to want you to, you'd never get anything done.

Life carries on, you suppose. However dreary and dull that life may be.

At one time you'd found the whole thing very exciting- though not in a particularly enjoyable way. The adrenaline rush has worn off over the years, no longer do you feel as though death is nipping at your heels. The paranoia never fades though. Even if your doom does not cast a shadow over you, you're always looking over your shoulder, always ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

You keep a bag packed and ready in the closet by the front door for when you have to leave this place, too. Though, you think it's buried under a winter jacket and your spare blankets. You really ought to dig it out, keep it easily accessible. You should do that but… it's been a long day. You want to eat your shitty pizza, lay down on your futon, and let the sound of tv static fill your studio apartment, lulling you to sleep.

You're getting too comfortable here, you think. You've lived in Michigan for nearly a year now. It is simultaneously entirely too close to and entirely too far from Gotham. The apartment itself was a godsend after spending most of your time sleeping in cars, tents, whatever unfortunate business was willing to employ you, anywhere you could, really- sure it has bugs, and the windows don't close all the way, and you're fairly certain it'll only take one more bad winter storm for the place to come crumbling down, but rent is dirt cheap, and the slumlord you rent from didn't ask for any ID when you signed your ‘lease.’ You're fairly certain that thing's not legally binding anyways- it was written on a cocktail napkin for Christ's sake. That didn't stop you from using a fake name when signing it. You can never be too careful.

You haven't seen your landlord since you moved in anyways. You don't ask for maintenance when things break, you fix them yourself or just learn to live with them broken. You deliver your rent by slipping a cash stuffed envelope with your name (your fake name, the one you signed your lease with, the one you use at work, the one you'd use at coffee shops if you ever went to any) on it through the slot in the office door. You do your best to be invisible. You don't cause problems, and you don't go out of your way to fix them for others. You make no friends or enemies. You've left no impact on the many places you've been, the cities you've drifted through.

The only evidence you've gone anywhere at all in your life is a stack of postcards, held together with a worn rubber band, sitting at the bottom of your go-bag. The only evidence of a life lived before that is in a similarly bound stack of polaroids, held together with a too-small paperclip. Every now and then, you'll buy a bottle of cheap wine to chug as you pour over the old photographs. Only when you leave for a new city do you dare to touch the stack of unsent postcards.

You can't bear to look at the photos too often, a painful reminder of your own failings. A reminder of the stupid, reckless little girl you'd been and the shell of a woman you'd become in the aftermath.

It's all your own fault, really.

At least that's what you keep telling yourself.

It's easier to swallow than the alternative: that you were a vulnerable and unloved thing, eating from any hand that would feed you, until the hand that feeds decides to beat.

This, you think, is why you shouldn't think too hard about the past. It doesn't do you any good to dwell on it.

You force yourself to focus on the present, on the here and now. The scratchy polyester blend of the futon cushions, the scent of cheap cheese melting in the oven, the distant sound of sirens, and howling wind outside your apartment. There's no sense in thinking about Gotham now, not when you're so far from it.

You sit up on the futon, no longer content to lounge and let your mind wander. Instead you task yourself with flipping through channels on TV, seeking something mind numbing enough to distract you from your unusually strong urge to reminisce.

The Wonder Years? No, you don't want to watch anything about a family.

Alf? No, that puppet creeps you out.

Cops? Fuck that.

You're about to resign yourself to another night of murmuring the (mostly incorrect) answers to Jeopardy questions at your tv, when you're startled by a knock at your door.

A… knock… at your door.

No one ever knocks on your door. You don't get mail, you don't have friends, if your landlord wanted something, you're willing to bet the greasy bastard wouldn't be willing to haul himself all the way up to the fifth floor at nearly 10 PM.

Oh God… Did… Did he find you? Is this it? Are you going to die in the upper peninsula of Michigan, of all places?!

No, no. You have to stay calm. This could be anything. It's just a knock at the door. It could be anyone!

Oh lord, it could be anyone.

You keep the tv on, hoping that the sound of Alex Trebek grilling folks on useless trivia will cover your footsteps as you creep towards your front door. You hold your breath as you press yourself against it, double checking that all three of your locks are secure before you risk a glance out the peephole.

When you look out into the hall you're surprised, and frankly a bit confused by the sight before you. Standing at your door is a boy, dark haired and bright eyed. He stands straight but not particularly tall- he can't be more than five feet. He's glancing around the hall, rocking back and forth on his heels. He's wearing a red sweatshirt and jeans, with a backpack slung over one shoulder. Despite his small stature he holds an air of determination that makes you think he must feel quite old for his age- you get that, you were the same way in your own youth. A chip too big for your shoulder.

You're so focused on studying him that it startles you when he leans forward to knock again. You jolt, accidentally kicking the door (with your bare feet too, damn does that hurt your poor toes) and responding to his knock-knock-knock with a solid knock of your own.

“Hello?” The boy calls. “Anybody home?”

“I don't have any money!” You call back, cursing yourself for the shake in your voice. You should not be this rattled by a random adolescent on your doorstep. “So, if you're selling popcorn, or cookies, or whatever, you should try next door.”

The boy rolls his eyes.

“I'm not a boy scout!” He says. “I'm looking for-”

And then the shoe drops; he says your name. Your full name. Not your fake name, that you use at work, and on envelopes, and in hypothetical coffee shops. Your real name.

It takes every bit of emotional regulation you can muster not to spiral into a full blown panic right then and there because good God, did He send a child to finish you off? The cruel irony is not lost on you. Come to think of it, this boy on your doorstep does bear an uncanny resemblance to-

“My name is Jason Todd,” the boy continues. “And uh… well, I might be your son?”

He could be lying, the logical part of your brain insists. This could be a ploy to get you to open the door, don't open the door! But your hands are moving on their own, shakey as they may be. The first lock twists unlocked with ease, the second takes a fair bit more of your fine motor function, and by the time your shaking hands reach up to unhook the chain on the door, you're struggling to see through unshed tears. You attempt once, twice, three fucking times to get your hands to cooperate and unlatch the damn chain.

Fuck it.

You open the door, yanking it inwards, towards yourself as hard as you can. It should probably unnerve you that the flimsy chain breaks at the first sign of real resistance, but that's not what's important right now.

What's important is the boy standing before you- your boy. Your Jason.

He looks as surprised as you feel, his eyes flitting between the broken chain, and you.

For a long moment the only thing you can do is look at him, reacquaint yourself with the sight of him. Of course, you know that he did not stay frozen in time, the way your memory of him is. It's been many years since you've held that babbling toddler. But knowing and seeing are two different things.

He's small for his age, is your first thought. Your own fault, you're certain. Between a premature delivery and your own malnourishment during that first trimester, it's a miracle he'd survived in the first place. Small, but well fed. His cheeks are full and flushed. Despite his size, he seems healthy. Good. That means Will's been feeding him. Hopefully, it means they got the hell out of The Alley, into a nicer neighborhood.

His hair isn't as curly as you'd pictured it- too short in most places to hold a curl, save for his bangs, which seem to almost form the shape of a heart over his forehead.

“Jason?” You can barely manage to say his name through the lump in your throat. You find yourself suddenly struggling to focus your gaze on him, the haze of tears welling up in your eyes makes it difficult to see. You try to blink them away but instead they roll down your cheeks.

God, when's the last time you cried?

You reach out to him, cupping one of his cheeks in the palm of your shaking hand. He leans into the affectionate touch, and you're reminded of puppies, overeager and seeking love at every opportunity.

“Mom,” he says back to you, his tone just as reverent as your own. “Mom,” he says again, voice crackling. And then, in unison, the both of you have pulled each other into a crushing hug. You can't tell if the sound you make is a sob or a laugh. You hold onto Jason like he'll vanish into the ether if you loosen your hold for even a second, one hand clutching at the back of his sweatshirt, the other at the back of his head, petting his hair as he buries his face in your neck.

Finally, at long last, your heart is home.

SO. What do we think folks. Are you hooked? I hope youre hooked. Please be hooked. I wanna talk to people about this fic so damn bad. Please send anons or dms or literally anything. When the chapter is complete I'll be putting it up here as well as on my ao3, which I'll link to! Thanks so much for reading and i hope yall are enjoying yourselves so far! Send me an anon or a dm if you'd like to be included on the taglist for this series!

TAGLIST: @leirobles