#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😘❤️

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[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

[syluses]

big girls dont cry QNA

i know you guys have lots of curiosities about this fic lolll so i’ll try to answer some of the questions i received (∗ᵕ̴᷄◡ᵕ̴᷅∗) 💕 if u still have some, just shoot me an ask!! :] also im really bad at explaining so i apologize 🤦🏻‍♀️ i have the plot nailed in my head but its tricky to articulate it in a clear, linear way for yall considering all the little nuances i added lol. i’ll try my best tho hehe :,)

Okay so there’s a whole ‘nother plot that exists in the background of this fic- which was super fun for me to write, but im sure from a reader standpoint it’s also kinda thrilling to try to connect the dots i left lol. thats why theres so many interpretations for this story (which i love!! i loved reading all yall’s theories)! 💕 BUT. that being said, the ‘canon’ goes like this:

SPOILERS BELOW read it first then come back! ( ⸍ɞ̴̶̷ ·̫ ɞ̴̶̷⸌ )

was caleb really dead?

No. Caleb staged his own death and then, similar to the main story homecoming wings, didnt tell mc :,) for his own reasons, for a time, he decides he’ll let her go on believing he’s truly gone…

why did he stage his death?

I dropped little crumbs of it in the fic, but it’s hinted that mc, on top of all her grief, feels a bit bitter over the whole shebang and also blames herself for it. hmm… why would that be? 🤔 well because their final moments together (or so she THOUGHT) were emotionally charged and volatile.

the foundation of their sibling relationship was growing weaker and weaker before the explosion. arguments are forming out of nowhere- things are becoming more tense and mc, for the life of her, can’t understand why her gege is always pulling her into a heated debate about safety, danger, blahblahblah, this that and the third, every time they interact. He’s being wildly unreasonable, which she knows, and protective- a trait that has snowballed as they entered their adulthood- but what she doesn’t know is the why behind it. she tells herself she just has a super protective older brother who views her as a little baby in need of his guidance- which isn’t entirely wrong… but she doesn’t see the full picture. His true feelings. All this tension eventually climbs to its peak. Caleb just gets worse and worse. He needs to do something before the world collapses on them both.

Now, in this au, he works at EVER, a somewhat shady but lucrative company- which dabbles in robotics amongst other things. I imagine they have abundant resources and wealth- and what with his promotions, it’s safe to say caleb is making a LOT. So, the delusional guy he is, he buys a big fancy suite with the idea in mind of two eventually living in it ;) but mc doesn’t want to- she has her own life in linkon!! She wants to spread her wings and separate from the nest anyway. Partly to start her own life; partly to prove to her gege that she can take care of herself. The argument that unfolds over this is the last they have before the big tragic explosion 😭 caleb, putting on a show with his beaten puppy eyes, leaves and then that’s the last time she sees him.

Caleb meticulously plans his ‘death’ out (with some help from his wingman ofc) and then eventually the robot is introduced to mc. It serves as a trojan horse. He’ll finally conquer her heart with it and win full autonomy over her. THIS IS HIS MAIN GOAL WITH THE ROBOT. WHY HE EVEN DOES ANY OF THIS TO BEGIN WITH.

Caleb gets to spy on mc with it and also slowly reshape her to accept his feelings; his ‘death’ has left her in a fragile state of mourning and he knows, after she warms up a bit to not-Caleb, he can more or less get away with anything- bc she will claw for whatever’s left of her family member. He can make her finally reciprocate and understand him— whether that be his feelings or fear or love. He tried to be patient, to be good, but obviously he had to travel a new route. He’s thinking of her 24/7. He’s obsessive, longing, protective, you name it- and all of this just worsens the more she denies him. When push comes to shove… well, caleb will do whatever it takes to win her :] He knows it’s unconventional and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt him too- monitoring his endearingly stubborn, but sweet meimei and the shattered pieces he left of her through his android’s eyes— but it’s all temporary, and he truly believes it’s for the better.

did gideon know?

Yes, Gideon knew all along. He’s Caleb’s best buddy after all. To be matter of fact- Gideon didn’t just know, he quite literally ‘herded’ mc into the lion’s den in a way. Mc knew vaguely of their work at EVER, but not too much; so Gideon was the one who shined that light on their robotics and really introduced her to the concept of not-Caleb. Now, i wouldnt say Gideon is exactly comfortable with his involvement, but he actually really does care for mc and thinks she needs that help- as dubious as the means are. Anyway, it’s almost impossible to shut out all of his buddy’s demands: the brunet is nothing if not insistent on getting what he wants. In his own whacky way, Gideon thinks what he did- playing into Caleb’s plan- was for the better as well. I mean, Mc clearly wasnt doing good before not-Caleb came along,… but with the few visits he managed before the android got a little too stingy and sent him off, Gideon actually managed to catch a smile or two from her! So clearly he did the right thing 👀 not to mention… the real caleb seems very pleased with the progress, too. besides- the whole robot situation is temporary anyway :] She’ll be reuniting with the beloved gege she misses so much sooner rather than later.

how accurate was not-caleb?

His programming is like 100% accurate. Mc, for a mix of both naiveity and delusion, thinks not-Caleb is flawed when he starts to show signs of amorous/romantic feelings for her. Really, though, after she tells him to stay the night with her (innocently; and after years of having not shared the same childhood twin bed), it triggers a part of his ‘brain’ that undoes all real caleb’s self restraint thus far :] If the same exact situation happened with the real caleb, his reaction would’ve more or less been the same. Homeboy can only keep his feelings in check for so long

who programmed not-caleb?

Real Caleb

how is mc pregnant?

Because the robot’s creator wanted to add his own special touch to his work if you know what i mean :) yeah he’s a freak like that. Dont think he WOULDNT install in his robot the ability to indirectly knock his ‘meimei’ up. I will say though, that while caleb wants to get mc pregnant, its not fully bc he wants to start a family- at least not right away- but because he wants to emotionally and legally trap her with him. Besides monitoring her/wearing down her walls while she thought he was ‘dead’, this was actually one of caleb’s biggest goals with sending not-caleb into her home.

is not-caleb self-aware?

Yes

what’s real caleb been doing all this time?

Basically climbing the ranks of EVER from his lil perch somewhere in skyhaven. all the while, of course, spying on mc like a hawk. Biding his time & waiting for the right moment when she’s at her weakest, most codependent state to replace his carbon copy :)

was caleb controlling his robot?

No. But he essentially created its whole program. And there are cameras inside its eyes in which he watches mc from :) and cant help but snap pics with sometimes: she’s just so pretty— and endlessly sexy when he finally, in a vicarious way, gets to lie her back and make love to her <3

what is real caleb’s motive/ultimate goal?

1. to control/protect/‘tame’ mc through the robot; get her to see things from his point of view (which means realizing she belongs with him- where it’s safe and he can protect & love her)

2. to knock her up (hence the. ahem. reproductive abilities of the robot) so that he can trap her with a baby on top of all the other emotional strings he’s hogtied her with.

does gideon want mc too?

the question is not would gideon smash her. the question is would caleb LET him…. 👀

also, below i just attached a screenie from some of the notes i took. theyre ofc a little disjointed but i think it might clarify things too :] im so bad at answering questions esp for a plot this spiraling but i really tried my best guys my brain is tired forgive me :,)

[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.

[just-zy]

She who fell in silence (l)

pairing: Wednesday Addams x FemReader!

summary: After the bitter loss for Crackstone and ultimate triumph for Nevermore. Wednesday felt so out of place, and she failed to recognize the reasoning behind it—but in the end, she awakened to reasons to stay.

A/N: been a while.. change of aesthetic?? y'all likeyy?? ooc wednesday, (weds pov, buttt the half bit's on thirdpov, js a little mix if y'all don't mind).

Warnings!: literally nothing other than my writing, per usual, again ooc wednesday.. (y'all can tell me if there are warnings I should put up!) inaccurate versions of fallen angels, keep in mind that idk what the heck im doing, js use ur imaginations its fine!

wc: 2.6k

part 2 || Masterlist

Ever since Nevermore, ever since I've been held captive here it's all been nothing but a nuisance.

My cello wasn't helping me relieve tension as much as it did then, Thing and Enid were becoming unbearable with every passing second, I had no objection since, but change is inevitable.

I heavily sighed as I combed my bangs with my fingers, inhaling deeply as I felt my fingers soak in sweat, but the wind was further from being warm enough for me to be drenching so much.

Decompressing was all I've done this weekend, and it wasn't working, not a shred was. A trip to Jericho didn't suffice, nor did aiding Eugene with his bees, even with Enid's banters—it all ended with a bittersweet taste on the tip of my tongue.

These things didn't always feel so critical to me, not after defeating Crackstone. This extends beyond that, that I required a departure, for no more than a single night. It was all too ineffable, too complex.

I took ahold of my sweater, not sparing any glances on the confused looks thrown at me. All sensations merged into a formless mist, I didn't care what they'd told me before I had closed the door, about my safety, was it?

Death trembles in my presence.

Somehow, a part of me was torn away from me the night I defeated Crackstone. And it eludes my grasp that missing piece that's slowly killing me.

It unsettled me profoundly, vague and smudged, uncertain, like an aspect of my being was divided—slowly succumbing to the depths of hell.

I wasn't aware of my surroundings as I should've been, which resulted in me being in this peculiar encounter.

"What's a girl like you doing here, out in the cold?"

What seemed to be a girl my age—too nosy for her own good, stood tall and mighty by the tree's branch, clothing all in pitch black. It peaked my interest on how out of the ordinary this interaction is. It's uncanny, as though this experience echoes a distant reverie. But, that interest didn't linger much further, the girl looked harmless after all. I scoffed and turned to leave to take another route away from this girl, not one bit was I threatened nor invested by some lunatic perched atop a tree's log.

"Hey, I asked you a question."

"My presence here is entirely unrelated to you." Letting out an annoyed huff, I exhaled sharply in irritation. "At least share your name with me?" I don't need to double-take, her voice was devoid of warmth, at that I almost pitied her.

Almost.

So much for a night stroll.

_

"Wednesday, where have you been?! We were worried sick!"

I hum, not daring to spare them even just an ounce of an empathetic glance. "You could've been really hurt back there." Enid presses while trying to make eye contact with me, failing miserably. "I don't need you mothering me, Sinclair. I possess the ability to manage independently."

I huffed in annoyance, how come I've defeated Crackstone and still have worried remarks thrown my way? I am an Addams.

"We're just looking out for you. You haven't been yourself lately, you've been brooding and grumpy at everything, every time! And that's a bad thing, for me and Thing, at least.. As your roomie slash bestie, I'll be on edge. Let me care for you, Wednesday."

Exhausting, each day mirrored the one before, an endless repetition. I thrived for the thrill of mystery and gore, now I rot in my room thinking I could solve everything all in one night, it's so blood curling as I appear unable to make any meaningful advancements.

Now all I want to do is leave this wretched town and never come back, ever again.

"If you'd thought of caring for me for a minute, I would prefer if you stopped reiterating the same concerns, it's infuriating me." Stepping away from Enid, I took off my sweater and placed it somewhere on my bed that I didn't care enough to look, then groggily made my way to my desk.

"Wed—!"

"It's my writing time, silence would much be preferred at the moment." I still devoted myself into my writing time, even when I've had my time today, I still had this itch to write more, to express everything all over again.

I heard Enid huff and puff while fixing herself to her bed, I quietly sighed as I began typing away from the essence of existence, onto the vision I've created.

_

Time seemed to be keen on agitating me every passing second, it was like watching paint dry and my patience were gnawing thin.

I wasn't always favourable of learning something in class that I already knew the answers to, what I needed was to explore myself more, every inch and ounce of emotion radiating off of me was becoming unbearable.

Whilst the forest became some place I tend to visit often, I can't help but feel a sense that I was being watched every time I step foot in that godforsaken woodland. I was too guarded not to notice, but why was it that I felt wary when in results I'd see nothing out of the ordinary.

Each night afforded me the opportunity for reflection, it was all in the grasp of my hands, however tonight, I was unable to fully analyse my thoughts, something was pulling me back. Perhaps it was the lack of emotion on putting up with the people that shows that they care about me. That somehow, they hoped in someway, I changed.

Tonight, is different. The moon's gleaming light, the wind's embrace, all seen and felt in one night. While the wolves howled and growled, with the owls coos and the leaves' soft rustling.

I felt indifferent, but that didn't last, an unsettling emotion inside of me growing at a pace I can't keep up with.

Werewolves.

Unfortunately, I failed to register it sooner. Tonight's full moon.

However, before I could turn and break into a sprint, a werewolf twice my size gallops right in front of me, its razor-sharp teeth glossing, waiting to gnaw at something.

Not a minute to waste, the howler lunged itself towards me, but before it could've marked it's territory with mauling me to death, a figure appeared right at the last second, then I felt myself being lifted up from the scene unfolding.

The scent of my saviour, the caress of their hair down to my neck. My eyes sealed shut as I felt a soft impact with the ground, which, not at all felt like the ground.

"You can open your eyes now." Their voice sounds... familiar?

I made a sharp sudden glance, tilting my head lightly, it was that girl. And, against all odds, we were lodged high in the branches of a tree. I stepped to the side and held on the tree with my right hand for support.

She lets go of me and cheekily smiles at me, she was taller than I anticipated. "You're welcome."

"I had no intention of inquiring about your rescue." I say with a huff. And suddenly, the realization finally struck. "You. You've been the one stalking me like some madman, weren't you?"

She hummed with amusement and enthusiasm, "Mhm! And I'm glad I did, you should be glad too—"

"Get me down. Now." Initially, I would've been curious to how we got into such a position, but it died down quickly realising how childish this psycho actually is.

She took ahold of both my wrist and led them to grab onto her shoulders, her hands finding it's way onto my hips, but before I could protest, I felt a gush of wind suddenly making me hold onto her tighter.

Perhaps it was the dark that really blinded me to who or what was in front of me.

She looked...

"You're surprisingly weightless.. You.. can let go now."

I cleared my throat and jolted away from the feathered girl, she had gloves on—almost seemed as if she didn't plan on having much contact with anybody.

She looked rather divine under the moon's gaze if you'd really give the time to view such-

"Do you, uhm... want me to accompany you back?"

I lightly huffed, seeing how nervous she seemed, says so much.

How coy, with what seemed like a winged beast however, only merely a voice soft as a whisper, like a shadow that invites the chase.

But I showed no interest, I spun my heel, quietly but quickly making my way back in the school grounds.

I hear soft crunches of leaves trailing behind me. "You know, it's impolite to have a girl ask questions and not be answered a second time."

"I've been made aware." I shiver from the cold breeze, gritting my teeth as I shove my hands into my hoodie's pockets. I feel a presence, or rather a wing luming over me. I furrowed my brows as I turned my head towards the girl.

"You're cold, are you not? The heat of my wings can help you." She lightly says, with her hands tucked away from behind her.

"I'm Y/N by the way."

I wanted to be cautious and guarded, I did. But, maybe this was something, for a moment that could help me feel at ease, that didn't immediately send me spiraling.

I felt my lips, faintly upturn. And this time, I didn't try to stop it.

. . .

Much to my demise, I find myself intrigued and rather impatient. That I had the need to get into that woodland again. To see that dreadwing.

But to my dismay, I didn't feel any eyes luming over me. A possibility, she may have finally found the forest depressing and uninteresting.

I decided to walk around the woods, to seek out answers and to loosen up. Yet, in the past hour, I have been reduced to nothing but unease and clammy hands.

Whatever parasite that's crawling in my skin right now is, I'm finding it unpleasant. I express this with the utmost conviction.

The walk back to the school grounds felt heavy, and wet, considering the weather wasn't too favourable of me tonight. I huffed as I felt my soggy socks up to my core, to my teeth.

I feel agitated, about everything. And my clothes sticking too much into me isn't helping.

It only took a mere sharp turn for me to start erupting, an obnoxious outcast is in my way.

I let out a grunt, as I was taken aback.

"I urge you to move, you imbecile." I grumbled out and heaved while I shut my eyes, I couldn't grasp what was tormenting me. It's too cold out, thus I couldn't think with precision. I scoffed, ready to snark out petty remarks, but..

There Y/N was, in a black and white nevermore uniform much like mine with her black silked gloves on, her brows furrowed, her black flowy wings twitching subtly, as if dumbfounded she'd met me this way.

Why is she in a nevermore uniform?

"You attend Nevermore?"

I stood, stunned. Mistakenly asking without the intention of actually knowing if she does or not.

Like a child who just got offered candy, her eyes lit up, seemingly excited somebody's finally asked her.

She hummed and nodded in agreement. "I just enrolled, someone showed me around, and! while I wore my uniform! looks good doesn't it?"

"Morbid."

"You say that like we aren't wearing the same ones."

Rolling my eyes, I sighed and continued my walk to my dormitory, leaving the dumbfounded girl alone, while my chest caved in as my heart wrenched itself free.

I am experiencing heightened emotions, perhaps it was the weather with its frivolity, and these obnoxious clothes embedding itself on me.

_

The next day didn't guarantee that undying pleased emotion that bugged me the moment my eyes opened. If anything, it's intolerably provoking.

There that walking bird was, walting through the door whilst the class was just about to start, the way these misfits didn't dare miss a second to gawk. As if, profane and profuse envy.

Perhaps resentment, with the way her wings perfectly harmonise every aspect of her being, who wouldn't envy such wings? Desires dressed in bitterness.

"Is this seat taken?"

I lightly tilted my head towards her, a piercing look staring right at her. But, she didn't seem fazed, I scoffed and turned my attention back to my textbook, hearing the girl softly titter, and the chair beside me scraping.

Throughout the lesson, I couldn't help but inspect her further from my visual periphery, with the sound of her feathers lightly ruffling, how her finger taps impatiently on the desk, how her eyes roam through every bit and particle in the room, how her skin looked so fascinatingly soft and smooth-

"Hey, can you teach me more about botany after class ends?"

I subtly shook my head, my wandering mind leaving a shiver to my nape.

I readjust on my seat, while I feel eyes lingering on me.

"No."

My brows twitched in amusement, and my lips itching to let out a sigh. On my peripheral vision, she wore the expression of a puppy caught mid-mischief, scolded but still stubborn.

Class ended, but this bird didn't seem to take the hint.

"Come on, please? You're the only person I know here! And I-"

"Would you just still your tongue." I grumbled out such displeasure. I always take into account of the times I've been in a moment of dissatisfaction, but this was breaking my sanity, too much.

_

Things were a little under the weather for Wednesday, it had been a week since you had asked her for botany notes and such.

After you asked, you didn't bother asking again, instead, you began asking Bianca Barclay herself, asked if she had extra time for tutoring you. And that's what set Wednesday ablaze.

She disliked every passing second she'd seen you with Bianca, laughing and giggling, walking to class together. She didn't understand how one mere tutor could lead to that. She loathed it.

"Howdy Roomie!" Enid skips and squeaks while calling out for Wednesday, the raven haired girl only letting out a grumble.

"Well someone here woke up on the wrong side of the bed, what's got your mind tied up in a knot?" She snickers while already knowing the answer. "Hmm, maybe a certain black winged beaut can help you out?—"

"You clearly don't know what you're saying. I'm fine, and I don't need anybody's help."

No. She didn't take a tolerable liking towards you, not ever.

"Fine, just don't say I didn't tell you so!"

Before Wednesday quipped a remark, Enid's already strutted herself away from her. She scoffed and began turning to leave, but abruptly halts when she hears you laughing just inches away from her, she glances up and sees you with that loathsome siren. Again.

The ache in her heart couldn't find the reason why. Why every time you pass by her with your welcoming grin would send her knees to buckle, why each time you tear your lingering gaze away from her and towards that siren, the smug look she receives from Barclay without fail, makes her blood curl. The way Bianca swiftly hooks her hand to your forearm, taunting her, ridiculously excruciating—due to the fact that you didn't give enough effort to push her away.

Well that was what Wednesday felt, yet she didn't dare speak a word.

Yet, your concerned gaze goes unnoticed by the Addams. Too busy understanding something much more complex, some thing she wants to annihilate to bits.

______+______

A/N: not proofread idk im too lazy and its too long, deleting ts if i can't get a second or even a third part out LMAOO ts hs been in my drafts for MONTHS.

[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

[koyagifs]

could u make a part two of cruel summer where yn dies with her beloved yunho by her side and the aftermath of yeosang and the girl finding out through yunho that they killed yn? im sorry if it’s too much to ask i just really love tragic soulmates with bad ending stories <3

i miss you, i'm sorry

pairing:: yunho x reader x yeosang au:: soul mate | genre:: angst with no comfort synopsis:: august came and went, leaving behind a bitterness that followed yunho. word count :: 1.8k warning(s):: mentions of hospital, death. altercation between yunho and yeosang.

Yunho stared at the grave, the wind lashing against him like punishment, as if the world itself couldn’t bear the weight of what it had taken. His jaw trembled, his fists clenched at his sides, and still he refused to let the tears fall — not yet.

Time had been so cruel. So unforgiving.

It gave him just enough. Just enough time to fall deeper. Just enough time to imagine a future. Just enough time to lose it all.

You deserved more. More than a borrowed summer. More than fleeting warmth after all the heartache you'd endured. He had wanted to give you everything — peace, love, the kind of happiness you used to speak about when you were still hopeful.

And now, all he had left was silence.

He crouched down, his fingers tracing your name carved into the cold stone. The ache in his chest hadn’t dulled since the day he watched you close your eyes for the last time.

“I hope… wherever you are, you finally feel free,” he whispered. “I hope it doesn't hurt anymore.”

His tears finally fell, quiet and unrelenting. Because the world kept moving — but his had stopped with you.

-

Yunho wanted nothing more than to disappear. To melt into the background, to vanish from the suffocating room filled with congratulations and champagne flutes.

He only came because Mingi had dragged him out, insisting the fresh air would do him some good. “You’ve been cooped up too long,” he had said. “Just one night out, for me.”

At first, Yunho agreed. He thought maybe being around people again would ease the heavy ache in his chest. But Mingi had conveniently left out the most important detail — that the outing was actually Yeosang’s engagement party.

Now, Yunho sat on the edge of the plush couch, his jaw tight, fists clenched against his knees. Rage, hot and bitter, burned in his stomach as he watched Yeosang smile across the room, his arm around his fiancée, the picture of contentment. The same man who had once turned his back on the girl Yunho loved more than life itself.

Mingi, sensing the shift in him, tried to keep him grounded, talking about anything and everything — the food, the music, the weather — but Yunho could barely hear it over the roar in his ears.

This was the man who made her feel like she wasn’t enough.

This was the man who walked away while she was dying.

And now he got to smile like he hadn't shattered something beautiful.

Yunho swallowed hard, standing up abruptly.

“I need air,” he muttered.

Mingi reached for him but paused when he saw Yunho’s expression — tightly wound pain masked with barely-contained fury.

“Yunho—”

“I’m going outside,” Yunho said, his voice sharp and clipped. “Don’t follow me.”

Mingi gulped, leaning back into the couch with an awkward chuckle as Yeosang shot him a questioning glance. Before anyone could say more, Yeosang’s fiancée stood, placing a gentle hand on Yeosang’s arm.

“I’ll be right back,” she said quietly, and without waiting for a response, followed Yunho out the door.

The sound of it closing behind her made Yunho sigh, already frustrated. “Mingi, I told you not to—”

“Hi,” a soft voice interrupted.

Yunho turned slowly, his jaw tight. She was standing there, smiling—too sweetly, too casually for someone who had no idea of the weight she carried.

His entire body stiffened. The sight of her—the woman Yeosang had chosen—only stirred the fury that had been simmering beneath the surface.

He didn’t smile back. He didn’t speak.

He just stared, and with every second that passed, the anger in his eyes grew darker.

“I feel like we got off on the wrong foot—”

“We didn’t,” he cut her off coldly.

She let out a small scoff. “Look, I’m trying to be nice and you just—”

“I don’t care,” he snapped. “So fuck off.”

She scoffed, shoving Yunho away before storming back inside. Yunho didn’t follow—not at first. He stood there, jaw clenched, breathing hard. But when he finally stepped back in, it was only to grab his keys.

The sound of her muffled crying hit him like a slap. She was already in Yeosang’s arms, her voice cracking as she tried to explain. Confusion spread across the room like wildfire—eyes turning, whispers rising.

Then Yeosang turned, fury written across his face.

“What the fuck is your problem, Yunho?” he barked, marching up before shoving him hard.

Yunho stumbled back a step, then shoved Yeosang right back—harder. Yeosang staggered, and San and Wooyoung surged forward to catch him.

“My problem?” Yunho spat, voice breaking with rage. Angry tears welled in his eyes, burning hot as they slipped down his cheeks.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa were instantly between them, hands up, trying to hold the space. Mingi clung to Yunho’s arm, trying to pull him back, but Yunho jerked away.

“My problem is you,” Yunho growled, staring Yeosang down. “You fucking killed her. You killed her and now you stand here, throwing parties and pretending like nothing happened. Like you're not the reason she died.”

The room fell silent, the air sucked out completely.

“You left her when she needed you the most,” Yunho hissed, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. “And now you get to move on like she never existed? Like she meant nothing? Fuck that. Fuck you.”

Yeosang’s face drained of color, his grip tightening protectively on his fiancée’s arm.

“Kill her?” Hongjoong asked cautiously, stepping forward, his voice low in an attempt to defuse the tension. “Yunho, what are you talking about?”

Yunho’s eyes didn’t leave Yeosang. “Should I tell them, or will you?” he asked coldly.

Yeosang looked away, shame flickering across his face. He turned slightly as if to walk off, but Yunho wasn’t going to let him escape this time.

Without hesitation, Yunho’s fist flew through the air, slamming into Yeosang’s jaw with a sickening crack.

A collective gasp rippled through the room as Yeosang stumbled back, crashing to the floor.

The room froze.

Yeosang lay on the ground, stunned, his lip split and bleeding. Gasps echoed from every corner of the room, but no one moved—no one dared. Yunho stood over him, chest heaving, eyes blazing with betrayal and grief.

“Yunho!” Mingi shouted, grabbing his arm, but Yunho yanked it free.

"You don't get to walk away from this," Yunho seethed, staring down at Yeosang, who slowly sat up, wiping the blood from his mouth. “Not when she died thinking you hated her. Not when you ignored every cry for help.”

"Yunho, stop—" Seonghwa stepped forward, but Yunho wasn’t finished.

“You want to play house? Throw parties? Smile for pictures? Fine. But don’t you dare act like you're innocent.”

Yeosang finally looked up at him. “You think I don’t feel guilty?”

Yunho laughed bitterly. “You feel guilty? She died because she thought you didn’t love her anymore. She wrote you a letter, Yeosang. She apologized for being your soulmate.”

That landed heavier than the punch. Yeosang’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Yunho shook his head, tears falling freely now. “You should’ve been the one in that hospital bed. Not her.”

And with that, he turned and walked out the door, slamming it behind him—leaving a room full of stunned silence and one broken man on the floor.

Yeosang held a pack of ice to his swollen lip as the room fell silent, everyone waiting for an explanation. Curiosity buzzed in the air—everyone but Mingi.

“Ready to explain what the hell just happened, or are you going to keep it a secret?” Hongjoong asked, his voice sharp.

Yeosang’s fiancée sighed, breaking the silence. “Yunho said that I killed Yeosang’s soulmate…”

“Yeosang has a soulmate?” San’s eyes widened with surprise and a flicker of hope.

Mingi swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yeosang had a soulmate…”

All eyes locked on Mingi. “What do you mean? You knew?” Wooyoung pressed, stepping closer.

Mingi nodded slowly, pain flickering across his face as Yeosang’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Her name was Yn.”

The boys’ eyes widened, silence hanging heavy for a few moments before Jongho finally broke it. “You don’t mean the same Yn that Yunho’s been crushing on since they met at the opening of his coffee shop?”

“The same Yn that Yunho literally has her order memorized, and it’s in the training manual so when people hear her name, they give her coffee for free,” Seonghwa added.

Mingi and Yeosang exchanged a glance before Yeosang spoke quietly, “Our markings appeared when we first met her a year ago… at the very first hangout.”

“So what the fuck happened then?” Wooyoung demanded.

“That dickhead over here refused to give Yn a chance. Barely acknowledged her. Then Yn got the news that she was dying,” Mingi said, crossing his arms tightly.

“That’s… possible?” Hongjoong asked, his brow furrowed in disbelief.

Mingi nodded slowly. “So Yn, being the sweetheart she is, asked for a chance to be actual soulmates this past summer. First date? Yeosang leaves her alone at the zoo.”

Yeosang shot a sharp glare at Mingi. “How the fuck do you know this?”

Mingi met his gaze evenly. “Yunho’s my best friend. Who else would he vent to?”

Yeosang stayed silent, shifting the ice pack against his lip as he scooted closer to his fiancée.

Mingi cleared his throat, his voice low but steady. “After some convincing, Yn finally gave up on Yeosang. Yunho and her dated for maybe a month before she was admitted to the hospital. They told her she had until August.”

Everyone fell silent, the weight of Mingi’s words hanging heavily in the air.

“She died just last week...” Mingi said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. Then, without another word, he turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind him.

Yunho lay on his bed, face streaked with dried tears, his arms wrapped tightly around an old sweater you used to wear. The fabric was worn, edges fraying, but your scent still clung to it — warm, familiar, achingly comforting.

A whimper escaped him, raw and quiet, before his shoulders began to shake uncontrollably. The pain he had been holding back for days — maybe even weeks — spilled out in broken sobs as he clutched the sweater tighter to his chest.

It wasn’t just grief. It was guilt. Regret. Love. All of it tangled into one unbearable knot that he couldn’t untie.

“I was supposed to protect you,” he choked out, tears wetting the fabric. “I should’ve done more… I should’ve—”

But there were no answers. No second chances. Just a cold room, an old sweater, and a memory he could never hold again.

taglist: @soso59love-blog @yeosionist @bbokarismeow

[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

[angeliteeyes]

Hi im the one who asked for the astral express reader x kafka fic xd. Ive come to ask for more its thats fine by you

Imagine like, trying to sneak her up on the express but reader sucks at lying so their just smiling and giggling while trying to make excuses.

But yeah take all the time you need, i really enjoy x reader fics when they put some focus on comedy and i think you really nailed it xd

Thanks in advance if you end up taking this request :D

Hello again, nice to hear from you!!! Aww thank you so much, I tried my best with that one to match the request's vibe lol. Here u go!

Kafka x Astral Express Reader - Sneaking Her Aboard

-> First Kafka x AE Reader fic here

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

"Kafkaaaaa, I haven't seen you in so long! I get that we were busy with all the Xianzhou stuff, but still..." Your voice whined into your phone's microphone, earning a soft chuckle from her. After she disappeared on you last time, your poor heart couldn't help but yearn to see her once again. Her warm voice tore you out of your thoughts.

"Darling, if you miss me that much, why don't I come over?"

Your face scrunched a little. "You mean like, come over come over? Not go-on-a-date over, actually getting on the Express?" The idea made your heart feel fuzzy. Sure, you'd been together plenty of times before, but... with the strained relationship between the Stellaron Hunters and the Astral Express, you hadn't dared bring her aboard. At least not until today.

"Sure, as long as you'll help me. You will, won't you?" Even with no visuals, you could still hear her scheming smirk loud and clear; of course, you answered it with one of your own.

"Count me in."

*

Thank the Aeons Pompom was busy cleaning around the opposite end of the vehicle. You'd already managed to bump into an embarrassing amount of corners on your way back into the Express, to the amusement of your stylish stowaway.

"You always this clumsy, dear?" She whispered into your ear from behind, forcing your already rosy cheeks to flush an even deeper hue. Just as you started to shush her, a familiar-sounding set of heels clicking rapidly caught your attention, forcing you to switch gears. Ugh, those have to be Himeko's. Why'd she have to come out now of all times?

"Crap—Kafka, you have to hide. Hurry!" You hissed at her, but... No way. She's laughing. You're about to be strangled to death by Himeko as punishment for sneaking Kafka in, and she's laughing. Wowwwwww.

"You can't be serious right now... Ugh, just go—uh, behind there!" Before she could make any snide comments, you hurriedly shoved her down to the ground behind a booth-style structure. Just in time too, apparently, based on the way Himeko's footsteps grew louder and louder with each passing second. You barely were even given a chance to check whether Kafka was properly hidden or not before heels clicking turned to silence.

"And what exactly are you doing up so late? I already told you that we need to be up and ready to go early tomorrow." As your eyes met Himeko's disapproving glare, a nervous grin swept across your face. In normal circumstances, she wouldn't intimidate you quite this much, but... well, you've seen the way her posture shifts around your partner. Not to mention the bitterness etched into each of their conversations (although, it's nothing compared to the flavor of her infamous coffee).

"Oh uh, heh... sorry about that. I just got um... thirsty?" You rubbed the back of your neck. She continued to stare at you, unamused.

"Right. Which is why your hands are completely empty, even though you're heading back to your room. Care to explain that?" She crossed her arms.

Huh. Maybe you should've sat with that idea a little longer.

"Um... Oh wait, I could've just drank it all back in the kitchen! See, Himeko, you have nothing to worry about." Your grin beamed at her as a surge of pride coursed through you. Good thinking, you.

"Hm, so you're saying you could've. Is that correct?"

Weird question, but you couldn't let your confidence waver now. "Mhm!"

"Which means you didn't actually do that."

A still silence permeated the air as your brain took some time to process the meaning behind her words. Nothing you said seemed wrong to you, but she clearly caught you somehow—

Oh. Oh. Yeah, you messed up for sure. Apparently seeing that your brain had finally caught up to the current situation, Himeko sighed.

"Look, just tell me what you're hiding. It'll make things easier for the both of us." Her eyes seemed to land longingly on a part of the kitchen. If you recall correctly, right where her line of sight is should be her... coffee machine, you think. "Well, what is it?"

Your feet shifted back and forth a little. "It's... Kafka."

"Excuse me?" Himeko turned to you in disbelief, clearly not having been expecting that as your response. Behind you, the sound of fabrics rustling together echoed out, indicating said stowaway's change to a standing position. A wave of tension rushed through the air between them, albeit a rather one-sided version—made clear by Kafka's carefree expression.

"Long time no see, Himeko. Did you miss me?" Her remark earned an eyeroll from the other woman.

"As if." She grimaced while motioning a hand over her forehead, pondering for a few moments. Her gaze moved between the two of you lovebirds back and forth before ultimately settling on you. With a heavy coating of reluctance, she opened her mouth. "I can't believe I'm letting you get away with this. Just... promise me you won't do anything else stupid tonight. And you" — she glared at Kafka — "don't you dare take advantage of this for any of your Stellaron Hunter schemes.

Kafka raised her palms in the air. "You don't have to worry about me. I've already got my hands full with this one right here." She winked at you, as if she hadn't just tried to get you in trouble earlier. Still, you couldn't stay mad for long with how much excitement was fluttering around in your stomach.

The two of you leaned into each other as you watched Himeko saunter off towards the kitchen, leaving you two behind to bask in each other's company. It wasn't long before your body began to sink into her warmth more deeply.

"I'm still annoyed at you for earlier, y'know." She laughed softly, all the while guiding you over to your room with gentle hands.

"Sorry darling, you're just so fun to play around with. I can make it up to you if you want."

You pouted at her. "And how're you planning to do that?"

But you didn't really have to ask. After being together for so long, even without saying a word, it was obvious to both of you what that sentence sparked in your minds. As your hands interlocked, you mused; maybe you could forgive her, just this once.

[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?”

[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.

-

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[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.

[traiaadd156]

Small blurb of somethin'

Yan!Reader trying to convince(gaslight)yan! Damian.

But his pov💅✨

Try to find which one is more manipulative!(⁠^⁠^⁠)

Nah but frl Im just doing this for my own want bc there is nothing to do😢 and reader has a power(that vamp thing from my other fic)

Warnings!; violence(typical), blood, yan!reader trying to act nonchalant😔, damian isnt aged up in this ver, fluff, gaslighting/coaxing, CRINGE DIALOG!, damian thinking its probly just girl stuff(and also damian forcing to knock out reader) very sweet couple moments, gross sad reader, sassy damian, insecure reader

"I am the only friend you need." You said to him one randomly while cuddling with him in his room(which you broke into but he stopped caring when it kept happening for a month, still grumbles about it but doesnt really lock his windows anymore because of it.)

"but I dont have any friends." He just threw at you casually which confused you, seeing as your head tilted her head to him like some confused dog. "Why? Isnt jon your friend??" Suddenly asking, he was but he knew well.

"do you see him as a threat to us?" Well that made you pause for a moment, not really... He doesnt like damian and from what you heard last time he already has a boyfriend. Letting out a soft sigh, damian has a point, it seems like he always does which somewhat annoyed you. "No... Not really. But why wouldnt people be your friend? Your so kind, rich, handsome, smart, talented and giving—"

But before you could rant further his finger pressed your lips. "To you I am, to you I'm kind and all the things you see that others don't." He said matter of factly, making you scoff. How dare he insinuate you arent stating the obvious! Thats when he added. "But your still right about the wealthy, handsome, smart and talented part." A haughty sarcastic smile twitching on his face making you glare.

There was that familiar sass you knew.

But it all wasnt cuddles and banter, sometimes you got to way ahead of yourself and him. But it is for him, there isnt any reason besides securing your place in his heart, it felt like you werent doing enough.

It repeated in your head as you chopped the limbs off and put it in a bag, sure you were done bleeding them out so it wouldnt smell so bad or weigh so much but that wasn't what you're worried about!

Biting the skin of your lips after wrapping the smaller parts in plastic before putting them in a paint can, you had been in your bathroom for so long— your parents were away so it was the perfect timing.

But why her!?

A week you werent keeping an eye on him and then BOOM! Some random blondie who was wayy too close for comfort. Having seen him in the library sitting together, you wanted to surprise him with a key chain you made of him and you.

It wasnt how different she was from you or how prettier she was, it was that pit in your stomach telling you that you werent enough for him. Damian wayne.

I mean who are you kidding?!

You were a nobody before meeting him, the way you finally got out of your way to be social and know and befriend people to keep tabs in different perspectives. he was everything. And you it was a little laughable how pathetic you were at times; killing the girl out of your own bitter jealousy was the lowest you have ever been.

Degrading thoughts spew as did your paranoia, but at least that girl was here on your tub where she wouldnt try to seduce him.

That fucking succubi deserved this!

Your teeth had gritted, not realizing he was inside your apartment whilst you were in the bathroom scrubbing away and pouring bleach and vinegar to mask the stench of death and blood.

He was getting a little antsy, you hadnt replied to any of his messages since yesterday, what the hell are you even doing? How dare you ignore him. Was he even something relevant? But no answer when he called.

He cursed after waiting for the clock to strike where he usually ends patrol, itching to go back to your house to confront you on why the heck you were ghosting him suddenly.

Well he was never the most patient man out there.

But he was loyal and caring.

In his sick way.

Thats what you loved so much about him.

He hadnt panicked when he saw you, stuffing her body in plastic like a meat store. You both had a hushed argument as he didnt even bother to look and kept going back and forth with you.

"you promised! You promised no more killings!" He was practically fuming, his eyes were probably blood shot with how angry at was right now, not just because you broke your promise on killing people but also now dont know where the hell to bury this person!

"I did it all for you! And why were you with this chick when I was gone for just ONE WEEK!" it was clear you were freaking out, how your voice rose and how you hit his chest when he grabbed into an embrace. Or what you thought—

"your such an ass hole–" muttering, something soft pricking the back of your neck. Instantly your body felt heavier and your breathing laboured. Was it poison?? Taking the small dart out from where he plucked.

"what are you–" he shushed you, dragging you away from the scene after taking off your gloves and carrying you back to bed.

"your an insolent brat," he scolded your unconscious body before adding. "Now I have to get rid of this, I cant risk you being caught with your own incompetency." His voice sneered with venom, a hidden care within his words if you were still ever awake.

So with that he left, in a car he had and how he had to get rid of the evidence somehow; he did know the ups and downs, the garbage incinerator will do just fine then.

He didnt flinch when having to see blood again, but he did feel guilty for letting some poor girl die because of your jealousy, but then again he also would never think to report.

It's just one girl.

He wouldnt let it happen again if he could, besides it was better than last year.

It feels like I made my own personal brain rott with how my head hurts making this but the saga must go on😭

[stargrillzz]

I hate u (but not really)

summary: She’s impulsive. He’s impossible. Teamed up on missions and constantly at each other’s throats, they’d rather fight than cooperate.

note: Im telling u, this is gonna be a series, and it’s gonna be THE BEST, ok maybe not but still kinda good. (plus, i had to edit this in my phone so if titles or shit like that are not aligned or well situated it’s bc I cannot make it any better on my phone, sorry!).xoxo

Chapter I - Chapter II - Chapter III - Chapter IV

Too young, too bitter (chapter I)

mission gone wrong, obviously his fault

“You want me to follow him?” you ask, deadpan, staring at the glowing mission tablet in your hands. “You’re joking.”

“Nope,” Natasha replies without looking up from her gear bag. “You’re on recon with Barnes. Sam and I take the northern perimeter. Steve’s running point with Wanda.”

You glance across the hangar. Bucky stands at the Quinjet, arms crossed, looking like someone just asked him to eat a salad for breakfast.

“Can’t I just—switch with Sam or something?” you plead. “I’d rather spend two hours listening to Tony explain quantum physics in Klingon than spend one more minute with his cranky ass.”

From across the hangar, Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You know I can hear you, right?”

You don’t even flinch. “Good.”

He scoffs and turns back to the Quinjet. You groan.

Later, high above the city skyline, the two of you move through the crumbling remains of an abandoned HYDRA base. You’re nimble, fast, clearing rooms ahead of him like a blur.

“You going to keep rushing ahead like a toddler on Red Bull?” Bucky mutters through comms.

“You going to keep walking like your hips are made of rust and regret?” you shoot back.

“Maybe if someone followed the damn plan—”

“Maybe if someone updated their attitude post-WWII—”

“Guys,” Natasha cuts in over comms. “Shut up.”

You both go silent.

But it doesn’t last.

In one of the darker corridors, a security turret snaps to life.

You dodge. Bucky shoots. It barely misses your shoulder.

“Are you trying to kill me?” you snap, panting behind cover.

“You jumped in front of my shot!”

“I moved like a normal person. You aimed like my grandma.”

His voice comes through low and annoyed: “If you’d stop acting like a reckless kid—”

“And if you’d stop acting like every decision is life or death, maybe we wouldn’t be stuck in this eternal pissing contest!”

There’s a pause.

“Is that what this is? A contest?” he says, dryly.

“No,” you reply, stepping out from cover, voice icy. “Because I’m already winning.”

cold war (a.k.a the pettiest show on Earth)

Back at the tower, your feud reaches a level of childish few Avengers have witnessed before.

The thermostat war begins Monday.

You like the lounge at a cool 21°C. Bucky, the 106-year-old relic of a man, insists on setting it to an unholy 25. You start changing it every time he leaves the room. He starts locking the settings.

You hack it.

He disconnects it from the Wi-Fi.

You tape a printed photo of yourself next to the controls flipping the bird with a sticky note: "This war is mine."

Tuesday, you label everything in the fridge.

Not just your food. Everything.

"YOGURT — NOT BUCKY'S"

"JUICE — MINE. NOT GRUMPY GHOST VETERAN'S."

"LEFTOVER PASTA — TOUCHED BY ME. HOPE YOU LIKE GERMS."

The next day, your stash is replaced with MREs and a Post-it that just says “Try being less annoying.”

You leave his arm polish in the freezer.

He doesn’t speak to you for two days.

things (almost) gets physical

You’re sparring in the gym. Steve pairs you up intentionally, everyone in the tower Stark can’t take anymore you two fighting and failing on missions all the time.

You glare at Bucky from across the mat. He rolls his eyes.

"You know, we could skip this,” he mutters, rolling his shoulder.

“What, afraid I’ll kick your ass?” you ask sweetly.

“I’m afraid I’ll say something you’ll cry about for three hours.”

You lunge. He blocks. You spin and catch him with a leg sweep, sending him stumbling.

He recovers fast, grabs your arm, and flips you—hard. You hit the mat with a dull thud.

“Oops,” he says, smirking.

“You’re such a child,” you hiss, wiping blood from your lip.

“Says the one who labeled her yogurt.”

You go at him again, and this time, your fight looks more like a bar brawl than training. Steve has to physically step between you, catching your wrist mid-swing.

“Okay!” he says, laughing nervously. “Let’s dial it back.”

Bucky huffs and storms off.

You’re left breathless, heart pounding—not just from the fight.

There was a moment in there.

A second where he was above you on the mat, hands gripping your wrists, your faces inches apart, and your pulse jumped for a completely different reason.

You haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

white flag

It’s a week later when you find Bucky alone on the balcony during one of Tony’s ridiculous rooftop parties. Everyone else is drinking and dancing under string lights. He’s nursing a beer, watching the city.

You don’t say anything at first. Just lean next to him, close enough to feel his presence but not close enough to be soft.

He glances at you.

You both sigh at the same time.

“I still think you’re too bitter for your own good,” you say eventually.

He chuckles. “And you’re still an immature pain in my ass.”

You clink your glass against his bottle.

“Glad we understand each other.”

He glances sideways at you, and for the first time, there’s no venom in it.

Just something... complicated.

“You’re not that bad,” he says.

You smirk. “Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

You stand in silence again, this time comfortably. Maybe this cold war isn’t over. But you’ve both stopped firing missiles.

For now.

Would you like a follow-up chapter where all this tension explodes into something more intimate (or romantic), or maybe a scene where they have to pretend to get along during a mission undercover as a couple?