#masked my beloved. the first story is called you had a body)

[throwaway-yandere]

𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 [Yandere!Dottore/Reader]

a/n: this fic is 100% dedicated to @leftdestiny-posts and they would know just how much they had inspired me in this fic once they finished reading it HAHAHAHAH. P.S.: the classical songs mentioned are actual songs. Yes, the title is half a joke. Here's the spotify playlist if you're curious.

Unreliable Synopsis: You cannot remember your past, but your doctor has been with you every step of the way— and he's more than willing to spend some time with you outside the hospital. Still... did you always have pure white hair?

CW: yandere themes, light body horror, manipulation, its dottore, c'mon LOL.

Concert II "Tristezza Di Fine Anno", performed by the Morespoke Philharmonic with their conductor, Lady Columbina, began nearly an hour ago. And you had the fortune of hearing their songs for yourself.

The well-dressed crowd filled the seats, behaving in what was appropriate for their high station. It was fully booked. The music overwhelmingly masked anyone's breaths, if they had one to start with. Her program can be felt deep in the audience's bones. Rattling them in each sforzando before it lulls down through the sound of her handpicked musicians— with Lady Columbina as the lonesome soloist when the moment calls for it.

"This piece, Symphony No. 5 in C-Sharp Minor, is not Columbina's own making, she had failed to mention that," your company hummed. "This was by another composer who hid behind the name Safed. They were a self-fulling prophecy. Do you wish to know what they said about this piece?"

You said nothing as Zandik— Lord Dottore— stroked your unnaturally "white" hair.

"They said that nobody understood the piece and that they wish they could conduct the first performance five centuries after their death."

Zandik smiled.

"What say you? Do you think those words are true?"

Your company was a tall and thin man with artificially pale-ish skin and wavy blue hair. His eyes were reportedly bloodshot crimson, although you had not received proof of that in this lifetime. But, you were drawn to his deep ocean-like colors, and that was enough to keep you mildly complacent to his strange remarks.

Zandik is surprisingly a considerate man, but he must've brought you with him for a reason. He told you himself that the reason he brought you out of your prison-like hospital room was a mere experiment on his behalf. Paradigm-shifting consequences of his strange social experiments with you are likely to occur, and he cares not for its ethical debates. He won't ask for rhetorics; these to him are tangible outcomes and no questions will be entertained.

All except his.

"I think… "

The composition had a serene, slightly asymmetrical feel to it. You were certain this was Lady Columbina's creative liberties at play. Something about it did not capture its true authenticities. The show purported to narrate three stories: the first concerned a judge who had to find a loved one guilty; the second concerned a prince who drove their beloved into despair; and the final was a tale of a knight who disregarded his obligation to defend a loved one.

But it felt incomplete. As if there was a missing piece— a secret fourth act hiding between the notes and stage.

"A person can't completely mourn for something they would never experience," you told him. "But even so, if I were Safed, I'd feel like my effort would've been a waste."

His eyes remained trained on your hair as you spoke. Zandik seems to dislike it. Unlike his cells mixed with engineered nanomaterials, yours are uniquely… "natural". His hair has a color intensity, whereas yours was the presence of every color— as physics explained it.

"Something they would never experience…" Zandik repeated, tasting the words on his tongue— a smirk etched on his face as though it tasted like bitter irony.

You continued.

"I have a hunch that Safed put everything they worked hard on all their pieces because Lady Columbina wouldn't have performed it otherwise. Since all the songs on the concert's program are marketed as underappreciated compositions, I would… um… infer that they also questioned their works and ultimately themselves if it all had worth in the end. Hopeless for the lack of attention, they probably thought there's more hope if they lived in another generation."

You wanted to say, though you're not sure where this negativity came from, that they probably despised how their well-crafted works were ignored and their sloppy yet significantly more popular compositions angered them.

But you're not Safed. You don't want to put words in their mouth.

".... Hmm, an acceptable hypothesis— a decent one, even," whatever monotonous response Zandik wished to convey, his voice betrayed his grand satisfaction. "Yet I won't give you any confirmation."

"I know."

Zandik laughed.

"The next piece is Norn's Adagio for Strings Op. 11, before the closing Symphony No. 6, better known as Pathétique Symphony, in B Minor Op. 74."

You tilted your head innocently. "Pathetic?"

"Another piece by Safed. It's a Fontaine-translated title. It's originally named pateticheskaya, which meant passionate or emotional, not at all pitiable."

He crossed his arms, insulted as though he was the one who came up with the original title.

"Roughly half a millennium past, the masses attributed Safed's demise to the strains of their final composition, the so-called Pathétique, a mere nine days preceding their exit from this mortal coil. The prevailing narrative spouts a tale of a tragic surrender to the clutches of undiagnosed clinical depression. I find such simplicity in analysis rather pedestrian, wouldn't you agree?"

You took a while to process his inquiry before hesitantly nodding.

"I… I think so."

Zandik smiled.

It's hard to tell if it's genuine, especially when such a protruding mask hides his eyes. Should its existence vanish, you aren't certain you'd see a soul within his pupils either.

"Safed hated this piece, believing it should be cast aside and forgotten. They were living in the woodlands when they wrote it— and when they decided to live with their benefactor, it was suddenly difficult to tear them away from their work."

You nodded to cue that you were still listening.

"They have an incredibly deep connection with their works. One might say they see in tunes rather than color."

You nodded again.

"Your inclination towards a perpetual affirmation of propositions, presumably to veil any potential lacunae in your cognitive purview, does not escape me. It is, if I may be so bold, your agreement that conceals your specter of unfamiliarity, right?"

You rarely understand a word he says when he is in this passionate state. You just nod as if you knew.

"Adorable," Zandik chuckled.

His voice was chillingly low yet… comforting. 

"Your sincerity constitutes an enchanting facet of your comportment."

He had to be teasing you.

"Although…" Zandik grabbed a few locks of your hair as though it was slimy and unpleasant— quickly retracting them with a disapproving tilt. "You could stand to utilize more (h/c) hair dyes. How is it conceivable that it has returned to white yet again?"

You opened your mouth but Zandik raised a finger.

"No. I am the scholar here. Do not answer."

You giggled. "Understood, Doctor."

He grinned, inadvertently showing off his pointed canines.

"What a good test subject you are, my dear (Y/n)."

Whether good was a subjective or objective assessment or not was up to interpretation.

The mid-concert intermission began, allowing Lady Columbina's pressured musicians a 20-minute sigh of relief. Zandik ushered you to the back where the Lady Harbinger reposed on a white sofa, her cheek brushing a visibly soft and cloud-like pillow. The bright backstage lighting made her seem ethereal.

She looked like heaven, but Zandik would argue that "(Y/n)" is the true epitome of the word.

"Greetings. As expected, you'd initiate conversation at the earliest convenience." She cooed. "You look younger today, Doctor."

"You know very well that I do not take that as a compliment, Columbina." Zandik scoffed. "How many times will we rehearse this canned script until it is a learned lesson?"

"Perhaps it shall end on the day you refrain yourself from recreating… perspectives."

"Since my encounter with the Dendro Archon, I have not revisited that notion."

Columbina's gentle smile dropped coldly. "You know that your segments are not what I am referring to."

You looked back and forth between the two. Each of them was a distinctively unique person and it's a challenge to take your eyes away from the other.

Hence, when you felt Lady Columbina's eyes on you, you shook and straightened yourself before bowing stiffly.

"G-Greetings, Lady Columbina!!!"

Her gentle smile resurfaced.

"Greetings to you as well, dear Safed."

You blinked.

Dottore clicked his tongue, and Columbina laughed softly.

"Apologies, I meant to say (Y/n)— that is the name you go by in this era of humanity, right?"

You'd rightfully claim that between the three of you, you were the most human. Zandik has his clones, Columbina's origins are of strict secrecy, and you are a mere amnesiac patient. But the way she addressed you was sounding awful like stripping you away with that sense of humane identity.

"Yes? I guess?"

Columbina delightedly buzzed in your reply. "(Y/n)— truly a lovely name. That must mean that you're very healthy! It warms my heart to hear that name again. The other ones had terribly dull names, but if the Doctor had given you this title, then it must mean his research is finally drawing to a close."

Her remarks made little sense. You know little about yourself and trust only the Doctor's judgment. Should you trust her words, then it must mean (Y/n) isn't your real name…

But… that doesn't seem right either. 

"Not quite, the name deserves no celebration," Dottore replied happily. "I merely ran out of translations. Bianco, Wit, Bái— what else is there? Ancient Natlan?"

"Scientists truly make for terrible poets— Why not try Inazuman?" Columbina offered.

Those words must have had a heavy weight to them because Zandik pondered for much longer than expected.

"Hmm. I'll keep that in mind," Zandik muttered. "Although it is preferable it does not have to reach that point."

"May I ask why did you bring them here?" Columbina asked.

"It's a bit of an unconventional experiment, but I've been exploring how to elicit positive associations with certain stimuli. Exposing them to music as I accompany them should cause them to associate the emotional response it elicits with being around me." Dottore hummed. "It would be asinine to put them in a chaotic yet controlled environment such as a theme park. While a racing heart may be effective, I shouldn't risk a (Y/n)'s well-being by subjecting them to roller coasters."

"Are you sure you're not the scared one?" You asked cheekily. Zandik rolled his eyes.

She shook her head.

"What a roundabout way of saying you're taking them out on a concert date…"

Columbina looked at you once more.

"Oh, but (Y/n), you appear unwell, my dear…" she pointed at stage left. "Why don't you fix yourself up in the nearest restroom?"

Dottore raised an eyebrow, which made you want to decline Columbina.

"I'm r-really okay, Lady Colum—"

"I insist."

Columbina smiled wider. Her laced mask cast a gloomy shade on her visage.

You had no other choice.

"O… Okay."

The halls that led to the restroom were mostly empty. Perhaps it was due to Lady Columbina's performance that made them patiently await the next song.

But there was one young man you encountered along the way. He had blonde half-way braided hair and purple-ish eyes. You paid him no mind as he circled a small rectangular paper, likely the concert's ticket, between his fingers. However, within a second, that paper vanished.

You stopped in your tracks and looked at him curiously, wondering if your eyes played tricks. He laughed, noting your attention.

"Ah! Sorry," he cheerfully gestured a small wave. "Didn't mean to practice in public."

The blonde man approached you with a smile.

"You're #9805, right?"

Immediately, you both got on the wrong foot.

Your nose scrunched, "I prefer (Y/n)."

The man flinched. "Oh, yikes! I'm not making the best first impression— nice to meet you (Y/n)! I have something for you."

You thought he was handing you his concert ticket for a moment but when you took a good look, it was a grayscale brochure.

And a white tulip…

"Um…"

"Needless to say, I'm something of a—"

"Trickster?"

"Magician, but an astute guess nonetheless!" He laughed sheepishly. "I was waiting for you, I thought you wouldn't go to the restroom."

So, did Lady Columbina plan this?

You caressed the binding and skimmed through the pages. "What's this for?"

"Father said you might be interested in its contents," the young man said. "That's all."

You blinked.

"... Are you saying you missed out most of the concert just to hand me this?"

He laughed awkwardly again. "My dear sister says I have a habit of missing a hint of romanticism when it counts, so I guess today's just one of those moments."

"Did you not like the music?" You scoffed, temper rising.

"Did you hate the composition? Did you not understand the e-emotion behind the chords? Don't you understand just how d-disrespectful that was?!"

"Woah, woah, I didn't say any of that." His eyes widened.

He didn't expect your voice to crack.

"I'm so sorry if you're offended— are you one of the original composers?"

…

You took a deep breath.

… Why were you mad?

… Why did it feel like those songs mean more to you than meets the eye?

"Sorry, I just…" You shook your head. "I guess I'm not feeling well. Oh, no, I'm so SO sorry…"

An unknown part of you thrived to hear him praise the music. That same part pitied the composer who worked day and night to perfect their piece. It's an ugly voice, but it was sincere.

… What was wrong with you? Why did you suddenly lash out? What was going on?

"Oh, well there's no need to be sorry then." The blonde man took his hat off and bowed.

"Farewell, Mx. (Y/n)!" He grinned. "The greatest magician in all Teyvat will take his leave. Thank you for your time!"

With the sway of his dark cape, he disappeared.

You entered the restroom to wash your face. It didn't do much to soothe your nerves. The lingering dread for your strange emotional mood swing remained.

To distract yourself, you read through the article.

The Enigmatic Legacy of Composer Safed

In the annals of musical history, few figures emerge as enigmatic and hauntingly captivating as the orchestral composer, Safed. Born five centuries ago amidst the ancient woodlands of Sumeru, this ethereal musician seemingly materialized from Vanarama with no familial relations.

Huh… So it's about the one who wrote the previous compositions earlier.

No wonder that blonde man asked if you were one of the composers. He was being a smartass.

A Fiery Finale: The Pathétique Symphony

Legend has it that in their final act of emotional expression, Safed penned the "Pathétique Symphony," a composition so emotionally charged that, overwhelmed with disdain for their creation, they purportedly set ablaze their woodland home. Seeking solace and escape, Safed accepted the benevolent offer of a city-dwelling benefactor.

…

…

Safed… burned down their house?

No…

No, that's not how you remembered that.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

That's not what happened. "Safed" didn't burn their house down.

Suddenly, you stilled. Your thoughts ran wild, but your inner rationale tried to force them to a halt. This peak in anxiety did not make sense.

… Why would an amnesiac like you know what happened?

A Swansong: Il Dottore's Beneficence

Their benefactor, now celebrated as our Lord Harbinger, Il Dottore, welcomed Safed into the city's heart. It was here that the truth unfolded: Safed had been grappling with hearing loss for years, an affliction that fueled their artistic brilliance yet cloaked them in a muffled world. They were unaware of their disability, yet thrived in their field.

…

…

Wait…

Before you began to read the final paragraph in Safed's brochure, you hurriedly went back to Dottore and the composer's vintage photographed portraits.

After seeing their face, you dropped the brochure in the restroom's sink.

You saw their face.

You saw YOUR face and Zandik's.

But not quite. That was you, but at the same time, it wasn't. Zandik looked stiff in those photos with "you", likely a product of the time since Kamera photography was used only in rare formalities that required a bit of dress up. But the "you" you saw was sickly way beyond the formal costumes. They had (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair, but yours were all white. 

White…

Safed… That's the Sumeru translation for white, isn't it?

Bianco, Wit, Bái— they're all translations for "white", aren't they? And if Dottore and Columbina's earlier conversations were to go by, the one after you would be named Shiro.

…

The one… after you?

"Tut tut."

You trembled at the familiar sound.

You slowly turned your head around and there he was, leaning against the restroom door.

"You were in the restroom for too long. It appears my suspicions were not unfounded."

Without waiting for a response, he approached with large strides. His gloved hands seized your stressed shoulders. The grip tightened harshly as he forced you to meet his intense gaze. Blood trailed from the corner of your mouth, and your anxiety heightened. He angrily bared his sharp teeth as he watched it stain his gloves.

And yet Zandik looks…

Sad.

And distressed.

He pressed his earpiece.

"Test Subject #9805 exhibits troubling symptoms. Hematemesis suggests a severe physiological response. Persistent manifestations of albinism in ocular and follicular pigmentation indicate underlying deformities. Immediate isolation is warranted for the researcher and subject's well-being."

His hand was cold. Skin imbued with silver nanomaterials after several operations, reminiscent of the age-old philosophical question: "Is it still the same ship if you gradually replace all of its parts?" 

Then Zandik did something unexpected.

He dropped his hold and you prepared yourself by shutting your eyes as he swung his arm.

To hug you.

"I'm sorry, I have failed you again, (Y/n)," Zandik muttered. "I should not have raised my expectations."

"W… What? Why are you putting me in isolation?" You asked, rattled. "What have I done?! I just— I didn't do anything wrong! What did I—"

He shifted, dragging your arm to hug him back as though you were a little girl's doll. Zandik rested his head on your shoulder, shaking slightly.

"In your innocence, no fault lies. I thought I had accomplished what I had set out to do, and met unfulfilled expectations" Zandik gritted his teeth, voice somber. "Despite centuries of refinement, it appears that I still have room for improvement in perfecting the process… I was right. This deserves no celebration."

The doctor laughed sadly.

"When will I ever be proven wrong?" He asked himself as he wiped the blood off the corner of your lips.

He pulled away, pecking your forehead.

"I'm sorry."

Those were not the words you expected from his mouth, and yet you heard it more than once. I'm sorry. It does not fit his character, nor does the tender yet cold hug he had given prior.

You're scared. You're terrified. You know what was bound to come. You know what awaits you. White walls. Silence. Separation.

Solitary.

Far from a choice. Far from negotiable.

There's no amnesty.

And yet, the words flowed from you naturally.

"... I forgive you."

You have no idea why you said what you said. There's no certainty that you believed your own words. Zandik's lip twitched downward.

"You should not," Zandik croaked. "Why? Why must you always forgive and accept my selfishness? Do you derive satisfaction in seeing me in this state?!"

You opened your mouth to answer but were stopped abruptly as he grabbed your hair.

Zandik had always favored you compared to other patients. You know this very well. He's an evil man and the list of actions he had done that had harmed you in the name of science is at least two pages long upon your awakening. Yet, you were sure he liked you enough for he told you of his new exciting experiments. He scolded you when you left his research institute for fresh air. And he would hold your hand whenever you dreaded those thick injections.

You just didn't know he had it in him to fold from his intimidating facade just to kiss you like a desperate man. 

Breathless under his control, he softly pressed his lips against yours. His lips were chapped and cold, and he took you in gently as though he'd break you. Zandik, as strange as it was, still seemed to prioritize your comfort over his needs. Normally, this tension would've made him so short-tempered. But this will be your last interaction. The doctor tasted your blood in his mouth, and he was nauseous at the thought of hurting you more. But he stopped. Even though he wishes to force all his pent-up desires onto you. Even though he wanted to love you thoroughly that you'd forget your name again.

Zandik whimpered quietly as he pulled away— sounding like a dog that would not sleep that night. What was left in between was a thin disappearing line of saliva and blood that quickly broke off.

The doctor should be happy he finally got to have a proper date with you after 9805 failed attempts. 

But he's not content.

He was about to lean in for the second time but stopped himself. Selfish. To think he nearly saw you two finally walking down the aisle. Why was he always so selfish when it came to you? But those rhetorics mattered not in your head.

You were silenced. You were held.

You were loved.

"No." Zandik breathed in, laughing humorlessly. "No— I am the scholar here. Don't answer."

And you will be disposed of.

"Take them away." He spoke to his men calmly. They had entered long enough to witness what he had done. The men did not hesitate to grab you, thinking Dottore thought you no more than a mere toy.

But calm was deceptive. It does not convey the distress that chokes him.

Maybe…

Maybe in the 9806's trial… he'll have you as he always wanted.

The Fatuus that escorted you in was gentle. A silent guide. The expression on her face was clear that she wanted to extend her apologies as well but mustn't.

You already have a white tulip in hand.

Arlecchino already sended her regards in advance.

When she opened the door by tapping a card against the lock, she bowed her head. You let yourself enter without a fight. The room was pure white with the rest of the furniture matching the drapes. But Dottore didn't just provide the necessities. There were books, sketch pads, and other recreational materials.

As you were about to approach the center, something was off on both sides.

You looked to your left.

Two clear mirrors divided your room from the others. There's a sign on the left wall. Code #4135.

You stood, shocked, grieving at the sight of your predecessor. They were a mirror of you but with a different name— and an even worse state.

One had made a slight sound coming off their skin— rotting slightly. There's a tube connected to their mouth and you could see yourself— you could see them dripping. They had your face. Their hair and eyes were white. The nose was gone, leaving a gaping hole. Their neck was cricked back at an unnatural angle. You don't know if they're still breathing. They're still bleeding. They must've bitten off their tongue.

There's a lone white blanket that covers the rest of them.

You think they might be dead.

You think "you" might've died more than once.

THUD!

You jolted at the sound coming from the wall behind you. Upon seeing their body, you froze.

Code #032.

They were but a head. You wish you could only focus on that aspect, but you looked lower and your hair raised. They cannot feel the same, for they were almost only a spine left. The rest of them were their skeletal frame, guided by thin lines one can barely call flesh.

Their head banged against the mirror. The thought that the sound was what made you flinch earlier made you unwell.

They seem to be telling you something. Their breath fogged up the glass and their thinned white hair splayed across your view. Their mouth said something urgently you couldn't comprehend because their tongue was paper-like in size.

#032 was shaking. Their pain grew vivid in every movement that the room was starting to spin. You sensed their turmoil.

They looked like death.

You all looked like death itself, both the pretty and ugly ends of it.

"Don't." You whispered, begging as you knelt to their level. "You don't have to speak."

You laughed deprecatingly.

"We're not the scholar here. He is."

In every syllable, you saw the outline of their esophagus strain. The nerves were blueish purple. The little skin they have left on their cheeks is sunken. Their lips were gnawed, likely as a response to the pain they'd gone through previously. Fists of bone tapped against the glass, and you quivered, imagining their pain.

You were not afraid of them. You only mourned their anguish. In fact, you feel at ease to be in the presence of yourself from the past.

It reminded you of what "Safed" had allegedly spoken years ago.

Nobody understood the pieces you made and you wished you could conduct the first performance five centuries after your first death.

And now, here you are.

Seeing two "people" who do understand you.

And they share your face.

"Pathetically", the only one that can understand you is yourself.

You're all flies trapped in a web that the predator refuses to wrap and consume out of pity. Compared to the others, you looked fine.

But your lungs were blistering.

Despite their deathly ill and mutilated bodies, you were the one bound to die soon enough.

His experiments worked.

You love him.

You love Zandik.

And how tragic it was that the person who learned how to love him was doomed to perish.

In your last minutes, you recalled something vital:

As an outsider, your body was not meant for this world, but after encountering the woodland creatures and Zandik, it became tremendously difficult to part ways with it.

You coughed up yet again with a gentle smile on your face. Maybe you're not dying…

Maybe you're just returning home, for every atom in your multiple bodies was once part of the galaxy.

You are (Y/n) (L/n).

And you were not from Teyvat.

Much like the rest of the descenders, you have a quirk about you that sets you apart from the norm. For the travelers the world reveres today, it was their distinct determination and questionable age that was remarkable. Yours slightly titters to an inhuman level.

You can "clone" yourself.

Zandik and the "original" you wouldn't phrase it in that manner, but it's the easiest way to describe your talents.

"So, it is cloning." Zandik paused. "Mind letting me in on the science behind the process?"

He was an ordinary student when you both met. Far from a doctor, but at least he was a registered scholar in the Akademiya. Zandik didn't have an eloquent tongue as he does in the present, yet his curiosity burned all the same.

Which is why, back then, you thought his questions were cute.

Not dangerous.

"It's not that I can make copies of myself without consequences," you humored with a grin. "I'm just making… fragments of myself. Segments, if you prefer to call it that. It's a common ability for the people back in my world. None of us do it excessively— especially since we're kind of an invasive species." 

Zandik raised an eyebrow, "is that a commendable trait?"

"My kind says so. Whether good is a subjective or objective assessment or not is up to interpretation." You answered noncommittedly. "I don't think that's right. Our soul splits apart until we're just… empty. We lose some memories in the process."

"But functioning?"

"In a sense, yeah, but we lose a part of ourselves like memories and well, hair color, I guess." You nodded. "Why are you so curious?"

"Since you have rejected my confession, I want to try my hand at seducing a copy of yours instead," Zandik said. You couldn't tell whether he was joking with his naturally piercing red eyes. "Until then, you are not allowed to asexually reproduce without my authorization. Understood?"

You laughed. Unaware of his arsonist crimes, you willingly indulged his words.

"I owe you my ears, so it's only right that I'll listen to your commands, Zandik."

"Good." Zandik grinned, shark-like.

"What a good test subject you are, (Y/n)."

Centuries later, that closing sentence will continue to remain true.

Since then, his life has changed. Multiplied, even. Upon studying your genetic makeup, he found ways to duplicate himself as well. Despite his feats in science, Zandik remained unhappy.

Deep down, all the Harbingers pity the Doctor who cannot save his most loved one. That includes both Columbina and Arlecchino.

No one protests even when harmful orders are given; everything appears fine until the symptoms are felt. Because the organism— the astral descender— has no nerves or voice, he continues to assume that the patient is not in pain.

The patient needs peace but because they are not to speak, they remain silent, and the need persists.

The patient wants to eat and breathe fresh air, but because such desires might hurt the feelings of the doctor who thinks he has done everything needed, the patient remains quiet, contemplating desires out of fear of reprimand.

The original (Y/n) (L/n) suffers in silence. In a white room only accessible by a man who continues to nurse his unrequited love: Zandik.

No one else can enter this room.

He won't allow it. Only he can be obsessed with you.

The thought of you haunts him like a smiling reflection upon window panes— like a gift of a Trojan horse with nothing but your echoing laughter and hospital monitor beeps inside. Your thin limbs were marching clock hands with rusted gears that miraculously function till the end of time.

What is immortality for if every day was a death loop?

It is such a lonely concept…

You ought to be thankful that he's willing to be your eternal company.

"I endeavored to elicit a reciprocation of my sentiments from the latest subject. Regrettably, their discovery of my antecedent experiments transpired prematurely. Nevertheless, as asserted several times, it remains but a temporal inevitability until an iteration of yourself succumbs to having an interest towards me." Dottore hummed.

He held your feet.

He held Test Subject #01's feet.

If you spoke up, he would've bragged about how he was right. How people do love your songs. But no one knows if you can't or won't answer him. This one-sided conversation is the punishment for his hubris.

He took out a sharp knife and cut off one of your toes. You no longer feel any pain as you bleed into his hands. What a kind man the doctor is, for he blocked all your pain receptors years ago. It's a good thing you regenerate quickly.

That's what he loved and hated about you.

You only gave and gave.

But you never ran out of soul. You never ran your heart fully dry— and that left you ill. Zandik could never let you go.

You're already a part of him.

Hence, he must not make clones of exaggerated memories. He wanted your perfect yet healthy replica.

Praise be the white corpuscles extracted from your veins which had brought him new life. You were the reason for his research. You were the breath that gave his segments life. You were his muse, much like he was yours.

"Fear not, (Y/n)," he reassured with a measured tone. "Upon my mastery of the arts, I intend to reinstate your autonomy and awareness. Perhaps then, you shall find the organic inclination to reciprocate affection toward me by the 9806's trial. Until then…"

In other words, give him more time and he'll reinvent love.

He leaned his forehead against yours.

"I'm so, so sorry."

And ultimately, he'll reinvent YOU.

"Can I have another piece of your scalp?"

"No."

"Do you not understand the weight of this research or must I expound on it further in another three-hour presentation?"

"Alternatively, you could start by saying that you're sorry," you raised an eyebrow. "I'm still not over the fact you randomly cut a piece of my ear when I was asleep, doctor. You know, I heard from the aranaras that white tulips are given to someone when they ask for forgiveness."

Zandik smirked.

"Regrettably, it seems that such an occurrence is unlikely to transpire. Do not expect such words and gifts from me."

You smiled.

"We'll see, we'll see."

Taglist (pls notify if you wish to be on the taglist for the last two): @average-yandere-enjoyer @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl

[julihlaufey]

Mrs. "Let Me Sleep"

She was exhausted. He was exhausted. But she also knew that a little conversation with Pool, would always result in a night of pizza and movies.

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English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes.

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In an active building, some lights were still on. But one in the morning was just too much for the girl in apartment 45. Her lights were already off, and the window was closed. Bedtime was the best part of the day for a hero. There was nothing better than letting the mind rest after an unexpected mission.

The cozy pillow kept the unwanted cold at bay. The bed was just the right amount of soft. The fabric felt comfortable against her skin.

(S/N) had nothing to complain about that night. It was a normal day, just like any other. Coming home after college and casually saving the world as if it were a regular routine. Her eyes were closing, finally drifting off after a long day of work. The day was finally over, and she was finally enjoying some peace and quiet.

— Man, today was tough. - The voice behind her said, almost at a normal volume. No whispering or lowering his voice to avoid waking her. Just speaking in his usual tone.

The bed shifted, causing her to open her eyes. Wade was sitting on the bed, taking off the shoes of his suit.Glancing back, he noticed her open eye.

— Oh, sunshine. Did I wake you? I thought you were already asleep.

— I was almost there, Wade. - (S/N) replied in a humorless tone, giving him a less-than-friendly look.

Deadpool chuckled, snuggling closer as she turned her back to him again. — Sorry, love. You know I can be pretty loud sometimes. - He said in a playful tone. She was almost certain there was a smile behind her.

— Wade. It’s one in the morning. My day was packed. Can we please sleep?

—So was mine. But I really wanted to end it with my girlfriend... - Wade said, nuzzling her neck as his hand roamed over her waist, pulling her closer.

— If you see her, could you let her know?

— Go take a shower, Wilson. You're lying on my sheets in a suit covered in blood. - She complained, though her body stayed in place.

— I swear there's no blood this time. I mean, not mine, anyway. But that jerk deserved it. Can you believe he shot me with my gun?! The golden one?!

— Mm-hmm... - She murmured, starting to close her eyes again. The dirty suit in her bed, compared to how sleepy she was, wasn’t a big deal anymore.

— And he used up all my bullets because I left my bag in the taxi for the tenth time. The guy used my bullets on me! - Deadpool rambled on, like he was being interviewed on Jimmy Fallon, not lying in bed with his partner who was on the verge of passing out.

Not that (S/N) didn’t enjoy it. On the contrary, Wade's stories were often the highlight of her day. Too good to waste sometimes. But it was already late.

— ... And I still shot him in the head!... And that’s when Captain America showed up and said I couldn’t join the Avengers unless I brought a goat with me, because apparently, Thanos’s weakness is warm goat milk?

...

No response.

— Oh, damn. I’ll go take a shower already. - He said, starting to get up, which made his beloved pull his arm closer. He was covered in blood and needed to clean up. But losing the warmth of his body while (S/N) tried to fall asleep was the worst-case scenario on a cold day.

— No... Keep going... - She murmured, her voice barely audible.

— Keep going? - Wade laughed under his mask. — Sweetheart, I’m being ignored like a bald guy watching a shampoo commercial.

This made her laugh, finally starting to wake up. — Sorry, love. It’s been a long day, and I didn’t think you’d be back tonight.

— You know that when I’m not coming back, I call, cupcake. - He responded more affectionately, cuddling up with (S/N) again.

— You left your phone at home.

— ... No, I didn’t. I’m sure I took it with me. - He tried to recall, a bit confused.

— Love, you took the Hello Kitty work phone.

— ...Damn.

— I didn’t want to call. You might get shot in the head because of me or lose an arm.

— Then we’d have a lovely baby hand ready to be reborn.

She laughed, giving him a light slap on the arm. — But I promise next time I’ll leave it in the taxi. Did you eat anything?

— I ordered tacos.

— You ordered tacos without me?! - Wade said indignantly, immediately sitting up, forcing her to turn around.

— How could you?! What about our taco and dumb movie Saturdays?!

(S/N) laughed, looking at him. — I’m kidding, Pool. I ordered a pizza. It's on the table. There are still five slices left.

He took a deep breath, calming down. — Damn, (S/N). That was worse than thinking the mother of my seven kids was cheating on me with some Italian mobster who’s a thousand times hotter and richer.

— You know that would never happen. - She confirmed, as if it were necessary, rubbing her foot against her boyfriend’s suit. — I would never have seven kids.

Come on, you didn’t deny the mobster part. Holy crap, his name’s Giuseppe, isn’t it? - He asked, like a husband who just discovered an affair.

— Who the hell is Giuseppe?! - (S/N) laughed, now fully awake.

— The mobster you made up in your head?! - Pool looked at her, laughing in exhaustion. The conversation was good, light, and relaxing. But the day had been exhausting.

— Should I go take that shower or not?

— Go on. You’re still staining the bed. - She answered in the same mix of laughter and weariness. — Then maybe we can watch something.

—Watch something? - He asked, heading to the bathroom. — Where’s the ‘Let Me Sleep’ lady who was just talking to me? Weren’t you about to pass out?

— I was. - She said, looking at Wade seriously. He quickly understood. Of course, he’d wiped out all the sleep from her body after talking like a radio host. — But you took it all away.

— You know I could do that in other ways, right? - Wilson said in the most suggestive tone he could find, leaning down towards her with his fists on the bed.

— Go take that shower, Wilson! - She laughed, hitting his shoulder with a pillow as he laughed, heading to the bathroom. — I know you love this side of me, cupcake!

(S/N) smiled shyly, relaxing her body on the bed. — In your dreams, Wade Wilson!

[runariya]

My Beloved Villain (JJK) • Chapter 3

pairing: hero!Jungkook x villain!female reader genre: dark romance, gore, villain!AU, hero!AU, slow burn fic rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: attempted murd€r, foul language, detachment, inner conflicts bordering on schizophrenia, fluff, slow burn, please lmk if I forgot something word count: ~ 5.1K

a/n: okay, so here's the deal...I've successfully and irreversibly deleted 2k words of this chapter while editing *yey* And I'm not capable of writing it again, so this chapter's a little shorter than intended. Hope you're enjoying it despite its short length...here goes nothing...🥲

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to med school are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

prologue • 01 • 02 • masterlist • 04

The night around you feels charged as you move along the shadowed path, the whispers of Suyeomggang River just below the ridge line of trees. The moon hangs heavy and swollen in the sky, a pale sentinel casting a sickly cold light over the riverbank, water lapping against the railings with an almost lazy indifference, a black mirror that reflects the stars in shattered fragments. You can feel the cool breeze off the river, taste its dampness in the air, hear its calling darkness from its depth.

You’ve been preparing for this for years, it’s like tonight everything falls into place, as if everything is perfect, the night wrapping around you like an invisible cloak, the silence so deep it feels like a part of you, an extension of your being grasping in every direction. The training, the planning, the sleepless nights spent perfecting every detail—all of it has led you to this exact moment. You slip through the darkness underneath the canopy of overhanging trees, the leaves whispering above you as if they know what’s about to happen and are trying to keep the secret within themselves. Every step precise, measured, the ground beneath your feet making not a single sound as you follow the trail of Kim Sangwook, the first name on your kill list.

It had to be him. You chose him with the precision of a surgeon’s blade, the first man who laid his filthy, despicable hands on your mother. His crime, as well as Park Dojin’s and Kim Chulsoo’s, wasn’t just physical; it was spiritual, an affront to the very blood that runs through your veins, poisoning it to its DNA. 

For months, you’ve watched Sangwook, studied his habits, learning the cadence of his days not to avoid him, but to calculate his weaknesses. He’s arrogant, unafraid, too comfortable in his routines to second guess himself and his safety. You know exactly where he’ll be most vulnerable, and it’s here—this river trail, this desolate stretch of night where no one comes after the sun has set, where only the distant sound of the city and nature bears witness to what will transpire. 

You have been patient. You are always patient. And tonight will be no different. 

You’re dressed in black, a second skin tailored to your body, slim-fitting and functional, with hidden pockets for your shurikens and whip coiled at your side. You considered a face mask but knew better—too easy to lose in a fight. Instead, you’ve sewn yourself a sleek, fitted mask that covers only your cheeks and brow, leaving your mouth and nose exposed to breathe freely, knowing better than to weaken yourself. 

Ahead of you, Sangwook walks, oblivious. He’s whistling—a tuneless, off-key noise that grates against your nerves, but you force yourself to block it out. His pace is lazy, his stride confident. He doesn’t look behind him, doesn’t even suspect that he’s being watched. You follow him like a shadow, each of his steps mirrored by yours but cloaked in silence. The trail curves ahead, leading to a darker stretch where the trees thicken and the river slips out of view. You know this spot—it’s where he’ll be most isolated, most vulnerable.

The darkness inside you twists and writhes, a beast of malice that groans and growls, aching for the taste of blood, its hunger a throbbing force that drowns out any shred of gentleness that lives inside you, pushing it so far down that it might as well have never been there at all. There is nothing left within you now but cruelty, sharp and ruthless, devouring the softer parts of your soul, leaving behind only the savage desire to destroy, to break, to consume without mercy.

You crouch slightly, bending your knees as you brace yourself to pounce. Every muscle in your body is taut, ready to explode into motion with your command. You’re so close now, your fingers twitching with the anticipation of wrapping your whip around his throat, of pulling him into the shadows where he belongs and never will escape from. The moment stretches out before you, the world narrowing to just you and him, to this moment, to this beautiful, beautiful moment. 

But then—hands, strong and cold, seize you from behind, and your breath stutters. Your instincts scream danger, but you’re too late. Your body is wrenched backwards, your planned attack on Sangwook slipping through your fingers like air, as he continues his walk, unaware, disappearing into the black abyss of the night, saved by sheer dumb luck.

A grunt of frustration escapes your lips, but you push the sound away as you focus on the here and now. The arms around you are like steel bars, locking your movements, restricting you, but not for long. You twist your body violently, your elbow driving backwards into your captor's ribs with full force. The impact reverberates through your bones, but the man barely falters, tightening his grip even further. Your breath comes in short, sharp bursts as you struggle, thrashing against the strength that holds you, your heart racing by pure survival instinct. 

With a quick shift of your weight, you slam the heel of your combat boot down hard against his instep, and finally, you feel him flinch. It’s just enough. His grip loosens, and you slip free, stumbling forward but catching yourself before you fall to the ground. You whip around, panting silently, every muscle ready for the next strike.

Before you stands a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in black from head to toe, a black face mask covering the lower half of his face, his eyes squinting at you with angry intensity beneath the brim of a equally black cap. His chest heaves slightly from your brief struggle, but you can tell by his stance that he’s no amateur, even though his face mask tells a different story.

“Who the fuck are you?” you snap, your voice cutting through the night, sharp and impatient after your plan so gracefully failed. 

The man scoffs, clearly unimpressed by your question. "I’m Pulse," he replies, his voice low and gravelly, laced with arrogance. "And with whom do I have the pleasure?"

The name rings a bell, and your mind clicks—Pulse. You’ve heard of him before, the so-called ‘hero’ who stalks the streets of Busan, swooping in like some self-righteous crusader to save the day. A ridiculous figure, some holier-than-thou idiot who thinks he can make a difference in a world that’s long past saving. You can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes your lips, suppressing a role of your eyes. He’s nothing more than a man playing dress-up, chasing glory under the guise of justice.

“Stasis,” you say through a mocking smile full of teeth, your tone dripping with derision. The name you gave yourself and the one you call him are a joke, a reflection of the absurdity of this whole pointless situation and himself. “Nice to meet you, Dulls.”

His eyes narrow further above his mask, gaze burning into you with his wounded ego. He clearly wasn’t expecting to run into someone like you tonight, and so he takes a step closer, his voice steady but laced with warning you can’t seem to take serious at the slightest. "This isn't how you make the world better. You shouldn’t be hurting people."

You can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes your lips, can’t help but to keep mocking him. "You don’t say."

Silence falls between you as your words reach him, as if he’s weighing his next words carefully, shifting through his thoughts, unsure of what to say next. Meanwhile, the beast inside you bares its teeth, gnashing against the cage of your control, howling for blood, demanding that you kill him right here and now. But you force it down, force yourself to remember that there’s a time and place for slaughter, that not every impulse of it deserves to be fed, not every throat needs to be torn open—only those who’ve earned it. 

Pulse’s anger seems to dissolve into the night, slipping away like smoke, as if he’s sensed the monster stirring within you, as if he’s frying to soothe it with patience and understanding.

"I won’t hurt you."

Despite better judgement, you straighten at that, as Pulse’s voice carries a promise that you know better than to believe. It drips with false reassurance, and you’ve long since learned that such words are nothing but bait. You don’t trust him, won’t allow yourself to be lulled into a sense of security that clearly isn’t there. Instead, you begin to circle him to gain back the control he tried ripping out of your hands, testing the resolve behind his words, scanning him for weaknesses, pushing at the edges of his composure. 

He stands rooted to the ground, immovable, like a tree whose roots have burrowed deep beneath the earth while the silent dance of power shifting back and forth continues. His cap shadows over his eyes, but you can still feel the burn of his gaze, still feel him asserting you. He watches you with an intensity that you don’t need to see to know; it lingers on your skin, prickling violently in the danger that he is to you.

„What are you doing?“ he finally says, his voice as soft as the night wind.

There it is. That kindness. That unbearable warmth that radiates off him like heat from a furnace, the same warmth that makes you want to recoil. His question is laced with the assumption that you can be saved. He speaks to you as though you're redeemable, as if you're nothing more than a misunderstood soul. As if the rivers of blood on your hands could be washed away by words alone.

„What does it look like I’m doing?“ you let the question hang in the air, more for your own amusement than any real attempt at conversation.

As you keep circling him, you take in every detail. He’s fit, his posture straight and sure, radiating confidence without arrogance. He seems young—perhaps the same age as you, or a little older, but it’s hard to pin down. His body speaks of strength, of long-honed discipline, but what bothers you is the life in his eyes, the youthfulness that disgusts you. There’s something unbearably naive in the way they looked at you before he hid them behind his cap, something untouched by the darkness you’ve come to know so well. Innocence like that has no place in your world. It’s a weakness, a flaw, and yet… he wears it as if it’s armour, shielding him from the filth around him.

You search for cracks in that armour, scrutinising his stance, looking for even the slightest imbalance—a weight leaning to one side, a twitch of muscle, any tell that would betray a vulnerability. But there’s nothing. His body remains steady, a fortress devoid of weakness. He doesn’t flinch as you move, doesn’t tense, not even when you brush close enough to feel the heat radiating off his back’s skin. His breathing is even, his pulse—steady.

Your eyes land on the faint rise and fall of his carotid artery, barely visible beneath the skin of his neck. It beats in a slow, calm rhythm, betraying no sign of fear or anticipation. It unsettles you. Every instinct you have is honed to control, to find the weak points in others, to bend them to your will with a word or a glance. But with him, nothing breaks. Nothing shifts. He stands as though the world could crumble around him and he’d remain unscathed.

„You don’t have to do this. You can stop, Stasis. There’s still time to change.“

Your frustration grows, curling like cigarette smoke in your chest. You’ve played this game before, unraveling the minds of those who thought they could stand against you. It’s a dance you know well—watching them falter, unravel, as the fear begins to claw at their insides, instincts kicking in. But with him… it’s as if you’re circling a stone, lifeless and unaffected by the tempest you try to stir.

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t break. 

You tilt your head slightly, studying him as he turns his eyes to follow your figure for the first time. And you see, that he’s truly like this—believing in the good in people, believing that change is as simple as a choice, as though it’s something that can be made over tea, some crackers and kind words. You almost admire his naivety. Almost.

"Change?" you repeat, a thin smile curling at the corner of your lips. "You speak of change as though it’s some inevitable truth. Some law of nature." You stop a few feet before him, being wiser than to drain your energy by pacing around him. "But nature is indifferent, Dulls. Things end. People die. No amount of hope can alter that."

He looks at you with those eyes again—those damnable eyes filled with that persistent, maddening compassion. It's almost enough to make you laugh out loud again.

„That’s not true.“

You tilt your head, a smirk tugging at your lips. "You know that it’s only your god complex speaking out of you, right?"

"God complex?" he echoes, brows furrowed, disappearing behind his cap.

You ignore his question entirely, the words meaningless to you now after everything’s unraveled so spectacularly, your plans detonating in your face like fireworks that left nothing but failure in their wake. Without a second glance, you turn on your heel, your patience worn dangerously thin, dismissing him as you throw over your shoulder, “Don’t waste your time, buddy.”  

But he doesn’t let it go. “I know you’re not like this. I know there’s good in you, Stasis. You don’t have to be this person.”

You pause, something in his voice forcing you to stop, and with a soft, humourless laugh, you turn your head just enough to catch him in your peripheral, a shadow of a smile playing at your lips. “You still don’t get it, do you?” you murmur, the words laced with barely concealed disdain, with the cold, hard truth. “Some people are beyond saving.”

For a moment, he looks like he might argue. Like he might push harder, fight against the walls you’ve built around yourself. But then he stops. The tension in his shoulders eases, and he sighs, long and deep, as if the weight of the world presses down on him.

Without another word, you step back into the shadows, your figure melting into the darkness where it belongs. The moonlight barely touches you now, your body nothing more than a fleeting spectre in the night. You hear Pulse behind you, his footsteps hesitant, as if he’s debating whether or not to follow.

But he won’t.

You know he won’t.

Sitting at the small dining table in your shared dorm with Taehyung, the morning feels sluggish, lethargic in its stillness of early hours, sun barely peeking over the horizon just yet. Both of you and Taehyung eat breakfast—just some half-hearted cereal from the bottom of the box which expiration date you rather not learn, the crunch of each spoonful drowning out the low noise of a morning show called ‚Good Morning Busan‘ playing in the background. Taehyung, barely awake, eyes half-lidded and tired, mindlessly munches his way through his bowl while you absently stir your spoon through yours, your mind still circling the failure of the night before like you did to Pulse.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung grumbles through a mouthful of cereal, voice still thick with sleep, his curiosity nudging through the haze. “You came back pretty quick last night. Weren’t you successful?”

“No,” you reply with a dramatic sigh, your tone flat, biting back the frustration that’s been bubbling under your skin like boiling water since your plan failed miserably. “Got interrupted.”

He pauses mid-chew, eyes opening just a little more as he frowns. “By whom?”

“Pulse.” The name alone is enough to make your eyelid twitch with irritation. “That wannabe hero.”

A sleepy chuckle escapes him, the sound half-amused, half-groggy. “Wannabe hero?” Taehyung repeats, raising an eyebrow. “You sound pissed.”

“Of course I am,” you snap, the frustration rising to the surface again, until it spills over. “I’ve been planning this for months, Tae, and he just… ruins everything. Doesn’t he have anything better to do than patrol around to feed his ego?”

Taehyung snorts at that, choosing not to poke at the simmering frustration in your voice, knowing it’s better to let you vent than to fuel the fire. He knows you well enough by now to understand that there’s no point in trying to reason with you when you're like this, so he just lets you stew, quietly eating the rest of his cereal. 

The silence deepens once more after your short outburst, as you finish eating as well. With an irritated huff, you stand and shove your bowls into the dishwasher before grabbing your bag and shoes, preparing to head to class. Taehyung follows, equally silent, slipping on his shoes as you grab the remote to turn off the TV. But just as your finger hovers over the power button, something on the screen catches your attention, halting your finger mid-press.

It’s him. It’s Pulse. His face, or rather his eyes, open and earnest, fill the screen as he speaks to a reporter, full of the kind of naive kindness that makes your skin crawl. “It’s not about honour,” he says, voice calm and oh so friendly. “It’s just doing what I can to help the mayor and police and keep the city safe. Protect its people.”

His words grate against something inside you, that calm righteousness sparking your anger all over again. You want to scream, to throw the remote straight into the TV and smash his sanctimonious face, but all you can do is stand there, teeth grating violently against each other, and turn the TV off with an aggressive jab of the button, yeeting the remote right after somewhere onto the depths of the couch. Without a word, you push through the door, Taehyung trailing lazily behind you with his loafers worn like slippers, as you both step out into the cold morning air. The chill brushes against your face in an instant, cooling your burning blood, and helping to dull the force of your fury.

After a few moments of quiet, Taehyung breaks the silence with a low chuckle, fully awake now from the brisk air. “I take it back,” he smirks. “Didn’t realise Pulse was so chummy with the devil.”

“I told you,” you mutter darkly, still fuming faintly, “he’s just another egotistical nitwit who doesn’t even understand what he’s protecting. Doesn’t understand that he’s part of the problem.”

Taehyung hums in agreement, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “So, what are you gonna do about him?”

You sigh, the weight of the question sinking into you. For a moment, you think about just ignoring him, writing him off as a nuisance who managed to catch you off guard this once but won’t be an issue again. “I don’t know,” you say with a scoff, the frustration still clinging to your voice. “Maybe I’ll just ignore him. He caught me by luck, anyway. It’s not like I’ll see him again… either way, I need to focus on taking down Sangwook and the others.”

Taehyung only hums at that, but you can’t seem to slow down just yet.

You scoff again, shaking your head in disbelief. “Pulse.*What kind of a name is that? He should call himself Blip. Stupid moron.”

Taehyung bursts out laughing, the sound echoing through the empty street, probably waking everyone in the neighbourhood, and the absurdity of it all finally cracks a smile on your face, too. “You know, I called him ‘Dulls’ last night. Didn’t go over well.”

Your laughter rises to match his, tears collecting at the edges of your eyes as you share the only moment of triumph, your tension slowly easing away with every breath.

Just then, Jungkook jogs up to join you, his soft hair bouncing with each step, and he grins at the two of you as though he’s been part of the joke all along. His presence is like a fresh breeze cutting through the remnants of your irritation, lightening your mood even more.

“What’s up?” he asks, his voice bright and curious. “What’s so funny?”

“She’s bashing Pulse,” Taehyung responds, barely holding back his laughter.

Jungkook’s smile falters, his brow furrowing as his gaze shifts into mild disapproval. “Why?”

You shrug, your mood already too high from the shared humour. “I don’t like do-gooders who have no idea what they’re doing,” you explain simply, dismissively, hoping to steer the conversation away from the topic before it stirs more irritation.

But you catch the slight tick in Jungkook’s jaw out of the corner of your eye, that tiny tightening that tells you he doesn’t see things the way you do. He’s too kind, too gentle, to understand the cynicism you’ve earned through scars on your mind and body. He probably sees Pulse as some noble protector, someone fighting for justice, unaware of how useless that brand of idealism is in the face of real, disguised evil. Sensing the shift in his mood, you deftly change the subject, not wanting to get into an argument so early in the day. “So, do you think med ethics will be any less torturous this semester?”

Taehyung sighs dramatically, rubbing his face with a groan. “I’m just trying to get through it. If I can pass and collect my attendance points, that’ll be enough.”

Jungkook chuckles softly. „True,“ though there’s still a trace of unease in his eyes, his smile not quite reaching them. You all fall into a quiet rhythm as you walk, the campus and some students coming into view as the conversation shifts to lighter things. And when you finally reach the lecture hall, you immediately spot Yoongi and Hoseok seated in an empty row, deep in conversation. They acknowledge your arrival with a brief glance, uninterested in breaking their rhythm as the three of you head towards them. Taehyung leads the way, his eyes scanning the tables before stopping just short of sitting down, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Wait, where’s the coffee? Whose turn was it?”

Hoseok glances up, barely holding back a grin. “Jennie’s, but I think she’s late again.”

Just as you’re about to step into the row as well, hurried footsteps echo from behind. You glance over your shoulder just in time to see Jennie dashing around the professor, a tray of coffee in hand, nearly tripping over herself in her haste. Before you can fully process it, she’s yanking Jungkook back by his shirt, latter letting out a short yelp while she squeezes past the narrow gap between him and the tables, bulldozing her way through without much care. She brushes by you too, nearly crushing your thighs against the hard edges of the chairs, mumbling a half-hearted “sorry” that you know she doesn’t mean, before plopping herself down beside Taehyung with a satisfied grin. 

You exchange a bewildered look with Jungkook, his expression mirroring your own disbelief, while Taehyung, completely unfazed, is already deep in hushed conversation with Jennie, grinning like he’d been waiting for her all along. Yoongi and Hoseok lean over Taehyung to grab their coffees, neither of them paying any mind to personal space.

“Alright, if everyone could please sit down, we’ll begin,” the professor calls through the room, and you quickly slip into the seat beside Jennie, Jungkook sitting down right next to you still fixing his shirt’s collar. Both of you pull out your laptops in near-perfect synchronisation, and after handing Jungkook a coffee, you quietly sip your own as the lecture begins. 

It doesn’t take long into the lecture, when Jungkook nudges you softly with his elbow, a small, warm pressure that disrupts the stillness in your thoughts and concentration. You nudge him back, acknowledging his presence, though your gaze remains forward, fixed on the professor, though you're not really seeing him now.

Jungkook leans in slightly, his voice so low it barely reaches your ears. “You know, I’ve been thinking about yesterday… and I just wanted to let you know, it’s okay if you don’t want to date me or anything. Don’t feel pressured or anything like that…” His voice trails off into uncertainty.

For a moment, you're stunned, not having expected this. Your thoughts reel back to yesterday, to that quiet moment shared over coffee. It was one of the few times you’d felt at ease, like you belonged somewhere, even for a little while. Jungkook had made you feel… seen. Appreciated, even. There was something about the way you looked at each other, listened to each other, that made you feel like you weren’t just playing a part in someone else’s story, but actually living in your own. 

You realise then, that you long for such a connection. Long for a connection with him. You’ve denied it for so long, convinced yourself you didn’t need it, didn’t deserve it. How could you, after everything you’ve done and everything that you plan to do? Building something with Jungkook on a foundation of lies feels reckless, not fair even. How could you let him get closer, knowing he doesn't know the real you? No, not the real you, but a part of you. A part, that feels like poisoned soil where he tries to plant a garden. 

Yet, there's another voice inside you, quieter but insistent: Why should your dark side dictate your life, your future? Why shouldn’t you let yourself have this light, this chance to be happy? You aren’t made of shadow entirely, you never were, and something in you yearns for Jungkook like a flower aches for sunlight. What if—just even for a while—it doesn’t have to matter?

“I would love to go on a date with you,” you whisper softly, your voice barely louder than his, wanting to take the chance for once. You feel warmth blooming in your chest and cheeks, a rush of blood that you haven’t felt in so long, and you fight to keep a smile from overtaking your lips.

And despite the mutation that shields you from physical pain, the storm of emotions coursing through you is undeniable proof of you still being alive—an inescapable, aching force reminding you that you are not the hollow shell you sometimes wish to be, but simply a feeling human. Every emotion—fear, joy, longing—rattles through your bones like a sized twelve earthquake, shaking you down to the foundation. You realise, that with your agreement, the gates to the warmth has been pulled open completely, flooding your veins without mercy, though the warmth is something different, something brighter. It spreads slowly, like the glow of the sun rising after a long, brutal night. 

Love and hope, fragile and intoxicating, winds its way into the dark crevices of your being, a sensation you’ve craved for so long that its presence is almost overwhelming. It’s everything you lost, everything that was ripped from you when your childhood was robbed from you, leaving only jagged fragments of yourself behind. And now, against all odds, it’s here again—this feeling of belonging, of connection—and it fills the void that has festered within you for years. It is what you’ve longed for since the day your innocence was stolen, and though it terrifies you, it also makes you feel more alive than you have in years.

A disbelieving, but happy puff of air escapes Jungkook’s lips. “You mean that?” His words carry a hopeful surprise, as if he hadn’t truly expected you to say yes.

For a brief moment, evil, dark doubt creeps back in, whispering that you should push him away, that your darkness will only hurt him in the end. But then, another thought pushes through the shadows: maybe this is your chance to follow the light, to give yourself permission to feel something real, something good. And for once, you let that thought win. “Yes,” you murmur softly, surrendering to the happiness with a silent sigh.

Without a word, Jungkook’s hand finds yours where it rests on your thigh, his fingers gently intertwining with yours. The warmth of his touch settles you, like a calm wave washing over a restless shore. He draws your connected hands over to his thigh, letting them rest there, his thumb tracing slow, reassuring circles across the back of your hand. “We’ve got classes all day,” he murmurs, his voice light with excitement, “but do you want to go out tomorrow night?”

“That would be great,” you whisper, glancing at him briefly. The smile you’ve been fighting finally breaks free, curving your lips as a soft tenderness spreads through you.

Jungkook beams, his own smile bright and unguarded as he strokes your hand with his thumb. “Cool. Tomorrow it is,” he nods, his voice light with pure, innocent joy. “I’ll pick you up.”

And in that moment, you feel truly happy, in a way you haven’t allowed yourself to feel for years. It’s a strange feeling, both exhilarating and terrifying to its core, like standing on the edge of a cliff with your toes hanging over, unsure if the fall will break you or set you free. But it feels good. It feels right. It feels as though there might be a future for you after all—one not swallowed whole by despair and darkness. 

Yet even as you savour the warmth spreading through and around you, a small whisper of uncertainty lingers. You don’t know if you’ll regret this, if letting Jungkook into your life will end up being the worst mistake you’ve ever made. But for now, for this fleeting moment in your short life, as your fingers remain intertwined with his, you let it wrap around you, and allow yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there’s still some light left worth saving in you after all.

prologue • 01 • 02 • masterlist • 04

a/n 3: hope you've enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like!

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

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taglist: @darkeneddiary, @dumbheadblog, @jksusawife, @jayhoneybeecomb, @kookienooki, @hagridshaircare 

[puddle-nerd]

Our Little Family

Summary: The three of you were anticipating the birth of the newest member of the Rongloa family, though you might just have to reassure Spider just a bit.

Prompt #14 for my final submission for #𝐂𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬𝟏𝟒𝐃𝐎𝐋𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. Happy Valentine’s Day.

Story Tags: No use of Y/N, Female Reader, Recombinant Reader, Omatikaya | Blue Flute Clan, Na’vi Culture, Na’vi Biology, Na’vi Language, Na’vi & Human Interactions, Pregnancy, Childbirth, Fluff and Angst, Spider is worried about the new baby, Spider needs a hug

Author’s Note: Originally, when I had first written this, I made it about Lo’ak’s future progeny with the reader but having to have some of these prompts be re-written after having my portable hard drive smashed during my move, well, Tsu’tey was determined to get more love this holiday season when I sat down to re-writes so we now have a part 3 for our Tsu’tey/Reader pairing for 14 Days of Love. This part’s not as explicit as the last chapter (Eternity) but it does involve details about Na’vi pregnancy, and it is my take on one of the deleted scenes we could have gotten from ATWOW had it not gotten cut. And since we only have the scripts to go off of, I got a little creative.

Na’vi Translation: Kuru – neural queue Muntxatan – husband | male spouse Nga yawne lu oer, oeyä’itan – You are beloved to me (I love you), my son Sa’nu – mum | mom | mommy Sempu – dad | daddy Syor – relax Tsaheylu – neural bond made through the connection of two neural queues

AO3 Link

Part 2

A nearly six-year-old Spider nestled himself into your side and kissed the side of your rounded belly tenderly, beaming up at you as you gently ran your blue fingers through his short braids that he had insisted on having to look like his adopted father, red beads, and all. (Tsu’tey had remained stoic when Spider had initially asked for his long blonde curls to be braided until the Na’vi male had had his son in his lap and then you had noticed a telltale wetness in the corner of one of his golden eyes as he carefully, gently, braided his human son’s blonde locks to match his own.) Your little family had settled into a routine after you and Tsu’tey had been married, Spider sleeping in the shack you and your muntxatan had had built to keep him close to you both. The three of you all ate in there as well as you would have your meals as a family should and you did not want Spider to suffer when the Pandoran air was toxic to him. The metal cabin was situated just outside your and Tsu’tey’s wooden kelku so that there would be no more middle of the night comm calls and rampaging through the forests if Spider was having a really bad nightmare or suddenly fell ill. Or that one very small period of time where he might have wet the bed once or twice. Now, you both could get to your human son in a matter of seconds if he needed you during eclipse. Especially as you had made the permanent switch to your Avatar body just a fortnight before the official wedding.

You enjoyed these moments you had, when it was just you and your little boy; you cherished them very much. You knew it would come to an end too quick and there would come a time when he wouldn’t want to do this as much if at all anymore, so you pulled him tighter against your body and sighed in contentment, until a small cramp made you wince.

“Sa’nu?” Spider suddenly whispered, and by his tone, you knew he wanted to ask a question, one he wasn’t sure you or he would like the answer to.

You looked down at your boy with a warm and loving smile upon your sapphire-colored lips and took a quick breath of air from the little mask hanging around your neck while you cuddled with your son within his oxygen-rich shack. “~Yeah, baby?~” you asked in English as you were a bilingual family and were determined to make sure your son understood both languages. And, you had been playing around with the idea that when your son got a little older, you wanted him to maybe start learning Portuguese in order to honor his birth mother – Paz Socorro’s – heritage, the same way you all made sure to continue to honor Sylwanin’s memory. “~What’s up, buttercup?~”

The five-year-old (almost six, he’d remind you as his birthday drew closer (it was currently forty-three days away and counting)) smiled slightly at the nickname you had given him because of his blonde hair before the grin disappeared once more, his brows creasing somewhat as he pondered how to ask. He spoke in the Na’vi language in response, asking, “When the baby comes… will you love it more than me? Because the baby will be your real child.”

You immediately stiffened, your whip-like tail lashing out in a surge of surprised rage at that innocent query and snapped your head down to look at him so abruptly you might have given yourself whiplash had you still been in your human body. “Miles te Socorro-Rongloa Tsu’tey’itan, why ~the hell~would you ask such a thing?!” You easily manhandled him into your palms, gripping his bare torso and easily holding his small body up in front of you so you could hold him up to eye-level and continue this conversation face to face. “You are most certainly my son! You are most certainly your father’s son! I might not have given birth to you in this body or my human one that I left behind, but you are and always will be ours! Do you not remember the official adoption ceremony we performed in front of the whole clan on your fifth birthday? You are ours by blood!” You referred to the small scar on the palm of his hand that had been placed there by Mo’at before she cut both yours and Tsu’tey’s palms to perform the rite that would officially make Spider theirs in the eyes of the People. Ignoring another cramp, you demanded, “Now, who ~the hell~ put such a terrible thought inside your head?!”

By the way that Spider wouldn’t meet your gaze and the way he fidgeted with the beaded bracelet he had woven for you, you immediately put two and two together and realized he had been eavesdropping on Neytiri or Ateyo, Tsu’tey’s father’s acidic words against all Sky People. Again.

You would have words with either of them one day about their attitude. And while you realized they had reason to hate most Sky People like Spider’s biological parents, your son was not one of them!

“Sa’nu, I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad,” Spider immediately pleaded, brown eyes tearing up.

You immediately pulled the boy close, murmuring words of love and reassurance that you were not angry with him, that you loved him unconditionally, and that everything would be alright. With practiced ease, he spread his little legs, his loincloth folding beneath him as he rested his bottom on the top curve of your pregnant belly and you hugged him tight, smothering him in kisses. You were noisily kissing his jaw, his cheek, his forehead, his scalp when the airlock beeped. You didn’t stop laying smooches on the boy as your mate ducked his head as he entered the shack and spotted his family upon the couch. He raised a hairless brow, the corner of his mouth lifting at your overenthusiastic display of affection.

“Your son needs some sempu-love, right now,” you declared just as Spider noticed his father, your face immediately turning into a scowl above the blonde head of beaded braids. “Someone has been putting a nasty bug into his ear that we will love the baby more than him because it will be our ‘real’ baby, Tey.”

The unvoiced threat was clear in your voice.

Tsu’tey plucked Spider up and off of you and tucked the child against his chest and immediately rubbed his cheek all over Spider’s scalp, scenting his son as he sometimes did with you. “What nonsense,” he muttered softly, coming to sit upon the couch beside you, careful of his tail and yours. “You might not remember this as you were about a year and a half old – just after the Great War and before your sa’nu and I were officially courting. Well, someone decided to put one of my braids within his mouth.” You immediately cackled, your happy mood beginning to get restored as you remembered this particular scene. Your muntxatan shot you a look but continued with the story. “And this little boy ate two of my beads.” You snorted, remembering the absolute terror Tsu’tey had experienced, thinking Spider would choke and die

Years afterwards, it was at least a little funny.

Back then, you had been just as frightened for his health.

“Your sempu commanded the scientists to perform an internal exam to make sure you wouldn’t be hurt,” you added, laying your cheek upon Tsu’tey’s shoulder and pulling at a loose thread on Spider’s loincloth. “Luckily, the beads were small enough that you were only a little uncomfortable until you pooped them out.”

You suddenly winced again, as you felt another cramp within your middle, causing your face to twist in discomfort.

“Sa’nu? Are you alright?” Spider asked. You tried to smile in reassurance but another cramp, even harsher than the one before made itself known and you groaned slightly, shifting in discomfort. Your mate frowned at you for a moment before his golden eyes widened and he sat up straight with a widening smile upon his features as you continued to scowl in pain. “Sempu?”

“Your mother will be alright in a little bit,” Tsu’tey declared, “but first, your sibling is coming.” He pressed his comm microphone button and called out, “Suli, do you hear me?”

“~Yeah, brother, what’s up~?” Jake’s voice came back half a minute later, his use of English a surprise as he had been dedicated to speaking the Na’vi language more and more.

With a proud grin upon his lips, Tsu’tey declared, “Spider’s younger sibling has decided to arrive. We need you to watch our eldest, please, while we make our way to the birthing pools.” There was a rude English curse on the other end of the comm unit before Jake agreed and said he would meet the three of them on their way to deliver the baby and that Neytiri was going to grab her mother. With a word of thanks, Spider was placed upon the ground and your muntxatan helped you to your feet, his eagerness and nervousness palpable within the air, his tail flicking back and forth swiftly.

Waddling out of the shack after securing Spider’s mask to his face, Tsu’tey guided you through the village towards the pools where you would deliver your baby’s chrysalis under the guidance of Mo’at, everyone recognizing the pinched look of pain upon your features and offering their congratulations.

Jake and Neytiri met you when you almost arrived, his mother-in-law in tow, the two Sullys looking both harried and excited for the upcoming birth while Mo’at was as calm and collected as she always did. “~C’mere, kid,~” Jake called, scooping up the human child while the baby sling on both his front and his back were laden with wide eyed toddlers, Neytiri’s sling pressing her infant baby to her chest. “You are going to be with us while your mother gives birth to your new sibling – or at least the chrysalis.”

“~I’ll see ya soon, baby boy~,” you told your son in English before reminding him in the Na’vi language once more, “Nga yawne lu oer, oeyä’itan. Understand?”

The little boy nodded and watched as your mate and Mo’at helped you away.

The water was warm upon your skin after your mate helped you out of your clothing before lowering you to sit upon his lap within the spring. Mo’at hummed a song-like prayer to Eywa as you groaned once more, hovering her fingers over the large curve of your belly. Tsu’tey took his kuru and made tsaheylu intertwining the pink tendrils of both black braids together so he could take some of your pain from you. You groaned as a sharper cramp hit you and you reached back, intertwined your fingers with your mate’s. Mo’at helped to ease your legs apart and began to sing her prayer a little louder while Tsu’tey rubbed his cheek against your own in a show of love and an offering of his strength for you. You smiled up at your mate as best as you could and tried to even out your breathing as a wave of pain washed over your senses and made you groan out loud.

“That is it, child. It is time to start pushing,” Mo’at hummed, her fingers still hovering over your belly. “Tsu’tey, help her up into a crouch. It will help ease her pain a little more.”

Your mate did as he had been instructed and he supported your body as you felt the need to push. “Oh, it hurts, Tey,” you whined, clinging to him as you felt your body trying to expel your baby’s chrysalis naturally. He grunted as he felt your pain coming through the bond but grit his teeth and continued to support your weight while you began to push, feeling the imago containing your fetus starting to ease towards your lower slit. He held you as you cried out and worked your inner muscles to force your unborn babe out of your body, the golden cocoon slowly but surely inching its way from your body while your mate took your pain as best as he could and Mo’at prayed to Eywa while making sure you didn’t run into any issues. “I think I want to wait to have another one,” you whined through gritted teeth as you pushed once more and felt your baby finally slide free of your body and into the water below.

Tsu’tey helped to ease you back down into the water and onto his lap. Mo’at gently scooped up the chrysalis and pulled the embryotic chord free of your body along with the afterbirth.

The older woman whispered, “Behold, your baby…” You and your muntxatan gazed upon the amber cocoon containing your unborn child in awe. She presented the fetus to the pair of you, murmuring, “One of you must make Tsaheylu now, to feed and nourish your baby in the last cycle before its birth.” Tsutey and you unconnected your kurus and he carefully took your braid and attached the pink tendrils to your baby’s embryotic chord, the fetus twitching within its casing for a moment before settling once again. You cooed, feeling yourself connecting with your child before glancing up at Tsu’tey to see tears trickling from his own eyes. “~Look at what we did, baby~,” you commented, feeling tears dribbling down your own cheeks. Later that night, when you were able to be brought back to your kelku and your son was brought back to your side, you hugged him tight, kissing his scalp as he beheld his baby sibling. “Is it a boy or a girl?” Spider asked, peering closely at the golden chrysalis. Tsu’tey shrugged and cuddled into his son’s back, replying, “We will find out in a couple of moon cycles when your sibling is ready to break free of this shell. Until then, you will have us to yourself for just a little while longer.”

𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸

Originally Posted: 14 February 2024 Word Count: 2,342

@crybabies-heart, @cryingwhilereading, @ikeyniofthetayrangi, @erenjaegerwifee , @bambithewriter, @lloreya

AO3 Link

Part 2

[mintys-musings]

Rinne Amagi x GN!Reader - Champagne and Sunshine

Rinne !!!!!! My beloved that I’m not so secretly insane about 💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚 funny that his day is the one day i write soft sex- but all the story moments where he’s unexpectedly thoughtful and soft is so *rattles the bars to my cage* do you get it !!! do you understand the insanity it inflicts upon my poor heart who eats up the fucking “hides his actual feelings with a persona” trope (see also: Madara Mikejima) !!!!!! i could go on. Apologies for the long ass build up btw

summary: The morning after your anniversary, Rinne’s still feeling lovey dovey.

tags: soft sex for a while (“soft” compared to usual rinne activity), service top!Rinne, fingering, body worship, unprotected sex, … h-.... Hand holding-

word count: 2197

NSFW under cut~

The golden rays of sunlight kiss your eyelids gently as the smells and sounds of breakfast being made danced into the bedroom. You snuggle further into the bed, wrapping the sheets around yourself more. There’s a distinct lack of another person in this bed that you missed. The only way you thought to half-assedly quell that feeling was by hugging one of the pillows that he was using. You could still smell a bit of his cologne from last night— pink pepper and bergamot. 

You nearly drift back into slumber if it wasn’t for the sounds of your usually dead asleep snoring in the AM boyfriend softly cursing under his breath.

“Augh-! Shit- shit-” 

He mumbles something else and you hear a soft clattering sound.

He’s a grown man. He can handle whatever it is.

You pay no mind to him and just continue to doze for what feels like only a few seconds before you feel a weight being put on the mattress. For a moment, there was silence.

But just a moment.

“Baaaabe~” Rinne whines as he puts his full weight on top of you. “Honeeeey beeeeee~ Wake up~!”

He nuzzles his face right into your chest, squeezing you into his arms as he rolls the two of you around on the bed. 

“Gah! Rinne!” You squirm in his grasp.

As soon as your face emerges from the bedsheets, he showers you in kisses. This wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence. Usually this would’ve happened later in the day as you two tended to sleep in together. But he was always much more affectionate and energetic than usual after big events. Be it concerts, award shows were Crazy:B are even so much as nominated, whatever constituted a party called for extra affection from the bee.

Yesterday was your one year anniversary. Surprisingly, he planned an entire trip at an amusement park, rolling dice after every attraction and game stall you two visited to determine the next move. It was more fun than you’d admit to his face. The cherry on top was a candlelit dinner on the rooftop of a high class restaurant. How did he get a reservation? He would only grin and say it was fate. You would say it was his unit mate that you spotted plating a dish table side on your way to the bathroom.

But you didn’t tell him that.

Now you were being nuzzled and kissed all over by him.

You manage to push him off enough to plant a loving kiss of your own on his lips. 

“Good morning,” you say. “You seem happy.”

Rinne laughs in the way he always does, scooping you up and settling you on his lap. His blue eyes bore into yours with a love drunk gaze. “‘Course I’m happy, babe.” He presses his lips to yours gently. “I’ve had the privilege of being yours for over a year.” One of his hands raises to cup your cheek. “Who wouldn’t be happy with that?”

For all the time he spent acting like a fool, gambling his savings away, pranking suspecting idols in the agency, he never failed to remind you how important you were to him. At first it was subtle. He’d protect you from leering eyes or suddenly treat you to lunch whenever he supposedly won big at pachinko. Now he was much more comfortable dropping that outrageous mask in front of you. He was at ease with you.

“I made you breakfast.”

His words snap you out of your reminiscing and yes. There was, in fact, a tray with toast and scrambled eggs sitting on your bedside table along with two mugs of coffee. One mug less filled than the other.

“... Did you actually make that?” You ask, tilting your head. The eggs were cooked to a perfect soft scramble and the toast nearly looked fake with how even the toasting was.

He looks to the side, his signature cocky smile on his face as he scratches the back of his neck. “I picked up a few things while livin’ with Niki all those years, ‘kay?”

You give him a sleepy smile and kiss his cheek. “Thank you, honey.”

As you pull back, you see him staring down at you rather intensely. Your eyes follow his gaze. The shirt you were wearing— One of Rinne’s t-shirts, actually— had slipped past your shoulder, exposing your collarbone.

Oh.

Nothing was said for the next few minutes. Only actions existed between you two for this moment. It was a silent agreement as Rinne undresses you like he was unwrapping a delicate package. Once your shirt and any other clothing you were wearing were out of the way, he makes quick work of his undershirt. Rinne keeps his boxers on as he was much too excited to get started on you. He pushes you gently back down onto the bed where you were just dozing off moments ago.

Rinne runs his hands up and down your sides, admiring the view he had of you below him. He was captivated by the way the light shines through the curtains to brush and caress your body in the same way he was doing right now. His face glows with his soft, love drunk expression, lowering his head to give you the nth kiss of the morning. His lips drift from your lips down to your neck and down your body.

He leaves no patch of skin untouched. He relishes in each soft gasp he can pull out of you. Each time he feels your skin pebble to goosebumps, he chuckles and nuzzles his face into that spot a little more.

You merely lie against the pillows and sheets and watch him, one of his hands holding yours with your fingers intertwined. He had already brought you breakfast (which still lay untouched due to this small distraction), but he refused to have you lift a finger. Your one year anniversary might have ended when you both slept, but he couldn’t help but want to treat his lover a little more.

“Hmngh…”

Your eyes flutter as his tongue lavishes itself against your hole. Through half-lidded eyes, you catch a glimpse of him staring up at you like you were heaven sent. His own eyes close eventually as he focuses all his efforts into pleasuring you. Your legs instinctively find their way over his broad shoulders and he moves his hands to hold onto your waist gently. 

One of his long fingers makes its way into your hole. Curling and gently caressing you from within, his mouth finds its own rhythm against your sex. Rinne lets out a small mouth of his own, clearly deriving pleasure from this act alone. The vibrations send waves of pleasure up your spine as you try and stop yourself from grinding against his face. He’s not going particularly fast. His tongue moves at a languid pace and he’s taking his time with adding another finger into your eager hole. But he knew every spot that made your body want to keen and whine for him. He’s explored enough that the actions were second nature to him.

Your head falls back against the pillows, softly moaning as your lover holds you right where he wants you. The sleepy daze that was clouding your mind was replaced with the wondrous haze of pleasure. Your hips raise ever so slightly into Rinne’s touch and his grip on your waist tightens. His movements speed up slightly to draw out more noises from you.

You just barely manage to raise your head and see his piercing blue eyes glued to your form.

“Rinne~” Your voice still had the slight morning rasp. Now it was mixed in with your needy whines.

“Yes, honey bee?” He pulls away, the signature smirk you’ve grown to love plasters itself on his face.

For a moment, you just lie there— panting softly. You can’t seem to speak, mind already starting to numb from the gentle but constant drum of pleasure flowing through you.His free hand continues to caress your sides while the fingers inside of you move in and out at a moderate pace. The only sounds filling the room.

He watches your mouth open and shut a couple times. His fingers continue to speed up as he finds your speechless expression all too precious to stop. He doesn’t even want to speak so as to not interrupt the chorus of sweet noises that tumble from your lips.

The way the light shines from behind him makes him appear to have a slight golden outline. Like a little halo of light. Your vision blurs for a moment as you feel your orgasm approach quickly. You try and get your bearings, hand reaching for the one holding your waist. You don’t last long before you feel the pleasure release from your body. You tense for a moment, clenching yourself around Rinne’s fingers, before relaxing back down onto the bed.

Rinne lets out a low whistle and retracts his fingers from your hole. He even makes a show of kissing your sex as if to thank you for the wonderful display you’ve put on for him. You whimper at the emptiness, breathing deeply to calm yourself.

You watch as he frees his cock from his boxers. The way his hand strokes himself up and down was a delicious sight. There was no need for him to even do that considering how hard he was.

“Babe~”

He kisses you again to bring you out of your stupor. “You okay? Can I put it in… please?” He asks so gently, but you could feel the slight strain behind his words.

You look down and see his dick already rubbing against your awaiting hole. The sight alone made you want more.

“I’m okay.” You tell him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Go ahead, Rinne~”

Rinne pushes himself into your hole the second you give him the okay. You watch as his Adam’s apple bobs and he lets out a guttural moan.

“Shit- You feel so fucking good.” He sucks in a harsh breath. It takes him all the concentration in the world to not pound you into the mattress and let you both get a second to adjust to each other.

Your lips make contact with his throat as he wraps his arms around you. He didn’t care if you left hickeys. In fact, he invited it. His eyes roll upward as you suck on his pale skin and he gave a few shallow thrusts before finding a good pace.

He went slow. In comparison to his usual harsh, eye watering pace, Rinne was going slow. He wanted to savour this moment with you. And it felt just as good.

His pace makes you feel each and every inch leaving and entering you and you find yourself back in that pleasure induced daze from earlier. You kiss and nip at his neck and collarbone, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers rub circles into your back. Your legs hook around his waist to draw him closer.

“I’m so lucky.” His voice is husky as he mutters those words into your ear. “I’m so lucky to be yours. That you let me be yours.” He speeds up slightly. His dick is throbbing inside of you.

“I’m yours too, Rinne.” You whimper, an overwhelming feeling of care and pleasure mixing together inside of you.

His hips smack against yours delightfully, speeding up as time went on. There are no more words exchanged. Just moans and cries of pleasure.

Rinne has reached his boiling point. He lets go of your body in favour of bracing himself against the mattress with one hand. His other hand collects your wrists and holds them above your head as he leans forward. He uses his own body weight to get you into a mating press— the angle making his dick drive deeper into you.

His usual pace was back.

You cry out as his cock flies in and out of you, the pressure of an orgasm bubbling inside of your abdomen once again. Through bleary eyes, you see him dip his head down. You can hear him groaning and growling by your ear. Rinne was drowning in the same overwhelming pleasure and emotions as you were. 

“I love you, my honey bee.”

A deep thrust burying his cock as deep as it would go in you punctuates each word.

You couldn’t even respond before you are overtaken by the force of your climax. You shudder against his sturdy body as you are thrown into clear bliss. The immense amount of pleasure runs through you in waves and you find yourself clenching around him more than expected.

Rinne lets out beautiful— damn near melodic— breathy moans himself. A couple more deep thrusts and he is holding you in place as his cum fills your hole. He gives a few shallow thrusts before he stops, pulling you on top of him.

You and him lie there, skin to skin and catching your breaths. His fingers move to stroke your hair.

A soft smile appears on his face as he hears your quiet voice.

“I love you too, Rinne.”

[writingintheshadowsforever]

Kate Bishop x Reader Not Who You Think I Am Part 7

"Take off the mask." It wasn't a command this time but a plea. Her bow still laid at her feet with her knees quaking, and her eyes blinking back tears.

Her words barely reached your ears but a gust of wind blew by carrying them to you. Along with the tone of disbelief in her voice as well. Kate was telling herself this was all just one big mistake, or better yet a nightmare. She took a hard fall somewhere between getting off the plane and heading home. You were hovering over her hospital bed right now with glistening eyes begging her to wake up. Because the reality of this situation wasn't something she could handle. Not when she just barely survived her own mother betraying her in so many ways. Not when her mother revealed her father was anything but the hero she remembered he was.

You were her person. Her safe place. Her peace.

She buried herself in your arms night after nighter shedding tears for putting her mom in jail, and every single night you had told she had done the right thing. Out of everything you were to her the most important thing was being her reassurance. But now her entire image of you was beyond destroyed as she watched. Her nemesis who she believed you needed protection from lifted the wolf mask revealing to her. The two of you were actually the same person, and you had been playing her from the start.

What else did you lie to her about? Had you been under Fisk's payroll this entire time? Why weren't you present at the events that went down during Christmas last year? Did Fisk keep you on standby so he could use you later on?

"Why?" was the only word Kate could utter in the moment before she broke. Her bow clattered to the ground along with the arrow. Her legs carried her backwards till she felt her back connect with wall next to the door. She braced herself against for support with her body left with no strength to keep her standing.

You were still positioned on the ledge with your mask sitting atop of your head. Tears cascading down your face at the sight of your beloved breaking down. "Katie please I need you to understand-"

"Understand what" she fired back cutting you back as her voice finally returned. Kate pushed off from the wall to stalk back towards you. "Understand that you have been lying to me this entire time, understand you hired your goons to kidnap Lucky to lure me in."

"That wasn't me I would never put you or Lucky in danger and you know that." You corrected her jabbing a finger at her. Anger crept into your voice as it became harder to keep the emotion at bay. Yet you couldn't help but be bothered at how easy it was for Kate to see nothing but the worst in you. Then again maybe you were foolish to put your faith in the girl who called the cops on her own mother without hearing her side of the story first.

Maybe you should just be grateful Kate was granting you that courtesy.

"Really because I can't tell y/n what do you think you're doing right now" Kate cried.

"I'm trying to tell you the truth but you won't listen."

"Oh please go on tell me the truth. Explain to me why you are working for a criminal like Wilson Fisk."

"I didn't have a choice Kate okay. It was either clean up the Tracksuits mess, or he was going to come after you. I did it to keep you safe and get him off my back for good."

Kate frowned and if it was even possible the feeling of betrayal increased tenfold. "What do you mean for good? How long have you been working with him?"

"I told on the joyride to find Lucky remember. I was born into this Katie I never really a choice. It was only because of my brother Wilson didn't come knocking on my door sooner."

"This is a family legacy type of thing there was no helping me." Kate was replaying every single word from the previous conservation she held with you. Back when you were just a stranger she low-key felt sorry for. All of those words held new meaning to her now. The two of you had grown up together sharing every little dirty secret with each other. She was supposed to know you better than anyone in her life, but just like her parents there was a dark side to you. She knew nothing about till now.

"Where is your brother now? Why did he stop protecting you?" She asked with venom in her voice. Of course she was projecting the blame on him now. Kate was spiraling trying to make sense of all this, and some way to justify your actions in her eyes.

"Kazi is dead" You told her with no emotion. Knowing the revelation would hurt her even more considering she knew your brother after facing off with him more than a few times.

Kate tried to keep her reaction in check and give nothing away, but her mouth opened for just a fraction of a second. Before closing as no words came to mind she knew Kazi had died during the showdown between her and Clint, but only because the Avenger was the one who told her.

Clint had discovered his dead body while trying to round up all the bad guys to make sure. The cops put all of them behind bars where they belonged. He didn't tell her rather or not it was one a misplaced or arrow that had killed him, or something else. She always believed Fisk had doubled back to punish his second in command for failing him, but now she know the crime lord still had use of him. Kate was on the verge of hyperventilate at the thought that her or Clint had caused your brother's death. When you spoke up again easing her mind.

"Maya killed him in self-defense he wanted her dead so he could take over the Tracksuits. She was supposed to die the same night her father and mine's did." You reassured her stepping off the ledge wanting nothing more than to go to her.

"Wait your dad died in a car accident" Kate whispered sounding unsure. She didn't what to believe now.

You shook your head. "That's what I told you to and how it was setup to look like. But Kazi orchestrated those hits on the behalf of Wilson Fisk."

"Y/N' she breathed your name with sympathetic eyes. The night she had came to you crying about putting her mother away. You were grieving the death of your brother.

"Its okay Kate I came to terms with Kazi's death years before it happened. I knew this life would put him in the grave sooner than later. Why do you think I spent most of my teenage years begging him to leave it behind with me?"

"Why didn't he?"

"He was sucked into all of this from day one and no matter what it costed him. Kazi believed this was a legacy worth fighting and dying more. I knew it was a curse the day it took our mother away from me." You said with a faraway look in your eyes. The memory forced its way from the deep dark depths of your subconscious fighting to the surface.

It had been years since you thought about that night when ten-year old you was lying in the bed fast asleep. Until a crash in the living room pulled you from your peaceful slumber.

The sound of breaking glass was followed by your mother's cries of pain mixed in with pleas for her children to be spared. You could make out a few words with the side of your face pressed to the door. Frozen in fear waiting for your big brother or father to come to rescue, in the moment you hadn't yet realized. All of this was happening to the later, and eventually Kazi did burst from his room with a baseball bat in hand.

You heard the sickening crunch of the aluminum bat connecting with a goon's knee knocking out of place. The man let out a cry of pain dropping to the floor to clutch his knee. Before you knew what you were doing adrenaline took over, and you yanked your door opened to rush onto the scene.

Another goon was too busy trying to wrestle the bat away from Kazi who held onto it for dear life. A bigger guy stood in the living room doorway with a shape so big. It blocked out the moonlight trying to peek through from the windows behind him. His focus was solely on your mother who was kneeling before him with her hands folded out in front of her.

No one seemed to notice your arrival till you grabbed the gun that fell from the crippled goon's hands. You pulled back on the mechanism just like your dad taught you reloading it. Everyone's eyes snapped in your direction as you trained the gun on the big man. Unable to make out his face hidden by his over-the-top hat, and the shadows of the night.

"Leave my mommy and brother alone" You ordered keeping the gun steady.

The other goon released his hold on the bat causing your brother to stumble back into the table. He recovered fast enough to put himself between you and the goon. When the man pulled a gun from his waistband to aim it at your head.

"Boss say the word and I'll light the little brats up" came the man's gruff voice.

"No" your mother shrieked pushing herself to her feet to run over throwing her arms around. Both of you into her tight and protective embrace. "Not them Fisk please you can take me but leave them be. I'll make them behave."

The big man named Fisk tilted his head to the side letting out a hmph sound. The goon's finger trembled on the trigger ready to pull it, and bring an end to all this.

"Leave the children be and bring the mother. We shall make an example out of her" Fisk ordered his man. His voice calm and unwavering despite the intensity of the situation. He talked like this was just another business meeting, and he hadn't come here to destroy a family tonight.

Kazi fought his way out of his mother's grip and tried to shield her away from the goon. But the bigger man just slammed the butt of his gun into his head. Your big brother froze for just a second as his body locked up, and the bat slipped from his fingers. A second later he toppled over onto the floor.

"Kazi" you cried attempting to raise the gun still in your grip again. But your mother forced your hands back down and brought a hand to caress your cheek.

"Babygirl I need you to put this down. Can you do that for me?" she asked softly.

You were able to make out her soft features, and the tears glistening her face. "Mom please don't go with them" you whispered covering her hand with yours.

"I have too sweetheart but its going to be okay. They're only taking me to your father. I promise it'll be okay but you have to stop fighting" she tried again.

Your mother never broke a promise so you didn't hesitate in tossing the gun aside. She told you to stay with Kazi and pressed lingering kisses all over both of your faces. Then you watched as she was escorted from the house by the abled goon and the crippled one limped his way out. Fisk was the last to leave the house throwing one last glance at you and Kazi.

It would be the last time you saw your mother alive.

"I know you thought my mom died of a sudden heart attack." You whispered as Kate regarded you with a mixture of pity and pain.

"Did my mom know about this?" She mustered up the courage to ask after a moment of silence.

You nodded. "Its why she was always so welcoming to me. She knew I wanted nothing to do with this life, and tried to give me a little bit of normalcy by hanging out with you all the time."

Kate found herself unable to be angry with all the secrets being brought to the light. Even though she had every right to be after all you knew a good portion of her life had been a lie, and you played a part in maintaining the lies. But then again her mother probably hadn't given you much of a choice. In the matter she wanted to ask but was afraid to her more.

"My father failed and my mother paid with her life. My brother failed and the torch was passed onto me."

"I get why you kept all this from me when we were kids y/n-"

You let out a premature sigh of relief believing this argument was over. She understood your reasons and didn't hate you. Until Kate threw out a hand stopping you from hugging her as you approached her.

"But we're not kids anymore and I'm not a child who needed you to protect me from the boogeyman. I'm an Avenger now who took down Fisk last year. You should've came to me for help instead of doing his dirty work. You're no better than my mom."

It was too much especially the her last comment. You exploded unable to hold back anymore.

"Are fucking serious right now? After everything I just told you how can you still believe any of this was a choice. You know what Katie you are a child" You shouted knocking her hand away.

"I'm a child" Kate repeated your words with a scoff. Although you could hear the agony in her voice that she was trying so hard to mask. It broke your heart to be the one causing it, but you went on.

"Yes Katie I don't care what you did last year Fisk could've snapped your neck in a blink of an eye. If he wanted too but he needed your mom's money. Fisk has been put behind bars twice, and he managed to manipulate his way out both times. Maya put a bullet in his head and somehow he's still standing. What do you think you can do that hasn't been done?"

"I would've figured something out" Kate argued.

"And your plan would've failed Kate the only way out for me was too give him what he wants. It was just a few jobs here and there no one even got hurt." You told her.

"Fisk is still a bad guy y/n who killed your mom, and was willing to kill mine. How can you defend him?"

"I'm not defending him. I'm trying to make you understand I couldn't lose anyone else to him especially you. Kate I fucking love you, and I'll burn down this entire city to keep you alive. Not a day goes by where I don't wish I didn't put an end to him that night he came for my mother.

"Y/N" Kate murmured your name finally letting herself reach out to grip your chin. Lifting your head to making you look in soft blue eyes which were filled with tears.

"I told Yelena you wouldn't get it because in your world everything is black and white. There's no room for a gray area."

"Yelena knew about you" she said raising an eyebrow. The gears in her head started to turn, and there was nothing you could do to come back from it. The little moment of peace was over as Kate frowned.

"Is she the reason we're even having this conservation?"

"She was going to tell you if I didn't come clean on my own" You confessed.

"So you were going to continue to run around and do Fisk's dirty work."

"I only have one job left."

Kate released her grip on your chin to clench her fists. "Have? You're still going to finish the job."

"Do you have a better idea?" You shot back matching her tone of anger.

"You're lucky I haven't called the cops yet" she blurted out turning around to put her back to you.

"Locking me up the way you did your mom" You said looking away.

"You told me that was the right call or did your forget?" she yelled whirling back around.

"I told you what you needed to hear Kate but you were wrong. Your mother wasn't the bad guy. If anybody was it was your father who died and left behind a trail of mistakes. Eleanor did her to clean up his mess and keep you safe."

"So what does that make me then?"

"A blinded hero" You answered.

Kate didn't reply right away dropping into a crouch with her hands tangled in her hair. Turmoil on her face as she tried to process your words while working double time to keep. The guilty thoughts away as you unlocked a door she closed a long time ago.

You contemplated making a run for it while Kate was stuck in her own head. But no part of you wanted to leave things like this between the two of you. You wanted clarity on where your relationship with her stood.

The silence was deafening as both of you waited for the other to say something, but neither of you knew what to say because thing were so broken. It was beyond repair and Kate couldn't deal with that right now. While you wanted to believe all of this was still salvageable.

"You have ten seconds."

You had been staring up the night sky counting the stars to pass time when she spoke, so her words didn't register with you right away. "What?"

"You got ten seconds to get out of my sight and I never want to see you again." Kate said with a bit more force this time. Her eyes wouldn't meet yours.

"What about us" You implored.

"I can't be with you anymore y/n not after this. I'm letting you go that's enough alright so just go please" Kate replied. There it was again agony in her voice but this time she didn't try to mask it.

"Katie please you're my light okay. I need you in my life" You begged covering the distance between the two of you with one stride. You placed both of your hands on either side of her face.

"Y/N no stop calling me that" Kate protested attempting to pull away. Until a arm was secured around her waist and then your lips were on hers in a breathtaking kiss. You poured all of your emotions, all the desperation, and pain into it. You needed her to understand and her lips molded with yours like the perfect fit they were. The two of you were meant to be for better or worse. Hero and villain, good and bad, light and darkness. Nothing was supposed to be able to come between the two of you. She had promised you that herself, and you wasn't going to let Wilson Fisk cost you another promise.

Kate finally gathered up the will to shove you away so hard you fell back on the ground. Her bow was back in her hand in a flash, and before you knew. She had an arrow notched trained right at your heart. "And you were the one person in my life who I thought wasn't broken and messed up. But it turns out it was all a lie."

Her words torn through you, and ripped your heart to shreds. You got back to your feet holding back sobs. But the tears fell again as you had lost count just how much crying was done tonight. Your hand move to your collarbone where the arrow with the heart charm rested. "Wow would you look at that foreshadowing."

You yanked the necklace off and threw it to her feet. "Gooddbye Kate." Those were your last words and you turned around to breakout into a swift run. Leaping from the ledge of the apartment building to the next one. Kate watched as you disappeared into the night taking her heart with you.

Not knowing you left yours behind with her.

A Week Later

Wilson blew up your phone with numerous of calls and text messages in the following days. He sent a few men over to the apartment you use to share with Kate, but they never made it. You intercepted them every single of time, and put an end to their lives. Until he finally got the message to stop sending them on the fourth time. When none of his guys returned back to him to report.

He resorted back to threatening calls which were ignored as you were busy plotting revenge.

"Please please I give don't" the robber pleaded holding up his arm. You dropped to one knee moving his hand aside to sock him in the nose. He groaned in pain as his head bounced off the concrete ground.

Your fist was drawn back for another shot when a baton attached to a metal wire wrapped around wrist and tightened. Till the point your hand went numb with blood circulation cut off. The person on the other end gave tugged hard pulling you away from the beaten and battered robber.

"You are one hard dude to find you know. I've been trying to get your attention for days."

You twisted your around as your body was dragged backwards deeper into the alley. Your legs were extended out catching your assailant in the chest. He absorbed the kick with ease due to his armored suit.

"So you beat a bunch of street thugs within an inch of their life"said the mysterious man. His identity concealed under a yellow horned mask, but strangely enough it was only covered the top half of his face.

"You got an update on the suit I see it doesn't really go with the whole Devil of Hell's Kitchen title." You commented observing his suit for every little detail.

"I go by Daredevil now" he said with a shrug.

"That's catchy and less of a mouthful I guess."

He began to unwrap the wire from around your wrist and once you were free. The baton snapped back into place with the other end. "What do you want with me?"

"Your help you and I share a common enemy. The name Wilson Fisk ring any bells?" You asked ready to judge his reaction.

He hid his facial expressions well but his body tensed up at the sound of his number one nemesis's name. "I actually do my best too stay off his radar these days. He's not my concern anymore."

You nodded in understanding. "I would back off too if a man like that uncovered my secret identity, but what happens you should know better. Matthew because believe Fisk still keeps tab on you and your friends. Foggy Nelson and Kare-"

Matthew Murdock didn't give you the chance to finish your sentence before bone-rushing you. Slamming your body into the brick wall pressing the side of your face with vicious intent.

"Keep her name out your mouth" he sneered right in your ear. He was so close you could feel his breath on your neck.

"Who are you?" He growled.

"Someone who wants Fisk dead just as much as you did a few years back, but unlike you I intend on going through with it." You said through gritted teeth.

"What does that have to do with me? I wasn't going to stand in your way."

"I know but others might and I need help keeping them off might back."

"Why would I do that? Its not my style" Matt argued but he stepped back letting you turn around to face him.

"Because you're tired of walking eggshells around your home careful not to step on his toes, and bring upon his wrath again. You want to go the bed at night without looking over your shoulder or your loved ones's."

Matthew reached up to pull his mask off revealing his entire face to you. His dark hair was a mess and his eyes were guarded. "What did Fisk take away from you."

Tag List: @danveration @yelenabelovasgf @xxromanoffxx @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @natashasilverfox @catswag22 @be-missed @lizlil @acutenobody @kacka84 @supercorpdanbeau @itbeila @jimicantaffordtherapy @screechcat

"Everything so I got nothing else to lose so what do you say? Think you can go back to being the Devil of Hell's Kitchen for one more night."

[angelqinladsfandomaccount]

Fated Council Meeting

Author: @angelqinladsfandomaccount

Imagine: An AU where MC is actually a Princess. In this AU, the guys come into her life roughly about the same time and for different(ish) reasons. This isn’t a story per say, but more like a collection of one shots/drabbles all taking place in this AU I have created in my head. I just wanted to share with the community for those interested! :) 

Pairing: All LADS men x F!Reader

Trigger warnings: arranged marriage, violence, mentions or rape/torture, mature themes (MDNI), mentions of weapons/wounds/blood

Word Count: 2962

The Princess' Heart Collection (LADS AU)

I own no rights to the Love and Deepspace characters.  

Author’s Notes

Not everything mentioned in the AU will be cannon. Just something for me to write about/occupy my time with :) 

Not every part posted will be in chronological order. I’m just writing as I have inspiration for the AU

Some important notes about the Princess: she is an artist/can draw; she has dreams of her past/future lives with the LADS men; just like in LADS, the Princess is a little bit of a bad ass and takes no shit; and lastly…her evol in the AU is one I’ve made myself…I’m calling it a “chameleon evol” but she can replicate/mimic/use any evol she resonates with….

The man with white hair had red eyes that glimmered with mischief as he glanced at the man with blue and pink eyes and purple hair seated next to him on his right before he smirked at the silver haired man seated to the left of him. The three men happened to be seated next to each other as they listened to the mumbled conversations of the council gathering in the throne room of the King. Each of them had been invited here by the King for various reasons: Sylus had been invited to fill the vacant spot on the King’s council; Rafayel was invited by the King to be the Princess’ new personal guard; and Xavier was here under his father’s wishes for him to be the Princess’ suitor in marriage.

The King, a young man with golden blond hair and sea blue eyes, sat on the throne in the center of the dais at the far end of the room. A large bay of windows allowed those in the throne room to witness the dazzling waterfalls flow from the cliffs behind the castle to the endless ocean below. Seated next to the King was the King’s younger brother, Prince Lucius, who sat in stark contrast to the young King. The ink black hair of the young Prince made the emerald green of his eyes shine brightly as he looked at the gathered men in the room with boredom. A mask hiding most of the Prince’s and King’s face and the crowns upon their heads were the only similarities between the two royal family members and the only things declaring them part of the royal family. A middle-aged man with graying hair cleared his throat as he approached the center of the throne room and the mumbled conversations in the room ceased. 

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” The older man spoke in a formal tone. “I am Prime Minister Simoni, and I am pleased to be addressing our beloved King Camillus and the council seated before me.” The man’s face held no emotion as he turned to look at the King seated on the throne. “The first order of business to address during this council meeting is the discussion of the appointment of the Princess’ most recent suitor--”

The doors to the throne room violently opening as a young woman with rose red hair tied back into a ponytail walked into the throne room as she dragged a limp body behind her. The rose gold mask on her face hid the lower half of her face, but her chocolate brown eyes stared straight at the King seated on the throne with defiance as the man she dragged by the collar groaned weakly. Every head in the room turned to look at the sudden interruption, and the three men’s eyes widened as they looked at the woman who came to stand a short distance away from the Prime Minister.

“You mean the rapist, sadist, and murderer you tried to set the Princess to marry?” The woman’s voice was even, but her tone slightly betrayed the anger that she felt as the man groaned as she threw him at the feet of the Prime Minister. The man coughed and gripped his left shoulder as blood stained the white shirt he was wearing.

All three men--Sylus, Rafayel, and Xavier--sucked in a breath as they stared at the woman who stood with her head held high before the King and the council. The Princess looked and sounded like her, and the hearts in the center of each of their chests began to quicken pace as they watched the scene before them unfold as the Princess threw a book she had been holding in her other hand at the stairs of the throne.

“Before you, my King, is evidence gathered from the manor of Lord Gaston. Within its pages you will find handwritten notes detailing the twisted fantasies of how the Lord plans to rape, torture, and eventually kill me.” The Prince rises from his seat and walks to pick up the book from the stairs before he takes his seat and opens the book to look over the pages.

“Nonsense!” An older man from the other side of the room shouts as he stands up. “Everyone knows that the Princess has been vocal in her disdain for finding a suitor!” His words convey every ounce of distrust he has for the Princess and her accusations against the man groaning on the floor in front of the Prime Minister. The masked woman’s eyes cut to the man who openly speaks against her as she audaciously meets his gaze.

“Lord Merton,” The Princess addresses the man who spoke. “I understand your distrust of me in these accusations.” Silence greeted the Princess as the men in the room awaited what the woman would say next. “Allow me to bring forth more evidence to the council.” The Princess turned her head to look at the King, who slightly nodded his head at the Princess’ request.

“You may enter.” The Princess turned to look at the open doors of the throne room before several shy servants quietly shuffled into the room. “Before you are all servants of Lord Gaston, who have all personally witnessed or endured the cruel acts of the man himself.” The Princess walked over to the servants, who refused to look up at the sea of men around them, before she gently took the hand of the nearest servant--a ginger man with pale green eyes.

The servant looked up at her before he thickly swallowed and lifted his shirt to reveal several nasty scars littering his abdomen and back to the members of the council. A heavy silence hung in the room as each servant began to reveal their similar scars or opening their mouths to reveal their severed tongue. The three men looked around at the faces of the men around them to see how they were all reacting to this piece of evidence. Some of the men around them turned to look at the man lying on the floor with disgust; some of the men looked at the Princess with a sorrowful look; a few of the men still looked skeptical of the evidence presented before them.

Upon seeing the skeptical looks of some of the men in the council, the ginger haired man gestured to the Princess to cover her eyes. The Princess covered her eyes before the ginger man boldly stepped in front of her and stripped his pants off to reveal his severed penis to the council men. Surprised gasps left the lips of the men with skeptical looks as the ginger man covered himself back up and tapped the Princess on her shoulder, who uncovered her eyes and looked apologetically at the man. The Prime Minister’s face looked pale as he looked down at the man at his feet.

“Lord Gaston is a wolf wearing sheep’s clothing.” The Princess’ finger pointed at the man laying on the ground, who looked at her like he wanted to strange her. “A monster such as himself deserves no place beside the Princess, nor does he deserve the sweet taste of freedom.”

Sylus couldn’t help the smirk on his lips as he watched the Princess stare coldly back at the man. If the Princess was her reincarnated in this lifetime, then she was just as feisty as her previous self.

Rafayel, the man with blue and pink eyes, watched the woman attentively as his ears picked up on the steady beating of the heart in her chest. The familiar burning sensation of the bond mark over his heart confirmed that she had reincarnated as the audacious Princess standing in the throne room before him.

Xavier, the silver haired man, felt his heart race slightly in his chest as he was almost certain that the Princess was the woman he loved reincarnated before him. Curious, he secretly peered over at the other two men seated beside him, and found them both to be intently watching the Princess. For some unknown reason, Xavier felt a twinge of jealousy flow through his veins at this observation before as he turned his attention back to the Princess.

The man on the ground wickedly smiled at the Princess before he slowly lifted himself up to his knees. In the blink of an eye, Lord Gaston drew the sword from the Prime Minister’s waist and threw it at the Princess. The Princess almost escaped the sword as it buried itself into her shoulder, and chaos erupted in the throne room as guards rushed in to subdue the man who dared to harm the Princess. With a guard on each side, Lord Gaston smirked as the Princess gripped the sword sticking out of her shoulder, and the teal of the Princess’ dress turned a darker shade of blue as blood mixed with the fibers. 

The three men sitting nearby felt their blood boil as several scarlet drops fell on the floor from the Princess’ shoulder, but the woman straightened up and looked at the man who threw the sword with defiant eyes.

“Attempting to murder the Princess,” Her voice was strong as she slowly stalked towards the man who attempted to take her life, and all eyes watched as the Princess wrapped her delicate fingers around the hilt of the sword then pulled it out of her shoulder. “Is a treasonous act punishable by death. Isn’t that right, My King?” Pointing the sword at the man on his knees before her, the Princess did not look up to the blonde man seated upon the throne.

“Indeed.” The King finally said as he deep voice reverberated off the walls of the throne room. “Having witnessed the attempt myself, I permit the Princess to enact justice on her behalf.” With a flick of her wrist, the room fell into an eerie silence as the head of Lord Gaston slid from his body and rolled across the floor before stopping at the feet of the Prime Minister, whose face was pale as the blood seemed to drain from his face at the sight. 

“Perhaps,” The Princess stepped towards the Prime Minister and held out his sword to him. “Prime Minister, you should leave the chosing of a suitor to the Princess since you are incapable of chosing someone decent.” The older man visibly swallowed at the Princess’ words as the Princess held a hand to the wound on her shoulder; blood had begun to drip a small path on the floor from the harsh pulling of the sword from her body. The blonde man sitting on the throne cleared his throat before another young man briskly walked into the room. The newcomer in the room wore a stern expression on his face as his hazel eyes narrowed at the sight of wound on the Princess.

“You are wounded, Sister.” The King spoke as his eyes softened at the young woman. “Let Doctor Zayne tend to your wounds, and we shall discuss the topic of suitors at another time.” The young woman looked up at her older brother before she looked at the man who approached her. His dark hair fell slightly over his eyebrows as he noticed the blood slowly dripping on the ground below the Princess. “Alright.” The Princess said as her eyebrows furrowed slightly at the scowl on the doctor’s face. “Suitor discussion may be discussed later as you wish, Your Majesty.” The woman bowed respectfully to the blonde man seated upon the throne. “I will take my leave now to tend to my wounds.” With her final words, the Princess turned and followed the doctor out of the throne room.

After the ordeal Sylus witnessed, he knew that he had to get closer to the Princess to find out if his hunch about the young lady was right. Looking around the room at the sea of men who looked astonished by the events that had transpired in the throne room today, Sylus knew that he could easily convince the King to let him join the council. However, Sylus had another idea brewing inside his head--perhaps he could convince the King to let him be a personal guard for the Princess?

“Everyone is dismissed. The council meeting is abjorned.” The King’s authoritative tone echoed off the stone walls of the chamber, and several men stood before quickly taking their leave. However, the three men stood but made no move to vacate the throne room. King Camilus took notice of the three men who remained in the throne room, and the young man tried to hide the annoyance on his face.

“You three remain in the throne room after the King has dismissed everyone.” The King’s tone showed how tiresome the ordeal with the Princess had been on him. “Approach and tell me what business it is you wish to address with the King.”

The three men temporarily looked at each other as if realizing for the first time that they all had seemingly come to the council meeting with a purpose, but what the other’s purpose was had yet to be revealed to the others. Xavier was the first to step away from where he had been seated and approach the King. Deeply bowing, the silver-haired man felt his heart remain calm in his chest as he straightened his posture to look the King in his sea blue eyes.

“Greetings, King Camilus.” Xavier’s voice sounded foreign as it echoed off the chamber’s walls. “I am Prince Xavier of Philos, and I have been sent by my father to request the Princess’ hand in marriage.” Xavier’s voice is quiet and steady as he speaks before he realizes as his final words are spoken that now may not be the time to bring up such a matter. “I had no knowledge of the previous suitor before arriving today, and I apologize if now is not a good time to bring up such an issue.” The man with the silver hair and blue eyes bowed again, this time apologetically, before he dared to look back up to the King. “I am willing to come again and discuss this matter further.” A heavy sigh from the King greeted Xavier’s words as the King rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Indeed this is an inconvient time to bring forth such a discussion.” The King’s shoulders slumped slightly as he looked over the silver haired man in front of him. “Furthermore, this is a discussion best had in the presence of the Princess herself, so we will delay further discussion until she is well enough to take part in this.” Xavier nodded his head at the King’s words.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Xavier bowed respectfully to the King before he slowly turned and began to walk away as the man with purple hair approached the King then bowed.

“Greetings, Your Majesty,” Rafayel spoke in a somber tone as he straightened his posture. “King Camilus invited me here to become the personal guard of the Princess.” The sentence made Sylus’ eyebrow raise in curiosity as Xavier stopped in his tracks and turned around. “At first, I was going to refuse the summons and the offer; however, after seeing the Princess and what she went through today….” Rafayel dropped to one knee before the King and bowed his head as he placed his hand over his heart. “I accept the position and promise to protect the Princess with my life.”

One of the King’s eyebrows raised as the man kneeled before him, but the King said nothing as he nodded his head before he looked over to the man with white hair. The white haired man with ruby red eyes approached the King next as he respectfully bowed as he stood next to the man with purple hair.

“Greetings, Your Majesty.” Sylus’ deep voice smoothly carried itself through the room. “I was invited here to participate in your council and fill an empty seat. However, after today’s events, I would also like to offer my services to protect the Princess.” Following the example of Rafayel, Sylus dropped to one knee before the King and bowed his head while he placed a hand over his heart.

The King briefly exchanged a look with his younger brother before he stood up and approached the two men.

“Please rise.” The King gently said as he stood before the men. “From this moment forward, you two are the appointed personal guards of Princess [Y/N]. Protect her well, even if it means sacrificing yourself to ensure her safety.” Both of the men looked up at the King before they rose from their kneeling positions and bowed.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” With an approving nod of the King’s head, the two men turned and walked out of the throne room before turning to face each other with distrustful eyes. Xavier followed quietly behind them as he awkwardly stood there to witness the tension building between the two other men as they stared at each other. The white haired man stuck his hand out to the man with the purple hair.

“Sylus.” He said as he smirked at the other man. “And you are?”

“Rafayel.” The man with the purple hair said with a bored tone as he shook hands with Sylus.

“Pleasure to meet you. Hopefully we can get along since we are both going to be protecting the Princess.” A signature smirk rested on the lips of the man with ruby eyes as the cosmic eyes of Rafayel narrowed slightly.

“I hope you’re not going to be a pain in my ass.” Rafayel said as he eyed the whited haired man suspiciously, who scoffed at the threatening tone from Rafayel.

“Likewise.” Sylus said with a smile.

[blurmelonmilk]

My beloved by O.HW ~; | haewon

requested: no

protagonist: author!haewon ; fem!reader

genre: angst, slight fluff  TW: death; blood

Word Count: 808 words

________________________________________________________________

Haewon hurriedly grabbed her phone and laptop from her desk before heading to the front door, you quietly followed behind her making sure she does not fall from running around your shared apartment. Haewon looked at you before gaving you a small peck on the forehead, you softly smiled at her as you waved at her.

“good luck my love!” Haewon smiled as she watched the front door closed infront of her.

Haewon glanced at her watch before taking off to the bus stop, luckly for her the bus arrived at the same time as her, she boarded the bus before occupying an empty seat in the back. She closed her eyes as she tried to calm her nerves, she was meeting with a publisher who was interested in her story. This was Haewon’s most exciting and nerve-wrecking moment aside from when she first met you in the University library.

You were everything to Haewon.. her best friend, her lover. And she was your light in your darkest moments. Haewon would not even be herself if she lost you, she could not imagine what life would have been without you weren’t by her side, supporting and loving her.

Haewon looked out of the bus window watching as it drove past buildings and trees, before she could even realised she was closed to her destination. As she alighted the bus, as she was crossing the road, she quickly checked her bag making sure she didn’t forget anything. However, thats when she realised she had forgotten her thumb drive with all her work in it, she looked at her watch relieved to still have some time before her meeting so she quickly grabbed her phone and dialed your number.

Her phone rang for 5 seconds before she heard her lover’s sweet voice on the other side.

“hello?”

“jagi, i forgot my thumb drive, it’s the bear looking one... do you mind passing it to me? Im at the publishing company already, i hope im not troubling you.. i know you still have your assignments to do.” 

“not at all, i wouldn’t mind at all, just let me get my stuff.. i will see you in 10 minutes”

Haewon can’t help but smiled, how did she ever get so lucky with you. “thank you my love.” she said before hanging up the phone and looked around for a bench before walking to it. She sat down as she patiently waited for her lover to arrive.

10 Minutes have pass and there was still no sight of you, she sighed as she grabbed her phone to message you, thats when she heard her named being called. She looked up and there you were standing across the street.

“HAEWON!” you waved at her as you crossed the road.

Her face quickly lit up as she waited for you to cross the road.

“jagi- “

“BEEP BEEP”

Haewon’s eyes nervously looked at her lover’s still conscious body lying infront of her, she quickly ran to your side, she kneeled down as she shook your body.

“y/n?” she cried as she felt her tears roll down on to your body.

“y/n.. please stay with me..” Haewon held you in her arms as people started to gather around.

Haewon sliently sobbed outside of the emergency room with her hands stained with blood. She held her knees closed to her chest as she waited for you. She prayed that you will come back to her, she know you were a strong girl. However, she couldn’t shake of the feeling of losing you.

She blamed herself, if only she didn’t have forgotten her thumb drive this morning, you wouldn’t be in this state.

After what felt like hours to her, she heard footstep coming from the other side of the door, she quickly stood up as she waited for the doctor. As the doctor walked out, he removed his mask and asked.

“Are you Oh Y/n’s guardian?”

“Yes, Im her wife.”

“Mrs Oh, unfortunately she didn’t make it..” The doctor looked down as he felt guilty and helpless as he watched the girl break down infront of him.

“She lost too much blood on the way to the hospital, we did everything we could... Im sorry for your loss.” He bowed apologetically before giving haewon some alone time in the hallway.

The end...

Haewon closed her laptop as she sighed, she finally finished her story but she couldn’t help but miss you even after a years since your passing.

She packed her things making sure she did not forget anything for tomorrows meeting. Your shared apartment still felt as empty as ever. She laid down on your shared bed, she was hugging the teddy bear that you bought her for your first anniversary. She felt her eyes start to water as she closed her eyes before closing her eyes.

Note: its my first story, so i apologise if its not good :D

Should i do a prequel for when they first met? hm

Taglist: @the-roo-too​

[esotl]

Performance - Act 10 (Part 23)

Writer: Akira

Season: Spring

Characters: Hokuto, Tomoya, Mitsuru

Translation Directory

"All I wanted was to contribute even the slightest bit to your happiness, my beloved, and yet..."

Location: Concert Hall (Theatre)

Hokuto: "Talking to no end about adoring flowers and such while only being truly interested in their nectar - that's what this man called "Paris" did."

"This impoverished, destitute noble was only aiming for the riches your family possesses."

"I heard as much at a bar in town, and I thought, even if you don't love me, I at least want your future to be happy..."

"I thought, let's remove this annoying parasite from your side."

"I challenged him to a duel. But he looked down on me for being a woman, and didn't accept."

"Thoughtlessly kicking up a fuss, he merely called on those associated with the Capulets who detest me."

"On top of all that, a huge brawl broke out, and I heard that your blood relative died in the middle of it..."

"I decided to take the blame for it, to accept the charges with grace should they be pressed."

"But Paris, the coward, suspected that I'd make public what I'd heard about him at the trial grounds..."

"He intruded on this church, and pointed a blade at me."

"He scorned me as a feeble little girl, and tried to pin me down, choking me..."

"I desperately resisted, and in the struggle, Paris stabbed himself with the dagger he'd brought."

"There, I had an epiphany... A wicked, repulsive revelation was granted to me."

"First, I obtained a poison that, when taken in large amounts, turns one's body dusky and discoloured."

Hokuto: "It's this poison! This small bottle of poison, stolen from an innocent apothecary that I roused and threatened in the middle of the night.”

"When I returned after obtaining it, Paris was fortunately still breathing..."

"I made him drink the poison, then forced him into the clothes I was wearing."

Hokuto: "The poison contaminates your whole body, and he turned dark after withering and decaying."

"Nobody, not even his own parents, would recognise him when turned as filthy as he is at heart."

"Those who see him would probably assume I committed suicide due to not wanting to be condemned for my sins. But in this way, I would live."

"If I cut my hair like so, wear men's clothing, and put on a mask, no-one would think I'm Romeo..."

"Using the detestable Paris as my substitute, I planned to slip into the darkness."

"And from them on, I'd protect Lady Juliet as a mere shadow..."

"All I wanted was to contribute even the slightest bit to your happiness, my beloved, and yet..."

"Lady Juliet. That bright future has now shattered."

"At the very least, I shall accompany you on your journey to the afterlife."

"I couldn't protect you, couldn't prevent the life being plucked from such a young maiden..."

"For a fool such as I, this is my last duty in this fleeting world."

"No, before it spreads through your whole body, I shall suck out all the poison from within those lovely lips."

"If possible, I shall try to delay the God of death from reaching you. There must still be time, there must..."

"It hasn't fully circulated, for you are still so beautiful! Please, give your poison to me!"

"Please, forgive me for going to such an extent, Lady Juliet!"

"My love, my everything... For your sake, please use my worthless life."

"Aah... How I wish I could be bestowed a miracle like in my dream."

"Now, death! Come for me if you will, I shall welcome you with open arms!"

"Farewell, farewell! My beloved Lady Juliet, I shall grant you our first and last kiss!"

"......"

Tomoya: "Hurry, hurry! The curtains are about to fall, the story's ending!"

Mitsuru: "Aah, look! They're... Romeo and Juliet are..."

Tomoya: "They're... dead...? Why? Unbelievable, hasn't nothing changed at all?! This story ended tragically as usual!"

"No, it ended worse... Originally, they properly nurtured their love, meeting night after night to confirm it."

"But with the people around them not approving, they lose hope, and after a sorrowful misunderstanding..."

"The two end up dying, which some call a tragedy."

"But while they were alive, they definitely had love. They enjoyed their lives while experiencing love together."

"And in the afterlife, they could finally be together for eternity."

"But because of this ridiculous "reversi" spell, everything got ruined! To the very end, Romeo assumed Juliet didn't love her!"

Mitsuru: "Juliet-nee-chan also hurt the person she loves... She worried about rejecting her, and cried about it every night."

"After I first talked to Juliet-nee-chan, I think she thought of me like a little bird?"

"She seemed to think I'm cute, so she'd often invite me to her room and give me snacks and stuff."

"And when I'd get tired, and doze off... Nee-chan would sing a lullaby to gently lull me to sleep."

"I really loved that side of her."

Tomoya: "Really? Didn't Juliet hate Romeo because her love got reversed...?"

Mitsuru: "No. She loved her, so she pushed her away. Nee-chan told me about it while begging me not to tell anyone else."

"I'm sorry I couldn't say it for so long."

Tomoya: "What the hell... So then, the two of them mutually loved each other like in the original?"

"And yet, they died like this without their feelings being known to each other!"

"That's too cruel... How on earth was this reversal supposed to change the tragic end into a happy one? This is the ending they got!"

"Are you watching, God, author! Are you satisfied! Doing such unnecessary things while saying "let's save them", "let's make them happy"!"

"This is, this kind of thing is... Truly, a tragedy."

"......"

[Act 9 • Directory • Epilogue 1]

[deanosaur666]

The Woodchipper 3

"My son. My darling son. I have shed so many tears for you. I will not rest until I have avenged your unjust death."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What an incredible story," Barnaby said, "I've never heard of ghosts operating a woodchipper before."

"Yes," Ozias said, cutting his steak with a knife, "I'll admit it was a first for me."

"Ozzy's always the first one I call." Betty said, "He's so reliable. I haven't called 911 in years. I know Ozzy can handle anything."

Barnaby smiled. "My sister has told me so many stories about you, Ozbek. I'm happy to finally have gotten a chance to meet you."

"Ah, thank you. I hope I didn't disappoint."

Barnaby laughed. "You're an interesting guy, Ozbek."

Clementine politely sipped tea from a baby-sized teacup.

Barnaby considered Ozias. "I must ask, though. Why the mask? It seems like everyone knows who you really are, anyways."

Ozias paused in thought. "When I put on the mask, I become the Night Disassembler. Only the Night Disassembler can do these things."

"Ah," Barnaby nodded. "Very interesting."

Betty stood up from the table. "I must practice Clementine's speech. Today's a big day."

Ozzy was back in his workshop, carefully dissecting a fish. He had put each of its organs in its own little jar. His mind wandered. Barnaby was a beautiful and charming creature. What did he say he did for work? If only Ozzy could disassemble him. He had beautiful eyes. Perhaps he had a beautiful heart and and skull and lungs and–

The fish's eye slipped out of Ozzy's tweezers, and rolled onto the floor.

"Damn it."

He reached down to find it, but it had rolled off somewhere.

The phone rang.

"Oh, Ozzy!" Betty's voice called from the other end.

"What's happened?"

"Someone kidnapped Barnaby! They were wearing the mask of the Night Disassembler! Wearing your mask, Ozzy!"

"My mask?"

"I know it couldn't have been you, Ozzy! I know you have a pure heart! Someone must have disguised themself as you!"

"I'll find him." Ozzy put down the phone.

"If I had taken Barnaby," Ozzy picked up the fish eye, "where would I take him?" He stared into the fish eye. "Why, I'd invite him into my home. I'd serve him dinner. I'd treat him nicely. Maybe then I could convince him to let me… well… my house really is a mess right now. I should really clean it up."

Ozzy opened the door from his workshop to the living room. The roar of a woodchipper nearly deafened him.

A huge woodchipper stood in the middle of his living room. A figure wearing the mask of the Night Disassmbler carried Barnaby, bound and gagged, over his shoulder, ready to feed him into the machine.

Ozzy jumped at the machine with his screwdriver, and reduced it into a pile of parts.

The figure dropped Barnaby on the floor, and then began to laugh.

"Who are you?"

The figure removed the mask.

He was a massive man. His arms and legs were as thick as tree trunks. His sharp teeth gleamed in his huge grin. His eyes were fiery and piercing. His brow was contorted in an expression of hate.

"I am Dagon Dirk." He sneered. "You killed my beloved son, Night Disassembler. For that crime, I will shred you in the same woodchipper you shredded him in."

Ozzy lunged at Dagon. Dagon reached into a pocket and pulled out a huge sheet, covering his body like a curtain. Barnaby tore through the sheet and landed on the ground. Where was Dagon? His eyes darted around the room. The man was gone. How could such a huge man just disappear?

A small screw rolled out the front door. But Ozzy didn't notice.

He turned to Barnaby, still bound and gagged. Why, he could take Barnaby into his workshop and disassemble him this afternoon. Barnaby couldn't object in this state. No. He would just untie and ungag him.

Betty Blake stood at the podium, sweating.

"Well," she said, "uh, today we're cutting the ribbon for this new school my daughter Clementine helped create. It's for impoverished children, you know. Uh, I'm just going to read the speech Clementine wrote for this event…"

Out from the crowd, a small toddler toddled. He approached the podium.

"Oh," Betty looked at him, "where are your parents, little one?"

The toddler pulled out a remote and pressed a large red button. The roaring sound of a woodchipper emerged from behind the school.

Crash! Crunch! A giant woodchipper rolled through the school on massive treads. Giant mechanical crane arms pulled out pillars and fed them into its gaping maw. The crowd screamed in terror.

The toddler cackled and pulled off his mask. The huge form of Dagon Dirk appeared behind the disguise. He turned to the cameraman recording the event.

"Night Disassembler! You child murdering bastard! The woodchippers hunger and thirst! They will not be sated until they feast on your flesh and blood!" And then Dagon pulled out a sheet and vanished.

Ozzy watched the events unfolding on his television. "That's not good."

"Oh God." Barnaby said. "Betty and Clementine."

Ozias threw open the closet. The mask sneered down at him. "It seems you can't do anything without me."

"Shut up." Ozzy said. "It's time to get to work."

"What?" Barnaby said.

Ozzy just shook his head.

Betty's leg was trapped under a piece of rubble. The giant woodchipper roared louder and louder as it approached her. Clementine pulled at Betty, trying to free her.

"Oh Clementine!" Betty cried. "Leave me! Save yourself! The world needs you!"

Betty turned and saw the machine, almost on top of her. And then it collapsed into pieces.

The Night Disassembler emerged from the mess. He pulled the piece of rubble off of Betty.

"Are you all right, Betty?"

"Oh Ozzy," Betty cried, "we put so much of our souls into building that school. You must stop this terrible man before he destroys even more!"

"Ozbek," Barnaby emerged from the pieces behind him, "I found this. It must have been hidden inside the giant woodchipper." He handed Ozzy a note.

An address was written on the note.

A woodchipper roared in the middle of the playground. A conveyor belt slowly pushed a pile of sleeping puppies towards its mouth. A small dog was tied to a post, barking and yelping, just barely unable to reach the puppies.

Just before the puppies reached the mouth of the machine, the contraption exploded into pieces. Ozzy pulled the puppies from the pile. They were unharmed. He untied the small dog from the post.

"You're ok. It's ok." Ozzy petted the dog. Dagon was nowhere to be seen. Besides the dogs, the park seemed to be completely empty.

A car door slammed in the parking lot. Barnaby and Betty had arrived.

"Is this the place?" Betty yelled.

"How peculiar." Ozzy said.

"You fool!" The small dog pulled off its disguise, and Dagon emerged, towering over Ozzy.

Before Ozzy could react, Dagon bound him tightly in rope.

Barnaby rushed towards him. "Stop!"

Dagon turned towards him and grinned. His head crashed into Barnaby's, throwing Barnaby into the ground. Barnaby was dazed.

"Next time," Dagon laughed, "DON'T use your head." He carried Ozzy into a helicopter that was inconspicuously parked nearby.

"Barnaby!" Betty arrived at her brother's side. The helicopter flew off into the air.

Barnaby groaned. "We have to stop him, before Ozbek is nothing but giblets."

Barnaby and Betty arrived at the abandoned factory. The helicopter was parked just outside.

The noise of a roaring woodchipper could be heard from outside.

Ozzy was tied to a conveyor belt, slowly approaching the huge woodchipper.

Barnaby jumped onto the conveyor belt.

"Don't worry Ozbek, I'll get you out of this."

"Wait!" A voice called from nearby.

Barnaby turned and saw another Night Disassembler tied to another conveyor belt, running parallel to this one.

"It's a trick!" The second Ozzy called. "That's Dagon in disguise! I'm the real Night Disassambler!"

Barnaby froze. There was only time to untie one of them before the woodchipper shredded the other one. His eyes darted between the two figures, looking for some small difference. But they were exactly the same.

He turned to the first Night Disassembler beneath him.

"I trust you will make the right choice," the first one said, "Barnaby."

Barnaby untied the first Night Disassemble, and then pulled him from the conveyor belt, just as the other fell into the woodchipper.

Barnaby held Ozzy steady. "Are you all right?"

Ozzy laughed. "You fool!" He pulled off his mask. Dagon towered over Barnaby. "Not only is the Night Disassembler dead, but at the hand of his foolish friends, too!" He cackled.

Barnaby sank to his knees.

"No!" Betty cried.

"The blood of my darling son has been avenged." Dagon's voice was quiet. "Justice has been served. The woodchippers will terrorize your town no more."

There was a clanking noise. The woodchipper fell into pieces. Ozzy emerged from the tangle of metal. His clothes were torn. His mask was cracked. But he stood.

"How?" Dagon yelled. "That's impossible! Even I couldn't escape from those bonds!"

"It doesn't matter how tightly you bind me," Ozzy said, "I can disassemble anything and everything. And you're next."

"Not this time!" Dagon yelled. He jumped into his helicopter. "We'll fight again, Night Disassembler!" The helicopter lifted off the ground. "And again and again! Until you're shredded down to nothingness! Until my son is avenged!"

"He's getting away!" Betty yelled.

Ozzy leaned down and picked up a loose screw.

He smiled wryly.

[beautiful-02-08-18]

1 Corinthians 10:14 (KJV)

Wherefore, my dearly beloved, flee from idolatry.

Fan Interpretation of Charming Gold’s parents from Running Man Animation.

When I was watching Running Man Animation, I at first never really paid much attention to Charming Gold. Before him, I was more interested in Pala, and even with the whole villain reveal, I still did not really pay him much attention until his backstory was revealed. I immediately became attached to CG after that.

In Charming Gold’s backstory, we are shown his parents and what’s interesting is that they are the only characters with faces. The other Pikok members have some sort of comedy theater mask on their faces, or even not drawn at all.

I probably thought more of these characters, if you can call them that, than what was intended. They were only present for precisely 15 seconds combined but there are so many storytelling elements on them. We were only shown their bust and side view and for this reason, we were never shown their full designs. It was hard trying to make their designs as it was in a flashback sequence with a yellow filter on everything so we, the audience, did not even know what colors they were. They do not even have names! They are called “Charming Gold’s mother” and “Charming Gold’s father” or “Charming Gold’s parents”. Even then, I actually liked these characters. Or their story potential regarding Charming Gold.

I’ll go talk about their names first instead of calling them “Charming Gold’s mother” and “Charming Gold’s father”. I named his mother Charming “Darling” Diamond because the diamond is one of the most valuable gemstones, fitting for the queen of the beautiful Pikok tribe. For his father, I was originally going to name him Charming Cobalt so his name is an alliteration similar to Charming Gold and also to reference his blue feathers. However, I thought that would make Charming Gold an outlier. My friend pointed out many years ago that Charming Gold's name is “Gold” but he’s blue. Since there are already characters with alliterations on their names I changed it to Charming Platinum. I made this as a reference that Gold's father is higher in power than him as platinum, which can also be known as white gold, is more valuable than gold.

On to their designs, as I said before in my Dazzling Diaspore character art I have a headcanon that the women of the Pikok tribe have duller colors compared to their male counterparts. I used a real-life image of a peahen so that’s why Diamond has a blue neck. Platinum has a hue of deep rich blue color, to further emphasize his authority over Gold, who has a standard blue color.

Using Charming Gold as a reference for their designs, I noticed that while looking at Gold’s design his whole body is a gradient. From a light teal on his nose to dark violets on the tips of his hair to even the icy blue color of his tail. With bold colors of red and gold on his face with purple eyes. I incorporated that detail into the designs of Pikok characters.

I did not want Charming Gold’s parents to be an exact copy of him, so I tried my best to make them look different, but still similar, to CG. Granted that, I may have overdone it. I did 3-4 color tests to see what I liked the most.

Another headcanon is the makeup they wear is a part of their face. So that eyeshadow and goatee on Charming Gold is actually a part of his face. While looking at the close-up shot of Platinum I noticed that there seemed to be some sort of bottom eyeliner, and since I wanted them to look like their son more so I made him have eye makeup similar to Gold. There seems to be no make-up on Diamond so I had to improvise.

Charming Gold seems to embody Korean beauty standards like his androgynous body and flawless skin. His backstory of being horrifically bullied is a common story in Korean Media, especially stories about beauty standards.

With that in mind, I designed Diamond and Platinum from those beauty standards. In Korea, facial hair is seen as unattractive, but according to history, men were not allowed to harm their bodies and that includes hair. That is why I had Platinum sport a beard than Gold’s goatee. (Side note: Fandom Wiki just described it as a “red line” but I personally see it as Gold having a goatee.) Diamond have freckles and a mole because from what I had researched these beauty marks are at best neutral or at worst ugly in Korea. I found no solid statement even though some KPop idols, who are known to follow Korean beauty standards, have these same beauty marks. She was shown to have pronounced eyelashes so I made sure to show that.

I also have a headcanon that as they age, their faces darken from a white to a gray color. I picked the gray from their grayscale.

For the clothes, Charming Platinum's design was simple enough as his clothes seemed to be a long-sleeved polo shirt with buttons paired with black pants and shoes. He had this cloth wrapped around him like a belt and was wearing a large cape or a royal mantle. He was noticeably wearing the same backless vest Gold wore in the show. Hence, I see the vest like a crown, where the king, Platinum, passed it down to his heir, Gold. And let me tell you, it was hard getting a decent reference for this very symmetrical pattern.

For Charming Diamond here, we were never shown much. I had interpreted it as her wearing a royal mantle and a sleeveless dress and that is all. I noticed that the design on her brooch has the same design that can be throughout the show, like the window in one of the references.

Their royal mantles are rather interesting to me since Charming Gold never wore one in the show; however, since the mantles have peacock patterns on them, I think they were supposed to represent a peacock’s tail, similar to how Gold wore one during Season 1. I did some creative liberty while designing their clothes as we were never shown their full frontal view. Clothes from the Pikok tribe are surprisingly rather simple.

For my headcanons about their deaths, it is rather simple. I did not really think much about it, just a vague idea about how they died. Charming Diamond died from an illness, and she never knew about Gold’s ability and that he was the one behind the missing persons cases. Charming Platinum was stabbed in an assassination attempt by a member of the Mong tribe, who Gold killed to save the former, ultimately revealing his secret power. Platinum later died from the injury he sustained but was on rather good terms with Gold after learning the latter’s ability.

I do not really like the idea that Charming Gold killed his parents. While yes, he probably killed all of the members of the Pikok tribe I just can not really see him as the type of person to kill his parents. Maybe that is just my rose-tinted glasses, but I like to interpret his relationship with his parents as complicated but loving. In his backstory, it was implied that Gold immediately went to his parents after being bullied again. We can assume that this was not the first time this had happened to him, and he possibly went to his parents for consolement.

When he realized that even his own parents were ashamed of him, he was completely heartbroken as implied by the emphasis on the single teardrop. Charming Gold’s parents were ashamed of him because of his appearance, so it is possible that when Gold gained his energy absorption ability and became “beautiful” they started to treat him better. They did have some sort of familial love for him before that, but it became more apparent after the “curse” was lifted. But this is just my interpretation.

For their personalities, we were never shown much. What little we get is where they are in a stressful situation, so we can not really know for sure how they normally act. But Gold’s personality and skill must have come from somewhere.

I might draw and flesh them out more but this is it for now. I have been trying a new art style where I lean into the gothic medieval style so that is why the art has a yellow filter, but there is still the other version where there is no filter. Drawing these two was hard because as it turns out, I’m not actually good with drawing two characters existing in the same space with correct proportions.

Thank you for reading!

[alliechick]

Calamity(ish) Xie Lian and Wu Ming Beauty and the Beast(ish) au.

Wu Ming has escaped into the woods, injured and on the run. Persecuted because of his blood red eye. The woods are said to be haunted, so nobody dares follow him in. He gets lost and collapses, succumbing to his injuries.

When we wakes up, he’s in a grand bedroom, tucked into a large bed while a fire burns in the hearth. He’s been bandaged up and put into clean clothes. He sits up.

A figure in white funeral robes and wearing a laughing crying mask sits before the fire.

“You’ll stay here until your injuries heal, then I will escort you back to your village,” he says without turning around.

“I have nothing waiting for me there,” Wu Ming replies. He doesn’t even have a proper name.

The figure in white pauses.

“Then you may stay here, as long as you desire.”

“What may I call you?” he asks.

The man pauses.

“Your Highness.”

Then he leaves.

The next morning, breakfast is waiting for him. It’s finer than anything he’s ever eaten. In the wardrobe, there are beautiful robes, in all colors with fine embroidery. He finds the plainest one, black.

When he leaves the room, he quickly realizes he’s in a palace. An empty palace.

He finds a library, full of books he can’t read, a throne room with a broken throne, and finally an armory and training ground. That’s where finally finds his host.

Wu Ming watches, as the figure in white practices forms. His movements are steady and sure. Wu Ming has never properly learned to fight, not beyond the tussles he got into in the village.

“Are you going to watch or will you spar with me?” the man asks.

So Wu Ming joins in on the field and is quickly tossed to the ground. The man is strong.

“You show promise,” he said.

“Will you train me?” Wu Ming asks.

And the man agrees.

The next few weeks, Wu Ming spends more and more time with His Highness. He teaches Wu Ming martial forms, how to spar. He says he has a natural affinity to the saber and Wu Ming beams with pride.

His Highness spends time in the library. Wu Ming asks for paper and ink. He can’t write, but he’s always had an inclination for art. He draws His Highness as he reads. Over and over again until he gets it right. His Highness never looks and makes not comment on his drawing.

When His Highness learns he can’t read or write, he begins to teach him. Wu Ming learns quickly, though his handwriting leaves much to be desired. He tears through books, soaking up knowledge that he’d never been fed before.

His Highness always wears his mask, always wears white. Wu Ming in turn, always keeps his right eye covered. Eventually an eyepatch is left in his room, so he stops wrapping his face in bandages. They never talk about it.

As they spend more time together, His Highness changes. His cold demeanor warms. He speaks softly and with kindness. He even laughs. They begin to spend every hour together.

Wu Ming is happier than he’s ever been.

Until one morning he can’t find His Highness. He’s not waiting in the banquet hall, to watch Wu Ming eat his breakfast. He’s not in the training grounds, he’s not in the library.

Something is wrong.

He searches room by room, until he finds what must be His Highness’s chambers. He’s collapsed on the floor.

“Don’t come near me!” He says.

Wu Ming stops before he can get too close.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m succumbing to it now,” His Highness replies. “My time is up.”

“Please let me help!” he begs.

“There’s nothing you can do.”

Then Wu Ming is told a story. A story of a beloved teenaged prince, who believed in the goodness of people, that spoke of happiness through tribulation. A prince who drew the ire of a sorcerer who cursed him, so that all would scorn the prince. That none would love him.

A disease, one that would ravage his body and leave him ugly. One that he would eventually succumb to, unless someone could love him despite it.

Wu Ming had never seen His Highness’s face. But nothing could make him stop loving him.

He approaches his prince, who for the first time is without his mask. His face is scarred, scarred with human faces. Human face disease.

“Now you see,” His Highness says with resignation.

Wu Ming kneels beside him, the reaches up to his own face and removes the eyepatch.

“Now you also see,” he said.

“You’re beautiful,” His Highness replies.

“You are too,” Wu Ming says.

Then he leans down and kisses him.

The world suddenly bursts into light.

When it’s gone, the prince’s face his clear. He sits up, hands touching the smooth skin of his face. Tears run down his face.

His Highness turns to Wu Ming.

“You saved me,” he gasps.

“I love you,” Wu Ming replies.

They kiss again and when His Highness pulls back, he speaks.

“Call me Xie Lian.”

[liminalpsych]

Content warning: References to the the Elaine of Corbenic incident. Which means: Discussion of rape, date rape / drugging, bed trick as rape, trauma, trauma recovery, various symptoms of trauma, self-blame.

15. Trust me now

After the measured steps of court and the poised performance of regality, after the thousand different demands on attention and time, the king and queen at last retired to their private rooms.

It was the first private moment they’d found since Arthur’s return from Joyous Gard, visiting the long-abroad Lancelot. Gwenhwyfar sensed something weighing on her husband’s shoulders since first he gave her formal greeting in the great hall, something more than the usual weight of crown and kingship.

Yet she was skilled in patience. She poured them each a cup of wine whilst he sank into a cushioned seat. The mask of court drained away from his expression, leaving behind a deep weariness and something… haunted.

She joined him in silence. The wordlessness stretched on between them. She gazed upon him, and he stared into the middle distance.

“Lancelot… his body is hale and whole,” Arthur spoke at long last. “His spirit, though… Gwen, he is not well.”

Her hand found his. “What ails him?”

The king hesitated, groping for words. “He…” A deep breath, and the story stumbled out of him all at once. “He rescued the daughter of the Fisher King of Corbenic from dire circumstances. And in return, she caused his wine to be drugged, and she came to him wearing your face.”

A sharp involuntary gasp. Her heart sank nigh to her stomach, like a stone into a quagmire.

“She claims a child arose from that… union,” and his mouth twisted on the word, “such as it was. He…” Arthur swallowed down the rest. His hand clenched tight in her grip.

“Arther, beloved.” She knew her face was moonlight-pale in the dimness of the room. “Do not veil the whole of it from me, I implore you. I would know, even if it sickens the heart.”

“Some of it is Lancelot’s to tell, not mine, and I would not betray him so. Yet he told me he would wed her, should I wish it.” The muscles in his jaw jumped visibly with gritting teeth. Gwen kissed him there to soothe the tension.

“I told him I would rather command him to never wed her, nor to see her again.” A sigh. “It is a great wound of his spirit and his mind. He is overcome with shame and an unearned guilt. Terrible dreams disturb his sleep in a way I have never seen before.” Arthur’s voice was so low and quiet that Gwen had to strain to hear. “He is very unwell, and I know not how to aid him. He fears we might spurn him. He longs to see you, yet fears how he will feel if he sees your face, after being so ill-used by another in your guise.”

“Oh, my loves.” Her throat tightened with sorrow. “Call him home to us, Arthur. Let him be by our side to be reminded of the truth of our love for him. Send him not on another quest, but let him rest.”

“He begged me to send him far away,” Arther said hollowly. “Our proud knight fell to his knees and begged. How can I call him here after that?”

“Then we visit him together at Joyous Gard, and leave Kay and Bedwyr and the Myrddin to hold court in our absence.”

“Gwen!” It was almost a laugh, so shocked was he at her suggestion.

She felt half mad, half wild. “We cannot leave him alone, my king. We cannot.”

“We cannot have my sharp-tongued cousin represent Caerleon to any visiting dignitary either. Imagine!”

Her laugh was high and frantic. “No, I dare not imagine such a travesty.” Softening, she met his gaze with all somberness. “You will call him home to us, then?”

“...Indeed, my queen. As you wish.”

Lancelot did return, hollow and haunted, a shade in pale armor. And over the months to come, he settled back into the rhythm of their care for one another. If he blanched and startled at Gwenhwyfar’s presence from time to time, she mentioned it not. She merely gave reassurances of her legitimacy as she could, and let him make his slow way back to her, as one might earn the trust of a flighty steed or a starving hound.

In time, they found ease in one another again.

And years later, when the young Galahad stood before King Arthur’s court, pious and self-righteous, Lancelot did not flinch away or flee from the presence of his unasked-for son.

If that night he quaked like a leaf in an autumn storm as his lovers held him close, if he shed tears or cried fury, that has no bearing upon his honor and courage, and is not for anyone else to know or judge.

So trust me now

I'll never weigh you like an anchor

I hope you'll always see me there inside your sail...

[hartsmusings]

Op from a long since deactivated roleplay Twitter account with Taylor Momsen as a faceclaim

Backstory

Kaira De'Medici-Napier

@HybridNapier

Kaira’s parents aren't your typical love story… in fact it wasnt a love story at all … more like a once in a while thing between a psych nurse and a psychotic patient .

Mercy Medici, kaira’s mother, was fresh out of New Orleans finest nursing school. Her friends and family were all born and raised in and around new orleans bayou, and had a long line of family secrets, and she had wanted out of there since she was a child, so she wouldn't end up howling at the moon like the rest of her family, so when her fellow nurse friends got her a job at Arkham asylum up in gotham, thinking it would help “spice up” her resume before she moved on to gotham general, she hopped on the first buss out of there.

On her first set of rounds is when she meets Jack Napier , also known as “the joker” on his what seemed like billionth incarceration into Arkham. His charm and wit drew mercy in like a moth to a flame...on more than one occasion.

To Mercy, it was the best sex she had ever expereanced, due to the fact the it was expressly forbidden for staff and patients to...well...fuck . dodging cameras, stealing keys, helping Jack escape …. Until the day Mercy discovered that she...in fact..was pregnant.

A handful of pregnancy tests , a blood test and a fluttering heartbeat on an ultrasound later, it was confirmed. Mercy confronted Jack with the news, and he was more than ecstatic. that night…..he escaped again with Mercy’s help, saying he would return for her later that week….but he never did.

The pregnancy was a difficult one with Mercy working every day in the asylum...she’d see Jack every now and then when Batman threw him in the asylum, but it was like he didn't even know her.

(9 months later)

Mercy’s depression had gotten so bad, even after talking with the asylum's newest therapist ...Mercy told them everything, even who the father of the baby was, but being around Jack and in the asylum took a toll on her mind and body.

It was during a therapy session that her water broke, and oh boy was I coming in hot….feet first

With no time to get to the hospital, the doctors and nurses performed an emergency cesarean. Mercy was screaming and moaning the whole time due to no epidural...a nurse slapped a breathing mask on mercy, filled with laughing gas (nitrous-oxide) to try and help with the pain, but mercy had a bad reaction to the gas and died on the table as they pulled little me out of the hole they had sliced open in mercy’s stomach.

I came into this world streaming and covered in my mothers blood… They named me Kaira ( meaning beloved friend ) and smudged some paperwork to say I died in the process , just in case Jack ever came looking for me, and sent me to the Gotham orphanage with the name in my file Kaira Anna Smith, i wouldnt find out till years later … where I came from and who I was...

( 17 years and 11 months later )

Gotham City Orphanage

“ KAIRA ANNA “

The headmaster called out for what seemed like the hundredth time today, a slather of green paint across his backside from sitting in the puddle of it...The paint now dripping down the legs of his chair.

The clatter of a paint can along with a painful grunt could be heard in the hallway , a child like laughter faded into a slur of curse words as one of the teachers in the orphanage dragged Kaira in to the headmasters office by her neck, a pained expression on their face and their slight limp showed that Kaira had punched them in the groin to try and get away.

Kaira went to get up but the teacher pushed her back down into the chair by her shoulder.

“ you wouldn't happen to know who did this….would you?” motioning to the green paint now on the floor, a smirk appeared on kaira’s face as she went to laugh but quickly looked down when she saw how red the headmaster’s face was.

“ very...festive headmaster….“ Kaira softly chuckled and the headmaster's face went from peeved to pissed off red.

“ it’s always something with you , isn't it...well i think this time...i'm out of options kaira”

Opening the filing cabinet and pulling out her file, it looked more like a book with all the pranks and injuries she had caused over the years, slamming it down on the desk and adding today's incident to the pile.

“ I've already called the asylum…”

Kaira had only heard the stories about that place.

“ you what…” the teacher pushed her back down into the chair as she tried to get up again, this time planting their hands on both her shoulders

“ please, don't send me there...please “

“ you have given me no choice Kaira...im sorry it has to come to this but we can't risk the safety of the other children any longer, at least it's better the throwing you out on the streets in a month ” his gaze traveled to the monitors on one wall, the fuzzy blue lit screen showed a white van pulling up to the back of the orphanage “ you'll at least have a roof over your head”

The white clad men from the van came into the building and straight to the office .

Kaira tried to run but they grabbed her by her arms , injected her with a tranquilizer to knock her out and moved her to the van without anyone seeing them…

( a few months later )

Kaira pounded on the tempered glass wall of her cell

“ You can't keep me here mother fuckers “ she yelled at the camera pointed at her cell, flipping it off.

“ oh yes they can my dear...and they will do alot worse if you dont shut your fucking mouth “ a mans voice chuckled from across the way. A pale faced ,green haired man leaned up against the glass of his cell and smiled “ you look familiar, have we met before? '' gazing at her, with the image of mercy in his head.

By the time jack had returned to the asylum, he was told by the head doctor there that mercy had died along with the child, Mercy's cremated remains were sent to her family back in new orleans, he slumped into a deep depression cuz he had developed feelings for this nurse….these are in the days before harleen…the child mercy had been carrying was his hope at a better future….this girl across from him now, had Mercy's eyes...had the doctors lied to him all those years ago?

Kaira glared at the man across from her, she knew who the joker was, but seeing him this close was frighting, his menacing grin had her taking a step back in her own cell, even though there were 4 panes of tempered glass and a walkway between them...for now.

A buzz rang through the lockup area of the asylum and the cell doors opened as armed guards walked by

“Dinner time freaks”

Jack slicked behind her in the cafeteria line

“ What's your name child?” he whispered, even from behind she looked like mercy.

“ Leave me alone joker, i don't care to know the monster who killed my mother” kaira sneered as she grabbed a tray of food and made her way to the far back corner of the small cafeteria , sitting on the floor with her back to the wall.

Jack made his way over to her “what do you mean i killed her? I was told she died in childbirth...along with...wait a minute...how old are you?”

“ 18 last month “ shoving a slice of bread dipped in applesauce into her mouth.

“Kaira…” Jack slid down the wall to sit beside her “ your mother’s name was mercy..…she died bringing you into this world...i was told you died with her….you have her eyes”

This was out of character for Jack, the stories kaira was told and heard painted him out to be a ruthless mad man, not this...wannabe-father figure sitting next to her.

“ What's it to you old man?” she was cold to him, not expecting what came next, he scribbled something on a piece of paper and slid it to her…

“ open that later “ he jumped up, visibly upset, and walked away through the crowded cafeteria .

After returning to her cell she unfolded the note, on the note was four words

“I aM YOUr FaTher”

Over the next few years, kaira and jack became close, even escaped together a few times, causing turmoil and chaos throughout gotham…as a father and daughter crime family, the clown king and the clown princess of crime… kaira had finally found her family

It was nearing her 21st birthday when her father met the incomparable miss quinzell...and well we all know how that sickening gag inducing story went….and once again Kaira was left behind…again

Her and Quinn never got along at the asylum, quinn would try and keep kaira away from her father… outside the asylum, when Kaira was out and her father was still inside, Harleenkicked kaira out of the place her and her father had made their own, down in the docks of Gotham city...so she found her own hidden spot, far from the kissy faces and the sex noises….kaira did not need to the “ whos your daddy” coming from her own father… *audibly gags*

It was a bit of slink down a few allies ways, a hop skip and a jump over a few docks and a short climb up a sketchy fire escape and thru a broken widow and down a hallway thru a door in to a semi livable studio apartment , that she paid for by doing repairs round the building for the landlord, as a thank you for helping in many escapes from the asylum.

A kitchen in one corner and her bed was behind a pull away curtain in the other corner...her own little place, but it wasn't enough...she needed to get out of gotham…

So she grabbed an old worn duffle from her closet, tossing it on her bed, she threw in a few set of clothes in to it, her toothbrush and a locket with her mother's picture inside...borrowing some cash from her neighbor, kaira hopped a bus to the farthest place she could think of...new orleans.

Sliding out of the broken window for the last time, kaira made her way to the bus station in the middle of downtown, and as she slid on to the outbound bus she felt like she could finally breathe… closing her eyes for a little while, since it was gonna be a long, long night.

( the next evening - new orleans buss depot )

“NOW ARRIVING IN NEW ORLEANS '' the mechanical voice rang out, pulling kaira from a dreamless sleep, stretching her arms up and letting out a yawn, she got up from her seat and grabbed her bag from the overhead bin.

New orleans was in the mist of one of its many holidays, because no matter what day it was, the following night was packing bourbon street with as many patrons as possible, getting blackout drunk at anyone of its many bars and diners, as people flashed each other for dollar store plastic beads.

Kaira snuck into an alleyway that was dimly lit, into what seemed to be an abandoned courtyard, with overhead wrap around balconies, she could smell pastries cooking and followed the smell to a little kitchen, where the cook was pulling a fresh batch of beignets out of the oven. Kaira peeked in just as they were sprinkling powdered sugar over them. She looked quite disheveled and homeless with her bag over her shoulder, and the cook noticed her in the doorway.

“ oh my cher, come her’ child and warm up by the stove “ they motion to a chair by the stove “ let aunty bring ya’ some fresh Beignets “kairas bag was whisked out of her hands , dropped by her feet and replaced with a plate of steaming hot beignets smothered in brown butter and powdered sugar “ eat up child, you gave me quite a fright, but aunty always has extras for those who need a full belly”

Taking her first bite, kairas face smoothed into one of joy , she had never had a beighet before, these were so delicious.

“ thank you” she said , with a full mouth “ these are… so...good”

The cook nodded as they whisked away the rest of the food to the patrons out front, kaira stuffed another one in her mouth, dusting off the powdered sugar from her white top and reaching for the glass of milk the cook had placed near her..overreaching and ending up knocking it over on to the floor as the cook came back in.

“ shit, im sorry...let me help with tha…” kaira leaned down on to the floor to help pick up and then cut her hand on the broken glass “ouch, fuck that stings” the thin line of ruby red blood formed on her palm as the next thing she knew , something had pushed her out of the way and pinned her up agenist the wall and was growling in her ear, her eyes were closed tight in fear.

“ open your eyes '' a gravely english accented ordered, kaira breath quickened as she opened her eyes to a pair of deep blue eyes staring back at her “ calm your breathing” he ordered as a calmness washed over her “ now don't move or scream '' Kaira nodded softly, what was happening to her? Why couldn't she move? Why couldn't she look away from the man before her? The blood from her palm made a stain on her pant leg as she left his hot breath on her neck, he bit down as she passed out from fear.

The next thing she knew she was in the courtyard again, this time she was on one of the many old style beaches … kaira heard voices around her, conversing on what to do with her..

“ you never let me have any fun klaus “ a female voice pouted

“ we could just compel her away “ a studious proper sounding voice spoke next

“ i think we are being listened to “ the first gravely english voice said

Kaira held her breath, she felt a woosh of cold air then the man from before was seated next to her with his hand upon her throat, turning it to reveal puncture wounds .

“ i don't believe she is from around here Nicklaus “ the proper one said

“ i'm not ” kaira managed to choke out His grip tighten on her throat

“ I was thinking of turning her “ the man with his hand on her throat said “ I just wanted to see what you two thought of her before I did.

“ she is quite beautiful” the female said

“ and you could use the new plaything rebecka “ the prober one said

“ it's settled then” turning kairas eyes to his “ this is gonna hurt, just don't move or scream okay” kairas body went limp as he bit in to his own wrist and forced it into her mouth “ drink” he ordered as the blood from his wrist dripped onto her tongue. Kaira drank as ordered, what she didn't see coming was the female behind her, gripping her head on both sides and snapping her neck….

Was this death? Was this where she was gonna die? These questions and more swirled through her head as she collapsed on the ground, her huma life now over….a child of the night...a vampire life...was now beginning.

(nighttime ,basement of the mikaelson’s compound, a full day later)

Kaira woke up in a daze, in ...was this a coffin...was she dead? Kaira began to scream as she pounded on the lid, pushing it up, she heard it clatter to the ground…

“ Look who finally woke up” the man known as Klaus stepped out of the shadows, helping her out of the coffin. Kaira was still in a daze, her throat burned and she was so thirsty.

“ I bet you're thirsty aren't ya?” kaira nodded, her throat hurt too much to speak. Klaus led her over to a form nearby, it was the cook from last night, the one that had been so nice to her when she arrived in New Orleans. Kalus pulled the cooks arm up to kairas mouth, the smell of the blood was intoxicating and devine at the same time, sher bit down and let the rush of warm blood run down her throat, she drank so deeply in fact that kaira didn't realize that the cook’s heart had long since gave out and died...triggering something deep inside kaira...something primal..the pain of cracking bones had her screaming as she dropped the cooks arm. Throwing her head back as her shoulder blades and spine cracked and broke, changing her, the next thing she knew...kaira was howling. She wasn't the only wolf in the rook, Klaus was gone and in his place stood a large brown wolf with golden eyes, he kicked a blood bag over to her and she snapped it up with no second thought.

The basement had a tunnel that led out to the bayou, she followed klaus down the tunnel and as soon as the cold night air blew through her brown and golden fur...she had fur, kairas mind was a scramble of questions….but all she wanted right now...was to run.

( the following morning, back at the compound)

Kaira awoke in bed this time, hoping last night was a fever dream….until she began to look around… her bag was on the chair across from the bed….she went to get up and realized she was naked. pulling the sheet from the bed ,she wrapped it around her, the blood stains on the sheet had her turning back to the bed and she screamed at what she saw....a guy she didn't even recognize, with his neck and stomach torn out…. Had she done that, what was she...the images of last night replayed in her head…

“ You’re a hybrid if that's what you're wondering” Klaus was in the doorway, one of his classic smirks on his face ” a wolf and a vampire” he motions for two of the staff he kept around , to clean up the room. “ you didn't know about your wolf side ...did you?”

“ I was raised in an orphanage, so no, I didn't know about my wolf side…” klaus pinned her to the wall, her grip on the sheet was faltering

“ don't you snap at me pup” releasing his grip when he realized she was in a sheet, his gaze went up to the ceiling “ get dressed , you have a lot to learn about the family you have joined here in new orleans” and with that klaus stormed out of the room whilst kaira pulled an outfit out of her bag.

Kaira was a hybrid, that much she knew now, in her whole human life the most she had to worry about was Batman throwing her in the asylum, but now...there were witches, wolves, vampires, doppelgangers...oh my!

What would this new life bring?

TBC…(when I have muse for it)

[lostandsearching]

The Ghost of Me

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x fem!Reader(past), Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader

Word count: 10k+ (may have got away from me)

Warnings: 18+, Mentions of suicide attempt, implies death, Drug Addiction, Mentions Rape, Depression, Self-harm, PTSD (if you think I need other warnings please let me know)

Summary: Natasha had found Y/N on the brink of death, rallying to try and save her life. How does she cope with the loss and what does the future have in store for the ex-assassin as she lives with the phantom of her best-friend? Will the ramifications of Y/N’s thoughtless action push Natasha into the depths of despair?

A/N: So here’s part two to The Abyss Calls, I recommend giving that a read first if you haven’t yet. This could make sense as a stand-alone but some of the background details would be lost. This chapter was inspired by ‘Good 4 u’ by Olivia Rodrigo. This is just as heavy if not heavier in certain parts of the story. Please, please, please READ through the BOLD warnings and if ANY of the content is triggering to you, DO NOT READ, this is not the series for you. I do not want my writing to affect anyone negatively. If you are suffering from any of the issues mentioned in this story, reach out to relevant services, family, friends or just drop me a msg for a chitty chat. Please excuse any and all mistakes left behind. As always, hope you enjoy this twisted ride and I welcome feedback and appreciate reblogs. Header credit: @its-just-may

Chapters I One I Two I Three I Four I Five I Epilogue

Arthur Conan Doyle’s saying goes ‘Your life is not your own. Keep your hands off it’. Pity this quote failed to flash in Y/N’s mind as the pills tumbled down her throat and her head leaned on the bathtub, waiting for the end’s cold embrace.

Natasha’s feet crunched the fall leaves as she wandered through the procession of stones, focused on getting to her destination. She needed a moment alone with her, just a single moment to say her piece.

Her feet stop at the foot of the headstone, gently placing down a bouquet of sunflowers in front of it, her fingers tracing the engraving Y/L/N. She stands tall, rigid, and to any other mourner she would simply look like a woman saying goodbye to a loved one with grace, yet her mask was forced on to hold back the waves of rage within her.

Her green eyes billowed with fury as they traced over the name continuously, as if the motion would smooth the name from the stone like it was never there to begin with. Her jaw worked and clenched as she tried to fight the urge to grind her teeth together further. Every muscle in her body tensed and flexed, itching to destroy the headstone mocking her with sweet messages of beloved daughter and cherished friend, of being loved and missed.

“I will never forgive you for what you did” her voice low and laced with spite.

Her keen ears pick up the noise of footsteps crunching leaves in the distance, the rhythmic tread familiar. She takes deep breaths to will herself calm, he’ll need her steady and collected now, she’s had her moment.

“I had a truck load of sunflowers delivered here but the priest on the grounds wasn’t too happy about it taking up so much space” he jokes

Natasha turns to him, he looks haggard. His beard is lacking the straight edged trim, bags under his eyes getting darker by the day and a slight tremor in his hand, the same hand that gripped the pill bottle that day as Natasha threw it to him before rushing to Bruce.

You were like...no, you were his sister, his little sister. He took you under his wing when you had no-one and he brought you into the family of Avengers. Natasha knew standing here was as torturous for him as it was for her yet both held their ground, they loved you enough to respect your wishes. You wanted them both there, you said it as much once, only them. They comply.

“I’d want you and Tony there” you say, head laying on Natasha’s lap as you look up the blue sky “With sunflowers, you can’t forget the sunflowers, lots and lots of sunflowers”

This elicits a chuckle from the redhead as she thrums her fingers through your hair absentmindedly, looking up at the clouds.

“What about Wanda?” she asks

“Nah, just you and Tony” you reply dismissively

She looks down at you, her green eyes tracing your features, waiting for your explanation. When you don’t respond, she scratches at your scalp gently to draw your attention as she quirks her brow in question.

“Let’s face it Natty, if Wanda went, she would not take it well at all. She’d be angry and potentially very snotty, but she may also blast the headstone to bits”

Natasha smiles down at you, images of a very emotional Wanda being held back for destruction at a graveyard running through her mind. The Sokovian was a little emotional at times but her feelings had a tendency to run rampant when you were involved. “You’re probably right”

“Yeah...and besides it’s not a day for that” you say simply

“What’s it a day for then?” Natasha asks, poking you in the cheek with her free hand making you smile and warming her heart.

“It’s a day for sunflowers and goodbyes” you reply, Y/E/C meeting shining green.

You grab her cold hand poking you and lace your fingers with hers before resting your hands together on your chest, your heart beating steadily below. “You place your flowers, say your piece and go on your way” you whisper to her before once again turning your gaze to the blue sky.

“Does Wanda know?”

Tony’s voice pulls her back from the memory, a pang in her heart, your gentle smile still vivid in her mind. How carefree you were that day, how happy you were until she broke your heart and now you were nothing but a ghost.

“No, it’s not what Y/N would want” Natasha says plainly, her gaze turning back to the stone.

“So what?! Wanda just thinks Y/N disappeared? That she’s just gone off somewhere?!” Tony asks, his voice pitched and raised with disbelief.

“Wanda never asks about her so there’s nothing to say” Natasha replies levelly. Even with her eyes trained away, she can feel the waves of rage pulsing from him.

“She should know. She should know that it’s her fault. She should…” he clenches his fists angrily as his nostrils flare with seething rage.

Natasha turns her back to the grave, placing a calming hand on her friend. Before taking her leave, she waits patiently as his muscles relax under her touch and he rubs his chest instinctively, a tick he’s always had when overwhelmed. He nods his head, I’m fine and thanks all rolled into one little gesture.

She starts to walk away before a thought makes her pause. “You should say your piece Tony��� she calls to him.

“No point. She already knew how I felt about her”

Natasha leaves Tony at the foot of the grave to have his moment, wordlessly spent or otherwise, he needed a moment.

/

Natasha picks up two burgers, cheesy fries and a salad on the way back to the compound. She’s not sure why, she knows she’ll be eating alone again but she buys it anyway, they were your favorite.

It’s a short jaunt back, Natasha never one to adhere to speed limits, before she’s traipsing through the compound to reach her apartment block but first she has to get past the communal room, the same room currently occupied by Steve and Sam.

The smell of food draws their attention from a movie they had put on, only to see said bag of food held protectively in the redhead’s arms. She glares at Sam, daring him to ask for some, he wilts under her gaze and refocuses on the movie. Steve’s blue eyes on the other hand never stray from their position, still staring pointedly at her, drowning in questions.

“How…” he begins before the sound of her voice cuts through the air.

“You know I’m right darling” Vision says to Wanda before they enter the room hand in hand. He falters when Wanda holds back. She’s caught in Natasha’s loaded stare.

“Um...H-hi Nat” Wanda fumbles “I didn’t see you at training this morning”

“I had somewhere to be” Natasha replies coolly, her mask of indifference firmly in place. Their once close friendship had shattered to less than what it was when Wanda had first joined the team.

“Oh...looks like a lot of food” Wanda says awkwardly, trying to fill the silence, an attempt at throwing a rope of friendship across the gorge between them.

“I’m hungry” Natasha replies. She watches as the rope is thrown over, only to regard it with contempt letting it fall into the dark depths separating them.

“Perhaps we could…” Vision tries before Natasha glowers at him, the sentence dying on his lips.

Tension is heavy in the room, the air suffocating with unsaid truths and repressed questions. Before the Widow’s mask cracks and a litany of accusations spill from her lips, she turns her heel to make her way to her room. She misses how Wanda’s hand twitches to reach out to her, how her mouth opens and closes when Vision’s hand holds firmer.

Natasha is finally faced with the door to her room, her sanctuary. Thoughts of the once serene space now gnaw at her, the silence an unwelcome demon shredding at her heart. She pushes it open to be welcomed to darkness, the air rank with staleness, the curtains drawn shut to shield the living space from light.

She places the bag of food on the coffee table before yanking the blinds open, some frustration from her interaction still dallying within. She pushes the window open, a gush of cool wind displaces some of the dead air sitting in the room and for a moment she breathes it in, relishing it as it fills her lungs.

When she was sated with the freshness, heaviness sinks into the pit of her stomach, her bedroom is probably just as rancid, she dreads the thought of it but she pushes forward anyway. Her light steps make no sound as she nears the room, the door still left ajar from this morning’s departure. She enters its confines, the space filled with murky darkness, not a thing changed from when she left.

Her eyes quickly adjust, her sheets bundled into a ball on her bed, she makes a note to change it at some point. She steps towards the bedside edge and settles down, hands braced either side of her as the mattress shifts under her weight. She sits there for a moment, matching the stillness of the dark room.

A shuffle of sheets before a soft, warm hand wraps around hers. She turns her head and sees your messy tuft of hair poking out from underneath the bedding. She runs her thumb over the ridges of your protruding knuckles, ‘you’re so thin now’ runs through her mind. She continues her ministrations, trying to coax you from your hiding place.

When you don’t shift to poke your head out or pull your hand from hers, she turns her body fully towards you, her hand still in yours. With her free hand, she slowly pulls the blanket down, your hand grips tighter, she stills her movements. When your grip loosens, Natasha tries again, you don’t squeeze this time. She pulls down the bedding enough to expose your eyes, she can’t see you clearly in the dark but she can see the twinkle in them, tears yet unshed.

“Hi” Natasha whispers softly to you.

“Hi” you rasp back, your voice unfamiliar to your ears.

It makes Natasha smile, you’re speaking to her today. She misses your voice, maybe today is different.

“Tony and I went to your mom’s grave. We left her the flowers” she says, keeping her voice faint and calm. “Tony tried to leave her a truck load but the priest had them removed” she hopes it’ll make you laugh or smile. She wants to see your smile again. You merely hum in acknowledgment, her heart twists but she hides it from you.

“Will you come eat with me today? I’ve got your favorite”

“Maybe” you reply tonelessly ‘No’ hovers in the air.

Natasha schools the pained look clawing its way onto her features, she doesn’t want you to hurt anymore, she won’t be another reason you're hurting. Her features soften instead, she wants you to see she understands, she wants you to know she’ll be patient, she hopes you trust she won’t leave.

She pulls her hand away from the bed sheet and runs her thumb against your brow soothingly, you close your eyes with her touch. She sees the glint of light reflect from a tear as it runs down across the bridge of your nose, she doesn’t wipe it away, she knows you don’t want her to see. Natasha rests her palm on your face and places a soft kiss on your temple. With a gentle squeeze of your hand, she takes her leave.

With her hand on the door Natasha tries one more time. “I’ll leave the food in the microwave for when you’re hungry, join me when you’re ready” you don’t reply this time.

She leaves her room and shuts the door with a gentle click. Natasha can hear your quiet sobs on the other side and her heartbreaks, she leans her back against the door as she slides down to the floor, her head resting on her bent knees. Niggling thoughts weigh on her mind heavily. Maybe it would have been better for you if she had let you go, maybe she was being selfish not to.

She shoves the ideas away forcefully as she pushes herself up from the floor with mimicked strength. She was NOT being selfish for saving her friend, for protecting someone she loves. She saved you from an impulsive mistake, she’ll keep saving you until you can save yourself. She’ll protect the memory of your smile and the melody of your laughter til the day you are strong enough and she can hear them once more.

She settles in the living room, a movie in the background, her food on her lap. She’s put your food in the microwave in hopes you might break free from the clutches of her bed but she knows better. She’s eating alone again today but that’s ok, you spoke to her, it’s an improvement on the silence that has plagued the bedroom for weeks.

You were getting better, better than you were months ago, after you first opened your eyes, after you first realized Natasha had saved your life.

You were sitting perched on Natasha’s window sill looking out at the grounds of the Avengers compound. The summer heat bears down, heat waves rise from the tarmac as sprinklers spray water on the grass surrounding the building. You bounce your knees continuously, hands playing with a clicky pen, your journal abandoned on the desk.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

You grind your teeth together, your eyes glazed over as your skin itches and boils. Natasha had locked the unbreakable window since your last departure in search of drugs. She had ordered FRIDAY not to unlock it for anyone but her. You feel trapped in her room, in your skin and in your mind. You need an out, she took it from you and now she won’t let you leave.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

Tony is no better, he’d frozen your accounts and withheld your assets citing it as a temporary precaution. Your body is buzzing, your breathing heavy and quick. You need to get out. Your mind flashes with images of auburn hair, hazel green, powdery white, copper red.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Snap.

Your eyes flicker to your hand, another pen broken. You gripped too tight, held on too long. It snapped. Your mind makes connections that aren’t there. The pen is Wanda, your grip is your heart. You choked her with your love. It was your fault she left.

You discard the pen in a corner to join the remnants of its brethren. Your nails are long now, unkempt. You scratch a healing wound on the top of your left hand. Your eyes gaze back out the window, mind fogged with need.

Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch.

Beads of sweat roll down the nape of your neck, your mouth is dry and licking your lips feels like sandpaper running along bark. You can hear her laughter when you know she’s nowhere near, you can feel his grip when you know he’s long gone. Trickles of memories from that night bleed through like acid, burning and eating away at you.

You twist and crick your neck trying to push them back into the depths of your mind. Your shrink would tell you it’s important to remember, to know it’s not your fault. You don’t want to, you aren’t ready to believe it happened, you aren’t ready to shed yourself of the shameful blame that comes with relieving it.

Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch.

An unfamiliar car rolls into view, a silver SUV. Too slow and plain for Tony or Natasha, too modern and large for Steve, not sexy enough for Sam. Your mind tries to focus on the car driving closer to the compound, running through a list of potential owners to deviate your thoughts.

Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch.

The car stops in plain sight, you can’t see who’s in it through the windshield. Your stomach somersaults uncomfortably, you're grinding your teeth viciously now.

Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch.

Your breath hitches as your eyes jitter and water. A flood of memories bombard you endlessly, the cinnamon scent of her lingering as if she was right beside you. You can feel her soft caress of your cheek as she whispers your name, professing her unwavering love, promising you the world. But she isn’t because she’s out there, with him. They bought a car. You can see her smile at him, her green eyes fixed to the android donned in human skin.

Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch.

You watch as she approaches him, he takes her hand into his. Is he even warm?

Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch.

Your eyes follow as they walk towards the entrance. A part of your mind begs for her to look up, to see you, to remember you. The other half wants to disappear inwards so she never sees this sorry shell of you. She doesn’t look up, it hurts.

Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch.

You look down at your hands. Your nails are covered in blood and skin, the wound open and angry, bleeding profusely. You raise your bleeding hand and for a moment you are mesmerized as you watch the pools of blood trickle down. You tilt your hand up and allow the red slick to crawl down your arm. Your mind hollows and empties, thoughts of nothing but the red trail, your skin continues to hum with want.

“Y/N what are you doing?” Natasha asks as she stalks towards you, features filled with unease.

You try to hide your hand but you forgot you let the red liquid paint your arm. Her forest green eyes snap to the copper red. You watch a vortex of emotions and thoughts ravage her from behind those vivid green globes, her Black Widow mask transparent as ever to you. Guilt intermingles with the need that never left.

You watch her careful approach as she smiles at you with hesitancy.

“Let me clean that up for you, OK?” She holds out her hand to you, she’s waiting for permission to touch you.

Natasha is trying so hard, she was never raised soft, with kindness or love but she tries so hard for everyone, for you. You can feel the tears well in your eyes as you take her hand, you bite your cheek until you taste the metal tang in your mouth. The tears don’t fall.

“We’ll go into the living room and I’ll get the medical kit” she tells you softly as she holds your gaze.

“Ok” you respond

She leads the way, holding your hand, careful not to press on the wound. She sits you on the couch as she quickly pads to the counter behind you, a small kitchenette, and pulls the kit from the cupboard.

She lays it on the coffee table and kneels beside it, opening it up in front of you, pulling out antiseptic wipes, a small bottle of liquid antiseptic, cotton dressing and gauze.

“I’m going to clean the wound first then I’ll clean off the blood”

She’s checking in, making sure you’re still ok for her to proceed. She doesn’t move a muscle, her eyes fixed on your face, features still gentle.

“Ok Natty” you say, the croak in your voice doesn’t show, you flash her a gentle smile. It’s not real and she knows but she returns it anyway.

You watch her grab the wipe and tear it open, you follow her hand as she cleans around your wound gently. Your eyes fix on her careful ministrations, how her strong, lithe fingers brush away the drying blood so delicately and purposefully. Even as she braces your arm against hers and wipes the length of it, the tenderness persists.

She motions for your right hand to replace the left, you’d forgotten about the blood and skin coating your nails. Taking a fresh wipe she begins work cleaning your nails, being meticulous in removing any remnants of flesh and blood trapped in the crevices. She doesn’t want any traces of it left on you as if removing it might ease the pain you feel.

She rests your hand gently on your lap before grabbing the bottle and pouring some of the liquid on to the dressing. “I’m going to put the pad on your hand and then I’ll bandage it up” again her movements arrest as she awaits your approval. You hold out your hand to her.

She places it carefully on top of your wound, her eyes flick to you instantly waiting for the wince on your face at the stinging contact but what she sees hurts her more. She watches as your eyes darken minutely, you enjoy the physical pain it brings. Her jaw clenches at the thought you were getting worse and fear brews underneath her skin at what you might do, the far away look in your darkened eyes a terrifying sight.

She doesn’t comment and begins to bandage you up, wanting to make quick, but careful work of the grotesque task.

When you come back to your senses you notice your hand is now neatly bandaged, still resting in the palm of her hand. You look into her green eyes and see the yearning within, she wants to hold you, to press her warmth into you, to breathe life back into your soulless orbs.

You pull your hand back, you aren’t ready for her to touch you like that, the intimacy too much. She smiles with understanding as you watch her heart shatter. You need to get high but you know she won’t let you.

“Let’s eat Natty” you offer even when the thought makes you nauseous. You give her something, you try for her. She smiles at you genuinely this time, you know it should make you feel warm but all you can think of is the bitter taste in the back of your mind.

You want to get high, but for her you’ll try.

Natasha opts to try something different today. She had made a stressful trip to a large store to buy ingredients to cook for you, her mind still spinning at the copious variations of a simple onion. It took her an hour, double and triple checking that she had placed the correct versions of the materials she needed. She had memorized the recipe verbatim the night before, there’s no way she can get a simple spaghetti dish wrong.

With hands full of shopping she makes her way to the communal area, Wanda and Vision are settled together on the love seat. She looks happy as she laughs at something she reads in the book in her hand. Natasha pulls her focus away from them, their happiness causes bile to threaten to rise, Wanda doesn’t care. She doesn’t seem to recollect you ever existed, Natasha focuses on her task instead.

How you found cooking relaxing was beyond the ex-assassin. There was nothing soothing about spending half an hour and a box full of Band-Aids to carefully chop each ingredient into the same shape and size to make sure they cook at the same time, hell, they were all different shaped vegetables!

Worse was the waiting for the sauce to simmer and thicken, her impatience getting the better of her as she blasts the heat instead. Unfortunately, she forgot the integral part of stirring the sauce occasionally, effectively charring the bottom. With the sauce prepared, she makes the pasta, she cooks it for a few minutes hoping to keep it al-dente, just the way you like it before pouring it into a colander. Her haste causes the boiling water to splash back painfully on the back of her hand.

“FUCK!” she lets off a yelp before muttering profanities under her breath.

She plates the food to match the picture on the recipe in her mind, careful to avoid the burnt mess at the bottom of the pot, succeeding in only creating a plate of sloppy mess. She vows never to cook again. With her head hung low in disappointment she makes her way to her room. She straightens her back with false pride as she asks FRIDAY to open the door for her.

She sets the plates down on the coffee table before grabbing cutlery and napkins from her kitchenette and attempts to frame them around the plates in a way that is pleasing to the eye. Appealing to look at, it is not. She clenches her jaw and huffs out her frustration before closing her eyes and reigning in her annoyance. She needs to be calm when she sees you.

She finds you much in the same position as you had been ever since she had carried you from her bathroom floor, buried under her sheets. She thinks about the last couple of months as she stands in the doorway.

She would prompt you to bathe regularly, she created a routine for you, a safety net so the days didn’t meld together unendingly. She would provide you with a clean set of clothes as she changed the sheets but more often than not, she would find you huddled in a ball on the bathroom floor, naked and weeping silently, your mind lost in darkness.

Those moments terrified the redhead, she didn’t want a repeat of the incident and she hated the way you would crawl away into the corner of the room when she first approached you. No amount of calling out your name before edging closer would bring you out of your trance. She would have to approach you, to bring out the terror in you just so she could coax you back into reality, into the present moment, where you were safe. When your awareness returned, she would open her arms for you and you would crawl into them, so small and broken as you sobbed out the pain of everything you’ve lost, everything that was taken from you.

She would lift your small frame into the tub and wash you, careful to be gentle with your scars, always telling you where she will touch and waiting to hear your reply, not a second sooner. Some days the routine was simple, others required the repeated draining of cooling water and topping it up with more hot water before you were properly clean.

She pushes the thoughts away as she patters to the bedside edge, sitting with hands braced to either side. It was an odd ritual you had both unintentionally created with one another. She would wait until you would reach out to hold her hand and she would help settle your unease by brushing her thumb over your knuckles before attempting to expose your eyes for her to see.

Today was no different, or so she thought. She hears the familiar rustling of the sheets as you maneuver your hand out from under it in search of hers. You grasp her hand gently but as she moves her thumb to stroke your knuckles, your movements cause hers to stall in confusion. She feels as your fingers trace over the Band-Aids wrapped around hers and moves slowly to run over the swelling blister from the burn.

Natasha’s eyes grow wide with shock as you sit straight up, hair mussed and angling comically, while pulling her hand towards you to examine them closely. She watches as you scrunch your face with worry, carefully scrutinizing her hand as if you hadn’t just spent months caught in the depths of depression.

Your focus turns to her for an explanation and Natasha can’t fight the blush that colors her cheeks as embarrassment overwhelms her.

“I made us dinner” She squeaks, internally berating herself for her lack of vocal control. She coughs to clear it as if something was lodged in her throat.

Your brows rise as you stare at her, blinking repeatedly as if it would somehow make her words suddenly make sense.

Seconds ebb away in silence and Natasha begins to feel like a fool, her mortification turns into something ugly within her and she quickly takes to her feet to leave the bedroom, the space suddenly smothering. She hurriedly tells you that she will leave the dish in the fridge for when you’re ready to eat before making a rapid exit.

She settles on the couch and buries her face in her hands. She was childish to think that this would help you, that it would somehow bring you some comfort. She wasn’t Wanda, she can’t cook, even Danvers was a better hand in the kitchen. She groans into her hands when the sound of footsteps catches her attention.

She snaps her head to the noise and sees you standing in the living room. A loaded pause dances in the air as neither are quite sure what to do, the territory unfamiliar. Natasha doesn’t want to respond in a way that might scare you back into hiding, you aren’t entirely sure what to do with yourself now that you have emerged from the confines of Natasha’s musty bedroom.

You offer the only thing you can. “Let’s eat?” you ask with a shaky voice.

Natasha watches you as you nervously trace over the gnarled scar on your hand. She takes a steadying breath before speaking. “Let’s eat” she confirms confidently.

You slink towards her as she shuffles to the side allowing you to take a seat beside her, leaving some space between you, you’re silently thankful for the thoughtfulness. Grabbing the fork, you twirl the spaghetti around it, shoving the forkful into your mouth.

She eyes you apprehensively, waiting for you to start chewing. When she hears the clear crunch the food makes as you munch away, her face distorts into repulsion. She’s sure it’s not meant to crunch so loudly. She’s further horrified when she watches you swallow down the concoction with visible effort.

Y/E/C meet green, seconds ticking by as her anxiety heightens.

“Needs salt” you say levelly

Her face contorts with consternation before your poker face cracks and you tilt your brow up playfully.

“It’s inedible isn't it?” she asks, her face sagging at her wasted effort

“Yeah” you say but a gentle smile graces your face, one that crinkles the corner of your eyes.

It takes every ounce of Widow training to control herself as her heart leaps with happiness. She hasn’t seen you smile in so long, not one so real. She can see the vestiges of the you that she knew shine through the small cracks, tiny trickles of your light permeating through the dark miasma that has been your looming companion since Wanda’s desertion.

“Takeout?” she asks with a wide grin

“Probably wise” you reply, soft smile still plastered on your face.

Natasha vows to cook again, maybe next time it will be edible, maybe next time you’ll flash her your beaming smile because you are getting better. As the dead leaves fall away from the branches, so does the heaviness in your soul. Your mood changes like the season, slowly but surely.

You had slipped up, you needed to get high to numb the pain but Natasha had refused to take on any missions until you were clean and would stay clean, her presence ever vigilant.

You had slipped up, you just needed something, anything to numb the pain and stop the thoughts.

You had slipped up, you found the means to draw the pain away from you but she found you on her bathroom floor as you cut pieces away from you, pretending it's the anguish you’re carving out of your heart.

“Y/N STOP!” Natasha bellows

Your hand freezes just as the razor’s edge hovers above your torn thigh, blood pooling below. It was never meant to get this bad, it started with an accidental cut while you shaved your legs but the blood was hypnotic, the pain cathartic, you wanted more.

Now, your thighs were a bloody mess, shredded apart. The blade had blunted from overuse, you had to press harder to cut as deep. An assorted mix of healing scars, fresh cuts and reopened wounds decorated your thighs, a monstrous representation of the carnage within.

As the euphoria fades away, the extent of the harm you were doing to yourself wheedled in. You were a mess and you couldn’t stop. You gawked at the crimson spattering the floor and coating your legs as the tatters of your flesh glisten with the thick slick. Droplets of tears coalesce with the viscous fluid causing it to run down your legs faster like a river of blood.

Your hands shake as sobs wrack your body, Natasha’s garbled voice tries to break through your haze, you can’t make out her words. You look up at her through your tear blurred vision, she isn’t mad but she’s terrified. You watch her lips move, she’s repeating something. You try to focus, you compel your mind to work, to decipher the distorted words.

“That’s it Y/N, come back. I’m here, just focus on me. I’m here Y/N, I’m not going anywhere, just focus on me” she says soothingly

“Natty?” you say through quivering lips

“It’s OK Y/N, you’re OK, I’m here. I need you to give me the blade Y/N” she says delicately as she kneels beside you, her hand outstretched.

You stare down at your hand, your fingers pinched around the metal. You turn and twist it, the blood coated edge catching the light, the hypnotic lure pulling you in.

“Milaya, please”

The pleading in her voice snaps your attention back and Y/E/C stare at her, really noticing her for the first time since she interrupted. Natasha looks so exhausted, her skin is dull, her beautiful green eyes are bloodshot. You watch as her jaw works with effort, fighting back the swelling tears in her eyes from falling.

She looks so drained, your free hand reaches out and touches her cheek. Natasha’s tears fall, the damn holding them shatters with your touch. You try to wipe them away, you didn’t notice there was blood on your fingers, you’ve wiped them on her.

You’ve marked her with your pain, you’re etching it on her pale skin. You have to stop, you can’t do that to her, you can’t hurt Natasha like that, you won’t.

Carefully you place the razor in her outstretched palm before burying your face in your hands as your body convulses, wracked with pain and guilt. You’re sobbing uncontrollably as your heart twists and wrenches.

“Y/N, tell me what to do, tell me what I need to do, tell me how to help” Natasha’s words are frenzied.

You’ve never heard her so alarmed before, not in the face of an army of robots, not even in the face of her possible death, but she is right now. You can’t speak through your sobs, breathing through it already requiring effort.

You do the only thing you can, you launch yourself against her, wrapping your arms around her waist as you bury your face in her chest. She instinctively responds, not a second of hesitation as she shields you protectively with her body. You grip her shirt tighter and press yourself further into her. Her hold of you becomes more taut as the pain and the tears rip through your body.

Finally, you allow the images to flood through your mind, you watch as flashes of happy moments with Wanda flow through, your mind fixates on her auburn tresses, her soft hazel eyes, her gentle smile and her melodic laughter. You see and relive the shattering heartbreak as Vision’s name falls from her lips and she walks away, you remember the feeling of hollowness that consumed you with every drug and dalliance that you partook in.

Eventually, you permit broken memories of the night that he had taken from you, to filter through. You peer on like a third party to the torture your body endured as your mind was too dulled to comprehend a thing. You watched as he ripped your clothes from you, along with your autonomy and dignity. You felt every heavy hit that landed on your body as he exerted his power over your despondent frame. Finally you let out an ear splitting scream into the bathroom as you endured the harrowing moment when you felt him cleave you from the inside, taking the last of what you held sacred from you.

You felt yourself emptying all the emotions into Natasha’s chest, you’re so hollow and exhausted now. Lost in your despair, no part of you registers as Natasha picks you up, cradling you close to her, not even as your empty eyes nod along, mindless, to her request to stitch and bandage your wounds. You don’t utter a word as she settles you back into her bed and tucks the blankets around you, sheltering you from the harsh world. You don’t reply as she wishes you goodnight, nestling herself on the small couch in the bedroom. Natasha doesn’t hear your voice again for months.

“Dammit!” Natasha curses loudly.

She’s late, Steve had side-tracked her with an impromptu meeting. She had to threaten him to let her leave, she’d already been held back long enough. She quickly throws on her jacket before rushing out of her room, speeding past Wanda and Vision cooking in the kitchen together, she doesn’t spare them another second of notice, she’s already late enough.

She’s trudging through the park, boots crunching the snow beneath as she pushes her limbs to move faster. She spots you sitting on a park bench, nursing a hot drink, your breath billowing in the cold air.

You scan the scenery until your eyes meet, you wave to the redhead in the distance watching as she marches towards you.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. Rogers dragged me into a meeting and wouldn’t stop rambling. I threatened to cut his balls off if he didn’t shut up” Natasha explains hurriedly before settling beside you.

You let out a laugh with images of a very angry Natasha sizing up to the huge super soldier as he withers into submission playing in your mind. Her heart warms to hear your laughter again, it feels like centuries ago since you laughed so freely. Maybe being late had its advantages after all.

“You are a badass Natty” you chuckle out before handing her the hot chocolate at your side, flashing her a smile.

She regards your rosy cheeks as they puff out with your grin, your eyes glisten with happiness and your lips fuller and supple once more. She can see your body is healing with an authentic smile on your face, proof that your mind and heart is not far behind.

“Awww, aren’t you just the sweetest” she coos teasingly, her hands quickly swiping the drink away, knowing you’d yank it back playfully. She flashes you a wink and you roll your eyes in retaliation.

“How was your meeting?” she asks before taking a sip of the hot liquid to warm her bones, glad for its heat in her bare hands.

“It was good, I think. I spoke in the group today, talked about my mother and talked about Wanda too, the good and bad. It felt nice to get it out” you tell her, no hint of pain or fear in your voice, just relief.

Natasha beams at you, overjoyed with the progress you had been making, happy to see her friend coming back to her. “What about your appointment, how did that go?

“It was tough, Dr. Roland talked about working on better coping mechanisms with me. We tried a few but it meant we had to talk about how I felt about Wanda leaving and about what happened that night” you say, getting quieter with every word.

You lean forward, resting your elbows on your thighs as you stare at the park, the place blanketed in white. It’s not the same white that used to invade your thoughts and fry your nerves, it’s a good white, a clean white, like a blank slate allowing you to paint the world anew.

“It wasn’t my fault, what he did to me, wasn’t my fault” you recite, there’s confidence in your voice as you say it, a stark contrast to how you said it the first time, muttered and empty.

Natasha, places her hand on your shoulder, you don’t flinch away from her touch, you simply turn your head to her with a smile.

“No, it wasn’t your fault Y/N, it never was. He’ll never hurt you or anyone again” Natasha says softly but there’s an edge towards the end.

“What happened to him Natty?” you ask

“The same thing that happens to all males when they cross a black widow spider” she replies coolly, eyes cast ahead.

You know she doesn’t want to talk about it, whatever she’s done, she’s shielding you from being held complicit if she got caught. Not that she would ever get caught, she’s The Black Widow after all.

You pull her hand off you and wrap it around your shoulder as you snuggle into her side. She pulls you in closer and rests her cheek on the top of your head as you both bask in the last of the sun’s rays as it sets slowly in the horizon.

“It feels like nothing’s changed, like everything is like it was before” she says softly

“Nothing has changed. I’m still Y/N, you’re still Natty and we’re still here for each other” your tone mirroring hers. She simply hums in agreement.

“Natty?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been cleared for small field missions again, nothing big just simple ops but the doc cleared me and Steve approved” you tell her softly

She places a lingering kiss to your head, you feel her pride in the gesture and you beam widely as you nestle closer into her for warmth. Natasha embraces the joy she feels in the moment, you’re getting better and you’re coming back. Step by step you’re building yourself whole again, she’ll hold you together just a while longer until you’ve glued the pieces of you securely.

“You sure you want to go? I mean we don’t have to, we can just stay here and watch a movie and eat junk” Natasha tries as she arranges her fiery red hair into an up-do, her eyes watching your reflection carefully in the mirror.

“First of all, we have to go. I promised Tony I’d be there and it’s the last step in Dr. Roland’s exercise for me. Secondly...shit!” you curse as you fumble with the tie for the fourth time, the front now comically short as the thin end behind dangles in between your legs.

“How the FUCK do people do this shit all the time” you growl with frustration.

Natasha watches you with amusement as your reflection grapples with the length of material. She sighs at your clunky attempts before turning and stalking towards you to help.

You watch her nimble fingers as they quickly turn, twist and knot the length with ease before pulling the tie flush against your neck, secure but not suffocating. She folds the collar of your shirt down and runs her palm down the length of the silk tie, pressing it against you in attempts to flatten it.

“There, you look very handsome Y/N” her voice turning sultry as her hand rests on your abdomen.

You flush at her praise and your mind temporarily short-circuits as you mumble out a thanks in response. She chuckles at your nervousness before playfully tugging at your tie. “You clean up alright” she says before flashing you a wink and spinning on her heels to finish her hair.

You clear your thoughts with a cough before speaking again. “Right...where was I?” you ask, lips pouting and brows creased as you try to reel back your train of thought from the enrapturing visions of your friend.

“Secondly…” Natasha prompts helpfully

“Right, Secondly, even if I didn’t need to go…” “which I do” you quickly add “We wouldn’t be eating junk cuz you’re too much of a health nut, so quit worrying”

Natasha rolls her eyes in response as she concentrates on plaiting some of her long hair to the side of her head.

You approach Natasha and place your hands gently on either shoulder before leaning in close to her ear, Y/E/C locking on to her green ones in the mirror. “I’ll be ok Natty, I know they’ll be there together but I’ll have you and Tony with me. I’ll need to see Wanda at some point. We work together after all” you tell her softly

“I just want to keep you safe Y/N” Natasha admits, her trepidation at the night ahead clear

“I know, and you have been keeping me safe. I need to do this and I’m sure I can do this because I know you have my back”

She places her hand above yours on her shoulder before letting out a soft sigh. She can see the determination in your eyes and she relents. “I’ll always have your back” she says firmly.

You place a soft kiss on her temple, a wordless thanks for her support before pulling back. “You ready to go Romanoff?” you ask as you extend your hand to her.

She smiles in the mirror before turning to face you and accepting your help up from the chair. “I’m always ready Y/L/N” she husks making you chuckle before you lead her out of the room and into her car. You whizz through the streets towards the Avengers tower, towards Wanda.

/

To say Tony went all out was an understatement, the tower was filled with wall to wall entertainment and endless caterers that waited on everyone hand and foot. Every floor held their own theme that was as eccentric as Tony was, one floor was labelled with the theme ‘Yabba Dabba Doo’, you dread to think what that translated to in Tony’s mind.

You opted to stay on the top most floor with the rest of the Avengers, the crowd seemingly more sophisticated and calm if not somewhat haughty in nature. You could survive one night of this, although the same could not be said for your friend.

You swaggered towards her, apologizing to her present company for stealing her away before pulling her towards the middle to dance with you. She rests one hand on your shoulder and one in your hand as your free one settles on her waist, guiding her to the music.

“Sooo, that looked like an interesting conversation” you say quietly

“If one more person tells me they have a grand idea about the conflict in the Middle-East and I ‘just must hear about it’, I’m going to stab them in the eye with my stiletto” she grits out, the smile never leaving her lips, her face a vision of enjoyment and brevity.

A rumbling chuckle escapes you as you continue to twist and twirl with her, Natasha’s graceful movements never faltering.

“Do you think this is funny Y/N?” she hisses discreetly

“Actually yeah, you were worried about me and here you are ready to kill someone”

Your sentence catches the attention of an elderly couple dancing beside you and you’re quick to elaborate. “Kill someone with her lousy jokes, not a funny bone in her perfect body this one” your head cocking towards Natasha. The couple simply send you glares of disapproval before quickly removing themselves from your vicinity.

Natasha moves her hand from your shoulder to punch your arm playfully, but with some force.

“OW” you yelp

“Stop that!”

“Ok, ok. Tough crowd” you mutter before rolling your eyes.

Natasha knows she’s barely hurt you but she rubs your arm soothingly regardless before returning her hand to your shoulder.

“Have you seen her?”

You know who Natasha means without her expanding. “Yeah, I got roped into a group they were in, she barely glanced at me before practically drooling over the droid” you grumble.

“Maybe that’s a good thing” Natasha shrugs dismissively

“How is that a good thing exactly?” you question with ire

“Well if she drools on him enough, he might short-circuit then she’ll have carry his vibranium ass out and if we’re lucky, Tony might end the night there” she replies, a devilish grin on her lips

For a moment you are taken aback by her words but soon laughter rolls through you, causing happy tears to roll down your cheek. She gently wipes them clear once your mirth had dwindled and you spin her and dance with renewed gusto.

“And you say I’m not funny” she says blithely

/

The party ran on without incident, you had elected to stick by Natasha’s side to prevent any accidents, her temper currently short fused, with arms interlocked as you co-mingled in the crowd.

The evening was now drawing to a close with only the Avengers left partaking in Stark’s bottomless supply of alcoholic beverages, you and Natasha sticking to copious amounts of coke, Natasha joining you in sobriety in the name of solidarity.

You were huddled on a circle of couches, with you languidly draped across one, head resting on Natasha’s lap as she lazily ran her fingers through your hair while sipping her drink and your feet propped on Tony’s. The event had worn you down, Wanda’s cold-shoulder and Natasha’s continued intervention, coupled with Tony’s overzealous attempts at making you laugh had run you emotionally and mentally ragged.

You observed with quiet amusement as your friends, as well as Wanda and Vision, had devolved into raucous children while playing a few rounds of truth or dare, you merely a spectator.

“Ok, Wanda your turn. Truth or dare?” Sam asks mischievously

Wanda always chooses truth, she was never comfortable with having to be made to do something, on the off instance it went beyond her boundaries of comfort, that of which was not very large. You knew this and your mind subconsciously focused on her lips to watch her utter the word again.

“I think Wanda would like to do a dare, wouldn’t you darling?” Vision muses

Your eyes furrowed in confusion at Vision’s interruption, does he not know that she hates doing dares by now? Your confusion only heightens when Wanda speaks.

“Dare” Wanda replies firmly

Your eyes try to call to hers but she resolutely focuses on Sam as he claps his hands together with playful glee.

“I dare you to kiss the best flyer in the room” he says with a grin

You feel Natasha stiffen below you as her hand freezes, fingers still entangled in your tresses. You pull your gaze away from Wanda, you don’t need to see her lock lips with the android, you’re more concerned about your friend’s response to the situation.

Your eyes look up at her scrunched face and flared nostrils and to say she was annoyed would be an inferior depiction of her current emotions, but to whom the rage was directed to, you weren't quite sure. You weren’t sure she knew either as her eyes flickered between Wanda’s direction and Sam’s.

You raise a fisted hand, index finger protruding and gently poke at her cheek to grab her attention. Her green orbs flit to yours instantly, rage replaced with concern that quickly dissipates at the sight of your relaxed face, sweetly smiling up at her. Her features soften but the wordless question of whether you were ok was still displayed in her eyes.

You gently untangle her fingers from your hair and interlock them with yours before placing them on your chest, the calm, rhythmic beat of your heart pounding below it. She feels it’s steady thump on her palm and she relaxes at your reassurance. With a tiny squint of her eyes and a pinched smile, she acknowledges it but reaffirms her unyielding presence will be there should you need it. You rub your thumb over her knuckles in thanks.

Sam’s wails of disappointment finally filters through your muted conversation with the redhead and you turn to see Wanda and Vision lovingly gaze at each other. Your heart can’t help but squeeze tightly at the knowledge that it used to be you she held with such compassionate eyes, such devotion, now, it’s him.

“I’m gonna get another drink, want one?” you ask Nat softly

She replies by shaking her full glass above you, you give her hand a gentle squeeze before extricating yourself from both their laps taking unhurried strides towards the bar. You lean over the bar top in an attempt to grab a glass when a familiar waft of cinnamon and honey assaults your senses. You hadn’t registered Wanda rising from her seat after you, nor how she followed behind you, she’d been working on her footing.

“So you and Nat” she says with agitation in her tone,

You don’t like how Wanda is speaking to you nor that it is only now that she has chosen to recognize your existence. You straighten your posture and face her, your previous task forgotten.

“What about me and Nat Maximoff?” Your tone flat and empty

You watch as she bristles at your question, her last name falling from your lips with formality, a verbal distancing of yourself from her. Her eyes screw with uncertainty but you see a flash of a thought cross them, bringing her ire back to the forefront.

“You just looked very cozy with her is all, I always thought you two had something, I guess I was right” Wanda replies with bite

Anger bubbles within and you care very little to hold it back, the only drop of control that grips you back is the thought of worrying Natasha with your outburst. You edge closer to Wanda instead, fury steaming from you.

“You do NOT get to say ANYTHING about MY friendship with Natasha” your voice a low growl “You left me for him” your finger prodding her before gesturing to yourself then VIsion.

“You do NOT get to play the jealousy card when all I’ve EVER been to you was loyal”

“You have NO right to care about what goes on in MY life when you haven’t even bothered to ask how I’ve been all this time”

In your rage, you don’t notice you had continued to advance on the Sokovian, as your eyes, blazing with ferocity, clamps her firmly in place. Your hot breath fans her face as you seethe, your faces so close that it would take nothing to break the distance between you.

In another time, you would have been mesmerized by the flecks of blue and hints of gold in her hazel eyes, would have itched to wrap your hand around the nape of her neck to crash your lips together in longing, but now, all you feel is anger. You decide to move past her to leave, to prevent furthering the altercation. With your backs now turned to each other, you halt within hearing distance.

“I fell apart when you left me, I made lots of mistakes and suffered, but I’m getting better. You would have known that if you’d cared enough to ask. Guess I really didn’t mean anything to you” you admit with a steady voice before making a bee-line to the balcony doors in need of some open space.

You lean against the balcony railing, looking down at the city lights glittering below, the streets buzzing with life as the cool spring breeze blows, colorful petals from nearby flowers dancing in the wind. Even in heels, Natasha approach is practically silent, her only revealing factor was the current of air carrying the scent of her perfume to you.

“I’m OK Natty, I promise” you call out before she reaches you.

She continues her approach before speaking “I know Y/N” she says softly, emulating your stance against the railing. “Did it help?” she asks, her eyes focused on the city below

“It hurt, but even if she didn’t say much, I got to say my piece. She doesn’t get to make the promises she made to me and make me feel invisible now and she doesn’t get to have a say in my life anymore”

Natasha listens intently, your voice is steady and firm, you don’t hitch or stutter. She doesn’t sense rage escaping from you like it was earlier, only resignation.

“Someday soon, I’ll be completely OK again”

“I know you will Y/N” Natasha replies

A gust of cool wind blows, your hair fluttering in it. Natasha turns to you and plucks the strands from your face and tucks them behind the lobe of your ear affectionately.

“Doc and Steve signed me off completely, I can go back to my normal duties” you say off-handedly

Natasha’s eyes focus on your features, your dismissive tone is loaded. She wants to know why. She pulls her hand back and crosses it along the railing once more.

“Ok...that’s a good thing right?” she tries to prod more from you.

“Yeah it is. I’ve got my first mission and I already accepted”

“And?”

“It’s deep undercover, no contact to the outside whatsoever until the mission is complete” you say in a monotonous tone.

Natasha’s heart sinks, she knows what’s coming but she needs to hear it from you. “How long?”

You let out a heavy sigh before hanging your head “A year, two tops”

Natasha averts her gaze, she focuses on the lights ahead as her jaws clench with the discomfort growing inside her. You had just gotten better, she had just got you back and now you were leaving again. She wants to be happy for you but she isn’t. She fakes it anyway.

“That’s really great Y/N, maybe the change of scenery will do you some good” she chuckles out

“Yeah” you chortle

A weighty pause hangs in the air before you shatter it.

“You needing a change of scenery too?” you ask

Natasha’s head swivels to you, face scrunched with confusion as she searches your face for some hint of mocking.

You angle your face towards her, your eyes glinting with the city lights reflection. “I need a second Natty and you’re the only one I trust to have my back.” your brows rise “So what do you say? Ready to get dreadfully sick of being stuck with me again?” You ask with a small smile on your face, a hint of worry behind your words.

Natasha softens as the pain she felt melts into nothing as warmth and affection courses through her. “I would never get sick of being around you Y/N” she says gently “I’ll always have your back”

Your grin widens as you both turn away to enjoy the peace that surrounds you, listening to the hustle and bustle of the city streets below. The air is no longer heavy and your mind is all but free of the blinding darkness that had been slowly suffocating you. For the first time in a long time, you can breathe and you have the strength to keep fighting, for yourself, for your family, for Natasha. In this moment, with your best friend by your side and the world at your feet, you remember what it feels like to be empowered, in control of your life, free.

.

.

.

.

“Is it a bad time to mention we’ll be undercover with seedy social elitists hell bent on getting involved in the Middle-East conflict...and we gotta make nice?”

“Y/NNNNNN” Natasha groans, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose.

“You said yes, can’t back out now”

“UGGHHH”

Taglist: @vancityfire13 @reminiscingtonight @theperfectlovestory @perfectromanoff @8bitscarlet @mindofwesley @cristin-rjd @daenerys713 @chasethemoon @nuianced-tck-girl @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @nfatale05 @diaryoflife @inlovewithfaberry @lovelyy-moonlight @wellsayhelloaagin (Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist)

[thesunicarusfellfor]

icarus my beloved, may i please request for a zombie apocalypse au (dsmp) and the characters haven’t seen you ever since the apocalypse started and they’ve been trying to find you for a long time, but once they finally find you, you’re already turned. basically how different dsmp characters would react to finding you turned as a zombie :> also i find your stuff ✨imaculate✨

and may i pls be ur 🌧anon?

I lovvvvveeeee Zombie apocalypse AUs. I'm very excited to write this. Also, thank you! I appreciate your compliment!

Yes, you can be! I'll eventually make an Anon list... Eventually.

In order of: Dream, Bad, Tommy (and Tubbo?), Ranboo, Ghostbur, Philza

Tommy's story is Bench Trio while Ranboo's story is more around Boreal Boys.

The Boreal Boys is set around the Antarctic Empire rather than the DSMP.

Edit: Trying to put a cut in. 50/50 on whether or not it worked.

DSMP Reacting to You Being Turned Into A Zombie (Multiple x GN!Reader)

They grunted, stepping over a fallen log as they yanked a crossbow bolt out of the skull of a fallen zombie, shoving it into their bag where other bolts and arrows were wrapped up. Ignoring the murmuring of their companion(s) as they looked over the faces of rotten flesh, thankfully none of them striking a familiar chord in their mind.

"They could still be alive..." They murmured softly under their breath as they walked back to the campsite that they and their companion(s) had originally set up. With a sigh, they plopped down in front of the crackling flame and adjusted the food that had been cooking before a horde of zombies had made their way through the makeshift barricade.

Ignoring the snores of their sleeping 'teammate(s) of survival', they eagerly dug into the food after it finished cooking before pausing mid-bite as they heard a crackling in the branches. Drawing their sword out from the sheath on their hip while they set their food down back into the pan, they spun around to face their possible attacker, silently hoping it was a wild animal they could use for meat, wool or feathers.

Glancing through the forest, they squinted as they saw movement but the firelight only spread so far which wasn't enough to shed light on the figure. With a sigh, they took a burning branch from the fire and lifted it, beginning to walk forward.

Judging by the guttural growls, groans, and scent of rotting flesh, it was definitely a zombie. Lifting the makeshift torch enough, they were able to see the undead being better and squinted, trying to recognize the creature before it turned around.

(H/c) hair... Albeit matted and overgrown, and torn clothing loosely hanging to their rotten skin... But when the zombie turned their head... They'd recognize them anywhere... Even after so long...

(Y/n).

Dream

His breath caught in his throat temporarily and he felt the torch slip from his hand, but it didn't fall.

Gritting his teeth together, he cringed and gripped onto the damaged smiling mask he usually wore.

"Fuck... (Y/n)... FUCK!" He took a few steps back to avoid the lame swipes you took at him.

He was thankful that your movement was hindered to the point where your steps were small shuffles.

"You promised..." He whispered, looking down at his trademark symbol.

It was a gift from you. Two years ago... You had promised... You promised that you would be okay...

And now here you were... Lifeless but alive... Groaning and gnashing your teeth at him...

He faintly heard the pounding footsteps of George and Sapnap behind him, likely having heard him yell.

"Dream?!" George yelled before the steps immediately came to a stop.

"Is that..."

"They promised..." He whined softly before pinching his eyes shut again as anger quickly overtook him. With a fierce battle cry, he swung his sword.

The strike was sloppy, filled with emotion and too much power. He had a feeling that if Technoblade was around still, he would be mocked to death for such a shitty swing.

But this was a brainless corpse. They couldn't rub two brain cells together to even think about dodging. This wasn't his smart, clever... Cunning... Alive... (Y/n)...

So it hit.

The gleaming diamond sword sliced through the rotten skin like a hot knife through butter, especially easier due to the Fire Aspect engraved into the sword.

He took a sharp intake of breath as he heard the horrible screeching noises that came from you as you sunk to the ground, desperately reaching out to him in one last attempt to get even a taste of his flesh.

He turned from your burning body and placed his mask on to cover his face before his friends saw the silver tears in the corners of his eyes, "Let's go."

"Dre-"

"I said, let's go."

They decided not to comment further.

Bad

He slowly felt the torch slip from his grasp and clatter to the ground, burning the dew-soaked grass it had landed on but it didn't matter.

Groaning and snarling at him, you lamely stumbled forward to grab at him, but he grabbed you first.

The Demon cringed slightly at the feel of rotten flesh beneath his fingers, but he held you back from walking forward.

He dodged the gnashing of your teeth as you tried to bite his arm, but he couldn't bring himself to bring the sword through your chest to finally end your suffering...

He glanced in the direction of the camp where Skeppy was still asleep, hopefully anyway...

Bad knew Skeppy would never agree to keep you around, even if you had once been someone very important to him.

Neither of them knew how zombie bites would affect Diamond Sprites or Demons, and weren't too eager to find out.

"(Y/n)... You muffin..." He put a hand on your chin, preventing you from chomping on his arms, "I wish... I wish I could've said goodbye..."

"Maybe I could've protected you..."

"Would you still be alive if I hadn't stormed out that day?"

He continued whispering questions to your mindless form, but his only responses were watery gurgles and the odd groan.

"Muffin... I'm so sorry..." He whispered, lowering his head to look down at you better, lava tears dripping down his cheeks and landing on your rotting away face, causing horrible screeches and snarls to escape from you, but you didn't yank away.

"Bad?!" Skeppy's voice came from the camp, and he looked over his shoulder to stare at the Diamond Sprite, "What... Why are you..."

"I-I... Skeppy... Do you think... If I had done anything different... They'd be alive?" He whispered, moving aside to let his small friend see his former friend.

The blue-skinned male sighed and loaded an arrow into his bow and grabbed onto the string, getting ready to pull it back, "Bad... You can't rewrite history... What's done is done, it's too late for them..."

"Can... Can you...? I don't think I can..." He whispered and finally let go of you, causing your balance to be set off.

The second he turned his back, he heard the stretching of a bowstring before releasing it. He shut his eyes tightly as he heard the familiar impact of a bow hitting mostly rotten but still solid flesh.

He didn't turn around, instead choosing to keep his head down as his friend brought him back to the camp.

"Goodbye, (Y/n)..."

Tommy (and Tubbo?)

He was frozen stiff, his grip tightening on his sword and the torch as he stared down the undead being.

Honestly, if anyone had asked him why he was still fighting through this damned apocalypse, he would say that he was fighting to survive.

No. He was fighting to make sure you were still alive...

Now, what was left?

"For fuck's sake! You were supposed to be alive!" He yelled, no doubt waking up the camp of other survivors.

"You were the only one- Dammit, (Y/n)!" He cried, ignoring the tears running down his cheeks as he threw a punch that connected to your jaw, cracking the weakened bone almost instantly and causing it to hang like an angered Enderman.

He continued to shout at your undead form and cry, ignoring the worried calls and frantic scrambling of his friends from back at the camp.

"You used to be such a great fighter, and you lost to FUCKING ZOMBIES!" He swung his arms around, his mind barely cluing into the fact that he dropped his sword and torch, "You almost beat Technoblade for fuck's sake! Technoblade! And-and..."

'No. No. Stay angry. They lost the fight. They- Don't mourn their stupidity...' He crumpled to the ground in despair, his tears dropping into his lap as he quickly grew deaf to the sound of shuffling feet.

Luckily, someone ran past him and shoved you to the ground with a shield, sending you rolling into a puddle of mud.

"Tommy!" Tubbo cried, setting down the shield as Ranboo quickly looked him over for any bite marks or injuries.

Once he found none, he gave a large sigh of relief and looked over at the corpse that Tubbo had shield bashed away from his friend, "Oh... Wait..." He frowned, struggling to remember the face that was struggling to crawl their way over to them through the mud.

"That's (Y/n)..." Tommy murmured, sounding rather numb, Tubbo and Ranboo noted, "They taught me and Tubbo to fight, back before we lost L'Manberg... They practically raised us... Despite being a similar age... They were so strong... and brave..."

Tubbo's breath hitched as he took another look at the growling creature desperate to feast on their flesh, "N-No... They're too strong to- I don't- No- No!"

"Guys... I know- I- No, I don't know... But we have to leave. They're going to call more zombies- And... We have to kill them..." Ranboo whispered, flinching a bit when Tubbo and Tommy whipped their heads in his direction, fire burning in their eyes.

Tommy's inner flame was the first to die out.

"I know..." He whispered, ignoring Tubbo's cries of protest as he picked up the diamond sword, twisting it in his hand and watching as the torchlight reflected off of it.

"You can't kill them, Tommy- They're like our older sibling-... Were... like... Our older sibling..." Tubbo corrected himself with hesitance and a sniffle as he looked away.

He turned back to your gurgling form and walked over, moving his feet away from your grabs at his ankles while raising his sword.

With a sharp intake of breath, tears continuing to drip down his cheeks as he rose his sword, "I'm sorry..." He whispered before bringing it down through your chest.

Ranboo

Sure, his memory was bad, but he could NEVER forget the face of the name that was scrawled through his memory book.

He stumbled backwards and tripped over a log with a small yelp, his sword and torch falling from his grip.

The water from the recent rain seeping through his torn clothing caused his skin to hiss, and a small whine tore from his throat as he scrambled backwards.

His noises of pain and distress failed to scare the zombie of his former best friend off, instead only persuaded them to lazily drag their feet towards him a little quicker.

Thankfully, although he was deaf to it amidst his panic and sobs, heavy footsteps and the ruffle of feathers echoed through the forest.

"Ranboo?! Mate, are you okay!?" Hands flew to his shoulders while a pink and red blur hopped the log he had tripped on to start a brawl with the zombie.

"DON'T HURT THEM!" He wailed to Techno, fighting against the hands that held his shoulders to reach out at the zombie.

"Heh?!" Techno used his shield to hold you back, dodging the swipes you took at him with your unkempt nails, "Ranboo! They're dead! A zombie!"

Ranboo sobbed louder, fighting the urge to cover his ears at the horrible words, "(Y/n) isn't dead... They aren't... They can't be! No... no...!"

Calloused hands carded through his black and white hair, which would've calmed him down on a normal day, but now... How could he feel anything but despair? His best friend was now a lifeless being...

They promised that they'd see him again, alive, not like THIS!

"Ranboo..." Phil murmured from behind him, likely having finished checking him for bites. The avian pulled him into his chest, allowing him to bawl his eyes out, the fabric muffling his desperate wails and preventing the tears from burning his skin too much.

"You- you said a gapple and a weakness potion could turn them back, right?!" Ranboo cried, looking up at the elder male, "C-can't we try it out on them?!"

Phil and Techno were silent, and the only sounds that were heard were the crackling fire back at the camp and the gurgles of his former best friend.

Perhaps he panicked himself into a light-headed state, or maybe his memory was worse than before because the next thing he knew Techno was dragging a chained and growling corpse while Philza was practically carrying the enderboy who was pretty much twice his height.

The next few days felt like a fever dream. He spent most of his time sitting in front of a cage where the corpse of his friend laid on the cold stone ground.

Phil had doused them in a splash potion of weakness and forced a golden apple down their throat a few hours after they caged them, now it was Ranboo's job to watch over them for any changes and write them down.

"Yeah then Me, Phil and Techno travelled out of the Tundra back on the DreamSMP, and we made our way to the Antarctic, back to the old Empire that they used to rule over..." He rambled onto your lifeless corpse, reading through his memory book to continue telling you stories, even if you were dead.

"Ran...Boo..."

"(Y-Y/n)?!" He threw the book aside and ran over to the cage, only to see the corpse had gained more of a human flesh tone rather than a sickening green, and formerly black, now (e/c) eyes were staring up at the stone bricks that made up the roof.

Ghostbur

He absolutely lit up with a happy squeal.

"(Y/n)! I knew you would make it through this whole apocalypse thing!" The ghost walked over and put his hand on your shoulder, brushing off the way that you didn't flinch away from the intense cold that radiated off of him.

You only continued walking...

"Oh? Do you know of any shelter? Lead the way then!" He chirped, pulling on the lead that was hooked up to the blue sheep he knew as Friend.

The two of you walked through the forests, Ghostbur blabbering away about memories he had involving you both, but he had a tight grasp on something blue the entire time.

You never responded to him, other than the odd groan or gurgle, but the ghost never found anything wrong with it.

Inside, he knew that you were an animated corpse. He knew that you would never be able to lose your three canon lives, and become a ghost.

Instead, you were stuck as a corpse that would perpetually come back to life over and over again until your body completely got destroyed.

Every time he looked at your growling form, he wanted to feel happy, you were back travelling with him! But... You weren't the same person...

"Wil- Ghostbur!" A voice came from behind him, and he saw the father of Aliverbur standing in front of him, sword at the ready.

"Phil!" He chirped, moving beside you and holding your shoulder, so you didn't run towards Philza, "Hey, how's it going man?" He smiled widely.

The flightless avian put his hand on his hat as he watched you reach towards him uselessly, being held back by the ghost of his son, "Ghostbur... That's not..."

"(Y/n)? Yes, it is!" He continued to smile, although it seemed a little forced, "It's just been a while, don't be so negative, Philza Minecraft!"

He sighed heavily, "Wil, that is not (Y/n) anymore. They are a senseless mob!" He reached for his sword, only to blink when Ghostbur quickly ran in front of you.

"No, no! It is! It is them!" He sobbed, his tears burning his transparent skin as his body shook with horrible coughs. "Please... It is... It is..."

"Okay, okay." He put his sword in the sheath and held up his hands in surrender to make Ghostbur stop crying, "It is, it's (Y/n)... Go say hi to Techno and get some food for Friend... I'm going to talk to them."

Ghostbur wiped his eyes with his sweater and eagerly nodded, "Okay! I haven't spoken to Techno in so long, I hope he's been doing okay..." He continued to ramble as he walked to the attached cabins next to the mountain, dragging Friend along.

Philza turned back to you and drew his sword, watching as you dragged your feet through the snow to reach him, "I'm sorry, (Y/n)... He just... Doesn't understand that you're stuck suffering..."

"Philzaaaa!" Ghostbur skipped out the door, pulling his blue sheep along as Philza sheathed his netherite sword, "Where did (Y/n) go?"

The avian folded his wings to his back under his cape as he looked over his shoulder, "Oh, they were going towards the portal. They said they would be back soon."

"Oh, they finally spoke? I'm so proud of them! I'll wait for them here!" Ghostbur smiled widely, completely unaware of the burning corpse hidden behind the trees.

Philza

Maybe he should've felt something more...?

Then again... He was the Angel of Death, he caused and attracted death like a magnet with a knife.

He swung his sword simply, watching as the corpse burned and crumpled to the ground before him with desperate wails and growls.

First Wilbur... Then Tommy... Now (Y/n)... Who was next, Ranboo or Techno?

He sighed, turning away from yet another person who had meant the world to him but was now nothing but rotting burnt flesh on the stark white snow.

"Phil!" Ranboo gave a chirping noise, a static-filled deformed mimic of one of the noises he often made due to his avian genetics, "Are you alright? One of the traps went off an-"

He wanted to smile, he did. He wanted to tell the boy who was practically shaking with worry as he checked him for bites that he was alright.

"It... Was (Y/n)..." He murmured softly, feeling... Oddly calm about the situation... Or was that empty? It was like how he felt after he killed his son...

Ranboo's bi-coloured eyes slowly rose up to meet Phil's blue ones and almost cringed as he saw that he was practically looking through him, "You... Mean, your..."

"Yeah... That's them. B-But it's okay-" He went to say but Ranboo gave an upset growl sort of noise as his monochrome tail wrapped around one of his lanky and abnormally long legs.

"Okay?! Phil, you just killed one of the most important people in your life... You- You aren't okay! You're numb!" The Enderman grabbed his shoulders... And the feeling of floating that he hadn't even noticed came to a sudden halt.

Oh. He was numb... That's why he didn't feel it...

Wait when did Ranboo bring him inside?

He slowly glanced out the window to see the sun had set long ago, and the fire in the fireplace had practically died out. Ranboo was curled up on the couch on the other side of him, and Techno was nowhere to be seen.

'I killed them... Without a second thought...' His mind caught up with the situation much slower than his body had, and he slouched against the arm of the couch he was propped up against.

'I killed them like I killed Wilbur...'

'Terrible person... Horrible...'

'I kill everyone I love...'

'Techno and Ranboo are left... They're in danger from you too...'

"Phil?" A hand grabbed one of the ones that were entangled in his long golden locks, "Hey, hey... I want you to listen to my voice, okay? You're okay... Follow my breathing..."

When did he start crying?