#and for part of the dream that’s like a blur it was just surviving all that in first person

[passengerprincessblog]

“Breaking Point” ~ pt. 1 Lewis Hamilton x reader

Summary: In the world of high-speed races and Hollywood lights, F1 champion Lewis Hamilton and his girlfriend, Y/N, a rising actress, struggle to keep their love alive across continents. Their relationship is passionate and electric, but the constant distance and relentless schedules test their connection in ways they never imagined. When Y/N lands a major role that will keep her away from Lewis’s next four weekends, unresolved tensions come to a head. As old insecurities, jealousy, and career ambitions clash, they’re forced to confront the question: Can love survive when both partners are chasing their own dreams? Or will they find themselves drifting further apart?

WC: 1,000

Part 2 here

The email stares back at me from my phone screen, the words blurring slightly as I read it over for what feels like the hundredth time. My agent’s excitement practically jumps off the screen. It’s an amazing opportunity—a month-long shoot for a role I’ve wanted for ages. But the timing couldn’t be worse. Three races. I’ll miss four weekends with Lewis.

I look up, glancing around his driver’s room, the quiet hum of the paddock outside just barely audible through the walls. I can hear him in the distance, finishing up a media interview, and I know he’ll be here any moment. My heart pounds, a mix of excitement and anxiety twisting together. I hate feeling like this, like I have to brace myself for his reaction.

The door opens, and Lewis steps in, his eyes lighting up when he sees me waiting for him. He crosses the room quickly, a warm, familiar smile spreading across his face as he pulls me into his arms. I close my eyes, breathing in his scent, savoring the feeling of him, strong and steady, holding me close. For a brief moment, all my worries melt away.

“Hey, beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice soft and comforting.

“Hey,” I reply, looking up at him with a small smile, wishing I could just leave it at that. But the words are right there, pressing against my lips, refusing to stay silent. I pull back slightly, meeting his gaze. “We need to talk.”

His smile fades, replaced by a slight frown as he studies my face. “What’s wrong?”

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “I got offered a new role. It’s… a big one, Lewis. But it means I’ll have to be in LA for a month. I won’t be able to come to the next few races.”

The words hang in the air, and I watch as his expression shifts, his eyes darkening just a bit. He lets go of me, taking a small step back, crossing his arms over his chest. “So… you’re taking it?” His tone is even, too even, like he’s holding something back.

I nod, feeling a flicker of guilt. “I haven’t signed anything yet, but… yes. It’s a really big opportunity, Lewis. I thought you’d understand.”

He lets out a small, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Understand? Y/N, do you have any idea how often I miss you? How hard it is to keep doing this when you’re not there?”

“Of course I do,” I snap back, feeling the heat of my own frustration rising. “But you miss my things all the time. You’re gone more than anyone. And I support you. I never make you feel bad about it.”

He narrows his eyes, his jaw tight, and I can see the hurt flicker across his face before he tries to hide it. “Maybe… but I thought you’d talk to me about something like this before just deciding to take it.”

I pause, the weight of his words sinking in. “I didn’t just decide, Lewis. I’ve been thinking about it, and it’s something I need to do for myself. I want to chase my dreams, too.”

“But at what cost?” His voice is low, almost a whisper, and for a moment, he looks away, his gaze distant. “It feels like every time I turn around, you’re choosing something else over us.”

I shake my head, frustration and hurt mixing together in my chest. “That’s not fair. I’ve done everything I can to be here for you. But I can’t just put my whole life on hold.”

He clenches his jaw, his gaze hardening. “Maybe you’d rather be around someone who’s always there. Like Lando, for example.” He spits the words out, bitterness lacing his voice. “Seems like you two get along well enough. Liking each other’s posts, commenting… maybe you’d rather hang out with him.”

I feel a sharp sting, anger flaring up as I stare at him in disbelief. “Are you serious right now, Lewis? You’re really bringing Lando into this? He’s a friend. Nothing more.”

“Sure he is,” Lewis replies, his tone cold and distant. “Funny how you have time for all these little ‘friendships’ but not enough time to come to my races.”

My heart pounds, a mix of hurt and anger swirling inside me. “I can’t believe you’re saying this. You know how much you mean to me, Lewis. But I’m not gonna apologize for having my own life, for having friends and a career I care about.” I say, slightly annoyed.

He crosses his arms tighter, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, I think he might apologize, or at least try to meet me halfway. But instead, he just looks away, his voice cold and dismissive. “Do whatever you want, Y/N. You’re clearly going to, anyway.”

The words hit me like a slap, and I feel a lump forming in my throat. I stare at him, searching his face for any sign of the warmth and understanding that I know he’s capable of. But he’s shut down, the wall firmly in place, and I realize that he’s not going to budge on this. Not right now.

Without another word, I turn and head for the door, my heart heavy as I feel his cold gaze on my back. I hesitate for a moment, hoping he’ll call me back, that he’ll soften and try to work this out. But the silence stretches, and I know he won’t.

I open the door, stepping out into the busy paddock, the noise and bustle of the race around me a stark contrast to the emptiness I feel inside. I don’t look back as I walk away, forcing myself to keep moving, even though a part of me wants to run back and beg him to understand. But I won’t. Not this time.

As I leave, the weight of the argument lingers, unresolved and heavy, and I know that things between us have shifted, leaving a fracture that I’m not sure we’ll be able to repair.

———————————————-

Note: Let me know what you think and if you want more/ anything different!

💜

[erasinglines]

even when things were different between them, when things weren’t laced with uncertainty and misunderstanding, miller was never quite able to grasp the inexplainable connection they shared, the power she had over him. and if he couldn’t explain it then, he definitely can’t now, as he finds himself wrapped up in her, kissing her in the familiar way that he does, the outside world fading to a quiet blur, when they’re in each other’s embraces. despite its openness, the display of love itself, it’s an intimate act between them, as if they’re the only two in existence, right now. he doesn’t shy away from it, from her, like he has done with someone else; uncaring as to who witnesses such a grand public display of affection. the world moving around them slowly comes back, as they part, lips buzzing, heart racing, hands shaking. he tucks them away, as he follows her to the front door, as if he could quell that need, desire. not for anything further, but just to… do that again, and again. until they’ve both run out of air and they’re turning blue in the face. god, how has he ever gone so long without something like that? because it’s love, he understands now, that still circulates between them, bringing them together again and again— how could he be so stupid, to try and convince himself that he could survive without it? heart beats a steady pattern in his chest, echoing in the cage of his ribs, as she unlocks the door, taken back in time to when this was their normal routine. when he would stand behind her, distracting as always, lips pressed to her neck or shoulders, his laughter against her skin, fingers against her waist, her hip. despite how much he may want to do that, now, he forces himself to hold back, as if to not overstep, to maintain some resemblance of a boundary, after what they’d just shared outside. that all goes out the window once they’re past the threshold of the door, his arms wrapping around her waist once she’s back against him. “ missed you, ” he echos back. “ so fucking much. ” and it’s one of his most vulnerable confessions of all, thinking back to those nights he’s spent alone, thoughts drifting to her, to wishing that she could be here with him. he transmits that into the kiss they share, here, in the apartment they used to share— the walls whispering memories of laughter, of tears, of late night conversations, early morning goodbyes before they went about their day. it’s dirty coffee mugs in the sink, and books against the wall, paint splattered on the floorboards. it’s the two of them sharing a breath, a life, a home. and it’s still present, in the kiss they share, in the smile chiseled into his features as they part for air, a quiet chuckle departing his lips. “ no, well… i also wanted to see what you’ve done with the place, ” he teases, gaze of endearment, as he looks down at her, lips tingling for more. “ i hope this is real, though. that it isn’t a dream— it feels real to me, ” but then again, she always has. and he can’t accept the alternative; that he was halfway across the country, merely thinking of her, dreaming of her, of this, of the love that still clearly flowed between them, held them together. “ but, i… i don’t have any expectations, coming up here, you know? ” he wants to clarify. “ i mean, we can just talk, if you want, ” somehow, that feels like it exposes a lot, how it’s an absent piece of the puzzle in his life. disguising it with a soft chuckle, he allows his hand to find her own, intertwining their fingers. “ i’ve really missed talking to you. ”

everything else ceases to exist the moment his lips meet hers; all that previous aching and longing and pining comes rushing from her system, replaced with something sweeter, something warm, that fills all that hollow space inside her. it’s been so long since they shared anything like this, since they allowed themselves to forget the boundaries that confined them. yet with how he’s kissing her, it feels like the very first time all over again, or at least different, somehow, like it wasn’t just a kiss out of need, but to transmit something more, something that felt a lot like love. regardless, she’s returning it full force, her lips gliding against his effortlessly, as if they were made for one another, to fit together so perfectly, even after all the time and distance that separated them, before this moment. she pours every ounce of herself into it, fingers curling against his jaw, trying to tamper her own desperation, forcing herself to slow down, to take all of it in, instead of allowing her impatience, her need for him, to take over. it’s difficult, though, with how long this desire has compounded in her system, and not even just from tonight, but over all the years since they last found themselves in this position. it really never went away, did it ? she can feel it, in the sparks that fly, that catch on her skin, leaving her buzzing and breathless by the time he pulls away, the taste of him still ever-present on her tongue. god, she’s not even sure she could form a sentence right now after a kiss like that, let alone make it to the door of her apartment, but she finds herself chuckling along with him, forehead pressed against his. “ fuck, you’re so good at that, ” she breathes, smiling against him. “ maybe we can just count that one as practice, though, ” because she didn’t want it to be the last time, no, she wanted it to happen again, and again, until her lungs stop working, until they’re both too exhausted to keep going. “ think you’ve earned the right to come inside after that, yeah, ” she teases, remaining close as she leads him up to what was once their door, shaky fingers unlocking it with haste, suddenly overwhelmed by how familiar this was, struck with a sense of deja vu, like they traveled back in time, to when this was a normal, every day occurrence. once they’re tucked safely inside the sanctity of her apartment, she turns back to him, wasting no time in pressing herself against his frame once more. “ i’ve missed you so much, ” she breathes, eyes scanning his features carefully, gaze filled with nothing but endearment, with love. “ one more, ” she whispers, leaning in to kiss him again, knowing they’re well past their limit, but losing herself within the kiss, anyway. “ you didn’t ask to come inside just to kiss me, did you ? ” she teases, yet she pauses, still, to reassess, to make sure he did want this, that she was reading it correctly. “ we definitely can, though, if that is what you want. i’m just… i don’t know, i feel like i’m in a dream. i’m not, right ? this is real ? ”

[schrodingers-tits]

Why is it that whenever I sleep at another persons house I wake up in a cold sweat, and whenever I take a nap at my house I have the weirdest fucking dreams

[logaenhowlett]

THIS NIGHT HAS OPENED MY EYES - L.H.

Summary: Fate isn’t something Logan believes in. So what happens when he crosses paths with someone who has haunted his mind for nearly 50 years?

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, A desperate need to hug Logan

A/N: After weeks of pushing this fic aside, it's finally done. I'm happy with how it turned out, hope you enjoy! Title creds to The Smiths.

MASTERLIST

1983 - Alberta, Canada

Logan doesn’t stop running. Even after the soles of his feet turn an alarming shade of purple and blue, marring the once-soft skin with bruises and scars which will eventually fade away. Adrenaline carries him through the dense forest and its unforgiving terrain, but it’s fury - along with sheer horror - that courses through his veins. 

Red is all he sees. His heart thumps in his chest, feeling like an anvil dragging him into the earth. His breathing comes out ragged - the cold air, the newly metal-infused claws burning through skin - it all just becomes too much for him. The constant beat of dog tags hitting his chest echoes as he slices his way through the woods.

A million thoughts rush across his mind, none remaining in place long enough for him to grasp. Logan was never one to dwell on fantasies, always quick to shut down whatever illusions that little flicker of hope within him conjures. But now, he dreams of a world that isn't cruel, a world that doesn't wreck, shatter and destroy this innate sense of good he carries. A world that could never exist.

Glimpses of his childhood fight against the agonizing pain shooting through his body. For a brief second, Logan breaks free from the mental shackles of his survival instincts, enough for his mind to flood with memories he'd believed were lost to the disease of time. His knees falter as flashes of his mother, his father and even his brother momentarily hush the undying streams of insecurity and worthlessness that flow so deeply within him.

It's when he sees himself - that young child who dared to dream of a life worth living, a life he'd be proud to reminisce as he takes his last breath - he thinks it's the end. How would that little boy feel knowing this is what he'd become? A pawn in a game he'd never have a choice to deny.

His vision blurs, stinging in sorrow and heartbreak for his younger self. A tremble runs through his body and Logan wants nothing but to sink beneath the ground under his feet. To scream as exhaustion rips into his muscles, crumbling whatever resolve searing within. He'd give anything for it all to stop. The voices in his head to lull into a silence he desperately craves, even just for a second.

Fear was never something that infected him. Yet, at this moment, he truly is frightened. Terrified that he'd unknowingly sacrificed the only lingering shred of belief he held for himself and all that remains now is but a monster - a machine wired to do the very thing he refuses.

Logan thinks he's on the verge of crashing, to surrender to the plague poisoning his mind, body and heart. Just as he aches to cross that line, a soft gasp from someone nearby startles him. His eyes dart around, strides slowing down so abruptly that the sudden movement leaves his knees shaking. He can't even pull himself together long enough to properly focus on his surroundings, to absorb all the minute details he could once subconsciously catch.

His breath hitches as you reveal yourself, quickly studying you to determine whether you’re a threat. Even as the alarm in his head doesn’t ring, he’s still on edge when you approach warily. There’s just something about you he can’t quite detect.

“It’s okay… I’m not going to hurt you.” You whisper, hands raised.

Logan stares at you, tense and on high alert. Your gaze keeps dropping to the bloody claws between his knuckles, your expression twisting to one of shock and concern. His mind becomes a little hazy, the lucid part of him wants to run away, yet he's rendered frozen.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He hears you murmur once again, your hand slowly reaching towards him. The tone of distress in your words leaves Logan anxious, chest heaving in suspicion. A shiver rolls down his spine as your fingertips brush against his skin, goosebumps rising at the contact. Your eyes find his again, searching for any hint of resistance and when he gives no sign of hostility, you gently rest your palm against his shoulder.

The initial touch sends a current of sensations through his body. Immediately, a wave of calm washes over him and everything around him stills. Logan wills his mind to concentrate on the little bubble you seem to have created. And after what feels like forever, silence diffuses the noise in his head. A sob threatens to escape him as he grabs your wrist, he wants to say something, to question this strength you have over him, but he remains speechless.

He expects to recognise the unmistakable cast of terror across your features, staggering a little when he finds none. Not even the intimidating glare of the adamantium wavers your faith in him. And that realisation overpowers the gentle and soothing aura you seem to radiate. A broken hum cracks through the quietness, Logan drops your hand in an inexplicable panic. He shares one last look with you before sprinting off.

2029 - Eden, North Dakota

As the soft glow of light caresses his face, Logan shifts amongst the heap of blankets delicately wrapped around him. His muscles loosen in relief, finally content to rest after years and years of forcing him into overdrive.

There's a kind of weariness to him now, his movements slow, his healing even slower. He can't recall a time when his body wasn't fighting against him - against the adamantium. Pain becomes such an unceasing feeling that sometimes he doesn't register when one of his stitches pops open, blood staining his clothes with the reminder of his deteriorating state.

He sighs quietly, the conversation with Laura left a heaviness in his heart. Logan couldn't blame her, she’s a little kid after all, one presented with the chance of belonging to a makeshift family. But, he can't be the father she needs. The one she deserves. At least, that's what he tells himself. It's better that way, for her and for everyone who might get involved, to give them a fair shot at life untainted by his cursed touch.

Logan stops resisting his need for sleep, comforted by the fact that Laura's amongst her friends and away from danger for the time being. He drifts off almost instantly, the presence of someone in the room going unnoticed.

Leaning against the doorframe, you watch as his chest rises and falls, his soft breaths filling the air. He looks a lot older since the last time you saw him. Eyes a little sunken, wrinkles decorating skin, streaks of grey twisting into dark hair. Despite the physical changes, you can sense a weight that seeps so far into his soul, this aura of fatigue and defeat he exudes. God, he's so tired.

Feet moving at their own will, you slide onto the edge of the bed, tenderly running your hand along Logan’s arm. The slight shift of his expression as he subconsciously relaxes draws a small smile from you. Nightmares spare him this time.

Logan stirs awake a while later. As reality begins to settle once again, he stares at the ceiling, feeling a sort of peace and tranquillity that sparks only one memory. A brief encounter with a stranger who approached him with nothing but kindness.

The kids rush into the room, eager to see the hero they'd only read about in their comics. When has anyone ever been happy to see him? He wonders, uneasiness creeping into his thoughts.

"C'mon, let him rest."

It's the gentle tone yet one that carries a sway of authority that snaps his attention. The children hurry to leave, brushing past you in a fit of giggles as if they'd been caught doing something naughty.

Logan's eyes lock onto yours. His jaw twitches, chest caving as the realisation sets in. Of course, it's you. The reason why he'd felt such a lightness being here, his mind simmering in a state of serenity. The memory comes back in a sudden, the visions he's had of you throughout the years, ones that provided a fragment of bliss at times when he couldn't bear the misery - all of it comes back, overwhelming him.

Over decades, Logan convinced himself that you were but a figment of his imagination, concocted by his troubled mind as a last attempt at defence. As time went on, the mirage of you slowly dissolved. And now, here you are, standing in front of him - as real as he is. He sits, gradually lifting himself off the pillow, gazing at you in awe. You haven't changed at all.

"I can heal... like you." You offer, foreseeing the question that's lingering behind his lips.

He feels like the wind has been knocked out of him, all the dots in his head finally connecting. "You're one of us too." Logan says to himself, astonished, "That day - you did something to me."

Moving closer, you sink next to him on the bed, hand resting on his. A swell of tiredness spreads within him, he gasps under his breath at the sensation. It fades rather quickly, replaced by the inviting embrace of relief. Logan exhales softly, his expression riddled with wonder.

"I can't make you feel anything you don't already feel." Your whisper reaches him, "I can just... amplify it."

The fact sends jolts of shock through his body. Meaning, that day, you had found what little tendril of good he had so desperately clung onto. You saw it. You saw the good in him.

"I thought you weren't real."

Logan doesn't know why he's drawn to you. It just feels so natural to have you this close again - as if he'd found the missing part of himself he didn't know was tied to your soul. The voice in his head crawls to the forefront of his mind, polluting his desire to want you, to have you. He shouldn't be entertaining these wishes, everything he so hopelessly craves would just hurt you in the end.

"I wanted to find you," You tell him, sensing his internal battles, "But... I couldn't risk getting caught."

"Transigen?" He asks, despair slipping into his question.

The sound of laughter outside pulls your attention, "Gabriela. She told me about these kids. What happened... what those monsters did to them? I just - I couldn't let them fight this on their own." You see Laura in the distance, playing along with her friends. "She looks happy."

Logan follows your gaze, "I didn't... I didn't believe her. About this place." His voice wavers, the feeling of guilt clawing at him. He moves his hand away from yours, avoiding the flash of hurt across your face.

"You brought her here anyway. Some part of you hoped she'd be right." There you go again, managing to see the good in him. He shakes his head lightly, ignoring the choking weight in his throat. "You're not coming with us... I heard what you told her."

"Then you know why." He murmurs, eyes turning glassy.

"Logan - " You bring your hand to rest on his cheek, slowly turning his head, "I know you're not healing as fast... I can feel it." His eyes flick down to yours, a tangle of hesitation and longing behind them. "You don't have to give up - you don't have to be alone anymore."

Oh, how easy it would be to give in to you and the future you're promising. Yet, the shadow of agony looms over him. "I'm not meant for this - everyone around me dies." He spits out, angry at whatever higher being molded him this way - a man forever deprived of the simple pleasures of life. "I won’t let anyone else suffer because of me. The kids, Laura, you... you're better off on your own."

He shifts to lie down, too drained to continue this back and forth. The bed dips when you stand, a defeated sigh escaping you. As you’re about to leave, Logan's whisper makes you freeze.

"I'm not... whatever it is you think I am."

Sunlight beams through the windows, Logan scrunches his face as he rouses. It's oddly quiet, he notes, pushing himself off the bed. He takes a moment to focus his hearing on his surroundings - not a single soul around. A fit of coughs leaves him groaning, he stumbles his way outside, the raw intensity of the sun hitting him.

Empty is all he feels. A gaping crater in his heart as he understands what he'd given up by letting you slip away. Even Laura's absence strikes a chord, a small part of him had grown fond of the girl. He lets out a shuddering breath, this is what he intended. So why is every cell in his body yearning for your touch?

A swarm of drones fly overhead. Logan jerks his head at the noise, dread filling him once he sees the logo. He bursts into the room, searching for any medication to numb the pain burning through his organs. A green vial tucked away on the shelf gleams at him, he wastes no time, grabbing both the liquid and a needle before charging through the woods.

Everything within him seems to be on fire as he storms up and down the hills. He's out of breath in mere minutes, gasping for air while his lungs constrict. When the oxygen in his brain starts to diminish, Logan falls to the ground, coughing as his wounds reopen. His consciousness dances around the line between reality and illusion. Reaching into his pocket, he fumbles with the syringe, drawing the entirety of the vial - Rictor's warning rings in his head - and injecting the fluid.

It's almost rapid. The way the drug shoots through his bloodstream. Pupils blown wide, he roars, energy rushing into his veins. His legs carry him across miles towards the panicked screams of children and gunfire. Once the Reavers spot him, they direct their weapons at the bigger threat. Logan rips through them, unfazed by the bullets spraying everywhere.

Amongst the chaos and carnage, he spots you struggling against the soldiers' grasp. That momentary distraction sends him flying backwards as the impact of the railgun pierces his body. A primal rage erupts within him, his muscles throb violently, knuckles turning white. The effects of the drug wear off, knees buckling when he tries to stand, he collapses to the ground instead. His eyes glaze over, the wrath that had consumed him earlier now waning into hopelessness.

Laura stills in her tracks, her friends sprinting past her. "No! Run!" He yells, grunting. "Go to your friends, Laura." Logan stammers, knowing she can hear him.

He shuts his eyes for a second, every fiber of his being honing in you. With immense effort, he slowly rises, hand stained crimson while he clutches his stomach. He only moves a couple feet before he's knocked in the head.

X-24 glares at him ruthlessly, drawing his clawed-fist back to strike him again. Logan blinks wearily, catching the terror on your face as you attempt to escape from the soldiers' hold. An angry growl comes from somewhere behind him. Laura launches herself at X-24, slashing at him with all her strength. The clone staggers a little before grabbing her shirt and hurling her towards a tree.

The act makes Logan writhe in anger, but before he can attack him, X-24 lunges forward, extending his claws into Logan's side. Blood gushes out of him and your deafening scream is all he can hear. He doesn't know what's more excruciating - the pain or the look of sheer anguish on your face.

A bang echoes in his head. X-24 drops to the ground next to him, the remnants of a smirk on his half-exploded skull. Laura stands, a couple feet away, pistol in her hands. It's thrown away immediately as she runs to him.

The kids swarm around you, their collective powers thrusting the soldiers far away. In the corner of his eye, Logan sees you racing towards him. Weakly, he convinces Laura to go, to save herself. His words barely louder than a whisper as he gazes at her, pleading. She looks at you tearfully, torn between what to do. Muffled sounds of her friends calling her name reach her ears and with a heavy heart, she goes after them.

"Logan!"

You fall next to him, bringing his body to rest against yours. Your touch provides a sense of solace, a comforting warmth enveloping him. Logan knows you're willing your powers to take his pain away, to distract his mind from the agony tearing through him. All this time, even your indirect presence in his life was a beacon of hope amongst the shadows - a reminder that he was never alone. He whispers your name, faintly.

"No. No." You insist, shaking your head. "You are not dying. I won't let you."

Logan feels your hands press against his wound, your sobs breaking his heart. The emotion in your voice is a dagger to his spirit. He wishes to reach up and brush those tears away, to extend the same sympathy you do to him. Desperation fills your mind, your fingers fumbling with his clothes before your eyes shut, trying to channel your healing powers into him.

"Sweetheart..." A soft smile tugs his lips and his hand finds yours, gently intertwining them. "It's okay."

As his mind begins to finally relax, a vision spreads a surge of content through his body. You and him - on the Sunseeker. Tucked away in your own pocket of time, drifting across the seas without a care in the world. Perhaps he'd let you steer if you asked. He'd do just about anything you ask.

"No - Logan."

"It's all quiet now."

Despite only having one memory of you, he'd always cherished the compassion and tenderness you showed him. He realises now that, over the last fifty years, he'd fallen in love with you. In his own way.

"No... please..."

Darkness engulfs him as he takes his last breath. "I love you."

The world shrinks. A broken whimper leaves you, lost amongst the ringing silence. You don't let go of him, even as he goes limp against you. Your uncontrollable tears stain his clothes, everything loses its meaning. It feels like eternity stretches out before you, fuelled by the weight of your grief.

Then, Logan's finger twitches in your hand. You gasp, heart pounding as life returns to his body, a gentle tide washing away old wounds. The soft thumping in his chest makes your eyes widen in disbelief. You hold your breath as his eyelids flutter open, he lets out a ragged groan, matching your stunned look.

"You saved me..."

Hearing his voice again sends trembles down your spine, without sparing another second, you wrap your arms around him. Logan flexes his muscles, bringing you into his embrace, a mixture of emotions consuming his mind. As you whisper his name over and over again, doubting the reality of this moment, he pulls back slightly - nothing but decades of pure longing in his eyes.

His lips brush against yours, pouring every morsel of affection he can muster. Logan kisses you like a man starved, everything he'd bottled up rushing towards freedom. Tears ache to escape when the feeling of love grows within him and he smiles - that little boy would be happy.

"You saved me, sweetheart."

Don't worry, I'm not letting the story end here. Part two is in the works!

[missmeinyourbones]

I’LL MAKE THIS FEEL LIKE HOME

cw: nsfw, 18+. minors and ageless blogs will be blocked for interacting. wc 6k. todoroki fam lore. bnha manga + s6 spoilers. angst and fluff and smut and love and

“Do you feel held by him? Does he feel like home to you?”

- Midsommar (2019)

Touya was eight years old when his youngest brother was born—the same age realized that his house no longer felt like home. 

And while it never fit the traditional cookie-cutter feeling of a home before then, it was comforting in its own kind of way. It was definite, something that he could hold onto and strive towards. Something that was there at the end of the day, no matter how badly his hands burned or how quiet the dinner table was. 

Because before Shouto was born, there was still a chance. 

Fuyumi and Natsuo were just as much of failures as he was—it was anyone's game. He could keep pushing, train his hand to defy the science of his body and deal with it. Become what his father wanted so badly he’d kill for. That was home, the knowledge that there was still a chance for him. 

But the moment Shouto was born, hair perfectly split the same as his flawlessly cursed body, Touya knew. 

Instantly, he knew that his time was over—that there was no saving his dream of making his father proud. He hadn’t been enough, and he would have to live with that, in a house that's no home with a family that lives in the shadow of what he never got to be. 

He carries that feeling everywhere he goes. Like an eternal kink in his neck, it weighs heavy on his shoulders and disintegrates the marrow of his bones. Forever the boy without a home, Dabi continues to do what he does best—or maybe worst—and he survives. 

But, you don’t remember when Dabi became home to you. 

Well, that's not entirely true. Like all other things, you suppose it happened slowly, then all at once. 

You remember meeting him when you shouldn’t have. Recognizing his appearance from the local news, you remember the heavy feeling in your chest, like a child who was caught doing something wrong. The fear, the confusion. The part of you that wanted to help, the other than wanted to run. 

But you don’t remember how fast it all happened. 

Sewing his wounds and scrubbing his blood from your floor. Letting him sneak in to hide out, and waking up to an empty bed. You don’t remember the days bleeding into nights, but you could never forget the way his skin felt against yours.

You remember the impact, but the falling is all a blur. The stranger sleeping on your couch who has now read all of the books on your bedside table. The one who hissed and snarled for you to stay away, now crawls home to you on his knees. 

One day he wasn't, and the very next day, he was. 

You think that’s enough for you, but Dabi knows it’s too much for him. 

…

The sound of your window creakily opening no longer scares you in the middle of the night. If anything, it brings you a sick sense of comfort. 

Dabi slides through your living room balcony with ease, far too familiar with the routine of navigating your apartment in the dark. It does the job for him—keeps him out of the cold, gives him a bed to sleep in, a roof over his head. He finds that he enjoys the perks of your shitty building complex. 

Oh, and you're there, too. But, he swears that has nothing to do with the magnetic urge that keeps pulling him back to the fire escape on the fourth floor that remains unlocked. 

He opens your cabinets in search of something, anything, to fill his stomach in the slightest. He’s thin, almost alarmingly so, if you didn't know him—didn’t know his body is constantly working against him, eagerly taking the destruction he so carelessly puts it through.

Your sudden voice doesn't scare him. He doesn't so much as flinch at your clear tone in the silence of your home. 

“Cremation.” 

He briefly looks at you over his shoulder, humorously expressionless, before turning his back to you and rummaging through the cabinet again. 

“Gesundheit,” he scoffs.  

“It’s what your name means,” you breathe, tone still devoid of any emotion he can detect—or deflect. 

The realization burns him like his quirk, oddly painless but still alarmingly there. He holds his breath without realizing it, and its not until he coughs that he mindlessly exhales. 

Dabi. Cremation. 

True, he thinks. It’s no secret by any means, but he still finds his muscles tensing up as if you’d just said something you shouldn’t have. 

He doesn’t let his facade falter as he plucks a box of saltines from your cabinet. “Doesn't take a genius to do a basic translate search.”

“It’s not your real name,” you state, addressing the elephant infiltrating the room.

And at this, he fully turns to you. You stand in the entryway of the dark kitchen, arms crossed and eyes filled with sleep (or lack thereof, Dabi isn't sure he can tell the difference just yet). 

You're not angry. No, he's seen you angry before. This is different, harder. It's almost stoic. And while Dabi can’t put his finger on the exact feeling of the pit in his stomach, he knows he doesn’t like it.

He sticks his hand in the cardboard box before plucking a cracker and plopping the snack in his mouth. The salt burns the cuts on his lips when he sarcastically speaks, “You’re on fire with the observations today.” 

He watches you shrug, expression still void of any true indication of whatever your heart is feeling. The only light in the tiny apartment comes from the stove behind him. He can just make out your silhouette and barely your face through hardened focus and adjusting eyes. 

He thinks he’s grateful for that. He doesn’t want to see the details of your dissapointment when you see the real him. 

“Figured it was a bit too coincidental,” you rest against the doorframe. Dabi takes it as a good sign, you're not stiff. 

“Quirks don’t even manifest until a few years after birth, unless you were unnamed for the first five years of your life.”

Should’ve been, he bitterly thinks. Things would've been easier that way. 

He bites his tongue. 

The only sound that can be heard is the crunching of his teeth against the cracker he gnaws on. After a moment, he offers you one. You don’t move a muscle at his extended hand. He lets it sink back slowly, defeated, as he clears his throat. 

“It fits, doesn't it?”

It’s a rhetorical question, one he doesn’t actually expect you to answer. Because his name is all that’s known of him. Of course it should fit. Because when you look at him—his peeling and charred skin and hand that wields nothing but pain—it’s evident that all he can do is cremate.

His breath hitches when you speak up. 

“To some, sure,” you decide. 

With the way his chest tightens at your declaration, Dabi decides he doesn't like your tone. 

He shields himself with his bark. “What’s that mean?”

“It means I want to call you something different,” you ache, but Dabi can read between the cracks you let falter. I deserve to call you something different, is what your heart bleeds onto the floor. I’m different. 

He refuses to let that be the truth. 

“Didn't think you’d be one for pet names, doll.” He tosses the half-eaten box back into your cabinet, lazily shutting the wood and wiping his crumby hands on his sleeves. 

“I don’t see you how they see you,” your voice is stern now, he hears the determination in your shaky words. “I want to know your name.”

Your real one, the lines read once again. But in a split second, Dabi realizes he’s come too far to ruin whatever this is now.

“Fat chance in hell,” he dismisses, brushing your shoulder as he leaves the kitchen. 

You’re quick to follow—as you always are, he’s begun to notice. You're like a mosquito constantly buzzing in his ear. No matter how many times he swats and repels, you come back stronger. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t hate it. 

“Please.”

“No,” he’s even quicker to bore. “M’not dragging you into my shit.”

Too late, the voice in the back of his mind laughs. He’s always been his own worst enemy.

“There's more to you,” you continue to press, wanting something tangible, more from him. “You're not just what they make of you. You're a person, someone's son, someone’s–”

“Don't,” a balloon bursts behind his eyelids. His voice comes louder than ever before and it unsettles you, him, and the floorboards beneath your toes. 

“Don't you ever...fucking say that again. You hear me?” With his finger in your face, Dabi shakes. He prays to whoever is listening that you see it as fury, and not what it truly is—fear. 

And based on the tears flooding your eyes, he’d bet money he doesn't have that he’s right. In the silence of your home, you nod.

Dabi decides he’s had enough for one night, done enough to make you hate him just the right amount to forget about fixing him. 

On the way out, Dabi mumbles something that sounds a lot like, “Say something stupid like that one more time and you'll never see me again.” 

…

Dabi is exhausted.

His burner rings obnoxiously through the bedroom in the middle of the night. 

You’ve begun to associate the loud melody with the feeling of a knife—the blade cruelly trickling its tip against your skin. Cold, sharp, barely applying enough pressure to make you hyperaware of its potential to rip everything you've ever known away from you with a mere movement forward.

You never know who’s on the other end of the line, and this time is no different. When the infamous sound sends a chill up your spine, Dabi answers it without a second thought. He wordlessly picks up, listens intently, and hangs up as quickly as it rang. 

Then, he’s out of bed and putting his shoes on. 

He knows you're not asleep, so there's no point in pretending to be when you crawl out of bed and follow him to the den of your home. 

He grabs the remote, flicks the television on, and eagerly surfs the channels until he lands on the local news. Endeavor runs through the barren and obliterated streets of downtown, defending the city and fighting some… creature. You don't miss the way Dabi’s eyes don't blink whenever the hero is on screen. 

He’s too focused, too emotional when it comes to him. It's unlike anything you've ever seen from him, and you're tired of pretending not to see the smothering fire in his eyes whenever the man is brought into discussion. 

The reporter on the screen flips to another battle somewhere else in the city, with other heroes and other creatures and other things that should matter right now but for some reason don't. Because when Dabi finally takes his eyes off the screen to slip into his shoes, you spill. 

“Why him?”

He harshly tightens the laces of his boot, “Huh?”

“Endeavor,” falls from your lips, and he nearly hisses at the sound of the name on your tongue. “Why him out of all heroes?”

He hesitates in the slightest. The average eye wouldn't have noticed his pause, but you know him. You see the way he clenches his jaw and fiddles with the staples sealing his chin. 

He merely shrugs before tying his other lace, “He’s number one.”

“He wasn't always,” you contest, a bit too accusatory for his liking.

“Why does it matter?” Dabi bites. Bites the hand that feels him, shelters him, listens to him and chooses to remain quiet with what it knows. He bites the hand that loves him, and he almost regrets it when he sees your slight shock.

Almost.

His stomach churns as he watches you slightly falter before finding your footing once more. “It seems to matter to you.” 

So it matters to me, your heart aches to drill into his rock-solid mind. His eyes feel hot on your skin as he shakes his head and stands from where he sits. 

“He’s not a good guy, none of ‘em are.” 

“How do you know?”

His grip on his coat tightens in frustration. “I have a ton of shit on him. He’s not the savior you think he is.”

“I don’t think he’s a savior,” you retort, and it comes out a bit childish, like a belief you wish to convince yourself of. “I don’t know him.”

“But you trust him,” Dabi is quick to jump, almost as if you've fallen right into his trap. He looks a bit wild, as if you’re prey in his hands, saying all the right things so sweetly just for him to do what a predator does and hunt. Sink his teeth into your flesh and ruin you for the thrill of it. 

“Cause he’s the face of the fuckin’ country?” he coos with a venomously fake smile. “Cause he’s big and strong and always does the good thing, right?”

He’s trying to scare you, you know this—but you’ve never been scared of Dabi. Not when he’s tried to make you be, not when he’s done unspeakable things. He doesn’t scare you, but he’s upsetting you. He’s being mean, which isn't new to you but still rare enough to sting. 

“I trust you,” your voice cracks, making his stomach churn with shame, “so if you don’t trust him, then I trust you have a good reason not to.” 

Silence overtakes the room and Dabi’s chest burns with bile rising. 

You trust him? On what grounds? What reason has he given you to just hand over your patience without a fight, without a reason? 

Most importantly, if the thought of you trusting him makes him sick to his fucking stomach, then why does he find his lips moving before he can stop himself? 

“He beats his kids.”

The television cuts to a commercial. A car drives by below, honking furiously at something or other. He says it casually, eyes looking away from yours. 

Your voice is barely heard, “His kids?” 

You didn't even know he had kids. Come to think of it, you knew of one boy. Fire and ice who attends the hero facility downtown that's always getting into trouble. Set to follow in his father's footsteps, according to the tabloids. 

Dabi’s face doesn't falter at your surprise, immune to the violence he knows lives within his words. “Wife, too.”

The pieces don't add up in your mind. Dabi’s never been one for morals, not one for evening the tides and setting the universe straight when it comes to what's right and what's wrong. He does what he wants, he’s selfish. So why on earth would he care about a tragedy that doesn't involve him? 

He interrupts your thoughts when he walks over to the front door. The sound of him fiddling with the lock makes your heart drop—because it means he’s leaving, and for how long, you never know.

“Doesn’t anymore, apparently, but he did for years,” he scoffs in disgust. “Claims he’s turned a new leaf. Wants to be father of the year, all of a sudden.”

Leaving before you can process any thoughts to convey into words, he sneaks through your door without a second thought.

“The good guys aren't actually good, y’know,” he warns as he leaves you.

You don’t see him for two weeks. 

…

Dabi doesn't fuck you with caution. 

It's the same every time. Rough, quick, desperate. You on your stomach and him towering behind you. He doesn't look at you or say much other than a grunt or curse here and there. Always pulls out, if he even cums, and always leaves right after, if not in the middle of the night. 

But that doesn't mean it’s not good. Because fuck, it's great. 

While short-lived and based on nothing but selfish, primal needs, it's a private moment of feeling nothing but him. His hands are everywhere and his teeth are never too far behind. His skin is on fire and his pace is nothing short of eager. 

Your back is arched as your face is pressed to the mattress. You feel his cock throb as it swells against the insides of your walls with every rushed and eager thrust. 

“Fuck, please,” he hears you breathily whine, and you feel his smirk against the skin of your back. 

He uses your polite desperation to reward you, snap his hips extra hard and bury himself to the hilt of your cunt. He sits and burns inside of you, grip tight on your waist as he pulls you as close to him as he can without swallowing you whole. 

His tip dances directly at the opening of your cervix, just barely brushing the overly tender spot with a feather-light prodding that somehow feels like too much and not enough. He lets himself continue to stretch you, to mold you, to enjoy the only thing he believes was made for him before he ruins it. 

He feels you repeatedly clench around him as you mewl, “Please, more please.” You’re already completely spent when you plead, “Please, Dabi.”

And just like that, a switch is flipped inside of him.

His grip on your hips tightens, “Don’t.”

He goes to pull out of you completely, but your cry from his movement halts his hips. “Oh, nnnngh, Dabi—!”

In a whirl, you're flipped onto your back and met with a harsh gaze. 

“Don’t,” he growls into your throat, “call me that.”

Frozen in place from both shock and pure need, you airily gasp when you feel his cock head brushing itself through your folds. With a scarred wrist, Dabi swipes his tip between your folds, eyes fully absorbing and watching your expression twitch with every sensitive brush. 

“Touya,” he tells you through a slack jaw, watching your eyelids flutter at the teasing.

He pushes himself into your cunt, not fully, but enough for you to cry in slight release, before pulling out to where his tip is the only part of him swallowed by you. 

“Touya,” he repeats, nearly chanting as he aches to engrain it into your system. So it’s all you’ll ever know, the only word your tongue will ever taste from now on, no matter who is sticking what inside of you. He works to make your body remember that the only thing it should think of when feeling the slight stretch of your throbbing cunt is—

“Touya,” he bleeds. It almost doesn’t even sound like a word. “Say it. Touya.”

And you do. It crawls breathy and drunk from your throat as if your lips were made to form its syllables. Like a holy mantra falling from your lips, his whole body shivers when he hears your sweet heaves. 

“Touya,” is whimpered into his lips.

He holds his breath for a beat, before shakily recollecting himself from his quickly approaching high and readjusting his grip on your jaw.

“Again, fuck.” 

“Touya,” you gasp at his now snapping hips. It’s deeper, slower, and even more desperate than you thought it was before. It's messy and tired and he cradles you in his palms as you chant his name like a prayer.

Touya. Touya. Touya.

He abruptly finishes inside of you, his spurting warmth easily sending you over the edge, too. 

While it was something that was always offered, Touya has never once come inside of you, always choosing to pull out last second, if he finished at all. You savor the moment, letting him rut his cum into you until your both dry with exhaustion. 

Breathing returns to a normal rate and Touya lets himself soften inside of you. With his head burrowed in your neck, he makes a move to pull out of you. To leave, your chest tightens at the realization, so on instinct, you let your legs wrap around his torso, crossing your ankles and keeping him as your own for just a little bit longer.

Without a fight, he lets you. He lets himself stay inside of you as he drifts to sleep in your hold.

“Touya,” he hears you coo, listens to you taste it on your tongue and determine that you like its flavor.

“S’pretty,” you decide in a sleeping daze. “Fits you better.”

Dabi drifts to sleep thinking about the irony of that statement.

…

The puzzle pieces itself together rather quickly after that. 

It turns out Endeavor does have kids—four, to be exact. Three boys and a girl, all different equations of fire and ice and grief. 

It's not hard to find articles on what happened at Sekoto Peak. What happened to Touya Todoroki, the boy who died for nothing, who you now know somehow sits alive on your couch with a bowl of ramen noodles and a wet head.

He focuses on the television before him. A cheesy horror film from the late 80s plays through the grainy screen. His feet are resting on top of the coffee table and the bowl in his lap is steaming. He uses his chopsticks to dive in regardless of its heat. 

Sitting on the opposite end of the couch, you can smell your eucalyptus shampoo in his hair from where you sit. Though his head is still damp, you can tell the color has gotten lighter. While still practically jet black all over, you're able to see the slightest tint of light peeking through his roots. You know better than to ask, but you're sure your guess is as good as any. 

Touya must feel your gaze on him because his eyes flicker to the side where you quietly admire his profile. Through a mouthful of noodles and steaming broth, he mumbles. 

“What’re you doing?”

You smile at the lack of enunciation in his words before innocently shaking your head. “Nothing.”

Unconvinced, his eyes narrow. “Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” he accuses. 

You roll your eyes out of habit though your heart is anything but irritated, “What, I can’t look at you, now?”

He uses the next bite he takes to hide the smirk growing on his face. “Not with that stupid look on your face.”

He takes pride in watching you get flustered, scrunching your nose and giggling out a horrified, “What look?”

He reaches across the couch to close the gap between the two of you, before flicking your forehead.

“That look,” he declares.

He doesn't move back to where he was sitting. He lets himself remain next to you, your head lightly resting on his shoulder as the sound of the movie webs throughout your living room.

It’s easy, too easy. It’s natural and warm and feels like the closest thing to a home he’s ever held in his calloused and weeping palms. 

And Touya is selfish. 

He wants to grasp onto it, white-knuckled and pressing crescents into his palms—he wants to keep you. Wants to keep this. But he knows better. 

Touya knows that the stupid look on your face was one of love. Pure and undeniable. But he doesn't let himself think too much about it. 

…

The weather changes with the wind, and it’s colder in Japan when Touya gives you a piece of him you never thought you’d get. 

He’s just arrived back from god knows where doing god knows what, but you’ve learned not to question it. You welcome him in every time with a warm smile and an urge to hold him, and he thinks maybe thats why he hears himself suddenly spilling.

“Saw him today,” he breathes evenly.

His words hold no context, no prior conversation triggering his statement. It just exists in the space between the two of you on the couch, and the ball is in your court. 

Your head tilts in careful thought, “Who?”

“Downtown,” he ignores your question, “cornered him for a second and everything.”

And though you know nothing and shouldn’t be able to understand the man beside you, you do.

You feel his pain in the way his eyebrow twitches, how his fingers crack against his palms. You might not get it, but you try. You’ll always try for Touya. 

You encourage him, “And what happened?”

The wind howls outside, and you feel your home settle beneath its harsh hit. The walls crack with movement as the two of you remain seated beside one another. 

After a moment, Touya clears his throat. 

“Nothing,” he bitterly laughs to himself. “Absolutely nothing.”

The tea in your hand buzzes heat through its mug, and it feels like Touya’s touch. When he’s careful and cautious and places his hands on your stomach, treating you like glass he needs to mold. 

“Looked me dead in the eyes, felt my fuckin’ flame, and—” he cuts himself off at the emotion crawling into his words with a cough, “and nothing.”

You say nothing, but Touya knows that nothing needs to be said. He can sit on his couch with the tea you made him and the look you're giving him and he knows he can trust you. As much as he doesn't want to, he can. 

With his head hung low in shame, he rips off the only bandaid he’s ever had for the deepest wound he never got the chance to properly clean.

“He’s my old man,” he harshly swallows. 

After a moment of silence, he drags his head up from the floor. 

You're still looking at him the same, eyes dancing with love and some sick want to understand him. 

You simply reach across the cushion and squeeze his hand. 

“I know,” you whisper. 

And in what Touya imagined to be an earth-shattering conversation, he feels the corner of his mouth pulling upwards into an ironic smile.

“’Course you do,” he laughs under his breath. It's not malicious or accusatory, it's a matter of fact. 

Because of course, you know. Of course, you would see through his master puppetry and barring fangs. Of course, it wouldn't change how you see him.

Of course.

In what should be a terrifying moment, Touya lets himself smile. He shakes his head as he sighs, “Father of the fuckin’ year, right?”

…

“M’gonna do something,” Touya tells you solemnly one afternoon in bed, “and you’re gonna hate me for it.”

The freshly setting sun shines through the window, and you can feel its heat warming up your legs through the frame. The rays feel oddly contrasting to his cloudy day words. 

You open your eyes to find his. They’re already looking back at you, glasslike as they flicker across your features. Like he’s searching for something neither of you have an answer to. 

Your foot brushes against his calf as you shift to face him. 

“I could never hate you,” you softly remind him, “you know that.”

Touya fights the urge to roll his eyes, and you bite back a smile at the agitation wrinkles forming on his forehead. Your fingers move without thinking, using your thumb to iron and smooth over his delicate skin. 

“Fine,” he huffs, but you don’t miss the way he softens beneath your touch.

 “I’m gonna do something and you’re gonna yell at me for it,” he follows up more gentle this time, like a tainted whisper afraid to be too loud in the honeyed quietness of your home. 

It fills your stomach with a familiar sense of unease. 

“Well, do you deserve to be yelled at?”

He softly smiles, one equal parts of happy and sad, “Probably.”

You return the look as you sit on his words. He’s treading lightly, which is a thoughtful change compared to his usual acting on impulse.

He’s cautioning you. Preparing you for something bitter, and while you appreciate the warning, you know it can’t be anything good. It feels a lot like the breathtaking sunset before a disastrous overnight storm. 

Your voice is a whisper when you meekly ask him, “Can you tell me any more?”

And though the look on his face is regretful, his answer comes all the same. 

“No,” he swallows. 

And like the saint you are, Touya doesn’t know why he’s surprised when you merely bob your head in understanding and smile.

“Okay,” you nod.  

You expect that to be all. Because Touya’s never been one for words, let alone more than the bare minimum amount needed. And you were deemed lucky enough to get a vague warning. 

That should be the end of the conversation, but it’s not. 

Touya reaches for your wrist and his fingers dance along the bone lightly. He doesn’t remove his eyes from where they bore into yours when he breathes. 

“M’sorry.”

The words are foreign on his tongue, and his smallness unsettles you. Something feels wrong, like nausea brewing and waiting for bile to finally strike. 

You sit up, cradling his face in your palms as you coo words of reassurance. He feels cold, his body temperature ironically contrasting the heat that runs through his veins. He’s trying so hard to keep whatever he knows inside the clear cage of his mind, but you can practically hear the cracking of the glass beneath it’s weight. 

“Hey, no,” you exhale between kisses to his hairline. “No, don’t start that shit.”

Because while he doesn’t tell you everything, Touya tells you enough, and it’s more than you ever thought would be true with someone as out of reach as him. 

He may not tell you he loves you, but he says it through his eyes. He doesn’t tell you how he has so much respect for you it could swallow him whole, but sometimes, in the glimpse of his stolen glances, you can feel it. 

He can’t tell you what he’s going to do, but he can tell you he’s sorry. And that is something in and of itself. 

Touya closes his eyes at the affection. He wishes he could freeze time and savor this moment forever. Keep it as a souvenir to place on his shelf and keep him company on lonely nights to come. He doesn’t want it to end, doesn’t want to be anywhere else that isn't here, right now, with you.  

He does his best to soak in how your lips feel against his as you promise, “We’ll figure it out, yeah?”

But he’s not so sure, because while you think he’s apologizing for not being able to tell you more, Touya is apologizing for the hell he knows is to come. 

…

He’s dead. He has to be dead.

The screen in front of you feels like a cruel joke as it flashes clips of the scene. Not Dabi, but Touya, on national television—spewing venom to the entire country with a smile. . 

He speaks slowly, solemnly, like he's thought this through. Like he’s rehearsed and planned this all along. He speaks like a spiraling politician, and it cuts like a blade in your back.

You think about the television screens across the city right now.

A family whose gameshow night got rudely interrupted. A cafe whose workers are making their final lattes for the night, sweeping the floors and washing the counters as his rambling mindlessly plays in the background. You wonder if anybody is home at the Todoroki residence, if the television is on, or if it was unplugged years ago.

Touya is dead, and he warned you. 

That’s why he did this, why he planned this to unfold the way it did. He told you that you’d hate him, and like a fool, you told him he was wrong. 

A knock on the door is barely heard over your heavy breathing, and you debate on answering it.

It has to be the police, or maybe even a hero—looking for you, now an accomplice blinded by a mirror you thought was a window.

Your brain starts to spiral with thoughts that make your chest heave.

Did Touya turn himself in? Go down without a fight? Did someone see him leave your home? Had they known this entire time? 

Maybe they were waiting for the right moment to strike, for the dominoes to ripple so they can make their move when you’re too weak to defend yourself. Maybe he double-crossed you, blamed whatever he could on you before driving a getaway car in the opposite direction of your apartment. Maybe he never cared at all—maybe the realest thing you’d ever known was orchestrated from beginning to end. 

Another knock comes, this time more urgent and harsh. And there’s no point in prolonging the inevitable—so with tear-stained cheeks and shaking shoulders, you open the door.

And it’s Touya.

With white hair and soggy clothes, he stands in the hallway of your crumby apartment complex.

You want to laugh at the irony of it all. The first time he uses your actually door instead of window, he's a new man.

New hair, new name, a new look in his eye—one that swims of something you can't put your finger on. He’s alive and in front of you, and regardless of the anger overflowing your cup, you need to feel him.

So you pull him through the threshold, inside of your home, and against your skin. You feel the wet leather of his jacket, and smell the ash from the battle mixed with the coffee he had before he left this morning. 

He’s here, and you love him.

“I hate you,” your cries vibrate against his chest as you weakly push and punch at his shoulders. “I hate you, I fucking hate you.”

Touya lets you sob into his shirt. It’s covered in your tears and blood that’s not his. He lets you thrash and scream and crumple beneath his hold. 

He wants to say I told you so. I told you you’d hate me. 

“How could you do that,” he makes out between your hyperventilating and sobs, “how could you do that to me?”

His throat restricts with tears that can’t come as you melt against his body, “I would have never done that to you.”

“I’m sorry,” Touya breathes, and he repeats it. Says it again and again and again until it all bleeds together into nothing but syllables and sobs. 

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m home, and I’m sorry. 

…

The bedroom is cold, the window slightly cracked open as Touya shuffles your quilted blanket off of his clammy body.

He always runs a bit hot at night, though he’s ironically ice to the touch when his quirk isn’t at work. 

Now on top of your comforter, his scarred palm lays open to you. He flinches every now and then as you delicately draw shapes into it with a painted fingernail. His eyes are closed, but he’s able to recognize the swirling form of your movements, the same ones you’ve drawn every night since he came back home to you.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt this at peace. 

After everything, he’s still here. And not only is he still here, but he’s okay with that, because he’s with you. 

“I've never—” he hesitates, but the darkness illuminating the room gives him a surge of confidence. 

“I've never had this,” his voice is pained, nearly softer than silence itself.  

He feels your finger stop swirling for a moment, but it resumes just as quickly as it halted. He feels you alter your pattern, and with cleaner lines and softer edges, he’s able to recognize the heart you doodle on his skin.

“Had what?” you gently ask.

“A home,” Touya breathes, before correcting himself, “where I’m wanted.”  

You smile and Touya feels so loved he nearly makes himself sick. He feels so held, so wanted, so right in your bed and beneath your delicate fingertips. 

The stranger in your home. The outlaw who smells of your perfume. The boy who never got a second chance, but the man who got a third.

Touya has so much love for you that he doesn't know where to put it all.

But for a moment, when he looks at your smile and feels your fingertip tracing his palm, he sees it as you offering your open arms to hold any excess he can’t carry. 

He feels you grin against the scarring of his wrist. 

“Well,” you kiss the tender spot where skin meets stitching, “you might wanna get used to it.”

[illyrian-dreamer]

And Then There Were None – Part 2

Azriel/fem!reader

Synopsis: In the lead up to the war, Hybern releases a catastrophic spell that wipes out all humans, sparing just one.

Abandoned in the desolate human lands, you scavenge to survive long enough to find your family.

Reluctantly, you are found by the Shadowsinger as fate intervenes to guide you under his watchful eye.

<<&lt;Part 1

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: Death, blood, suggestions of miscarriage, suicidal themes

You woke in a bed as soft as the clouds, the covers silken with feathery pillows piled beneath your neck so plush your hardly felt them. 

A level of luxury you had never known could exist – and that’s how you knew you weren't home. 

Vision a blur, the room you woke to was dim, safe from the fire that crackled at the opposite end. Your vision reeled as it took in the space around you - an obnoxiously large bedroom. 

The haze lingered as you raised your hand in front of your face - a quick way to decide between reality or dream. If this were real, someone had done an awfully good job at scrubbing the dirt from your fingernails. 

But then a familiar ache throbbed as you bought your other hand from under the covers, and a stark white bandaged wrapped tightly at your wrist. Real then, and that fae male had indeed broken your wrist. The scars from your journey were faint now, but still there too. 

You felt for your stomach under the covers then, for any signs of your lingering ailment. They had changed you - thick cotton like padding within the fresh undergarment and the softest gown you had ever felt between your fingers.

You pushed the thought of who might have changed you from your mind. Healers - you hoped. 

Your skin beneath the gown was soft and oily, and smelt of salve. The healers had done well to heal you. Good, this was good. It meant you had a chance to return home, continue your search. 

Gods – the search, your family. You had to continue.

You were alone in this room, and it was night - all good signs. Perhaps with enough strength, you might slip be able to escape unnoticed…

With a slight dizziness, you swung your legs from the bed, toes pressing to the warm, rich wood - as if they floor was warmed from within. 

You wouldn’t dare to poke your head out the door - not in a house of creatures with heightened senses. 

The windows - that was your only option to remain unseen. 

Whether it was the delirium of the events days prior or the haze of exhaustion you were yet to shake, you didn't consider escaping into an unknown lands in nothing more than a nightgown was a fools choice, mortifying at the least. But survival called, your family called. 

Padding around the postered bed, you scanned quickly for your belongings . Clothes, waist belt, knives were no where to be found. 

The cupboard was empty, safe from a long black coat made from the softest velvet your had ever felt. Tying the fabric firm at your waist, you didn’t take the time to roll the sleeves that drooped well past your fingertips - clearly made for a much taller, larger form than your own. Black was good, especially at night, helping conceal the silky cream night robe that seemed to scream find me.

If you had the time, you would have marvelled at the  wall of windows - in shapes and sizes you didn't know a glass welder could blow. Arched in a row of three, each of them had smaller panes within - still large enough to fit through, and with latches. 

Perfect. 

You fiddled with the latch, the world outside dark and unmoving with no sign of light until you cast your eyes upwards. Fingers halting on the latch, your breath knocked from you chest as you observed the most brilliant array of stars you had ever seen. 

Were these the same stars as the human lands? How was it that such magnificent beauty was concealed from your own part of the world?

Another stab of loathing for fae found you then – it seemed even the Mother was versed in reserving luxuries only for them.

The latch clicked open, and you pushed gently against the pane, the window unmoving. Frowning, you pushed again, before trying to pull it inside instead. The glass moved on smooth, oiled hinges - and that’s when the howling began. 

As loud as a pack of wolves, yet that insistent noise was instead from wind. 

Fretting at the noise, you glanced behind you in urgency. Any second now they would come, the wind as good as any alarm. So with a strong grip on the window ledge, you pushed your head through, eyes squinting through the unforgiving gales. 

The wind almost knocked you, hair immediately whipping this was and that, eyes stinging with tears as you failed to see clearly.

Scanning as best you could, you saw no stairs of landings to climb to, no balcony from which you could hope to escape. 

And then you looked down.

It was instinct to back away, so fast that the back of your head knocked against the pane, and a quick profanity escaping your lips. 

You had never been so high up before. Never knew anything could be built so tall. 

With a roll of your stomach, you forced your head back out, avoiding looking anywhere below the horizon.

On the far left, hidden mostly by brick, was a distant glow of a city, the lights warm and flickering with glorious life. And between you and it - a river, it’s water the blackest of blacks in the night, besides from the reflection of the city that budded it’s banks. 

To your right - dark, intimidating forms of mountains and peaks. And with a quick flash below, far, far below, there was only night. 

Your gut lurched both from the height and realisation - it was suicide to try and escape. 

It took a moment to force your rigid muscles to push yourself back inside the room, hair strewn over your face and cheeks pink from the bite of the cold. 

“We don't usually advise opening the windows here,” a melodic voice spoke over the wind. 

Hissing in fright, you whipped your head behind you, to the most beautiful women you had ever seen. And beside her - the same blue siphoned male, his eyes aglow with hazel. 

You fished for your voice then, strained in your throat from days of not speaking, the rush from the wind and the awe of what and who stood before you fighting for silence. 

They were am incredibly handsome couple. 

Folded clothes in her hand, the blond simply placed the outfit on a spare reading chair, moving lightly to re-hatch the window behind you. You almost sighed in relief as the piercing howling stopped. 

“The windows are charmed to block out the noise,” she explained, her tone light and friendly despite the step of caution you took to distance yourself. “Well, don't you look good in black,” she perked, brown eyes scanning you, her smile sincere.

You looked down, the fabric of the coat drooping from your frame. 

“I stole this,” you said dumbly, before cursing yourself silently. 

The women laughed, and you could have sworn a slight smile pulled at the males lips too. 

“That’s quite alright, besides, you were awake before I could deliver you some proper clothes,” she gestured to the set she bought in, but you were fixed on those golden locks, the way they bounced when she moved, and that dress…

“I’m Morrigan by the way, but you can call me Mor.” If she caught you staring at her, she did not let on.

You frowned, senses returning, and you scanned the room again. Formalities, names, nicknames –completely unnecessary, unless…

“I must carry on with my search,” you said sternly, eyes darting between her and the blue-siphoned male. 

He knew. He would have told her.

Those large, towering wings pulled in tighter against his frame, and the male opened his mouth to respond. But Morrigon beat him to it. 

“You’re awake much earlier than the healers expected. They advised you may need a few more days rest.”

You tried to hide your panic, eyes scanning her, then the door, then where Azriel stood between it. 

Mor traced your eyes. “We are no threat to you,” she said gently.

You swallowed. “Then I am free to leave?”

Mor schooled her face into something softer, more sympathetic. “You may want to meet with out High Lord and Lady. I know they are eager to meet you.”

“Me?”

She nodded. “They wish to discuss your predicament.”

“Have they found my family?” you all but blurted, heart thundering with anticipation.

She shook her head then, her face falling more grave. “I’m sorry, I haven't any news.”

A gnawing at your stomach then - something was wrong. How long had they kept looking, had they found anyone? 

“How many days was I-?"

“Four,” the male answered, hands still clasped behind his back. There was no smile on his face, but it remained soft. 

“And up and about well ahead of the seven days the healers predicted! Quite the fighter you are Y/N,” Morrigan chirped.

You almost jumped at the use of your name. And then a scowl fixed on your face.

“My apologies!” More gasped quickly, and you missed the glare Azriel threw her way, Mor’s eyes meeting his with guilt. “Please forgive me, I forget that humans aren't accustomed to-"

“Mind reading?” you gritted, more exposed under the ridiculous ensemble of clothes you wore. You wish you could drown in the lengths of extra fabric. 

Mor wore a broken smile. “Of sorts, yes.” She paused then, fretting to fill the silence. “Would you like to change your clothes? They should be to your size.” 

You looked at the set neatly folded at the chair. 

“The healers have washed you, but we can draw you another bath if you’d prefer?”

Your cheeks reddened at the question, the male’s eyes politely finding somewhere else in the room to fix that gaze.

Was this their way of telling you that you smelt?

Humiliated and frustrated, your eyes narrowed on the male. “What is your name?”

Hazel flicked back to you, and he took a moment of silence to observe you before answering. “Azriel.”

You eyed him up and down, taking him in fully. Tall, large, muscled - your attempts to stab him would have been laughable. Delirious indeed. 

As he eyed you back, his gaze fixed your wrist, even while concealed beneath the velvet coat. “I am sorry to have hurt you.”

Civilised - far more civilised than you would have expected fae to be. 

You cleared your throat. “Well, I suppose I’m sorry for my attempts of murder.”

His mouth pulled into a polite smile, the apples of his cheeks glowing in the firelight. 

Mor chimed in then. “They told me you caught Azirel off guard, Y/N. Like I said - quite the fighter. Not just anyone can catch the Shadowsinger by surprise.”

Shadowsinger. As if at their mention, the furling, smoky shadows peaked from Azriel, and you let out a small yelp. It seemed it was your turn to be surprised. 

Without a whisper of a word, they withdrew into the Shadowsinger himself, as if scolded back into place. Azriel gave no hint of amusement as he kept watching you. 

Your eyes danced from him back to Mor, cheeks once again redening. 

“This is… overwhelming,” you admitted. 

Mor gave you a sympathetic smile, before placing a delicate, manicured hand on your shoulder. “A bath, then?”

You nodded, and she led you to the bathroom, candles lighting with the wave of her hand, and water now filling the marbled pool, steam quick to fill the room. 

You forget about Azriel in the other room as Mor closed the door behind her, marvelling at the arches and architecture, a new set of large windows in this room, this time facing the city. You padded there mindlessly, watching the twinkle of the town that beckoned. 

“Velaris,” Mor came to stand beside you. “Or, the City of Starlight. It’s location is well concealed, unknown by the other courts.”

You were reminded of the courts then, the brief lessons they had taught you at school. The divide of seven different courts, each ruled by a High Lord determined by their magic gifted the Mother and bloodline. Allies, enemies – it was complicated twining of politics and power. 

But you had never heard of Velaris. 

“This place is a secret?”

Mor nodded. “The true home of the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. A paradise they keep concealed, untouched by others.”

“Why?”

Mor chewed her cheek. “It’s safer this way,” she said simply. 

“And you trust me with such information?”

Mor’s brown eyes warmed, but something sadder hid behind them. “It doesn't seem fair to lie to you about your own whereabouts.”

You nodded, eyes finding the city beyond again. “You mentioned the High Lord and Lady want to meet. Rhysand and Feyre?” Your head ached at the strain to remember their names, but the information found you. 

Mor smiled at their names, and you remembered the way the males had too when they first found you. Loyalty coursed through them like some kind of magic. If you wanted to survive, you would be sure to respect their hierarchy. 

“Morrigan,” you swallowed, bracing yourself for an answer. “Please, what do you know of the search?”

Mor stiffened, pausing for a moment. “The High Lord and Lady are on their way home to meet with you. They will tell you all they know.”

You eyed her carefully, your heart straining. “They haven't found my family, have they?”

Mor’s face of sympathy was beautiful, whether schooled or real. “I’m sorry, I really can not tell you.”

You swallowed once before nodding, eyes casting out to the city of Velaris, the name foreign in your mind.

“They are travelling as fast as they can, and should be here within a few hours,” she reassured. How or where from you didn't bother to ask. 

“A bath then,” you nodded.

Mor smiled tightly. “Should you need anything, just ask. This house - the House of Wind - is just as alive as you and I. You should only have to speak what you wish.”

You nodded, hiding the overwhelming thought of a magical living house as the pool of warm scented water beckoned you with furls of steam.

“A fitting name,” you murmured, remembering of the persistent howl that waited just outside those obnoxious windows.

Mor grinned, catching your every word. “Isn’t it just,” she called and she fluttered from the room, pulling the large, carved door closed behind her. 

You took a few moments of silence, again scanning the marble-splayed room you now found yourself in. Dream or reality, you were still yet to be convinced. 

That was, until your dropped your undergarments, the thick wads of cotton stained with specks of bright, fresh blood. A saddened whimper escaped you, and your hands instantly found your belly, phantom cramps pulling from within. 

You thought about calling for Morrigon, to demand an answer or to see a healer again. But deep down you knew, and that instinct to protect yourself, your privacy, was greater. 

A waft of essential oils blew your way, as if the house was beckoning you to bathe. Toeing the water, each of your muscles seems to relax and steam clouded around you. An uncontrollable sigh left you as you moved deeper and deeper, breasts bobbing beneath the water, the muscles in your abdomen glad for the relaxant. 

You had never had a bath like this, never indulged in such a level of luxury. Was this how all fae bathed, or just the ones so closely aligned with royals?

It was a jarring comparison to the tin bath in your family home, the steam quick to escape from the batches of hot water your mother boiled in the kettle when you were young. As you grew older, you would often forgo using the kettle, bearing the bite of the cold for efficiency, only treating the children when you bathed them.

A shock of panic found you as the pool dipped even deeper, and you shot from your toes back to the scooped edges of the pool, clinging to the edge. Obviously built for creatures much taller and larger than you, while you on the other hand had never learnt to swim. Not when your parents were so busy, and the creek behind your home merely ankle deep.

Bathe, change, and then you would have your answers - you reminded yourself. So you scrubbed with determination, dipping your head beneath the water and rubbing the pads of your fingers at your scalp too, washing away any remains of the taxing journey it took to get here. 

You would start your search fresh, start anew, even swallow your hate for fae if it meant the help of the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. You could drink their wine and pass pleasant smiles if it meant they would aide you, if it meant your family returning home safely. 

———— 

You looked at yourself in the mirror, the black tunic and pants gifted by Mor fitting better than any of your skirts and dresses back home. The fabric was soft yet thick, protecting you from the cold, even while the House of Wind seemed to warm from within. 

There were slippers waiting by your bed, black also, and your skin seemed to glow from the oils from the bath. The face staring back at you was clean, yet tired, the bags under your eyes still a swell of purple. Forcing your shoulders back, you forced a stance of determination. You could do this, you could meet with the most powerful creatures of Prythian, and you would convince them to help you.

With a gentle knock at the door, a voice called. “It’s Mor.”

“Come in,” you answered turning from the mirror, hands finding the pockets on your pants.

Her eyes warmed at the site of you. “Black certainly does suit you,” she repeated, and you wondered about the comment from earlier. Loyalty to black, it seemed, was also a part of their strange culture. Perhaps something to do with the Night Court, and you wondered if the other courts found such ties to certain colours. 

“Thank you for the clothes. I will return them once-"

Mor raised her hand dismissevely. “We’d hear of no such thing. Are you ready?”

You nodded. “Are they?”

“Rhys and Feyre arrived a half hour ago. They await you in their office.” 

Mor seemed to want to take your hand, but rethought it, and instead raised a palm to the door. 

“Follow me,” she hummed before striding for the door, red gown trailing behind her. 

With a deep breath, you followed in silence.

————

“Here she is,” Mor cooed musically as she pushed the doors open to the office, the High Lord and Lady stopping their polite conversation with as they turned to take you in. 

Your knees almost buckled under their gaze.

That power, even as a human you felt it from many steps away, steely blue and violet eyes seemingly pinning you to your spot. A heavy dose of intimidation overcame you and your body faltered, even though their eyes remained soft, their smiles friendly. 

They both stood, Rhysand donned in a neat black suit, Feyre’s dark gown falling from her frame like liquid night. Gorgeous – an absolutely gorgeous sight the both of them were. 

“A pleasure to meet you,” Feyre spoke, her voice and as smooth as Morrigon’s, yet younger. 

“Welcome to our home,” Rhysand added. 

Blinking between the two, your knees almost groaned as you forced a curt bow. “Thank you, High Lord and High L-Lady,” you stammered. “For your hospitality.”

You waited for any sign of compliance from your bow - knowing that fae spoke a language of hierarchy and formality. 

But your were instead met with an informal sideways smile of Feyre. “Please, call us Rhys and Feyre.”

You nodded, although you couldn't see yourself respecting that wish. 

“Are you feeling any better?” Rhysand asked, violet eyes piercing, refusing to leave you. “We were told you had survived almost a fortnight on your own. That is very impressive.”

You weren't sure you’d ever get used to the unblinking ways of the fae as you blushed at his compliment. Had their parent’s never taught them it was rude to stare?

The smallest of smiles tugged at Rhys’s lips.

But you muffled your thoughts, forcing yourself to answer. “Feeling much better, thank you High Lord. You swallowed tightly, fishing for the right words to say. “And to your healers,” you added with rush. “Thanks to them too.”

“I am glad,” Rhysand smiled, moved back into his seat and gesturing for you to do the same.

“I’ve informed Y/N that you would update her on the search for the humans, to explain your own findings.” You could have kissed Mor for steering the conversation, desperate to hear what the High Lord and Lady had to say. 

Feyre immediately began fiddling with the fingers, before Rhysand took them in his own hand. You observed closely at the small interaction, Feyre’s nervous fidget, Rhysand’s immediate response. They seemed to speak na unspoken language.

Not good, not good, not good. Your nails instinctively settled into familiar wounds at your palms.

“Of course,” Rhysand answered, his beautiful features schooling into something more serious as his voice softened. 

Feyre’s eyes found you then, something like regret and sorrow burrowed within. In that moment alone, their difference in upbringing was at contrast. Rhys - ever the schooled socialite, tamed and controlled behaviour from years of perfecting courteous mannerisms. Feyre on the other hand – human, child-like sincerity shone through despite her pointed ears and occasional glimpse of canines. 

“I’m sorry to say that we have not found your family Y/N,” Rhysand said straightly. 

You nodded, assuming that had been the case. That didn't stop the sting in your eyes, or lurch of you gut. You clamped your lips against the wobble that already threatened.

“The truth is, we haven’t found a single human since finding you.”

Instantly the room began to reel, Rhysand and Feyre tipping slightly as your heart skipped to an irregular thunder. 

How could this be? You had been asleep for four days, between their armies and winged beings among them, how could they not find a single other? Your mind screamed a flurry of questions, but your remained stiff, only moving to grip the arms of your chair. 

Rhysand sighed then, glancing once at his mate who’s look of regret only deepened, tears shining in those grey-blue eyes. 

“It is with the deepest regret that we inform you we have traced a powerful magic from the lands of Hybern. A spell, rather.”

You forced your voice past the lump in your throat, past the bile that swarmed in your mouth. “What spell is that?”

Tears spilled from Feyre’s eyes, whatever control she had on her breaking into unmistakable grief. 

No, no don’t say it - your mind screamed. 

“As spell to kill all humans,” she whispered. 

You blinked. And the others watched, waiting.

You blinked a few more times.

"What did you say?"

Rhys's frown was pained. "It seems Hybern was intent on capturing your lands, and used a magic so strong it expelled humans..."

But Rhys's voice grew muffled as your vision narrowed, clouding with darkness.

And then it hit you.

It was as if someone had pulled the floor from underneath you. The room tipped unforgivably, vision blurring and stomach lurching with the lack of food in days.

A broken noise escaped you.

“Y/N, you must breath,” a voice spoke.

Panicked, laboured breaths wheezed from you, and you clenched your eyes shut past the horror of what they had told you.

Meek breaths passed your chest as you tried to speak. “I don’t-how, I don't understand.”

“Hybern has access to the cauldron, and we believe he used it to seize the territory of human lands.”

“It worked then, then spell? They’re gone?” You voice was hoarse, breathy with distraught. Tears had not found you yet, only an overwhelming dread laced with a flicker of denial.

Even while the room danced around you, you caught Rhysand’s tight nod, his face grave and solemn. “We are so sorry.”

Mor’s hand was gentle at your back, as an all consuming anxiety took over and you clutched at your head.

“Please do not touch me,” you rasped, audible wheezes catching in your throat.

Immediately her hand lifted.

“Dead, then,” you swallowed another rise of bile, raising frantic eyes to Feyre.

Broken eyes locked with yours. “I’m so very, very sorry Y/N” she whispered.

“My family, my siblings? Dead?”

She was crying, but you didn't care. You waited for the answer. All she offered was a nod. 

A broken, crazed laugh found you then. It was a cold, lonely thing, and you caught Mor exchange a look with her High Lord. There was nothing they could do except watch as you ran shaking hands over your face. 

You were trembling, eyes dancing frantically. No. No no no. This was unbelievable. You didn't believe them, you refused to.

“Impossible,” you scoffed.

“We wish it were, Y/N truly,” Mor said softly.

“Then pray tell, how it is that I survived?”

“We’re perplexed by you remaining, Y/N. We have no answer for it,” Rhys offered, a tanned hand stroking at Feyre’s back in practiced comfort. 

“Liar,” you snarled, standing so quickly your chair fell back. 

Liars - the lot of them, to tell you of the extinction of humans when you sat there alive and well in their home. 

Rhys’s eyes pinned you, as if expecting your outburst. “I can’t begin to imagine your grief Y/N, but we tell no lies.”

“I don't believe you,” you spat, hands curling into trembling fists. “You wish to keep me here, to trap me!” Anger rose within you. Typical fae tricks and fibs, that's all this was. 

“I would have thought the same thing if I were still human,” Feyre coaxed, wiping at her eyes. “I don't blame you for not trusting us. I truly wish we were lying.”

Something in her sincerity knocked you, cracking at your anger, demanding you to consider their words true. 

But your shook your head stubbornly, crazed by their audacity, distancing yourself from the devastation that loomed underneath.

“I will not stay here and listen to this.”

You heeded for the door, pulling on the handles with trembling hands, only to find that blue siphoned male waiting on the other side. 

Azriel.

His arms were neatly tucked behind his back, legs wide and ready as if waiting for you.

If only you had your knife.

“You will let me leave,” you all but growled, eyes darting from behind him back to his frame, looking for your way out. He bore no weapons this time , but it wasn't as if he needed them.

Azriel’s eyes softened. “I can’t.” His voice was soft and steady. “It’s not safe for you out there.”

Your fists clenched tighter. “I don’t care! I will not sit here prisoner, I need to find the truth for myself.” 

You made to step around him, but those rippled hands gripped you, from the shoulders this time. 

“Let go of me!” You struggled against him, but his grip remained strong.

“Listen to me. Hybern has sent an army and they sweep the human lands as we speak. I saw it for myself – if they find you, they will kill you.”

The integrity in his voice, deep down you knew he was telling the truth, even if you refused to believe it. Because believing it meant you had lost everything, everyone. It meant the cruelest punishment from the gods - not another day with the laughter of your siblings, the caress of your mother or hold from your father. No home, no love, no warmth - just a bobbing existence, with grief as your only friend. 

Perhaps that’s why you started sobbing, still trying to pry Azriel’s hands from you with his own. 

“I don’t care, I don’t care!” you cried, voice breaking as fat tears rolled down your cheeks. “I want my family!”

Azriel cast a worried look back to the others who could only watch with pained expressions. 

Mor sprung into action, fetching a blanket from a nearby room.

“You are liars, territorial murderers, the lot of you! How could you let this happen?” your voice was hoarse once again, your knees buckling as shock took over. 

Azriel moved with you, gently bringing you to the ground as you wept, your legs folding underneath.

The blanket was strewn around you gently, Azriel’s touch surprisingly tender. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice a strangely soothing balm against your turmoil. "I wish things were different. But your safety is paramount."

You wanted to fight against it, to push and claw and burrow in the bubble of denial, but you hadn’t any energy left.

Waking to an empty home, to empty streets, days of travel without another human in sight – perhaps you knew all along that this nightmare was real.

The room continued to spin as reality sunk in. Your family, gone. Your siblings, so young, so innocent. The humans wiped clean from the world. A full scale genocide, and you were the only one to survive it. 

"They were children," you wailed, your words a harrowing cry. "They were only children."

Injustice, isolation and grief was leaden on your chest, so constricting and heavy you thought you might die. 

“I-I can’t breath.” One palm braced on the wooden floor, the other against your heart as you began to pant. Eyes darting between the fae that watched on, you clutched at your chest, panic swarmed with bile. 

And then you made sick. 

Azriel's grip didn't falter, and someone moved to pull the hair from your stinging eyes. 

"Try to focus on your breathing, Y/N," a voice coaxed in your mind, male or female you couldn’t tell. "In and out, slowly."

But the air felt thick, suffocating, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on you. Each breath seemed to be a struggle against an invisible force, and panic tightened its grip around your heart.

That voice in your head again. ”Just keep breathing," it said gently, the voice cutting through the haze of your panic. "Focus on my voice. You're safe here, I promise."

The words were like a lifeline in the storm raging within you, and you clenched your eyes shut, clinging to it.

Rhysand approached cautiously, his expression a mixture of sympathy and sorrow. "Az," he prompted, and the male raised from his knees.

Rhysand crouched down in front of you, his gaze unwavering. "We'll explain everything after you've rested Y/N, I promise," he said, his voice carrying the weight of truth.

And as the room slowly ceased its relentless spinning, you found yourself clinging to that promise, holding onto the hope that amidst the devastation, there was still a path forward, however uncertain it may be.

The world outside was dangerous, filled with uncertainty and threats you couldn't begin to comprehend. And Hybern. He had killed your family. Your siblings, those sweet innocent children who you loved so dearly. Your parents too.

Sobs wracked through you again, your body giving out as you let out a muffled whimper of grief.

Strong arms slid from under you turning you over to cup you by your arms and knees. And then you were being carried, away from that horrible scene, from the mess on the floor where your world came crashing down. 

You clung to whatever you could, the blanket, Azriel’s shirt, you didn't really care – but you clung and cried. Even when you were again met with the softness of a mattress, even when the weight of the duvet being drawn over as it settled against your skin. 

In that tumbleweed of devastation, a rippled hand soothed you, coaxing you to sleep. You gladly let it, letting the horrors of the world slip away, even if only for a moment. 

“Just rest now. You are safe.”

And with a final thought, you sent a prayer to the Mother to not wake up to this nightmare.

A/N: Hey pals, thank you so so much for the love and support of Part 1!! I sincerely hope you liked part 2! <3 <3 Now would you like some fries with that angst? Because it'll only get darker from here. Again, I'll tag everything I can at the top of the fic, but please have a look at the warnings ahead, I would hate to hurt anyone <3 <3 If you'd like to join the tag list for this fic, drop a comment! Thank you so much for reading, mwa!!

[librababe99]

Moments Between Time: Part Two

cw: dystopian/apocalyptic imagery, emotional distress Word Count: 2.3K

A/N: Hi again! I'm back with the second part of this series and its another long one🤭 I really wanted this chapter to focus on Logan's emotions and inner turmoil. I'm working on the third part already and hoping to have it out soon...stay tuned! - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪. Summary: Logan wakes up in the past, grappling with the contrast between the peaceful present and the grim future he left behind. He struggles to focus on his mission to prevent the Sentinel program while being haunted by memories of you and the dystopian world he must change.

(Part Three)

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Logan’s eyes snapped open, and the world around him came rushing back in a disorienting blur. The sharp scent of fresh linens, the warm touch of sunlight streaming through the window, the distant hum of a city that was alive and thriving—all of it was jarringly foreign, and yet achingly familiar. For a moment, he simply lay there, his mind grappling with the surreal contrast between the present and the grim future he had just left behind.

He could still feel the phantom ache of the battle-scarred wasteland, the oppressive weight of despair that had become his constant companion in those final days. The memories of that desolate future clung to him like a second skin, refusing to be shaken off even as he tried to focus on the present. He blinked hard, trying to banish the images of burning cities and fallen comrades, forcing himself to breathe, to center himself in this time, this place.

Logan’s heart pounded in his chest, the beat echoing with the urgency of the mission that had brought him here. The room he found himself in was modest, cluttered with remnants of a simpler life—a life untouched by the horrors he had witnessed. Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over the wooden furniture and worn, familiar objects. It was a world that should have felt safe, comforting even, but to Logan, it was nothing but a ticking time bomb, the calm before the storm.

He rose from the bed, the creak of the mattress beneath him almost startling in its normalcy. As he moved, the sensation of the sheets, the cool air on his skin, the scent of life outside the window—it was all too vivid, too real, reminding him that this was not some fevered dream. He was truly in the past, in a world that still had a chance, and that realization hit him with a force that nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.

But with that realization came the crushing weight of what was at stake. The future he had left behind was teetering on the brink of extinction, a future where you were still fighting, still struggling to survive in the face of overwhelming odds. The thought of you, alone in that doomed timeline, fueled his resolve. He couldn’t fail. He wouldn’t fail. Every second here mattered, every decision could be the difference between salvation and destruction.

He caught his reflection in the small mirror hanging on the wall, and the sight was almost jarring. Gone were the lines etched by years of battle and loss, the gray that had crept into his hair, the weariness that had settled into his bones. He was younger, stronger, unburdened by the physical scars that had marked his body in the future. But the weight of his mission was already visible in his eyes, a dark shadow that lingered, a reminder of the impossible task that lay ahead.

With a deep breath, Logan began to dress, the familiar movements grounding him, pulling him back from the edge of despair. He slipped into his worn jeans and boots, each piece of clothing a small comfort, a tether to the man he had been before the world went to hell. But even as he moved through the motions, his thoughts were drawn back to you—your face, your voice, the way you had looked at him in those final moments before he left.

The memory of your kiss, fierce and desperate, lingered in his mind, a bittersweet echo that made his chest tighten. He could still feel the warmth of your lips, the way your fingers had tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as if you could somehow keep him from slipping away. It had been a kiss filled with everything you hadn’t been able to say, everything you feared you might never have the chance to say. The thought of never seeing you again, never hearing your voice, was a cold, sharp pain that cut deeper than any wound.

Logan shook his head, forcing himself to focus. There was no time for distractions, no time to dwell on the past—or the future. He had a mission, and he had to stay focused. If he let his mind wander, if he allowed himself to be consumed by thoughts of what he had left behind, he would fail. And failure wasn’t an option. Not when the stakes were this high.

The streets of the city were bustling with life, a stark contrast to the desolation he had grown accustomed to. People moved about their daily routines, unaware of the dark future that loomed on the horizon. It was both a comfort and a torment, this vibrant world that still held so much promise. Logan’s heightened senses picked up the sounds, the smells, the pulse of a city that was very much alive, and it almost overwhelmed him. The laughter of children playing, the scent of fresh coffee wafting from a nearby café, the distant honking of car horns—it was all so normal, so ordinary, and yet it felt like a world apart from the one he had left.

But beneath the surface, there was tension. Logan could sense it, the undercurrent of fear and uncertainty that ran through the city like a barely contained storm. The mutant crisis was already brewing, the seeds of hatred and fear being sown by those who sought to control, to dominate. And at the center of it all was Bolivar Trask, the man whose assassination would set off a chain of events leading to the creation of the Sentinels.

Logan’s jaw tightened as he thought of Trask, the man who would become the architect of so much death and destruction. He had to stop the assassination, prevent the creation of the Sentinels before it was too late. But how? Every step he took felt like walking on a razor’s edge, the consequences of even the smallest mistake echoing across time, threatening to unravel everything.

He made his way through the city, his mind racing as he tried to piece together a plan. He needed allies, people he could trust, but the X-Men he knew in the future were not the same people they were in this time. They were younger, unscarred by the battles to come, and convincing them to join him in this mission would be no easy task.

As he walked, Logan’s thoughts kept returning to you. He could still hear your voice in his mind, your whispered words of encouragement in the dark, the way you had held him close that final night. The memory of your touch, your warmth, was like a balm to his soul, giving him the strength to keep going, to push through the fear and doubt that threatened to overwhelm him. But it was also a torment, a constant reminder of what he had left behind, and the fear that you might not be there when he returned gnawed at him relentlessly.

Logan’s steps slowed as he reached the outskirts of the city, his thoughts a tangled mess of longing and determination. He couldn’t afford to think about what might happen if he failed, couldn’t let himself dwell on the possibility that you might be lost to him forever. He had to stay focused, had to keep his mind on the mission. But the weight of the future, of the memories that haunted him, pressed down on him like a crushing burden.

He found himself in a quiet park, the sounds of the city fading into the background as he took a seat on a bench beneath the shade of a large oak tree. The park was peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos that churned inside him. For a moment, Logan allowed himself to close his eyes, to breathe in the scent of grass and earth, to let the sounds of birdsong wash over him. It was a small respite, a brief moment of peace in a world that seemed determined to tear itself apart.

But even here, in this quiet sanctuary, the memories wouldn’t leave him. The faces of those he had lost, the screams of the dying, the endless battles that had worn him down to the bone—all of it played out in his mind like a never-ending nightmare. And at the center of it all was you, your face etched with determination and pain, your voice a constant whisper in his ear, urging him to keep going, to fight, to survive.

Logan’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white as he fought against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He had been through so much, had endured so much pain and loss, and yet the thought of losing you was the one thing he couldn’t bear. It was a fear that gnawed at him, a cold, relentless terror that gripped his heart and refused to let go.

But then, in the midst of that fear, he remembered your touch, the way your hand had rested on his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his stubble. He remembered the way you had looked at him, your eyes filled with a fierce, unspoken love that had given him the strength to keep going, to fight for a future that seemed all but lost.

“You’ll get through this. You have to.”

The memory of your words, spoken in the darkness of that final night, echoed in his mind, and Logan felt a surge of determination wash over him. He couldn’t afford to let fear control him, couldn’t let the weight of the future crush him beneath its burden. You were counting on him, trusting him to change the course of history, to save a world that had been doomed by the actions of a few. He couldn’t let you down.

With a deep breath, Logan opened his eyes, the peace of the park settling into him like a soothing balm. He had a mission, and he would see it through. No matter the cost, no matter the pain, he would succeed. For you. For the future. For the world that had not yet been lost.

As he rose from the bench, the weight of the future still heavy on his shoulders, Logan set his jaw in a firm line. The fear of losing you would never leave him, but he would use that fear, channel it into the determination to succeed. He had to. 

 Logan walked through the bustling streets, he couldn’t help but notice the way people looked at him—casual glances, indifferent stares, eyes that held no recognition of the man he was or the battle he had fought. To them, he was just another face in the crowd, a man with no past, no future, only the present moment. It was a strange, almost liberating feeling, to be anonymous in a world that had once known him as a warrior, a survivor. But the weight of what he knew, of what he had seen, anchored him, kept him from fully embracing the illusion of normalcy.

The city around him thrummed with life, every corner turned revealing something new and unfamiliar. It was as if the world itself was trying to distract him, to pull him away from his mission, but Logan’s resolve was unshakable. Each step he took was a reminder of why he was here, of what he had to do. The mission was all that mattered now. He couldn’t afford to be sidetracked by the ordinary, by the lives of people who had no idea what was coming.

Yet, despite his determination, there was a part of him that longed to stop, to sit down in one of the quaint cafés he passed, to sip a cup of coffee and lose himself in the mundane. To pretend, if only for a moment, that he was just a man living in a world at peace. But he knew better. The illusion of peace was just that—an illusion. Beneath the surface, danger lurked, and it was up to him to ensure that danger never became reality.

Logan’s thoughts drifted back to you, as they so often did. The memory of your voice, your laughter, your touch—they were the only things that kept him going, that gave him the strength to face the daunting task ahead. He could almost hear you now, teasing him about his gruff demeanor, laughing at his grumbles and sighs. 

But it was more than just your laughter that kept him grounded. It was the memory of your strength, the way you had faced the end with courage and determination, never wavering in your belief that there was still hope, still a chance to turn things around. You had been his rock, his anchor in a world gone mad, and now, more than ever, he needed to hold on to that memory. It was all he had left of you, all that kept him from succumbing to the despair that threatened to consume him.

The sun was beginning to set as Logan made his way to the edge of the city, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink that seemed almost surreal in their beauty. It was a sight that would have taken his breath away if he hadn’t been so focused on the task at hand. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, not now. Not when so much was at stake.

As he walked, his mind raced with thoughts of what needed to be done, of the people he needed to find, the alliances he needed to forge. There was no room for error, no time for second-guessing. Every move he made, every decision, had to be precise, calculated. He had to be perfect, because the consequences of failure were too dire to contemplate.

But as much as he tried to focus on the mission, his thoughts kept returning to you. He could still feel the warmth of your touch, the way your hand had felt in his, the way you had looked at him with those eyes that had always seen right through his tough exterior. You had known him, truly known him, in a way no one else ever had. And now, with you gone, he felt a piece of himself missing, a void that nothing could fill.

He stopped for a moment, standing at the edge of a small clearing, the city’s lights beginning to twinkle in the distance. The air was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees around him. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes, to imagine that you were there with him, your hand in his, your presence a comforting warmth against the growing chill of the night.

But when he opened his eyes, the illusion was shattered, and he was alone once more. Alone with his thoughts, his memories, and the crushing weight of the mission that lay before him. He couldn’t afford to dwell on the past, on what might have been. The future was all that mattered now, and he would do whatever it took to ensure that future was one worth living in.

With a deep breath, Logan set off once more, his resolve as unyielding as ever. He had a world to save, a future to rewrite, and he would stop at nothing to see it done. But no matter how far he traveled, no matter how many battles he fought, you would always be there with him, a guiding light in the darkness, a reminder of why he couldn’t afford to fail.

And so, with the memory of you burning bright in his heart, Logan pressed on, determined to change the course of history, to save the world from the fate that awaited it, and to find his way back to you.

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Taglist: @angelofthorr @swthxrry @alex21705 @hughverine @itzyahgirllkita1 @nonamevenus @hughverine @ayamenimthiriel

(If you'd like to be tagged just let me know <3)

[joelsrose]

Roses & Rust

Eek!! Guys this is my first ever Joel slow burn fanfic I hope you guys enjoy !! I have the next few chapters ready to post so please let me know if you want me to post them!!! Super slow burn slay .. enjoy babies xx this is not super accurate to the time jump and age in the game and show - reader is late 20s and Joel is late 40’s early 50’s!!

Next chapter

Summary: In a world ravaged by infection and chaos, survival is all that remains. Once a doctor with a life filled with love and promise, you've spent the last eight years fighting your way through a broken landscape, haunted by the loss of everything you once held dear. When a chance encounter with Joel Miller and Tess brings you into the Boston QZ, your journey takes a turn you never expected. As you both navigate the dangers of a post-apocalyptic world, an unexpected romance begins to bloom, fragile and uncertain, against the backdrop of survival.

Chapter 1: Thorns of Survival

Survival. That was all your life had been for the last eight years. Every step, every breath, every decision—focused solely on staying alive. You grunted as you trudged through the overgrown streets, boots caked in mud, legs heavy with exhaustion. The worn-out, hand-drawn map in your hand was a relic from a raider you’d killed days ago—maybe weeks. Time had become meaningless, lost in the blur of surviving. All you could focus on was your destination: the Boston QZ.

The city loomed ahead, a jagged silhouette against the dull, gray sky. Its once-proud buildings, now hollowed-out husks, stood like tombstones marking the death of the world you once knew. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, the chill creeping in as the wind picked up. Every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of your pack digging into your shoulders, but you pushed forward, driven by the faint glimmer of hope that the QZ might offer something—anything—resembling stability.

But that was all it was now—just survival. There was a time, eight years ago, when your life had been so much more than that. You were barely 23, freshly graduated from med school, and engaged to the love of your life. Back then, your future had been bright, full of promise. You’d worked so hard, every hour spent studying, every sacrifice made, all to build a life you could be proud of. The career, the home, the family—you had it all mapped out.

And then the outbreak happened.

You hadn’t been prepared for how quickly it would all crumble. One day, you were planning a wedding, discussing where you’d go on your honeymoon. The next, the world had descended into chaos. The infection spread like wildfire, burning through cities, turning people into monsters. The man you’d planned to spend your life with—your future—was ripped away from you in a brutal instant. The infection didn’t even give you time to say goodbye. You could still hear his voice, sometimes, echoing in the back of your mind, telling you everything would be alright. But it wasn’t. It never would be again.

The ache of his loss never left you. It just dulled, becoming part of you, settling in the empty spaces where your future used to be. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the memory of his face, the way he used to make you laugh, the plans you had both dreamed of. You didn’t let yourself think about it too often—not anymore. It hurt too much. There was no room for that kind of pain in this world. It would swallow you whole if you let it.

Your hand instinctively tightened around the strap of your backpack, feeling the reassuring weight of the medical supplies inside—your last real bargaining chip. An assortment of drugs, benzos, antibiotics. Enough to trade for ration cards, enough to buy you time. You’d managed to hold onto them through every close call, every brush with the infected and the living threats alike. That was your edge, your way in.

As you approached the towering walls of the QZ, the scene before you was bleak. Guards patrolled the perimeter, their faces hard, their eyes scanning the crowd with the kind of weariness that came from years of seeing too much. People milled about, dirty, tired, hungry. You didn’t stand out. You were just one more lost soul looking for a way to survive.

A guard stepped forward, stopping you with a rifle slung across his chest. The scanner in his hand beeped to life as he raised it to your forehead. You stood still, barely breathing, until the small device let out a soft beep—green.

“Move along,” he muttered, not even sparing you a glance as he waved you through.

You stepped past the gate, feeling the weight of the city settle around you. Welcome to Boston.

•••

Your living space was barely more than a box. The apartment, if you could even call it that, was wedged in one of the many crumbling buildings in Area 4, packed with people like you—survivors, or at least, those trying to be. The building was a decaying relic of a forgotten world, its walls cracked and peeling, the floors groaning underfoot with every step, as if the weight of too many broken lives was pressing down on it.

Inside, the room was a suffocating, grim little square. A single cot was shoved against the wall, the mattress so thin it felt like you were lying on the floor itself. In one corner, a rusted sink dripped relentlessly, a slow, rhythmic reminder that time was passing—whether you wanted it to or not. Above it hung a small mirror, cracked down the center. You caught your reflection as you passed by, your braid fraying, dark circles hanging like shadows under your eyes. You barely recognized yourself anymore. That bright-eyed girl from eight years ago—freshly graduated, engaged, so full of hope—felt like a ghost haunting someone else’s life.

A small window, smudged and grimy, let in just enough gray light to remind you there was a world outside. But the view wasn’t much—just crumbling concrete and the ever-present silhouettes of soldiers patrolling below.

The few belongings you had were scattered on a makeshift shelf: an old, dog-eared Murakami novel, a half-melted candle, a crumpled photo of a past life. Everything here felt temporary, fleeting.

Under the poor excuse for a bed, you’d stashed your most valuable possession—your bag of medications and supplies. Hidden away, out of sight. In a place like this, trust was a luxury you couldn’t afford.

The Boston QZ felt like a prison. Every inch of it was crawling under the weight of control. Soldiers were everywhere—stoic, unflinching, rifles always at the ready, their eyes sweeping over the crowds with cold detachment.

You never went anywhere without feeling their gaze on you. They were always watching, waiting for someone to slip up. And when they did, the consequences were brutal. You’d seen it in your first few days—one wrong beep from a scanner, one foot out of line, and that was it. No second chances. No mercy. The executions were swift, cold, and left a weight in the air that lingered long after the bodies were gone.

Curfew was like a countdown to death. 6:00 PM to 6:00 AM. No exceptions. You’d watched as people scrambled to get indoors, their eyes darting nervously at the darkening sky, fear written in every step. No one wanted to test the military’s patience. You certainly didn’t.

For the first few weeks, you did what everyone else did—kept your head down, worked random jobs, and stayed in the shadows. The QZ was a labyrinth of desperation, everyone clawing for a foothold. The ration lines seemed to stretch forever, and the food was barely enough to keep people alive, let alone thriving.

But you quickly realized that wasn’t going to cut it. Not if you wanted more than just survival.

You spent your time observing, slipping through the cracks of the city, watching. Areas 1, 3, and 4 were heavily controlled, military checkpoints at every turn. But Area 5—that was different. It was a world unto itself, tucked away from the watchful eyes of FEDRA. The black market thrived here, an underground pulse of illicit trades and dangerous deals. People did what they had to. And you knew you’d have to do the same.

That was when you saw them.

You didn’t know their names yet, but you noticed how they moved through the market with a calm, quiet authority—like they owned it. The woman was tall, sharp-eyed, her voice low but commanding as she negotiated trades with surgical precision. She knew how to read people, how to get what she wanted without ever raising her voice.

The man was quieter, in his late 40s maybe, with a patchy beard of graying hair and hands that looked like they’d seen more than their fair share of rough work. He didn’t need to speak. His presence alone parted crowds, people stepping aside without a word, their eyes flicking nervously in his direction as if they knew better than to cross him.

You watched them for days, curiosity gnawing at you. Who were they? How had they carved out a space for themselves in this cutthroat world? They were always together, moving in sync, but their relationship was unclear. Partners? Lovers? Friends? You didn’t know—and for some reason, it bothered you that you couldn’t tell.

But one thing was certain: they weren’t just surviving. They were thriving. And if you wanted to last here, you needed to figure out how.

•••

The sun was just beginning to set, casting long shadows across the streets as the QZ slowly shifted from its harsh, daylight routine into something even darker. You stood by your window, watching the light fade, waiting for the right moment. The curfew would soon push everyone inside, and the soldiers would become more scarce. You’d been observing their patrols for days, mapping out the routes they took, the blind spots they didn’t bother covering. After all, Area 5 was its own beast, and even FEDRA seemed to know it wasn’t worth patrolling too heavily.

This wasn’t just a gamble—it was the result of days of careful planning. You had finally managed to set up your first trade, something you never would have attempted when you first arrived in the QZ. The world of smuggling and black-market dealings had been foreign to you then, a stark contrast to your life as a doctor. But now, with ration cards running low and survival becoming more desperate by the day, you had no choice but to adapt.

When the streets were finally cloaked in darkness, you grabbed the bag of benzos from under your bed. Your heart hammered in your chest as you slid the strap over your shoulder, casting a glance at the small mirror by the sink.

The alleyways were quieter now, the usual shuffle of desperate people retreating behind closed doors. The only sound was the distant hum of generators and the occasional clatter of boots on concrete. You took the path you’d memorized, the one that snaked through the backstreets where FEDRA never seemed to bother. Every step felt heavier than the last, your nerves gnawing at you. But you kept going.

The alley where the trade would go down was just ahead. Dark and narrow, it was tucked between two abandoned buildings, far from the reach of the patrols. You’d seen it used before—traders slipping in and out, never lingering too long. It seemed perfect for what you needed, but still, the unease in your stomach hadn’t left.

You arrived first, of course. You leaned against the damp brick wall, the weight of the bag heavy against your side as you waited. Your breath was shallow, hands slightly trembling as you clutched the strap tighter. You tried to shake it off. You’d seen others make trades here—dangerous deals, sure, but ones that had paid off.

But as the minutes ticked by, the unease twisted deeper.

He was late.

The alley was darker than you expected, shadows swallowing everything except the faint glow of the streetlight far at the entrance. When he finally appeared, slithering out of the shadows, his grin was wide and crooked, eyes gleaming with something you didn’t like.

“Well, if I knew my trader was such a fine young thing, I would've dressed up for the occasion,” he drawled, his voice dripping with false charm.

Your stomach twisted, regret settling in like a heavy stone. This was a mistake.

You steeled yourself, jaw tight, and handed him the bag. “I’ve got your stuff.”

His smirk deepened as he took it from you, the way his eyes lingered making your skin crawl. “Relax, darlin’. Doesn’t have to be all business,” he murmured, stepping closer, his fingers brushing your arm.

Your blood ran cold. His hand lingered too long, his body closing the space between you, and you felt panic surge. You’d faced the infected, raiders, betrayal—but men like him were something worse. They looked at you like you were nothing but an opportunity. Your heart raced, but your feet stayed frozen, rooted to the ground by fear.

And then, a voice cut through the dark.

“Let her go.”

The voice was low, steady, with a hint of an accent—something southern, but rough around the edges. It sent a chill down your spine.

The thug stiffened, his smirk fading as he glanced over your shoulder. You turned slowly, and there he was—the man you’d been watching for weeks. Tall, broad-shouldered, his eyes cold and sharp as steel. The weight of his presence was enough to make the trader in front of you hesitate.

“This isn’t your business, man,” the thug sneered, though there was a crack of fear in his voice.

The man took a step forward, his hand resting casually on the gun at his hip. “It is now.”

The tension in the air was thick, almost tangible. The thug wasn’t stupid. He knew when he was outmatched. With a frustrated growl, he tossed the bag of benzos at your feet and slunk back into the shadows.

You stood there, heart pounding, too shocked to even say thank you. The man stepped forward, his eyes flicking down at the bag before meeting yours. His gaze was piercing, and you felt like he could see right through you—like he knew exactly who you were and everything you’d been through.

“Next time,” he said quietly, his voice steady, “watch who you deal with.”

And just like that, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, as easily as he had arrived.

You stood there, shaken to your core, but with one thing clear in your mind: your world had just collided with his.

[tikosblogg]

Dream Demon 18+…

Summary: You finally come face to face with the demon that torments you in your dreams…

Warning: smut, demon smut, unprotected piv, slight choking, Oral (f receiving) lemme know if I missed anything.

A/N: In case you couldn’t tell, this is a nightmare on elm street AU. Mann I love kinktober 🥰😋 Also sorry if it seems rushed. I JUST finished it and it’s 3am 🥴 so def not proofread either.

I should’ve known. I didn’t believe in fate or the supernatural, but after countless nights of sleepless terror, a part of me began to wonder if I had crossed some line unknowingly. Each night, the boundaries blurred a little more between my dreams and reality.

It started innocuously enough, the man… or should I say demon, with broad shoulders, ink-laden arms, and piercing brown eyes—showing up in my dreams. Alluring in a predatory way, his presence both thrilled and terrified me.

In the beginning, the nightmares were vague. I’d find myself in dark alleys, the air thick with fog and whispers of something lurking behind me. I could sense he was chasing me, his footsteps echoing in the distance, but I could never see his face. The fear of what I might find kept me running, night after night.

Tonight adrenaline coursed through my veins as I bolted through the alleyways, shadows dancing in the edges of my vision. My body was going weak, and He finally caught me, grabbing me tightly. I screamed, and fought to get away, while he chuckled darkly. I kicked and squirmed with the energy I had left and reached up in desperation pulling off his mask. Before I could even get a look at him everything went black.

I woke up, gasping for breath. The darkness of my room coming into view. I looked down noticing the soft fabric of the mask still clutched in my hand. It was as if I had plucked it from an alternate realm, its texture cool against my skin, adorning three symbols I’d never seen before. Lying back, I knew I had to do something—I needed answers.

So, I got up, sitting at my computer plunging into research. I found few articles that dove deep into the convoluted world of folklore and legends about dream demons—beings that thrived on fear and chaos, feeding off the dreams of the living. I stayed awake for hours reading as much as I could about it all. The only way to survive it…was to face it.

Tonight was the night I was gonna face this demon head on. The mask now sacred, I placed it carefully under my pillow. As I closed my eyes, I whispered a desperate prayer for strength.

The transition was immediate. I was no longer in my room; instead, I stood in a dark field, the grass rising like waves around me, tickling my thighs. The air was heavy with an unshakable dread, and the familiar sense of apprehension crept in. I spun around, the moonlight illuminating a figure standing only a few inches away. Him.

This time I could see him clearly, and the sight made my heart race in a way that was exhilarating yet petrifying. His dark hair fell into his eyes, but the way his smile sliced through the night air made my breath hitch. “I think you have something of mine,” he said, each word slithering out like a caress, deep and hypnotic. My heart thudded, caught between fear and a strange allure.

I screamed internally as he took a step closer, the shadows wrapping around him as if he were a part of the darkness itself. My body refused to cooperate; I stood there, frozen—a statue carved from dread. I should have felt terrified, yet the way he looked at me stirred something primal within. He moved closer, as my voice finally escaped my throat.

“No!” I cried out, but it was futile. He closed the distance in an instant, grabbing me tight with a taunting smile. Suddenly, I jolted awake, the bedroom around me swinging into sharp focus. But something was wrong—so terribly wrong. He was there, straddling my hips, those tattoos now visible and vibrant against the pale moon light. My stomach dropped; the air thickened as his presence overwhelmed me.

My instinct was to wiggle free, to escape the impossible, but his large hand shot out, wrapping around my throat with surprising gentleness. A whimper escaped my lips, and I felt heat rush to my cheeks in a mix of terror and— desire? I couldn’t comprehend it; a demon had appeared in my bedroom, yet part of me was inexplicably drawn to him.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his brown eyes scanning me with a perverse enjoyment. “For a dreamer, you’re awfully cute.” His playful tone was mocking, and it ignited a fire in me. Embarrassment coursed through my veins like a poison, and I fought against him again, but a cold chill gripped my limbs. The way he assessed me spoke of a deeper hunger—what did he want with me? My eyes slowly traveled down his face, scanning his entire large form.

He was a giant compared to me. I couldn’t help the feeling of want coursing through my veins. His hand suddenly tightened around my throat, making my eyes shoot back up to his. “Keep looking at me like that,” he leaned closer, his breath a warm whisper against my skin, “and you’re gonna get fucked.”

His words peeled back the layers of fear, laying bare something raw and responsive deep inside me. The intersection of horror and seduction turned my blood to fire. I grit my teeth, trying to hide my desperate need for him, but he just chuckled. It’s like he could sense my growing arousal, he leaned closer, his lips almost brushing against mine. "You like what you see, don't you, sweetheart?" His hot breath fans my face, sending shivers down my spine. I nod, unable to find my voice, my heart pounding with a mixture of fear and desire. His eyes gleam with satisfaction, and he chuckles, the sound low and sensual.

“What do you want?” I managed to ask, feeling bold even beneath his suffocating presence. His free hand trailed down my body, his touch electric. My cheeks flush, and I feel a warmth between my thighs grow as he teases me. Feeling ashamed of my body's reaction, but I can't deny the pleasure his words and touch invoke.

He studied me, the smile fading into a mask of seriousness. “I want you to stop running, Y/N.” His grip tightened as he met my gaze fully, an odd intimacy forming. “I want you.”

In those words lay a terrifying truth. I was drawn to him—deeply and sublimely dangerous—and part of me was exhilarated by the idea. This was no longer the harmless figment of my imagination; he was real, tangible, and undeniably alluring.

“Why do you want me…?” My voice trembled, trailing off obviously not knowing his name. He smirked whispering softly “Noah.” Noah? Thats such a normal? Name for a demon. I was expecting something creepy or a name that would be hard to spell. His voice interrupted my thoughts continuing.

“and because fear is the sweetest flavor,” he replied, his voice dipping low, dripping with dark promise. “And you’ve been offering it up nightly.”

The more he spoke, the more the boundaries blurred again. Fantasies of escape intertwined with visions of dread, and I wasn’t sure whether to resist or surrender. The dance of power shifted between us, thrilling yet terrifying, and I quickly made my decision.

“Why don’t you taste that fear for yourself,” I challenged, breathless, confronting the depth of my emotions. His expression shifted, amusement flickering behind his eyes like something alive. “What if I told you the real question is whether you’re brave enough to reach out?”

And in that heartbeat of hesitation, I realized the truth: he wasn’t merely a demon set on tormenting me. He was the embodiment of the darkest parts of myself that I had been too afraid to embrace. I had conjured him night after night, and now he was here—teetering on the edge of seduction and danger.

“Please Noah.” I whined, my heart thundering in anticipation. "Ill take care of you baby," he smiles, his voice husky. "But first, I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you want." I bit my lip, feeling vulnerable and exposed under his intense gaze. "I... I want you to fuck me," I stammer, the words shocking me as they leave my mouth.

His eyes darken, and he grinds his hips down, his hard dick pressing against my core. "That's right dirty girl. You want my cock inside you, don't you?"

I nod, whining at his words. My breath now coming in short gasps. He finally closes the small gap between us, kissing me. His lips claiming mine in a fierce, passionate manner. His tongue invades my mouth, demanding and possessive, and I respond eagerly, my hands tangling in his hair.

His free hand roaming over my curves, squeezing and caressing everywhere he could reach. He teases my nipples through the fabric of my night shirt, making me moan into his mouth. He yanked my shirt up, revealing my bare breasts.

His mouth descends, leaving a trail of hot kisses down my neck, making me arch off the bed. His tongue swirls around my sensitive nipple, sucking and biting gently, eliciting gasps and moans from my lips. His hands travel lower, sliding beneath my soaked panties, his fingers stroking my soaked slit.

"So fucking wet," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "You've been dreaming of this, haven't you?" I can only nod, my eyes rolling back as he slips a finger inside me, his thumb circling my clit. He teases me, building the pleasure until I’m writhing beneath him, begging for release.

"Please, Noah, I need more," I plead, my voice hoarse. He chuckles, the sound dark and hungry. "Not yet, baby. I want to feel you come on my tongue first." He pulled his fingers away, ripping my panties from my body. The burn against my skin making me moan.

He grasped my thighs and spread them wide, exposing my glistening pussy to his hungry gaze. "You're fucking gorgeous," he growled, his voice hoarse. I whined softly as his fingers trailed up my thighs, leaving a trail of fire. My body trembled, desperate to feel his mouth against me.

He lowered his head, his breath tickling the inside of my thighs. I sucked in a sharp breath as his hot tongue flicked across my sensitive clit, sending a jolt of electricity through my body. His mouth was hot against me. His tongue flicked my clit again, before pushing inside of me. I let out a loud moan, as he fucked me with his tongue, his nose bumping against my clit each time he thrusted it inside of me.

He slowly drug his tongue upwards, before sucking my sensitive clit into his mouth. His fingers joined back in, two of them sliding inside of me, making me gasp and squirm. "Please... Noah," I begged, my voice breathless. "I need more." He chuckled, the vibrations of his laughter against my throbbing clit almost pushing me over the edge. "Patience, baby."

His tongue thrust deep inside me, exploring every crevice, while his fingers worked their magic, circling my bud relentlessly. I grabbed his hair, tugging it as the pleasure intensified. He groaned against me. His mouth was everywhere, devouring me, his tongue and fingers bringing me closer and closer to the brink.

"Oh God! I'm gonna cum!" I cried out, my hips bucking uncontrollably. He growled in response, his mouth never leaving my throbbing cunt as he continued to feast on me, drawing out my orgasm until I was screaming his name, my body convulsing in waves of ecstasy.

He pulled away, sitting back on his heels, as licked his lips. He smiled teasingly, as his large hands ran up and down my thighs. “You taste so fucking sweet baby.” I whimpered, reaching for his jeans. He chuckled darkly at my desperate state. I fumbled with his belt, finally getting it open, and wasted no time unbuttoning his pants. Pulling them down just enough to let his cock spring free, my jaw dropped. The fact that I’m about to fuck a dream demon completely leaving my mind.

He was huge. His grip tightened on my thighs, as I reached out gripping his dick in my hand. His eyes dropped down watching me stroke him slowly. “Fuck baby…” he groaned, slowly thrusting into my hand, before he yanked his belt free, wrapping it around both of my wrists securing it tightly. “As much as I’d love to have you play with my dick until I cum, I’d rather fuck your brains out right now.” He growled.

He positioned himself between my legs. His hard cock stood erect, throbbing with need, reflecting the urgency we both felt. He grasped my hips, pulling me closer to him, leaving me spread wide open and vulnerable. He gripped my tied wrists in his large hand, and held them against my heaving chest.

With one swift motion, he plunged deep inside me, filling me completely. I cried out, my body trembling as he began to move with a relentless rhythm, his hips slamming against mine. The force of his thrusts was overwhelming, sending waves of pleasure and pain through my sensitive body.

His dominance not failing to drive me absolutely wild. He controlled the pace, his strong body pinning me down as he pounded into me. His hand that gripped my wrists, drug them up and above my head, rendering me completely helpless beneath him. I could do nothing but submit to his relentless assault, my body responding with eager moans and needy whimpers.

"You like it rough, don't you, baby?" he grunted between thrusts. "Tell me you love my dick." His other hand gripped my jaw, making me look him in the eyes.

"I-fuck! I love it so much!" I cried out, my voice hoarse and desperate. "Harder please." I whined.

He complied with a growl, increasing the force of his thrusts, making me see stars with each powerful stroke. My headboard pounded against the wall, a steady beat to our primal rhythm. I felt my pussy clench around him, milking him, craving every inch he had to offer.

He leaned down, his lips finding mine in a fierce, hungry kiss. Our tongues tangled, mirroring the intense rhythm of our fucking. He broke the kiss, his breath tickling my ear as he whispered dirty words, only adding fuel to the building inferno within me.

"You're so wet, baby. Your pussy is so fucking perfect," he growled. "You're gonna make me cum." His words ignited a new wave of pleasure, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, urging him even deeper. I bit my lip, drawing blood, as I teetered on the edge of another mind-shattering climax. "Cum for me, Y/N," he grunted, his voice thick with desire. "Show me how much you love it."

His command sent me over the edge instantly, and I exploded around him, my walls squeezing every last drop of pleasure from him. His deep growl vibrated through my body as he reached his peak, flooding me with his hot cum, as he fucked me through it.

My mind became fuzzy, as he leaned down pressing his lips against mine once again. This kiss was different. His lips moved softly this time. his tongue slowly licking against mine. I whimpered into my mouth, and he pulled away. His voice becoming distant, as everything went black.

My eyes flew open, as my body jolted up right. I looked around my entire room searching for him. Noah. Where is he? Was actually ever here? My heart thudded loudly against my chest. Was it just a dream? The feeling of disappointment fills my mind, as I see no sign of him anywhere.

When I look down I see his mask laying beside me. I pick it up, running my finger over the fabric. I sigh, throwing off my covers and getting out of bed. When my feet hit the floor, I notice my underwear laying there….ripped. A smile hit my lips, at the confirmation that it definitely wasn’t a dream. For last month I have dreaded going to bed, afraid of the nightmares…afraid of him…but now? I can’t wait to go to sleep tonight.

[mechaknight-98]

The Owl and the Bunny Part II FT Chaehyun

Authors note: A special request from @leafostuff. I was tasked with Finishing a piece of his that he couldn’t I hope I did okay as I took some creative liberties

Part I

Trigger Warning: Blood, Self Harm, Attempted autounalivement

Relapsing was undoubtedly the worst, but the situation became even more tangled when an unexpected connection entered the picture again. Sitting solitary in your apartment, another birthday slipped by, and there you were, gazing down upon the bustling Seoul night sky, feeling life's swift passage. You triumphed after the toils of college and relentless job searches—you secured the high rise, garnered accolades, and clinched a new promotion, all on your birthday. Yet, despite these achievements, why does an unsettling hollowness persist? When did this sentiment first take root?

You know when. it was when your favorite Bunny left you...

But before that can be stated there is some background that must be established. Before everything fell apart it was great. it was a humid summer evening you were celebrating your 3rd year of friendship. You were doing well in Top Grades, top in your chosen sport football (US Soccer), and top best friend to one happy bunny. As you sat there and watched her indulge in a mural favorite food. Your heart swelled. You decided to take a chance. You noticed her fidgeting in between bites and said “Hey Bunny I have something I gotta tell you.” Your bunny smiles and turns to you.

“Oh, Ow-lie I have something too.” She says excitedly. Enraptured by her you gesture for her to tell you her news first.

“I’m going to be on a survival show.” She bellows with a proud look. Your eyes go wide, and your heart sinks. You hide your sadness and dissatisfaction with a loving smile and a supportive hug.

“That’s great news bunny. I know you’ve been working so hard to become an idol,” you say calmly.

She hugs you again and you know this is probably one of the last times you’ll see her again. So you lie, and it breaks your heart so that she can pursue her dream.

“Oh that’s great I am so happy for you. I just wanted to tell you that I got accepted into Yale.” Bunny’s eyes go wide with pride but a pit in her heart forms as she knows that this.

That was it. The worst day of your life everything since then has been a slow burn to another downward spiral.

You're being a bit dramatic, don't you think? You know it too. She pursued her dream of shining brighter for everyone around her. She embraced her role in the forest, just like you did. You worried, but at least now you're paid for it—and exceptionally well, I might add. You ventured into business and mathematics, culminating in a successful Risk Aversion Consulting firm. Every big-name company sought your expertise during crises, ensuring almost certain recovery. Yet, why does it all feel so hollow?"You watch over and instead of celebrating after a long day's hard work, you find yourself with a knife around your wrists.

Three weeks ago, you believe you fell back into that dark spiral. Time blurred into a monotonous, endless loop from which you couldn't break free. It's hard to pinpoint exactly, but what triggered this relapse was a seemingly innocuous encounter: witnessing a happy couple during your daily walk to work. Perhaps you've passed them a thousand times before, but what struck you that day was witnessing the man's heartfelt proposal. Instead of joy, it only amplifies the ache in your heart. And so, the vicious cycle begins anew. Alone in your apartment once more, you start over. You reach out to your bunny for the first time in three years, hoping against hope that she could offer some solace, but alas, hope has often been a disappointment for you.

The text travels halfway across the city at the speed of information. A hand reaching out, A Cry for help, a prayer all contained with an invitation from one of Seoul's most sought-after and secretive bachelors. where a different kind of Emptiness gnaws at a soul. Despite being part of one of the most well-liked and appreciated girl groups of the 4th gen and arguably one of the most talented members The Bunny with the charisma of a tiger sat alone in the dorm. despite gaining 6 new sisters Chaehyun had never felt more alone. she longed for simpler times with her Owl, but he's probably long forgotten about her since she went radio silence 2 years ago when Kep1er started. it was especially true since this was her birthday. The Uncertainty of extension weighs heavily on her heart. The comments on her body, the unending Panoptic Gaze held upon her were unrelenting and she often sat in her room for hours holding back tears. She tried to hide it with a facade of Joy and bubbly energy but the mirror was cracking each day as more and more the ever-growing beast took more of her soul. The text reached her at her lowest, 3 past midnight she was crying silently to not wake her members. She read the text and could almost feel the isolation and hurt coming from the small LCD Screen

My Favorite you know how: Hey Bunny,

I hope this message finds you in good spirits. Another birthday has come and gone, and I'm grateful to have made it through. I trust you're indulging in plenty of sweets and enjoying all the pizza your heart desires. I caught wind of your latest comeback, and as expected, it was fantastic. Don't let those negative comments get under your skin too much; you're incredibly brave, far braver than I could ever be. Though, I suppose you've always had a knack for taking risks—a trait I've always admired, albeit from a safe distance.

I find myself extending the same old invitation to hang out once more, but who am I kidding? You've probably changed your number by now, and I'm likely just bothering whoever happens to receive this message.

Apologies for the intrusion,

-Y/N

You are surprised when you get a reply saying "I'll be there in 15." Your eyes widen. is your bunny coming back to you you wonder? is this your chance to finally tell how you feel? A million ideas and thoughts race through your head. it's so overwhelming that you forget about your current situation. You begin to tidy your large apartment picking up the clothes strewn around the room and forget about the increasing blood trail following you as you lose yourself in your tasks. you get so caught up that the blood loss eventually catches up with you and you pass out in the middle of your living room as more blood drips away.

Chaehyun in classic fashion opens the door without knocking when she sees you on the floor and screams.

When you come to you're in a bed that you don't recognize. you look around and see star-white walls with an insistent beeping. You sit up and hear.

"Oh you're finally awake." you turn to the voice and see a doctor. he is an older gentleman who stares at you with a somber look.

"You're lucky your girlfriend found you when she did. Otherwise, I don't think you would have made it." The Doctor Chides. You lean further into your bed after looking down and seeing your bunny who has come to rescue you. tears well up in your eyes, as you try not to cry. A memory flashes in your mind of you not leaving her, and in your selfishness you almost did.

Chaehyun stayed with you well into the morning after your "accident," feeling a deep sense of responsibility for leaving her Ow-lie behind. In her dreams, she wandered through a dark forest, desperately searching for her Owl, only to find scattered feathers. Suddenly, something stirred, and Chaehyun felt a wet sensation land on her. Looking up, she saw you crying atop her, murmuring apologies. Surprised, she gently cradled your face and kissed you, sharing a deep connection that transcended words.

Breaking the kiss, your eyes locked, and you confessed, "I love you, and I will never leave you again, no matter the cost."

Chaehyun smiled at her Ow-lie, responding with an adorable pout, "I'm going to hold you to that."

Years later, following the disbandment of Kep1er and your early "retirement," you and your bunny found yourselves on a beach, savoring the sunset and sipping from coconut straws, living your best lives.

"Hey Bunny, where do you think our next adventure should be?" you asked.

Chaehyun smiled, taking another slice of Hawaiian pizza before responding, "Um, how about... France?"

"I love it," you exclaimed.

"But Ow-lie, you love everything I suggest," Chaehyun teased, pouting playfully.

"Okay, and I love you and your ideas, so why wouldn't I love your suggestions? Besides, as long as I'm with you, any place is paradise," you replied tenderly.

Chaehyun smiled. "Okay, Ow-lie, then France it is. But after that, you get to pick."

[little-diable]

One day you're gone – Tommy Shelby

Let's just ignore the fact that songs are my biggest inspiration, ok? Alright. Inspired by "one day you're gone" by "gavn!". I know this is super angsty, but I think it's a beautiful fic, so please give it a chance. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: She died years ago, and yet he still dreams of her, forced to relive their moments together every single night

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, loss of his wife (sorry for killing us off), this is sad, like really

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (1.3k words)

One day you're here and one day you're gone, you beat to the drum but you keep movin' on, ain't nobody knows when the next name's called, ‘cause one day you're here and one day you're gone

He dreamt of her, hands trembling from feeling his fingers interlaced with hers just moments before waking, heart racing from clinging to her like a blanket made to protect his shuddering body, lips tingling from kissing her breathless, at least in his dream. 

Those were the nights where Tommy woke with a cry, unable to wipe away the tears clinging to his cheeks as he choked on his gasps. Ever since he had been a little boy, he had been forced to let go of people, a dull pain Tommy had slowly adapted to. Until (y/n) had been ripped from his side, leaving him and the life they had begun to build together. 

He dreamt of her nightly, of their moments together, from childhood memories, to their wedding day. He saw it all so clearly as if he was watching recordings, though not in black and white and without sound, but full of colour. A bright splash of life like she had been, the light in his darkness, the colour in his grey life, the guiding hand that was now one with the soil he still felt clinging to his fingers. 

“Today we mourn the loss of our (y/n), daughter, friend, wife.” Tears blurred Tommy’s vision as he stood near the coffin, hands interlaced in front of himself to try and stop his hands from trembling. He, Arthur, some of their friend’s and (y/n)’s father had carried the coffin up to the grave, unable to speak as the weight of their sadness weighed them down. 

“Thomas.” The bucket filled with soil was reached out for him to take, forcing his eyes to find the dark ones of their pastor. With a shaky exhale leaving him, he let his fingers disappear in the cold soil, taking just enough to throw it down onto her coffin, covering a small part of the dark wood. 

“How could you do this to me?” His voice carried exhaustion, speaking to those who were listening, the holy Father promising to protect those finding his way to him, people like (y/n) who had been ripped from this life too early. 

Tommy rose to his feet as his fingers found a cigarette, alighting it before making his way out his empty bedroom. One of the places that held too many memories. One of the places he couldn’t part from just yet because his nose could still pick up on the scent of her perfume, because his eyes could still see her soft frame lying next to him, even though it had been years. 

“Oh, Tommy.” She had her back arched off the mattress, legs wrapped around his middle. The two had gotten married hours ago, saying yes to one another in the company of their families and friends, finally reunited after the war. Tears had been shed that day, tears that were falling now once again, though these tears were urged on by desperation, by love, by lust. 

His hips met hers with every thrust, drawing moans from (y/n) as his cock nudged her sweet spot. Tommy couldn’t rip his eyes from her features, the beautiful face he had thought of in France, clinging to his memories as if they were the oxygen he needed to survive. 

“My beautiful wife,” his words left (y/n) moaning, walls fluttering around his cock. The scent of her perfume wrapped itself around Tommy, luring him even further into the grasp she had on his body and soul, a promise made to last for eternity, a promise broken in only a few months time. 

“I love you, Thomas, I always will.” 

Rain was pouring from the sky, as if nature was sharing Tommy’s pain, missing the one who had spent most of her time in their garden, the one who had talked to the flowers as if they were her friends, the one who had watched birds pick up the seeds she had left for them as if they were pilgrims sharing her path. A kind hearted soul who had paid the price for a life Tommy hadn’t been able to protect her from. 

Tommy didn’t know how to make it through life without (y/n) by his side, he hadn’t lived a single day without her being part of his closest circle, glued together from birth, brought together by their mothers who had been friends for years. Ever since their first days together, Tommy had loved her, first as a friend, then as a lover, then as a husband, and now as a widower. 

“Can I kiss you?” Tommy’s voice filled the evening, forcing her wide eyes towards his bright ones. 

“What?” Nervous chuckles bubbled out of the young girl. She struggled to hold eye contact with Tommy, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, unable to rip herself away from the boy. It was Tommy’s fourteenth birthday, celebrating his day with (y/n) glued to his side, chasing him through the streets both knew like the back of their hands. 

“It’s my birthday wish.” Heat flushed through her as Tommy carefully cupped her cheek. She knew that he had kissed other girls before, locking lips with those she envied, but not once had she been kissed, waiting for Tommy to finally give in. 

“Do it.” His lips were on hers in an instant, drawing a surprised gasp from (y/n). It was a clumsy kiss both had to adjust to, but once her nerves finally let go of her, allowing the young girl to get used to the new sensation, she found herself enjoying the new feeling. 

With a sigh rumbling through Tommy, he plopped down on the stairs leading up to their house, stairs she had walked with naked feet whenever she had finished her garden work. The garden had withered away with her passing as Tommy hadn’t found the strength to step foot on the grass she had cared for. 

Whatever it was that now spurred him on, it forced Tommy back to his feet. The cigarette was long forgotten as he stepped foot on the wet grass, his shirt and underwear instantly soaked through by the pouring rain. He had his bright eyes focused on the weathered flowers, coming to a halt in front of one of many flowerbeds. 

His hands started working, reaching for the dead flowers to rip them from the lifeless soil. And for the first time in years, he felt connected to (y/n), clinging to what she had once planted. Tears once again ran down Tommy’s cheeks as he kept working, only halting his movements as his glassy eyes found the rising sun painting the sky orange and pink. 

“I’m sorry it took me this long, love.” The words were whispered, eyes unable to leave the sky as he made plans to revitalise their garden. He’d never be able to bring her back, but at least he could keep the memory of his loving wife alive. 

Broken bones, you live and learn, ‘cause we don't know that a good thing ends, but someday I hope that it'll all make sense, one day you're here and one day you're gone

[popjunkie42]

Painted Blind - Chapter One

Amazing commission done by the brilliant, beautiful and talented @witchlingsandwyverns!!! (thank you I love you!!!)

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste; Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste: And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd. -William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

What Feyre Archeron wants is simple: enough food, gold and safety to take care of her family. But when a terrifying fae beast crosses the wall and enters the human lands, she finds that simple, safe life slipping out of reach.

Part one of an ACOTAR re-telling inspired by the Greek myth of Psyche and Eros.

Read on AO3

Thank you to @witch-and-her-witcher and @rosanna-writer for the beta reads and encouragement. I have been working on this for a long time...over a year...and the support has been amazing!

It's here! I haven't built it up too much or anything and am now nervous! Don't look at me!

I hope you enjoy...this will be a journey <3 Snippet of chapter one under the cut!

Unhappy the land that is in need of heroes.

-Bertolt Brecht, Galileo

Woodsmoke and stale ale hung heavy in the air as I gently shut the back door to the tavern.

The noise of the place hit me like a jolt. I was used to the twilight quiet of the forest, and the cold and empty winter streets outside. The deep boom of men’s laughter and shouts, the clatter of the kitchen, the drowned out sounds of a fiddle in the corner. Wood groaned under my feet, the floor sticky and worn as I edged around the walls in the shadows, angling towards the roaring fireplace.

This was not a place for young women like me. Certainly not my first choice of accommodations for the night. The brazen, lingering stares running up and down my body reminded me of that every step of the way. But the heat of the fire along with the surrounding warm bodies was worth it when I began to feel the tips of my fingers again.

Ten minutes ago I had been elbows-deep in blood and entrails, the squelching sound drowned out by the laughter and warm light of the tavern behind me as I worked. One dunk of my bloody hands into a frozen bucket of water to wash off made me rethink any fearful self preservation I might have had left.

Survival was like that. Blurring the edges of what should be a simple, safe decision.

But I wasn’t making cautious decisions these days. Outside, chill winds whipped up the fresh frozen snow and threw it against anything in its path. My cheeks smarted and burned with it even now. The cold had taken the easy prey and then the difficult prey, and now I was forced deeper and deeper into the woods every night to find something, anything for my family.

My fingers and toes started to ache as the frozen digits warmed back to life, tingling with pain. I knew the barkeep’s goodwill would only last so long once he saw me and knew I wouldn’t be purchasing anything. Even if the growling of my stomach battled the sounds in this loud room, as the smells of fresh bread and ale and mutton wafted through the room amidst the more unpleasant scents.

But it wouldn’t do to leave the deer unattended for long, not when there were desperate men and other predators just as hungry as me and attracted to the scent of blood. I had more of the deer to skin, and it would be hours until the dawn sun touches this place.

Cracked skin, split nails, a cramp in my stomach. Usually that was all I had to show for my nights buried in snow up to my knees or huddled in bare tree branches. But tonight, at dusk, luck was with me and I had taken a deer as it crept towards the half frozen river.

It had walked directly under my tree and straight ahead of me, presented like a ready gift from some long forgotten god. I was so weak with cold and hunger my hands shook as I readied my bow. But my arrow hit true.

Still, the deer had been larger than I could usually handle. I spent too much time with my feet buried in new snow, making a rough bower, then gutting it and finally taking the head before it was light enough for me to carry back in slippery sprints.

My body was screaming with exhaustion by the time I spotted the low night lights of the village. But there was nowhere in our family’s small cabin to keep a bleeding body. Certainly not if my sisters had anything to say about it.

More eyes shot to me as a glass smashed and I jolted like a spooked rabbit. I rubbed life back into my hands, trying to calm my nerves. Now that I wasn’t shivering and fighting the cold, exhaustion threatened to set deep in my bones. It was almost two o’clock in the morning. Nesta and Elain would be fast asleep, cuddled together for warmth in our shared bed.

The anger in me burned, like the bitter nettle tea Elain brewed to keep our stomachs warm in between meals.

Two men had been watching me, talking low and close to one another for too long. I wove between bodies and chairs to find another spot further away from their gaze.

My life was always like this, for as long as we had been in the cabin. Forced out of our richly appointed manor by my father’s debtors, the old place now just a dreamy blur in the fading memories of my childhood.

The days were never dull, that was for certain. I ricocheted between life and death, forest and hearth, starvation and sustenance. I walked the woodland paths that fed and sheltered me, forests that held monsters or the stark winter seasons of starvation. Poisons and fanged beasts and untrustworthy men. Fruit and herbs, glistening springs, growth and life and death. Three pathways: death, bare survival, or thriving life, all converging to a crossroads, and sometimes I ran so quickly between them I got whiplash.

Sometimes, in the twilight hours between sleep and waking, I remembered when it wasn’t always so. I remembered a childhood filled with dresses and lavish meals and even stolen cookies with petal pink icing that smeared all over my face. I couldn’t recall, now, the last time I tasted sugar. Or had days on end with a full belly, without a care in my heart. That life was over now, and this new one demanded sacrifices. Like drawing the attention of unsavory drunk men in order to stay warm enough to bring breakfast to my family.

My eyes cast over the crowd. I wasn’t entirely alone. Isaac Hale was here, with his father and brothers, doing an excellent job of ignoring me completely. Old Hobb, at least, had given me a tip of his floppy felt cap from his station at the bar, several tankards in tonight. He had already reached the next stage of his drunkenness and would doubtless start a fight or an oddly unslurred lecture soon.

I didn’t mind - I had been subject to many of those lectures, and sometimes found them helpful. The old hunter was one of the few men in the village who had ever shown me kindness, catching me some years back when he caught me slicing through the intestines of my rabbits as I tried to skin them.

The cold, snow-burned skin on my cheeks was now hot and burning on my face as my blood ran warmer, waking from its sluggish sleep.

If I was lucky tonight, Isaac would continue to ignore me and the rest of the bar would be too drunk to notice or remember me. And if they did focus on me too long, I had been practicing since I was fifteen - the stance I had, one that was quiet but not small. Forcing the tiredness from my face the best I could, setting my jaw and keeping my hunting knife in easy reach.

I wouldn’t be prey tonight. I was the hunter. And if anyone chose to test me, my hunger and desperation would only make me more fierce.

At least, that’s what I told myself, to keep from breaking apart.

Just as I was thinking about moving back into the cold to finish my butchering, the front door of the tavern swung open with a blast of cold wind.

And silence fell.

Read the rest on AO3

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hi First i really apreciate and Love your Work, it's often make my day,thanx for this.keep going.Now to my request can you write Something with Donna and blind Reader Like First Meeting Fell in Love First kiss First time what ever you want and be comfortable with i know i will Love everything what you do about it.sending hugs🤗.

Yesss!!!! Thank you for your words!!! Hugs to you too!!! Thank you for the request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :)))

A light in your darkness

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, Blind! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, blindness, smut implied, angst, maybe? Idk

Word count: 7,324

Summary: You have nothing to lose, but someone to love...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours :))) I love you all!!!

The fire was like a glow, like a sign of death burning around you. The smoke was intoxicating. The sound of the wood giving way to the flames was all you could hear apart from your screams.

Panic had your senses kidnapped. You couldn't know where you were, the infernal glow of the fire burned the darkness you could see, there was no way out.

A small cabin somewhere in the mountains, that was your home, your little world away from society, from a village where you knew there was no place for you.

A terrible illness took away your sight, forced you to live in darkness and dark images, blurred shadows that seemed to constantly haunt you. After that, with the fear of the village divinities considering you a useless villager, not good enough to be another link in its chain, your parents took you to that remote place.

But their death made things worse. You weren't useless, you could, more or less, take care of yourself on that mountain. Your life was quiet, peaceful, like a hermit, like a blind witch who lived on the fringes of society.

Praying to the Black Gods, helped by some of your old friends, you were able to survive, to subsist so as not to see the light of the sun one more day, so the darkness would indicate you had not succumbed to despair.

But, one night, sleeping, dreaming of a better life, an intense aroma, a horrible cough and a scorching heat forced you to stand up.

Panicked, you searched with your damaged eyes for some place that was not illuminated by those flames, a dark place, to take refuge. Dodging the parts of the cabin that seemed to want to finish you off, you managed to run towards that icy darkness, towards the outside of the cabin.

You didn't even bother to scream, you knew that no one would hear you. You could only run, run and not look back, not let the flames be a blurry dance in your darkness.

You panted desperately, walking through the thick snow, trying to lean on what you thought were trees, walking away from the tempting heat of that fire. There was no way out. On one side, a horrible death, consumed by the fire, on the other, your already well-known darkness, hunger, the dangers of the forest.

You stumbled in the snow, you continued to flee towards the unknown, you cried, you screamed. There was nothing, no one, just you, just that stupid blind girl who had met her end just the way she lived, alone.

Exhausted from the escape, with the snow making it harder for you, you slowed down, wondering if maybe it was better to let yourself fall, let yourself freeze, give up. But a part of you never considered giving up as an option. With a furious growl, you kept walking.

This was definitely not your night. The emptiness your foot felt when it returned to the ground was too abrupt. The balance you had left didn't know how to react to the lack of snow under your steps. Something, a cruel force pushed you towards the abyss, to the bottom of a small cliff.

“Ah!” you screamed as you fell, as you understood that this was your end.

The rocks dug into your body, cradling you in a sinister way as you rushed towards your end, one that never came.

You fell back into the snow, with a dull thud, with a horrible, stabbing pain in your arm. The pain was a good sign, you had survived. The cold snow muffled your pain and a strange calm invaded your senses.

All around you was nothing, just darkness.

You crawled along the ground, accompanied by the strange sound of a distant waterfall. For some reason that seemed familiar to you, but you didn't pay attention to it. You couldn't see anything, you didn't know if maybe you were on the edge of another cliff. You missed the blurry light of the flames.

“Help…” you murmured, trying to stand up, desperate, supporting your hands on the rock wall. Your whole body hurt, you could barely walk, you stumbled, fell, and you couldn't get up.

“Hey, you!” a shrill voice reached your ears. You turned around, but in vain. The darkness of the night was not exactly your best ally.

“Is anyone there? Hey, help!” you said, hoping that the voice was real, that your subconscious wasn't easing your conscience so you could die in peace.

“Help? You fool!” the voice sounded again and you, desperate to know where it came from, stretched out your arms. Nothing.

You could hear small steps in the snow, like a child's steps and behind them, firmer, subtler, almost silent ones.

“There you are, you little thief!” that voice shouted again, getting closer, followed by those quiet steps, those footsteps that got even closer.

“What? I’m, I'm not a thief,” you muttered, stretching out your arm to steady yourself, to stand up again, something you didn't manage to do.

“What have you come here to do, stupid?” that childish voice asked.

You shook your head, breathing with difficulty. That girl certainly had a bad temper.

“Hey, but, little girl, I didn't... I didn't come to steal... My house was on fire and I, I fell,” you explained slowly, with a broken voice but sure that you were telling the truth.

“Of course, and I guess I have to believe you right?!” that strange girl shrieked. She seemed to walk from side to side.

“It's the truth!” you shouted desperately, trying to reason with that distrustful little girl. “No, I didn't want to bother you, it was just an accident.”

“Accident? Don't continue or I'll burst out laughing,” the girl mocked, with a macabre laugh. “Come on, kill her, kill her.”

“No, no please!” you shouted again, letting yourself fall to the ground, joining your hands to ask for mercy. “I'm not a thief!”

“But you are stupid, clumsy and a moron,” the girl insulted you, making your hopes fade more and more. You crawled back on the ground, looking for a way to escape. The only thing you found was a cloth, a dress that quickly moved aside when you made contact with it. It didn't look like that girl. It looked like an adult’s dress, your hope.

“Take your dirty girl hands off! Don't you know who you're talking to?” the little girl scolded you.

You, nervous, couldn't do anything but shake your head, your eyes full of tears.

“N, no… I, I don’t,” you whispered with a tired, sad, defeated sigh.

“You don’t? Damn, stupid, are you blind?” the girl asked with an incredulous, mocking tone.

You, sighing again, sitting in the snow, nodded.

“Actually, I am,” you said quietly, closing your useless eyes.

Silence was the answer, along with subtle sounds and breezes indicating that someone was moving in an exaggerated way.

“Oh, are you?” that shrill voice asked, which seemed more mocking than before. “Can't you see anything?”

You shook your head, bringing your knees to your chest, letting the tears slide down your cheeks.

“Who are you?” a different voice asked, darker, hoarse, almost melodic, which made you raise your head with a mix of relief and terror. It was probably the owner of that dress.

“My, my name is (Y/N),” you stammered, relieved to be able to talk to an adult woman and not to a rude child.

“(Y/N)…” that feminine voice sighed, soft but somehow threatening. You didn't know why, but a shiver ran through your spine. “What are you doing here?”

“I, I've said it, I... My, my house was on fire, I tried to run away and... I fell, I fell off a cliff, or so I think,” you explained calmly, looking with your eyes for that bright reflection of the flames that you could no longer see.

“I told you it smelled like something was burning!” the girl exclaimed, jumping in the snow.

“Mm,” the woman murmured with disinterest. “What's a blind girl doing living alone? You must understand that I find it suspicious,” the woman in the dress said, with a darkness similar to your gaze.

You shrugged, thinking that, really, you had just lost everything.

“My, my parents died years ago,” you said in a whisper, turning your head away from the source of the sound, focusing on that calming waterfall. “I, I've managed things well until now but... The, the fire...”

“Bah, what a loser!” the girl shrieked.

You frowned. That kid definitely needed manners.

“No, I didn’t mean to be annoying…” you said, awkwardly standing up, holding your injured arm, ready to get away from that dangerous situation.

A strong grip made you hiss in pain, a hand grabbed your arm, burning it with its touch.

“You’re hurt,” that dark voice murmured.

“I, I don’t know, it hurts,” you said, removing your grip.

“Oh, no…” the girl sighed in a comical voice.

“Don’t really know who I am?” the woman asked, holding you in place with her grip.

You shook your head, stopping fighting the burning grip in your arm.

“No, but…If, if you help me, I guess you will be my savior,” you said in a sweet, desperate voice. “I don't want to cause any trouble, I just, I just want...”

“Come here,” that mysterious voice said, pulling you along, dragging you through the snow until your feet collided with something hard, it seemed like wood.

The creaking of a door, and the pleasant warmth coming from inside told you that you were in a house. The smell of humidity was strong, like a closet that had been closed for years. You could see lights, blurry shadows, a black figure that you couldn't make out, now pulling you along; next to it, another smaller blurry spot, the ill-mannered girl.

“Sit down,” the melodic voice ordered you, releasing you abruptly. Your legs collided with a piece of furniture that looked like a sofa and you obeyed.

The pain returned to your arm when a gentle hand lifted the sleeve of your dress. You protested, but she was stronger, she seemed to be searching for something. You couldn't tell, you could never know.

“It's nothing serious, but it needs to be healed,” that woman murmured, putting something on your wound, something that burned like the fire that destroyed your house.

“Yiahhh!” you yelled at that horrible pain, earning a mocking laugh from the evil girl.

“Silly, silly,” the little girl mocked, climbing onto the couch next to you.

From the size of that blurry spot, it was definitely a girl.

Silence fell over you again. The smell of humidity penetrated your brain, the warmth of what seemed like a fireplace soothed the cold. You didn't want to say anything. You simply stayed quiet, enduring the sting of your wound, trying not to give that girl more reasons to laugh at you.

“Thank you,” you sighed when you noticed how the bandages covered your arm.

 There was no answer, just a strange sigh.

“You say your house has caught fire,” the dark woman murmured, moving away from you. A lavender scent eclipsed the humid atmosphere of that place.

“Yes,” you answered, moving your arm, which barely hurt anymore. “I woke up in the middle of the night and… I could only make out the flames, and the smoke. I ran out of the cabin, but, but I tripped and… I fell, I fell here.”

“You are not from the village,” she commented, with a distrustful tone.

“No, well yes, well, I was,” you said embarrassed, lamenting your condition.

“Explain yourself,” the woman demanded, with an impatient tone.

“And don't dare to lie, you fool, or we'll know!” the girl shrieked.

“What would I win by lying?” you protested, more and more annoyed by that attitude. From the little movement you saw, you sensed that the little demon shrugged. “No, I… My, my family took me out of the village when I lost my sight. They thought, they thought that by not being useful, maybe I would be repudiated by the Black Gods and Mother Miranda.”

“They thought so?” the woman asked, with an almost amused tone, or so you thought. “Sciocchezze.”

“So, sorry, what?” you asked, confused. That strange word made you stir, as if there was something that was screaming to be heard.

The woman cleared her throat and sighed again.

“Nonsense,” she explained with a tired voice. “Mother Miranda would not despise anyone for that, your family was stupid.”

“Don’t, don't insult my family,” you hissed, clenching your fists, offended by those words.

“Oh, are you threatening us?” the girl mocked, too close to you. “Stop playing savior angels and kill her, D…”

You didn't know why, but that stupid girl shut up instantly, maybe because of the sudden movement you could feel in the woman.

“Mm, it's late for a girl like you to walk around here alone,” she murmured, seemingly unfazed by your threat. “You can stay tonight.”

“What?! You must be joking,” the girl complained.

“Can I?” you asked incredulously. “I… Thank you, thank you very much.”

“Get up, I'll take you to your room,” she ordered you in a cold voice. You, defenseless again, reached out your hand, looking for help, a point of support to be able to stand up safely.

A passive hand picked you up, pulling you to your feet, perhaps too hard, causing you to collide with that mysterious woman who smelled like lavender.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. She growled annoyed and walked away from you.

You, lost and scared, reached for her hold, her arm, something she rejected, scared, annoyed by the contact.

“Lasciami!” she demanded, shaking from your grip. You sobbed in confusion.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that…I, I don’t know this place and…” you said in a weak voice, broken by feeling that useless. “I need someone to guide me.”

The woman sighed unpleasantly and took your hand again, putting it on her arm.

“Ugh, it’s okay,” she hissed annoyed, walking with you, slowly.

Without speaking, you climbed up some stairs, helped by the lavender woman, until, after opening a door, she let you go near what looked like a bed.

“Hey,” you said, when the sound of heels told you that the woman was moving away again. “I would like to know your name, so I can thank you.”

There was no answer, just a murmur that, you were sure, was not directed at you.

“Aye,” the girl said, comically.

Small steps on the wood approached you. You trembled knowing that this sinister girl was approaching, but when the door closed and the sound of heels disappeared, you sensed that perhaps you fear had betrayed you.

The dim light that illuminated the room was not enough to distinguish shadows around you and, knowing that you were alone, you lay down on that bed, with your hands running around your surroundings until they touched something cold.

“What?” you asked, puzzled by that object, which you ran your hands over. Wooden arms, legs, a porcelain face… “A doll?” you asked when you guessed what you had in your hands, leaving that strange puppet on the side of the bed.

The tiredness was overwhelming, but the loss of everything you had was even more so, forcing you to curl up on yourself and let your tears soak the sheets.

“Gods, what am I going to do now?”

Luckily, at least you were able to sleep, even if it was in the middle of a heartbreaking cry.

The morning light was already distinguishable, and, clumsily, you got up, resting your hand on the walls. Strangely, you didn't notice the doll that was there the day before. You didn't give it any importance.

After juggling to get to the bathroom, you leaned on the railing of the stairs, confused, afraid to go down them without help.

“Hello? I, I need some help!” you asked the void, walking along the wood until you reached the first step.

“She spent the whole night crying. She’s a pain in the ass, she’s a… Oh, silly girl, you woke up!” the girl shrieked, who seemed to be talking to someone downstairs.

“Hey, uh, little girl, help me down the stairs, please,” you asked, rolling your eyes, hoping that the mysterious woman would appear.

“Okay,” she said in a comical voice, approaching you, or so you thought from her steps. “Let’s see, silly girl, one… Two…”

With her help and leaning on the railing all the time, you went down the dangerous steps one by one, trusting someone you knew you shouldn’t trust.

“Okay, okay, that’s it, you can walk normally,” the girl said.

You sighed and nodded, taking the first step, one that made you stumble and fall resoundingly to the ground. There were still stairs to go.

“Oh, damn girl,” you lamented in pain, with your ears being harassed by the cruel laughter of the stupid girl.

“Angie!” the woman's voice interrupted that tasteless joke and her heels approached you hastily.

Angie. You didn't know why, but that name sounded familiar to you.

“Uh...” you complained, letting that woman who smelled of lavender lift you off the floor carefully.

“Are you okay?” she asked, grabbing your shoulders and shaking your dress.

“I, I guess…” you said, wincing in pain. “That daughter of yours is quite the joker, isn't she?” you asked.

“Daughter?” the woman asked, confused.

Another loud laugh sounded in that strange house. It seemed that the girl was lying on the floor, kicking and hitting it with her fists, as if she had had a cruel fit of laughter.

“Daughter, she says! Don't keep talking, stop. I'm going to have a heart attack! Daughter!” the girl mocked, making you snort.

“She's not my daughter, (Y/N),” the woman said, guiding you with her arm through the house while an increasingly intense aroma of coffee made you forget that incident.

“Oh, I... I, I didn't know,” you apologized, letting her sit you on a chair and bring you closer to a table, where the aroma of coffee was much more intoxicating.

“I'm sure you're hungry,” she murmured, handing you a steaming cup of coffee that you carefully took. “Take whatever you want.”

“I... Thanks,” you sighed, touching the table, finding a whole feast of toast, oil and buns, which you devoured eagerly.

Silence was your company again, silence and darkness, the duo that guided your life.

“What are you going to do now? Your house is destroyed,” she commented, breaking the calm with an exasperating truth.

“I, I don't know,” you sighed, wanting to cry again. “I, I guess... I don't know.”

“You don't know,” she repeated, with a disinterested voice.

“Well, you should know, stupid! This isn't a hotel!” the girl shrieked, jumping on the wooden floor.

“Angie, basta!” the woman shouted, severely. You raised your eyebrows again, blinking in confusion.

“Basta?” you asked in a small voice.

The woman sighed in annoyance, putting her cup down on the table with a loud bang.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” she said coldly. “But I want you to answer me, what are you going to do now?”

“I already said I… I don’t know,” you said through clenched teeth, furious at that girl, at the discomfort you were starting to feel. “I have nowhere to go.”

“I see,” the woman whispered.

“She doesn’t!” the girl mocked, eliciting an angry growl from the lavender woman, who stood up from her chair, dragging it along in an unpleasant manner.

“Angie! If you keep going like that I swear I'll deactivate you,” she hissed, making you shift in your chair, confused.

“Deactivate?” you asked in a voice so low that she didn't hear.

“Oh, come on, Donna, I'm just kidding,” the girl complained. “You have to laugh at yourself.”

“D, Donna?” you asked again, with the cup shaking in your hand.

Donna. That name made everything in your head make sense. You had been away from the village for a long time, but you remembered it, you remembered Mother Miranda, the Lords, you remembered their figures, their faces before you lost your sight. Alcina Dimitrescu, Salvatore Moreau, Karl Heisenberg and… Donna Beneviento.

Donna Beneviento, dark woman, doll maker, nightmare creator, mentally disturbed, owner of the living doll… Yes, you remembered, you remembered the name of that doll, Angie.

“Gods…” you said agitatedly, falling from the chair, kneeling on the floor, finally knowing who you were talking to, who you had upset. The waterfall, the musty smell, that black figure, that accent, those words. There was no doubt. “Gods, I… Please, please have mercy on me, Lady Beneviento. I didn't know that I had fallen into… I, I didn't know who…”

“Shut up,” the lady ordered you, in a stern tone, as if she were upset because you had discovered her identity.

“I, I shouldn't have bothered you… I, I'll leave right away,” you said, crawling on the floor, terribly scared, getting up and running towards the unknown.

“Watch your step, stupid!” Angie squealed mockingly, just before you tripped on a rug and fell to the floor again, on your injured arm.

The heels walked slowly, Lady Beneviento was approaching you again.

“Get up,” she ordered, bending down and roughly grabbing you by the shoulders, making you stagger. “Stop fooling around.”

“Fooling around? I, I… I didn’t know that…” you stammered with your dress being shaken again, your nerves blurring your almost non-existent vision even more. “I, I’m sorry I… I’ll, I’ll go and…”

“I said shut up… Idiota…” the lady hissed, grabbing your arm tightly. “You want to run away, huh? Do I scare you?”

“No, yes, I…” you stammered unable to speak clearly.

“You said I was your savior,” she snapped at you in a dark voice. “Has your mind changed because you know who I am?”

“No, I…” you murmured again, panic running through your body.

“So…” she growled, pushing you unpleasantly, your body threatening to fall again. “Sit down and eat your breakfast!”

“Hey, hey, Donna, aren't you going too far?” Angie intervened, guiding you surprisingly carefully towards the table.

“It's always the same, Angie!” the lady shrieked, stamping her feet angrily. “What I do doesn't matter! Even this blind girl is unable to stop looking me as… As a monster…” she sighed with a sob, a terrible one that stirred you as you fixed your useless gaze below.

“I, I can't see if you're a monster or not,” you whispered, trying to calm her erratic attitude, one you'd heard about before. “And even if I could, I don't think any monster would have saved my life.”

She came quickly, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“That's what everyone says and then... Then they run away in terror...” she whispered threateningly in your ear, squeezing your shoulders, digging her nails into your skin. “Leaving me alone again!”

“I’m, I'm not going to run away, it, it just surprised me,” you said calmer, regretting your attitude. “I... I'm alone too, you know?”

“You...” Donna growled, letting you go with a furious gasp, muttering something you didn't understand.

“I, I don't know what, what could have happened to you for, for someone like you to be alone but...” you murmured, letting the tears of terror stain your face.

“Someone like me? What do you mean?” she asked in a different tone.

The Angie doll climbed onto your lap, as if she was now the one protecting you.

“You're a Lord, I, I remember you from when I was little and we went to church,” you commented, with Angie comically feeding you. You pushed her away so you could continue talking. “You always wore black… You were always, always silent. I know it may seem silly but… You, you were my favorite.”

“Your favorite? What the hell are you talking about?” she asked furiously, nervous about not understanding your meaningless words.

“My friends and I used to play at being the Lords of the village,” you said with a smile, remembering much better times, when you saw something else than blurry shadows. “I always wanted to be you.”

“Yeah! Donna's the best!” Angie sang, lowering herself to the floor again. “Hey, hey Donna, easy…”

“I, I liked the way you were, always quiet, silent, observant… I, I don't know, I guess you were the one I identified with the most,” you explained, with your head down. “You, you don't seem like the others, you're different.”

“You're wrong, you're very wrong, (Y/N),” Donna whispered, sitting back down, hitting the table with her fist.

“Would your siblings have saved me?” you asked, in a risky question. After all, you realized that you had nothing to lose.

She answered with silence, with a strange sigh.

“I know, I know, I know, choose me, I know the answer! Ask me, silly, ask it to me!” the doll squealed, comically pulling at your dress. You couldn't help but smile. “They would have let you freeze!”

“That doesn't mean anything,” the doll maker murmured, with the same cold voice.

“It means you saved me,” you answered, with your lower lip trembling. “No matter what you think, I… I will always be grateful to you, and… Well, I guess my life is already ruined, so I have nothing to lose by saying this but… Maybe, if I could stay with you, I…Nei, neither of us would have to be alone again.”

“Do you… Do you want to stay with me? You?” she asked, startled again. “You are more daring than I thought.”

“I simply have nothing to lose,” you sighed, closing your eyes, hoping that a darkness different than the one you could see would be your end, that the memories would remain in your mind before you died of terror, before she finished you off.

The sound of the chair disturbed you again, along with the slow walk of those heels, along with that lavender scent that was getting closer, as well as soft hands that lifted your chin.

“I don't scare you,” she whispered, standing too close to you. You shook your head. “You ran away as soon as you found out who I was. You're full of contractions.”

“I was surprised, that's all,” you said, gently moving your head so her hand would move away from you and stop making you nervous. “I know you're going to say no, and that you'll finish me off right now. After all, I'm useless.”

“Are you a fortune teller?” -she asked in a mocking tone, walking away from you again.

“I was never good at being a clairvoyant,” you joked easily, letting a way of being that you had and never brought to light speak for you in the last moments of your life.

Surprisingly, a soft laugh came from the lady, a charming laugh that made you gain even more confidence.

“Sei divertente, mm?”

You shook your head, not understanding the words, breathing nervously, waiting for an end that seemed to never want to come.

“She said you're funny,” Angie whispered, climbing up your body again. The change in the doll's attitude was quite... Disturbing.

“It's okay,” Lady Beneviento whispered, after a few moments of tense silence. Little by little, you got used to that.

“What?” you asked confused, blinking repeatedly.

“Stay with me, then,” she finally said in a tone you didn't know how to interpret. “But it won't be free. You'll have to help me with my tasks.”

“I'll do what I can,” you said excitedly, seeing a light that you didn't know could illuminate the dark passage of death you had begun to walk through it. “Th, thank you, Lady Beneviento, thank you...”

“Ugh, you're so annoying,” she complained, sighing amused. “Call me Donna.”

So, by a horrible coincidence, your life changed. After losing everything, you found yourself on an uncertain path, in a strange place, with a strange woman. Yes, you knew who she was, you knew what she did, what she was capable of doing, but for some reason, you didn't find any danger beyond your problems.

You were clumsy, you constantly tripped and you always needed someone's help to get back to what was already your room. Normally, it was Angie who took care of that. That sinister puppet seemed to generate a strange sympathy for you.

The days, the weeks passed.

You weren't uncomfortable, you felt fine, the opposite of what you thought. Donna Beneviento, terrible Lord, fears maker, was a kind woman in her own way, elegant, cultured, who taught you a lot of things, who helped you stop being the clumsy girl you were.

Everything seemed to be going well, even too well, even at night, when you could dream, when you could see something in your mind, she started to appear, that lady in black who laughed shyly, who taught you Italian and things about plants.

Thinking about her was quite common in your moments alone.

“Okay, to the right now,” Angie told you, standing on your shoulder, guiding you through the basement. You, with your hands outstretched, obeyed, in a usual exercise of recognition of the old mansion.

“Right…” you whispered, touching the rickety wall with your hands and guiding yourself with your hand resting on it.

“A little more, just a little more,” the doll told you. “Watch out!” she squealed when your body collided with a wall again, for the fifth time that day.

“Angie…” you sighed, rubbing your forehead, tired of the puppet's vague instructions.

“Hey, I'm being good,” she protested, comically hitting your shoulder. “Donna asked me to be good to you and I am.”

“Did Donna ask you?” you asked curiously, with an involuntary smile, thinking that, just as you suspected, the lady was looking out for you.

“Yes, so help me, blind girl,” she said in a mocking tone. “Okay, there, there, in front of you, can you see it?”

“Of course I can’t,” you said sighing annoyed.

“Oh, yes, sure,” Angie said, regretful. “Go ahead, walk forward and you will find the two doors.”

You reluctantly complied, finally finding the workshop doors.

“Well, you did it!” the doll squealed, victorious. “Look, Donna, the silly girl has arrived at the workshop!”

You couldn’t see it, but from the lavender, you knew the lady in black was there, working on her dolls, as usual.

“Yes, thanks to Angie,” you said amused, extending your hands, which were picked up by the soft, gentle hand of Donna, who gently pulled you along.

“Did you hear that, Donna? Thanks to me,” the doll said, in a proud voice. Again, you heard that adorable laugh from the Lord as she guided you to a nearby chair. “What are you doing with that on?”

You frowned, not knowing what she meant.

“Angie, shut up,” the lady protested, sitting next to you, putting a hand on your leg to make sure you were okay, guiding you to check that there was a table in front of you.

“Shut up? You're stupid, Donna, what is the veil for? She's blind,” the doll sang.

“A veil?” you asked, thinking back. Yes, you remembered the lady always covered her face with a black cloth, dark, dark as everyone said it was her soul.

Curious, you raised your hand where you thought the woman in black was, touching with your fingers that black cloth that Angie spoke of.

“Don't touch me,” she said in a sinister voice, grabbing your wrists tightly and suddenly lowering them. You stepped back.

“I'm sorry,” you apologized confused.

“Don’t be,” she said, turning around, working on her dolls again. You couldn't, you couldn't help but ask.

“Why are you covering your face?”

“Why are you blind?” Donna asked back, with a thick accent that betrayed her nervousness and anger at your impudence.

“Well…” you sighed, moved by the memories. “When I was eight I got very sick and… Well, I managed to recover but… I couldn't see again,” you explained with your head down. She sighed, annoyed again, with the noises of the sewing machine stopping.

“Do you know what a rhetorical question is?” she asked mockingly, with a fake laugh.

You smiled amused, nodding.

“I'm not offended by you asking me about my blindness, even if it was a rhetorical question,” you said in a soft voice, running your hands over the table, trying to imagine what was on top of it. “You shouldn't cover yourself, I can't see you.”

“How lucky,” Donna sighed, sadly, but ironically.

“Why do you say so?” you asked again, letting yourself be carried away by curiosity.

“Listen, (Y/N), I don't feel like talking about it, and even less with a gossipy girl like you,” she told you sternly, her voice shaking.

“I know how to keep a secret. I can't talk about what I can't see,” you said amused, taking a risk again, knowing that this was the only way to make Donna be honest with you, to speak from the bottom of her soul. You had proven it several times.

“Right in the point, Don...!” the doll screamed, silenced by something black falling on her head, and which she fought against, in a comical way, you thought. “Hey!”

“Are you happy now?” the lady asked furiously. The black no longer reached her blurry head. You smiled, concentrating to make out something. You didn't manage it, you never would.

Amused, you shrugged.

Donna sighed, as if defeated by your insistence, staying still for a moment.

“When I was little, I fell while running with scissors and lost my right eye,” she explained, without you asking her to.

“Oh, I'm, I'm sorry,” you said hastily, noticing the discomfort of the lady in black, but letting her speak.

“All the children in the village laughed at me, they said I was a monster,” she said quietly, with a nervous sob. “I stopped going out of the house, talking to people…”

“That's horrible,” you said nervously, playing with what looked like a paintbrush on the table.

“Mm,” she murmured, leaning back in the chair. “It's the past.”

“I don't think it's a good enough reason to hide your face,” you said, shaking your head. “I'm sure my eyes are much scarier.”

“Nonsense, they're beautiful,” she whispered quietly, with a different voice, causing you to smile and a burn in your cheeks.

“Thanks, I guess I must trust your word,” you said embarrassed by the compliment. “But at least you were able to get revenge on them, right? When, when Mother Miranda adopted you.”

“She only made it worse!” she suddenly shrieked, kicking the ground again, losing her mind.

You recoiled in fear.

“She, she only made it worse… Now I… I’m, I’m…” she said nervously, trying to calm herself down.

You, still scared but determined, reached out your hand to that black shadow, finding soft skin and soft lips on your way.

“Hey, don’t… Don’t…” she protested, without moving, not preventing your hands from running over her face, exploring her skin.

Your brow furrowed when you found a bulging deformity on the right side of her face, making her gasp nervously. Despite that, you didn't feel anything that made you think her words were true.

“I don't see any monsters here,” you whispered, losing yourself in your caresses, running over the skin of the lady in black without her stopping you.

“You don't see anything, (Y/N),” she sobbed at the same time you noticed a tear on your hand, which hers rested on it, lowering it slowly.

“Yes, I see your soul,” you said in a sweet voice, moving away, breathing calmly, with a smile. “And it’s beautiful.”

Donna stammered confused, trembling, without letting your hand go.

Breathing with difficulty, she brought her other hand to your cheek, comforting you with erratic caresses while her body moved towards yours, while the lavender was much more intense until you could feel her breath very close to you.

You closed your eyes, enjoying those caresses, the subtle touch of her lips against yours, which soon ceased to be that subtle.

A kiss, your first kiss came to your lips, the soft caresses of a kiss of love, a soft, slow, fearful one. You returned it, you kissed her, you kissed those lips that until then had been hidden, you let yourself be carried away by her movements, by that unexpected act.

She pulled away after a few perfect moments, ones that made you sigh, and keep a smile.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it,” she said, taking her hand away from your cheek, letting a cold breeze to form between the two of you, one that made you feel terribly sick.

“I'm not sorry,” you said, with tears in your useless eyes, with the soft kisses of her lips still present on yours. “Donna, no one has anyone treated me like you.”

“No one has spoken to me like you,” she whispered, suppressing another sob.

You, erratically, searched for her hand in that black dress, the hand that had previously grabbed you, playing with her fingers, wandering over her body until you caressed her cheek again, until you pulled her back to your lips.

She let herself be drawn into a deeper, more passionate, romantic kiss. You cried with joy, with joy for having found an explanation for those strange feelings, for your eternal thoughts about the lady in black.

“If, if you knew, if you could see me, you would never, ever have done it,” she murmured, cupping your face in her hands, not stopping kissing you, not stopping caressing you.

You smiled again, exploring her body, hugging it, impregnating yourself with her lavender scent.

“If I could see you, I would be even happier,” you said, resting your forehead against hers, letting her arms surround your body, arrange your hair, subtly telling you about her feelings.

“(Y/N) I… I, I like having you with me,” she said shyly, embarrassed.

“I like being with you,” you whispered, playing with her hands, enjoying the softness of her skin, the beauty you knew she had.

“Oh, please, stop it! I'm going to get diabetes! Come on, come on, let her go!” Angie interrupted, pushing Donna away from you in a comical way. You looked for her again with your hands, which she picked up laughing amused.

Thus began a new stage in your life, one full of love.

Donna cared for you even more. She covered you with kisses, caresses, read you stories from her books, walked with you through the woods, always holding your hand, always watching over you. You, for your part, were madly in love, discovering that side of the Lord you didn't know existed, that romantic side, that deep desire to be loved.

Nothing could go better in the life of the blind and clumsy (Y/N). What seemed like a misfortune, became your greatest luck. Your wish was no longer to regain your sight, but to always be with Donna, always.

“Admit it, it hasn't turned out so bad,” you said amused, searching for the bed with your hands, that bed you now shared with her. Donna laughed amused, helping you cover yourself with the sheets.

“You almost cooked just boiling water but I guess you haven't done it that bad,” she whispered amused, kissing you quickly and joining you in bed.

“I'm sure I'll learn to cook as well as you,” you joked, snuggling up to her. The lady laughed again, caressing your hair.

“Mm?” she murmured, fleeing from the erratic sea of ​​kisses with which you covered her every night. “Hey, I'm sure you will, tesoro.”

You sighed, hugging her body again.

“Did you imagine this?” you asked, sinking into her chest, becoming a little melancholic. “You know, being in love with someone like me.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she answered, with a tired sigh.

“Your voice is beautiful… I love it,” you commented, moving playfully on her body. She laughed, shaking her head.

“My voice?” she asked curiously, with her hands tangling in your hair. “Learn to lie.”

“I don't lie,” you protested in a childish way, stealing another kiss from her. “It's the only thing I can tell you without you doubting me, it doesn't matter how many times I tell you that I'm convinced of your beauty.”

Donna sighed, kissing your hair affectionately.

“Do you know what I love?” she asked in a soft voice, the one that made you smile. “Your beautiful face when you smile at me.”

“Mm,” you murmured, writhing in pleasure at hearing those words, at knowing that even someone like you could be beautiful to her. “Donna, I want to make love to you.”

“What?” she asked, startled by your unexpected request. “Uh, I mean… (Y/N)…”

“What's wrong? You don't dare?” you asked, nervous at that reaction. “Is it because I'm blind?”

“No, no, I… Well yes, no, no…” she stammered, getting tense. “It's just that I… I've never…”

“Me neither,” you said, relieved for knowing that was the reason for her fear, and not your problem.

“I see,” she whispered.

“I don't,” you joked amused, climbing clumsily onto her body, with your legs on either side of her hips.

“You spend too much time with Angie,” she said, caressing your cheek but not moving away.

“She's like my guide dog,” you continued joking, biting your lip with hunger, with a desire to love completely.

“I hope she doesn't hear you,” she said, laughing amused, positioning you so you were more comfortable.

“I’ve heard it!” an irritating squeal sounded behind the door and you both laughed amused.

“Donna, please... I want, I want to love you...” you begged, radically changing the subject, insisting on your desire.

“I...” she murmured shyly, resting her hands on your waist, something that excited you quite a bit. “It's, it's okay.”

The kisses came, the caresses increased their intensity, their journey. It was a fiery dance, wild kisses that traveled beyond your lips, down your neck, down your chest…

The clothes got in the way and you got rid of yours. Donna did the same, still adoring you, showering you with praise for something you couldn't see, because of the beauty she claimed you had. Gasps escaped from your lips, from hers.

The movements of your hips found a stable rhythm when your naked bodies danced, rubbing against each other.

You wouldn't know how to describe those emotions, those sensations of being able to touch her, of feeling that you were inside of her, that you were just one, just a mass of flesh in love.

Your hands danced happily over her body, hers over yours, inside you. The kisses softened the obscenity of the wet sounds that covered the room, kisses that were less and less innocent, that savored your arousal, that fed your uncontrollable desire.

You couldn't be able to know how long that act of love lasted, but you didn't want to either, you only cared about what you felt, what you touched, what you sensed... Donna and you, you and Donna, there was nothing else, no clothes, no fear, no trembling, just your two naked bodies dancing in unison, a romantic, passionate and lustful dance.

“Are you okay?” the lady asked, when the ecstasy ended, when your two bodies arched together. You nodded, searching for her bare chest, letting your head sink into it again.

“Yes, better than ever,” you whispered, kissing her soft skin, annoyed by so much concern.

“There's something I haven't told you yet and... I think, I think I should do it now,” Donna whispered, caressing you affectionately, calming your nervous breathing. “I, I love you, (Y/N).”

“Oh, Donna,” you said, excited by everything that had happened, by all the things that were to come. “I love you too. You, you have illuminated my darkness...”

[jooeyoo]

Full parts: Until death do us part

Pairing: Douma x femReader

Tags: mentions of blood, self mutilation, manipulation, kidnapping, obsession, gore, douma himself bffr.

Summary: He kidnaps you after finding you wounded, and keeps you around for his own amusement-until you can’t take it anymore.

“I told you, you weren’t going to leave. Ever”  

Her breath hitched as she ran through the ruins of a town she once called home. It was unrecognizable, a distant memory that would still escape her as she grew older, a reminder not all things last. A reminder of life’s misery. The hem of her kimono ripped as she ran as fast as she could, her legs beginning to sore, her heartbeat irregular, the tears in her eyes clouding her vision through the tall ivory flames into the night sky. The heat of the air radiated onto every living creature, the smoke was intoxicating and caused her to suddenly stop as she grew victim to a coughing fit. Her lashes flickered,  and shot wide at the sight of the blood all over her hands, and down her chest. That’s right...I had been..impaled

Her knees grew weak as she fell to the hard ground, the pain coming back to her now as she held onto the gaping wound. She spat as a pool of blood leaking out from the depths of her gut- she stared in horror. I’m going to die...I’m going to die in this god forsaken place

Her vision began to falter once more, blurred by the smoke and the antagonising feeling of pain in her stomach. Fatigue slowly began to creep onto her body, as the unavoidable darkness of the void crept into her vision of sight. Her limbs no longer felt her own.

All dreams and aspirations she had, gone

All the memories, pain, and happiness she had endured, had been reducing to nothing- to ash in just mere hours.

Everyone she knew..who had even survived..?

Did it really matter, she was going to die herself. She thought she was at peace with the idea of death, at peace with the idea that the world is never ending, never stopping, constantly evolving yet she couldn’t deny the pit that formed in her stomach. It was so much more uncomfortable than the pain she had now grown accustomed to. Her eyes shot back open, the pupils much more dilated- they shook at the very idea of dying. Where would she go? Would a God punish her for her sins, for her mistakes? Or embrace her, and tell her she did well? Or was there nothing at all, a void devoid of any joy or misery- simply nothingness. A place where no gods, or angels roamed- but only the darkness. Darkness

Her head snapped back behind her. The city had grown quiet, no screaming or yelling could be heard- no clanking of swords. Had the fight ended? Had those people succeeded in killing that monster? Or had it..won?

The question itself made her tremble with terror, she forced herself to her feet. She wouldn’t die like this- she wouldn’t allow it. But regardless of what she wanted, within mere moments of standing- she fell back down to her knees. Another pool of blood escaped her mouth, staining her lips.

I am going to die here

Her vision began to blur, as her head hit the ground.

At-least, I’d die with dignity

Her vision became black, her mind no longer conscious.

“Oh,..oh my” A cheerful tone crept up behind the girls unconscious body. The man’s looming presence shadowed over her, he held a human leg in one of his hands- his mouth stained with blood.

“It seems a lost little lamb escaped from the hoard..” The man tutted, a wide grin on his face that was supposed to mirror a friendly smile. “Though.” His voice suddenly became cold, blank, devoid of any emotion. He let the leg fall to the floor, with a thud. He leaned down to the girl, inspecting her face, and the wound in her stomach. “You’re almost dead.” The smile on his face, had evaporated within seconds- as did his cheerful tone. He tilted his head to the side, pondering.

“How did you..run all the way out here..with a wound like that..and with a small, weak..body like that..” The man slowly pulled a strand of hair away from the girls face, revealing his long nails.  “How sad..for a girl like you to slowly die like this...such a beautiful face gone to waste as well! How despicable of my comrades!” He hummed with glee, that friendly face returning to the surface. Oh, how he could just eat her all up!

Though, he was full right now..but he couldn’t let her go to waste! Not such beauty, no! How cruel he’d be to let such a girl die in such a way, he’d only allow her to be devoured by him, savoured him, saved by him!

What to do? He tapped his head before a teethy grin emerged.

What would be so wrong, about a souvenir?

YN awoke with a gaping feeling in her stomach, as she looked down- she was met with bandages that had been carefully placed. Her mind was still foggy, her vision barely stable. Her throat felt dry, and sore. If she had died, this was certainly no better. She quickly stood to her feet, to inspect her new surroundings.

“Hello..?” She noticed she was no longer in the entertainment district but a room devoid of any actual furniture, apart from the futon she had awoken on,

- but decorated with various artworks of locus’s.

“Oh, you poor thing.” She jumped at the sudden voice that had appeared behind her.

A voice ridden with amicability and cheerfulness but there was also a hint of pity. As she turned, she felt her eyes grow wider as a enormous glooming presence struck her in very core. She was met with a man, who towered over her, with eyes like rainbows and platinum blonde hair. His hand slowly reached her shoulder, purple nails slightly digging into her shoulder- his grip was firm, but not painful- but it was freezing cold. It sent shivers down her spine.

“You awoke so quickly! I expected you to be out for longer..”

His smile grew wider as it hit her.

“..You’re..you’re a demon!” Fear struck her core, as she took a step back away from him, trying to balance her footing.

“Oh dear! You caught me!” Before she could even reply, a frightening whiff of wind passed her, as he stood now behind her once again. His body still, pressed against hers, his head peered down into the crane of her neck. “Afraid? That I’ll gobble you up? Or maybe I’ll toy with your body first! Tear it limb..from limb..” The amicability in his voice remained, yet his eyes had grown wider and more erratic. His smile seemed more creepy now, than it did friendly. YN stood still, paralysed like a deer looking into headlights, into death. Her body was frozen to the core until a pair of sharp teeth grazed just the surface of her neck which caused her to suddenly turn around.

“Why haven’t you..?”

The man paused for a moment, pondering in thought. His smile never faded.

“It’s better to savour ones food, don’t you think so? To relinquish one’s desire to simply savour it more..to appreciate the beauty in all things living, first.” He hummed.

An innate sense of danger filled her to her core

He’s a madman

“The beauty..of all thing’s living..? You mean you’re just going to toy with me until you’ve had your fun? You’re sick!” She spat out- until she realised the words she said, her eyes briefly widening in shock.

The demon stood there, for a moment he felt like laughing. “I didn’t think you’d be so resilient.. you..seemed so weak and frale! Oh how cute! I must have hit the jackpot!” His charismatic and cheerful aura beamed throughout the room clashing with YN’s who beamed of disgust.

“You mean to say..you’re not going to kill me..?” Her voice grew meek, quiet, confused, disgusted.

“Oh not yet! Anymore, atleast! You seem fun! I’m so bored these days, you see.” His voice peered to the side, as he looked her up and down causing her to take another step back. In retort, a small laugh escaped his mouth as he covered his smile with his hand.

“You seem to be in so much shock! Aren’t you relieved?”

“I’d rather kill myself now, then to be your last meal!” She screamed back at him, eyeing the door but before she could even take a step towards it- he had appeared before her.

“Why don’t we start over..?” He pretended to be upset, by her words- yet his eyes did not mirror the sentiment.

“My name is Dōma! What’s yours?” He beamed, as if her answer would be the most interesting thing he’d ever hear. Though, a silence grew beyond the two. Their eyes peering into one another.  Dōma’s beamed with anticipation yet there was this..odd feeling to them..

Was it the colour of his eyes?

YN’s eyes were fierce, the fear long hidden within her now- as she had always been taught to do.

“It’s almost as if you’re trying to kill me with that look!

“I am.”

“..they say not to bite the hand that feeds you..I was the one to save you from that horrible wound” His voice grew cold, almost devoid of emotion.

“You shouldn’t have.” YN mirrored his tone.

“You shouldn’t say such things! You should appreciate life! Afterall, that’s all humans have..you all..inevitably die..” He closed the distance between the two, peering into her eyes, observing.

“I’d have preferred to live the miserable life I had lived then and dying from that horrible wound, than living within your presence to only be devoured by you.” She spat at him, though she couldn’t help but swallow the pool of saliva growing in her throat. No matter how hard she tried, his sheer aura sent shivers down her spine.

“A miserable life? You found no joy in your life..? How unfortunate” He mirrored a tone of pity

How strange he is

“Humans really are..pathetic things...aren’t they?” His face became completely devoid of any trace of emotion, she was taken aback by the expressionless look in his eye. As if she was peering into darkness itself.

“What…?”

“To understand the beauty of all things living, you must first peer into the darkness.. It’s there to help us understand it. Would life be beautiful if we never knew what sorrow and misery felt like?”

His face quickly changed back to his signature smile, he rested a hand on her head.

“Is this what you tell yourself as you indulge yourself in massacring people?”

She was taken aback by his laugh

“Oh, dear. I simply save them from a life they can no longer see the beauty in! Simply pathetic beings! Cant see what’s further than what’s in front of them”

“And you believe, you’re saving me from a life I ‘No longer see the beauty in’..? What about what I would like?” YN removed herself from his grasp.

His eyes beamed, curious. “What is it?”

“To leave, if you’re not going to kill me- I’m not staying.” She tried to usher him out of the way, by swatting her hand at him but he simply caught her wrist and pulled it back- which caused her to fall into his chest. His other hand quickly grasped her waist, firmly and sharply.

“I didn’t say you could leave”

Her eyes grew wider, peering into the redness of his shirt.

I can’t leave..?

My last moments are going to be toyed with by a demon that wears the face of a man

How ironic

In truth, YN had been one of the many young girls who worked in the entertainment district; having met a variety of men that left all types of memories that disgusted her to her core. This was not dying with dignity, but humiliation. Her mind froze for a moment, trying to find an ounce of something to hit the demon back with but she fell to silence. Perhaps if she bored him to death, he would kill her. Yet he did nothing, and simply stood there. Listening to her heartbeat that accelerated every growing moment- oh, how he wondered how that felt

To be so afraid, you freeze and your heart begins to beat out of your chest

Even if she tried to bore him to death, he’d find something to find interest in- she was eccentric! She was the opposite of what he thought her to be! How couldn’t he not want to know more?

Suddenly,  Dōma reached out to YN’s chin, forcing her to look up at him.

“How about a game?”

“A game?”

“Stay here, until you die of old age!”

Where..was here?

“It’s not like you have anything else, anyone else..your town, gone- along with any familiars”

Her eyes widened, she had failed to realise the gravity of her situation the previous night- everything..was in flames

Her hand subconsciously touched her wound

His hand moved to the side of her cheek, caressing the skin.

“Besides, what life is it serving men?” He whispered, the smile never faltering.

“..So..serve a demon instead..” She scoffed

“No, you’d have free will.” He beamed with amusement

“At paradise faith!”

“How is this a game..you’re asking me to..live out my life..here..? Why.” She stared at him, with confusion

“Because you intrigue me; it’s not often I’m met with a human who knows what I am, who isn’t begging for mercy” His voice became a chilling cold tone.

“If I started, would you?" She didn't need to say more, for him to understand the question.

He didn’t, he never did no matter how much she begged. Months passed, and she was met with laughs, snorts, rolling of the eyes- no matter how much she cried and begged for him to just simply get it over with. He never did. During her ‘fits’ as he liked to call them, he’d simply sit down, rest his elbow on a surface with his head on his palm. His eyes always beamed with curiosity, excitement as she screamed, and tears ran down her face. As if this was a play for him to enjoy. Then he’d hold her shaking body and tell her everything would be okay, as if he wasn’t the problem. She tried to steal one of his golden fan’s once, to maybe slice her throat with it. She was met with a hand around her throat- and nothing more. She tried to insult him, hurt his pride, his weird cult- nothing worked. He’d dismiss her like a child having a fit. He’d often converse with her, force her to speak her mind on whatever subject he had chosen- which is why he found her intriguing. He was so sure, when she was lost in thought in his questions that she’d forget what he was, where she was- which was her beauty; her unique perspective of the world, of emotions. He slowly started to think he understood them, although devoid of them. He was so sure, she would be the key to helping him understand such a complex tool- he didn’t want her to leave his side.

Had it become obsession?

The way he would dismiss his followers, if she so beckoned- how he found no joy in his meals any more apart from her crude reactions to the blood. How he thought of her every waking moment of the day. How he pondered on her opinions, thought them over- found the beauty in her speech. She wouldn’t be salvaged forever if he devoured her, because her beauty was in her liveness, in what she’s lived, how she lives and how she speaks. He simply and utterly didn’t want to do it. He only ever wanted to feel her warm breath against his ice cold skin. That made him feel alive. If only she ever allowed him to show her how much he truly did appreciate her; if she’d devote herself to him entirely. But she just wouldn’t, and it captivated him more- she did not see him as a messenger of God. But he saw her as a sign from something above, although he knew, nothing was there. He would devote himself to her, if she allowed it. He sought her touch, yet her hate grew by the time and he was so oblivious to it. Why cant she love me?

She inspired him to be more, he didn’t want to revel in the slaughter anymore, he didn’t feel alive anymore in the cruelty- but his heart beat when she spoke. He had never listened so attentively to someone before, so closely. Was it love?

He’d need to ask her about that next

Dōma walked attentively down to YN’s room, curious as to what she might respond with. He was trying to formulate an idea in his head

How exciting

Until

He was absolutely stricken with horror as he opened the shoji, to be met with a gruesome sight.

Fresh blood stained the floods, as her body laid beside it. The blood quickly nauseated all of his other senses, the smell was so sweet to him.

“Oh, Oh dear”

She was still alive, but barely.

He approached her quickly, setting her head on his lap as he looked at what she had done to herself. A gaping wound in both of her wrists stared back at him- she had lost so, so much blood

Dōma’s heart skipped a beat, it only ever beat

..for her

And for what?

He stared at her, her eyes had shut, covered by her hair, her lips had grown pale and cold and the life within her skin slowly decreased. He could fear her heartbeat becoming slower, and her body becoming colder.

What an odd..sentiment

His hands would have shook, if he was capable of it.

He felt something, something alien to him but he couldn’t describe it no matter how hard he tried.

The second time..

Someone he endeared took their live

He wouldn’t allow this repetitive cycle to continue

A quick slash to his wrist caused a waterfall of blood to emerge- trickling down to her mouth.

He could only hope he would chose her.

__

Mere hours later, YN awoke in  Dōma’s chambers. An insatiable hunger in her stomach almost brought her to puking. She couldn’t remember what had happened.. her name..? What was it ..? Where was she..?

“YN! I’m so glad you’re okay!” She was met with a familiar set of rainbow coloured eyes, who seemed to be genuinely happy.

She groaned, bringing her hand to her head- feeling an annoying headache form- which is when she realised.

The length of which her nails had grown, much sharper, much more predatory.

She stared back at  Dōma, who watched attentively.

She suddenly remembered, all of the blood, all of the pain.

She suddenly jumped up from his futon, and pulled up the hems of the sleeves of her kimono- to reveal no cuts. The pit in her stomach grew even wider, but not from hunger- rage and hate.

She ran to the mirror, her kimono loosely falling down at the shoulders- as she stared back at a monster that was not herself. Her hair, had turned to such a white colour- and her eyes- predatory, those of a killer. She opened her mouth, to reveal the set of sharp canines that now housed her mouth. She gasped, before a large hand snaked itself around her waist.  Dōma’s head rested in the nook of her neck. YN screamed. “How could you do this to me! I never asked for this! You’re so selfish that even when I decided to take my own life, by my own hands, by my own meanings. You interfere like the parasite that you are!” Her screaming only grew louder but he did not reply, he did not react. He simply held her body, as she tried to fight him off- but even now as a Demon, she was still weaker. “You’re a horrible void sucking monster! Let me go!” Her screaming had turned to cries, the tears had ran down her face, staining her now pale complexion. She thought herself a horrid monster- yet  Dōma found her beauty to still be exquisite. Her knees threatened to fall down to the ground, he held her weak and limp body up as she scream cried into the air. He reached out to  turn her, to face him- he held her face in his hands.

His signature smile reappeared but his eyes grew more intensely and bright than they ever did before.

“I told you, you weren’t going to leave. Ever”  

part 2

Hate

It was such a complex emotion.

It was something a person felt at the very depth of their core, of their soul. But what is hate? If not accompanied by rage? And what is rage? If not accompanied by pain and sorrow? But pain and sorrow, couldn’t be felt without joy and joy couldn’t be felt without love.

All emotions, that the man that sat before her, was completely and utterly vacant of.

Dōma sat cross legged, his chin resting on his palm- as he always did. He sat there as if there was nothing wrong, as if he wasn’t covered in blood- as if she wasn’t either. As if, there weren’t various slashes and cuts in the fabric of his clothes, and likewise her.

What was hate, if there was no cruelty? No violence? No urge to kill them?

Would hate, not then be meaningless?

She would make him pay for what he did to her- even if he didn’t care, even if he didn’t flinch, even if he secretly liked the attention. It made her feel better, and that was enough- for now.

YN stood there, her hair had grown to an immense length and her complexion had only become paler. She resembled the devil that sat before her, now.

Her own divine punisher, how cruel. She certainly didn’t believe in a God now..

Her dress, a white colour to resemble her hair- a gift from the man she despised.

Riches wouldn’t buy her heart, she wasn’t sure she had one any more, but that only made her hate herself more; as each day passed- she became more like Dōma.

More cruel, more ravenous, more despicable.

Each time, she looked in the mirror- all she could see was the similar hair coloured that now nested in her roots, the similar void in her eyes and the similar porcelain complexion. But he adored it. He wouldn’t let her forget how beautiful he thought she was now, how they were the same now, how they’ll be together forever.

It took time, to brush her long hair, now. She’d sit in front of the mirror, tears prickling the corners of her eyes until he would appear out of the shadows. He’d snake his arm around her and take the brush. How she despised him so, yet the man was so arrogant and stubborn- he always did get his way.

“I..despise you” YN finally mustered out.

She was met with a snort.

“Do you?” Dōma’s head tilted to the side, his eyes for a brief moment became completely blank yet his tone remained all the while mockful.

How sad, it was- for such beautiful colours, to be so dull, she thought.

“More than anything, in this life and the next.” Her voice shook, tears threatened to fall, all this time spent screaming, crying, scratching and hitting him over and over again. All it was, was a constant reminder of life’s misery.

And every time, the cycle was the same.

She’d yell, she’d scream

He’d ignore her, laugh at her

She’d hit him and he would hit back

She would cry, he would pretend to care

And he never did forget, to remind her that she was his.

Suddenly Dōma stood, all injuries he had obtained had already vanished into thin air but the blood still stained the floor, as did all that time ago..the memory still engraved into his mind.

YN stared at the floor, as she heard his body slowly reach hers. He cupped her face in his hands, another reminder of how small she was, how weak, how irrelevant she was in the world.

“You really shouldn’t say such false things, hm?” He smiled, a monster hid beneath the mask.

“..The sight of you makes me sick” Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

Dōma stayed silent for a moment, before he spoke

“I saved you, how could you say such mean things..?” His voice grew colder, as did the sensation in his hands, but neither could feel such things any more.

“You wanted to die?” His face slowly approached YN’s ear, as he pulled the hair out of the way. His breath hitting her skin and his teeth making an appearance as he spoke.

“Did you want me to lay your rotting corpse in the courtyard? For all to see? How pitiful you are?”

His voice, was devoid of anything at all. This was the afterlife, accompanied with darkness itself, the void itself- devoid of anything.

“It was so disappointing, that someone as intelligent like you..would believe there’s anything after this cruel life..” His eyes met hers.

“I don’t. But anywhere else is better if you’re not there.” She spat back at him, the hate as bright as ever in her eyes.

“Don’t say such things..YN” He masked a look of sadness

“I do enjoy how you always keep me on my feet, but would it kill you to smile?” He turned his head to the side, wrapping a hand around the crane of her neck and the other on her cheek. He treated her like a child, and to him, she probably was. YN approached him, their bodies against each other. She stared into those dull eyes of his, no matter how hard he tried- she would see past his fonts and his masks. She leaned up to him, leaving mere centimetres between the pairs lips- his eyes never faltered, never blinked and neither did hers. Yet his heart beat, and hers did not.

“I’ll smile when the sun fucking burns you”

Dōma giggled, his grasp tightening. “Oh, how romantic” He cheerfully smiled

“but”

“I’ve grown tired of this game, YN” She yelped as his hand rapidly met her jugular instead- squeezing it violently. He would pop her head out of her socket, if he so desired- but where’s the fun?

“You scream, and you kick- When will you love me?” He whispered, his gaze never leaving her eyes.

“Could you ever? I’ve began to wonder..”

“You once said, you’d love someone who’d devote themselves to you, and who understood you beyond compare..but you don’t love me, you never could- can you?” His grip tightened, the tears now began to fall. He wasn’t going to kill her, she knew. He would torture her before he killed her, he would make her life worse than it is- just as a reminder of what he is and who is. To remind her of her place. But it wasn’t out of bad volition- he’d care for her afterwards, like he always did when he went too far. When he showed her who truly was stronger, that he could stop her fits within seconds if he wanted to- but he didn’t- because he wanted to please her! Make her feel better! Isn’t that what you do in a relationship? They were in a relationship, after all. The fact she wouldn’t let him near her, didn’t bother him at all! After all, sex was a mundane activity, he was devoid of anything- he could only fantasize about the feeling that lust gives you, but he could never truly ever actually feel it. He could only mirror it, copy, mimic- at core, he was nothing at all.

Even the devil weeps, but he didn’t.

“I gave you a chance at life...to be what you want, who you want to be- to not serve men! I only asked of you to remain at my side. Yet the months go by, and..you continue this facade of hate.”

“Have I not been good? Have I not listened to your every wish since? I’ve tried to make it up to you, YN.”

All she could do was stare, in shock? In offence at his words? But the way he spoke, and the words he chose always did have impact- he was taught the art of speech from the youngest age- he met all kinds of people, all kinds of stories who sought the words of a God- and oh, did he provide.

Deep inside her heart, she couldn’t help but rethink her actions. Had she been cruel? Too cruel? He always did try. Was that not enough? And deep down, she did know- all she had was him.

Living a normal life now, with a husband and children was impossible, physically impossible.

Living anywhere else, a demon slayer would certainly catch whiff of her- she didn’t know how to live the life of prey, and predator. But Dōma, he had lived for years- he understood this life.

He understood the brutality of it all.

A second chance at life? Yet all she had done was scream and cry and reject it entirely

Had it truly been her fault, all along?

“You know, all you have is me- and it’s all you need.

I would give you the world, if you sought it- I would shape it to your liking, it would be your world. All you have to do..is one small..little thing.”

She felt weak, mentally and physically. Her mind no longer the vast wonders and thoughts she used to have, but blank like a puppet. His eyes almost seemed hypnotic now, and his smile..that devilish smile

And that confirmation, that reminder

That she did in fact, only have him- was enough to break her.

“One small..little thing?”

She repeated, almost robotic, the tears in her eyes still formed and they still poured down her face.

He hummed In response, as he approached her ear once again. His body leaned down to her level

“To love me..as I love you.”

His voice was almost angelic, yet any peering eyes would know it was a devil’s gamble.

A deal with the devil, rather. A deal with the most despicable of them all, but what other choice?

Behead herself, or walk into the sun? Did she have the willpower for that again? To know she would die for good? Did she really want to cease to exist? Who would remember her?

Dōma?

‘As I love you’

The words meant nothing to her, she knew they were false. He wasn’t capable of love, he admitted to her he felt utterly nothing. How wrong, she would be if she knew the truth of it all.

Of course, this wasn’t love, as anyone would describe it. But it was love, in some shape or form. If your heat beat, in excitement for someone- did it not mean something? When it would never beat at all?

“Devote yourself to me, as I’ve devoted myself to you, how romantic it’d be no?

If we both helped saving those poor innocent souls..”

He meant reviling in slaughter.

“You’d be my wife, at my side. All would envy you, as your beauty knows no bounds. No harm would ever come to you, you’d do as please. The world would be yours, you just have to..love me”

His words were like programming.

Perhaps this was his plan all along, to break her into two, to make her a doll devoid of anything at all. To suck the innocence out of her heart and mind- create a monster equal to him.

She wondered, if her life would be better. If she simply did, just say she loved him. Perhaps the hate would dissipate, perhaps he’d treat her better. Perhaps she wouldn’t be a toy any more, to play with and break apart at his will. A familiar pit in her stomach grew, fear. Fear of the unknown

Perhaps he wouldn’t keep her here, against her will- but was it even against her will any more? She had many opportunities to leave, forever. Yet she never did. Because she always knew, she only had him. What life, if bound by solitude?

But what life, if bound by the devils grasp?

That was the devils gamble

One hell or the other.

His eyes peered into hers, tilting her chin up with his index finger- her eyes slowly lifting to meet his gaze.

He was awaiting her answer, she knew. And she knew deep down, what her choice was. The only choice she ever had.

“Okay..” Was all she could muster out, a weak simple word.

“Okay, what?” There was that, absence of emotion once again.

“I…”

His smile, retuned though it took much more of a sinister look to it.

“will..love you..” A tear rolled down her face,  Dōma simply rubbed it into her skin.

“Until death do us part..” He hummed, with excitement.

What was hate, without love?

It would be meaningless.

Dōma placed a kiss on YN’s head, relishing the contact.

She knows she’s made a mistake. But, it doesn’t take that much to break someone apart, and put them back together to your liking. Her words never meant anything to him, her screaming and crying was simply background sound. A deal with the devil to even grasp a fraction of solitude- she could only envy his followers, a sweet release of death.

But she was so afraid of it. Her body felt utterly weak, as if it no longer belonged to her.  Dōma instantly took notice.

“You poor thing, let’s have you rest hm?” He gently guided her to lay down, her head on his lap. He hummed and stroked it. In a moment like this,  she would have thought him to be a kind man- as he desperately tries to make her believe, but she knew better. She had seen him, covered in blood that was alien to him and corpses surrounding him like trophies, as he feasted. All the smell, had attracted a lower demon, who had tried to start a turf war over her meal- Dōma had quickly ended the altercation, with a new head to gift Gyokko; as he told her.

Oh

She suddenly peered her eyes open, to remember the state she was in, covered in blood.

It had even stained her hair, she looked up to Dōma who was already looking at her- to be met with a familiar sight. Even now, he always reminded her of herself as his hair had taken the same gruesome look as well. “Tell me, what are you thinking?” He asked, gently- his smile warm though it was only a facade. “I can’t stand having your blood on me like this” She spoke quietly yet the disgust in her words remained. She slowly got up from his lap, feeling obviously groggy. “Oh dear! Aren’t husbands and wives supposed to share their bodily fluids?” He raised a finger up in question, but he was only teasing- he knew better. And her face only grew more disgusted at both the statement and the sentiment of ‘husband and wife’.

We aren’t even married.

“I’m going to bathe.”  She changed the subject yet before she could completely slip out of Dōma’s grasp, he grabbed onto her wrist. “Oh, but I’d like to come.” He smiled, innocently- but it wasn’t an innocent smile at all. In truth, YN wouldn’t have cared. Many before have seen her naked body,  Dōma has probably spied on her before, she didn’t care- yet she knew where this was going. He wanted to ‘seal the deal’. Even though, he had no pleasure in the activity, he wanted her to be pleased with his capacities to pleasure, he couldn’t have her looking for another demon now, could he? “I’d like some time to myself, Dōma” She explained, with a gentle voice- she would simply match his facade. The hate would, one day dissipate, wouldn’t it? Had he eternally punished her? Or was he her saving grace? She was at an internal fight.

“Oh, but you’re so tired! That was some fight!” He knew no bounds, so she accepted.

As he stood, his head once again met the crook of her neck, where his teeth lightly grazed the surface. “You know,” He paused. His breath hitting her skin.

“I really think..I do love you.”

It wasn’t love, it never will be.

final part

"“I would feed my heart to you, if you just asked, my love.”"

The thunder crackled throughout the black clouds and ashen sky, a mirky smell of humidity to accompany it. Every animal had already fled back to it’s designated den, and every little critter had hidden behind various rocks stones and trees. They all hid for a reason, they all hid from something.

That was mother nature, that was the way of life.

YN sat on the makeshift stone bench, watching the clouds get darker and angrier. How she understood those clouds all too well. There was always a sensation of peace, and calmness before a storm rolled in- she had sat all afternoon observing it. Yet, even through that serenity, there’s a slight whiff of something sinister. It’s hard to catch it, not all can sense it. But it’s there, lurking and forming. How it mirrored her heart so. She had became herself again, observant and thoughtful, curious and artistic. How it pleased the devil she housed with. He was so content, that she regained her beauty, her liveness- but especially that her love for him did not falter.

Though, even now she wondered if she truly loved him with all her heart, or if it was fear- fear of solitude, of death.

So, she chose to love him. In some shape of form, touching somebody’s body in the name of love, is still love. Doing favours and tasks, conversing and bathing- it was enough for him. After all, the only thing that mattered to him, was the conversing. She didn’t lose her humanity, tears would still prickle her eyes as she ate her meals- Dōma would simply laugh and tease her. But he wanted to understand, and she helped him. She helped him understand emotions he couldn’t fathom to comprehend. But one still escaped her, explaining love. She had tried, yet she didn’t comprehend it herself entirely. For Dōma, his love showed itself violently yet also gracefully. He had already killed in her name, on multiple occasions, but he’d also bathe her body so tenderly- as if his palms weren’t stained with the blood of thousands. She had grown accustomed to that sentiment. Allowing a killer to touch her, to stroke her hair, to whisper soft words in her ear- but was she not the same now? Was she not also a killer? She did it because she had to survive, like all creatures- but she had became his creature. All who knew this, knew she was his weakness.

A weakness he made, that he allowed- for the simple craving of what he could never have.

But that’s how it usually works, isn’t it?

Envious for something you cannot obtain, cannot have.

His eyes, always peered to hers. And that gentle smile, only ever faltered for her.

She had grown to accept Dōma, for being this way. It was strange, if someone said to her now- that he was a brutal killer, and a monster. She wouldn’t disagree, but she would still fight in his name; How strange it was, to spend so much time by someone’s side that you would still pick them over a warm heart, and not a cold one. But, being around coldness makes you used to it- the warmth begins to burn. And this was true vice versa, but Dōma didn’t think the heat burned, no. Instead, he fantasied about the touch. Like a moth attracted to a flame, her heart was his saving grace.

He truly did feel something for her.

Time had become irrelevant, she did not know how long she had been at the temple- she did not know how long she had known Dōma now. Yet, it did not matter, because old age would escape her now as it would him.

Together, for eternity, as he’d say

She took in a deep breath, the humidity entering her lungs. A solitary bird, flew over the court yard- and she couldn’t help to wonder what that felt like. To be free, to go wherever you want, to not be plagued with the mind of a thinker.

Dōma appeared from behind her, he bent over to her height to place a kiss on her cheek.

“I’ve been looking for you all over, my love.” He smiled.

She didn’t reply, instead she kept her gaze up at the sky. Dōma’s followed, the colours in his eyes seeming more dim than usual.

As he sat down, his hand travelled along her thigh, moving his thumb in a circular motion. YN’s eyes didn’t falter from the sky. She never knew what he wanted, he was a man, or more so devil, incapable of understanding.

“If I died, what would you do?” Suddenly, Dōma spoke. The question itself made YN’s eyes jump to his face, and without a surprise, she was met with utter nothingness.

“Why would you ask such a question?” Her voice was quiet and meek. Not because the subject of death itself bothered her but because she, in truth, was utterly afraid of what she would do. Her entire existence revolved around him. As a human, she had no family and no understanding of her place in the world- taught to simply serve men and nothing more. It was a skill of survival not of life. Yet, regardless of what he had done to her- forcing her to come to his sanctuary with him, breaking her apart for his own amusement and satisfaction- he had never touched her without her permission. He had never taken advantage of her, nor had he ever put her in any real danger apart from herself. If he hurt her, he made sure it was a lesson and not a beating. Though, she had hurt him too. It was simply how their love worked, there cannot be hate without love- and there cannot be hate without violence. If he died, she would have no meaning whatsover. She didn’t have friends. She didn’t relate to the cultists who believed in a God who didn’t exist, whom was dead. And if he was real, he certainly laughed at their pity and despair. She didn’t relate to them at all, because she was in fact not human any more. It was an aspect she often forgot, and her creator, before her- had been the one to teach her everything she knew. How could she not have some sort of pact with him? Regardless of the hate she had buried deep within her, regardless of the lies she told herself. That was life, that survival. And he didn’t care, because words, were just words. And actions, were just actions.

She swallowed.

“I don’t know.”

“Would you find someone else?” He asked, his gaze turning to hers. His eyes would always become so dull, and it never made her fail to realise, how utterly vacant he was.

“No.” She answered truthfully. Because, the raw and hard truth was, she couldn’t ever love someone again. Not because of some hidden morals but because he had destroyed the meaning. His love was so violent yet so tender at the same time, any other form would seem meaningless and empty to her. It wouldn’t be love to her anymore. All the screaming and all the blood would accompany all the nights spent with nails in her thighs and sweet little nothings in her ear. How, could she even possibly fathom to find, such a distasteful love ever again?

Yet she wouldn’t have it either way, and neither would he.

Dōma didn’t answer, he turned his gaze back to the sky. The question had spawned worry in YN.

Did he do it on purpose?

Or was he genuinely curious?

“Are you afraid of dying?” She finally mustered out, her hand rested itself on his- to which he stopped his movements.

“No.”

“Yet, I’m afraid of you dying.”

The statement didn’t surprise her, instead it filled with her an odd sense of false security. No matter how violent and toxic he was, he would protect her- but maybe just not from him.

Soon, the droplets of rain began to fall.

Without another word, Dōma had gently guided YN to her feet, and his hand met her lower back before he leaned down to her ear.

“If you did die, I’d kill myself to join you.”

Her heart had skipped a beat for a moment.

The statement itself didn’t shock her but the tone he had used. It had a certain animosity to it, it wasn’t devoid of emotion but it didn’t exactly have any either.

That was when that pit of fear begun to emerge in her stomach again.

Fear of the unknown.

She was right to have observed the storm rolling in, because something had changed.

But, as they entered the temple- she was suddenly remembered of his words long ago.

“Until death do us part.”

Did he mean that, literally?

Did he know something she didn’t?

Was he planning to kill her? Or was he ordered to? Or was he simply in a bad mood?

If he was going to kill her, she’d rather know than not. He could atleast have the decency to give her the mental preparation , though he always was a selfish man- even in bed. Which was quite ironic considering he didn’t even care for it but saw it as more of a hobby.

Lost in thought, she had failed to realise he had guided them to their bedroom. It was odd, considering prayer time was soon and the two would be expected to make an appearance.

Before she could speak, she was met with his cold lips against hers. It wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t exactly passionate either. It was hungry.

For Dōma, the heat that radiated off of her lips was almost intoxicating. They weren’t cold like his, her heart constantly beat, with fire and warmth. How she resembled him so, yet not at the same time. In truth, he had done this on purpose. He had orchestrated the entire thing. He already knew, who she was before he found her almost dead. After all, he was the one who impaled her.

But she didn’t know that, and she didn’t need to know.

The entire reasoning of it all was for a simple reason.

A life long partner.

Although he didn’t understand love and affection, he wasn’t oblivious to social cues. He knew nobody truly actually liked him. And his devoted followers loved him because they were told to.

But he could force someone to love him, couldn’t he? Afterall that was what that woman had told him, when he sought counselling on his troubles. Of course, her good advice now lays in the bowels of his stomach.

So, he had stalked for a partner.

The entertainment district, had truly never failed to amaze him. There were all kinds of people, and beautiful women- he just had to choose wisely- and he did at that. It was a rarity for him to have bad taste after all.

In truth, he knew everything about her before she even knew of his existence.

He knew she had no family, no ties to the outside world- that she was born into this work and never truly knew what love was. It was easy, he just had to make her believe this was love because he was incapable of showing it any other way.

He had found her to be quite exquisite, and he had already noticed that fire inside of her. The warmth that he had been looking for, for a century.

His mother was unable to give it to him, and another woman failed at it- she would be the last option. If she failed, he would kill himself entirely. He had decided.

He would die in a battle, he knew that.

Regardless, before he died- he wanted to know what love felt like. He was always so cold, he had become numb to it and although she was the same breed of monster he was now, she wasn’t so cold.

He knew he’d have to break her into two to make her love him

He knew, he’d have to lie and deceive her- but did he ever claim to not be the devil?

After all, he is cunning but also beautiful- and he once was an angel.

Perhaps this was a pointless fight, to be fighting for something that he will never truly obtain- but he’s had everything he’s ever wanted apart from that.

He didn’t care for walking in the sun or power

He revelled in slaughter because it made him feel something and likewise now, he could only fall under the spell she had put under him.

His hands travelled up her waist and down to her hip bone before he lightly bit at her bottom lip.

What would she say, if she knew?

She was so erratic, maybe she would kill herself. Afterall she tried it once before, who’s to say she wouldn’t again? She would leave him wouldn’t she? Why would she not? Everyone else had.

Everyone he had ever taken a liking to, would simply leave.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have turned her into a demon in the first place

Maybe he wasn’t deserving of love

“Dōma?”

Suddenly, his mind wandered back to reality. It was not often that he zoned out, after all, he was so perceptive- yet when it came to her, he became a man he didn’t even recognise.

He hadn’t even noticed, that he placed her onto the bed, and loomed over her. He had kissed her neck before abruptly stopping and his gaze becoming devoid of any emotion.

“What’s wrong?”

How funny it was, he thought. That she cared

His signature smile returned, as his slightly closed yet were still open enough to see those multicoloured eyes.

“Nothing at all, my love- since you’re here with me” He whispered, and placed another kiss on the crane of her neck before moving to her collarbone before he was met with a rather violent pull of his hair which led him for just a moment- to widen his eyes.

“First, you ask me such a ridiculous question, then this, and then you just suddenly gaze into nothing. Explain yourself.” Her voice had broke, she wasn’t upset but worried and dumbfounded.

He always kept her emotions in disarray.

Should he tell her?

Would it be proof of her love if he did?

That he had in fact orchestrated the entire thing?

One of his hands reached up to her cheek, as he stroked it lightly.

“Do you remember, how we met?” He asked, gently.

“When you..kidnapped me?” She scoffed, looking back at the memory it was foggy and blurry. A reminder of a previous life, a life where she still didn’t have any freedom.

“Hm, yes I suppose..for you..that’s how we met.” His tone became cold.

“..?..”

“That monster, that you had seen- it was me, my dear.”

“I was the one that caused the city to become ruin.”

She was met with horror as distant memories suddenly became anew.

She had shoved them to the back of her head, she hadn’t once thought about what she had seen.

Only the flames, were describable but not the other horrors.

The way the other girls were screaming and crying as pillars of wood fell and the smell of copper filled the halls. Mutated legs and arms scattered around the building like children’s toys.

And the sudden golden tinted fan that had her in her chest before she fell from the window.

It was in an effort to catch her.

Her mouth grew dry.

She had understood now, why their first encounter was so strange. He didn’t decide to keep her on a whim, he had decided long before. He had caused the city to burn, for her. In an effort to break her, to have her. To make her believe that he was her saviour, her god.

“..What..”

What, was the only word she could muster out as Dōma shadowed over her.

His eyes had a glint in them, they weren’t so dim. As if he was glad to have the lie between them finally revealed, as if they growing anew- as if this would be true love.

“I had seen you, quite a few months back- walking home after working.”

He smiled

“Oh, it was quite funny, you didn’t even see the poor girl I was feasting on..”

His canines shined under the small luminosity that housed the room

“But, you just caught my eye. You were so beautiful! And just so lost in your own mind, it was exactly what I was looking for! I had to know more.”

He bent down now, cheerfully and joyous as he placed a toothy kiss to her neck.

Goosebumps filled her body.

“You..stalked me.. and then burnt the entire fucking city to the ground?”

Her voice broke again, she was dumbfounded? Afraid?

Horrified was more the word for it.

“And I would burn the world, just for you.

You didn’t need that city, what good did it do? It only harmed you, my love.”

He pleaded his case.

“You were exactly what I was looking for, intelligent and creative yet you had this striking beauty to you, though the sadness and despair wasn’t something I had ignored either- I wanted to save you, you poor thing.” He whispered into her ear, yet the words meant nothing- it only fuelled the sickening feeling in her stomach.

“You..manipulated me..?” Her voice had grown quiet, tears now threatening the corners of her eyes.

“Oh, YN. You were always so exquisite when you cried.” Dōma approached his mouth to her left eye, before gently licking the corner.

It filled her with disgust.

“You..took everything away from me..and then denied me death just..for-..for-” YN couldn’t finish the sentence before a muffled sob escaped her mouth.

“Took everything away..? You never had anything in the first place..

I gave you everything you’d ever need” He stroked his thumb on her cheek.

She wanted to tell him to get out, to scream at him and to cry and sob.

After all this time, she had been so stupid

She had ignored the simple truth, because she had already known.

Yet, she couldn’t accept it, because she had nobody else.

The hate had dissipated, for the simple reason of lying to herself.

Dōma now telling her and affirming her suspensions all along, all in some sick and twisted way of proving his love to her made her realise, that what she had grown to love was a monster, and would only ever be a monster.

He didn’t just kidnap her, he destroyed everything in his path to make sure she had nothing else to return to. That he would be the only thing she would have, turning him into the same creature that he was, into the same monstrosity- was assurance.

He didn’t manipulate her in his mind, he simply bent the truth.

Stalking was such a big word, he had only just learnt every single detail about her before making his move. Was that normal? He wanted results, not failure.

Her muffled sobs brought a grin to his face, an erratic one. He always did like to see her cry, it reminded him that she still had her humanity- that she was still so different from him.

He approached her ear with a sweet shushing sound as if to soothe her.

“I even kept their bodies, in case you ever missed them”

“...you’re fucking sick” YN finally managed to muster out, with a cry to accompany it.

“If being in love with you makes me sick, then so be it!” He cheerfully smiled

“This isn’t love!” She tried to push him off, but he was stronger. He always was. He pinned both of her wrists down with one arm- his veins making an appearance.

“You don’t think I love you, YN?” Dōma masqueraded a look of sadness before a golden fan met his free his hand, with a swift movement, it opened.

“Do you want me to prove to you, that I do?”

His voice became devoid of any emotion.

Before YN could answer, or even comprehend his sudden act- she was met with a gush of blood hitting her face.

A small empty laugh filled her ears and as she looked, she realised he had slit his throat open- the fan was still impaled into his neck and was making it’s way through the bone deeper.

“I love you so much I’d be prepared to die for you, are you?”

Before she could react, the fan had already met her neck.

She whimpered as it slightly cut her skin- though he hadn’t cut her nearly as deep as he had cut himself.

His skin had already begin to heal.

“There shouldn’t be any lies between us, my love. If you died, I’d go utterly insane.”

“Please..get off of me.” She whimpered as her white hair and porcelain skin was now stained with his blood. Though, he himself didn’t care. Instead, he shoved another kiss on her lips. This time it was rough, a mixture of the taste of blood and saliva pooled the two’s mouths as he harshly bit at her lip. In an effort to make him stop even for just a moment, she bit him back yet this caused absolutely no reaction at all and seemed to just fuel his blood lust further.

He pretended to be a kind man when in truth, he was nothing but hell itself among mortals.

“What does it matter?” He finally breathed into her mouth.

“It was so long ago now, hm?” He stroked her hair, his own fingers stained with crimson red.

“It matters because you killed everyone that I knew! You burnt my home to ash!” She cried out

“Had you not said, you had lived a life of a misery?” He tilted his head, to which YN was met with silence in her own mind.

She had said that, hadn’t she.

“Did I not give you a somewhat better life? Regardless of my past actions? As they say, let’s not cry over spoiled milk, my dear.”

“..Why..”

Dōma reflected for a moment

“Does it matter?” He asked, emotionless.

It didn’t, she had concluded.

It didn’t matter, because regardless she was stuck here. She wouldn’t leave, she knew she wouldn’t. She was stuck within the devils grasp- and he wasn’t letting go.

Deep down, maybe she knew the answer. But it didn’t matter.

It never did, because in truth, she would most likely die from her hand- and him his own.

It was a story that was never bound to have a happy ending.

After all, their entire existence was against the codes of nature and so was this so called love.

“I would feed my heart to you, if you just asked, my love.”

She wished, she had killed herself that day.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Your wish is my command!

(There's less comfort here and more hurt than I planned, and then the sexual tension snuck in, oh my ...)

A deal with the devil

Rated: T

Words: 980

Tags: Pirate AU; Pirate Eddie; castaway Steve; Billy Hargrove being an asshole; Steve Harrington whump; dehydration; non-consensual bondage; sexual tension; sexual innuendo

The water runs out before the first day is through.

They gave him a single skin of it. That, and a blunt knife to ward off the sharks.

“To tide you over until you find land or a kind soul to aid you,” Hargrove winked, patting his cheek as the boat began to lower. “I'm not a monster, pretty boy.”

Steve said nothing. There is no land for hundreds of miles. They passed the last ship three days ago. They both knew this.

He refused to touch the water at first, even as the sun burnt his skin and his tongue began to feel like a piece of cotton in his mouth. He knew it would only prolong the inevitable. But the human instinct for survival is a dumb thing, and with the sun at its zenith and the ocean blurring into the sky all around him, he eventually pressed the skin to his cracked lips, emptying it with three greedy gulps.

He doesn’t know how long ago that was. It feels like weeks, even though the rational part of him knows it can't have been more than a day or two. He's been drifting in and out of consciousness, though, and it's hard to tell.

Not like it matters, he thinks, staring up at the deadly white disk overhead. He should shut his lids against the glare, but he can't even muster the energy to blink. His eyes should water from the light, but there's no liquid left in him. All he can do is lie here and hope that it will be quick now.

He slips into dreams. Voices filling his ears. A cold shadow enveloping him. Hands cradling him, combing sweat-soaked hair from his forehead. Dark hair billowing around a pale, pretty face, like seaweed. A siren come to pull him into the depths, he thinks deliriously, to drag him into his wet grave and devour his flesh.

He doesn't mind.

It will be cool under the sea.

*

When he opens his eyes again, he's confused at first. Purgatory looks a lot different from what he expected. He thought there'd be fire, not linen pillows and brocade curtains. He also thought it'd smell like smoke and burning skin, not like wood and sea salt and gunpowder.

Steve shoots up with a strangled shout. The wet cloth on his forehead slips and lands next to the bed.

He's not in purgatory. He's on a ship. In the captain's quarters, if the curtained bed and lush carpets are anything to go by.

He's also been cuffed to the bed by one wrist.

His free hand instinctively gropes for the knife in his boot, only to find that it's gone.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

He freezes.

There's a man in the armchair beside the bed. Steve didn’t notice him before, because he was reclining into the cushions, but now he's leaning forward, dark eyes watching Steve from under a wide-brimmed hat. The rings on his fingers glint as he stacks his hands, resting his chin on them. Balanced between his fingers is the knife.

“That's mine,” Steve blurts. “Give it back.”

The man laughs.

“I saved your life out there, darling, be a little more grateful. I usually take a lot more from the vessels I encounter.”

Steve's stomach drops. Because now that the fog is slowly lifting from his mind, the man looks familiar. He's seen that face before, staring back at him from wanted posters in port towns.

“You're Edward Munson,” he mutters. “The pirate.”

“That's me,” Munson swoops into a bow. “Welcome aboard the Hellfire. Now, who do I have the pleasure with?”

Steve bites his bottom lip. That grin goes just a little wider.

“Nevermind,” Munson purrs. “I think I know.”

Steve remains silent, hoping the hammering of his racing heart will not betray him.

“The Marines are looking for a boy matching your description,” Munson continues, cleaning his nails with the knife. “Governor's son. Made off with one of daddy's ships to play pirates, it's the talk of-”

“No idea what you mean,” Steve snaps. “I'm a simple sailor who was in a shipwreck, I-”

Munson scoffs. “Alright then, sailor. Tell me why I shouldn't just turn you over? That reward is handsome, I could make good use of it.”

“Except you won't,” Steve says, and now it's his turn to measure the other man with a smug smile. “Can't spend that money without a head.”

Munson sighs.

“I just want a nice, easy life,” he whines theatrically. “What's wrong with that? You rob a few ships, seize a treasure or two, and suddenly people are out for your life. And yet, somehow, I am the abominable one here, imagine that!”

Steve stares at him. Munson clears his throat.

“Anyhow,” he then says. “Don't think I'll let you laze around in my bed forever. You want to stay, you apply yourself like everybody else.”

Steve wants to tell him to go fuck himself, but somehow that doesn't seem smart. Not with his only weapon in the guy's hand and nothing but water around them for days.

“Fine,” he grumbles. “I'll apply myself. I can mop the deck, help out in the kitchen, whatever you-”

Munson waves him off. “Nah, I got people for that.”

Steve scowls. “Then what-”

One ring-clad hand touches his jaw and the words die on his tongue.

“Don't worry, sweetheart,” Munson winks at him. “We'll find something for you to do. Something to make my life just a little bit nicer and easier, right?”

Steve bites his tongue so hard he tastes copper, and nods. He only needs to hold out until they get to land and he can figure out a way to get his ship back.

If he needs to sell his soul to the Devil of the Hellfire to accomplish that, so be it.

Something, something, they fuck about it, fall in love, kick Billy's ass and take back Steve's ship, they become pirate husbands, the end.

More celebration ficlets

[sleepyxxhead]

How do you think The Teachers would react to a student, whose quirk drawback is that they're slowly shortening their lifespan every time they use it (technically dying lol), but they never told anyone about it? not even their parents? Anyhow- Ignore this if u aren't comfy w/ it <:

A/n: omg this is such a good idea :’) tell me if you guys want a part 2 with more teachers or just other characters :))

Genres: comfort

Synopsis: When a student is slowly dying due to usage of their quirk, how will UA Teachers react?

Characters: Aizawa Shota (Eraser Head) | Yagi Toshinori (All Might) | Yamada Hizashi (Present Mic) 

You’ve wanted to be a Pro-Hero ever since you were little!

It’s always been your dream and it’s what drives you to do well in class and stuff :))

Your quirk allows you to enhance others’ quirks for certain periods of time

If you touch someone with your hands, you can strengthen them and make their quirk stronger as well

It lasts until you shut it off

However, the more you use it, the shorter your lifespan

You can feel everytime your lifespan shortens and it’s agonizingly painful

You don’t know how much is taken off of your life every time you use it

“Todoroki-san! Come here!” you called to your classmate. Class 1-A was in the middle of even more survival training. It was similar to the survival training that they had completed before, however they were separated into even smaller groups in an ever more dangerous setting. You had been put into a group with Todoroki, Sero, and Tsuyu. 

You had already gotten to the mannequin your group was supposed to be saving, but there was a fire closing in on you. Your only hope was Todoroki, but he was worn down and the ring of fire that surrounded you was impossibly large. The smoke in the air was burning your lungs, causing you and your group to cough and wheeze.

You grabbed Todoroki’s shoulder in a hurry, lungs yearning to escape from this cage of flames. “Y/n-san, no!” 

Despite your classmate’s warning, you immediately activated your quirk, channeling all the energy you could into the boy. Suddenly, a familiar pain boiled in your chest, causing your whole body to ache and writhe in pain. You screamed out, holding on tight to Todoroki, knowing that you’d collapse without the support.

“Todoroki-san!” you practically begged your classmate, starting to feel lightheaded from the searing pain. You felt the temperature drop, crisp air biting your nose and fingers.

Your vision started to blur as your shuddered, letting go of Todoroki’s shoulders and dropping to your knees. “Y/n!” 

₊ ⊹ Aizawa would be very concerned after you passed out (he cares sm about his students ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝), thinking that you were overworking yourself and just needed to rest. He approached you to talk about it and he noticed you acting kind of weird. You thought he had already caught on and was going to confront you about removing you from the hero course; but, he actually didn’t know until he noticed you acting weird. He’d ask you if anything’s wrong and then you’d like burst out and say something super concerning (which this is concerning but like-) like “I’M DYING AIZAWA-SENSEI .·°՞(≧□≦)՞°·.!! ” And he’d be so stunned like “W-what-?” He’d ask you a couple questions but then he’d realize that he needed to calm you down first. After coming to this realization, he’d put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. Then you guys would have a long conversation over some tea <3

₊ ⊹ All-Might would also think you’re just overexerting yourself when you pass out. He would come to see you in the nurse’s office (because you’re one of his favorite students ᕙ(  •̀ ᗜ •́  )ᕗ!!) He wouldn’t really notice anything else wrong with you, so he’d tell you something like “just rest up and you’ll be back in no time, young y/n 👍” but then you end up feeling guilty so you confess to him that your quirk is killing you. He’d be so shocked and he’d feel so bad for you because you want to become a hero so, so bad but you can’t if your quirk is killing you. He sees himself and Midoriya in you because you all wanted to become heroes and were basically all hopeless. However, he feels very guilty because he can’t help you like he did with Midoriya. He ends up just listening to you talk until he’s told he has to leave so you can sleep.

₊ ⊹ As Present Mic’s favorite student, of course he had to pay you a very long and loud visit in the nurse’s office. You’re thinking about telling him about your quirk, so you’re not really listening to everything he’s saying. Meanwhile, he’s too busy talking to notice at first, but when he realizes you aren’t laughing at his puns like usual, he’ll be like “What’s wrong, favorite student??” You’d tell him and start crying because you feel so frustrated and crushed. Then he’d be like “Hey, it’s okay. Look at me. You will always be my absolute favorite student!” to which you can’t help but laugh. He’d just spend the rest of his visit trying to make you laugh and feel better and he leaves all of the hard stuff (like removing you from the hero course and shit) to Aizawa ( • ̀ω•́ )✧

A/n: sorry that’s all! ALSO, I’M SO SO SO SO SORRY THIS TOOK THAT LONG OML IM S O S O R R Y!! Anyways if you guys want this with more characters go ahead and request away :) I don’t have any requests rn so I’m just going to focus on other WIPs I have 👍 (TY FOR YOUR PATIENCE)

have a nice day cutie <33

dividers by: @cafekitsune

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