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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month ago

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Precarious 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, arranged marriage, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you're forced to leave the pages of your books and face reality.

This is part of the Three Sisters for Three Misters AU (this reader is know as Wren)

Characters: Loki

Note: Here is the second one!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You don’t know when your perch grew so uncomfortable but it is preferable to the alternative. You lean against the trunk, legs hooked around the thick branch for balance, as you delve into a world not your own. You build the pillars in your mind, paint the vivid landscapes, and mold the characters into silhouettes. Fiction has always been much more interesting than reality. And safer.

Still, your denial is a hefty a shield as those pages. Neither can protect you from the inevitable. The hours tick away on your watch and countdown to your fate.

The bell will soon toll with the screech of your mother’s voice. She will be certain to sniff you out of your nest. You sigh wistfully and close the book. How many hours had you wiled away just like that? How many days had you spent ignorant to your own freedom? It is all coming to an end, though can’t truly say you ever lived outside captivity. Yet, what you know is always better than the unknown.

Your brow twitches and you rub it to calm the tight muscle. You nearly knock your round glasses off in the process. As you straighten them, you can already hear your mother’s remonstrance. ‘Why don’t you wear your contacts? We spent all that money on them.’

Well, mother, they make my eyes burn.

Like everything else, you keep the gripe inside. She never cares when you do speak up. Only your sisters care and they’re just as powerless as you.

Some might say you’re spoiled. Ungrateful, even. Look at what you were born into. Not everyone has a nice house and fancy cars and sprawling lawns. Oh, and don’t forget that title. You have one of those too. Well, no one ever asked you if you want all that. They just put the mantle on your shoulders so you could stagger under its weight.

The familiar lurch of the front gates draws you from your spite. You dread that sound more than anything. It means there’s a guest and you were never one for people.

You duck to see through the leaves and watch the car roll through the gates. The older model is painted a shade of robin’s egg that sticks out even at a distance. You sit up and check your watch. It’s very early still, yet, you don’t have much time at all. Not as it keeps on rolling by.

You tuck your book in your sweater and tuck in the hem to keep it from slipping. You turn to scale down the trunk, careful as you lower yourself to the next branch and the next, before gently dropping into the grass. You stand and adjust your glasses as you try to track the vehicle’s advance towards the house.

You hug your book through the wool of your sweater and sprint across the lawn. You stay behind the hedges and the spiked shrubs around the front of the house. You duck behind the plinth that holds a full-bellied vase of lilies.

You peek out from behind the stone as you watch the blond man step out of the car. He peers up at the facade as he shades his gaze from the sunlight. It’s a nice day for the worst of your life.

He’s tall and his golden hair has a subtle wave, even combed back neatly. He wears a brown suit with a plaid pattern in a tan tint, and he stands with fearless determination. He measures the house. He does not see a future wife, he sees the riches waiting.

You skirt around behind the greenery and enter through the side door before you can be spotted. The hubbub of the cooks and the maids overshadows your covert quest. Even as the second-born daughter of a prestigious family, you go unnoticed. You scurry up your stairs as your father’s voice booms from behind you. He isn’t calling for you, he never does.

You hurry down the hallway and the book slips from your sweater as the bottom pulls loose from your waistband. You push your glasses up into your hair as they slip down your nose. You catch the novel and press it under your arm as you charge towards Chicky’s door. You let yourself in without knocking, breathless as you slam yourself against the other side.

Your sisters turn to you in surprise, your own must be just as plain. You only expected one, not both.

“I saw one,” you blurt out.

“Saw one?” Chicky, your younger sister, repeats back.

You shush her and storm away from the door.

“He’s tall. Blond. Look.” You point to the window, hoping he has yet to breach the walls.

Your sisters glance at each other then behind them. Chicky stands and she goes with Kestral to look. You hover near the vanity and glance your reflection. Oh, you are a mess. You pull a leaf from your hair and glower. And you are to meet your betrothed today?

“Oh, wow, that is typical,” Kestral sneers. “An antique car. Well, Wren, you should hope he’s yours then. By the looks of it, he’ll spend more time with that beast than you.”

You squeak and shake your head, swaying on your feet so you almost topple. The thought makes your stomach bubble. You scrunch up your face and put your book again your chest.

“Mm, he has manners. He is chatting rather intently with Reginald.” Kestral says.

You frown at the mention of the valet. He is so nosy.

“Yes, Reginald can be rather chatty,” you mutter. Chicky tilts coyly. You’re not sure why.

“Well, Kes,” Chicky says as she turns to you, “you said you asked around. What did you hear?”

The question makes your heart knot even if you are just as curious, though rather scared, to hear the answer.

“Like I said, gossip is rarely useful.” Kestral gives a long sigh. “Mine, Conrad… he’s not much history in ‘society’,” she gives a lilt to the words with a gesture, “from what I’ve gathered, he comes from a well to do family. I heard more of his brother than him. Frustratingly mysterious.”

She sounds as aggravated as her words suggest. She sits on the bed with folded arms. “then there’s Laufeyson,” the name sends a shiver through you. You remember when you first heard it spoke. Your father’s demands echo in your head. ‘You will do as I bid.’ As ever father.

“He does have quite the reputation,” she continues. “A tricky man. I’m not entirely sure why mother and father chose him but no offense, Wrenny, you are a middle child.”

You blink dolefully, “Mm, I’d say better than no one but no one sounds rather nice.”

Chicky giggles. She always finds things so funny. You wish you could be like her. That anything could make you so happy.

“And me?” your younger sister prompts.

“Pine, proper gentleman by my measure. Never as toe out of line. No mystery. No scandal. He sounds like he was created in a factory.”

“Boring?” Chicky wonders.

It’s all boring and it’s all terrifying. You trace the edge of the book with your fingernail and rock. Their voices haze together as you try to imagine what your life will be. It’s right there, closer by the minute, but you just can’t imagine it. You can’t imagine the man who you’ll spend your life with.

You squeak at the very thought of him seeing you. What will he think? And after that? You’re expected to… to… oh my. No, you could never.

“Wren,” Kestral’s voice snaps you back, “you can take all your book and add a thousand more to your shelves. You could build yourself a castle and lock yourself away to read forever. And Chicky, you just be you. Go out shooting or dancing or shopping. As long as our duty is met, we will be free. Truly. No more mother, no more father. We will laugh in their faces and say ‘no’.”

“I hope you’re right,” Chicky speaks your thoughts aloud.

You don’t believe she is right, though. You don’t see it happening. As much as you would love to build a little hermitage, you don’t think any husband will stand for that. Even if your father would rather swallow glass than spend time alone with your mother, they still make their appearances. Together.

“So, Wren, you look ready to meet your beloved,” Kestral teases.

You blanch, “oh. Sorry. I... was reading.”

“You? Reading?” She chuckles. “I’m only kidding. But if you want me to work on your hair, I think I might have you looking a kitten rather than a lion.”

“Hm, yes, maybe,” your brow spasms again and you nearly slap your glasses off trying to stop it.

“What are you wearing then?” Chicky asks.

“Um, clothes. Er. They’re in my room,” you shrug.

“Well, yes, I would hope,” she smirks.

“Sorry,” you apologise again.

“I’ve got to fetch my dress, might I get yours as well?” Kestral offers as she stands.

You shake your head, “that’s fine. I’ll... I’ll figure it out on my own.”

You turn for the door and she calls after you again, “we’re your sisters, you know? If you need anything... well, we’re in this together, aren’t we?”

“Sure, uh, yes,” you murmur over your shoulder as you clasp the door handle. “See you at dinner.”

“See you...” Kestral drones in disappointment as Chicky clucks.

You inch open the door and peek out before you plunge into the hallway. You hurry down to your room and hide inside. You just need time to think. Get yourself straight.

You check the mirror on the wall. Ugh! Your hair. Your face. Your everything.

You go into the en suite bathroom and rinse your face. You moisturise with the tinted lotion Kestral gifted you and scrape your lashes with mascara. Ugh. You hate painting yourself up like a doll. So you keep it minimal; lotion, lashes, lips.

You pop back into your room and pull out your chosen attire. Your mother approved after you moped her into submission. All the dresses she showed you had you turning your shoulder to you. She finally relented and let you choose something less... risque.

The pattern of the silk reminds you of an empress you read about. The blue and gold pair well and the red patches add some depth. The pantsuit is as comfortable as you’ll be given the circumstances.

You’re not like Kestral. You can’t pull off elegance, and you’re far from cute, like Chicky. You’re just yourself. That fact is not a happy one for your parents. You’re not sure it’ll be any more endearing to the stranger you’ll call your husband.

You put it on and tie up the belt. You have some bronze heels to match and a satin band to try to rein in your hair. The sapphire on the headband adds a touch of shine to appease your mother. When you look at yourself all done up, you’re still not ready.

You wonder if that blond man is the one you’re expected to wed. The very thought makes you sick to your stomach. He doesn’t look like a good match. He’s too suave, too handsome, too pristine. Well, no aristocratic gentleman would present himself otherwise.

You retreat from your reflection and sit at your desk. You stare at the book, mourning it like a friend. You aren’t naive or foolish, though many people assume that you are. A marriage means you won’t be alone. You won’t be able to just sit and read and hide away from the world.

Your mother might be demanding but you expect nothing less than a tyrant to replace her. By your father’s foreboding, any husband would be right to put you in your place. Based on how disappointed your own parents are, you can’t imagine someone without any familial obligation will be any less disillusioned.

You bend forward and rest your forehead on the book. It’s not just all those fictional companions you’ll lose. It’s your sisters. They speak as if it will all be as it is, just with some new faces. You know better than that. You’ve read enough stories of strained arrangements and reluctant pairings, but this is no fairytale. You will have no happily ever after.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #series #fic #au #dark fic #dark!fic #precarious #mcu #marvel #avengers #thor #three sisters for three misters

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blouisparadise · 10 months ago

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Upon request, today we have a rec list of bottom Louis fics that feature badass Louis. If you enjoy our rec lists and want them to continue, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Bite | Mature | 10,980 words

Louis is a vampire hunter, and Harry is too happy being his prey.

2) Don't Call Me Angel | Mature | 16,648 words

Manhattan is a dangerous playground for the rich and entitled Alphas of New York. Those same wealthy Alphas are robbed after spending one night in the presence of a blue-eyed Omega and Officer Styles is assigned to the case.

3) Friendly Neighborhood Spideypool | Explicit | 18,705 words

“Don’t fuck with me, I’m not in the mood.” Louis’ got the urge to punch him in the face, but he knows deep down that if anything it’ll just add fuel to Harry's innuendo fire. “You know I only fuck you, not with you. There’s a difference. It’s slight but still there.” He’s joking, but it’s sincere in a way that only Deadpool could make it. It gives Louis a strange mix of emotions, his body doesn’t know whether to fill with butterflies or to knee Deadpool in the balls again for insinuating them fucking.

4) Death Wish | Explicit | 22,067 words

Louis hates vampires, he lives his life trying to kill as many as he can, night after night, year after year. He hates them. Then why the fuck is he kissing one? Again. “I mean it, Harry.” Louis says, into his mouth this time. “You need to get the fuck away from me.”

5) The Games We Play | Explicit | 23,488 words

Louis is a political lobbyist who chose his career over his personal life a long time ago and has never regretted it. Then he met Harry.

6) The Voice Of Range And Ruin | Explicit | 25,470 words

It seemed as if the freshly formed Omega Uprising had always been a step or two ahead of the Commandant and the rest of the reigning Alphanian officials. The idea had been floated that there must be someone working with them from the inside, reporting back to them on the government’s plans so that they could be prepared. That person had yet to be discovered, and the Commandant and his surrounding forces had finally had enough of this game of cat and mouse. Harry understood. He agreed. It needed to come to an end, one way or another. “Your job is to navigate their landscape and gain entry into their forces. You will pretend to be one of them and gain reliable intel for us. It’s clear that no one else has been capable of doing it, and you at least have some semblance of experience in this field. This has gone on for too long, Harry. Enough is enough.” He made direct eye contact with his son, holding it. “I’m counting on you.”

7) Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent | Explicit | 28,832 words

Where Harry is leading an army to overthrow the king of Cheshire and Louis is one of the volunteers who joins them along the way.

8) You Fill My Lungs With Sweetness (Can I Be Close to You?) | Explicit | 29,884 words

Busy picturing Harry’s stupid face on the stupid dummy, Louis goes through a series of kicks before returning to a low guard and cycling through punches. Harry’s still talking, gesturing with his hands as he rounds Louis, standing to his back. “You do a few butt-shaping exercises, tighten this up a little bit,” he smacks Louis’ arse and the omega freezes while Harry cheerfully continues, “you could pull this off.” “You know what?” Louis snaps, lifting on his tiptoes to get the leverage so he can wrap his arm around the alpha’s neck, forcing him to bend in half while Louis locks him in a chokehold. “Pull this off,” he snarls. They stagger over a few steps, Louis gritting his teeth as Harry tries to break free. “Is it because Payne hates me?” he complains, voice edging on an annoyed whine, “Or is it, like, an omega thing?” Too late, Louis realizes that Harry has got a grip on his leg and this time as he pulls against Louis’ hold, it loosens, the alpha lifting him in the air before slamming his back into the mat, breaking Louis’ grip completely. Harry kneels on the mat, hovering over him with a sneer, “Don’t kid yourself. Nobody thinks of you that way.”

9) Just Let Me Adore You | Not Rated | 34,913 words

The one where Louis and Harry shouldn't make sense. Where Louis' past and Harry's present intermingle and no one is thinking straight.

10) Not Everything is So Primitive (Oh, but I’m Giving In) | Explicit | 35,809 words

“Okay, hold your bloody horses, I’m coming,” Niall rips open the door, freezing at the sight of Harry, bloody and disgruntled, standing on his doorstep, “What the hell happened to you?” “My husband,” Harry grumbles, pushing past Niall and walking into his entryway, “He tried to kill me,” Harry pauses, turning to Niall and grabbing his shoulders, “He tried to kill me with his fucking car.”

11) Burning Soul | Explicit | 39,513 words

Louis is a rogue Omega wolf, all he wants is a new start. Will he allow himself to fully embrace what awaits him, or will he run again, too damaged by past hurt?

12) Soaked In The Blood Of Angels | Explicit | 40,867 words

The boy looks drugged, caught between a man who’s almost twice his size and a girl who looks like she wouldn’t even break a sweat snapping him in half despite her small stature, eyes closed and mouth open as he pants, arching up between them almost as if he’s trying to escape. Normally, Harry would ignore it and continue on his search for someone to drink from, someone who wouldn’t mind his sharp teeth and rough hands. He’s seen plenty of boys like this one, ones who picked the wrong playmates, and if he stopped to rescue every single one of them he would have died from thirst a long time ago. This one, though. There’s something about this one, the sheen of his bright blue eyes as he blinks slowly, looks around as though he doesn’t know where he is, the weakness of his hands as he tries to push the girl off of him and make his escape.

13) No Easy Choice, But You're Mine | Explicit | 45,603 words

Louis is an omega hitman with one last job that goes a little sideways. Harry is the alpha bartender that looks a little too closely and cares a little too much.

14) Falling Without Caution | Explicit | 50,350 words

Louis Tomlinson, a wanted criminal, was captured by the FBI after years of chasing. Instead of being locked up in a high-security prison, he was offered a deal. What was supposed to be the end of a decade long chase turned into a morally grey circumstance for Agent Styles.

15) Let Your Damage, Damage Me | Explicit | 57077 words

A low and dangerous growl was ripped from the future King’s chest. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” the alpha snarled, eyes dark and nostrils flared. Even as anger rushed through him at the alpha’s brutish display, Louis felt breathless at the intense gaze of the man that was going to be his future mate. ‘Tomorrow I’m going to be under all that. He will be inside me, all muscles and rage.’ Louis felt his cheeks heat again, but refused to be cowed. So he put his best smirk on display, the one alphas despised to see, the one that assured them all he had the upper hand. “Thought you were expecting me, dear husband. I’m your future mate.”

16) Men of Steel, Men of Power | Explicit | 58,849 words

“You’ve been watching me,” Styles said. Louis swallowed around nothing. He tried for light. “You’re the newest addition, people are bound to be curious,” he said. “Sure,” said Styles, in a somewhat condescending tone. “I’m not that daft, I do notice the curiosity regarding my clothes. That’s not what you’re doing though, hm?” Styles’ gaze was intense, and Louis could feel it burn on the side of his face, but kept his eyes stubbornly on the coffee cup. “I,” he said, licked his lips. Took a deep breath, tried to look open, confident, dominant. Alpha.

17) Somethin' Bout You | Explicit | 59,855 words

Of all the government agents in the world, Louis had to go and land the most charming one.

18) The Face Of Love's Rage | Explicit | 67,421 words

“What if I tell you,” the princess said slowly, “I can get you five kingdoms and a lover?” Harry’s brows rose. “Only five?” he said mockingly. “And a lover. Don’t forget the lover.” “I have a lover.” “Do you?” the omega tilted her head, smiling, “I think right now, you have a consort, two friends, and a hostage. If you marry Julien, you will lose a friend and gain another hostage. Do you want him as a hostage or as a friend?” Harry’s temper was about to snap and break all hell loose. His hands itched to do something with the wild creature in front of him, with her untamed spirit that seemed to mock his authority and challenge his very presence. Abigail Tomlinson, with all her secrets and sins, defied not only his status, but everyone who dared to get in her way. Always making everyone aware that the only reason she was still there wasn’t because Harry let her, but because she wanted to be. Seven kingdoms, two sinners and one big secret.

19) Through Struggles, To The Stars | Explicit | 80,582 words

Louis is a Starfleet captain trying to find his place in the universe. Harry is a prince just trying to do what's right.

20) The Rose Of Whitechapel | Mature | 100,182 words

Jack the Ripper au - Detective Constable Harry Styles and his partner, DC Liam Payne, lead the case on the Whitechapel murders. Louis Tomlinson, the Rose of Whitechapel, is harbouring secrets of his own, along with a dark and sordid past. When their paths cross, truths are revealed, and perhaps hearts are mended... A darkness is brewing, and it's finally come to collect on the promise it was made.

21) Gloria Regali | Not Rated | 100,985 words

"I am very proud of you," Louis admitted, his eyes displaying his conviction, "you are very brave and ridiculously determined." Harry looked at him, as he shook his head, reaching out to his hand, he held it, "Trust me, it is not enough." "What makes you say that?" "Because if it was, you would have been married to me."

22) The Galaxy's Edge | Explicit | 113,921 words

In which Louis is a bounty hunter with a messed up past. Harry is a prince who just wants to prove himself. Niall and Zayn have too many things to figure out together. And Liam just wants to take care of his family. Things never quite go as they are planned during a simple rescue job.

23) Run Like the Devil | Explicit | 139,152 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

Harry stops pouting, but his frown is still fixed in place. “Are you sure?” he asks. “You know it’s your soul you’re signing away.” He sounds…sad? No, that’s not right, but there’s something. Christ. This is the most incompetent demon Louis’ ever met. If he hadn’t seen the red of his eyes he wouldn’t believe he was a demon at all. How’d he get this job if he isn’t trying to convince Louis to deal? Or is it just another trick? A ploy for sympathy? “I’m sure,” Louis says. “Come over here and kiss me.”

24) Only You Can Be My Alpha | Mature | 212,387 words

In a world where one was either an Alpha or an Omega wolf, Louis found himself in a body that could be neither. Born an Omega without the expected characteristics of one, he felt broken, choosing to live as Alpha a lifestyle as he could. Harboring a serious lack of respect for Alphas and their authority complexes, Louis managed to get himself banished from his home, forced to wander the unforgiving woods for years, facing the elements and fighting enemy rogues each time they arose. Unbeknownst to Louis, in a tribe to the southwest of his home, there lived a dysfunctional Alpha, the orphaned pack leader Harry, who had never felt satisfied enough with anyone to settle down and continue his royal line. Living their lives apart thus far, the both of them assumed that they might be alone forever, making the best of things despite this even though it hurt. Chance, luck, or maybe fate brings Louis to this tribe when he’d least expected to receive kindness and shelter from a stranger, and when he arrives, something in his soul pulls him to Harry like a raging river current. The two don’t get off to a good start, but everyone around them can sense the chemistry—and in time they do too.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#bottom louis #top harry #larry #fic recs #blp #blp fic recs #badass louis

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cinnamongorll · 4 months ago

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a fragile line - epilogue

read on ao3! (179k words) | previous chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Series tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Series synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Chapter warnings: smut

Word count: 6k

Epilogue

Juliet's POV:

Juliet burned down her father’s house.

It didn’t take long, there was some gas in the basement that Matt dragged up the stairs and the five of them got to work, drowning most surfaces in the thick liquid. Juliet watched as it covered the bookshelves full of religious texts, dampening the words Elijah had used to justify his treatment of her. She locked eyes with Ethan when Joel handed her his lighter, her blood roared in her ears as Juliet silently asked him if this was the right decision, if she was thinking clearly.

They stood at the edge of the property, bags already strapped onto the horses, ready to flee at a moment's notice. Joel had assured her that the flames would die out before they reached any nearing properties, but a part of Juliet hoped that the fire would surround the town, erasing every part of it.

After a long moment, Ethan had nodded and Juliet flicked the lighter with a surprisingly steady hand. The flame was strong when she threw it towards the house and they watched with stunted breaths as the worn porch steps illuminated in red and orange. The fire was quick to lick up the side of the building, through the door, and into the hall.

Juliet released a slow, staggered breath when the windows exploded and Joel shielded her body with his own, gripping her shoulders and pushing her towards the horses with sharp, muffled commands in her ear.

Juliet stumbled over her own feet but she struggled to tear her eyes from the flames. Joel boosted her onto the horse they shared before joining her, gripping the reins as he turned the creature in the direction of Ethan, Charlotte, and Matt who had already begun riding down the street, away from the haunted house that was finally being destroyed.

As their horse gained speed, and Juliet’s old home became a speck of red and black in the distance, she imagined that same fire coating her skin, burning away every scar that was birthed in that house, erasing every echo of a scream from her mind, and making room for new memories.

No one emerged from their hiding spots as they rode through town. The people who were left were scared and tired. Juliet had gutted this town of its monsters.

When they made it through the town’s gate, Juliet’s body finally slumped into Joel’s back as she slid her arms around him. Even through his coat, she could feel the waves of heat pouring off of him, holding the cold at bay. Juliet’s cheek nuzzled into the thick leather of his jacket and she felt him release a heavy sigh.

She didn’t have to look to know that his mouth had curved into that reluctant smile he used to fight so hard against and Juliet’s eyes fell closed, a feeling of peace flowing through her despite the harsh journey ahead.

Behind her eyelids, Juliet pictured her father’s house falling apart piece by piece as his empire blackened and burned, crumbling to the ground, and her shoulders relaxed as she tightened her grip on Joel.

Elijah’s house would never hurt anyone again, she’d made sure of it.

……………….

With a combination of severe weather, groups of raiders and hoards of infected, the journey back to Jackson took a lot longer than any of them had expected.

It was mid-February before they returned, arriving at Jackson’s gates worn and malnourished. The snow still stuck to the ground and, from the gates, Juliet could spot some Christmas lights that still hung from the sides of buildings, reminding her of the day they left.

Tommy was the first to greet them, pulling Joel into a hug that nearly knocked the two of them over. Joel gripped his brother tight, murmuring words that she couldn’t hear as Tommy nodded and slapped him on the back.

Juliet watched politely, smiling as the brothers reunited, yet she couldn’t help but feel that festering reminder of her guilt begin to curl around her stomach, and her eyes darted away, ashamed of her part in their separation.

When they broke apart, Juliet was surprised to find that Tommy’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her in with a gentle force as his chin rested on her head.

“Careful,” Joel warned from beside them, his arms crossed as he watched Juliet for any hint of pain or discomfort.

Juliet felt Tommy’s laugh reverberate through her body as he brushed off his brother’s concern, smiling against the top of her head. She leaned into the hug, her eyes burning as she felt the weight of his worry and accepted the offer of his renewed friendship.

When they pulled apart, Joel’s feet crunched through the snow to stand behind Juliet and Tommy looked between the two of them with a hint of surprise in his brown eyes, then he shook his head and his mouth broke into a crooked smile.

Juliet looked between the brothers, watching a silent conversation pass between them as her eyebrows furrowed. After a moment, Joel’s hand landed on her shoulder and he nodded at Tommy.

Something passed over Tommy’s face that she couldn’t quite identify at first, but as Joel’s hand slid around her waist and he turned them in the direction of the town, she realised that there was something resembling acceptance in his expression.

Juliet brushed it off and focused only on the warm feeling of Joel’s hand as it settled on her waist and the realisation that he didn’t care who saw the evidence of his affection towards her.

…………………………

No one questioned it when, that evening, Joel packed up Juliet’s stuff from her house and moved it into his.

She sat on his bed, her legs crossed under her as she watched Joel carefully unpack the small collection of items and clothing she had gathered during her time in Jackson. Neither of them said a word as he pushed his things aside to make room for hers. There was no discussion, no hint of doubt. Joel moved as though his actions were the most natural thing in the world, as though Juliet sitting on his bed watching every motion of his hand was a usual occurrence.

When he closed the last drawer, he turned to her, straightening his spine and reaching a hand up to rub along his jaw and the scuff of a beard he’d managed to grow on their journey. It reminded her of the days before they reached Jackson, when Juliet would try to imagine what it would feel like to touch his face and not feel like she’d been scorched.

When his eyes met hers in the low lighting of the room, Juliet struggled to decipher his expression. She shifted under his gaze and her tongue escaped her mouth to wet her dry lips.

Joel didn’t miss the movement and he began to walk over, with slow, careful steps, almost as though he didn’t want to spook her, like knew how dangerous he was and what might happen if he got too close.

When he stopped, Joel stood with his legs touching the edge of the mattress and his chin tilted down to tower over Juliet’s cross-legged form as she gazed up at him with inquisitive eyes. Even after all this time, Joel’s movements still remained unpredictable and she liked the feeling that sparked over her skin as she attempted to guess what he might do next. There was no fear in waiting, no apprehension that Joel might do something to hurt her, there was just a buzzing anticipation of his touch and a sharp focus in response to his full, undivided attention.

Juliet’s eyes shuttered closed when his rough palm met her cheek, grazing upwards against her flushed skin until he met her hair. His fingers dug in, scratching her scalp until a soft moan flew from Juliet’s mouth as her chin lifted towards him.

He groaned in approval, using his other hand to untangle her hair from its braid as the pressure from his touch increased. Juliet forced her eyes open as she felt the heat from his gaze begin to burn her skin.

Her lips parted as she blinked up at him, a moan caught in her throat as his fingers kneaded into the back of her neck, rubbing away the tension that wrapped around her.

Joel was doing it on purpose, she decided, when a whimper trembled from her lips and his whole body shuddered in response. He was enjoying the way she came undone under his touch as she demonstrated just how much his towering presence affected her.

Juliet watched as his jaw moved and his gaze flickered to the door across the room. Through the haze of his touch, Juliet’s eyes narrowed and she begged her mouth to work, to ask him what he was thinking… but Joel held her tongue in his dark, heavy look and she was stunned into silence.

“Come with me,” he commanded in a low growl, and dropped his hands to curve around her elbows, helping her off the bed with tenderness that warred with the promise of something so brutal and savage in his eyes.

Juliet’s heart pounded as her feet met the cold hardwood floor and she allowed herself to be led across the room to what she now recognised as Joel’s bathroom. Her eyes narrowed as she contemplated where this was going until Joel let go of her arm to flick on the light and then reach across the bathtub to turn on the shower.

Juliet’s tense shoulders dropped instantly. The thought of a warm shower had kept her going for the past several weeks, imagining herself standing below the stream and washing off everything that had happened to her. A smile found her lips at Joel’s thoughtfulness.

“Thanks,” she murmured as she moved over to the tub and turned, waiting for Joel to step out the bathroom as her skin itched to move under the water that was currently creating a cloud of steam between them.

But he didn’t leave.

Instead, Joel closed the door and began to move closer, and closer until he had backed her against the tub. Juliet watched him with widening eyes as his hand moved to the top button of her flannel.

“Joel,” she said in a trembling voice. “What are you doing?”

His eyes found hers, and his eyebrows raised in an amused gesture as his finger grazed the button again. Surely he could hear how fast her heart was beating.

“I’m gonna help you outta these clothes, then we’re gonna get cleaned up,” he explained, before he paused and searched her face as the corner of his mouth twitched up. “That okay?”

Juliet’s skin began to flush. “We?” she repeated.

Amusement danced in Joel’s eyes as he nodded and his fingers continued to play with the button.

The hot steam coated her skin and Juliet couldn’t help but feel exposed. She’d been with Joel before, but it was too quick and rushed and unexpected for her to feel nervous. But now… he would see all of her and her heart seized at the thought of his eyes trailing along the scars that marked her skin.

Her head turned towards the wall, escaping his attention for a moment as she tried to calm her breathing.

“Hey,” he said, concern entering his tone. “What’s wrong?”

Juliet found his searching gaze and she swallowed at the sight of his confusion.

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” she whispered, hoping her words would just fade with the hot steam and they wouldn’t actually reach his ears.

“Like what, baby?” he murmured as his palm found her cheek again. He stared down at her as the lines on his forehead grew deeper.

Juliet huffed out a breath. “Hurt, scarred,” she stopped, shrugging, then lifted her hand, ignoring the dull pain produced from the sudden movement. “Butchered.”

Joel’s eyebrows pulled together, his eyes narrowed and his mouth transformed into a thin line, all amusement gone, as he processed her words.

Juliet looked away as the flush rose in her cheeks, beneath his careful touch.

Suddenly Joel pulled away, and Juliet squeezed her eyes shut, worried that her nightmare of Joel’s rejection had come true. But only seconds later, his voice interrupted her spiralling thoughts.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

Juliet’s eyes blinked open to find Joel rapidly unbuttoning his own shirt. Her mouth dried as she watched his fingers move, exposing his tanned chest. With each button gone, Juliet’s breaths came faster and faster.

“Joel, what -”

“Look,” he repeated, releasing the final button and pulling his shirt open as his chest rose and fell in sharp, heavy breaths.

Juliet’s eyes were already tracing his skin, roaming over his shoulders and following the path of hair down his chest, committing every inch of it to memory. After the sudden shock of his exposure faded, Juliet looked closer and noticed the white lines that lightened his flesh, and the circular shapes that sent a blade of fear through her heart. Then, slowly her eyes dropped to the scar low on his stomach that her own fingers had a hand in creating.

She tore her gaze away before the memory of that day consumed her, when his blood stained her skin and he had begged her to leave him.

When her eyes found his, Joel looked down at Juliet with a vulnerability she had never seen.

On instinct, she stepped forward and her hand reached out until her fingers met his soft flesh. Joel flinched and sucked in a breath, scanning Juliet’s face as she began to trace the marks on his skin.

A fierce flame of anger built in her chest as she thought of how these marks were formed, and she realised the pain he must have endured. Juliet’s eyebrows furrowed deeply when she thought about how she hadn’t been there, how she wasn’t able to help him.

Then, Juliet thought about why he had shown her this, and her breath caught in her throat.

They were the same. He had survived, just as she had.

This was just another piece of evidence to prove how alike they truly were. Joel’s scars matched hers, how could she be embarrassed by them?

Juliet removed her hand from his skin and, before her nerves could stop her, she reached for the buttons on her own flannel and started to release them. Joel’s breath shuddered out of him when he realised what she was doing and, when her lost finger made it difficult, he replaced her hands with his own as he slowly, carefully removed the shirt from her body, leaving her shivering in just her bra.

Her flannel fell from his hand, creating a puddle of fabric at their feet.

“So beautiful,” Joel drawled as his eyes traced her chest.

Juliet felt the sincerity in his words and she glanced down at his hands to distract herself from the heat in his expression. She watched as his hand twitched towards her then stopped suddenly and curled into a fist.

Feeling a sudden sense of confidence at his reaction, Juliet reached around and managed to unhook her bra. For a long moment, she held the cups over her breasts as her heartbeat roared in her ears, then she dared to look up at Joel.

Juliet’s mouth dropped open. He stared down at her with what looked like anger burning in his gaze and Juliet felt a sudden pulse of fear fire through her as her hands began to tremble. She forgot, sometimes, how dangerous Joel was, and what power he truly held in his body. He could break her if he wanted, she might even let him.

Slowly, her hands dropped and the bra joined her flannel on the bathroom floor.

Joel moved and Juliet realised how right she was to be frightened of him. His lips met her neck with a force that would have knocked her backwards if his hand hadn’t slid around her naked back, holding her in place. Juliet’s neck was pushed upwards by Joel’s other hand, exposing more of her throat as he feverishly scanned her flesh with his lips, kissing, tasting, tempting her with the edges of his teeth, like they might bite into her neck at any moment.

Juliet couldn’t keep track of the noises she was making, they were blending in with Joel’s groans and the sound of the water that continued to stream from the showerhead behind them. The steam in the bathroom was becoming unbearable, stealing away any breaths that she could take in between Joel’s attack.

Soon, his lips moved downwards as his hand cupped her beast, pushing against the flesh until his thumb grazed her hardened nipple and Juliet’s entire body shook with the force of her moan.

She swore she felt Joel’s mouth stretch into a smile against the bottom of her neck as his hand moved to her other breast, grazing her nipple in the same maddening way. Juliet was losing her thoughts, they were floating away and she couldn’t catch them. The only thing that consumed her mind was where Joel’s lips would go next.

Juliet didn’t have to wonder for long. Without any warning, Joel’s thumb was replaced by his mouth as it captured her nipple in the warm heat of his tongue. Juliet felt his groan against her skin and the sound shot a pulse of heat down her entire body.

Juliet began to writhe against him, her hands reaching out, trying to grab a hold of anything to keep her weakening legs from giving out. Her good hand quickly caught a hold of his jeans and started to scramble to unhook his belt, needing to feel the hardness she felt against her stomach.

She whimpered in frustration when her efforts failed. Juliet couldn’t concentrate when Joel’s teeth grazed against her skin, sending a shiver of heat straight down her spine.

“Hold on, baby,” he murmured when his mouth left her and his black eyes locked with hers.

Juliet straightened, gasping for breath as she watched him effortlessly release the hold on his belt, unpop the top button and slowly bring the zipper down. She was pretty sure she stopped breathing when his thumbs tucked under the material and pushed his boxers and jeans down in one single movement, his eyes never leaving hers.

Juliet’s eyes dropped immediately to Joel’s cock. Her mouth dried when she was reminded of its length and size, and she watched it twitch in response to her close attention.

Her legs squeezed together. Joel didn’t miss the movement.

Reluctantly, Juliet’s eyes made their way back up to Joel’s face and she saw that vulnerability shine back at her again. Juliet was struck by an overpowering need to touch him, the boiling in her blood was reaching a breaking point, but he was always at least one step ahead of her. His hands were at her trousers before she could inhale another shuddering breath.

“You want this?” he demanded in a low growl.

Juliet nodded without a single ounce of hesitation. Her need for him was wrapping itself around her throat, strangling her, restricting her oxygen.

Her trousers and underwear were on the floor. Juliet’s mind was in a daze. Everything was in slow motion. She watched as Joel bent to unhook her trousers from her ankles then used his position to tuck his arm under her legs and lift her to his chest.

Juliet gasped but didn’t protest when Joel stepped into the bathtub and settled her down under the heat of the water.

Her head tilted back in pleasure and a low moan unleashed from her mouth, before it was swallowed by Joel. His lips consumed hers as his hands found her hair, tangling his fist in the soaking wet strands.

With both of his hands distracted, Juliet reached down and wrapped her hand around his cock, squeezing gently. Joel’s lips ripped from hers as his head dropped to her shoulder.

“Fuck,” he shuddered out.

Juliet’s other hand grazed over his hair as she began to move her hand up and down his length until her thumb brushed over his tip and a strangled groan escaped Joel’s throat.

She could feel the thick dampness forming between her thighs despite being under the stream of the showerhead, and Juliet used her grip on his cock to position him at her clit, pushing her body forward until the head of his cock made contact with the nerves that forced her mouth to open in a silent scream and her head to fall back.

Joel snarled and broke away, pushing her against the wall of the shower, cradling her head with his hand.��

“You tryin’ to kill me?” he scolded, wiping away the droplets of water that clung to Juliet’s eyelashes in an act so gentle in comparison to the anger that pulsed in his eyes.

Juliet liked the sensation of fear that sparked across her body as she quickly shook her head.

Joel huffed out a frustrated groan as his searing hot gaze followed the path of the water down her body, then his eyes flashes back up to hers.

His finger began to trace her lips, tempting her to open them, to let him in. Eventually, she caved and Joel’s finger slid into her mouth. On pure instinct, Juliet’s lips wrapped around his finger and she felt his cock twitch against her.

Surprise darted in Joel’s widened eyes, and he looked down at her mouth.

“Suck.”

Juliet obeyed immediately, wrapping her lips tighter around his finger. She swore her legs were about to give out as she watched Joel’s eyes fall closed in response.

When he pulled the finger from her mouth, it was dripping and Joel’s eyes darkened even further before his gaze dipped to where she was clenching with need, and his lips transformed into something between a smile and a snarl before his wet finger found her clit.

Juliet’s head swung backwards as he began to circle the bundle of nerves, pulling whimpers and moans from her throat. He didn’t let up, not once, Joel was not a man who responded to cries for mercy - he took what he wanted without remorse.

“Please, Joel,” Juliet cried when he picked up speed.

Instead of an answer, Joel’s lips met her neck again, sucking and tasting her damp skin as his traitorous finger left her clit and sunk deep inside her.

Juliet jumped and writhed against him at the intrusion. It was too much, the heat from the shower, the feeling of his tongue on her neck, his finger moving in and out, over and over, killing her each time.

“Think you can handle more?” he asked in between heavy breaths.

Juliet nodded vigorously, confirming her death wish.

Joel made a dismissive noise with his tongue and ceased all movement. “Need to hear you say it, baby.”

Juliet groaned in annoyance. “Yes, I can handle it,” she confirmed in a sharp whine.

Joel breathed a laugh against her neck. “Good girl.”

Juliet was still processing those two words when a second finger sunk inside her, curling to meet a spot she barely knew about.

“Joel,” she whimpered against his chest, feeling overwhelmed.

The sound of his name caused Joel to nip at her neck with his teeth and Juliet began moving against his fingers, losing control.

A third finger joined in and Juliet lost it. Her cries echoed in the bathroom as Joel’s name fell from her lips more times than she could ever count. She was getting so close, it was actually painful.

Joel’s lips captured hers, his tongue forcing itself inside, before he made his final attack.

With three fingers pumping inside her, Joel moved his thumb and grazed it against her clit. Juliet cried out at the sensation, the sound getting lost in his mouth, and then he pressured harder, circling her with an edge of absolute cruelty.

That did it.

Juliet came with a scream trapped in her throat and her lip caught between Joel’s teeth.

“That’s it, baby,” he soothed as he released her lip and her body slumped against him. His hands moved around her back, rubbing her skin, pulling her closer. “Shhhh.”

When her body stopped shuddering, she pulled away and blinked up at Joel. He was watching her with an expression Juliet had never witnessed before. At first glance, it looked like anger… but she knew better.

Joel was breathing heavily, panting almost, as he stared down at her. A muscle jumped in his jaw and Juliet reached up to press a kiss to it, enjoying the sight of Joel’s surprise.

When her lips left his skin, Juliet’s eyes dropped to his cock, still hard and twitching against her stomach and she swallowed, wanting desperately to know what it would feel like pushing inside her.

Her eyes must have betrayed her thoughts because Joel captured her face with his hands and demanded her attention.

“Not fuckin’ you in a shower either,” he grunted out, referencing that night in the cabin when he was so close to giving in on the decaying couch.

Frustration and bitter disappointment flooded Juliet. She was sick of waiting, she wanted him, needed to feel him as close to her as possible.

Juliet covered his hand with her own. “Then take me to bed,” she whispered.

Joel’s eyes widened, and she watched as he considered her proposition, his cock still rock hard against her skin. She ached to reach down and wrap her fingers around him, to make him feel the way she had felt only moments ago.

Suddenly, Joel’s hands left her face and reached down to the back of her thighs, lifting her up until she was wrapped around his middle. She yelped and buried her face in his neck.

When she lifted her head, Joel had turned the shower off, grabbed a towel and placed her on the bed. She was soaked and the water from her hair flooded the bed despite the towel underneath her. But the way Joel stood over her, watching her, told her that he couldn’t care less.

His hand found his cock and began to move up and down his shaft as his eyes trailed over her damp skin, over her breasts, down her stomach…

“I’ll never get tired of lookin’ at you,” he choked out as his body reacted to his quick movements. Juliet was jealous, she wanted to be the one touching him, making him feel that way.

“Come here,” Juliet begged as she slowly dropped her legs open.

Joel’s eyes immediately fell between her thighs as he began to move his hand faster.

“Please,” she whined, spreading her legs even wider.

“Goddammit,” he cursed before he released his cock and climbed onto the bed, moving until he caged her with his body.

Juliet couldn’t help it, she gripped his face and pulled him towards her, kissing him slowly, exploring his mouth, memorising the taste of him on her tongue.

“Joel, I need you,” she breathed against his lips.

He released a strangled groan, and pulled himself back until he captured her gaze as he explored the look in her eyes.

“You sure you want this?” he asked cautiously, his voice deadly serious. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

Juliet nodded her head, her heart ached at his words. Joel was always so protective of her, even from himself. She didn’t know how to express to him how badly she wanted this, how he could never hurt her.

“I love you, Joel,” she whispered.

Joel froze, his face was stunned as though she had landed a blow on his skin. She hadn’t said those words since that night in Elijah’s house, and from the look on Joel’s face it was as though he thought he imagined it all those weeks ago.

Finally, he broke out of his trance and he reached down, pushing her thighs further apart before gripping his cock and guiding the head into her tight heat. Juliet gasped, stunned by the feeling of him pushing into her.

Joel’s jaw clenched as he grit his teeth, and Juliet knew that he was waiting for her to adjust before he kept going. She dropped her head back and tilted her chin down in a sharp nod.

Joel released a heavy breath as she took more of him in, enveloping his cock a little at a time until his body began to shake and Juliet pushed her hips forward until he slid into her all the way to the hilt.

“Fuck, Juliet,” he ground out, as though he was pained.

Juliet’s mouth was open in another silent scream as she attempted to adjust to the feeling of him inside her, stretching her, hitting that impossible place inside her.

After a long moment, Joel pressed his hands against the sides of her hips as he pulled out, then rocked back into her so carefully.

The whine she released was utterly pornagraphic.

Joel lost control, she could feel it in the way his hips jerked towards her and his hand left her hip and buried itself in her hair as his lips captured hers, inhaling the moan that was working its way up her throat.

Kissing her harder, Joel pulled out again and pressed into her, experimenting with the sounds she made against his mouth.

“I love you,” he groaned against her lips as he rocked into her again, pulling out, holding himself like some endurance test, then jerking his cock back inside her, over and over again.

Juliet felt tears slipping down her face, mixing on their tongues. She wasn’t sure if it was in response to his words or the feeling of their bodies clashing against each other and the primal growls Joel was releasing every time he pushed back inside her.

Soon, he picked up the pace and he decided to torture her even more as his thumb reached down to play with her clit, cirling it as his cock pounded against the spongy spot inside her.

Her cries verged on delirious, she was sobbing, screaming, gripping him, clawing at him.

Joel joined in on the delirium as his groans faded into snarled words against her skin that she could barely make out each time he slammed into her.

“Fuck, baby.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“You feel so good.”

“I’ve thought bout’ this too many times.”

“I’m so fuckin’ in love with you.”

He was going so fast now, Juliet couldn’t breathe.

“Joel,” she gasped out. “I think I'm gonna come again.”

His finger moved quicker, tempting her sanity until she tipped on the edge.

“Do it,” he commanded. “Come for me.”

White hot brightness exploded behind her eyes as pleasure wracked her body. Somewhere far away Juliet could hear Joel groaning as she tightened around his cock.

“Shit,” he breathed and the pressure on her hip increased as Joel pulled his cock out with a strangled groan.

“I’m gonna,” he choked out and Juliet stiffened as she felt heat explode over her stomach before Joel dropped his head, coated in sweat, in the space between her neck and shoulder.

Juliet instantly pushed her fingers into his damp hair, soothing him, whispering to him how good he made her feel. When his breathing slowed, Joel reached up and gingerly captured the wrist of her butchered hand before pulling it to his mouth and pressing his lips against her palm.

Juliet bit her lip to stop more tears from falling.

He pulled back until their eyes met, blinking slowly as their breaths found the same rhythm.

As she watched a wave of emotions ripple in Joel’s eyes, Juliet was struck by a sudden, fierce terror and realisation that, despite how perfect this moment was, it couldn’t last forever.

“I - I can’t ever lose you, Joel,” Juliet confessed as she sliced a hole in her soul and spilled its contents in front of him.

Joel shook his head as that signature line between his eyebrows deepened, and Juliet wanted to reach between them and run her finger over it, to learn everything that had caused it to form.

“You won’t lose me,” he assured her as he tilted her head towards him and his trembling lips found her forehead. “I’m yours.”

Juliet wrapped her arms around him, pulling him tight, not willing to ever let go.

…………………

The following year passed quickly.

After a few weeks, the dust settled and Jackson’s community stopped questioning their strange disappearance. The looks thrown at Joel and Juliet when they walked through town, with Joel’s hand on the small of her back, died down after a while.

When early spring arrived, Joel convinced Tommy to let them back out on patrol, this time as partners. Juliet refused to let Joel go out without her, and vice versa, so it was really the only option. They were most at peace out on patrol; it reminded them of the months they’d travelled across the country, learning each other’s habits, realising they couldn’t be apart.

They watched each other’s back out in the open, then went home to the same house, and the same bed. Joel learned how to cook, more than just eggs, and made sure that Juliet never went without a meal. He cooked for others too, they invited Ethan and Charlotte over often for dinner, drinks, and board games. Sometimes Matt joined them too, making sure to sit as far away from Joel as possible.

A few months after they returned, Maria had her baby…

Juliet watched Joel become an uncle. She smiled with him as they played with Tommy’s daughter, then held him close at night when the memories grew too heavy for him to carry alone.

Jackson became a home for the both of them. Juliet had a place to fill with the books she collected on patrol, and Joel found a talent in wood carving. He surprised her with little carvings of things only the two of them would understand: like the monkey that sat on their kitchen windowsill, reminding them of Juliet’s shock at the university. And Juliet surprised Joel with a guitar, which he’d been attempting to teach her how to play. Juliet wasn’t very good but she liked the way Joel kissed her when she got a chord right, so she kept the lessons up.

The nightmares still found Juliet, some worse than others, but she didn’t wake up alone anymore. Joel was there to brush a hand over her hair and kiss her forehead, anchoring her to the present.

They got married the following year, in August when the grass was green and the sun warmed the air.

They stood in the field of an old farmhouse that was to be their new home, under a willow tree where wildflowers grazed their legs and snagged at Juliet’s dress. Joel had told her that back before the world ended, weddings were supposed to be officiated, but laws didn’t exist anymore so they just decided to do it themselves, not willing to share any part of the day with others.

Joel and Juliet exchanged rings at sunset, when the soft shades of orange and pink painted the sky. They whispered promises to each other in the ruins of a world where happy endings didn’t exist anymore, and yet they found one anyway.

When Joel pushed the ring onto Juliet’s finger, he wasn’t surprised when the heavens opened up and rain descended upon them. Juliet just tipped her head back and laughed, and Joel watched, mesmerised by the sight of her joy.

They kissed as the light faded, and Joel found that his own eyes burned as he reached to capture the tear that rolled down Juliet’s cheek before the rain stole it from him.

.......................................

@amyispxnk @casa-boiardi @http-paprika @shotgun-shelby @weeping-werewolf @mysaviorjoelmiller @chlojoceycom @joelmillersblog @socialistmary @orcasoul @ashhlsstuff @caitlynsixxx @elli3williams

#joel miller #joel miller x original character #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller x female oc #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #ao3 fanfic #joel miller hbo #joel miller angst #pedro pascal #tlou joel #tlou #joel tlou #the last of us #tlou hbo #Spotify #joel miller smut

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 5 months ago

Text

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 28

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 2.4K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

The field was dark, an abyss of blackness swallowing any trace of light. Your heart thundered in your ears. Breath came in ragged, desperate gasps as if you had been fleeing for miles. You clutched a tree for support, the bark’s roughness biting into your fingertips as you bent over, gasping. Your chest seared with pain, each inhale tinged with the metallic taste of blood.

Staggering forward into the field, your legs quivered, each step a monumental effort, your feet sinking heavily into the tall grass. The grass, whispering and swaying in the chilling breeze, brushed against your knees. You pressed a trembling hand to your chest, feeling your heart’s wild, erratic beat as you struggled to steady your breath.

The eerie, rustling sound of leaves, like hushed whispers, filled the air around you. Your eyes darted frantically, expecting to see something—anything—lurking in the shadows of the trees encircling you.

You ventured further into the field, muscles screaming for respite, when a chilling sensation crawled up your spine. Instinctively, you glanced back, and there, in the sinister darkness, a pair of glowing red eyes stared back from the shadows of the trees. The sight sent a jolt of terror surging through you, as if a bird had taken flight in your chest, its wings battering your ribs. You gasped, fear tightening your throat.

Panic gripped you as you forced your legs into a shaky sprint, each step a struggle against the fatigue dragging at your limbs. You dared another glance over your shoulder—the eyes had vanished, replaced by the void, more terrifying than their malevolent glare. Turning back, your blood ran cold as the eyes reappeared across the field, burning with an insatiable hunger.

You froze, heart pounding wildly, your feet slipping out from under you as you crashed backward into the tall grass. The world vanished behind a screen of fluffy stalks, now ominous tendrils obscuring your vision. Footsteps, heavy and deliberate, echoed across the field, growing louder, closer, and faster than you thought possible. You clawed at the ground, desperately trying to regain your footing, but before you could rise, a cold grip seized your collar.

The ground fell away as you were yanked violently into the air, your body dangling helplessly. You weighed nothing to this creature, its immense strength holding you suspended. Your breath caught, and you turned, eyes wide with terror, to face your captor.

Its reflection loomed before you, a nightmarish visage—a gaping, cavernous mouth lined with razor-sharp teeth, stretching wider, wider. Massive wings unfurled behind it, casting an ominous shadow that swallowed the field. You saw yourself in the gleaming eyes, a tiny, helpless figure about to be devoured. The monstrous jaws closed in, your scream cut off as you were plunged into the darkness of the beast’s maw.

—

Your eyes flashed open as your final scream tore from your lungs, a raw, desperate sound that scraped painfully against your burning throat. Thrashing wildly, you felt the cool night air kiss your sweat-drenched forehead, your hair plastered to your clammy skin. Your breaths came in short, hoarse gasps. As your vision focused, you saw Azriel perched on the edge of your bed, his eyes wide with concern, his wings pulled tight in behind him.

Azriel’s face softened, etched with a delicate mix of worry and compassion as he leaned closer. You screamed again, your heart racing, your body trembling as you clutched the blankets tighter around you. The monstrous image from your nightmare lingered, making Azriel’s silhouette against the dim room seem almost surreal.

Azriel lifted his hands slowly, palms facing you in a gesture of peace. His bare chest heaved with deep breaths as he spoke gently, “It’s okay. You’re safe.” He called, as he attempted to fight against the tempest of your fear, though your heart continued to beat furiously, struggling to distinguish between dream and reality.

Maintaining his distance, Azriel’s expression became calmer, though his eyes retained their deep concern. “Y/N, just breathe. It’s me, Azriel. You’re safe,” he murmured softly,

Your breaths began to slow, each inhale still shaky and uneven. Azriel remained motionless, a living statue in his spot, watching you intently. As your head finally dropped forward, he lowered his hands and edged closer to you. Kneeling at the side of the bed, his scarred hands reached up to cradle your face, his eyes searching yours with tender worry as his thumbs traced gentle lines down your cheeks. “Just breathe,” he whispered again, his tone laced with what felt like sugar.

Taking a few trembling breaths, you felt a modicum of calm returning. “Good. You’re okay. It’s okay,” Azriel reassured, his voice a soft murmur. You placed your hands over his, and for a fleeting moment, he seemed poised to pull back, but your firm grip kept him in place. His hands readjusted, fingers slipping behind your ears for a steadier hold.

You leaned into his touch, your forehead brushing against his. Azriel’s curls mingled with your hair as he gently pressed his forehead to yours, your labored breaths mingling in the shared space. “Just keep breathing,” he reminded you softly.

Your breaths transformed into sobs, the first wretched sound tearing from your throat. Azriel pulled back slightly, eyes wide with concern. “Oh no,” he crooned, his voice thick with empathy. “What’s wrong?”

The weight in your chest seemed to sink to your feet as your sobs grew louder, each one a release of the suffocating anguish. Azriel hesitated, his hands faltering as he sought to comfort you. You pressed harder against his hands, refusing to let go. Azriel, taken aback by your need for his touch, quickly resumed his tender caresses, his forehead returning to rest against yours.

As your sobs wracked your body, Azriel lifted his chin, shifting to rest it on top of your head. You moved, leaning the side of your face against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your ear. Slowly, you slid out of the bed, collapsing onto the floor beside him. Azriel adjusted seamlessly, pulling you into his lap so that you sat nestled within his crossed legs. Your legs curled up, resting on his thigh as he cradled your back, your face buried in the crook of his neck. Another sob escaped you, muffled against his warm skin.

Azriel rocked gently back and forth, his arms encircling you. His earlier questions faded into a soft, comforting silence, replaced by the gentle sway of his embrace. His hand traced soothing patterns across your upper back while the other wrapped securely around your knees, holding you close. Your own hands clenched into fists in your lap.

Azriel’s whispers became a steady murmur, his voice a tender caress amidst the tears. “You’re okay,” he repeated, his breath warm against your temple. He held you through the storm of your sobs, as you shook through remnants of your nightmare. As your sobs subsided into hiccups and your breathing steadied, Azriel continued to rock you gently.

After what felt like hours, Azriel finally shifted slightly to look down at you, as though to check if you were asleep. You peered up at him under your lashes as he smiled lightly. “Hi,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered back.

He merely smiled again. “Don’t be. This is part of the healing.”

You turned your face back to his chest, relishing the warmth radiating from him. “I don’t want to heal anymore,” you said weakly, exhaustion allowing some of your deepest thoughts to surface. “I want to feel like I want to live again.”

You felt Azriel’s heart jump momentarily, but all he whispered in response was, “I know. It’s really, really hard.”

Your eyes remained wide open as you asked, “What did I do to deserve this?”

Azriel resumed his gentle rocking. “You didn’t do anything.”

You felt the words spilling out faster than you could contain them. “I was a child, and she just left me. She took me away from everyone and left me alone.”

Azriel squeezed you slightly tighter. “I know.”

“I just wanted someone to love me,” you continued, your voice breaking. “Anyone who would love me. I just wanted someone who would stay.”

“I know,” he whispered back.

“I thought things were going to get better. And then they didn’t. He was cruel to me every single day. And I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take the torment anymore. I thought the only way out was to escape or die. So I chose to escape.”

“You did the right thing,” he murmured.

“Anthea, she died because of me,” you whispered again.

“Y/N, no,” Azriel tried to stop you, but you kept going.

“I don’t know why I felt like I could take him on. My mate was beating me relentlessly and I never fought back, and then all of a sudden I’m brave enough to do it for someone else? And she still died.”

Azriel continued to murmur encouragements to you.

“And then after she died, I went on living like nothing had happened. I just let her die, and I found someone else to love, and then he died. And now I’m going to live my life afraid of the dark,” you squeaked out.

“Y/N,” Azriel started, “I swear to you that this isn’t going to be how you always feel.”

You shrugged lightly. “It’s what the Mother decided I deserved.”

“The Mother is not cruel enough to do that.”

“Then why did this happen? Why was it decided I would be mated to him? Or that Anthea would be allowed to wallow in that camp? Or that Kai would die because of being with me?”

“It isn’t for us to know why the Mother does what she will.”

“So I just have to live knowing my life will always hurt? Or be afraid that even if I get better, it’s going to hurt again?”

Azriel leaned back slightly to look at you, his black curls illuminated blue by the light of the moon as his hazel eyes gazed down at you, laced with pain. “Y/N, if it’s up to me, I’ll never let you get hurt again.”

“No one can promise that.”

Azriel’s face scanned yours. “The world is full of horrible, terrible things, and it’s full of those who want to harm one another. They do it to people who don’t deserve it. They do it for control, for pleasure, for insecurity. And the people it happens to don’t deserve any of it. The poor, little girl who felt left behind didn’t deserve to have a mother who would do that. The young female who fell in love quickly and had a strong urge to fulfill a natural bond doesn’t deserve to be punished by the person she devoted her love to. And the female in front of me now didn’t deserve to watch that same male slaughter someone she cared deeply about. But you don’t deserve to have to witness or feel any of that. And gods, Y/N, when I say that I know what that feels like, to witness terror and anguish and feel like you earned that pain, you aren’t alone in it. But you aren’t going to feel this way forever. And I swear to you, on the Mother, the Cauldron, and whoever is listening, that if for the rest of your life you never experience pain again, it will be too soon. Because you deserve to be happy, to love, and to feel joy without the fear that it’s going to be taken from you. You were dealt a terrible hand, and the world seems like it’s against you, but you have to know that I am your ally in this. I am on your side. And if I could share this burden with you, if I could take even a second of that pain so you could sleep, I would.”

You looked up at him as he finished, blinking slowly as you took him in.

“Why do you do this?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

“Do what?” Azriel asked, his head tilting.

“Why do you care for me like this?” you questioned. “You’ve helped me heal, you’ve let me stay, you’ve convinced your family to help me. And I never did anything for you.” You shook your head in confusion.

Azriel gave you a tight-lipped smile, thinking for a moment. “Because I had never seen anyone more determined to live than you,” he whispered. You didn’t respond, just looking at him. “Everything has been against you, everything has hurt, burned, or scorned you. And yet you fight to live and survive, and never in my centuries of life have I seen someone with a passion to live like yours. You choose to keep surviving and living. And I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to watch you live.” He whispered. And in that moment, something shifted, as though the cement weight in your stomach lifted and then fell back down. But you felt yourself leaning into his chest, your lips parting softly as you felt his warm skin heat your face. Azriel curled into you, his chin pressing into your head as he began rocking again. “I want to see you live,” he whispered once more.

You felt the chill of the wind hit your bare ankles, and you shivered lightly. Azriel, noticing this, shifted his weight forward and was suddenly on his feet as he picked you up, your legs falling over his arms as he lay you down in the bed, pulling up the blankets on you. When you paused him, “Wait,” you said, your hand hitting his wrist. “Can you stay a while?” you asked.

Azriel’s face bloomed slightly as you asked, and he nodded. “Of course.”

You scooted over in the bed slightly, the sheets pulling with you as you pulled back the covers. Azriel lifted one leg tentatively in, the other following behind as he sat with his back against the headboard. You moved in closer as he shimmied down until his neck was craned against the top of the bed. You rested your head on his chest, his heartbeat ringing through your head as you felt its pace quicken slightly. Azriel let his hand fall to your shoulder, drawing lazy circles on the exposed skin as the other rested behind his head. Without thinking, you allowed one leg and arm to drape over him, nearly both extending before finding the other side of him. You stared ahead, across the room as you felt a fog lift slightly, and as you pushed down the guilt that rose in your throat. For this one moment, you chose to let the world feel safe again, one moment, before you might slam that door shut again.

We getting warm and fuzzy: @thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @romantacyreader28 @caroline-books @slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @405rry @sleepylunarwolf @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba @julesofvolterra @skylarkalchemist @darling006 @rhysandorian @loglady00

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cuubism · 2 years ago

Text

a time of need

Hob’s having what he’d thought would be an easy Sunday, puttering around the house catching up on chores and rest, when the worst headache he’s ever had splits down the middle of his skull.

It’s worse, even, than the time he’d taken an actual cleaver to the forehead, and woken up two days later still unable to see out of one eye. Hob’s hands shake and he barely manages to make it to the couch before he collapses. He shuts his eyes in agony and—

--then he’s in the Dreaming. So fast, between one blink and the next. And he knows, instinctively, that he was called here, by Dream or by the Dreaming itself. But he’s never been called like that, with a call full of such pain.

He staggers to his feet in the throne room. The sky high overhead, usually a placid field of stars, is swirling with red star matter, like the Dreaming has fallen into the heart of a nebula. It casts a crimson sheen over everything.

Lucienne is hurrying towards him, steps clicking sharply on the marble floor. “Hob? You should not be here. Lord Morpheus has closed off the heart of the Dreaming.”

“Trust me, it wasn’t intentional.” Hob takes in the deep creases in her expression as she reaches him. “What’s going on?”

“We are under attack.” She squeezes his arm, imploring. “You must go.”

“Under attack? What, Hell?” Hob remembers Dream mentioning it had happened before.

Lucienne shakes her head. “No. I do not know the details.”

A cavernous boom! echoes through the hall, shaking the walls. Lightning streaks across the sky, jagged scars that leave harsh afterimages in Hob’s vision. He pales at the sound. “Is he taking them on – whoever they are – by himself?”

“The dreams and nightmares are helping as best suits this kind of fight. But you must go.”

Hob shakes his head. “No, he called me for a reason. Where is he?”

“Hob—”

“Lucienne. Please.”

She relents, still troubled. “He is outside the palace gates, I know not precisely where. You will be drawn to the nexus of his power, I am sure.”

That’s good enough for Hob. He runs down the palace steps and across the bridge to the gates, reaching them much faster than he thinks should probably be reasonable, but then again he is in the Dreaming. The gates open to let him out, and then clank shut behind him.

The feeling of power is much stronger out here, as if the palace and its grounds had been held in a protective bubble. Lucienne was right about Dream’s power drawing him in; Hob finds him easily, standing at the bank of a river that seems to now be flowing with lava instead of water, and he’s just— just surrounded by… creatures.

Hob can’t define them any better than creatures, they are amorphous and shifting, claws and teeth and legs and wings emerging then disappearing again. He wonders why they haven’t gone to flank the palace, attack from all sides, before realizing that just as Dream’s power has drawn Hob in, it is also drawing the creatures to him. Making him the only target.

He isn’t carrying a weapon or even wearing armor or anything, and Hob’s heart pounds as he runs to him, and—

A creature leaps for Dream’s throat. Dream reaches into the air – into a dream? – his arm disappearing, yanks, and pulls a ribbon of flames straight through the creature’s body, throwing it out across the landscape. Grass scorches, and the other beasts in the fire’s path screech.

Another is leaping at his back, hundreds of teeth appearing from the shrouded mass of it in midair. Hob’s about to shout a warning, but no need. Dream turns, flings open his coat. The creature barrels in and falls into the swirling galaxies in the lining, its shriek cutting off sharply.

More run for him. Dream disappears into a dream, then reappears seconds later, a good twenty meters from where he’d been.

On the edge of a cliff.

A cliff which the beasts that charge for him hurtle off of, a cliff which was definitely not there before, because Dream brought it with him from the dream, mother of God, how is Hob even supposed to help here at all?

Well, fuck it. He’s got to try, doesn’t he?

As soon as he thinks it, there’s a sword in his hand. Dream doesn’t make note of his presence, but he must know Hob’s there, mustn’t he? Dream called him there, though God knows why.

Regardless, the creatures are so focused on Dream that Hob is able to take out two of them with his blade before they even notice he’s there.

They don’t… die, in the way he’d expect. They sort of scream and explode into dust, drifting off in the wind. He hopes they aren’t just going to reform or something.

“You are creatures of warmth,” Hob hears Dream say, across the field, to the rest of the creatures. It seems like there are more, not less, like they’re multiplying. God. “Please enjoy my warmest hospitality.”

A vicious blizzard descends on them.

Snow whips in wild gusts across the landscape, ice biting Hob’s cheeks. He can’t see Dream very well anymore. He hears a splash and a creature howling, and imagines Dream must have pulled a frozen lake from a dream about ice skating, or perhaps from a nightmare about drowning.

He makes his way towards Dream, determined to stay by him so he has someone at his back, even if that someone is Hob, whose powers here are meager in comparison to Dream’s.

He finds creatures in the snow and slaughters them, all of his sword work from decades past coming back to him. They come at him with fangs and claws and tails bristling with spines, but Hob isn’t afraid. His desperation to keep Dream safe is far more powerful than that.

Irrational, to want to keep Dream safe in the Dreaming. But he feels it all the same.

“This is my realm,” he hears Dream growl from somewhere in the storm, voice reverberating despite the howling wind. “It bends to my wishes. But you? Let us see how you like the dark.”

And he turns off the sun.

The Dreaming is plunged into absolute, pure darkness the likes of which Hob has never seen. There’s no moon, no stars. Hob blinks and throws his hands out, trying to balance.

And then realizes…

He can see.

Somehow. Not with his eyes, quite. But with some kind of direction at the back of his head, like the Dreaming itself is guiding him. Neat, that. Also quite likely to drive him mad if it lasts for any amount of time.

He follows the direction of Dream’s voice and finally gets close enough to see him again. There are still so many damn creatures, where are they even coming from? They are blundering now, in the dark, but must have other senses for they’re still managing to, eventually, turn for Dream. Hob watches him turn the ground beneath a group of them into quicksand. They scream and flail as they sink.

“Do you not tire?” Dream asks, idly. “Do you not relent? That is disappointing, for I tire. Of gravity, in particular.”

The realm turns upside down.

Hob’s feet stay planted on the grass as his brain spins wildly to reorient itself, but the creatures aren’t so lucky. They go tumbling down – or up? – into the air, screaming. Hob wonders if Dream’s just accidentally done the same to the entire realm, but no— looking behind him, he can see the core of the Dreaming, the palace, all the residences, still oriented the same way. Opposite to them. What in--?

Maintaining two sets of opposing gravities at once seems to be costing Dream. His chest heaves. He flips them back over again, pushing his sweaty hair back from his face. The sun pops back up into the sky, too, which is… Hob decides to interrogate it later and just be grateful for the light.

“Dream!” Hob calls, as soon as his dizziness subsides.

Dream spins to him, seeming startled. “Hob?”

So then he didn’t realize Hob was there, at least not consciously. By the time Hob reaches his side, the sword has dissolved from his grasp. “Fuck. That was… insane. Are you okay?”

Dream looks at him, brow furrowed. The rushing winter winds die down as their eyes meet, leaving drifts of snow behind. “Why are you here? You should not be here, it is not safe. I have closed off the heart of the Dreaming. How?”

“You… called me?” Hob says. “I think.”

Dream’s frown deepens. “I do not… recall. Regardless, you must go. The Dreaming is not safe at present.”

“Why? Isn’t the fight over?”

“No.” Dream looks out at the horizon. A wave of sickly, mixed colors is growing there, like oil spreading across the sky. “The real fight has yet to begin.”

“What? What about all those creatures?”

“Those were scouts. Hunting dogs.” Dream huffs. “Their masters thought perhaps they would get lucky and catch me unawares, not have to dirty their hands. Foolish. They will pay for it.”

Hob looks around, horrified, as that oil keeps spreading upward from the horizon. With it, a wave of what Hob can only describe as grayscale follows across the landscape. Color leaches out of everything and disappears. Dream watches this, expression tight but measured, following the arc of the spread.

“Aren’t you going to do something?” Hob asks.

“Let them expend their energy. Color is immaterial, I will restore it later.”

“Lure them into complacency?” Hob guesses, faint.

Dream nods. He looks even more dramatic with no warmth to his skin, all stark black and white lines.

“What are they? The invaders?” Hob asks.

Dream hums. “The closest waking world corollary would be… bacteria. It is a sickness, of sorts. They would infect and devour us.”

Hob means to say something intelligent but what comes out of his mouth is, “Bacteria have hunting dogs?”

“Well, they hardly have teeth of their own,” says Dream.

Hob shakes his head, as if that could possibly help to clear it. “And you’re going to fight these things on your own?”

“My dreams and nightmares are already helping me by letting me pull from them, so that I do not have to create everything from scratch,” says Dream. He watches as the oil spill completes its transit of the sky. The only color now is the swirling above them. “This is not a fight of physical prowess. You must leave.”

“I can’t die, Dream.”

“I would not see your mind shredded on my behalf.”

“Is that going to happen if the Dreaming doesn’t fall?”

Dream frowns. “Not… likely. And the Dreaming will not fall. I will not let it.”

“Then it’s settled,” Hob says.

Dream sighs. “You are monumentally stubborn.”

“That’s what got me this far in the first place. Can’t stop now.”

That pulls a tiny smile from Dream. “No. I suppose not.”

A shudder runs through the landscape, vibrating under Hob’s feet. Then another, like the ground itself is shivering. Hob shifts to maintain his balance, as he might once have on the deck of a ship. Dream doesn’t move at all, like the shivers travel right through him.

The air goes hot, then cold, then blazingly hot again, struggling with itself. The snow around them starts to steam. Dream’s jaw clenches, and the temperature drops violently once again, below freezing. Hob’s breath fogs in the air.

Dream is glaring at the horizon. “Stay present,” he tells Hob, in the tone one might use to call, On your guard!

Never bring a sword to a battle of minds, Hob thinks deliriously. His blade hasn’t rematerialized, and it would be useless anyway. Hob himself feels useless, but like hell will he leave Dream’s side.

“How did they even get in?” he asks.

“The boundaries of the Dreaming are porous to permit the passage of dreamers,” says Dream. “Unsavory things sometimes slip in as well.”

“Often?”

Dream’s eyes glint. “Only when enough time has passed that the folly in doing so has been forgotten.”

It’s in moments like this that Hob really thinks about how old Dream is. It’s easier to conceptualize his age in this way, funnily enough. An ancient lord once again protecting his kingdom from invaders is something Hob’s mind can grasp, even if the timescale in this case is absurdly long.

“Going to teach them a lesson, then?”

Dream smiles, slow and predatory; Hob sees in it the nightmare of every prey animal that has ever dashed through a dark forest, fleeing the gleaming of teeth. “Oh, yes.”

He closes his eyes. His fingers flutter at his side, like he’s plucking the strings of an invisible harp. Snow lifts in swirls around them, though there’s no longer any wind. Another shiver runs through the ground.

“What are you going to do?” Hob asks, at a whisper. He doesn’t know why he whispers; it just seems right in the face of the approaching power storm.

“There are known ways to destroy a waking world bacterium,” Dream says. His eyes are still shut, brow furrowed in concentration. “Burn it out, freeze it out. Take away its sustenance. Make the environment unsustainable for it. But bacteria that feasts on dream matter cannot be destroyed by something as simple as temperature; the temperature is, after all, a part of the Dreaming itself. It can gorge itself on the heat and cold as easily as on anything else.”

“So what will you do, then?” Hob asks.

Dream’s lips quirk up in a smug smile. “I am the Dreaming,” he says, not actually answering the question. “They cannot have me. If they insist on having me, then I will simply not exist at all.”

Before Hob can so much as say wait!, Dream's power screams into being around them more tangibly than Hob’s ever felt it, the air charging up with electricity, the fabric of the realm warbling around them. His ears pop with the pressure change, a whine pitching higher and higher in the atmosphere and making him wince, and Dream’s form fuzzes in and out like TV static.

Dream’s hands rise at his sides like he’s finding his balance in the shifting world around them, or perhaps conducting the dreams in an invisible orchestra. He hums, pleased with whatever he can feel rumbling through his power. Then he presses his hands outward.

Hob… doesn’t know exactly what happens, then.

It’s like everything blinks out, then back on again, like turning on and off a light switch. It’s so quick his body doesn’t even react until several seconds later, when a tremor of unease shivers up his spine. For it wasn’t like before, when Dream had blacked out the sun – Hob would swear that in that millisecond of darkness he felt nothing, not the ground under his feet, or the air he was breathing, or his own clothes against his skin. He’s not even sure he existed in that moment.

Everything around him is exactly the same, except that those threads of oily color circling the sky have disappeared. Just like that, gone, the bacteria dead, or at least banished, and Hob has no idea what Dream even did.

Everything in the Dreaming looks the exact same--

--except Dream.

Dream looks like he tumbled down a cliff then ran ten kilometers through bramble bushes. His hair is falling in clumps over his forehead, his long coat torn, his forehead prickling with sweat. His nose is bleeding, the red of it shockingly bright as color leeches back into the gray landscape, though he pays it no mind as it trickles over his lips. His hands are shaking where he holds them out, fingers now closed into fists.

“Any of you who have survived,” he snarls, glaring up at the sky, presumably speaking to the remaining bacteria, “carry a message home to your people. Enter my realm again, touch a single one of its inhabitants, and I will personally unmake your entire species. Do not test me.”

Is unmaking a species even in Dream’s power? Hob wouldn’t have thought so, but he wouldn’t care to test that theory right now, were he the species in question.

Dream wavers, then, and Hob just barely manages to lurch forward fast enough to catch him as he falls. He goes to his knees in the snow, and Dream collapses against him, shaking horribly. He coughs, a horrible, wet sound, and blood spatters Hob’s shirt.

Hob’s heart jumps into his throat. “ Dream —” He tries to get him down onto his side, but Dream clenches his hands weakly in Hob’s shirt.

“I will be—” he starts, and is cut off by more coughing, blood dripping from his lips. “Fine, in—” Another spasm of coughing. A tremor shakes violently through him.

“Shhh.” Hob holds him close. “I got you.”

Dream heaves for breath. He feels feverishly hot, now, sweating and shivering. “What the hell did you even do? ” Hob asks, running a hand over his back, a bit frantically.

“I unmade the Dreaming,” Dream says, each word a wheeze, “ripped it back into-- into its original grains of sand. Thus. Expelling the bacteria. Into the void that surrounds us, where it-- cannot survive. And then I put- put the Dreaming back, exactly as it was. It must--” he wipes blood from his mouth with a shaking hand, only succeeding in smearing it all over his cheek-- “must be done in an instant. To avoid causing harm.”

“What?” Hob breathes, a vast understatement for the horror and awe that he feels. “Dream, what?”

“Breaking my ruby gave-- gave me back power I hadn’t-- hadn’t seen in eons.” He coughs once, hard, spitting up more blood onto Hob’s shirt. “Nevertheless, I may be… down here for a while.”

Hob smoothes a hand over his shivering chest. “It doesn’t seem like it’s avoided causing harm.”

“Causing no- no damage is impossible, but I managed to contain it within-” he wheezes-- “within my- aspect- and not the rest of the Dreaming.”

“I didn’t even know you could bleed,” Hob says faintly. It’s more disconcerting than feeling the world unravel around him to see Dream shaking and coughing up blood. He’s heard that Dream was weakened when he first escaped his long imprisonment, before he’d recovered his tools, but this is on another level.

“Usually, I cannot,” says Dream, which doesn’t help at all.

“Alright, let’s get you down, then.” Hob maneuvers Dream to lie on his side on the ground. Dream rests his head in Hob’s lap, eyelids fluttering. Around them, the world seems to waver, and then stabilizes again.

Dream feels it, too, and says, “Worry not. The realm is stable. It is merely. Reacting to me.”

“My concern’s really you right now, love,” Hob says, running a hand through Dream’s hair. “Though it’s good the place isn’t going to collapse.”

Dream hums at his touch, closing his eyes. His breathing’s evened out, but it doesn’t seem like he’ll be getting back up under his own muster anytime soon.

It’s not long before footsteps crunch in the snow behind them, wingbeats by their side. “My lord!”

“Lucienne.” Dream’s voice is a low rumble against Hob’s thigh. “Matthew.”

“Boss!” Matthew lands on the ground beside them, Lucienne reaching them a few moments after. Matthew’s gaze catches on the blood on Hob’s shirt and he says, “You hurt, Hob?”

Hob shakes his head and nods toward Dream. Matthew squawks in alarm, feathers puffing up, and flies up to land on Dream’s shoulder, nudging at his hair with his beak.

“I am fine, Matthew,” Dream says without opening his eyes. It’s somewhat unconvincing considering how hoarse his voice comes out, and the fact that one of his ears is now bleeding.

Hob is… fairly convinced that he will be fine, once he’s rested. Fairly.

“Just put himself through the ringer, that’s all,” he says, wiping the blood that’s trailing from Dream’s ear away with his sleeve. “We’ll go home, get some food in you, have a nice bath, and get some rest, hm?”

Dream hums in agreement. “Lucienne, how fare the dreams?”

“Everyone is frightened, but safe,” she reports, then adds, sounding fond, “They were a bit confused by the sun going out.”

“Yeah, that was an interesting party trick,” Hob agrees, and Dream chuckles.

It’s still bloody cold out here, post-blizzard. Hob doesn’t trust Dream’s usual I don’t feel temperatures excuse when he’s so drained of power, so ripped apart.

He gathers Dream up in his arms again, wrapping his coat tighter around him. “Let’s get you in from the cold.”

“So… we’re just not gonna talk about that moment when we all went to the shadow realm, then,” Matthew caws as Hob gets to his feet, lifting Dream up with him. “Do I want to know what that was?”

“Probably not,” Hob tells him, as Dream says, “Hob Gadling, I am capable of walking.”

“Uh-huh,” Hob says with no confidence. “Sure, love. Just indulge me. Consider it some kind of foreplay for later, if it makes you feel better.”

Matthew mutters, “Ick,” but Dream smiles and relents.

“Much later,” Hob warns him. “Mister Coughing-Up-Blood.”

Dream rolls his eyes, but allows Hob to carry him.

Fortunately, it’s not far – the Dreaming transports them quickly back to the palace, though with less certainty in the movement than usual. “Lucienne,” Dream says as Hob divests him of his long coat and lays him in his bed. He looks like he’s about to try to pop back up, and Hob presses a hand to his shoulder, subtly keeping him down. “Please instruct everyone to let me know immediately if they find anything awry. The realm is cleansed, but I do not like to take chances.”

She inclines her head in understanding, casting a small smile in Hob’s direction, too, for good measure. Presumably for his efforts in keeping Dream lying down.

Matthew lands on Dream’s knee. “Seriously, boss, you good? I don’t know what was going on exactly, but whatever it was felt… not great.”

“I am ‘good,’” Dream confirms. “Some amount of damage is usually sustained in fighting off an illness, is it not?”

“If that’s how you want to put it,” Matthew says.

“I’ll look after him,” Hob reassures them both.

They take their leave then, Matthew giving Hob a little salute with his wing, and then Hob and Dream are alone. Hob slips Dream’s boots off, laying a blanket over him, then sits beside him on the bed, resting a hand on his chest. “Are you feeling any better?” he asks. “You have to let me know if it gets worse, I’m dead serious, Dream.”

“I’m not certain what weight that carries when you cannot die,” Dream says.

Hob raises an eyebrow. “Try it and find out. Now, still.”

He finds a damp cloth – thanks, Dreaming – and starts wiping the blood from Dream’s lips, and his hands.

“I see now why the Dreaming called you here,” Dream muses. “No one else would dare speak to me in this manner.”

“The Dreaming called me?”

“I did not. Not intentionally. I would not have brought you into such a battle.”

“Well, I wasn’t much help anyway,” Hob observes. He tips Dream’s head up and gets him to drink some water, likewise manifested by the Dreaming. “You did all the work with your world-bending powers.”

“Perhaps you are a reward,” Dream suggests as Hob lets him lie back down. He finds Hob’s hand and kisses his fingertips.

“Oh, yeah? A prize for your heroism?”

Dream tugs on his arm. Hob slips off his own shoes and discards his blood-splattered shirt, and obediently lies down beside him, gathering him in his arms. Dream cuddles up to him, giving a pleased hum, resting his head on Hob’s shoulder. “A comfort.”

Hob runs a hand through his hair and kisses his forehead. He still can't help but worry a bit, after everything he saw Dream do, but it's good to see him feeling more comfortable. “Sweet thing. You were very brave. Clever, too.”

“You do not have to praise me for performing my function,” Dream grumbles.

“Yeah, but you love it.”

Dream mutters again under his breath, but doesn’t move away. Hob squeezes him tighter, and he softens again.

“Get some rest, now,” Hob tells him.

“You will stay?”

“Course. Think I’ll abandon my king in his time of need?”

Dream hums, evidently pleased.

“But am I going to wake up with a terrible hangover after this?” Hob asks. “Whatever the Dreaming did to summon me felt like getting hit over the head with a pickaxe.”

“Maybe,” Dream says, sounding only the slightest bit chagrined about it. “It had to pull you through the barrier I had constructed.”

He tucks his nose against Hob’s throat, snuggling closer, and Hob just sighs, defeated. “Worth it, to be here for you,” he admits, and feels Dream smile.

#it's finishing up almost finished fics week apparently #my writing #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling

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vermilionsun · 4 months ago

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After killing another Soulless, Mhin wiped the blood from their blade and hands before taking a deep breath. The sight of its lifeless body on the ground was, more or less, a common occurrence that left them feeling numb to the violence that had become a routine part of their life.

As they looked around the desolate landscape, the darkness that had consumed the creature lingered in the air, swirling around them like a malevolent mist.

Mhin suddenly felt their chest tighten, something blocking their throat. They started violently coughing into their hand, tasting blood. Panic rose within them as they pulled back and saw the crimson spit on their palm.

"No, not now... Please, not now," they muttered.

With trembling hands, Mhin wiped the blood from their mouth, trying to ignore the metallic taste that lingered on their tongue. The surrounding darkness felt suffocating, closing in as if it would swallow them whole.

Desperation clawed at Mhin's chest like sharp talons as they struggled to push back the rising tide of panic. Their eyes darted around, searching for a safe place to go, only to be met with the vast landscape of the desolate wasteland ahead. They had ventured too far from the city.

Each step felt heavy, labored, like wading through quicksand. "I’m fine, I’m fine," they monologued under their breath. Their vision blurred, their pulse quickened, and a wave of nausea swept over them.

They stagger and fall back on their knees.

"Damn it," they muttered through gritted teeth. "Get up."

The sound of their ragged breathing echoed around them. They tried to push themselves up, but their body screamed in protest with each movement.

Their heart sank. "No, no, no, not now."

Then, the shrieks started.

Gasping for breath, they slump to the ground, their breath coming in shallow bursts.

"No, please, no." They cover their ears, trying to block out the screams, but it’s no use.

The screams grow louder and more intense. Fear gripped them tightly, making it hard to think or move.

Their trembling body betrayed them, tears welling up in their eyes.

They can feel the Monster inside, trying to break free.

It whispered dark thoughts, fed on their fear, growing stronger with each passing second. Its claws dug into their mind, blurring reality and twisted illusions.

"No," they mutter desperately. "Hold it back. Hold it back."

Sweat beaded on their forehead, hands shaking as they struggled to focus, pushing back the darkness threatening to take control.

The screams turned deafening. The world spun. Their body trembled violently. Clenching their teeth, they used every ounce of strength to fight back.

It needed out.

I̶f̶ y̶o̶u̶ c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ l̶e̶t̶ m̶e̶ o̶u̶t̶, j̶u̶s̶t̶ f̶o̶r̶ a̶ f̶e̶w̶ d̶e̶l̶i̶g̶h̶t̶f̶u̶l̶ m̶o̶m̶e̶n̶t̶s̶, o̶n̶l̶y̶ f̶o̶r̶ a̶ b̶i̶t̶ w̶h̶i̶l̶e̶ I̶ t̶a̶k̶e̶ o̶v̶e̶r̶, p̶r̶e̶t̶t̶y̶ p̶l̶e̶a̶s̶e̶, l̶e̶t̶ m̶e̶ o̶u̶t̶?̶ I̶ w̶i̶l̶l̶ b̶e̶ g̶o̶o̶d̶, I̶ p̶r̶o̶m̶i̶s̶e̶.

"No… I won’t let you out," they muttered weakly, tears streaming down their face. Their body shuddered as they focused everything on holding the Monster in check.

L̴̛̛̙͉̺̳̟̞̦̈̈͘E̶͍̬̱̪͔̪͐̈́̋̇̆͐͌̆͊̂͌̈́͝Ţ̷̢̛͍̝͓͈͂̅̅̆́͂̀̀͋͑̚ ̸̛̳̞̹̤̰͍̿̉̆̐̓͊͛̚͝M̵̧̨̫͍̜̳̭̘̞̹̗̭̳̫͔̊̑̌̀͐͝͝Ë̷̛͎̀͌̆͒͛͆̔̋͗̓ ̶̬̤̘̱̪̀͑̈́͒̋̀͌̒͒͘͠Ǫ̸̢̧̛̖̥͕̥̲̹͇̇͌̍̿̓̄͌̏͐͌͠͝U̸̧̮̯̤͋͊̅̍̐͆̽͊͂̈́̎̕̚̚T̵̩̝̤͕͉̤̜̟̘̝̯̻̓͑͒͑̇͜

They let out a choked sob and closed their eyes. The world spun around them, and they started to lose consciousness.

"No...stop! "

Their eyelids fluttered as darkness crept in, the world slowly fading to black. The last words they uttered were a weak whisper:

"Please don’t..."

˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩ || Part 2 || Mhin Special Angst Masterlist || Touchstarved Masterlist

#verewrites #mhin #mhin headcanons #mhin ts #ts mhin #mhin touchstarved #touchstarved mhin #mhin oneshot #red spring studios #touchstarved #ts #touchstarved game #touchstarved headcanons #touchstarved oneshot #headcannons #oneshot

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winxanity-ii · 7 months ago

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⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 08 Chapter 08 | conditioning the flame⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The pre-dawn sky bled a pale orange over the ragged silhouettes of trees in the abandoned park. A cool mist clung to the ground, swirling around your feet as you finished a series of stretches.

Opposite you stood Bakugo, his explosive blonde hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His ragged breaths echoed in the stillness, punctuated by the rhythmic pounding of his heart.

The previous hour had been relentless. You'd pushed him through a gauntlet of sprints through the woods, dodging fallen logs and leaping over rocky outcrops.

Now, you were sparring, your movements a blur as you danced around his explosive attacks.

A well-placed side-step brought you behind him, and you delivered a sharp kick to his back, sending him staggering forward. He stumbled, catching himself on a groan-worthy grunt.

You stood tall, arms crossed, a critical look on your face. "Faster than last week," you conceded, your voice devoid of praise. "But it's not enough." You crouched low, reaching up to brush a few damp strands of hair from his forehead.

Bakugo, leaned into your touch reflexively, exhaustion momentarily eclipsing his usual defiance. He grunted in response, a single, guttural sound that spoke volumes of his determination.

The start of a long summer of grueling training had begun—another step on the path you'd meticulously crafted for him.

He was your pawn, yes, but a powerful one nonetheless.

You smirked, the feeling hidden beneath your neutral expression.

This relentless drive, this insatiable hunger for power—you had nurtured it, fueled it.

He may have thought he was training to become a hero, but you were shaping him into something far more... valuable.

And when the game truly began, you'd be the one pulling the strings.

You rose, pulling back your hand. "Push harder," you murmured, your voice soft but laced with an underlying challenge. "The entrance exam won't wait for you to catch your breath."

A spark ignited in Bakugo's red eyes, mirroring the glint of ambition in your own. He straightened, his stance unwavering despite his fatigue. "I don't need your pity," he snarled, his voice hoarse but firm.

You chuckled, a low, chilling sound. "Pity? This," you gestured around at the desolate landscape bathed in the faint light of dawn, "is opportunity. Seize it. Show them all what you're truly capable of."

The fiery spirit you'd helped cultivate flickered back to life in his eyes. Though his body screamed for rest, his pride wouldn't allow him to yield. "I said. I don't need your pity," he snarled, his voice hoarse but firm. A vein pulsed in his temple, a testament to his simmering frustration and unwavering resolve.

You weren't surprised by his defiance. In fact, it fueled your hidden agenda.

A sly smile played on your lips, hidden beneath your neutral expression. "Suit yourself," you said, your voice flat. "But remember, U.A. won't accept weakness."

With that, you allowed him a few precious seconds of reprieve, letting him savor the fleeting comfort of lying sprawled on the cool grass.

Just as he started to sink into a semblance of rest, you clapped your hands once, the sharp sound echoing through the silent woods. "Alright, that's enough rest," you declared, your voice leaving no room for argument.

Before he could protest, you sprang forward with surprising agility and landed crouched on his back. The sudden weight jolted him, and a surprised grunt escaped his lips. He twisted his head to glare at you, but you simply grinned, your eyes gleaming with an almost predatory glint.

"Time for push-ups," you announced, your voice laced with a playful challenge. "Fifty, and make them count."

Bakugo's jaw clenched, and a low growl rumbled in his throat. He hated the way you manipulated him, the way you pushed him to his limits under the guise of friendly competition.

But deep down, a twisted sense of gratitude simmered.

You were the only one who truly understood his relentless drive, the only one who pushed him to become stronger.

With a frustrated groan, he began the push-ups. His muscles screamed in protest, his arms shaking with fatigue. But he wouldn't give in, not in front of you.

One by one, he knocked out the push-ups, his teeth gritted tight in determination.

You counted silently, your gaze fixed on the rippling muscles beneath you. Each push-up was a testament to his strength, his potential.

And you, the puppeteer in the shadows, would ensure he reached his full potential—on your terms.

☆

The relentless sun dipped towards the horizon, painting the desolate park in warm hues of orange and red. The air hung heavy with the sounds of exhaustion.

Bakugo, sprawled on the grass, gulped down water from his bottle, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, the remnants of your grueling training session clinging to him like a second skin.

Across from him, you leaned casually against a gnarled tree trunk, a stark contrast to his state. A light sheen glistened on your brow, a testament to the exertion, but nowhere near the fatigue gripping Bakugo.

The skills you honed in your past life as Makima, slowly bleeding into this one, granted you an exceptional level of physical prowess. You were a master combatant, adept at hand-to-hand combat without relying on weapons or pawns.

Bakugo watched you from beneath hooded eyelids, his gaze lingering on your profile. An unfamiliar heat bloomed in his chest, a feeling he couldn't quite place.

Infatuation.

The word hung heavy in the unspoken space between you, a bizarre notion considering the constant verbal sparring and grueling training sessions you subjected him to. Yet, there you were, somehow occupying every corner of his mind.

He frowned, a bewildered scowl twisting his features.

It was illogical, this strange pull towards you.

Unaware of the turmoil brewing within him, you were already strategizing for the upcoming week. Thoughts of new training regimens, targeted exercises, and grueling challenges danced in your mind.

You needed him to be honed to perfection, a weapon waiting to be unleashed on the world.

As the last rays of sunlight dipped below the horizon, plunging the park into twilight, you finally met his gaze.

A cold glint flickered in your eyes, a stark contrast to the concern you so often feigned. "Ready for round two tomorrow?" you asked, your voice a low murmur that sent shivers down his spine.

He met your gaze with a defiant snarl, the remnants of his earlier admiration replaced by his usual fiery spirit. "Always," he growled, the words laced with a challenge that masked the strange flutter in his chest.

Standing up, you brushed imaginary dust off your clothes, ready to head home. "Alright then, be here at exactly 5:30 AM sharp," you declared, already turning to leave.

Just as you were about to take a step forward, a hesitant voice stopped you. "Hey," Bakugo mumbled, the word barely audible. He looked away, avoiding eye contact, a rare display of bashfulness from the usually explosive boy.

You paused, raising an eyebrow in question. "Yes?" you called out, turning your head to face him.

He remained stubbornly focused on the ground, kicking at a pebble with a scuffed shoe. Finally, he muttered out, "How come you aren't applying to U.A.? We both know you're more than strong enough to make it."

His words caught you off guard for a moment. A flicker of surprise crossed your features before you quickly schooled your expression. You took in his question, the concern laced beneath the bluster.

Was he... worried about you?

A slow smirk played on your lips, a sly glint in your yellow eyes that seemed to catch the dying light of the sun. "Kacchan~" you purred, your voice dripping with a sweetness that sent a shiver down his spine. You sauntered back towards him, each step deliberate and calculated. "Are you asking me to accompany you to the prestigious, U.A. high?"

He flinched slightly at the nickname, his face burning a fiery red that rivaled the fading sunset. "Whatever," he scoffed, turning his head away in a vain attempt to hide his blush. "Do what you want, it was just a suggestion."

You stopped right in front of him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his flushed skin. You tilted your head, batting your eyelashes at him in a way that would seem innocent to anyone else. But for Bakugo, who knew the depths of your power, it was a blatant display of manipulation.

"Well, truthfully, I wasn't planning on attending UA. Too much work, you know," you drawled, your voice a husky whisper. You trailed a hand up his chest, your touch sending a jolt through him. Reaching his chin, you gently tilted his head up, forcing him to meet your gaze. "But since you're such a good puppy," you continued, your voice smooth as silk, "I guess I can come."

The implication hung heavy in the air. You weren't just considering U.A.—you were doing it for him.

A strange mix of emotions flickered across Bakugo's face: surprise, a hint of something akin to gratitude, and a flicker of... possessiveness?

He opened his mouth to retort, but no words came out.

The silence stretched for a beat. Bakugo seemed frozen, caught between the flustered blush creeping up his neck and the urge to lash out with a defiant snarl. His mind, usually a whirlwind of explosive pronouncements, seemed to have malfunctioned under your touch and the unexpected turn of events.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a scowl etched its way back onto his face. It was a weak attempt at regaining control, a facade that crumbled under scrutiny. He weakly moved his face away from your hold, the blush reaching the tips of his fiery red ears. "'M not a puppy," he mumbled, the defiance in his voice barely a whisper.

But even through the scowl and the mumbled denial, you could see a flicker of relief dancing in his crimson eyes.

The confirmation that you'd attend U.A. with him, a decision you'd framed as a favor to him, seemed to ease a tension you hadn't even realized existed.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, the sound laced with amusement. You knew exactly how to manipulate him—how to exploit his volatile emotions to get what you wanted.

But for now, you were content to let him bask in the illusion of control.

"Alright, alright, Katsuki," you said, your voice playful. You reached out and ruffled his hair with a gentle touch, a gesture that would have sent shivers down anyone else's spine.

For Bakugo, though, it was a confusing mix of irritation and a strange sense of... comfort?

"We'll head to U.A. together then," you continued, your voice a smooth purr. "Just you, me, and the rest of those wannabe heroes."

☆

The rhythmic scrape of cutlery against ceramic plates filled the air, the only sound breaking the tense silence that had settled over the dinner table. It was a rare night that your father managed to escape the clutches of work and share a meal with the family.

Your mother had gone all out, preparing his favorite meatloaf.

Despite her best efforts to spark conversation, the dinner table remained an island of awkwardness. Wino devoured his food in silence, his usual gruff demeanor amplified by fatigue. You picked at your own plate, lost in your thoughts.

The grueling morning workout with Bakugo still left a pleasant ache in your muscles, a stark contrast to the dull ache of boredom gnawing at your soul.

Deciding to take pity on your mother, you cleared your throat. "Hey," you announced, "I decided to I'm going to U.A."

A wave of relief washed over Mei's face, her eyes widening with delight. A bright smile bloomed on her lips, instantly chasing away the gloom that had settled earlier. "Oh, sweetie! That's wonderful news!" she exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion. Tears welled up in her eyes as she reached across the table to squeeze your hand. "I'm so proud of you!"

Turning to your father, she beamed expectantly. "Winnie! Aren't you going to congratulate your daughter?"

Wino, however, remained unmoved. He paused in mid-chew, raising his head from his plate to meet your gaze.

For a tense few seconds, your eyes, a startling yellow, locked with his bright green ones. A storm of unspoken emotions crackled in the air.

Finally, Wino spoke, his voice devoid of warmth. "How could I?" he said, his tone flat. "The kid's never shown any interest in being a hero before. What changed now?"

Your mother gasped, a look of hurt flickering across her face. "Wino!" she scolded, launching into a familiar tirade about the importance of encouragement and how negativity could shatter confidence.

You tuned out her rant, already anticipating your father's response. He wasn't lying. You had never harbored any real desire to be a hero.

The hero business, with its constant scrutiny and fickle public opinion, held no appeal. The childhood days of dressing up as heroes were long gone, replaced by the harsh realities of your true nature.

But then you remembered the glint in Bakugo's eyes when you'd mentioned attending U.A. A warmth spread through your chest, a subtle change brought on by your peculiar connection to the explosive boy.

You weren't averse to indulging your "puppy's" wishes from time to time.

Besides, you mused, spearing a piece of meatloaf; who knew? Maybe U.A. would be a welcome distraction, a chance to shake off the boredom that had become a constant companion.

A slow smirk played on your lips. This unexpected turn of events might just prove to be entertaining.

A/N: WHO READY TO GET TO THE MAIN STORYLINE AND COLLECT A HAREM OF SIMPS!?!

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